This Whole Thing Is Coming Down...

May God Bless Our Queen

I made a cup of tea today.

But by the time I had stopped crying it had gone cold.

I gladly request a second part to your John wick fic! That was absolutely brilliant. There’s no word to describe my feelings for how shocked I am. It truly brought a tremble to my hands. ;)

Thank you for your kind words, dear reader.

At the time of it’s production: ‘John Wick: Altum V’ was originally written as a stand alone short story. However, considering it has received such warm and positive review: it’s sequential continuation may be published exclusively to this blog very shortly. We warmly invite you to check back often for updates and thank you earnestly for your support. 

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Yours Truly,

 L. G. Spider

Very little was left unconsumed. And that which she did not say in words, she gave in blood.

I was wrong.

I sinned against you.

I've always known I was beneath you.

Your dog.

You've always cut me, down to the bone.

And I've never been strong enough to fight you off.

Even if I told myself otherwise.

Stop it. Stop hurting me.

I've got no soul to sell.

I gave you the last piece.

It's killing me.

Losing you like this.

Help me get away from myself.

You bring me closer to God.

{Don't make me sleep alone.}

And one day.... She'll take it all back.

JW. Blood of The Raven King

John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

Act One || Scene Three || In This House

Bobby could not have been happier than the moment in which her plane touched down upon the runway of the John F. Kennedy International Airport. Her eight and a half hour direct flight from London in business class had been exceptionally uneventful save for the enormous amount of reading and rock music listening to that she had divert her attention whilst the other passengers either slept, watched films or worked quietly, keeping very much to themselves. She may have drifted off to sleep once or twice only to jolt awake and re-read the same passage of her history book for the eighth time in a row. Finally, when she grew tired of this, she set down her book and resorted to people watching. Glancing upon them for a moment or so then taking hold her note book and writing a line or two of random nonsense that popped into her head and was based entirely on the impression she received from simply looking over their faces.

 Ah, but when the pilot finally announced that they had entered American airspace, she was at once vividly awake and full of anxious energy. New York always had a way of feeling like a home away from home. Naturally, it was because Uncle Winston was there, in his grand and busy hotel. And Mr. Charon whom she thought was just spectacular in his refinement and elegance. And she had friends in New York too. Friends she’d met online, through correspondence and via her studies. Members of her expedition crew that lived across Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens. She was excited to meet with her closest friends and research companions that had stayed by her sidelong after her misadventure with the Purvrian cartel of criminals, Constance and Nathanial. Traditionally English born but American settled. Both of these friends were as well-travelled, loyal to a cause, dedicated to each other and as heartfelt as she could ever have hoped to have in colleagues. Especially colleagues that agreed, her research for the resurgence of the Raven King was not a bout of absolute madness to be relegated to the confines of mythological studies along with classical Roman and Grecian Gods and Irish or Welsh fables and legends. Like Bobby, they believed she was on to something. That she was perhaps a little obsessive, but there was definite web, just beneath the surface. And they were so close in uncovering it. They hoped it would occur together. But they didn't fully understand the depth of Bobby's inadvertent involvement in the darkness of society. And Bobby's tender heart and good nature meant she would not reveal it to them in so long as she could help it. It was Constance however that started to put the pieces of the mystery together not long after Bobby had awoken from her coma. She had confessed her private investigations to Nathanial whom helped her dig a little deeper. And in the months of therapy and rehabilitation that followed, Connie and Nate became Bobby's sole support network outside of Winston or Charon. She had begged them both.

"Please, guys, please... If you don't know anything, you can't be held accountable. So stop asking. Stop investigating. Everything you've been doing. You may be right. You may be wrong. It doesn't matter anymore. What's been done is done. Nothing is going to change. And I want to leave it all behind. So I'm begging you, let it die." Heartbroken for their friend and her suffering, they reluctantly acquiesced the request. If capture and torture was an indicator of what Bobby was worth, they could only imagine the depth of filth in which they would have to traverse to come to a reasonable conclusion. Amongst themselves, Connie and Nate came to the understanding that there was a strong possibility that the Sicilian Mafia was likely involved. If they had to hazard a guess they had began to point their fingers at a Camorra family. But Bobby had asked them to let it go. And they did. For now.  

Alas, Bobby could not make her way off the plane and through customs and security fast enough. She travelled light, with a single flight case, a backpack, a hatbox and a smaller overnight carry-on bag in a range of battered complimenting leathers that she had taken an affinity for as they belonged to her late father. She only ever carried the bare minimum in clothing, footwear and cosmetics, dedicating the majority of her bag space to books, ledgers, photographic cameras, laptops, external hard drives, power supplies and drawing pencils. Whatever else she needed or wanted she would buy in whatever part of the world she was in at the time. If it was large or bulky she'd have it shipped home by post. And on occasion, her travels had seen her to booking a freight container to carry some incredible artworks or furniture pieces that she had discovered across Europe and Asia to be transported back to her countryside home in Essex. The results were a bohemian, antique concoction of colour and texture, style and shape that added an endless warmth to the otherwise dated and plain English timber that her mother and father had thought was perfectly charming at the time.

The moment it was prudent, Bobby pulled out her mobile phone, swapped out her SIM card from the UK carrier to her American carrier and called her Uncle with the exuberance of a schoolgirl.

"Uncle Winston? I'm here! I've just arrived!"

"Very good my girl, welcome back to New York City. I trust your flight was pleasant?"

"Restful if nothing else, Uncle. I'm dying to see you. Were you able to arrange for a car or should I board a shuttle bus into town? I'm sorry about this all being so short notice by the way. I can make alternative boarding arrangements if you like?"

This made Winston click his tongue as he smiled down into his phone.

"Tsk! Perish the thought, darling! You know very well that's not how we play cricket in this neck of the woods. If you attend the visitors arrival ranks you'll see Charon standing by. He'll help you with your luggage and return you to me safely. We've a cosy room prepared for you and once you're checked in, you can meet me in the dining room for a little something to eat that isn't aeroplane cuisine, yes?"

"Oh Uncle, you're too good to me sometimes! I'm looking forward to it. I'll be with you in a bit then, traffic permitting."

"Yes, I am rather, aren't I? I'll be here when you arrive. Bye for now."

Phone away and bags in hand, Bobby ran a final check to ensure her passport and papers were in proper order and when she was satisfied, she didn't look a terrible mess, she organized her bags and joined the ranks of other arrivals that looked equally overburdened but generally happy to have touched down.

And how could she miss him standing there? Charon was always a magnificent sight to behold. Other private chauffeurs held up place signs with surnames for guests that they were to collect, but Charon merely stood at relaxed attention in his dark grey pinstripe suit looking the very picture of statuesque regal elegance. His dark-toned skin the richest colour of pure coffee and his thinly rimmed glasses caught the light in a sparkle. His hairless head and sharp features gave an imposing allure. Ladies turned their heads, even discreetly to stop and stare and the other uniformed drivers, whilst very smartly dressed, didn't quite shine with the same radiance or power that Charon had inherently mastered. He smiled at her as he recognized her amidst the crowd and finally broke free of the chauffeur's line on powerful strides that made him seem very much a dancer or a great black cat.

With a delighted cry, Bobby dropped her bags and rushed him, reaching up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders. She was instantly taken by the familiar warmth of his cologne and the reassuring pressure of his strong embrace as his hands caressed her upper back.

A passing woman with a Puerto Rican complexion was obviously heartened by their tender reunion, for when they parted she paused to say,

"Damn girl! You is lucky, huh?" in her heavy accent, before winking suggestively and striding off, wheeling her suitcase behind her.

Both Bobby and Charon saw the humour in this assumption. They laughed and greeted each other warmly. The Concierge welcomed his employer's niece back to American shores expressing his contentment to see her doing so well. Bobby had spent a great deal of time in a wheelchair post coma and had worked very hard and very long with her physiotherapists to restore her mobility. The ordeal had taken years and was excruciatingly painful. Bobby had given over to the fact that cortisone injections, anti-inflammatory pills and an array of painkillers would be par for the course now as she negotiated her spinal injury. What she hated more than anything was the stigma that she suffered when she moved from wheelchair, to walking frame to finally, walking cane. She wanted to be free of the damn thing. More than ever. For she felt as long as she was reduced to using her cane, she would forevermore conform to the ideal that her history had bested her. And that was a notion that would simply not do. She could not take the past into her future. The idea was abhorrent. So she took her cane and burnt the thing in her fireplace, back home in Essex. She called her physiotherapist the following morning and explained the whole thing demanding that the man make her case the most serious work he'd ever do in his entire bloody life. By the end of the phone call her physiotherapist was in absolute tears. He'd pledged his purpose to her rehabilitation and they worked together, day in and day out for nine months straight. Bobby had triumphed! Bobby would walk, unassisted at last.

Considerations would need to be made, of course. She was not able to stand for long hours anymore. And rough terrain was a bad idea for it jarred her knees and hips too greatly. She would have to be a great deal more gentle with her body in the gym and resolved to take a lot of low to no-impact exercises which eventuated in strength and resistance building by taking on Yoga and Pilates. She ensured the majority of her diet was generally clean and free of processed foods or preservatives and was quite rigid about drinking as much pure water and tea as possible. Perhaps what she missed most of all was the ability to wear heels higher than three inches for parties and events. But then again, Bobby rarely attended any of those that were not of some academic foundation and didn't entirely need that level of glamour anyway.

Thus, when she next visited New York after having successfully mastered walking without a noticeable limp; it was to Charon and Winston's absolute amazement. They had been witness to her worst level of suffering. To see her spin a complete one-eighty was nothing short of miraculous as far as they were concerned.

Now, Charon insisted he take the majority of Bobby's classic, worn leather luggage and stood back to admire her walk appreciatively. Again, unknowing on-lookers may have thought he was admiring the sway of her hips as any hot-blooded man might admire a young woman. A not unheard of concept, surely. Except for the fact that Charon was some twenty-three years Bobby's senior and any affections he had toward Miss. Kent as his employer's niece were purely plutonic and deeply family orientated.

"Oh Charon, it does my heart so good to see you! You're still as striking and handsome as ever!" Bobby had no issue in affirming as they walked together, shoulder to shoulder toward the car parked amongst the ranks of others on the airport passenger collection rank. This admission brought a glitter to Charon's eyes and a smile to his lips. He always thoughts Bobby was nothing if not entirely charming herself and was mortified by the horrors that had befallen her.

"The feeling is mutual Miss. Kent. I am elated to see you walking so well without your chair or cane. You seem to have regained your balance even more so since your last visitation. It is almost as though your injuries never took place to such a dramatic extent. Has your endurance for standing and walking distances improved as well?" He asked, loading her bags into the boot of the car tidily.

He earned a gentle nudge to his ribs as Bobby begged him to drop the formality and honorifics. She insisted they were family and being called 'Miss. Kent' simply made her feel estranged rather than interconnected. And interconnected right now was where she sorely needed to be, both in his presence and in Winston's.

She answered truthfully though, relating the information and summaries given by her medical professionals that assured her that whilst a great deal many things were wrong with her, including a metal plate in her skull and the loss of a kidney; that she was otherwise healing and walking longer and stronger than ever before.

She slid into the passenger's seat beside Charon and spoke on as he paid his phone's text messages a cursory glance. Hotel staff updating him on shift changes and suppliers logging his produce deliveries. They were of no consequence right now. He set the phone to silent and rejoined in the conversation, entering the stream of New York traffic that would travel over Brooklyn Bridge and eventually join New York proper.

They arrived at the curb of The Continental's famous multi-story high-rise corner block some forty minutes later having narrowly avoided the brunt of Friday afternoon peak hour traffic. The uniformed doorman greeted their arrival and a bellhop was summoned on Charon's order to take Bobby's luggage up to room Five-Twelve. Bobby thanked all the staff profusely as she pushed a tip of five dollars US into the bell hop's hands; apologizing because she'd not yet attended a money exchange office and this token gesture was all she had left in her wallet since her last trip to the US. The charming young man took the note into his pocket, smiling and bemused before tipping his hat and strolling away with his gleaming brass luggage trolley that carried Bobby's few bags.

"What was that all about, Charon?" Bobby inquired, "I thought American hospitality staff appreciated gratuities for service. That young man looked at me as though I was asking for directions to the beach in Norwegian." Her eyes followed his departure as the lift doors in the lobby closed and began their ascent.

"From civilian guests perhaps," Charon replied patiently. "You, however, now fall into an affiliated professional category." He punctuated this sentence with a wink so rapid and smooth, you would have missed it if you blinked. Bobby, however, never missed much of anything when she entered her Uncle's hotel. Even less now that she had a more complete understanding of what The Continental New York City actually stood for. She had not expected her status to be elevated to anything other than casual civilian, especially as she had no claims or designs to work in any kind of arrangement, cartel or syndicate that Winston had explained many of the guests took to his doors to find reprieve from. 

Alas, it had taken an extraordinarily long time for Bobby and her Uncle to come to a respectable understanding that The Continental served as an external and entirely independent enterprise that functioned as a complete cease-fire neutrality twenty-four hours of the day and night. Winston had parsed over the function of The High Table, The Department of the Adjudicator and the invisible lines of gang territories that controlled New York's underworld for everything including narcotics, prostitution, weapons caching, law enforcement manipulating, money laundering and hitmen for hire. Amongst a great deal more that he withheld on principle. Because he maintained that his niece simply didn't need to know. It was for the best. It was for her protection. But this new line of her obsessive study. This relentless pursuit that she had taken upon herself to uncover the other side was a massive concern in and of its self. He'd taken so much care to dissuade her from these fancies. To suppress and reengage her into entirely different stratagems for coming to terms with her mortality that didn't devolve into the streams of the preternatural that he himself had only in his history caught soul-shocking glances of.

And now Bobby was on it. Like a dog with a bone. She was on it with ravenous attention. A woman in a wheelchair with an academic mind and little else to distract her was prone to obsessive lines of study.  Her letter had been a forewarning. She had the intention to pry knowledge from him that he wasn't certain he was prepared to impart because he himself was not sure he fully understood the depth of the other side. Who did in this day and age anyway? Life, as it stood in the modern 21st Century, was a great, glittering neon distraction from the core of the unseen that walked amongst them day and night. Hiding. In the shadows. In the peripheral of human vision. Always just out of reach. But there... So there. So extremely there that you could close your eyes and deep down, if you focused, you could hear it. Like the echos of waves in a seashell. You wanted to believe that you were listening to thousands of years of history contained in the natural and ordinary. That you were not falling subject to the tricks of the mind. That magic was something that was done in studios and meant to entertain and hoodwink the uneducated.

It wasn't true.

It just wasn't true.

And Bobby was now closer to a malicious entity than perhaps she had ever bargained for. And would ever know.

His only hope was that their paths never crossed.

At last Charon offered to take Bobby up to her room personally so as she might take a little while to unwind and refresh herself before coming to join the dinner service downstairs in the dining room. Her Uncle would be waiting but would see her only once she was properly settled. Bobby agreed reluctantly. She had a great deal many things she wanted to share and ask of her Uncle. But she too had just come halfway across the world on more than a whim. She'd need time to recuperate and organize herself.

So she hugged Charon one final time, feeling very much like a protected species under the eyes of the hotel's staff. She gasped at the sheer radiant elegance of her rooms. But knew better than to protest about their grandeur. Rather, she thanked Charon a thousand times with heart-felt sincerity and took a moment to gather her thoughts when he proclaimed as always that he was at her complete disposal. He would be downstairs where she always expected to find him. He shut the door behind her and left her in peace. Overwhelmed a little. Displaced a little. Confused a little. Aching a little.

Alone in her solitude, Bobby buried her face in her hands for a private moment and cried.

And so concludes Act One of John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

You can Read John Wick || Blood of the Raven King // Act One Scene one & Scene Two Here!

 We wish to take this moment to thank all our readers for their kind support. All your likes and kind words are deeply appreciated! We hope that where-ever in the world you are, you have had a productive week and a restful weekend. Your good karma has ensured that Blood of the Raven King will continue as a Three Act digital novella with chapters being released weekly.

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Do you have questions about Dark Magic and the Council of Twelve? Are you curious to learn more about the Other Side and want to uncover more of Bobby’s investigation into the disappearance of magic from the streets?

And what is this incredible darkness that possesses Mr. Wick and Lady Clayton? 

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L.G. Spider

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|| COMING SOON ||

Build Your Warrior

Keanu Reeves training for ‘John Wick’

THE HORRIFIC INTIMACY OF SURGERY AND DISSECTION.

Wishbone - Richard Siken // Surgery to remove the breast and dress the wound, c.1841, wellcome library // Jan Josef Horemans, Interior with a surgeon and his apprentice attending to a patient, c.1722 // Wishbone //  John Bell, IV Book II, Engravings of the Bones, Muscles, and Joints Illustrating the First Volume of the Anatomy of the Human Body, c.1794 // Andreas Vesalius, man presenting his flayed abdomen, de humani corporis fabrica, c.1543 // Jenny Holzer // Rembrandt, the anatomy lesson of Dr. Deijman,c.1656 // found in: Richard Barnett - Crucial Interventions.