The Syndicate - 42. Chapter 42 - Ronnie

"What the hell is a 'magic lodge'?" Ronnie asked, eyes wide with wonder. Taran gestured to Maya with a sly grin, giving her the floor.

"Hoo boy, how to best explain this…," Maya said hesitantly. "Ronnie, do you remember that mental trick I taught you? The one to help keep your emotions in check?"

"That tv static thing you and Taran used to do as kids? Sure."

"Precisely, please start doing that."

Ronnie glanced at Taran, who only shrugged. Closing his eyes, he did his best to wipe away all thoughts and imagined a calm, neutral buzzing. After a few moments, he nodded that he was ready.

Maya was silent for a moment as if preparing herself. "The Order of the Illusory Throne is a millennia-old secret society dedicated to the study and preservation of the arcane arts. It's part social club, part archeology guild, and right now, it's the only place we haven't looked for answers."

A strangled yelp escaped Ronnie's throat. He tried desperately to hold on to the static in his mind. Still, it seeped away, only to be replaced with images of torch-lit corridors and magic rituals conducted by hooded figures. He opened his eyes to see Maya with her arms up, ready to brace herself.

She cracked a smile and relaxed. "Not bad, Reynold. That went better than I expected!"

"I have So. Many. Questions!"

Maya chuckled. "Let's hear 'em."

Ronnie launched into a barrage of questioning, doing his best to keep his reactions muted as Maya explained. It just so happened that centuries ago, the Order of the Illusory Throne tasked its members with maintaining stability in various patron kingdoms. They performed magic that kept crops healthy and borders protected, a service that allowed them to amass considerable wealth and influence throughout the known world. As magic took a backseat to more advanced technology, the Order persisted behind the scenes, supporting governments and continuing to enrich its members.

"And nowadays, it's a bunch of entitled trust fund kids with frankly middling magical abilities…," Taran muttered. "Their ancestors would be so proud."

Maya huffed in protest. "Not everyone is so vapid. Arcanus comes from an old Throne family, and he's spent years trying to foster a working relationship with the Syndicate. Besides, they have the most extensive magical library around, so we're heading there now."

"Awesome!" Ronnie jumped up from the couch. "Is it far? Do we need to get a town car?" he gasped, "Are we taking a Nighthawk?!"

"Neither of those is very thematically appropriate, now is it?" Maya replied. "Which door, T?" Taran gestured towards the bedroom. "Okay, give me some space to work," she said, stepping away from the boys. She pulled a piece of chalk from somewhere and began to draw a series of strange symbols onto the surface of the wood. Ronnie had never seen markings like these before, but he liked how each new sigil built upon the one before it until Maya had completed a complex grouping of intersecting lines and swirls.

"There we go," Maya scanned the image before licking her thumb to wipe away an errant smudge. After a deep breath, she placed her palm at the center of the markings. It illuminated on contact, a deep, pulsing blue that matched the light emanating from Maya's necklace. The chalky circle grew brighter and brighter before yawning open into a wide doorway. A fog-filled passage had appeared where a solid door had stood just moments before.

"Coooooooool," Ronnie muttered under his breath.

"Right!" Maya turned to face them, the chalk vanishing in a puff of inky smoke as she wiped the dust from her hands. "You two go first while I let the Lodge know we're coming. It's about fifty yards straight ahead to the other side, but just look for the light if you get turned around."

Ronnie stepped closer to the portal and tried to peer inside. A cold breeze brushed against his cheek as the churning mist spilled onto the living room floor. Unable to see anything beyond the doorway, he turned to Taran and reached for his hand, suddenly grateful not to take the leap alone.

Together, they stepped into the fog.

Ronnie's stomach lurched as an intense grabbing sensation yanked them over the threshold. "Woah!" He stumbled forward, just barely managing to keep balanced. Straightening up, Ronnie found his knees were jelly and his thoughts a jumbled mess. "Wha, what's happening?"

"Displacement spells…" Taran mumbled, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "God, I hate this feeling. Let's go. It'll get better once we reach the other side." He squeezed Ronnie's hand and clumsily plodded forward.

Ronnie allowed himself to be led through the foggy darkness and absentmindedly reached his arm to the side, expecting to graze the side of the passageway. His hand found only open air.

"Could you get lost in here?!" He asked with a gasp.

"First rule of magic, Ronnie: Don't ask questions if you don't want to know the answer…."

They walked in silence for a few moments, and Ronnie didn't dare mention he had lost count of their steps. How much farther did they have to go? "Is that it?" he asked, pointing ahead. An amber light flickered somewhere beyond the wall of mist.

"Must be. Let's get out of here!"

The light clung to the fog around them, and the boys soon found themselves tumbling out of the portal. Ronnie took a gulp of air, grateful for the cool breeze already working to ease his brain fog. Nausea rumbled in his gut as he tried to shake away the last remnants of displacement magic. Hands on his knees, he looked around in a desperate act to distract himself from throwing up. Taran was nearby, steadying himself against a wide brick column that flanked the pathway they stood on. The column was topped with a broad stone bowl brimming with dancing flames. Their light scattered over tightly-manicured hedges dotted with purple star-shaped blooms.

Maya appeared through the portal shortly after, apparently unfazed by the displacement magic.

"You boys doing okay?"

Ronnie took another gulp of air to settle his stomach but nodded. As he stood upright once more, he noticed the stars overhead for the first time.

"Wait a minute," he exclaimed. "Where are we exactly?"

"Let's just say we're a couple time zones away from Liberty City," Maya answered. "Pretty neat, huh?"

They walked in silence, the gravel path crunching underfoot. Every twenty steps, torches that flanked the course ignited with a snap, cutting through the darkness and illuminating the way ahead. The gardens beyond remained shrouded in shadow.

"This is sorta spooky," Ronnie whispered to Taran, flinching in surprise as another pair of torches sparked to life. "Have you ever been here before?"

Taran's smile was unmistakable, even in the low light. "A few times when I was younger. The Syndicate's got an annual competition of sorts with the Illusory Throne kids, and I would come to cheer Maya on. Never was a huge fan of those, though. Way too many snotty girls trying to hit on me. These brats are really into family pedigrees, so I was a pretty attractive prospect."

Ronnie mulled that over. Knowing Taran's parental expectations, it was easy to imagine the pressure to get acquainted with a well-connected society girl.

"Well, never fear," Ronnie replied. He gave Taran's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Your dreadfully common boyfriend is here this time."

"That's right! Let's go make some witchy kids jealous!"

After a few more minutes of walking, something appeared in the mist ahead. In the middle of the path stood a charming two-story brick house. It was peppered with narrow windows and topped with a sharply pointed roof.

"Huh," Ronnie mused. The house was cute but, frankly, a little underwhelming. With another step forward, the air surrounding the house shimmered and fell away, revealing a larger building that loomed behind the smaller home. It stretched outward in either direction, each corner of the building ornamented with high stone towers. At the center was a rounded dome capped with a glittering brass observatory.

Now Ronnie was awed, hungrily taking in every detail of the lodge and getting drawn to yet another feature. It was an astounding hodge-lodge of structural styles, having clearly been expanded at various points in history. Soft orange light emanated behind walls of sparkling frosted windows. Everything just felt magical.

As the trio approached the massive mahogany door, it creaked inward to reveal a young black man nervously picking at the edge of his cardigan. He straightened from a slouch and stepped outside to meet them.

"Taran, Maya, so good to see you," the man spoke softly, and his warm cheeks darkened when he greeted Maya, not quite meeting her gaze. He turned to Ronnie, noticing him for the first time. "Oh, hello?" he exclaimed, tight locks brushing his shoulder as he cocked his head to look Ronnie over. He extended his hand in greeting. "You must be Ronnie! Phillip Abara, associate Librarian. Welcome to the Order of the Illusory Throne."

Ronnie returned Phillip's handshake. "Well done, Maya," he thought to himself, noting how Phillips' eyes crinkled when he smiled. This boy was adorable.

They were gestured inside an expansive foyer and led deeper into the Lodge. Ronnie's head was on a swivel, taking in every detail and bubbling with questions. Antique fixtures cast a golden glow from the ceiling above, scattering light on the ornately framed portraits evenly spaced along the hall. Ronnie half expected the eyes of the paintings to follow as they passed. Eventually, the hallway terminated at huge double doors, which swung open to reveal a great high-ceilinged room. The space was dark and moody, despite the fire burning brightly in the massive grey stone fireplace at the far end of the room.

This was clearly the main social space of the lodge. Along the wall was a long wooden bar. It appeared to be hundreds of years old, with ornate animals carved across the surface. Opposite this space were clusters of cozy-looking furniture.

"It's quiet tonight, Phillip," Taran noted. A pair of Order members sat at the far end of the bar, heads close in conversation, but the large room was otherwise empty.

"That's summer for you. Everyone's off at their respective beach houses, but business will resume in the fall." He gestured to broad leather sofas arranged around a low table. "Now," he continued, taking a seat. "I know Maya wouldn't be asking for help unless it were urgent. How may I assist?"

Ronnie's eyes drifted to the men at the bar, and he was unsure if they should be having this conversation here. Phillip caught his gaze and chuckled.

"I wouldn't worry about them. They're about five martinis deep and wouldn't remember a thing. But just to be safe…," He stretched out his fingers and muttered a phrase under his breath that Ronnie didn't understand. The air around their seats shimmered for just a moment. "There. We've got some privacy," Ronnie fell back into his chair with a stupid grin. Magic was so neat.

Taran began to explain the Syndicate disappearances, tone even and clinical, like he was giving a routine report and not describing how his coworkers and mother had vanished. Ronnie tried not to worry about how detached Taran sounded. It was just part of the job, after all, and one that he excelled at. Maya chimed in with elements that felt particularly mystical, walking through the lunar cadence and scorch marks left behind at each scene. Phillip leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and chin resting on steepled fingers. His brow furrowed as he followed along.

"This is… a lot to take in. And Taran, your mom, I'm so sorry," he said finally. "But what you're describing, it's definitely not the work of some minor entity. Those are fueled by impulse and basically incapable of long-term planning." He shook his head and thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. "No, this is something bigger, which gives me a place to start. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll be right back." The light around Phillip shimmered, and he vanished with a pop.

Ronnie did his best to hold back a scream. "He's gone!"

"Only Order members are allowed in the library," Maya replied. Ronnie noticed she was smiling. "But he's also showing off a bit. Displacement magic without a portal often takes years to master."

"Oh, so he's a super cute AND super-talented witch boy. No wonder you have a crush on him."

A red flush overtook Maya's smile. "I don't — it's not a — ugh, shut up, Ronnie!" She threw a couch pillow at him. "It's complicated, okay?!"

A short while later, Phillip reappeared with a pop, his arms laden with an assortment of old, heavy-looking books. "I narrowed it down the best I could, but this still might take a while. The books hit the coffee table with a muffled thud. "Everyone take a book and just start at the beginning."

Ronnie grabbed a tome from the top of the pile and settled in. The book was bound in silvery soft silver leather and embossed with the emblem of a throne that spanned the cover. Everything about the book felt ancient. Its cover fell open with a creak as Ronnie carefully flipped through the thin vellum pages. He stared at what he assumed was text, hand-scrawled in dark red ink that disturbingly reminded him of blood. Nothing on the page looked remotely familiar to Ronnie. He couldn't even begin to guess what language he was looking at.

"Guys, I don't think I'm going to be much help h—," He started, but the words died in his throat. Ronnie watched as the ink on the page melted and reformed itself into words. It was an old form of English, but at least now mostly decipherable. "Nevermind…" he muttered to himself.

They spent the next few hours flipping through books, breaking the silence to offer suggestions each time they found something that might explain the disappearances. Phillip circled the table, looking over their shoulders and checking his own pile of notes. It seemed that The Order kept tabs on a lot of scary shit.

"This is it," Taran finally spoke up, sitting up straight and spreading out the roll of parchment he had been reviewing. An etching of a shadowy face centered the top of the page, with writing like sharp scratches continuing below it.

"A Shadowghast?" Phillip asked, bending closer to the parchment. "What makes you so sure?"

"The way he moved," Taran replied. "Like he was made of smoke."

Phillip nodded gravely and vanished once more. Ronnie reached for Taran's hand across the table, and they sat in uneasy silence until the librarian returned.

When Phillip reappeared, his face was an ashy gray. His fingers anxiously drummed on a file in his grasp and tried to explain. "It, um, appears we recently sent a field team to investigate a dig site in Poland. Pretty standard — you can't construct anything in Europe without tripping over a tomb from the Middle Ages. The team had found an empty vault, blown open during a demolition." He opened his folder and placed some photos on the table. "The vault door is covered in about a half dozen scripts, a couple of which we're still trying to translate. But by all accounts, this vault held a Shadowghast imprisoned back in the mid-14th Century."

"So that's it, then," Taran said definitively. "It was put away once, so we just need to do it again."

"Theoretically, yes," Phillip replied. He still looked ashen. "But Shadowghasts aren't your ordinary demonic force. They're charismatic and easily gain followers, feeding off their energy until they are strong enough to go on a massive rampage. Once that happens, there's basically no stopping them." Phillip collapsed into his chair. "If what we've translated is correct, this Shadowghast was finally trapped years into its reign of terror."

"How is that possible?" Ronnie asked. "Surely, there would be a record of a years-long demon attack."

"You're still new to this and thinking too literally. This assault ended up shaping an entire era of history." Phillip pulled another page from the file and slid it across the table.

It was a print of an old-looking illustration. A giant skeleton loomed over the rooftops of a medieval city. It stood upon coffins and held menacing arrows in each hand, pointing them at a group of fleeing citizens. Ronnie's gaze caught the illustration's title, centered at the bottom of the page.

"The Black Death."