The flames shimmered as Hal laughed silently. ‘You’re still seeing things from your perspective. To me, all time is happening at the same moment, remember? While I’m talking to you now, I’m also talking to you in Rome and in the space you entered through the circle at Boskawen-Un.’
‘That must be confusing.’
‘To a human. I’m not one of those any more, which is kind of a relief.’
‘If all times are happening now from your perspective, you know exactly what’s going to happen to us in the future. So what’s the point?’
‘It’s not like that. Reality isn’t fixed. It’s just a house that’s been built for us to live in. Knock out a few walls here and there and the whole configuration changes, past, present and future. Don’t go thinking of it as cause and effect — that’s all pre-quantum stuff.’
Church looked around the circle. Tom, Niamh and Grace were entranced by the column of fire, their expressions beatific.
‘The Army of the Ten Billion Spiders have already changed what did happen considerably,’ Hal continued. ‘You can change it, too. People who will die in the current version of events don’t have to. In the time when I made my sacrifice, nearly all the Tuatha De Danann had been eradicated. That doesn’t have to happen. Remember, people who sacrifice themselves don’t have to die.’ The comment was pointed, though Church didn’t know at whom it was aimed. ‘The thing is, Church, it’s all down to you. If you don’t stumble, if you stay true to yourself, you have the power to change everything. And I mean everything.’
‘No pressure, then.’ Church steeled himself and asked the question he had dreaded voicing: ‘You’re telling me I can save Ruth?’
‘Ruth’s not dead, but she’s in a very bad place.’
‘I saw-’
‘You can never be certain about what you see. Everything depends on perspective, and whatever information you have to hand. In the moment that you’re talking about she’s alive, Church, but she’s hanging by a thread.’
The euphoria that rushed through Church was so powerful he almost bounded from the circle and shouted aloud.
‘Keep it together, Church. This is a crucial time. The closer you get to home the more powerful the Enemy becomes. They still recognise you and what you represent as a threat to them, but they won’t take the path of least resistance any more. See you, Church — in time.’
The Blue Fire lashed across the room at Church. There was no heat, just an overwhelming feeling of wellbeing. When the rush had passed and the flames disappeared beneath his skin, Church felt stronger and more focused than he had done in a long time.
‘Wow.’ Grace sprawled on her back, beaming. ‘That was a trip.’
16
14 January 1967 was a turning point for the counterculture. The Human Be-In attracted 30,000 people to the polo field in Golden Gate Park to hear the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and other bands on the brink of breaking through to the big time. Timothy Leary was in the audience along with the poet Allen Ginsberg and the Berkeley revolutionary Jerry Rubin. The Diggers handed out turkey sandwiches with LSD in the bread mix.
It was an unqualified success with waves of positivity rippling out across the country and the world. Church and the others experienced many strange things around the event, and soon after it was clear that something else had changed.
More people were found dead in the Haight with the same weeping sores and partial transformation that Church had witnessed on the youth in Golden Gate Park. The authorities refused to take any action despite mounting claims that there was some sort of plague loose in the quarter. Rumours began that it was sexually transmitted or in the batches of LSD and marijuana that flooded the streets. Some people turned to amphetamines and heroin, and violence, rape and overdoses increased accordingly. The Haight was awash with sightings of ‘monsters’. More rumours spread through the enclosed community; no one could separate fact from fiction.
Yet of the spider-people there was no sign. They had slipped into the background, subtly manipulating from positions of power. But when the Haight was flooded with heroin the day after all the soft-drug dealers were arrested, or when the police brutally beat up people for jaywalking, Church knew who was behind it somewhere up the chain of power.
Gabe’s new job as a freelance photographer for the local counterculture newspaper, the San Francisco Oracle, took him to the centre of what was happening in Haight-Ashbury. But Church found it also raised his own profile. Thanks to Gabe, people all over the quarter knew who Church was, and that he was doing ‘good works’, though the nature of those works was always left vague.
And then, as he got used once again to the full force of the Pendragon Spirit flooding his system, he realised he was aware of nodes in the city where the earth energy was particularly strong: in the Panhandle, and on the university campus. And then he became aware of the energy in Grace. If he allowed his consciousness to settle into a peaceful state, he could almost picture where she was in the city. Subtle connections began to come to light, and that was when he realised he could use the Spirit to his advantage.
17
The Whiskey-a-Go-Go was a smart, compact club on Sacramento Street, the mirror image of its more famous Los Angelino sister. On Valentine’s Day the Doors were performing to push their debut album. The crowds were heavy and curious about the mounting reputation of the band.
‘Their singer is a very interesting fellow,’ Tom mused as he surveyed the poster outside the venue.
‘We’re not here to see the band.’ Church watched the people streaming in; nothing had alerted him yet. ‘I want you to stay out here with Niamh to keep an eye on Gabe and Marcy. Any sign of trouble, get in the rental and drive away as fast as you can.’
‘You don’t have to baby-sit us,’ Marcy said with irritation.
‘Yes, we do.’ Church nodded to Grace. ‘Just keep your eyes open.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘You’ll know it when you see it. We’re like magnets. The Pendragon Spirit brings us together. He or she is inside.’
‘You’re sure?’ Grace said, still uncertain.
Church closed his eyes: he could feel the presence like a torch in the dark. He nodded.
Inside the club, they separated. People were several deep at the bar, but when the band came on ten minutes later there was a crush towards the stage. Soon after, Jim Morrison was singing ‘Break On Through’.
As the night wore on, Church started to doubt. There were too many people, too much distracting light and sound. But as the band began to play the eerie opening chords of ‘The End’, Church saw all the evidence he needed. On the other side of the club, his back to the stage searching the crowd, was Veitch. His hair was longer and wild, and his hard face had the first shaggy signs of a beard. He wore a denim jacket, and as he turned, examining every face, Church saw a peace sign emblazoned on the back.
Morrison was singing about a danger on the edge of town. Church saw Grace heading towards Veitch. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she was hypnotised by the band and Church couldn’t catch her eye.
‘Hey, man — do I know you?’ It was a Hell’s Angel, a good six feet six inches tall. He towered over Church, in a cut-off denim jacket covered in badges, and a black T-shirt with the devil’s face in red. His wild hair and beard made him look like a mountain man.
Church was about to wave him off when he felt a crackle of energy. The Hell’s Angel was the one.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ Church said. ‘I need your help. There’s a girl over there in trouble — long black hair, see her?’
‘The witchy chick?’
‘That’s the one. There’s someone here who wants to hurt her. Can you get her outside to our friends? I’ll cause a diversion.’
The Hell’s Angel grinned. ‘A diversion,’ he repeated in a mocking English accent. ‘Sure thing.’ He clapped Church on the back and ploughed through the crowd with no resistance.
Veitch was still searching faces, and close to fixing on Grace. As Morrison threw himself around the stage in an orgiastic daze, Church clambered onto the edge of the speaker stack where Veitch couldn’t fail to see him.
The expression that came over Veitch’s face as his eyes locked with Church’s was utterly chilling. So great was his hatred he forgot everything else, as Church had anticipated. Without breaking his stare, Veitch pushed through the crowd, relentless but controlled. Behind him the Hell’s Angel caught up with Grace.
Church jumped from the speakers before the bouncers caught him and headed to the side of the room, hoping to get back to the exit, but Veitch was already bearing down on him. Veitch broke into a run and they both crashed through the doors into the toilets. Even as they hit the floor, Veitch was raining vicious blows. Church blocked them as best he could and threw Veitch off. He knew he lacked Veitch’s brutal instinct and street thuggery; a straight fight would be too one-sided.
‘You’re one of us,’ Church said, trying to blunt Veitch’s attack. ‘Existence must have seen some good in you to make you a Brother of Dragons.’
‘You’re talking to me as if I’m the bad guy.’ Veitch’s furious attack split Church’s lip and bloodied his nose. ‘I’m the one who was betrayed by his mates.’ He grabbed Church and smashed his head against the urinal. Church kicked out, ramming his boot into Veitch’s gut and propelling him into a cubicle, winded. Church threw himself after Veitch, punching rapidly. This time it was Veitch’s blood that splashed across the graffitied wall.
‘This is about more than you and me,’ Church said.
‘You’re right there. Once we find what we’re looking for here, it’s game over for you, and all that bollocks you stand for.’
Veitch thrust them both out of the cubicle and as Church fell, Veitch planted a boot in Church’s face. Church saw stars, but just as Veitch was about to stamp on his face, he rolled out of the way and brought his head and shoulders up into Veitch’s groin.
‘You’re a dirty fucking bastard,’ Veitch said, staggering backwards. ‘I like that. Shows I’m right. No pedestal for you, Jack fucking Churchill.’
Before Veitch could attack again, the door swung open and the Hell’s Angel stepped in. He took less than a second to size up the situation before hammering a rabbit punch into the base of Veitch’s skull.
The Angel hauled Church out and dragged him through the crowd. ‘The name’s Ice Cream Al,’ he said with a maniacal laugh. ‘ Or just Ice.’
One thing was on Church’s mind: what was Veitch searching for in San Francisco, and could it really be as powerful as he had implied?