All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation (2 page)

Let me repeat something—I DID IT ON PURPOSE.
Do NOT send me an email complaining about my grammar. It is a rude
thing to do, and it does nothing more than waste your valuable
time. If you find a typo, that is a different story. Even editors
miss a few now and then.

Finally, this book is not intended as a
primer for WitchCraft, Wicca, or any Pagan path. However, please
note that the rituals, spells, and explanations of these
religious/magickal practices are accurate. Some of my explanations
may not fit your particular tradition, but you should remember that
your explanations might not fit mine either.

And, yes, some of the magick is “over the
top.” But, like I said in the first paragraph, this is fiction…

Let
Her
worship be within the heart that rejoiceth;

for behold, all acts of love and
pleasure are
Her
rituals.

Paraphrased from

The Charge of the Goddess

As attributed to Doreen Valiente

Thursday, December 1

2:47 P.M.

New Orleans Public Library, Main Branch

Louisiana Division, Archives

New Orleans, Louisiana

Steady rain was falling, relentlessly
spattering the windows that looked out onto a small third floor
courtyard.

Rain was probably the last thing this city
needed at the moment. Especially when one considered that the
floodwaters, which had invaded the streets and neighborhoods in the
aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, had only recently been pumped back
to from whence they came.

Of course, Mother Nature was on a roll, and
she had every intention of hurling more water down upon the
dampened city, whether it needed it or not. Fortunately, however,
she also had a soft spot for this magickal place, so this go around
the precipitation was merely a steady soaking instead of a violent
downpour.

Inside the library the unmistakable funk of
mildewed carpet, coupled with countless strains of mold, filled the
air. The stagnant aroma relentlessly intermingled with the rich,
“academic” smells of paper and ink, both old and new, decaying and
preserved. Not one inch of the building was immune as the
ventilation system pumped the malodorous air throughout.

Even upstairs where the archives resided on
the third floor of the building, well above the highest point the
floodwaters had managed to reach, the smell was still only of
slightly lessened intensity. This fact was most likely due to its
competition for dominance over the tang of oxidizing microfilm
rolls and sporadic wafts of warm ozone.

The telltale whine of a laser printer whirred
upward, increasing in pitch until barely audible, revealing the
source of the second of the sharp olfactory notes that stood out
against the pervasive, flat mustiness. With a series of clicks and
a plastic rattle, it spit out a piece of paper then hummed back
into idleness.

The piece of computer equipment occupied a
low table next to a copier, located directly across from the main
desk, all of which was just a short walk from the elevator. A few
feet beyond the office equipment was the far corner of the
information counter. There, the room made a sharp turn, wrapping
around the rear of the empty courtyard.

Perpendicular to the wall opposite the
windows, shelves stacked with genealogical records and census data
stood at attention, lined outward in perfect formation. At the far
end of that dogleg, which terminated the L-shaped room, a man was
hunched over, barely visible behind the back-to-back rows of
chest-high metal cabinets.

He straightened upward and gently placed a
hand-sized, square box atop the cabinets then peered back downward
over the rim of his eyeglasses. After a moment he began moving
slowly to his right, fixed gaze scanning intently. A few seconds
later he came to a halt and tugged at the front of the sheet metal
cube before him.

A drawer rolled out on full suspension
slides, the decrepit ball bearings rattling complaints into the
relative quiet of the room. Stepping backward, he extended it fully
and then began carefully running his index finger across the
contents. It took only a few seconds before he selected yet another
of the cardboard boxes and extracted it from the shallow bin. Then,
elbowing the drawer shut once again, he gathered the first
container along with a tattered steno pad and headed back toward
the center of the dogleg where the microfilm readers were set up in
short rows.

Activity had been minimal in the archives
earlier in the day. Other than himself, there had only been what
appeared to be a few students researching projects and an elderly
couple who were obviously on a quest for a lost ancestor. What that
had meant was that there were plenty of readers to go around.

But, that was earlier, and unfortunately,
things had changed. The number of warm bodies occupying the third
floor had increased dramatically over the past hour or so, and it
was now becoming commonplace to need to wait your turn.

The man peered up and down the stubby ranks,
checking the backside of the furthest stand of machines and found
none free. With a tired sigh, he trudged over to a table and
started to pull out a chair. The wait could be short, or it could
be long. One could never tell.

“Excuse me…Sir?” A feminine voice came into
his ears just as he’d edged the seat from beneath the table.

He turned to find a very blonde and very
young-looking woman motioning to him with one hand as she spun a
crank with the other in order to rewind the film she had been
viewing.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

“I’m done here, if you need the machine,” she
replied.

He took notice of the fact that her voice
held none of the affectations of the area he’d grown accustomed to
hearing since he’d arrived. In that sense, she seemed almost as out
of place as he felt. Still, she was young, clad in blue jeans and a
hooded sweatshirt, with a nylon backpack sitting on the floor next
to her chair. His sluggish brain added up the evidence at hand and
came to the conclusion that she was probably a college student from
out-of-state.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied with a shallow
nod. His voice was a tired drone, which all but broadcast the fact
that he was surviving on nothing more than coffee and very little
sleep.

He nudged the chair back beneath the table
then walked over to the side of the reader and waited patiently.
The young woman removed the spool and stuffed it back into a box
then gathered her notebook. Hefting her book bag from the floor,
she slipped it onto one shoulder then stepped to the side and gave
him a quick smile.

“You kind of have to coax it a bit
sometimes,” she offered. “It sticks every now and then.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I had to use this one a
little earlier. Thanks.”

“Soooo…Genealogy?” she asked.

He grunted, “Huh?”

He had already dropped a spool of aging film
from the box into his hand and was pushing it onto the feed spindle
when she asked the question, so he wasn’t really paying attention.
In actuality, he was thinking about the fact that, until today, he
hadn’t done research via microfilm since he was in college, and
that had been longer ago than he cared to remember. He mentally
“hmmphed” as the memory passed and mutely attributed the
interaction with the young student as triggering it.

“I was just wondering if you were maybe doing
genealogical research,” she continued, undaunted by his inattentive
demeanor. “You know, investigating your roots. That sort of
thing.”

“Yeah,” he glanced back at her and replied
with a tired nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s something like
that.”

He returned his gaze to the front and pressed
the plastic spool inward until he felt it snap into place then
tugged at the free end of the celluloid. He could literally feel
that the young woman was still standing behind him for some unknown
reason. He briefly wondered if he should reach back and check for
his wallet, however, what she was exuding definitely didn’t feel
malicious. In fact, unless he missed his guess, it felt like a
strange mix of curiosity and arousal. At any rate, since no hairs
were rising on his neck and no alarms were going off inside his
head, he mentally shook it off and tried to ignore her.

She didn’t let him.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” she finally said.
“I’ve been watching you.”

He looked over his shoulder at her again.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, I mean…” she paused and shrugged. “You
look kinda old to be a student.”

“Thanks,” he replied flatly, a complete lack
of sincerity haloing the word.

He turned back to the machine and continued
on with the task at hand, threading the film under the glass and
hooking it carefully into the take-up reel.

“Oh, that wasn’t meant as an insult,” she
offered.

“No big deal. I wasn’t offended. I realize
I’m old as compared to you. That part of my brain still works.”

Though their voices were already held low,
she dropped her own down a notch and infused it with a cloying
sweetness that bordered on an attempt at sultry. Shifting her
stance, she leaned in toward the man and cocked her head as if
sharing a secret with him. “The truth is, I really like older men…a
lot…know what I mean?”

Now the hairs on his neck actually were
starting to pivot upward. There certainly wasn’t what you would
call a sense of physical danger by any means, but he knew the
conversation was taking a turn down a path he didn’t want to
follow.

He stopped what he was doing and hung his
head. With a sigh he finally said, “Please tell me you aren’t
trying to pick me up.”

There was an audible shrug in her voice.
“Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe we could go
get a cup of coffee or something and see where things go from
there?”

He turned to face her. “I’m betting I’m old
enough to be your father.”

“Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the
point.”

He started to reply to the last statement but
thinking it better left alone simply objected with, “I’m also
happily married.”

“Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right
now is she? You’ve been alone since I’ve been here.”

“Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here
at the moment, but that’s not the point…”

“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Look, young lady…”

“Erika,” she interrupted, holding out her
hand. “And you are?”

He ignored the gesture but returned with a
sigh, “Rowan.”

“Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like
it.” She continued to hold her hand thrust forward.

“Thanks,” he replied, still avoiding the
offered appendage. “So listen, Erika, you’ve got to know that
you’re playing a dangerous game here. You have absolutely no idea
who I am.”

After a thick silence she finally pulled her
hand back. “Yeah. Well, that’s part of the turn-on too.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I could be some kind of sicko
for all you know.”

“You look pretty safe to me.”

“Most sociopaths do,” he said. “And, I’ve
actually got some experience in that area.”

“Really? How so?”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to
know.”

She paused for a moment, giving him a once
over, then said, “Okay. So, tell me. Are you a ‘sicko’?”

“Again, that’s not the point.”

She stuck out her lower lip in an exaggerated
pout. “So what is it then? Are you just not into blondes?”

“Listen, Erika, is this some kind of game
show? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because, honestly, I
don’t have time for this.”

She chuckled. “You’re funny too.”

He let out another heavy sigh and held up his
hands. “All right, look, I’m flattered…At least I think I
am…Anyway, this just isn’t going to happen. Understand?”

She blinked and gave her head a quick shake
as if reality had just rapped her on the back of the skull. “You’re
serious.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You really don’t want to…”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well…Okay. It’s your loss.”

“I’ll just have to take your word for
that.”

“Well, you know…” she started as she opened
her notebook to a fresh page and began fishing a pen from the
spiral binding. “I could give you my number in case you change your
mind…”

This time he did the interrupting. “That
isn’t necessary. I won’t.”

She paused then shoved the pen back down and
closed the notebook. “Okay. Well, never know until you try.” She
shrugged and added, “Good luck with whatever you’re doing there, I
guess.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You too.”

After staring at him curiously for a moment,
she shook her head then turned and walked away.

This was the second time he’d been
propositioned in as many days, and it was something he wasn’t
particularly used to having happen. He wasn’t sure if it was his
obvious emotional state or what. Vulnerability was exuding from
every one of his pores and he knew it; he had just hoped that the
rest of the world wouldn’t notice. Of course, maybe it was
something in the water, so to speak, and women here just had a
thing for worn-out, middle-aged men with greying hair and
ponytails. Whatever it was, he could certainly do without the
aggravation right now.

He shook his head then tried to forget about
it. If the rest of this day continued along the same fruitless
vein, as had the morning, he still had quite a bit of searching to
do. And, even then, he knew he might not find what he was looking
for because, to be honest, even he didn’t know quite exactly what
that was.