Arthur Monroe Continues...

Entry 2

There were countless preparations to make. I first suspended heavy satin tapestries over the walls and door – each with unique and ancient markings, which writhed and melted into one another behind dancing mists of incense. Unfathomably intricate shapes flowed up the sturdy threadwork like thirsting rivers reaching for the rain filled summit of a mountain. At the ceiling they merged with the circular pattern on yet another cloth- a perfect square of porous silk, permitting unseen stars beams to permeate both wood and cloth above and settle on the markings that I scrawled below. My markings ought not be recorded here, for fear of discovery by someone of lesser will or talent, but they were made from the bone white ashes of burning sandalwood on a charred plane of slate.

Throughout the springtime, I repeated this process of preparing and dismantling my chamber, slowly exhausting my supplies. I spent uncounted hours searching through darkness and fire, but could not find the Thing that I had grown to rely on so dearly. I sought each of my usual informants and extracted every unpaid favor that I could from the devils. I commanded and bargained, I tricked and bribed, and I wondered in feverish panic. I could scarcely sleep at night, nor eat more than was absolutely necessary. I grew too weak even to conjure the petty exploits and effulgent ruses that Dianne loved so much.

Where was my brooding contact? Where was my teacher, my patron, my master?