Chapter 432: 221B Baker Street, London
"Darcie!" Madam Villanelle shouted. "Don't remain in the dark for so long, dear. Bring the book here."
"Aye!" an old, manly voice nodded in agreement.
Evening was about, and almost the entire Diagon Alley was deserted. A gray blur had taken over the entire magical kingdom, along with entire southern England.
The blizzard had arrived in the morning after days of light snowing. Snow had piled up to the knees, the wind was hammering at the windows, and a chill was seeping into the very bones of wizards and muggles alike.
Such a cold bout of weather hadn't been seen for ages.
The muggles were calling it the Great Frost.
The Daily Prophet had even named it the Little Ice Age, Darcie remembered, sitting on a stool in the backside of the main hall. On her lap was the book — Dominating Dementors: A True History of Azkaban, already half-read. As she heard her mentor's call, Darcie placed the bookmark and shut the book, though reluctantly.
I hope the visit hasn't been canceled, Darcie wondered. However, a cold flush appeared on her cheeks when she thought of asking about it, knowing well that it would be nothing but selfish to force her mentor to travel in this weather.
It wasn't like they were going somewhere nearby. They would travel to distant countries, like.
Or so Darcie believed.
Darcie jumped off the stool, shivering, and scuttled her way through the misting books. When she entered the main hall, she found the manager, Mr. Pigplanter Hillam, and the assistant manager, Madam Villanelle, seated near the fireplace.
Darcie looked outside, the snow pouring like sheets of white rain. Hopeless.
"Come here, you!" Madam Villanelle pulled her in, tugging her winter coat. "Look at her skin, Mr. Hillam! Doesn't she look paler than usual?"
The manager of Flourish and Blotts Bookseller lazily lifted his head and gave a passing look to Darcie. "She's alright," he mumbled, gaining a sharp look from Madam Villanelle. "Ahem! I mean, you should take care of yourself more properly, no? How about a bowl of hot soup?"
"Thank you, Mr. Hillam," Darcie curtly replied. "I don't think I have the appetite."
Madam Villanelle regarded Darcie's face and smiled. "It's OK," she said, pressing her naked feet toward the fire. "We can't indulge in soups, anyway. It's time we leave for school. A lot of paperwork needs to be attended to, and Darcie's presence is a must."
"We are going?!" Darcie asked, astounded. She had spun so fast that the black scarf around her neck seemed to ripple as if it was alive.
Well, it was. The black scarf was none other than the Familiar, Lilith. The Lethifold.
"Why wouldn't we?" Madam Villanelle asked, her gray, silver eyes beaming with amusement. "Tiny Ice Ages can't hinder great witches like us, can they?"
Darcie nodded several times, thoroughly agreeing with her mentor.
"Surely the paperwork can wait…" Mr. Hillam added, eying the monstrosity of the blizzard raging outside.
The manager and assistant manager then began small talks, but Darcie had nothing to do with it. Her mind had already gone to the wild fantasy she had been dreaming about her training. Where would her mentor take her first? What kind of magic would she learn first?
'We would go to the Hall of Portkeys,' Madam Villanelle had told Darcie on Monday. 'From there, we would take the portkeys to certain wizarding communities outside England across the globe. Generally, traveling outside the country using this way is prohibited. Not to mention, heavily monitored. We don't have to worry about that, though. Milli (-the minister of magic-) would take care of it for us.'
"Darcie…" the older witch's call woke up Darcie. "Let's go. Your clothes and other accessories are packed, right?"
"Yes, mentor," Darcie answered, her dark green eyes shining like two poisonous stars.
The two witches said goodnight to the manager and hurriedly arrived at the Brews and Stews restaurant, holding their frigid breath.
"Ah!" Ms. Crispe, the owner of the restaurant/hotel, gasped. "What in Merlin's name you two are thinking, going out in this weather?! Villanelle…"
Darcie ran up the stairs, leaving her mentor to take on the motherly witch's reprimands. When she entered her room, she found the neatly packed small green suitcase where she had left it. On her bed.
"Dobby."
Crack!
A whip-like crack reverberated, and Dobby apparated next to Darcie, shivering within his thin red cushion cover. "Miss Darcie!" the house-elf cried in joy, hopping up to her. "Dobby knew miss would call Dobby before going."
"Did you, now?" Darcie asked, pressing her brows. "Then where is the muffler you 'found' in the room?"
The house-elf looked shaken. "Dobby hid it in the wine cellar, miss," he whispered, looking down. "Dobby didn't want it to get dirty."
Darcie took a deep breath and sighed. "Listen. I am going… you remember what we discussed, right?"
Dobby puffed his chest, his large ears shrunken with cold. "Miss Darcie need not worry," he squeaked, eying the suitcase with the library under Darcie's bed. "Dobby will not let anyone touch miss' suitcase."
Darcie almost smiled. "Well, I should go, then."
Dobby raised his tiny arms, trembling, and gave two thumbs up to Darcie. "Good luck, miss."
Darcie gave Dobby's head a soft rub, and hurried down, carrying her small, green suitcase.
Miss Crispe was waiting for her there, holding two bowls of hot soup.
*
*
Crack!!! Shuuuuu!!!
Madam Villanelle and Darcie apparated near a snow-laden street, the blizzard's wind howling over the city's sky.
The moment they appeared, Madam Villanelle took out her wand and cast a spell, isolating her and Darcie from the cold weather. "We are here," she said, eying the buildings. "This weather is truly becoming a nasty thing, isn't it?"
"We are here?!" Darcie exclaimed, hugging herself, looking around. "Where are we, mentor?"
The day had lost the last stretch of light, going cold and dark. Street lamps had lit up, but amid the snowstorm, they felt as useless as a drop of water against a blazing fire.
Madam Villanelle didn't answer Darcie outright and began walking, casting the spell to keep the cold outside now and then. "At first, the Six Seats had planned to begin your training from outside England," she said after a bit of a walk. "But then you mentioned your interest in Kabbalah and its concepts and Alchemy-related subjects. That got me thinking, and the plans changed."
Darcie's mouth had taken an O shape. She had never thought that her casual words could bring about a change in the Six's plans. "Then…"
"The first organization is recommended by both Orange and Purple Seats," Madam Villanelle shouted to compensate for the storm. "You will spend a great length of time here, Darcie. Over 18 months, I presume. Now, let me warn that the two individuals who would see to your training are quite… exceptional."
Darcie's mind was hung up on the Seats named by her mentor. Both Orange and Purple Seats? Wouldn't that make this organization a recommendation from Hermes Trismegistus and King Solomon themselves?
What kind of abnormal organization could garner the attention of such extraordinary figures?
And this organization, those individuals, were here?!
No matter how Darcie looked around, she couldn't help but conclude that they were deep into the muggle's society.
It was then Madam Villanelle suddenly stopped. "Darcie," she said, looking down at her with a rare solemnity. "Remember, the two figures we are meeting today are exceptionally outstanding, even though there history and achievements were tampered by the Order of the Immortal Lotus. They have a brilliant command over countless subjects. But their personality… Sigh! Hmm, it's you, so it should be fine, I guess."
"I…" Darcie mumbled, her nose gaining a red tinge. "… I don't understand."
Madam Villanelle shook her head. "Just be yourself," she advised. "I have an inkling that they will test your aptitude first, both magical and logical."
"Mentor," Darcie squeaked, rather sharply, "where are we?!"
Madam Villanelle held Darcie's hand and brought her to a Georgian Terrace, a yellow bulb lighting the house number on the main door. "We are in London," she told Darcie. "And the individuals we are visiting… are ghosts."
Darcie couldn't believe her eyes. She spun her head once more to the street before coming back to the metallic plate. "221B Baker Street…" she mumbled, ghostly. "This… but this…"
Darcie scarcely lost her composure, but if something could shake her, then it was certainly this address.
221B Baker Street was the address of the worldly famous fictional detective Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, Darcie remembered. Though she had read none of the books related to him personally, it was hard to not recall this name when she was blessed with an exceptional memory.
"We…" Darcie found herself short of words.
"It's just a front," Madam Villanelle told her, flicking her wand. "The actual residence is concealed from the eyes of muggles… and most of the wizardkind as well."
A bright light shone out of the wand, and the nameplate lit up, transforming into a many-colored cross, with round edges, and covered in strange geometrical configurations and glyphs.
It didn't end there.
The entire building was undergoing some mystical change as if this cross had opened up a hidden chamber.
Darcie's pupils trembled.
"Have you seen this before?" Madam Villanelle asked, pointing at the cross. "Well, all introductions can wait. Let's go."
Darcie mechanically pressed forward as Madam Villanelle opened the main door. They took 17 steps of stairs to arrive at another door, which opened up the moment the older witch tapped her wand on it.
The witches entered a dark hall, cold fog lingering in its darker corners.
"God!" Madam Villanelle pointed her wand at the fireplace, making it explode with fire. "You could build a fire at the least, couldn't you?"
"Haha!"
A boisterous laugh echoed in the hall, but it also felt lacking substance.
The entire hall lit up with lanterns and candles, then.
This hall was a large sitting room, Darice observed. It was cheerfully furnished and illuminated by two broad windows. In the middle of the room, on a table, there was some kind of construct.
Darcie couldn't see this construct, because hovering between her and the table were two old ghosts, smiling at her.
The left ghost, richly dressed, had a thick mustache. There was an odd glint in his ghostly eyes as he looked at Darcie as if he was discerning secrets from her little appearance.
The right ghost, with a mustache not thinner than the first ghost, had a comely smile on his face. In his hands, there was a ghostly book. One could barely discern that the cover of the thick book had been black and gold when it was real.
Both ghosts were smoking pipes, puffs of smoke leaving their smokier appearance.
Darcie… recognized them, thunderstruck.
Madam Villanelle stepped forward. "Here she is," she began, putting a hand over the young Malfoy's shoulder. "The very one. The most brilliant witch of her generation. And the promised, chosen, and most probably… the fated Indigo Seat. Darcie Malfoy."
Then Madam Villanelle looked down at Darcie and winked. "Darcie," she said, introducing the ghosts, her hand pointing at the ghost left to them, first. "You are in the presence of Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, the Chief of the 1st Circle."
Sir Conan Doyle laughed, lifted his hat, and bowed.
Nobility was rooted in Darcie's bones. Though utterly gobsmacked, Darcie gave a curtsy as expected of her status, birth, and manners.
Madam Villanelle nodded at that. "To our right," she continued, pointing at the ghost holding the book, "we have the great mystic expert, Arthur Edward Waite, the Chief of the 2nd Circle. With your reading habit, you must have realized where we are…"
Darcie had to nod. She should have realized sooner when Madam Villanelle told her it was an organization recommended by Orange Seat, Hermes Trismegistus, and Purple Seat, King Solomon.
The ghost of A. E. Waite glided toward Darcie, smiling amiably. "Welcome to the secret society devoted to the study and practice of occult Hermeticism and metaphysics," he said, his voice thinner than fog. "Welcome…"
The ghost of Sir Arthur Doyle glided in, and both ghosts said together.
"… to the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn!"
*****************
AN (Not for Discord Members):
Following up with the Author's Note posted in the end of the last chapter, 3 out of 4 Tiers on Patre0n (Elder God, Great Old One, and Tower Scion) are now stand closed, i.e. I am not taking more Patrons in those Subscription Tiers. This has left only one Subscription Tier, Tower Lord (the highest tier - 25$), which officially used to offer ~52000 Words ahead of Webnovel.
As of now, the Tower Lord Tier, on the same price, offers ~70000 Words ahead of Webnovel [50 Chapters with avg. 1400 Words/Chapter, equivalent to 3 months' worth of Chapters on Webnovel]. And it is still a Subscription Tier, i.e. it will get updated with ~5 chapters/week for a long time.
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