The Sword of Michael - eARC (16 page)

He put down his coffee mug.

“Puts a different perspective in place, does it not?” Otto said. “Agent in place. For the forces of Light.”

“Oh, wow,” Dillon said. “That’s…no way. Seriously, man? The whole time? All the operations, the whole ODESSA thing, Paladin Group?”

Otto slapped one huge hand down on his leg. “You are truly a student of history, my friend. You know all this?”

“Dude, I’ve read everything there is about you,” Dillon said. “All kinds of contradictory things, the whole conspiracy theory thing about you and the Illuminati, the Bush family, Tesla…”

Otto’s face hardened. “There is much we can discuss,” he said. “At the right time. But what you need to know is this—there are many of us who are aligned with the Light who are coming into the Flesh, or awakening back into their missions, right now. Changes are upon us. Upon the entire earth. And right here, in this place, is where it begins. At a Portal to what you call Hell. Where you were last night.”

“I was sent to help you. And eventually, you will all remember, a time long ago when I helped you all,” Otto said.

“So where did you get the flying saucer?” Dillon said.

Otto grinned. “So, as the young ones say…‘You like my ride?’”

We laughed.

My phone rang.

I got up and looked at the Caller ID. Jolene. I picked up the phone. Silence, then the click of the phone disconnecting.

“What the…?” I said. I hit redial and the phone went straight to voice mail, Jolene’s cool voice…

I hit redial again. Same thing. Once more. This time, a click, and then the silence of an open line.

“Jolene?” I said.

Silence. A breath.

In the background, harsh and cruel laughter.

Then the click of disconnection.

Jolene.

“What is it?” Sabrina said. “What?”

Otto set his mug down. Precisely. Unfolded from the chair.

“We can take my car,” he said.

“Flying saucer?” Dillon said.

“No,” Otto said. “Something more in line with what we need right now.”

Dillon and I tooled up.

“Do you need…” I said to Otto.

He shook his head. Opened his great coat wide. Strapped under one arm was an extremely modified MP5KSD; on the off-side three magazines.

“I have other tools in the car,” he said.

I looked at Sabrina. Her face was drawn and pale. A look I had never seen on her face before—fear.

“Sabrina,” I said. “You don’t have to…”

“She can’t stay here alone,” Dillon said. “And we need everyone we have.”

“She will be safer with us,” Otto said. He reached out and took Sabrina’s hand. “Come.”

Dillon looked as though he’d been slapped. Sabrina looked at him, at Otto. Straightened herself.

“She came for me,” Sabrina said. “I will come with you and do what I can. The best I can.”

“That’s more than enough,” I said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

I’d never seen a car like Otto’s anywhere but in a movie. Or a comic book. A BMW extensively customized, blending retro look with the latest high-tech accouterments. Like a coupe but a sports car.

It was astonishingly cool.

Also astonishingly fast.

Otto drove like he flew. Fast, sure, confident, huge hands steady on the wheel. In the big back seat, Sabrina and Dillon watched over our shoulders as the road disappeared beneath our wheels. I was not far from where Jolene lived, at least not normally; she was in Windom on the other side of the lakes, in a small house that had once belonged to a university professor. We took the back way into Windom, down 46th to Lyndale and then over into what used to be the Bachman Farm, a small enclave of semi-isolated homes on the edge of the city.

To Jolene’s house.

Small yard, lovingly tended. Flowers in pots, a row of beloved rose bushes. A small blue house with big windows and a porch, with two Adirondack chairs side by side where we’d spent many a morning sipping coffee after a night of love and sleep. The house was dark save for a single lamp in the front room, obscured by a light curtain.

My hair stood up on my neck.

Something was very wrong.

We stood in the street. Jolene’s house is powerfully bounded, though to the everyday passerby there was nothing amiss. There were charged crystals buried along the boundary of her yard; a gleaming crystal hanging from the small oak in front that served as a “waiting room” for any spirits coming to be crossed; an altar and shrine with a statue of Mother Mary, the altar covered with wilting flowers
she changes those each day, and each time she comes, Tigre whispered, Beware…

A dark sense that I had never felt here before.

Otto paused at the edge of the yard. “I will stay here, with the car. Marius…?”

“Dillon, with me,” I said. “Sabrina, stay here with Otto.”

Dillon looked between Sabrina and Otto, then followed me down the walk to Jolene’s door.

First In Front was beside me, Tigre on the other, Burt hovering above, and around us the sense of gathering strength and power,

Because each step seemed to drag, as though we were walking through Jell-O, and my vision seemed soft, blurred, as though the very fabric of the air were softened like gauze, and my heart pounded because the woman I loved was in there, I could feel her…

…and there’s some thing else, too, Tigre whispered; First In Front was garbed for war and Burt, for once was silent and grim…

I paused at the door. Listened. Nothing. Tried the handle.

Unlocked.

My heart pounded.

Dillon whispered, “Marius? Do you want me to go first?”

“No,” I said. I heard my voice as though from far away, the quaver in it. “I’ll go.”

I opened the door and entered.

The entryway and front room were dark. The light came from the hallway.

“Jolene?” I called.

Back…

Dillon was behind me. Tense as a wire drawn tight. He felt it.

Down the hallway, past the lamp, the only light.

Her bedroom to the right, healing and meditation room to the left. Bathroom straight ahead. The door to the bathroom open. Empty. Door to the healing room open. Empty. Door to the bedroom half-open.

Slowly opening the door.

Dark.

Jolene was in the bed. Naked. Sheets and duvet pulled up to her waist. Her back propped against the headboard, her hands crossed, palm down, in her lap.

“Jolene?” I said.

Her head turned towards us. I could only make out the outline of her face.

“I have what you love most, shaman.…” hissed the voice that came out of her mouth.

Not Jolene.

Chapter 20

Do you remember about the dangers that face a depossessionist? Madness, injury, illness, poverty, hardship of every kind—all tests by the Creator to prepare a shaman for the most difficult and dangerous work of all. For despite the proliferation of classes and workshops in depossession, spirit releasement, exorcism, there are those choose to learn and apply the techniques, and then there are those who are Chosen and Called to this work. In the words of one great practitioner, those that are Called are “Dragooned into the Service of the Light…”

Willingly or not.

Yes, we are grateful (eventually) for the honor of being chosen, and yes, we know that in some way and on some level we chose this path, and yes, we are human and sometimes wonder about the toll it takes.

We are grateful for the opportunity to be of Service.

But that doesn’t lessen the danger. In fact, the more experienced the practitioner, the greater the challenges. The brighter your Light shines as a result of your personal work, the more you see…and the more you are seen. You become like a beacon, and in the way that a lone porch light on a dark street draws insects and other creatures of the night, you draw…things…to you.

Spirits, lost souls, elementals, sprites, those of the Other Realms, the curious, the playful…the malevolent.

And when you self-identify as a depossessionist, as one who can open the Portals of the Crossing, then you will draw those who want or need to Cross…as well as those who seek to trap and ensnare those lost ones who want to return to the Light.

Or those who have been lied to about the Light.

I was told a story, early on in my training, about a famous shaman who went to work on behalf of his dearest friend. His friend was dying of cancer. The shaman was distracted by a demon during the ceremony. His friend was cured of cancer. But the shaman died a few days later…of massive cancer that had jumped from his friend into him. There are many cautionary tales in the tradition about the dangers of shamanic work for those who are called to work against the Dark, who must go into the Dark and Light the way to return for those lost souls, or to lead the dead across into the Light.

Madness, depression, physical ails…and of course, possession.

Can a depossessionist be possessed?

Of course.

Part of the initiation and apprenticeship of a depossessionist is recognizing the signs of obsession and possession by a spirit, to become familiar with the character flaws and darkness within our own spirit and soul, the parts that resonate with the Dark Forces or the Lost, the parts that draw them in—the parts that cling to those.

Those of us who are Called will be Tested.

Not all of us pass the Tests.

Nor do the Tests ever really end.

One of the greatest dangers is becoming complacent, arrogant, cocky, overconfident, mistaking our Selves with that which is Great which moves through us. The run of the mill depossession, if there is such a thing, is a lost human without malevolent intent, who is clinging to a live human for the semblance of life that comes through to the spirit, because they don’t *know* that they are dead. And so the depossessionist need only light the way and encourage them to cross, often with the help of their beloved departed who wait for them on the other side of the Portal.

With Dark Force Entities, those with malevolent intent, who mean to harm and obsess and possess with deliberation, it’s much harder—but all can be crossed or transformed with the power of the Archangels and the Light of the Creator.

Remember when I said the more you see, the more you are seen?

Be seen as someone who lights the way for the dead and the dead will flock to you.

Be seen as someone who will challenge the Dark Forces directly, and the Dark Forces will seek you out.

And the greatest challenge to the depossessionist is the possession that is aimed directly at him or her, the one that is fully telepathic, not bound to the laws of time and space, who has intelligence and malevolent intent and who finds the weakness…and we *all* have weaknesses…and takes all the time they need to exploit it.

What about protection? Yes, we are protected, by our spirit allies, by the angelic realm, by ceremony and technique.

And it’s the weakness *within* us that allows that entry, the beachhead or foothold in our energy that a possessing being can take hold of. Sometimes it’s karma, or past life debts; sometimes it’s crossing the wrong entities; sometimes it’s just part of what we were sent here to do.

The possibility is always there.

It can come about in a moment of anger, a moment of weakness, or as a result of a slow accretion of mistakes. Shamanic practice is all about power, the cultivation of that through spiritual allies and practice—and that power can disappear in an instant if misused, and the protection that comes with it can go away just as quickly.

We all have to sleep, and that’s when we are the most vulnerable; in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, when our soul is wandering the Other Realms, and the body, the vessel of our own individual Light, is open to whatever might drop in. Maintaining sovereignty against that kind of intrusion, deliberate, careless, or otherwise, is a big part of the ongoing spiritual hygiene a dedicated practitioner must develop. For we are sovereign in our bodies according to Divine Law.

But to those who don’t abide by Divine Law, it falls to some of us who must keep the Law, enforce it, exercise it as a willing instrument in the hand of the Light, allow ourselves to be wielded like a sword of light in an angelic hand…

…which is really what our task is.

The Dark Forces are sly and knowing about the weakness of the human; they’ve had lifetimes to study their targets, to figure out their approach; and since the Fall, they’ve been amassing a store of knowledge about how best to corrupt and bring down even the most high amongst humans.

I don’t count myself amongst the most high.

But I know that the Dark Forces keep score and I’ve been on their radar for a long, long time.

Just like a certain zombie told me not that long ago.

So I’m on their radar. I’m seasoned, experienced, reasonably intelligent and incredibly well protected by my beloved spirit guides, allies and the Archangels who bless me with their assistance. How do you get to me?

Get to those you love.

It’s a truism amongst the Dark Forces, whether manifest as an evil sicario in a narco-traficante organization charting out your child’s movements, or a Demi-Demon charting out the past, present and future movements of the people closest to you, that the way to push your buttons is to go in from the flanks, to attack those you love.

The greatest push to reaction, to rage and anger, the Dark Side of the Force as Anakin Skywalker discovered, is the one that justifies that anger and rage in defense of those we love.

And to a true Warrior of the Light, there is no greater calling than to stand in harm’s way before those we love, and we love all who stand in the Light.

Makes target acquisition for the baddies pretty easy, yes?

So a savvy practitioner weaves a web of light, connects his energy and his protection to the Grid of the World, and weaves protection in and around all those he loves and interacts with, creates a great glowing crystal of energy that protects and bounds all of those that create the larger mandala or hologram of his life. Just as a spider knows when there’s the least little tug somewhere in the web, so a practitioner knows when there’s a little tug (or a big one) on the web of energy that surrounds his life. His guides and protecting spirits and guardian angels know, too—and their job is to inform and protect him or her.

But sometimes, things get through.