January 17, 1965 - January 23, 1965
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Sunday, January 17th,1965
I rose early this morning, and I could swear I saw Quinn. I was just arriving at the main house, and I caught a glimpse of the sole of a shoe as someone went around the corner. It was definitely a man's shoe, and not any I had seen before. I rushed to catch up, but by the time I looked around the corner, he was gone. Maybe there is a way to get Elaine to snap a photo of this guy, but we might have to trick him out into the open to do that.
Kuranes is a quick study. His posture is already very good, and he picked up on proper inhalation and exhalation fast. I think he may have studied this before, perhaps in the context of meditation. Conscious breath control differs from traditional meditation in the way the mind is focused. Meditation starts by contemplating the breath, its regularity and immediacy. It's presence in the moment. But, as soon as the meditator is relaxed, her focus turns inward, to her mind. She goes on a journey of sorts. A "conscious breather" as it is called in Da mo (well, the translation isn't perfect) does not wander from the act of breathing. It is ironic in that it is a great effort in relaxation and recuperation. It seems paradoxical at first, but with practice I have learned a great deal. I just have to remain vigilant that I do not stray into the realm of meditation; that is the primary challenge, and impressing this upon Kuranes was today's primary instruction. He may be able to do both at the same time, though. He has demonstrated an aptitude for things like that, for dividing his focus without diminishing his efforts. I have heard of ancient masters who could do the same, but Kuranes would be the first person I have met who can simultaneously breath consciously and meditate through an entire cycle of each.
I perused my first copy of Sing Tao Daily today. So much of it was focused on the impending New Year celebrations. The newspaper was rife with recipes for traditional dishes and information about events around Los Angeles. I'm sure the porridge will be flowing any day now! The funniest part was the discussion of what numerical year this Year of the Snake will be. It's an amusing reminder that China can hardly be considered one cultural entity when you consider that people can't even agree on what year it is. According to my own family's tradition, the first year was in the western year of 2637 B.C.E., but you can probably get a different answer for when the calendar began in each province of China. I can think of a way to discover the truth, but my skills at temporal mana infusion are not up to the challenge yet.
Monday, January 18th,1965
I ran into Genda for the first time in a while. He told me he had been out on a movie shoot. With his size and charisma, maybe he has a shot at making it in the film business. He's definitely out of the ordinary. He, Elaine, and Kuranes were tasked by Mrs. Carter to look into some items that had been part of some man's estate, that had been auctioned off. It sounded interesting, but I had more pressing matters to attend today. Namely, getting further along in my studies.
I did some research on Sayed and The Book of The Gates in the occult archives. I get the impression from reading about it that the book I have is definitely the original, but it seems to be missing pages. Perhaps the part that is missing is just obscured somehow, but there are definitely sections discussed in the reference material that don't appear in the book itself. It's mildly alarming to discover this, but it doesn't change what I need to do right now. I need to press on with acquiring the tools essential to understanding the book. This meant more study of Middle Persian (I now know the book is really called Kitab al-Babi), and a several hour review of my notes from the sessions with Mr. Tophet.
I finished the day by cycling up Cahuenga to Mullholland, back down Laurel Canyon, and up the hill to the Stahl House, to see the beautiful view of the city there. I found a secluded spot nearby, ran through a few White Crane transitions, then headed back home. It was an exhausting day; I think I will sleep well tonight.
Tuesday, January 19th,1965
I read today's Sing Tao Daily over a breakfast of vegetable congee. I made a huge pot and left most of it in a container outside Genda's door. I hope he enjoys it. It seems that Bruce Lee's demonstration at last year's Long Beach International Karate Championships and rise to celebrity in general have created a large number of mimics, if the advertisements in Sing Tao Daily are any indication. Most of these are surely charlatans, but some may be real. I find it discouraging that so many of the advertisements focus on claims of being masters of Dim Mak; kung-fu is about the breath of life, not the touch of death. I feel that these so-called sifu who wish to capitalize on the sensationalism surrounding kung-fu by offering to teach such things do a disservice to the history of the art. Bruce Lee is often decried for teaching kung-fu to caucasians, but surely teaching white people in a responsible way is better than what these men are promoting in Chinese newspapers. My ancestors in China, if they heard of this sort of practice, would have traveled to the schools and challenged the masters. It was their way of discrediting charlatans and stopping the real masters from spreading dangerous techniques to hotheaded youth. With the rise of the Tongs and Triads and the violence they bring, these things are particularly deadly now. Some of these teachers recruit young people with a taste for violence for those organizations.
After breakfast, I cloistered myself in the library for more study. I practiced making some Persian calligraphy. I think it helps me remember, the way they say both singing and speaking can make you remember the same phrase in two different ways. I believe calligraphy does the same when it comes to learning a written script. I know it works that way for Chinese. It's not easy to memorize so many characters just by writing them down. You truly learn them when you understand the art inherent in the strokes, and only focused calligraphy can teach you that. At least, that's the best way I have found. I'm thankful to Wei for all of the countless hours he let me spend creating signs for him that could have been done in a matter of minutes.
Things have been quiet around the Alden House with the rest of the New Prometheans out on assignment. The quiet has let me get a lot of work done.
Wednesday, January 20th,1965
My foray into Persian calligraphy has led me to conclude that I do not have the appropriate tools for the trade. I can use my Chinese brushes and pens, but I guessed that there were better options. I took a quick bicycle ride down to an art supply store on Sunset Boulevard. The guy behind the counter there was not the greatest help, but I browsed the aisles and found what I was looking for. As I was paying at the register, I heard loud rumbling noises outside on the street. I looked out the window and saw what must have been twenty burly men on motorcycles ride by. I caught a glimpse of their patches as they cruised by, and I'm sure I saw the death's head of the Hells Angels. My bicycle was on the sidewalk out front, but I still went out the back door, despite the cashier's protests. I waited in the alley until the rumbling subsided, rushed to my bicycle, and rode off toward Hollywood Boulevard. I don't know if the chapters don't here in Southern California know about me, but I'm not taking any chances. I almost got shot the last time I ran across them. While I can protect myself against bullets, given enough time, twenty armed guys on motorcycles is not something I want to deal with, not now, and especially now while I'm carrying something as valuable as the Kitab al-Babi around.
I got back to the house around noon and spent the afternoon studying. There is something odd about The Book of The Gates, now that I examine the lettering more closely. It almost looks to have been penned by two different hands, though the differences are so subtle, that it could just represent different periods in the same man's life. Most people retain the same strokes and stylistic leanings throughout their lives, but some people like to switch things up. In fact, I feel that learning about Persian calligraphy is somehow going to influence the way I do Chinese calligraphy. It is unavoidable that the things you learn in one area creep into everything you do, from kung-fu, to magic, to art. It is all interconnected. Sayed's life was a tremendous journey, so it would not surprise me if the things he learned guided his hand right down to stylistic lettering choices but, still, it is interesting that some of the lettering could have been done by a copycat.
Thursday, January 21th, 1965
I met with the rest of New Prometheans at breakfast with Mrs. Carter today. I got an update about their recent activities, tracking down items from the estate of Benton Tuttle. The auction took place several months ago, and the items of interest had ended up scattered. The most noteworthy items were a golden raccoon that had been acquired by a member of an organized crime outfit at the behest of "The Scarlet Woman," a Polynesian mask that was passed down to one of Tuttle's relatives, a Hollywood makeup artist named Bill Tuttle, a potentially dangerous occult book that ended up at Bixby's Books in Hollywood, a curious book said to grant magical instruction to those not naturally endowed with the gifts of magecraft, and a collection of maps that were purchased for a store downtown called Anaximander's Maps.
We decided that the most important item to investigate first was the Red Book, the occult text that had wound up at Bixby's Books. There is a variety of lore surrounding the Red Book. First, is that there are actually three of The Red Books. Second, the books are demonological in nature. They are said to possess instructions for bringing forth particularly odious demons, as opposed to merely average demons. I hope that these books are not, in fact, pieces of the Grand Grimoire, the "Red Dragon." The Grand Grimoire is said to grant the ability to summon Lucifuge Rofocale himself. Indeed, that would be a particularly odious and immensely dangerous demon to summon. Current occult lore suggests that these volumes are also known as The Books of Pain and are unrelated to the Grand Grimoire, having been printed this century in Central America, not dating back to medieval times or earlier. Whatever the case, a Red Book is clearly a dangerous item, and best sequestered in the Foundation's vaults, or maybe even sent to Tibet to be kept with the forbidden texts.
We arrived at the bookstore in the midmorning. The proprietor was, well, what one would expect from a bookshop owner in Los Angeles. He was introverted and awkward, but nice enough. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he purchased the Red Book. He was not a mage, nor did he seem particularly knowledgeable about the occult. In fact, the book had been stolen from him right after he bought it. He said he never even got a chance to unpack it and look at it. It was taken from his wall safe in the middle of the night. He had no idea who took it, or why. We asked to examine the safe, and I checked it for any signs of magic. In fact, there was an envelope that glowed brightly and chaotically, not unlike the aura of Kitab al-Babi. I asked to have a closer look, and he agreed. What lay within was better than I could have hoped. It was a few missing pages from the book! Obviously, we could not leave them there. So, we negotiated with him. It turns out that Jansen had given him the pages months prior to have them appraised. We let him know that Jansen was deceased, as was his next of kin, and that, in fact, we had been contracted by the insurance agency responsible for overseeing the estate. We gave him our names and he gave us the pages.
We were not so lucky in the rest of our efforts. Anaximander's Maps turned out to be a curious place, utterly devoid of magic, with an odd, yet knowing proprietor. He knew we were after occult objects, but he would not give us any information, except to say the two "interesting" maps from the collection had been purchased. Genda was able to use his spiritual powers to determine a date of sale, and that the items sold were a map of Hyboria, and a map of the Dreamlands. We formulated a plan to return to both the bookshop and the map store late at night to use magic to see who had been there on the dates in question and acquired the items. Keaton seemed extremely interested in the electromagnetic radiation in the map shop, and asked repeatedly and in several different ways, if he could bring some scientific equipment to study it. Anaximander was not interested in allowing that, and was as uninformative as possible on the matter.
With about half of the day left, we elected to make the trip to San Diego to track down Arther Godel, who had purchased the primer that allegedly allowed the uninitiated to make use of magic. I'm skeptical of this book though, knowing what we now do about how the natural order of mana is currently out of balance, if that balance could be restored, such a book - if it were legitimate - could be of considerable use. Through a series of mishaps with a public telephone, we finally learned that Arthur Godel was some sort of derelict living near the beach in the Golden Sands Motel. We concocted a plan to get his room number from the front desk. I posed as a massage therapist and made use of Kuranes's acting skills. The clerk bought it and gave me the room number. We staked the room out and waited for him to return. Genda and Kuranes were able to discern a few details about the room while we waited, namely that it was a bit of a mess and that Godel was keeping cash there.
Godel finally returned, and I went and knocked on the door. Genda waited around the side, near a window, in case he tried to make a getaway. Godel was under some pressure from debt collectors, and we did not want to spook him. Hence only I went, as few men are intimidated by a small Chinese woman, and no debt collector would send someone who looks like me. He was paranoid at first, but ultimately let me in. He informed me that he had been hired to purchase the book by a man named Frank. He acquired the book then sold it so some tycoon who lived in a rural estate near the Mexican border. It was too late in the day to pursue this lead and be able to make it back in time to investigate the bookshop and map store, so we headed back to Los Angeles.
Our investigation into the identity of the thief was successful. We entered the shop unnoticed and without setting off any alarms. Kuranes was able to summon forth images of the past that let us view who had opened the safe. It was a pale, utterly bald man, who did not even have eyebrows. He was tall, perhaps as much as six feet. He moved to the safe, entered the combination on the dial, took the Red Book, closed the safe, then left. It's lucky that he did not take the pages from the Kitab al-Babi, but he was obviously after the Red Book. We tried a similar approach at Anaximander's. To our surprise, he was there at 3:00 in the morning. What kind of strange man is he? We performed the ritual outside, but, perhaps we were too nervous about trying to go quickly and not be seen by pedestrians or passengers on streetcars, that we failed to invoke the spell. It was not very long before Anaximander came out, opened the door, and started making comments about our persistence. Kuranes at last completed the spell, but all that was visible was an image of Anaximander himself, frozen in some sort of loop. The image looked left, then right, then repeated. Anaximander made some smug remark about getting back to him when we figured it out. It was late, and I was at my wit's end. I shook my fist at him and told him he needed therapy. What sort of mage hides in a shop with no mana all day and all night? What sort of ethical man would hide the identities of people who might be dangerous?
We went back to the Alden House. Kuranes had cast a spell to grant him and myself wakefulness, so I will stay up all night and get ready to help Genda tomorrow. He has an audition with a movie producer, Jim Stone, who is working with Bill Tuttle. I'm going to pose at Genda's personal assistant so that I can inspect the area for magic.
Friday, January 22nd, 1965
Elaine drove Genda and me to the studious in the new Mercedes sedan the Foundation is letting us use. Nice wheels. We arrived in the studio in the late morning, and waited for Stone and Tuttle to show up. They arrived within an hour. The meeting went well for Genda. He got the part without even trying. Stone was perhaps even more interested in me. He came onto me a few times during the meeting, and even told me to get in touch with him if "I wanted a job" in movies. Well, I don't want a job! There was no magic in stone's office, nor did we find any in Tuttle's workshop on the premises. We followed him home, and there we did find the mask. It was in his garage, or whatever it was he had converted his garage into. We considered taking it then and there, but instead we went back to the Alden House.
We met with Mrs. Carter to discuss our findings. First, she was very unsettled by our description of the man who stole the Red Book. The color drained from her face as we told her, and she informed us that it was none other than Xavier Hellestromme. She contended this was impossible, that he had vanished decades ago. But, knowing what I now do about gates and the nature of metaphysical reality, I can attest that it is very much possible. If this is true, we are doubly lucky that he did not take the pages of Kitab al-Babi that were there! Getting those from him would be a challenge. Though that does make me nervous that he is trying to outmaneuver us. If he is as wily as the stories say, he could have left those as bait, or as a way to track us down to the rest of the book. Kitab al-Babi would do what it can to prevent someone such as Hellestromme from coming into possession of it, I think, but if he could track us, he could track it indirectly. I am now torn about whether I should consult with Quinn about this matter. I'll have to think it over. For now, I will just do what I am able to look for any undesirable magics connected with these newfound pages.
Keaton had been researching who the tycoon near the border could be, and had narrowed it down to three possibilities. Mrs. Carter was familiar with the names, and even knew one of the people personally, one Agnes Wallace. She said that Mrs. Wallace (the widow of an oil tycoon) does have a passing interest in the occult, maybe a dabbler of sorts. If the primer were effective, that would be precisely the sort of person who could benefit from it the most. The other possibility was a Mr. Daniel Van Landingham, who Mrs. Carter indicated came from old money, probably a wealthy eccentric of sorts. Mrs. Carter seemed to believe that Mrs. Wallace was a decent sort, but the account that Arthur Godel (for whatever it is worth) gave us of the purchaser seemed far more sinister. Even to a Hellestromme level of sinisterness. I have not ruled out that both purchases are somehow connected. We will find out.
We elected to leave the Polynesian mask in the hands of Bill Tuttle for now. Mrs. Carter said the Foundation will reach out to him to acquire it, but we all agreed that if Hellestromme wanted the mask, he would have already taken it. That's logical to conclude, though Hellestromme's game could have many steps, leaving the mask with Tuttle being one of them. We will not know until we learn more.
Our next order of business will be tracking down the Scarlet Woman. Mrs. Carter identified her as Marjorie Cameron, a high-ranking member in a magical order. Her title of Scarlet Woman is like an official rank within that order. Mrs. Carter informed us that Ms. Cameron lives at a hotel called The Ambassador and tries to enjoy a posh, leisurely lifestyle. It is no surprise she would want a golden raccoon that allegedly has the power to instill added value onto jewels, letting the possessor generate wealth.
Saturday, January 23nd, 1965
Today was an interesting day. We started by doing a little research into Marjorie Cameron, the Scarlet Woman, and then went to go snoop around the Ambassador Hotel to learn more about her. Lunch at the hotel was nice, though Genda should have the final say on that matter. I think he sample at least one of everything he could eat from the menu, including several desserts and more coffee than seemed appropriate. His enthusiastic enjoyment of the meal was ideal, though, because before we were finished, Marjorie and her entourage arrived. We first noticed what seemed to be guards appear at the restaurant's entrance from the lobby. They were there just keeping an eye on the place, then several men in suits and Marjorie came to dine. We kept tabs on them during their meal and afterwards. Kuranes used his creature to get more information, and Genda communicated with spirits to learn more. Marjorie had a peculiar magical aura. Not like a mage, but not quite like a being of pure magic. It seemed to share similarities with both, as though she exists at the juxtaposition of being a mage and a magical being.
Our cover was almost blown when Elaine was noticed by some of her bodyguards. Fortunately, they thought she was paparazzi, and did not figure out who we really were. I took over as the spotter in the lobby after Elaine had to leave. The hours crawled by slowly, so I read the newspaper while I waited. I noted that for the second time in two months and actor had taken a suicidal leap off of the roof of a building in Los Angeles; I also saw that a man the others had been in contact with about the Tuttle Auction had passed of unknown causes out in Malibu. After a while, Marjorie and two guards emerged from her room and went to the valet and to get their vehicle. I moved close to the door and got a good look and made note of the license plate. They left, heading west on Wilshire. I went back to the parking lot to join the others in the Mercedes. Genda tried to catch up to them, but was unsuccessful. So, instead, we turned to the arcane and used a spell of seeking to find their car. It was somewhere in Santa Monica. When we got closer, I was able to cast a spell of tracing to locate its exact position.
We found it parked near a building with art studios. This was unsurprising, as Marjorie is a known dabbler in art. Genda communicated with the spirits to find where she was in the building. Kuranes and I found a back entrance, out of view of her bodyguards, and made our way up to her studio. We knocked, were let in, and had what I consider to be a very frank talk. We told her we were looking for the Red Book. We asked her about the auction, but she seemed fairly apathetic. We asked if there was anyone she could put us into touch with about the book. She told us to meet us later that night at the Blue Lotus downtown, at 9:00.
I made preparations for the event. I hadn't gotten my hair done in a while so I took this opportunity to do so. I had Genda help me select an appropriate dress. Elaine and Genda also came to the Blue Lotus, but in a separate vehicle, and they did not interact with us. When we arrived we told the hostess who we were meeting, and she escorted us to Marjorie's table, in a semi-private room off of the main room. It was immediately apparent to me as we made our way to the Marjorie that the band on stage was phenomenal. I took a closer look, and I could see that it was Miles Davis! I almost abandoned our mission right then and there to go watch, but I decided to wait. I took an even closer look and noticed that Miles had a magical aura. I wasn't surprised in the least.
We met with Marjorie and her entourage. It was actually "Mr. Licata's party," and Nick Licata was there. The meeting was somewhat fruitful, as Mr. Licata indicated that he was in the business of trading in occult items. The only problem was that he had no particular interest in books. Nor did he seem to know anyone with such interests. After a brief introduction and conversation about acquiring occult items, Marjorie had Nick and his men excuse themselves. Marjorie seemed incredibly apathetic to our mission. It dawned on her who we were when we mentioned that we wanted to sequester the Red Book, to keep it out of anyone's hands who might put it to nefarious use. She made a few comments about Mrs. Carter, generally unflattering, and indicated that she would not help us very much if Mrs. Carter did not pay up. She said Mrs. Carter would know the precise payment details. When we explained our concerns that the book had been acquired by Xavier Hellestromme, she still remained largely apathetic, but also dismissive, indicating that it was impossible that Hellestromme was alive on our plane of existence. She said it was more likely that a group known as the Red Hand had sent someone in posing as Hellestromme to acquire the item. The Red Hand is a covert organization of thieves and assassins, specializing in the theft of magical items and the assassination of mages. They themselves employ mages.
I am skeptical about this Red Hand. Marjorie said she has a contact who can put us in touch with them, but only if we are serious about wanting to hire them. Not only do I not want to hire them, but I am unconvinced that Marjorie is right about them. Maybe it was them, but maybe not. What she doesn't know is about the incident with Hellestromme's radio on New Years Eve. Some entity was released from some form of imprisonment in that event. While it is true that the theft of the Red Book from Bixby's Books happened prior to the incident with the radio, I can't help but feel that they are somehow connected.
But, enough about all of this cloak-and-dagger business. The most important event of the evening was after our meeting with Marjorie. I met Miles Davis! When the band took a break, I went backstage and found them and their friends enjoying some reefer. I joined in, but didn't see Miles. He was in his dressing room, relaxing. I went back and found him, and he was definitely very... relaxed. He had a half-smoked joint that we finished together. We spoke briefly about music and jazz. He went in and out of a haze, but was clearly enjoying himself. I noticed that not only was his aura magical, but so was his horn's. I didn't get a chance to take a closer look, but there was something special about it. I'm not even going to mention that one to Mrs. Carter or the Promethean Foundation. I think it is in the right hands. The real danger would be sequestering it away from an arist like Miles. When it was time to go back on stage, I "handed" Miles his horn and he told me I reminded him of his grandmother. I'm pretty sure that's a compliment. Even better, we got seats right upfront for the rest of the night, and Miles even said, "this next one is for my friend Lisa." What an amazing evening at the Blue Lotus. What could be better?
The rest of the night was less exciting. We were in Malibu, then the Hollywood Hills. We investigated the death of a private investigator somehow affiliated with the Tuttle Estate auction, then went to a huge mansion in the hills where we presumed a party was going on. It turned out the party was over, and what was happening when we arrived was a Thelemic initiation ritual for three people in Marjorie's coven. Genda was able to communicate with spirits that told us what was happening, but we were not permitted to enter the premises. Some of Marjorie's thugs stopped us at the door and would not let us in. When we tried to convince them otherwise, they tried to get rough (unsuccessfully, I might add).
We made it back to the Alden House late. I'm not sure where this leaves us, but I feel that Marjorie is going to be difficult. Her apathy toward what we're trying to accomplish is a hurdle that can only be overcome through bribery, or maybe personal favors.