East London, Redbridge.
"This is the 'Extraordinary Gathering' you were talking about?"
After giving Jack Arnold, Marilyn, and Ivins their instructions, Lorian had left the manor with Wade Winston to investigate the so-called "gathering."
"Technically, it's called a 'Mystic Assembly,'" Wade corrected, pushing open the door to a dimly lit pub. "Most of the people who show up are just occult enthusiasts. Actual Awakened? Maybe one in ten."
Not exactly elite, but it'll do for now, Lorian thought as he followed him inside.
The place was called The Seeker's Pub. From the outside, it looked like any other rowdy neighborhood bar. Inside, it buzzed with drunken chatter, the scent of ale, and the sharp sting of pipe smoke. Just another Thursday night for the unaware public.
Wade walked straight up to the bar, clearly a regular.
The bartender, a sharp-eyed man with rolled sleeves and a slicked-back undercut, perked up when he saw him.
"Mr. Winston!"
Lorian raised an eyebrow. He's using his real name? Or is that the alias?
"I brought a friend with me tonight," Wade said casually, motioning toward Lorian. "He's also an Awakened. Stronger than me, in fact."
That last line made the bartender's expression change. His posture stiffened with a mix of respect and anxiety as he turned to Lorian. "Welcome, sir. You're… one of them as well?"
Lorian gave a small nod.
"Then by all means, the gathering is in session. Upstairs, end of the hall—we'll make sure you're given proper treatment."
Wade leaned over and whispered with a lopsided grin, "See? That's how regular folks survive in our world. Stay curious, but not too curious."
"That rule applies to Awakened too," Lorian replied coolly, shooting him a sidelong glance.
Message received. Wade shut up and led the way.
The bartender guided them to a narrow staircase tucked behind the bar. Upstairs, the sound from below dulled to a hush. The second floor had been split into seven rooms, each with a brass nameplate on the door—Divination Chamber, Dream Interpretation, Basics of Sorcery, and so on.
At the very end was a door marked simply: The Seeker's Assembly.
The bartender bowed respectfully. "This is where you'll want to be. I'll leave you to it."
He disappeared quietly.
Wade exhaled. "He's got the right idea. Stick your nose in just far enough to stay alive."
Lorian ignored the commentary and opened the door.
Inside, the space had been turned into a makeshift bazaar. Dozens of small stalls were arranged in a loose circle, each one manned by someone with a table stacked high with trinkets, books, scrolls, or locked boxes.
A hooded figure manned a desk at the entrance. From his build, he was probably male. Lorian caught a glint of some metallic charm hanging from the man's neck, half-hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.
"You again?" the figure said, glancing at Wade. "Didn't expect you back so soon. Got more goods to offload?"
"Not today," Wade grumbled, stepping aside. "I'm just escorting a friend."
The man's gaze drifted toward Lorian and paused. Whatever he sensed made him straighten.
"A pleasure, sir. The Assembly is yours to explore. Let us know if there's anything we can provide."
Lorian gave a polite nod and moved wordlessly between the stalls, examining their wares.
One of the vendors, a thin man in a wool vest, perked up. "Looking for anything in particular, sir?"
"I need entry-level mystic materials," Lorian said. "But I'm also open to anything more advanced if you've got it."
Entry-level?
The vendor blinked but quickly recovered. This guy must be shopping for someone else, he assumed.
"Of course! I've got plenty of introductory texts. Rituals, terminology, theologies, minor rites. Everything from popular grimoires to more obscure philosophies."
Lorian flipped through a few sample volumes. Most of them were rudimentary—essays on "the nature of spiritual resonance," "the structure of mystic flows," and such.
One caught his eye. A plain black book titled The Aleister Primer.
He opened it. The print was crisp. The tone was instructive, almost patronizing, as if it were written for someone who couldn't be trusted to use a spoon correctly.
Each concept was broken down over several pages. It even had a glossary. The section on "Awakened" roles was detailed—up to a point.
Odd. There's only one role listed here. Sorcerer?
"This is one of our best sellers," the vendor chimed in proudly. "Written by Aleister himself. You've heard of him, surely?"
Lorian didn't respond.
"Er, well," the man continued nervously, "Aleister's a bit of a legend among mystics. A scholar, a mage, and a pioneer. Some say he's the father of modern Western mysticism."
Lorian kept flipping through the book, eyes narrowing.
"Price?"
"Ten pounds," the vendor said, raising a single finger.
Lorian blinked. "That's it?"
"Oh, yes. The Primer is widely distributed. It's basically the mystic version of The British Almanac."
Ten pounds.
Lorian's eyelid twitched.
He'd paid over a hundred pounds to that charlatan Herman for information that was literally printed word-for-word in this cheap book.
He flipped back to the section on professions. Sorcerer was the only path listed. Nothing about "Witch," "Bloodbound," "Seer," or any of the things he'd encountered or become.
His expression went flat.
"Is something wrong?" the vendor asked nervously.
"No," Lorian said, his voice calm. "Just remembered I've been meaning to pay a visit to an old friend."
The smile he gave was cold and entirely without warmth.
The vendor, wisely, said nothing more.
Lorian paid for the book and turned to go. Behind him, Wade stifled a laugh. "You're taking that well."
Lorian said nothing, flipping the pages again as they walked. His mind was already moving ahead.
Someone needed to have a very long conversation with Herman.
Preferably one that involved a locked room, dim lighting, and no witnesses.