8. Chapter Eight
Sitting on the altar in the middle of the room was an immense stone tablet. The members of the Crescent Order were nowhere to be seen. Brody walked towards the altar. Grace wandered the room. They didn’t have a chance to investigate it earlier, and she was curious if there was more to the room than the four doors. She tried each one of them, including the one they had just come through. They were all locked. Grace wasn’t surprised. Their hosts were determined to see if they had the mettle to make it through their test and be worthy. She sighed, and as she was about to turn back to Brody, she noticed the cryptic symbols etched into the walls.
Brody gazed down at the tablet and the inscriptions etched into it. The language and symbols were intricate yet seemed familiar. He ran his fingers through his head for a moment and then looked up at Grace. He watched the way she ran her fingers along the wall and the cryptic symbols etched there. It was like she was caressing a lover, her fingers slowly tracing each symbol. He had to look away. Her simple gesture turned him on, his jeans getting tighter by the moment. The last thing he needed was his concentration broken.
“Do you have any idea what all this is?” Grace finally asked, turning to look at Brody. She tilted her head, her lips twitching slightly as she caught him readjusting his pants. “You good over there?” she asked affectionately as she approached the altar.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he answered, his voice a touch huskier than usual. He ran a finger along the edge of the tablet. “I think I might…” He slipped past her to look at the wall she had been inspecting and then returned to the tablet. “Huh.”
“Huh…what?”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, this is a very old form of Ancient Greek.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up the notepad. His mind was racing as he pieced together the inscription on the tablet. His eyes lit up in excitement and determination as he worked to translate the tablet, using pieces of the etchings on the walls around them to put the whole thing together. “Okay.”
“Before you even start, where did you learn Ancient Greek?” Grace asked.
He gazed up at her. “College. Plus, my grandmother spoke Greek. She learned it from her nanny.” He shook his head. “I thought you knew that.”
“No. Can’t say as I did.” She pointed to the tablet. “What do we have?”
“We have the story of Lycaon. He was the king of Arcadia, a proud man known for his wealth and power. But he grew arrogant and doubted the wisdom of the gods. Human sacrifice was known to the Greeks, and Lycaon wanted to test the omniscience of the gods by serving them human flesh disguised as a feast, namely the flesh of one of his many sons. Now, serving human flesh at any feast was considered blasphemy. And when the Greek gods heard about this, they descended upon Lycaon’s palace in the guise of travelers. Zeus saw through the deception.”
“What happened?” Grace asked. She was familiar with some Greek stories, but this one was new.
“He was incensed by the king’s audacity and unleashed his anger upon him and his kingdom in full Zeus style, lightning, the earth trembling, the works. He punished Lycaon by turning him into a wolf, forever cursed to roam the forests as a reminder of the consequences of mortal arrogance. There are numerous variations to the myth, including one that said if the wolf refrained from eating human meat for one year, the king would be restored to his human self.”
Grace thought about it for a moment. “So how does this tie into our murders? Are you saying that these were ritualistic? That someone is trying to…I don’t know…summon a werewolf or a rugarou?” she asked.
“I think whoever is doing the killing is trying to enact some divine retribution. Remember what the old man said to us. He told us to look deeper into the homeless that have been killed already. There has to be some connection between them and our killer and the Crescent Order.”
Grace pointed to the last part of the tablet. “So, what does that say?”
“It’s an incantation—a very old one. Shadows whisper, secrets wail, Blood to gods, our souls assail. Echoes haunt, in darkness veiled.“ The door on the far side of the room opened with Brody’s words, and the members of the Crescent Order filled the room.
“You have done well, Sheriffs,” the leader intoned. He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with approval. “You have passed the trials and are now ready to uncover the truth.”
“And what would that be? The killer’s identity is still eluding us, and I would like to stop them before they strike again,” Grace stated. She was starting to get aggravated by the theatrics and the secrets.
Brody laid his hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her. “You must forgive the Sheriff. We’re both tired and hungry and not getting any further in this case.”
The leader nodded. “Then let us be brief. Our Order goes back to the earliest days of New Orleans when our French ancestors first set foot on the banks of the mighty Mississippi. They were practitioners of ancient and arcane rituals that eventually became absorbed into the city’s culture with the beliefs and practices of the slaves and other religious orders. The Crescent Order was formed to be the keepers of this forgotten knowledge, the guardians of these rituals, and the stewards of the city’s mysteries. From ancient Egyptian lore to Greek mythos to the esoteric teachings of alchemy, we have kept these things from being lost and being abused by those looking for power and enlightenment.”
“So you’re not some evil secret society, then?” Grace commented. She leaned back against Brody, fatigue starting to settle in.
The leader chuckled. “I didn’t say that,” he offered. “We are the evil entity you envision us to be when the city needs us to be. We have always played a silent but influential role in shaping the history of New Orleans. We have always protected the city and the people who live here from things they do not need to encounter. The legend of Lycaon is a cautionary tale, a reminder of the consequences of seeking forbidden knowledge and defying the divine. Remember the story and pay attention to the krewes at the next Mardi Gras. You’ll know which one we are.”
“What about my murderer?” Grace asked tiredly.
The members of the Crescent Order had started to leave. The leader turned back to look at her. “The person you are looking for is using the sigil of the Loa to throw you off the track and misdirect what they are doing towards us. We are not the ones behind this. And the killer is not one of our Order.” He folded his hands at his waist. “Look to the victims, past and present. And look at your own house. We will not stand in your way to bring the killer to justice.” Without another word, he left, leaving Grace and Brody to find their way out.