The Bloodline Grimoire

By Mary Magdalene

Following the advent of the economic crisis, Iseabail, a modern young woman, is frustrated with the direction her professional and private life has taken over the last few years. After returning to Dubai, having completed a second master’s degree, this time in Italy, she starts to remember events from her childhood. In particular, she recalls her interest for the occult from which she had distanced herself over the years. Inspired, above all, by a tarot card reading she was given nearly ten years prior which revealed itself to be disturbingly accurate, Iseabail decides to take control of her life in a different way. She sets out on a spiritual quest, that coincidentally clashes with the arrival of nightly visitations by a woman long gone and unusual occurrences that are beyond Iseabail’s control. Hoping to rid herself of this odd visitor and begin solving her own quest, Iseabail is lead on a journey across the globe and throughout history. Now, if only Iseabail can properly fulfill what this uninvited apparition asks of her: the recovery of an ancient transcript with hundreds of years of shrouded family history, both of them will be free to move on, in all realms. Yet, retrieving this hidden book might not be quite so easy...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Magdalene
• Release date: Jul 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310063213

Mary Magdalene

Mary Magdalene writes cum-to-Christ erotica. She lives with her husband and six cats in Woody Creek, Colorado. When she's not writing, she enjoys farmers markets, complicated Starbucks orders, and pegging. Find more at http://jesuschristpornstar.com

Book preview

Preface

Moreover, many people who had practiced occult arts gathered their books and burned them in front of everybody. They estimated their value and found them to have been worth 50,000 silver coins.

Acts 19:19 Holy Bible

Theophilus exerted himself to the utmost to expose the pagan mysteries to contempt. And to begin with, he caused the Mithreum to be cleaned out, and exhibited to public view the tokens of its bloody mysteries. Then he destroyed the Serapeum, and the bloody rites of the Mithreum he publicly caricatured; the Serapeum also he showed full of extravagant superstitions, and he had the phalli of Priapus carried through the midst of the forum.

Destruction of the Library of Alexandria 391 A.D. (Historia Ecclesiastica)

We found, in the possession of the Mayas, a large number of books written in these letters of theirs and, as they contained nothing in which there was not some superstition and devil’s lies, we burnt them all, at which they felt wondrous sorrow and were aggrieved.

Relacion de las cosas de Yucatan, Bishop Diego de Landa 1565 A.D.

‘’A bonfire of Harry Potter books have been burnt on a bonfire in New Mexico, by people accusing the fictional boy wizard of being the devil".

BBC News, 2001 A.D.

Chapter 1

All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.

~Elias Canetti

Dubai, Night of October 22nd-23rd, 2012

It was deep into the night and she was standing in a field of tall golden colored wheat, of which most reached heights that surpassed her own. The air was cool and there was a light breeze blowing through her partially covered hair, it caused a light rustling noise as it whisked through the plants around her. Far ahead she could see a dim light coming from a whitish house in the distance. That’s odd, she seemed to be telling herself, no lantern should be lit. The space where she stood was cleared, forming a small circle of maybe three meters diameter around her. Her arms and hands were lightly stretched in front of her with her palms raised upwards towards the sky. She was murmuring something but she couldn’t seem to understand her own words. Although the night was at its darkest hour, the moon was full in the almost perfectly clear sky, giving her a complete view of her surroundings. In front of her lay different objects, a knife, a chalice and herbs in a small pottery bowl. She was about to pick up the chalice that contained some form of liquor, when she heard a noise, something moving swiftly through the fields. Panic struck her instantly. She reached for her dagger hanging from a buckle at her waist, unsure whether to expect an animal or another human, fearing that the latter might be a worse fate. She was now very silent and alert, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from, knowing that running would only signal her presence and direction. As if whatever was out there had anticipated this action, it had also stopped moving, causing her more distress. She tried to calm her pounding heart, fearing that its violent beating could be heard through her chest and lead her predator straight to her. She lowered her body, just in case she could be seen and lightly tiptoed around to try and observe whether she could glimpse any movement nearby. She never saw what hit her as it attacked so rapidly, viciously knocking her down into a state of unconsciousness.

Iseabail woke up with a sudden jerk, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. The sheets around her were humid; she realized she had been sweating in her sleep. It took her a few seconds to register where she was and most importantly out of harm’s way. She turned on the night light by her bed stand for reassurance. All was in order, or in disorder considering Iseabail’s lack of cleaning skills. To be more exact, things were the way she had left them. Athena, her cat, looked at her with half closed eyes, unaccustomed to the sudden shift in lighting, questioning why they were up much earlier than the sunrise. Iseabail who was only slightly panting now took a large sip of water from the glass standing on the bed stand. Her throat was unpleasantly dry and the liquid was soothing. She waited until her heartbeat was fully back to normal before switching off the light once more. It seemed it would be near impossible for her to fall asleep again. Her mind was racing, replaying the events and memories that had possessed her over the last two days, wondering if her constant need to unearth the past had led her to experience such a life-like dream. Then she wondered whether it was not rather her incessant desire to control the future, or even a combination of these elements brought together that had disturbed her subconscious and caused such a realistic nightmare.

Chapter 2

Depression is rage spread thin

~ George Santayana

Dubai, October 21st, 2012

Iseabail heard a loud knock on the door waking her up from her memories of the past. She had already forgotten in her state of depression, and unwillingness to face the world that she had finally ordered some home delivery from one of the healthier options in the area. An hour earlier, she had concluded for the third time that there was really nothing to eat, neither in the fridge nor in the cupboards and her growling stomach could no longer be ignored. She dragged herself away from the windowsill as if it was some tedious chore, clumsily getting her feet into her fuzzy fake animal slippers. She threw over herself a black night robe, covering her short silk nightgown that she had not bothered to change since hours prior when she awoke and hauled herself, so to speak, into the kitchen to make a cup of dark roasted coffee. She had hardly moved since then, only to install herself on the edge of her couch so that she could peer out at the artificial lakes and budding skyscrapers of Dubai. The doorbell now rang Coming! she shouted, God this person is impatient, she muttered to herself. She opened the door, which she had forgotten to lock and took the food that was packed in a cheerful yellow and red plastic bag, in contrast with her own mood that was more of a dull grey. She returned to the apartment to find her wallet hidden somewhere under a crumpled sweater. She paid the Egyptian looking man and gave him a small tip, as she tried telling herself comforting and reassuring thoughts: ‘’You see, it could be a lot worse, it can always be much worse. That man must be around my age, and he’s delivering food to houses, driving a scooter on some of the most dangerous roads while crazy drivers whiz by at outrageous speeds. I’m sure that this wasn’t his dream job as a child either.’’

Her cat, obviously oblivious to her concerns of success and failed dreams, stretched and arched her back before walking up to her with a light nonchalant stride, checking if any food could be of interest to her. Her emerald green eyes rose upwards with her pink nostrils sniffing the air to acknowledge the smell of only some greenery and a few fries, but as usual no meat. Slightly disappointed, she wandered over to her own food bowl to have yet again the same meal of what could have been described as dry looking mini nuggets, but held the appetizing name of Whiskers: a feline poultry feast. Iseabail crossed the few steps that separated her from the couch, plunked herself down and turned on the television. There was nothing interesting playing, but she was hardly paying attention anyways, blindly staring at the 24 inch screen she had received as a welcome back gift. She was eating her food with lack of interest and lost in her own reveries, insensible to what her Greek salad even tasted like or the fact that she now unknowingly wore some white dressing above her upper lip.

Her phone was ringing. She warily turned her eyes to see the screen, one of her female friends, Anna, was calling, but she didn’t attempt any effort to answer. This was yet again one of those days she wanted to be left alone, go back to bed and feel plain miserable. This had rapidly turned into a routine habit, as soon as she reached her half empty home after a day at the office: she sat alone and moped. Today, being the first day of the weekend, she had a full 24 hours to be gloomy and pitiful, cursing everyone who she knew who had half the brains she did but was somehow more successful than she. Simply a question of having been at the right place at the right time she would remind herself half heartily.

Chapter 3

Every life is march from innocence, through temptation, to virtue or vice.

~Lyman Abbott, Massachusetts, 1835-1922

Iseabail continued peering out the window, remembering when she was a child; although she was not even thirty yet, it somehow seemed eons ago, as though those few years marking the beginning of her existence had happened in another lifetime. Back then she truly believed she was special, talented, and that the world was literally her oyster. Plus her parents had told her so and there was no way imaginable that they could possibly be wrong. She was already doing jigsaw puzzles for five year old children at age two, and by age three she could ride a two wheel bike. She had also chosen to pierce her ears around this time. She obviously needed pierced ears as her elder sister, Paola, had earrings and it made her look so much more beautiful and sophisticated. So yes, these powerful details in the mind of a five year old could only lead to one conclusion: she was brilliant.

Now years later, looking back on these childhood memories, she had a smirk on her cheerless face. At least she could give herself credit for one thing back then; it was the fact that she had possessed such strong aspirations and convictions. With the innocence of childhood, it had appeared as though there were only two shades to everything: black or white. How much simpler life seemed when she didn’t know about the million shades of grey that lay between such extremes.

Barely out of kindergarten, she was taking what she considered were drastic decisions that would shape her future career; there was no time to waste! She was fighting in particular for animal rights among other noble causes. This was by far one of the most important plights she held to heart. She already imagined herself falling in the footsteps of Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey, but with hopefully somewhat of a less dramatic ending than that of the second heroine who was brutally murdered. At the age of eight, it was obviously her duty, she felt, to become a vegetarian. Supporting her beliefs, she proudly brought her own veggie burgers and soy hotdogs to her friends’ barbecue parties piously demonstrating her righteous choices. Years later, she was still a vegetarian, but not as convinced that she was singlehandedly saving the world’s flora and fauna. Actually she had rather dramatically veered from her original career path. That’s right, she ended up working for a bank, in equity investment management.

This didn’t signify that as an adult she had no longer entertained hopes or dreams. However this sense that she would be remembered for formidable feats - that she would change to some extent the world, that she would stand steadfast in front of poachers, and leave her legacy - no longer was what it once was. She had after all ended up studying business administration with a minor in economics, not quite in line with her childhood dream of becoming a marine biologist. The reality of the job market was after all not what a six year old imagined!

She was dragged away from these memories as her cell phone persisted in ringing, which was most irritating to Iseabail today. Couldn’t people acquire some form of telepathic skill she asked herself almost shouting at the still buzzing device: I don’t want to go out! She now returned to her thoughts, wondering where her mind had been before she had been so brutally distracted. Oh right, she reminded herself with a witty smile, I was onto my belief of an imaginary world, around the very time that I first experienced bizarre realistic dreams.

So her path for righteousness and all that stood for good in the world did not finish with animal rights, quite to the contrary! After some disappointments and lack of satisfying answers from her parents, after enquiring about pages from the Bible, she tried creating her own idea of an otherworld or life after death.

Now at age nine, she began to sense that the answers could be found within her but had yet to be unleashed. The fact that maybe there was no one out there, that we had no soul, never even crossed her mind. Her universe was filled with mythical creatures that she painted all over her bedroom walls. Maybe this vivid imagination of hers was due to the fact that she read far more than most children her age or simply because she spent so much time alone in the Alps or by the Soča River, collecting wild mushrooms..

Barely a few months later, she started having strange premonitory dreams. These odd dreams lasted for a few years and had then receded. As she had grown older she had started to dismiss these as pure tricks of an over-imaginative mind. Yet, in these dreams or visions, it all depends what one believes in, she would find herself on a quest in places she hadn’t visited before. She somehow knew with certainty, a sort of sixth sense, that they had belonged to her ancestors, whether those in Europe from her mother’s side or those from North America from her father’s side of the family, she could not be certain. She could feel spirits roaming about. These places possessed energies and forces that she could not even begin to comprehend. The mysterious spirit characters in her dreams would never harm her, but they wanted to communicate and ask her to find something for them. Iseabail, of course, told her parents about these dreams, in the hopes that these wise individuals could give her some guidance. Her father being a very practical man brushed these aside as simple nightmares and did not give them more attention than he felt was required. Her mother, on the other hand, actually seemed to recognize that some of the places Iseabail was describing did exist.

One morning, a so-called epiphany popped into Iseabail’s head after one of these dreams. She couldn’t quite remember what she had dreamt but she woke up wanting to find books on ancient Gods and ancient religions, as though this was substantial to her existence. This was slightly before the time internet became in vogue. After various visits to numerous local libraries, where she doubted she would find anything to her liking, and not quite sure of what she was precisely looking for, she found barely a few tidbits of information that she felt were not particularly relevant.

In the meantime her father offered her a bizarre book that he had bought years back in a bazaar in Montreal, in his native country, Canada. To this day, she had no idea as to why her father possessed this book in the first place. When asked, he didn’t seem to quite know himself thinking the question rather irrelevant. He gave as justification that he had noticed it while waiting for someone and it was cheap, as simple as that. This apart, she understood even less why he would have thought it was an appropriate gesture to offer it to a child. The volume was not incredibly old (she never checked the date of edition), but it was definitely not a new book either. It had been around for some time, she couldn’t really pinpoint an exact date but surely several decades.. She was just taking a wild guess due to its appearance, that of a secondhand book with a few roughed up edges, yellowing pages, and a worn black leather cover, probably used over three or four generations.

She could have sworn as a child that this book was haunting her. It just seemed to constantly appear in uncanny spots and it spooked her profoundly. Her mother, who had been away on business when her father offered it to her, later shouted at him for simply not thinking and had to console her daughter who was experiencing constant nightmares. The book had strange symbols and text, with weird passages about devil worship and angels of hell and the how to’s of the identification of witches. Iseabail only ended up reading a few random chapters, and what she read she did not like. It talked about evil witchcraft, sacrifices and some other strange subjects and ideas that she preferred not to remember but had sent goose bumps crawling all over her skin. Even the family cat did not seem to appreciate the battered tome and stared at it with fearful and watchful eyes.

The book’s last draw happened when Iseabail was all alone at home; it seemed to have materialized next to her in the basement where it should clearly not have been. Already spooked, she next heard her cat meowing madly as though it was in pain. That was the day her mother ordered her father to get rid of it. Many could believe this was only the work of the mind of an over imaginative eleven year old. To each their own opinion, but this book remained engraved in her psyche for many years after. Oddly, it did, in its own way, have some sort of a positive effect on Iseabail. It made her believe in something. No, obviously none of its perverse writings, no weird devil worship was performed by her, especially considering that a lot of these creepy rites required animal sacrifices which didn’t fit with the whole vegetarian, animal rights movement. But she did believe that it possessed an odd force that made her uncomfortable. Therefore, she came to the conclusion that if evil forces existed on this earth there were reversely also forces of good, like the yin and yang. If she could choose, she’d rather meddle with the good forces than the bad ones.

So her quest and journey to find these forces was on. Furthermore, most of her friends were starting to have computers and access to the internet at home and she knew that sooner than later the family’s incessant pleas to her father would pay off. As anticipated, not long after her home saw the appearance of its first computer and internet access. Technology would soon make her search for answers much simpler. Luckily, this was also a period of success for what many would call New Age literature that had rapidly grown through the sixties and seventies in the West, particularly in the United Kingdom. Consequently, these two elements combined together would lead Isbeabail to the answers she had been searching for, or at least would satisfy her curiosity for a good length of time. She was overwhelmed by the amount of intriguing titles she found online. She built a list of publications she wanted her parents and relatives to purchase for her for Christmas and her birthday. The book references suggested that through their teachings she would find her inner Goddess or the divine within, discover the most ancient Gods and forms of religion on Earth, and she would be guided through a series of meditation exercises. Coming from an open-minded family and a not particularly religious zealous country, her parents encouraged their children to follow their own path as long as it did not cause harm to others. Iseabail found some nicely wrapped rectangular packages under the Christmas tree (or the Yuletide tree as she preferred calling it) that clearly indicated they were concealing the longed for books, shortly to be revealed.

A few days later, on a snowy 25th of December, one young girl was very pleased to find enough reading material to keep her busy throughout the cold winter months. On what many Christians believe to be the day of the birth of Christ, Iseabail was being immersed into completely new beliefs, ones that tolerated skepticism and questioning of their own teachings.

Chapter 4

It is no sin to attempt and fail. The only sin is to not make the attempt.

~ Suellen Fried, Author and Speaker

She had hardly been back in Dubai, the city of life, as some called it, for more than three weeks and she already knew not to expect much. It was not as though she was a pessimist about life, she was simply a realist, she would explain to people. She had known from the moment she signed her new employment contract that she had put an end to an era of hope and anticipated change for the better. It had been a little over a year since she had left this city in the Arabian Gulf, her home for over two years, to board a plane that would lead her to fulfill a Master’s of Science in Management Studies in Europe’s Italian fashion capital, Milan. She remembered in her moment of absolute glee how she had made many sacrifices to get there. She had left a job at a private bank she hated but that paid reasonably well, sold her new car and furniture, basically most of what she owned and spent days dealing with bureaucratic nightmares both locally and with the Italian Embassy. Then after some hesitation, she had dropped off a dozen bags to the charity box below her building, filled with shoes and clothes that she could not fit into her already very overweight suitcases.

This sacrifice wasn’t anything big, only material possessions, she had told herself repeatedly. This was her destiny, after all, and she would be rewarded in a year, she was almost certain. How could it be otherwise? She had been selected into a reputable program and offered a full scholarship to pursue the concentration of her choice in managing renewable energies. After turning down the possibility to study marine biology nearly ten years earlier, due to the slim chances of employment, someone up there was finally watching out for her and her luck was changing for the better, she was positive about it. Yes, she was making sacrifices on her living standards, she’d have to be very careful with her spending, but this situation, she kept reminding herself, was only temporary. All the arguments to leave seemed valid, staying behind would only mean she had become cowardly and adverse to any form of risk. Besides, by this time next year, she had told herself for the hundredth time, she’d be recruited by one of the best companies in the industry and earning a minimum of 30% more than her current salary. Already having an MBA under her belt to add to this more specialized degree seemed like a sure recipe. Her graduate school had such an impressive directory of A-list companies it was associated to, and soon she’d, at the very least, be fulfilling an internship with one of these companies.

But one year of life in Italy was close to disastrous. Nothing turned out in the slightest bit as she had predicted. She had very badly played her cards.

Only weeks after her arrival, she soon realized that the university had not been entirely honest in terms of the strength of their relations with their mentioned partners, which as it turned out, were mere connections rather than serious parties in hiring students for an internship, let alone permanently. As though this wasn’t enough disappointment, the program director that was responsible for student complaints and ensuring their satisfaction, had conveniently disappeared to Central America around the third month into studies. He was supposedly excessively busy on some crucial research, justifying his lack of responsiveness to student e-mails.

But it didn’t end there, things kept getting worse. Months later after completing all her required courses, Iseabail ended up doing her obligatory internship at some small Italian firm that people outside of Italy didn’t know existed. Added to this already unfavorable state, no one at the company (including the HR department that had recruited her) seemed to have any notion of what this M-B-A on her curriculum vitae stood for. Iseabail’s masters degree from a so-called renowned Canadian university, was in Italy, generally confounded with the NBA. Basketball, it would appear, was much better known and appreciated in this country!. Thus this period in Iseabail’s life did not pan out extremely well. To top it all off, like her colleagues, who had ended up in quite similar positions as hers, they were receiving an average salary of just 500 Euros per month for their work or what they called slave labor. Their tasks could have been accomplished by high school students. It was blatantly obvious that the companies had hired them as a form of cheap educated labor. Iseabail tried confronting her direct supervisor, who was almost never there to begin with, but he soon started avoiding her altogether.

During this same period of time, while raging and swearing about what a major mistake she had made by coming to this country, mocking what many, never having lived in Italy called, La Dolce Vita, her rent contract in the Fashion Capital had ended. Although she couldn’t deny Italy was beautiful and it basked in history (perfect for a week of holidays), residing in Italy was a completely different experience. It appeared that too many foreigners, to a certain extent even she, trusted what they read on travel blogs and watched too many Sofia Loren movies without understanding more recent accounts of the country’s economic situation.

In order to save what little money she had left for the last three months of her stay, considering the outrageous gas bills she had been receiving over the last few months, not to mention the fact that her laptop in the glove compartment of her rental car had been stolen while on a short visit at a friend’s, Iseabail rented the spare room at a university colleague’s place. Having spent the last few years living on her own, she assumed she could manage cohabiting with someone for such a short period of time. Wrong! Now before moving in with this person, Jasmine, she had never questioned why the previous flatmate had disappeared so swiftly, but soon realized the answer. This quiet looking woman, behind closed doors of her home was a ranting nutcase. She had a constant need to argue about everything under the sun, from her own theory of superior and inferior races (obviously ignorant and confused about her own racial background), to how people should help convert homosexuals, who she claimed obviously had an illness, into heterosexuals. Iseabail tried inviting Jasmine out on Friday evenings, hoping that maybe some fresh air and human interaction would make her more compassionate, but she constantly refused, declaring that she had work that she must finish.

Yet, Jasmine would not have been so unbearable if she hadn’t developed a wild look (of insanity) in her eye, placing a lock on the door so Iseabail could not enter without her knowing. As soon as Iseabail came indoors, Jasmine would install herself in the kitchen keeping a constant watch over her own bedroom door like a hawk waiting for its prey. Yet, the final draw was when she realized that Jasmine, among other absurdities, was hiding toilet paper in her bedroom that she would only take out when Mother Nature called. This way, Iseabail (she assumed) might not feel the temptation to use Jasmine’s precious store instead of her own (which Iseabail did not feel a need to remove from the bathroom). To make matters worse, Iseabail, who was beyond exasperated by these insanities, was not doing well at all in her job hunt. She ended up receiving interest and offers only from companies that were so generous as to offer her 50% less than her previous salary.

The day her internship ended, no longer able to deal with her flat mate’s new level of lunacy, Iseabail packed her bags and went to stay with her mother who had just bought a small flat in Ljubljana and was preparing to set out on a long tour of East Asia. The trip appeared to be based on visiting as many important statues of Buddha as possible. She somehow had acquired a sensational interest for Buddhism after reading a certain book; Iseabail could not remember the title, quoting to her daughter various phrases Buddha had said on opportune occasions.

*******

After a few weeks, Iseabail began fearing that she’d be spending months’ jobless, having received so many identical response notifications. Sometimes she would receive these literally three seconds after sending in her application and they were always the same: after careful review of your credentials […]. Doubting that even half her applications were being read, added to the fact that she was unemployed and had some spare time, Iseabail had created, out of extreme ennui, a CV for her cat, Athena. She indicated her hobbies of hunting, bird watching, night life observation and described her extensive travels over the last few years. The companies, as it turned out, were as impressed by her cat’s resume as hers, but after careful review