Anakeion

By Arthur Bainwright

A disgraced hero, a mysterious mansion, a dangerous invitation.

It’s June 2020 and fake psychic Saul Davis and his ex-wife Astrid have been invited to a soiree. The party is at the Stamp Estate, a secretive family compound where it is rumored the wealthy used to meet to perform occult ceremonies. It is not every day an ex-felon rubs elbows with the jet set. But the party is not what it seems and Saul was not invited because of his scintillating conversational skills. Will Saul leave in time or will the pleasures of the party seduce him?

This is the third fascicle of the Zodiac Rising serial novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Etheridge Press
• Release date: Jul 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955538046

Arthur Bainwright

Arthur Bainwright is a master of astrology and the occult. Learn more at www.etheridgepress.com.

Book preview

Prologue

Paris and Helen

Holmby Hills, Los Angeles, June 5th, 2020

Aparty is like a story. First, you introduce the characters.

Stefan and Pio Stamp carry their fifty-pound rolled stainless steel piste around the pool to the grass. They wear white pants but are shirtless and their shared load elicits sinewy definition in their chests and arms. Pio kicks the roll until forty-five feet of conductive playing surface for the sport of fencing extends before him. Stefan retrieves their swords. The young men are handsome, lithe, strong and nearly identical. They fence, lunging and retreating more like dancers than warriors.

Connery Sterling watches their coordinated movements from the shade of the loggia. Next to him, the caterers pin a starched cloth to the long dining table set with tiered serving trays. The preparations for the party are well underway. Staff in white coats arrange the pool furniture to form vignettes to foster conversation.

It is fitting to hold a masque during a pandemic, Sterling thinks. The catering company had been discreet, happy for any business during the governor-mandated shutdown.

Next, you set the scene.

The Stamp Estate buzzes with the gentle energy of well-planned execution. The mansion is its own museum. There is no need for decorations. The curios and paintings set the mood easily enough.

Most of the budget for this evening is going to the lighting crew. Each room will glow a distinct color: blue, purple, green, orange, white, violet, and, of course, red. And Stefan and Pio’s piste will be brightly illuminated for their nighttime fencing demonstration. The electric nature of the universe can be packaged and experienced as a metaphor for less than five thousand dollars.

Like during a scene change in a Broadway musical, Sterling is pulled in close for a downstage dialogue with Tracy Stamp, Stefan and Pio’s uncle.

Philippa’s snuck in her make-up artist. I don’t understand it. For the next three hours, the women will stare at each other from inches away. I can’t imagine COVID not spreading in those conditions.

Did she not see this is to be a masquerade? No make-up required.

Oh, she has her mask. Cost me a fortune. She had it custom made by the atelier on Santa Fe Avenue. But she knows she won’t wear it all night and then she wants to look her best. You know women.

There won’t be cameras. I’ll ensure our privacy for the evening.

Thank God for that. Philippa’s dressing as Santa Muerte. I tried to tell her that a blond from Manhattan dressing as a Mexican saint doesn’t fly anymore, but she’s in love with the black lace veil and the crown of roses and skulls. ‘If the theme of Sterling’s party is death, then I want to be Lady of the Dead,’ she told me.

Thanks for lending me your house, Sterling said.

It’s my sister’s house now and anyway Philippa loves your parties. Even I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us tonight. This pandemic is proving dreadfully dull. See you tonight.

Sterling returns his attention to the sunlit piste.

Here you build suspense.

The Stamp boys strum with vitality. They have finished assembling their playing area and now the piste is electrified, ready to tally their touches. Sterling watches Stefan and Pio spar. The thick electric cable had been safe from the effects of weather before it was displaced from the loggia for the party. It now lies in the grass behind the pool.

Your hero wavers.

Coverall-wearing electricians lift lights onto a metal bowery above the piste as Sterling had instructed. The boys had volunteered to demonstrate their fencing talents at the party this evening. The guests will be awed to see a performance by the former Olympians.

It’s too bad the theme color of the pool area is red.

Like fire. Like blood.

A party is like a story. It needs a denouement.

Pio lunges. Stefan parries. Pio lunges again.

The boys laugh. They are not really trying. They clash their epee swords against each other in theatrical gestures like a fight on Zorro. The blades twinkle in the sunlight. Stefan spins. Pio leaps. They are showing off. They are light and fast and magnetic.

They look like they will live forever, but Sterling knows the hour of their deaths.

1

On Friday night, June 5 th , 2020, Saul Davis needed a towel to wipe his hands. He considered using the monogrammed towel next to the sink. The cursive script read M. S. for Marta Shepherd. It looked too fluffy and clean. The matching towel hung beside the other sink. It read L. S. for Lonnie Shepherd. He couldn’t bring himself to use that one either. Saul wiped his hands dry on his boxers.

Saul was sure this was uncouth behavior for a man about to don a tux. You can dress him up, but you can’t take him out. Saul figured there would be many more times tonight he would need to dry his sweaty palms. The thought that his ex-wife was on her way here was nothing compared to spending all night in her company.

You ready yet? Shep knocked on the door. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough getting dressed in your friend’s bathroom, Shep and Marta waited outside like parents before prom.

Hold on, Saul called back.

Saul unzipped the garment bag that contained his rental tuxedo where it hung on the back of the bathroom door. He stepped into the pant legs and pulled them up. Most men his age would be sucking in their guts and praying they hadn’t gained too much weight since the last time they’d worn their tux. But Saul had not