The Ennead

Book summary

The Ennead plunges readers into a world gripped by a psychic plague, where 1% of the population is called to become shamans—mediators between humanity and the spirit world. Amid the chaos, an artist, a doctor, a medium, and a fugitive uncover a chilling conspiracy as they fight to stop the return of the Ancient Egyptian Gods.

Excerpt from The Ennead

Chapter 1

A cold, clammy hand snaked around my waist. Another around my upper arm. I recoiled as my flesh retracted into goosebumps.

More and more hands grasped at my body, pulled at my thin flesh, pulled me down into the bed. I was sick and scared. I couldn’t move.

Panic rose. I gasped for air. Couldn’t breathe.

I tried to fight as I felt myself being pulled down, deeper into the mattress.

Around me, thousands of screaming voices rang in a cacophony before they merged into roaring white noise. The volume hurt my ears, but there were no headphones to pull off.

I struggled, tried to kick myself free, tried to see my captors. Tried to escape.

I lost control, panic took hold, and I thrashed, screamed, writhed, and fought. The more I moved and tried to twist myself free, the more hands grasped at me.

They took hold of my legs, pulled my ankles, held me down, pulled me under.

I was paralysed now. Stuck, caught, confined. I went beyond panic into terror. All control was lost.

The hands kept pulling me down. Pulled me deeper into the mattress. Pulled me through the floor. Pulled me through black earth. Pulled me into caverns of fire.

I twisted hard with all my might – one final summoning of all my strength. I broke free and sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat pouring down my face. Heart hammering. Breathing ragged.

Passing cars cast bright beams on the ceiling.

For me, morning had arrived early.

*

Kel Rodrigues fished the threadbare teabag from the mug of hot water with his fingers and threw it onto a saucer next to the kettle before blowing on his fingertips to cool them. He chucked a piece of curling white bread in the toaster. While it turned a light tan, he warmed his hands on his mug of milk-less, sugar-less, thin tea.

It was cold and Kel began to shiver. Abandoning the pale warmth of the toaster and tea, he shambled across the bedsit to a pile of clothes lying on the floor by the worn-out sofa-bed and rummaged around until he found another, thicker, jumper.

The tea had already gone tepid when he returned, pulling the sweater on over his head as the toaster spat out the browned slice of stale bread. Catching a glimpse of the time in red on his radio alarm clock display, he realised he would be late and kicked himself up a gear.

Kel dunked a corner of the toast in the tea, before taking a bite and chewing rapidly. He gobbled down the rest of the slice, drained the mug and threw on his shapeless leather jacket and holey Converse Allstars.

Moving as fast as he could, Kel locked the door and clattered down the stairs to the street. Someone had kicked and cracked the glass in the close door again. If he was lucky, he’d make the bus. Almost running to Crow Road, he pulled his long, unkempt hair out of his eyes and could see the double-decker coming down the hill. He fought back the shivers while he stood at the stop and counted his change. Exact fare in coppers and small silver.

Kel sat at the back, near the engine, where the bus was always warm, despite the strong smell of smoky exhaust and leaking oil. He urged the bus to hurry along, cursing every red light.

A few minutes later, Kel reluctantly got off, leaving the heat, just before Byres Road, and after crossing Dumbarton Road, walked to the Job Centre. How he ended up with such a god-awful sign-on time, on a god-awful day, Kel never knew. It was exactly nine when he walked through the door, and he took his place in the queue. He came forward and sat down when his name was called and signed on the dotted line, confessing that he had been actively looking for work.

“You’ll have your thirteen-week interview next time. Make sure you bring proof that you’ve been looking for work. They’ll send you your time in the post.” The middle-aged grey woman, who sat across the desk from him, waited for a reply. Kel had seen her every two weeks for years and still didn’t know her name.

“Another one?” Kel was fed up with this crap. They kept bringing him in for questioning and sending him to job interviews that went nowhere. Surely it was obvious after all these years that he was unemployable? They’d all be better off saving each other the hassle. “I went through this only a few weeks ago.” His raised voice alerted the rotund man wearing a white shirt, with black slip-ons on the shoulder straps, who passed for security.

Grey Woman’s Monday smile turned fake, and then to frown. “I can assure you, it has been thirteen weeks since your last interview. If you have been looking for work and have collected proof of your activity, then you have nothing to worry about. You will receive your appointment time through the post.”

“All I do is look for work. Years I’ve been looking. Thousands of applications. You’ve seen most of them yourself. I’d love to put on a tie and do something nine-to-five other than look for work. Isn’t it about time we all just accepted that it isn’t going to happen?” Kel’s voice had gotten louder as his frustration came out. He almost pounded the table with his fist.

“Mr Rodrigues, please calm down. If you get abusive you will risk having your benefit suspended.” Her voice was flat, like she saw this happen every day, and it was a programmed response.

With security guy hovering over his shoulder, Kel could tell he would only give himself more hassle. He sighed, letting his feelings go. Nodded at Grey Woman, got up and went and made a show of using the touch-screen job ad machines. He stabbed the options with his finger, hoping to crack the screen. The veneer of human grease that smeared the glass disgusted him. His finger left furrows.

His part in the futile façade completed, he left the Centre. He was just another cog in the great machine. Graham had told him once that full employment wasn’t good for the country; economically it was undesirable, causing inflation and high wages. It didn’t feel good to help the system function. Still, at least he’d be able to get some shopping in again in the next few days. Maybe even have some change for the gas boiler – he could get a shower and a shave.

*

Drifting up Byres Road, the street draped in Christmas decorations and lights, Kel stopped in every charity shop on the way. Racks of well-used paperbacks and shapeless women’s shirts sat alongside tea sets from the nineteen seventies, still in their boxes.

A mixture of elderly ladies and young African women with French accents greeted him, happy to see him on his regular tour, despite never purchasing anything. He stopped, chatted, and occasionally accepted the offer of tea. These little shops were like a tropical archipelago. All that was missing was crystal blue water and golden sands to warm his toes.

Eventually, around lunchtime, Kel wandered home, his stomach growling. Like an ascetic monk, Kel had grown used to ignoring his body’s needs. Another piece of pale toast and he was ready for the afternoon’s work.

He put away the unmade sofa-bed, kicked aside some clothes and set up his easel. His new canvas was stretched, dry and ready.

Kel attached carbon paper onto the surface of the canvas. He took out his sketchpad, extracted the drawing he had been working on and laid it on top of the carbon paper. Finally, he began to trace over the surface of the sketch, transferring it to the canvas below.

After an hour, Kel removed the carbon paper and sketch, stepped back and considered his work.

The hands held the struggling victim around her wrists and ankles like human manacles. A fist filled her mouth, stifling a scream. Other hands pawed at her breasts and body. Indistinct spectral forms hovered over the rock on which she lay - it was unclear whether they were passive observers or active participants. The cavern behind them was licked with flames, lava flowed down the walls and pooled beneath the rock.

Kel prepared his brown ink and began to outline the drawing, before letting it dry with the five others propped against the long wall of the bedsit. 

Chapter 2

Jen Rodrigues marched down the heather-blue corridor, swing doors thrown open and oscillating in her wake. Her skirt and high heels prevented her from moving with any greater speed. An unchecked strand of dark hair from her tightly drawn back ponytail was the only indication of the turmoil within.

Jen stabbed a code into the security panel, and the lab door slid slowly back, giving her another moment to ensure she was prepared. She noticed the hair and secured it behind her ear.

She breathed in and entered as the door fully opened.

A few heads turned to see who had come in. A couple went back to the task in hand. The lab was divided into three parts. The middle area contained tables, workstations, monitors, computers, cameras, and since an experiment wasn’t underway, everyone in the research team and the subjects scheduled for today’s tests. The right- and left-hand sides were behind glass walls with a glass door leading into them. Inside each was a solid metal box with a grill on the front.

“Good morning, everyone.” Although she had been running the lab since she started working here, she was feeling nervous. Up to now, she had felt like she worked with the team. Being the boss would change things. Also, the Board could appoint someone else to run the Institute if they decided Doug wasn’t coming back any time soon. Jen scanned the room to see if she had everyone’s attention. “Firstly, I have some bad news. Doug has been taken seriously ill.” His wife had called to let her know that the Director of the Institute had suffered a stroke in the night. She could run the lab just fine. But there was more to do that she had no idea where to begin. “I’ll try to ensure things run smoothly in his absence.” Jen cringed inside. That was hardly being assertive.

“Well, that explains the suit.”

Jen could just hear Jacob’s comment. She carried on. “We will be receiving visitors today, so could we please make sure the lab is tidy? I intend to give them a full tour of the facilities, so I hope that we can schedule a viewing session for this afternoon, after lunch?”

Alex Roper raised his hand, tentatively. He was only just out of college and still in his early twenties. His stiff, white lab coat covered a Kitten Uzi T-shirt and a pair of low, loose jeans.

“Yes, Alex?” Jen gave him her full attention and the brunt of her exasperation.

“Do we need to wear a suit and tie?” Alex nodded slightly in her direction. He seemed embarrassed to ask while also trying to sound indignant at the idea that he should have to change. Already the boundaries were being erected. Colleagues were becoming staff.