Page 67 of The Messengers of Magic

The Hidden Journal of John Dee

T oday, Kelley and I arrived in the small village near Gare Loch, to inspect the house that will serve as the site for the next phase of our work.

Though Kelley has regained some of his strength, he remains too weak to commune with the divine yet.

I worry for him as each scrying session seems to drain him not only physically but mentally, and more profoundly than the last. But I need him for the spell, and for now, he must focus on this task.

Giordano is not with us, nor have I shared the truth of our failure with him.

He still believes that the ritual we performed has repaired the tear in time, and I will not tell him otherwise.

This is my burden to carry. It was my idea, my ambition, that set these events in motion.

Though Giordano’s calculations and craftsmanship were instrumental in the creation of the Astral Synchronum, the fault is mine, and I will not risk drawing him into this further.

The house we have come to see is a tall two-story structure of gray flagstone. It stands larger than my own home, more suited for a shop or a public house than a private dwelling. Yet, it is exactly what we needed.

Inside, the building was as unwelcoming as its exterior.

It was cold and damp. The walls inside were caked with years’ worth of grime, and the building’s tall windows were dusty and shrouded in shadow, giving the entire place an air of melancholy.

We explored the rooms in silence, looking for a place where we might hide the Synchronum.

We found what we needed: an old root cellar beneath the main floor. The space was dark, its walls hewn from stone, and the air was heavy with stillness. It was hidden, secure, and perfectly suited for sealing the Astral Synchronum away.

Flora is someone Kelley knows well, a woman of considerable skill in the craft, though she must keep her talents carefully concealed.

Though I have long sought knowledge in the occult, I hold witches with a wary respect; their craft, for all its power, is easily turned to dangerous ends.

In these times, their talents must be hidden, for those who are discovered rarely escape the wrath that follows.

Flora, however, from what Kelley tells me of her, is not the sort of woman to be easily intimidated.

She has survived, hidden in plain sight, a woman of means who might never be seen as anything more than the quiet merchant’s wife.

She is cautious, and she must remain so, and we must take every precaution not to be seen here with her.

The spell we perform tomorrow must be discreet, and we must ensure that Flora’s involvement remains a secret.

I dare not call her a witch aloud, but that is what she is, by all the old ways, by every measure of magic known to those who walk this path.

And yet, in this place and time, the word itself is a curse.

If we are not careful, she could easily be accused, and if that happens, the consequences will be dire for all of us, for associating with a known witch could bring the eyes of the law too closely upon us.

Tomorrow, we will meet her in the shadows of night, and the spell will be cast. The Synchronum must be sealed, hidden away, and bound by her powers.

Only then can we begin to hope that the rip will remain sealed, that time itself will hold steady at least for now until I can find one of these Nephilim to seal the rip permanently.