Copper: Book 1 Season of the Spider

By JB Murray

"Monday morning, I woke to my average, ordinary life as a coffee shop owner by day, and struggling writer by night. Little did I know, that by Tuesday evening, I'd be battling the forces of evil with a magick I didn't know I possessed."

A call from his best friend's wife sets Gabriel Copper on an adventure like no other. His mundane, ordinary life is turned upside down as he follows his best friend across the borders of this dimension to one parallel our own, one containing a vast army of unimaginable creatures.

With the help of his new friend and mentor, Gabriel struggles to grasp not only the crumbling reality around him, but also the magick forced upon him by this mentor, in a desperate attempt to thwart the crawling invasion hell-bent on taking over the world.

There are things that go bump in the night, oh yes. But then, there are things far worse. Things that skitter and bite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JB Murray
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781644561836

JB Murray

Poised to write since learning the alphabet, rural New Englander JB Murray crafts prose like the way he devours literature: with his dog by his side, a scotch in his hand, and a cigar smoldering in an ashtray. Aspiring to be a full-time author, Murray nurtures his creative energy by consuming a vast array of literature; studying as if he were an apprentice of the great Edgar Allen Poe. He balances his life by carving out time for his musical ventures, spending time with family and friends, enjoying nature, and the occasional Netflix binge.

Book preview

COPPER: BOOK 1

SEASON of

the SPIDER

JB MURRAY

Copyright (C) 2020 by JB Murray

Published by Indies United Publishing House, LLC

All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in

any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020934809

First Edition published October 2020

ISBN: 978-1-64456-183-6

with

For You...

This dedication goes out to you... the reader. Thanks so much for being a part of this journey.

MAGICK AND FOLKLORE

A Quick Note About... Magick

In writing this series, I had the opportunity to delve into the origins of magick, both as historical reporting and those tales which lie within the realms of folklore and fantasy. At one point, it became apparent that I had an obvious decision to make. That being... which spelling to use: magic, or magick.

In definition, magic is the power of influencing the course of events by use of mysterious or supernatural forces; a method of manipulating the physical world through metaphysical means by employing ritual action.

Magick, spelled in this fashion, is by and large an archaic form of the word we use today, magic. So, the use of it seemed logical in the context of this series, as the magick within is regarded as far older than anything known to man.

The use of the spelling magick had been by and far relegated to the pages of history, until Aleister Crowley began using it again in the early 1900's. He chose to use the archaic spelling for many purposes, extending from the spelling of magick versus magic removed his purpose further from that of stage magicians, who believed to be charlatans... to the addition of the K at the end of the word increased the value of the word, giving it six letters. Crowley, in all his teachings held fast to the sacred number of 6... as well as K being the 11th letter in the alphabet, the number 11 holds great power as well. He also considered magick to be anything that moved a person closer to fulfilling his/her destiny, whether by metaphysical means or ordinary, mundane actions. And that last interpretation cemented the idea for me. As you will eventually see, how the characters within move through and grow in their magical journey.

So, as you continue this journey, and dive into this series, know that I gave it some thought as to the origins of the word. Plus, isn't just fun to give a nod to days long gone, somewhat forgotten, and acknowledge what used to be, when the Old Ones walked the earth?

It does, I will admit, look a little strange on the paper when one first sees it. Magick. However, trust that your eyes will grow accustomed... and dare I say, the magick of it all will soon make it seem normal?

A Word On... Folklore and Faeries

I have derived the majority of my creatures and characters from the pages of Gaelic history, and tossed in a handful of Norse legend as well. And though I have preserved their respective names and spellings, I did take liberties in my descriptions of their behavior. Though some will resemble the actual creatures of legend, others have been embellished, and this includes their own personal histories, for the sake of story telling. However... I do urge any of you to look up the names of the various Sidhe (faeries) as well as any other characters and read for yourself, the spectacular tellings of how they came to be, and how they've found their place in legend and myth.

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter One

The Call

I hadn't expected the call. I had just laid down, finding that sweet spot on my pillow, feeling the tension of the day ease out of my neck. Even in the winter, I tend to leave the bedroom window open a crack. Enough to let the crisp, sterile smell of things grown cold and icy trickle into the bedroom, an act of temperature control. Everything was perfect. The pillow covers were just the right side of cool, the blankets the right side of warm, and I ventured toward a good night's slumber. Then, the phone rang.

I must admit, the time struck me as odd the second it rang. It yanked me from sleep. Calls never came that late. As far as immediate family, most had since passed on. Other than a sister who barely recognized she even had a brother, there wasn't anyone I could think of who might be calling. Regarding friends... I had few of those. I kept a small circle of friends. I preferred it that way. I'm a man who enjoys his solitude and quiet. Drama free. Or as drama free as one can be in this day in age. So, when the phone rang, I was both startled and baffled at who could be calling.

I craned my neck to the side, hoping to pop at least a vertebra or two, if not to wrench out the kink at the base of my skull. Sleep came easily that night, but I had also downed a few glasses of Scotch. Great for relaxing; not so good when you're only an occasional drinker. The tiny bit of sleep I had, took some force to shake away. The headache of a non-drinker who drank too much stayed right where it was, lodged in that crook where the skull meets the back of the neck, and that pinprick of a location just between the eyes. I pinched my nose and breathed deep. No... this wouldn't do. I'd need a good handful of aspirin before all this was over.

My hand searched the nightstand next to the bed, fumbling over my wallet and knocking my phone to the floor. It clattered on the hardwood, and I heard the audible snap of yet again, another clip breaking off the phone protector. With a sigh, my hand continued along the nightstand, now searching for the base of the lamp. My fingers played along the long stem of the lamp there, until they found what they were looking for. My fingertips twisted the knob and a bright cocoon of light spewed from underneath the lampshade. I kicked my legs over the side of the bed, sliding them along and under the covers till my toes touched the floor. Another sigh, and a grunt as I leaned over and looked through squinting eyes for my phone. Several feet away, the screen, upside down, emitted a soft blue glow.

Damn, I muttered. Too far for me to reach. I'd actually have to get out of bed.

Grumbling all the while, I tossed off the covers and let my feet rest on the cold wood. An unrelenting yawn escaped me. A silent lion's roar, as my mouth gaped wide, only furthering the pulsing ache in my temples. I turned to look at the red digital numbers glowing on the clock. Just after midnight. Scratching my lower back and then one of my ass cheeks, I stood, still hunched over, and fished the phone from the floor. Turned it over. The screen read Mel Calling. Interesting.

I didn't often hear from Mel. She was, after all, my best friend's wife. He and I were friends some time before I even met her. Not that I wouldn't consider her a friend, but rather, things in life tend to string together in successions. Him and me were friends first. Her and I only really talked on an occasional basis. Often, if we talked, she'd be dropping me a text or an occasional call to let me know just how rough life had become for a woman I'd dated, one who'd done some rather terrible things to, but remained friends with Mel in the aftermath. As if the fact her life falling apart could somehow console the heartbreak which bestowed me for the better part of a year. But these calls or texts never came this late. So, I immediately understood this one would be different. I thumbed the answer button.

Hey, I said, trying to sound more awake than I felt.

Hey Cop, she returned. An awkward silence followed.

Cop. It's what they call me. A nickname of old; one I could never shake. Occasionally, someone might call me by my full last name... Copper. But mostly they referred to me as Cop. They'd done so for so long now; it wouldn't surprise me to find not a single person I knew remembered my first name was Gabriel. Yep... Gabriel Elijah Copper. Quite the mouth full, I know. The more I think on it, it's a wonder the moniker of Gabe never stuck. Maybe Cop just sounded cooler. Highschool football years were mostly Copper this and Copper that. But gradually the per fell off the rear end of the name. And now... just Cop.

Hey Mel, I returned, breaking the quiet. What's up?

Oh Cop, she strained. I... I don't know. I... well...

Just let it out, I prodded, trying to sound casual. The worry in her voice bled through the receiver crystal clear though. Something was amiss.

I don't know how to say this, she sighed. I waited a tic to see if she would elaborate. She didn't. I imagined her on the other end of the line, fingers trailing through her hair, scratching at her temple, eyes concerned and searching the ceiling to find a handle on things.

Just take a breath. I'm listening. And I was. The call became more unusual by the second. The call wouldn't be her telling me how my ex hated her new husband for once. Or how my ex hated her job and every choice she'd ever made that led to her current situations. No, this was something else.

Ok, she finally spewed. I think Dave is cheating on me.

Boom! And there it was. Right out in the open. Words I'd never thought I'd hear. Words I couldn't believe I was hearing. Dave? Cheating on Mel? Not only did Dave genuinely love his wife (and I mean in a sense of love very few of us will ever know), but he just wasn't the cheating kind. He understood there were good times, and hard times alike in a relationship. More so in a marriage. And I had always known him to grit his teeth against the tougher times and saunter on through, with no resentment and always grateful. There was, in his mind, no obstacle too large he couldn't bolster through. And he did so always, because of his love for his family. Both Mel and Joshua, their eight-year-old boy.

I shook my head again, not too concerned with the throbbing in my temples as I was at what she'd insinuated. I plopped my backside down on the bed and ran my fingers over my bald scalp. The tiny hairs of a two-day stubble growing there, reminded me I needed to buy some new razors. But that could wait. Mel just told me Dave was cheating on her! How? Why?

I know how it sounds, she added after some time, as if reading my thoughts. I'm not even sure I believe it myself. It's just... well...

Well what Mel? It sounds absurd, to be honest. Dave? Cheating? Come on.

I know Cop. I know how it sounds.

What makes you think it?

Well... he's been working a lot of overnights at the store.

That's not unusual.

No, not really. Except, he's been working overnights on the nights he's supposed to have off. And almost every night of the week.

How's money?

Oh, it's not that. We're fine. I mean, we could always use more. But you know us, we get by on what we've got.

So, he's not just taking on extra hours?

No. I don't think so. When I ask, he just brushes me off.

Ok. So, what else? Truth was, I'd need something more. Dave taking on extra hours wasn't all that out of sorts for the guy. I knew he often fretted over money, over the money Mel spent freely. Yes, they always managed to get by. But that didn't mean the man didn't not only worry, but also took precautions to make sure things didn't get too out of hand. Mel sighed deep. There has to be more than just him working extra nights.

There is, she resolved. An uncertain strain crept into her voice. It's not just the overnights. It's how tired he looks lately. Drained almost. And... and...

And?

Perfume.

Perfume?

Yes Cop. Perfume. On those extra nights, he comes home and drops his laundry straight into the wash. I'd giggle at this, but that did seem out of sorts for my buddy Dave. In fact, I wondered if he even knew how to run a washer and dryer. Dishes, he'd do. Cleaning, he'd do. Cooking, on occasion. Laundry? Now that didn't sound like Dave. Didn't sound like the guy I knew, who'd wear the same pair of jeans for weeks on end if his wife didn't force him to leave them in the hamper. He tosses them in with a full load of our stuff. To make it look like he's doing laundry. But one night, he forgot to push the start. So, I sifted to the bottom of the drum and pulled out the shirt he'd worn to work. And it smelled of perfume.

No shit?

Lavender and lilac. Flowery. And I don't know... cinnamon, I think. And you know me Cop. I don't wear perfume. Hardly ever. And that... that perfume wasn't the kind I wear.

Ok. Still, I grasped at straws. That's hardly enough to convict the guy of cheating.

I know Cop. That's why I'm calling you. Can you talk to him?

I... I guess I could. I probably should.

I just... I just need to know he's not stepping out. I don't know how I'd manage if there was someone else, she choked out through mounting sobs.

Now, now. Don't jump to conclusions. Regardless of the laundry and late nights, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around Dave doing something like that. I'll talk to him.

Will you?

Sure thing. Just... just take it easy. Try to stay calm and act normal. Don't let your head get ahead of it all. Not till we know more.

Ok. Ok. Thanks Cop. And I'm sorry for calling so late. It's just, I've been awake in bed since he left for work.

No worries. Try to get some sleep.

Good luck with that, she spat. I sensed she wanted to talk further. Something to help keep her mind off things. I hated doing it, but I knew I could oblige. God help me. I went there.

So, how's my ex doing these days?

The Gypsy

We were barely in our twenties that summer. Kids still, if you think about it. Especially given that we were boys. You know the old saying. 'Girls mature faster than boys do.' Probably true. Not that we were immature. But we were a couple of hell raisers to be sure. Hell bent on enjoying life to its fullest while we were still young. Ok, so maybe that better described my friend Vince, more than me. Vin feared little. Second guessed even less. Good ole Copper? Well, I was more of a tag-along. That friend you drag behind you. The one who tends to add a little grounding to your ever-reaching, restless soul.

I don't recall whose idea it had been. Most likely a combination. I thought the fair would be interesting. He thought it'd be a unique place to meet girls. Ever the conqueror, Vin relished the complexities of the chase. And no prey was ever out of reach. But at a psychic fair? Ok, to be honest, the advertisements touted it as an authentic gypsy fair. Fully equipped with trailers and wagons, and cages with animals, fortune tellers and belly dancers. With a carnival to boot! So, what did my friend hope to accomplish? I can't say for certain. But I imagined he had images of bronze skinned girls, with dark manes and exotic European features. I told him to take another look at the flyers. I didn't think there'd be anyone under the age of fifty, given the assortment of well-seasoned fortune tellers and palm-readers to choose from. But then, I'd underestimated him before, only to succumb to that knowing smile of his and wink of an eye that bragged once again the ever-famous I told you so. If there was a woman to be found, Vin would find her.

Thinking back, I can't fathom the number of women that man bedded by the time we were in our mid-twenties. Jealous? Maybe. Wouldn't you be? Not to take anything away from him; he was in fact, a good-looking dude, with an athletic frame which he took exceptionally good care of. He was a bit of a gym rat. So yes, in some ways, I was jealous. I had always been a little pudgy. Book smart, versus the athlete he portrayed. So, he got the girls. And plenty of them. I, in the meantime, tried to relish in the leftovers, but could never shake the nice-guy image, and unfortunately respected women too much to ever pressure them into getting it on. There's an art to that kind of mentality really. To convince a girl she should sleep with you simply because it's what you want. I never possessed such an uncanny ability. Still don't. I'm awkward and uncomfortable the very second a woman smiles my way and suggests she might be interested. Suddenly all my insecurities come crashing in. Am I too fat? Am I good looking enough? Will she think my dick is small? Yes ladies, guys do worry about such things. We're not all that different from you and the insecurities we all harbor as faulty organic matter. But Vin never had that problem. He was always in good enough shape, good looking plenty, and never worried about his dick. Must be nice!

So, the day came round, warm and sunny, and not too hot for late in June. In fact, the day was incredibly pleasant. A cool breeze drifted through the trees while the sun set high in the heavens, the weather wonderfully comfortable. Which was great for a guy like me, who's always warm. Another insecurity... is it hot in here, and if so, am I sweating through my shirt? How I could go on with the list. And, I probably will. But for now, back to the story.