Post by fenris on Mar 9, 2006 19:40:13 GMT
Episode #4: Dark She Was, and Black of Eyes.
Previously on Hex: brief clips from episode #1 – Malachi being introduced on the chat show as the founder of the New Church; Leon being introduced as the creator of a website debunking Malachi and his organisation.
A clip from episode #6 of the second season – Ella pulling Perie’s fairy-form out of her body.
Clips from episode #3 – Lilith asking Jo “How goes the search?” Jo replying “As expected.” Lilith asking “And the other item?”; Ella explaining “the more strife and chaos that exists, the more Malachi can feed off of it”; Lilith telling Jo “One of my people has been assigned/expect my brethren at noon”; Ella decapitating the Nephilim; Jo saying “I’ve got some work/that requires someone with your unique talents”; the closing shot of Perie.
Ella sits cross-legged on a dirty bare floor in near-complete darkness, the only light source being a single candle, standing in an old-fashioned metal candle-holder on the ground in front of her. It’s constantly flickering light casts a red glow on both her face and the simple sackcloth gown she’s wearing. She speaks, looking not at the flame but above it, seemingly at something far away;
“As the End of Days approaches, open unrelenting war will break out, not only amongst those few remaining nations still desperately clinging to peace, but also between every government and it’s people. And this will merely be the beginning. Crops will start to fail all over the world. Then livestock and other animals will fall sick and die in their hundreds of millions. Food will go rotten, regardless of whether it’s packed, canned or frozen. Milk will turn sour. Fresh water will become salty. Hunger and famine will sweep the globe. Disease will run rampant, as long forgotten plagues re-emerge and spread unchecked. Mankind will turn on itself, in a primeval, insane frenzy for survival. Societies will collapse. Civilizations will fall. Life will be judged so cheap as to be worthless. Parents will murder offspring. Children will slaughter parents. Siblings will throttle the very last breath from each other. Mothers will cut the throats of babes. Millions will die. Then, when the End arrives, earthquakes, storms, hurricanes and fire will erupt across the globe and sweep the Earth clean. Nothing will survive.”
As Ella finishes, a dark shape sits up alongside her, and we hear the click of a battery-operated torch being switched on. Thelma appears, lit up from below as she shines the torch at her own face.
“You really need to lighten up.” She says.
Ella wakes up. She’s lying on her back, on the mattress with Leon. He’s still asleep and lying next to her on his side, his face buried in her hair, one arm placed protectively over her. They’re both under a plain, dark blue duvet. Ella looks up at Thelma, who’s standing in her medical scrubs at the foot of the mattress. Ella goes to speak, but Thelma holds out her hands, palms out, and gets her defence in first;
“I only just popped in.” She says quickly. “You were mumbling in your sleep. I thought you were having a bad dream. I only wanted to help.”
Not too convinced, Ella grumpily glares at her.
“Honest?” Says Thelma with a nervous smile.
Ella’s too tired to argue: “Well, it was a bad dream, so I suppose I forgive you. IF you make me some coffee.” She grumbles.
“Coming up.” Declares Thelma cheerfully, turning and leaving the room.
Cut to the flat’s main living area a few seconds later. Thelma’s filling the kettle at the sink in the kitchen area. A small digital clock on the counter reads 02:05. Ella wanders in from the bedroom, wearing just a black t-shirt that preserves her decency by only a few inches.
“You ought to consider yourself lucky, you know.” Chats Thelma as Ella sits on a tall four-legged stool that’s the latest addition to the kitchen area, “I could have ravished you, and you couldn’t have done a thing about it. I did that to Cassie once. Annoyed the hell out of her.”
She switches the kettle on. There’s silence for a couple of seconds. Ella sits on the stool, Thelma spoons coffee into a mug.
“Do you want to hear something awful?” Thelma murmurs, not looking at Ella. “Sometimes a couple of days go past, and suddenly I realise that I haven’t thought about her.”
“Cassie?” Asks Ella.
Thelma nods: “My first love. Unrequited, but it was still love. That’s one thing meeting her taught me - you can’t choose who you fall in love with. I always thought it would be a cute Goth chick who was dynamite in the sack. And then I fell for a blonde who was straighter than a ruler.” She shrugs.
Ella speaks, clearly choosing her words carefully;
“Do you still think about Maya?” She broaches.
Thelma looks at Ella and grins wistfully. She’s becoming tearful, not from sadness, but due to the emotions that reminiscing causes.
“The love of my life. Well, afterlife anyway.” She says, correcting herself. “It was different from Cassie. It was mutual. Maya loved me as much as I loved her. And after she left, I used to think about her everyday.”
Thelma stops, and gazes at the kettle. Whips of steam are gently starting to emerge from the spout. She moves her hand through them, despite the fact she can’t feel them.
“But recently,” She murmurs sadly, “recently I’ve noticed that occasionally a day’s gone by and I didn’t think of her. It’s only happened a couple of times. But I’m worried that I starting to forget her, the same as I am with Cassie.”
Ella gazes at her friend for a few seconds, then leans in. “Thelma,” She says softly “I’m been alive for four and a half centuries, and I’ve buried more lovers than I want to remember. One thing I’ve learnt is that memories fade because they’re supposed to. Nobody’s meant to permanently hold on to that much grief. But we are the people we are because of what we’ve experienced and learnt from those we’ve loved along the way. By carrying on and living your life, you’re not forgetting your loved ones. You’re honouring them.”
Thelma looks sheepishly as Ella. The ghost is still tearful, but in a good way.
“You know, I don’t think I’m the right person to be talking about ‘living life’ to.” Thelma grins ruefully.
Ella giggles.
“Seriously though, when Cassie died I knew I’d never have such a good friend again.” Thelma smiles, sniffing. “But then I got to know you, Ella Dee.”
The kettle’s boiling. Thelma wipes her eyes, then pours the water into the waiting mug.
“You sure you want this?” She cautions Ella. “You won’t get to sleep again. And you need your rest after the day you’ve just had. Foiling assassinations, preventing wars, killing Nephilim.”
Ella shakes her head: “I won’t sleep again anyway. Not tonight.”
She takes the mug and sips the coffee. Thelma leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and watches her thoughtfully.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Thelma comments. “You’re not letting on to Leon or Midge, but you can’t hide it from me. I know you too well. So c’mon, level with me, Annointed One to ghost.”
Ella smiles slightly, acknowledging Thelma’s perceptiveness.
“We’re on the last lap, Thelma. The final straight. And we’re playing for the highest stakes possible. If we screw up, the world ends and everybody dies. If I wasn’t worried, I wouldn’t be the right person for the job.”
“Well, I’m not worried.” Declares Thelma reassuringly.
“Of course not.” Ella smiles and says mockingly, a glint in her eye. “You’re already dead. You’re probably looking forward to the company.”
Thelma grins: “Touche’.” She says.
Cut to a large, darkened office in the New Church’s London headquarters, with desks and computers lined up in unimaginative formation. A clock on the wall reads a quarter past two. A man in his early forties is bent over a computer, his face illuminated by the screen’s glare. He looks nervous, furtive. His clothes are casual, but smart: trousers and a shirt but no tie. The screen reads ‘Download complete.’ He removes a disc from the drive and hurriedly logs out, then switches the computer off. Putting on his coat, he shoves the disc into one of it’s pockets and goes to leave the office. Taking one last look around the room, he closes the door, turns to walk down the lit corridor – and gives a slight start as he comes face-to-face with Alex, standing just a couple of feet away. She’s still wearing her oxygen mask and pulling along the accompanying cylinder. The only clothing she has on is a pink short-sleeved nightshirt (it’s more like a long t-shirt) that reaches down to her shapely upper thighs. Regarding him coolly and unblinkingly, she makes a show of slowly lifting the mask a inch from her face, allowing her to talk.
“Working late…” She looks at his name tag, “Graham?”
Her voice is a raspy, gravel-like whisper. Recovering his composure slightly as Alex replaces the mask, Graham nods: “Yes. Just finishing up a few things. That needed finishing” A pause. “You?” He asks.
Alex slowly raises a hand and lifts the mask again: “I couldn’t sleep.” She says simply, somehow making it sound like an important declaration.
She replaces the mask. Another pause.
“Well, goodnight then.” Says Graham, a little too quickly, then he hurries in the direction of the lifts.
Alex watches him go. She turns and looks at the door he emerged from. Opening it, she steps into the office, pulling the cylinder behind her, and calmly looks about. We see her eyes glow faintly yellow in the darkness.
Opening titles.
Jo’s bedroom in her apartment at the New Church’s London headquarters. Jo enters, wearing a short black skirt and see-through black top, with a black bra visible underneath. She glances at her watch. 11:58. Opening one of the wardrobes, Jo removes five dark coloured outfits on their hangers, and – separating them - lays them out flat on the huge four poster bed (Note: these are the same outfits from the scene in Jo’s room in Episode #3). She glances towards the room’s large glass windows, and they slide open. She looks again her watch. 11:59. Several seconds pass. 12:00. On cue, a large jet-black raven flies in through the windows and, flapping, perches on the edge of the dressing table. As Jo closes the windows with another glance, the raven sits there, perfectly calm.
“I’ve been expecting you.” Says Jo to the bird. “Please introduce yourself.”
The raven’s shape starts to change: it swells, grows, and it’s body is then enveloped in bright light. A mass of black feathers bursts out into the room, from floor to ceiling, before falling and drifting down like snow drops and covering the floor. A naked and slim young woman with neat, short black hair crouches on the dressing table. She looks at Jo with eyes that don’t blink and are completely black, then steps down off the table, and with head slightly bowed, walks across the room and kneels in front of the ex-teacher.
“My name is Corvide.” She states in a voice that is surprisingly soft. “I will do whatever you wish, assist you however you require, and pleasure you in anyway you desire. My life and body are yours.”
“Please rise.” Says Jo.
Corvide gracefully gets to her feet, raising her head and looking at Jo as she does so. She closes her eyes for a second, and this appears to be a precise, considered activity, as though she’s not used to it. When she reopens them, they are no longer completely black but look human, although a vivid green.
“You have your mother’s eyes.” Comments Jo.
“She sends her regards, mistress.” Replies Corvide.
Jo smiles: “From this moment, you may act and talk in an informal manner. You’re been briefed as to the situation here?” Corvide nods and Jo continues: “I believe it would unwise for Malachi and most of his inner circle to be aware of your true nature and status. It would…” She considers the most appropriate word to use. “..complicate matters.” She concludes.
“Understood.” Says Corvide with a nod.
“I’ve prepared a choice of outfits for you.” Says Jo, indicating the clothes on the bed “I’m told that they’re all in your size.”
The young woman walks over to the bed, picks up one of the outfits and shakes it once to free it of feathers. “Don’t worry,” She says, examining the outfit and slipping into informality as requested, “If they don’t fit perfectly, I’ll just amend myself.”
“Excellent.” Declares Jo. “Once you’re ready, there’s someone we have to meet.”
Cut to a wide, leafy, tree-lined road on the outskirts of suburbia. A limousine is parked in the street outside the mental asylum where Perie has been receiving treatment. Cut to a waiting room inside the facility, where Jo and Corvide both sit. Jo explains to Corvide that when Ella extracted and torched Perie’s ‘fairy self’, she didn’t actually kill Perie. Instead, she ripped practically all of Perie’s magical energy (and part of her mind) out of her human form, leaving Perie extremely weakened, and insane. But she has slowly recovered, and is being released from the asylum into Jo’s care. Jo tells Corvide that although she’s still not yet back to her full strength, Perie is still a highly capable and extremely resourceful individual, and henceforth she will be employed by Jo to clean up Malachi’s various messes. A door opens, and a doctor enters the room, followed by Perie and a nurse. Perie is wearing a brown figure-hugging top with bell sleeves, frilly short black skirt and black leggings. The doctor produces various forms that Jo signs, and gives Jo several small pill bottles containing Perie’s medication. Cut to Jo and Perie emerging from the asylum, with Corvide following a couple of steps behind. As they reach the limousine, Jo turns to Perie and takes both of the faerie’s hands in hers.
“Everything is as we discussed.” Jo tells her. “The New Church has an extensive property portfolio, and I’ve allocated a sizable apartment for you, in a fashionable part of town. We’ll take you there now, so you can get settled in. And then -”
Perie finishes the sentence for her: “Then I can get back to doing what I do best.” She says in her exotic accent. “It will be good to be working again. I have missed it. So very much.”
Cut to the main living area of Ella’s basement flat. Ella and Midge are sharing the sofa, Thelma is sat on the kitchen counter, eating nachos straight from the bag, and Leon is sitting on the chair in front of the desk, but with the chair swung round so he’s facing the room. Leon tells the others that half an hour earlier an anonymous e-mail was sent to his website. The sender claimed to have details of all the bank accounts of the New Church and it’s subsidiaries, including all those secreted away off-shore, and a history of all money movements and transactions. Leon explains that although he’s previous been able to piece together some of the New Church’s financial dealings, with help from his network of contacts, the information that this mystery individual claims to have could expose all of the New Church’s illegal activities. As for the sender’s identity, Leon says that he/she claims in their e-mail to be a concerned individual working for the New Church who’s discovered worrying information that he/she believes should be brought to the public’s attention, and wants to hand it over to Leon in person.
Ella points out that it all seems too good to be true. How do they know this isn’t Malachi attempting to spread misinformation or lay a trap?
Leon says that the sender has anticipated that he (Leon) might be wary, and so wants to meet him in a public place – the location, date and time to follow in a further message. In addition, as ‘a sign of good faith’ the e-mail included an attachment: footage apparently taken by a concealed camera hidden within the main conference room of the New Church’s London headquarters, which has a large and incredibly detailed map of the world inscripted onto the floor. Leon tells the others he’s established that all of the New Church’s major centres across the world have an identical room.
Cut to the main conference room in the New Church’s London headquarters, where Malachi is waiting, clearly impatient. The room is quite large, and several dozen chairs are stacked against the opposing walls on two sides. Jo enters with Corvide. At the sight of the latter, Malachi immediately perks up and becomes animated. He walks over to meet them, flashing his cocky salesman’s smile. “Hello there. It’s always nice to see a fresh young face in this place. Jo, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Malachi, this is Miss Corvide, my new P.A.” says Jo. Clearly under the impression that he’s being charming, Malachi takes Corvide’s hand, then bends and kisses it, at which point Jo adds “and familiar.”
Malachi jerks his face away from Corvide’s hand, his mouth twisted in revulsion, as though he’d just licked a lemon or something equally sour.
“Am I to assume sir, that you’re not into bestiality?” Asks Corvide.
Embarrassed and annoyed, Malachi merely turns towards the map on the floor. Once his back is to Jo and Corvide, he quickly wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, disgust registering on his face.
“Let’s just get this thing over with, shall we?” He blusters.
“As Alex is still recovering, Miss Corvide will take her role.” Jo informs him.
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” Mutters Malachi.
As Malachi walks angrily towards the map, Corvide leans towards Jo and speaks softly, so not to be overheard: “Interesting.” She murmurs, looking at Malachi’s back and tilting her head slightly in curiosity.
“How so?” Whispers Jo.
“He’s incomplete.” Says Corvide, “Part of him is missing.”
“I know.” Replies Jo, with an enigmatic smile.
“Is he aware?” Asks Corvide.
“No.” States Jo. “And that’s the way I wish to keep it.”
Cut to Ella’s flat. Thelma, Midge, Ella and Leon are all clustered around the monitor as Leon runs the footage supplied with the e-mail. The onscreen date of the footage is exactly two weeks earlier, and the footage itself is slightly out-of-focus. They watch as Malachi and two young women walk across the map on the conference room floor, one of the girls talking to Malachi as they do so. The camera is high up, presumably placed on an internal balcony, window-ledge, or suspended walkway, so Malachi and his companions appear small and their voices are faint. Leon boosts the sound as Malachi stands in the centre of the map, while the girls each take up a position at the northern and southern ends. Thelma is the first to recognise the women.
“That’s Alex.” She comments, indicating the girl who was talking, “And the other one’s Shannon.”
Leon, Ella, Thelma and Midge watching the footage of the ritual is intercut with Malachi, Jo and Corvide performing the ritual at their London headquarters in the present, so that Malachi in the footage will start to speak an incantation, and we cut to Malachi in the present finishing it, etc.
Malachi stands in the centre of the map, Alex/Jo at the northern end, and Shannon/Corvide at the southern end. Malachi speaks an unfamiliar, ancient-sounding language, occasionally glancing down (both in the footage and the present) at his hand.
“What’s he doing?” Asks Midge.
“He’s reading from a cue card.” Mutters Thelma in mild disbelief.
At the end of the ritual, Alex/Jo and Shannon/Corvide both open black velvet bags that they’ve been holding throughout the ritual, reach in and then throw the contents – what appear to pebbles – into the air in front of them. “Runes.” Realises Ella.
In both the footage and the present, the runes reach the upper-most point of the arc caused by the throw – but instead of falling, remain suspended in the air. Suddenly they separate and fan out, positioning themselves above certain points of the map. Then they all fall in unison, all landing and remaining perfectly still, not a single one bouncing or rolling.
In the footage, while Malachi and Alex remain in their places, Shannon walks around the map with a notebook and pen, carefully recording the location where each rune has landed, before popping the rune back into her bag. In the present, Corvide does the same. (Note: we don’t see anymore of the fortnight-old footage. The rest of the scene is in the present.)
“Why do we have to keep doing this every week?” Protests Malachi to nobody in particular, tucking the cue card into the front pocket of his quite loud and somewhat tacky shirt.
“You know why. To locate the Grimlore.” States Jo flatly, still standing at the edge of the map, twenty feet away and directly behind him.
“Haven’t we got enough copies of the blasted thing already?” Malachi moans.
He turns to look at her, and is taken aback to find her standing right next to him, looking him in the eye.
“Duplicates are of no use. Not for the purpose we have in mind. We need the original.” She says.
Slightly rattled, Malachi tries to regain his composure. “So why don’t we just find the original then? Why waste time locating all these copies?” He mutters.
Jo stares patiently and unblinkingly at him. Clearly this is something she’s had to explain to him before, more than once, and Malachi is just too stubborn or ignorant to bother to remember.
“Only you can perform the ritual. Only you can find it. And you’re not powerful enough yet to locate it, despite the number of followers you’ve collected thus far. At the level of power you’re achieved, you can only locate copies at present. But we’re getting closer. Our search team in Morocco has reported that the ritual seven days ago pinpointed the location of a third generation copy. Previously, the best we’ve achieved had been fourth and fifth generation. And the more copies we locate and bring here narrows the search and will prevent too many false readings as your powers increase enough to find the original.”
Still annoyed, and not looking at her, Malachi quickly nods and walks away, impatiently waving a hand in her direction: “Fine, fine.” He clearly hasn’t fully grasped what she’d said, or simply doesn’t want to understand. Jo and Corvide watch him go.
Standing at the edge of the map, Corvide waits until Malachi has left the room before speaking;
“Multiple copies? Of the Grimlore?” She asks, casting a quizzical and semi-amused look at Jo.
“A half-truth.” Shrugs Jo. “A few months ago Malachi came across one of our retrieval teams returning with a fifth generation tome, and he got rather excited. I had to tell him something to pacify him.”
“I see.” Says Corvide. “He’s really not very bright, is he?”
“Spend some time in Malachi’s company,” Says Jo dryly, “and you soon realise that if he can’t drink it, snort it, inject it or fornicate with it, then it doesn’t feature highly on his list of priorities. And that’s why I keep him as much out of the loop as possible. The less he knows, the less he can interfere. And the less he interferes, the less he can screw things up.”
“Do you think it’s the part missing from him that causes him to be so careless and easily distracted? So disrespectful and wilful?” Suggests Corvide.
“Perhaps. I’ve considered it.” Jo ponders. “It’s entirely possible.”
“And he really doesn’t suspect?” Corvide asks.
“No.” Jo turns and faces Corvide. “Not at all.”
As Corvide considers this, there’s a knock on the door that Malachi left through a few seconds earlier.
“Enter.” Says Jo, and a young man with Malachi’s mark on his neck nervously walks in.
“I have news for the master.” He says, almost apologetically.
“Malachi’s occupied at the moment.” Murmurs Jo. “I’ll deal with it.”
The incubus pauses for a second: “We’ve received an e-mail,” he begins.
End of Part One.
Previously on Hex: brief clips from episode #1 – Malachi being introduced on the chat show as the founder of the New Church; Leon being introduced as the creator of a website debunking Malachi and his organisation.
A clip from episode #6 of the second season – Ella pulling Perie’s fairy-form out of her body.
Clips from episode #3 – Lilith asking Jo “How goes the search?” Jo replying “As expected.” Lilith asking “And the other item?”; Ella explaining “the more strife and chaos that exists, the more Malachi can feed off of it”; Lilith telling Jo “One of my people has been assigned/expect my brethren at noon”; Ella decapitating the Nephilim; Jo saying “I’ve got some work/that requires someone with your unique talents”; the closing shot of Perie.
Ella sits cross-legged on a dirty bare floor in near-complete darkness, the only light source being a single candle, standing in an old-fashioned metal candle-holder on the ground in front of her. It’s constantly flickering light casts a red glow on both her face and the simple sackcloth gown she’s wearing. She speaks, looking not at the flame but above it, seemingly at something far away;
“As the End of Days approaches, open unrelenting war will break out, not only amongst those few remaining nations still desperately clinging to peace, but also between every government and it’s people. And this will merely be the beginning. Crops will start to fail all over the world. Then livestock and other animals will fall sick and die in their hundreds of millions. Food will go rotten, regardless of whether it’s packed, canned or frozen. Milk will turn sour. Fresh water will become salty. Hunger and famine will sweep the globe. Disease will run rampant, as long forgotten plagues re-emerge and spread unchecked. Mankind will turn on itself, in a primeval, insane frenzy for survival. Societies will collapse. Civilizations will fall. Life will be judged so cheap as to be worthless. Parents will murder offspring. Children will slaughter parents. Siblings will throttle the very last breath from each other. Mothers will cut the throats of babes. Millions will die. Then, when the End arrives, earthquakes, storms, hurricanes and fire will erupt across the globe and sweep the Earth clean. Nothing will survive.”
As Ella finishes, a dark shape sits up alongside her, and we hear the click of a battery-operated torch being switched on. Thelma appears, lit up from below as she shines the torch at her own face.
“You really need to lighten up.” She says.
Ella wakes up. She’s lying on her back, on the mattress with Leon. He’s still asleep and lying next to her on his side, his face buried in her hair, one arm placed protectively over her. They’re both under a plain, dark blue duvet. Ella looks up at Thelma, who’s standing in her medical scrubs at the foot of the mattress. Ella goes to speak, but Thelma holds out her hands, palms out, and gets her defence in first;
“I only just popped in.” She says quickly. “You were mumbling in your sleep. I thought you were having a bad dream. I only wanted to help.”
Not too convinced, Ella grumpily glares at her.
“Honest?” Says Thelma with a nervous smile.
Ella’s too tired to argue: “Well, it was a bad dream, so I suppose I forgive you. IF you make me some coffee.” She grumbles.
“Coming up.” Declares Thelma cheerfully, turning and leaving the room.
Cut to the flat’s main living area a few seconds later. Thelma’s filling the kettle at the sink in the kitchen area. A small digital clock on the counter reads 02:05. Ella wanders in from the bedroom, wearing just a black t-shirt that preserves her decency by only a few inches.
“You ought to consider yourself lucky, you know.” Chats Thelma as Ella sits on a tall four-legged stool that’s the latest addition to the kitchen area, “I could have ravished you, and you couldn’t have done a thing about it. I did that to Cassie once. Annoyed the hell out of her.”
She switches the kettle on. There’s silence for a couple of seconds. Ella sits on the stool, Thelma spoons coffee into a mug.
“Do you want to hear something awful?” Thelma murmurs, not looking at Ella. “Sometimes a couple of days go past, and suddenly I realise that I haven’t thought about her.”
“Cassie?” Asks Ella.
Thelma nods: “My first love. Unrequited, but it was still love. That’s one thing meeting her taught me - you can’t choose who you fall in love with. I always thought it would be a cute Goth chick who was dynamite in the sack. And then I fell for a blonde who was straighter than a ruler.” She shrugs.
Ella speaks, clearly choosing her words carefully;
“Do you still think about Maya?” She broaches.
Thelma looks at Ella and grins wistfully. She’s becoming tearful, not from sadness, but due to the emotions that reminiscing causes.
“The love of my life. Well, afterlife anyway.” She says, correcting herself. “It was different from Cassie. It was mutual. Maya loved me as much as I loved her. And after she left, I used to think about her everyday.”
Thelma stops, and gazes at the kettle. Whips of steam are gently starting to emerge from the spout. She moves her hand through them, despite the fact she can’t feel them.
“But recently,” She murmurs sadly, “recently I’ve noticed that occasionally a day’s gone by and I didn’t think of her. It’s only happened a couple of times. But I’m worried that I starting to forget her, the same as I am with Cassie.”
Ella gazes at her friend for a few seconds, then leans in. “Thelma,” She says softly “I’m been alive for four and a half centuries, and I’ve buried more lovers than I want to remember. One thing I’ve learnt is that memories fade because they’re supposed to. Nobody’s meant to permanently hold on to that much grief. But we are the people we are because of what we’ve experienced and learnt from those we’ve loved along the way. By carrying on and living your life, you’re not forgetting your loved ones. You’re honouring them.”
Thelma looks sheepishly as Ella. The ghost is still tearful, but in a good way.
“You know, I don’t think I’m the right person to be talking about ‘living life’ to.” Thelma grins ruefully.
Ella giggles.
“Seriously though, when Cassie died I knew I’d never have such a good friend again.” Thelma smiles, sniffing. “But then I got to know you, Ella Dee.”
The kettle’s boiling. Thelma wipes her eyes, then pours the water into the waiting mug.
“You sure you want this?” She cautions Ella. “You won’t get to sleep again. And you need your rest after the day you’ve just had. Foiling assassinations, preventing wars, killing Nephilim.”
Ella shakes her head: “I won’t sleep again anyway. Not tonight.”
She takes the mug and sips the coffee. Thelma leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and watches her thoughtfully.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Thelma comments. “You’re not letting on to Leon or Midge, but you can’t hide it from me. I know you too well. So c’mon, level with me, Annointed One to ghost.”
Ella smiles slightly, acknowledging Thelma’s perceptiveness.
“We’re on the last lap, Thelma. The final straight. And we’re playing for the highest stakes possible. If we screw up, the world ends and everybody dies. If I wasn’t worried, I wouldn’t be the right person for the job.”
“Well, I’m not worried.” Declares Thelma reassuringly.
“Of course not.” Ella smiles and says mockingly, a glint in her eye. “You’re already dead. You’re probably looking forward to the company.”
Thelma grins: “Touche’.” She says.
Cut to a large, darkened office in the New Church’s London headquarters, with desks and computers lined up in unimaginative formation. A clock on the wall reads a quarter past two. A man in his early forties is bent over a computer, his face illuminated by the screen’s glare. He looks nervous, furtive. His clothes are casual, but smart: trousers and a shirt but no tie. The screen reads ‘Download complete.’ He removes a disc from the drive and hurriedly logs out, then switches the computer off. Putting on his coat, he shoves the disc into one of it’s pockets and goes to leave the office. Taking one last look around the room, he closes the door, turns to walk down the lit corridor – and gives a slight start as he comes face-to-face with Alex, standing just a couple of feet away. She’s still wearing her oxygen mask and pulling along the accompanying cylinder. The only clothing she has on is a pink short-sleeved nightshirt (it’s more like a long t-shirt) that reaches down to her shapely upper thighs. Regarding him coolly and unblinkingly, she makes a show of slowly lifting the mask a inch from her face, allowing her to talk.
“Working late…” She looks at his name tag, “Graham?”
Her voice is a raspy, gravel-like whisper. Recovering his composure slightly as Alex replaces the mask, Graham nods: “Yes. Just finishing up a few things. That needed finishing” A pause. “You?” He asks.
Alex slowly raises a hand and lifts the mask again: “I couldn’t sleep.” She says simply, somehow making it sound like an important declaration.
She replaces the mask. Another pause.
“Well, goodnight then.” Says Graham, a little too quickly, then he hurries in the direction of the lifts.
Alex watches him go. She turns and looks at the door he emerged from. Opening it, she steps into the office, pulling the cylinder behind her, and calmly looks about. We see her eyes glow faintly yellow in the darkness.
Opening titles.
Jo’s bedroom in her apartment at the New Church’s London headquarters. Jo enters, wearing a short black skirt and see-through black top, with a black bra visible underneath. She glances at her watch. 11:58. Opening one of the wardrobes, Jo removes five dark coloured outfits on their hangers, and – separating them - lays them out flat on the huge four poster bed (Note: these are the same outfits from the scene in Jo’s room in Episode #3). She glances towards the room’s large glass windows, and they slide open. She looks again her watch. 11:59. Several seconds pass. 12:00. On cue, a large jet-black raven flies in through the windows and, flapping, perches on the edge of the dressing table. As Jo closes the windows with another glance, the raven sits there, perfectly calm.
“I’ve been expecting you.” Says Jo to the bird. “Please introduce yourself.”
The raven’s shape starts to change: it swells, grows, and it’s body is then enveloped in bright light. A mass of black feathers bursts out into the room, from floor to ceiling, before falling and drifting down like snow drops and covering the floor. A naked and slim young woman with neat, short black hair crouches on the dressing table. She looks at Jo with eyes that don’t blink and are completely black, then steps down off the table, and with head slightly bowed, walks across the room and kneels in front of the ex-teacher.
“My name is Corvide.” She states in a voice that is surprisingly soft. “I will do whatever you wish, assist you however you require, and pleasure you in anyway you desire. My life and body are yours.”
“Please rise.” Says Jo.
Corvide gracefully gets to her feet, raising her head and looking at Jo as she does so. She closes her eyes for a second, and this appears to be a precise, considered activity, as though she’s not used to it. When she reopens them, they are no longer completely black but look human, although a vivid green.
“You have your mother’s eyes.” Comments Jo.
“She sends her regards, mistress.” Replies Corvide.
Jo smiles: “From this moment, you may act and talk in an informal manner. You’re been briefed as to the situation here?” Corvide nods and Jo continues: “I believe it would unwise for Malachi and most of his inner circle to be aware of your true nature and status. It would…” She considers the most appropriate word to use. “..complicate matters.” She concludes.
“Understood.” Says Corvide with a nod.
“I’ve prepared a choice of outfits for you.” Says Jo, indicating the clothes on the bed “I’m told that they’re all in your size.”
The young woman walks over to the bed, picks up one of the outfits and shakes it once to free it of feathers. “Don’t worry,” She says, examining the outfit and slipping into informality as requested, “If they don’t fit perfectly, I’ll just amend myself.”
“Excellent.” Declares Jo. “Once you’re ready, there’s someone we have to meet.”
Cut to a wide, leafy, tree-lined road on the outskirts of suburbia. A limousine is parked in the street outside the mental asylum where Perie has been receiving treatment. Cut to a waiting room inside the facility, where Jo and Corvide both sit. Jo explains to Corvide that when Ella extracted and torched Perie’s ‘fairy self’, she didn’t actually kill Perie. Instead, she ripped practically all of Perie’s magical energy (and part of her mind) out of her human form, leaving Perie extremely weakened, and insane. But she has slowly recovered, and is being released from the asylum into Jo’s care. Jo tells Corvide that although she’s still not yet back to her full strength, Perie is still a highly capable and extremely resourceful individual, and henceforth she will be employed by Jo to clean up Malachi’s various messes. A door opens, and a doctor enters the room, followed by Perie and a nurse. Perie is wearing a brown figure-hugging top with bell sleeves, frilly short black skirt and black leggings. The doctor produces various forms that Jo signs, and gives Jo several small pill bottles containing Perie’s medication. Cut to Jo and Perie emerging from the asylum, with Corvide following a couple of steps behind. As they reach the limousine, Jo turns to Perie and takes both of the faerie’s hands in hers.
“Everything is as we discussed.” Jo tells her. “The New Church has an extensive property portfolio, and I’ve allocated a sizable apartment for you, in a fashionable part of town. We’ll take you there now, so you can get settled in. And then -”
Perie finishes the sentence for her: “Then I can get back to doing what I do best.” She says in her exotic accent. “It will be good to be working again. I have missed it. So very much.”
Cut to the main living area of Ella’s basement flat. Ella and Midge are sharing the sofa, Thelma is sat on the kitchen counter, eating nachos straight from the bag, and Leon is sitting on the chair in front of the desk, but with the chair swung round so he’s facing the room. Leon tells the others that half an hour earlier an anonymous e-mail was sent to his website. The sender claimed to have details of all the bank accounts of the New Church and it’s subsidiaries, including all those secreted away off-shore, and a history of all money movements and transactions. Leon explains that although he’s previous been able to piece together some of the New Church’s financial dealings, with help from his network of contacts, the information that this mystery individual claims to have could expose all of the New Church’s illegal activities. As for the sender’s identity, Leon says that he/she claims in their e-mail to be a concerned individual working for the New Church who’s discovered worrying information that he/she believes should be brought to the public’s attention, and wants to hand it over to Leon in person.
Ella points out that it all seems too good to be true. How do they know this isn’t Malachi attempting to spread misinformation or lay a trap?
Leon says that the sender has anticipated that he (Leon) might be wary, and so wants to meet him in a public place – the location, date and time to follow in a further message. In addition, as ‘a sign of good faith’ the e-mail included an attachment: footage apparently taken by a concealed camera hidden within the main conference room of the New Church’s London headquarters, which has a large and incredibly detailed map of the world inscripted onto the floor. Leon tells the others he’s established that all of the New Church’s major centres across the world have an identical room.
Cut to the main conference room in the New Church’s London headquarters, where Malachi is waiting, clearly impatient. The room is quite large, and several dozen chairs are stacked against the opposing walls on two sides. Jo enters with Corvide. At the sight of the latter, Malachi immediately perks up and becomes animated. He walks over to meet them, flashing his cocky salesman’s smile. “Hello there. It’s always nice to see a fresh young face in this place. Jo, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Malachi, this is Miss Corvide, my new P.A.” says Jo. Clearly under the impression that he’s being charming, Malachi takes Corvide’s hand, then bends and kisses it, at which point Jo adds “and familiar.”
Malachi jerks his face away from Corvide’s hand, his mouth twisted in revulsion, as though he’d just licked a lemon or something equally sour.
“Am I to assume sir, that you’re not into bestiality?” Asks Corvide.
Embarrassed and annoyed, Malachi merely turns towards the map on the floor. Once his back is to Jo and Corvide, he quickly wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, disgust registering on his face.
“Let’s just get this thing over with, shall we?” He blusters.
“As Alex is still recovering, Miss Corvide will take her role.” Jo informs him.
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” Mutters Malachi.
As Malachi walks angrily towards the map, Corvide leans towards Jo and speaks softly, so not to be overheard: “Interesting.” She murmurs, looking at Malachi’s back and tilting her head slightly in curiosity.
“How so?” Whispers Jo.
“He’s incomplete.” Says Corvide, “Part of him is missing.”
“I know.” Replies Jo, with an enigmatic smile.
“Is he aware?” Asks Corvide.
“No.” States Jo. “And that’s the way I wish to keep it.”
Cut to Ella’s flat. Thelma, Midge, Ella and Leon are all clustered around the monitor as Leon runs the footage supplied with the e-mail. The onscreen date of the footage is exactly two weeks earlier, and the footage itself is slightly out-of-focus. They watch as Malachi and two young women walk across the map on the conference room floor, one of the girls talking to Malachi as they do so. The camera is high up, presumably placed on an internal balcony, window-ledge, or suspended walkway, so Malachi and his companions appear small and their voices are faint. Leon boosts the sound as Malachi stands in the centre of the map, while the girls each take up a position at the northern and southern ends. Thelma is the first to recognise the women.
“That’s Alex.” She comments, indicating the girl who was talking, “And the other one’s Shannon.”
Leon, Ella, Thelma and Midge watching the footage of the ritual is intercut with Malachi, Jo and Corvide performing the ritual at their London headquarters in the present, so that Malachi in the footage will start to speak an incantation, and we cut to Malachi in the present finishing it, etc.
Malachi stands in the centre of the map, Alex/Jo at the northern end, and Shannon/Corvide at the southern end. Malachi speaks an unfamiliar, ancient-sounding language, occasionally glancing down (both in the footage and the present) at his hand.
“What’s he doing?” Asks Midge.
“He’s reading from a cue card.” Mutters Thelma in mild disbelief.
At the end of the ritual, Alex/Jo and Shannon/Corvide both open black velvet bags that they’ve been holding throughout the ritual, reach in and then throw the contents – what appear to pebbles – into the air in front of them. “Runes.” Realises Ella.
In both the footage and the present, the runes reach the upper-most point of the arc caused by the throw – but instead of falling, remain suspended in the air. Suddenly they separate and fan out, positioning themselves above certain points of the map. Then they all fall in unison, all landing and remaining perfectly still, not a single one bouncing or rolling.
In the footage, while Malachi and Alex remain in their places, Shannon walks around the map with a notebook and pen, carefully recording the location where each rune has landed, before popping the rune back into her bag. In the present, Corvide does the same. (Note: we don’t see anymore of the fortnight-old footage. The rest of the scene is in the present.)
“Why do we have to keep doing this every week?” Protests Malachi to nobody in particular, tucking the cue card into the front pocket of his quite loud and somewhat tacky shirt.
“You know why. To locate the Grimlore.” States Jo flatly, still standing at the edge of the map, twenty feet away and directly behind him.
“Haven’t we got enough copies of the blasted thing already?” Malachi moans.
He turns to look at her, and is taken aback to find her standing right next to him, looking him in the eye.
“Duplicates are of no use. Not for the purpose we have in mind. We need the original.” She says.
Slightly rattled, Malachi tries to regain his composure. “So why don’t we just find the original then? Why waste time locating all these copies?” He mutters.
Jo stares patiently and unblinkingly at him. Clearly this is something she’s had to explain to him before, more than once, and Malachi is just too stubborn or ignorant to bother to remember.
“Only you can perform the ritual. Only you can find it. And you’re not powerful enough yet to locate it, despite the number of followers you’ve collected thus far. At the level of power you’re achieved, you can only locate copies at present. But we’re getting closer. Our search team in Morocco has reported that the ritual seven days ago pinpointed the location of a third generation copy. Previously, the best we’ve achieved had been fourth and fifth generation. And the more copies we locate and bring here narrows the search and will prevent too many false readings as your powers increase enough to find the original.”
Still annoyed, and not looking at her, Malachi quickly nods and walks away, impatiently waving a hand in her direction: “Fine, fine.” He clearly hasn’t fully grasped what she’d said, or simply doesn’t want to understand. Jo and Corvide watch him go.
Standing at the edge of the map, Corvide waits until Malachi has left the room before speaking;
“Multiple copies? Of the Grimlore?” She asks, casting a quizzical and semi-amused look at Jo.
“A half-truth.” Shrugs Jo. “A few months ago Malachi came across one of our retrieval teams returning with a fifth generation tome, and he got rather excited. I had to tell him something to pacify him.”
“I see.” Says Corvide. “He’s really not very bright, is he?”
“Spend some time in Malachi’s company,” Says Jo dryly, “and you soon realise that if he can’t drink it, snort it, inject it or fornicate with it, then it doesn’t feature highly on his list of priorities. And that’s why I keep him as much out of the loop as possible. The less he knows, the less he can interfere. And the less he interferes, the less he can screw things up.”
“Do you think it’s the part missing from him that causes him to be so careless and easily distracted? So disrespectful and wilful?” Suggests Corvide.
“Perhaps. I’ve considered it.” Jo ponders. “It’s entirely possible.”
“And he really doesn’t suspect?” Corvide asks.
“No.” Jo turns and faces Corvide. “Not at all.”
As Corvide considers this, there’s a knock on the door that Malachi left through a few seconds earlier.
“Enter.” Says Jo, and a young man with Malachi’s mark on his neck nervously walks in.
“I have news for the master.” He says, almost apologetically.
“Malachi’s occupied at the moment.” Murmurs Jo. “I’ll deal with it.”
The incubus pauses for a second: “We’ve received an e-mail,” he begins.
End of Part One.
