Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu Read online

  The passages that she had so far been able to decipher described all manner of beings – or were they gods? – but it focused on one in particular.

  This creature was a manifestation of nothing, though it wielded great power. It had once been a pharaoh, but had since returned to the darkness ‘betwixt the stars’. The author of the book – this title-less tome that was as much a diary as it was a treatise on the supernatural – had been attempting to make contact with this entity, though for what purpose wasn’t entirely clear.

  “What are you reading?”

  The boy sitting opposite her on one of the ratty armchairs that filled the student lounge had fine mousy hair cut in an unfashionable style, and was dressed in a way that said not so much hipster as failed 1950s’ beat poet.

  “Sorry?” Jasmine said.

  “What are you reading?” He leaned forward, his gaze on the book rather than her.

  “Oh, this? Just a history book. It’s a bit boring actually.”

  “May I?” He thrust out his hand abruptly, making Jasmine flinch.

  “I’m sorry. You are...?”

  “Oh.” The hand was withdrawn, a confused expression on the boy’s face as though he had forgotten himself. “I’m Richard. May I?”

  The hand was back again.

  “Look. The thing is that it’s really quite fragile. And it isn’t mine, so I really shouldn’t. I’m Jasmine, by the way.”

  “I see,” Richard said, got to his feet and left the lounge.

  Jasmine blinked and looked back down at the book. She realised it would take time to make friends at the new college, but she hadn’t expected to immediately attract the resident weirdo.

  Nathaniel Creed was the author of the book, and he had once owned the building in which her mother’s shop resided. He had been a famous 17th century magician, or so he claimed, though much of the book seemed to detail his failures, rather than his successes.

  “Then maybe you had better find a way!”

  Jasmine was snapped out of her studies by her mother’s cry of frustration as she slammed down the phone. The silence that followed was worse, and she crept down to the kitchen to find Penelope with her head on the table, quietly crying.

  “Mum?”

  Penelope looked up and Jasmine’s stomach clenched when she saw the despair on her mother’s face.

  “Oh, sweetie, I tried, but we’re going to lose the shop.”

  “What? How?”

  “The rent’s too high, the footfall too low. I tried. Really, I did.”

  Jasmine put her arms around her mother. “I know you did, Mum. I’m not blaming you. You did your best.”

  “Thing is, we may lose the house too. All my finances were tied up in the shop, and with that gone...”

  Jasmine could have sworn, could have smashed something, but instead she let her mother cry into her shoulder, wishing that Penelope could again be the mother who had been the provider of such comfort, who had been her faith in a world that had more in it than most could reckon. Some sort of radical change was what her mother needed, and once Penelope would have been able to use magical means to enact such change herself. She had long ago lost her self-confidence, and Jasmine didn’t know whether her mother even had it in her anymore to perform the most basic of cantrips.

  However, there were still those who believed in Peneope; colleagues and friends who could be called upon to bring their own talents to bear.

  “Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine?”

  “Jasmine Cooper. I’m Penelope Cooper’s daughter?”

  “Oh, Penelope, bless her. How is she doing these days?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid. She’s losing her business and it looks like we’re going to lose the house.”

  “Oh, goddess! I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. Is there anything that I can do?”

  “Actually, that’s what I was calling about. You and Mum were once pretty close in the magical community, and I was wondering whether you could use your power – perhaps call on some others, too – to help turn things around for us... Hello?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. I’m sorry, Jasmine, I don’t quite know what you expect of me.”

  “A spell or two, perhaps? I don’t know... don’t you have some kind of magic to help a witch in need?”

  “That’s really not the way it works, my dear.”

  “But Mum told me you used to get up to all sorts. She told me about things you’d seen, the stories of the magic you’d worked –”

  “Jasmine, slow down. Your mother was always one for stories, I’m afraid, and that’s what they mostly were.”

  “But... she said the spells really worked.”

  “And did you ever witness any that ever did? Magic just isn’t like that, Jasmine. It never was. Look, I think that Penelope was trying to impress you, entertain you maybe. I’m sure she meant no harm.”

  “But there’s really nothing you can do? That any of you can do?”

  “I’m so sorry, Jasmine. Naturally, I’ll be thinking of you both, praying for you. And do tell Penelope, if she ever wants to give me a call –”

  “Fine. Bye.”

  Arodias looked at the boy in the mirror. It had been a long time since he had worn such a youthful face; decades since he had spoken to anyone outside the circle of his own family, let alone a woman.

  There had been women once, before his studies had intervened, before his discoveries had reshaped his world and himself. Once he had been married. Once he had loved and, if he cast his mind back, Arodias thought that he could just about remember how that had been.

  “Hi, I’m Richard,” he said to his reflection. “I’m sorry about all that... strangeness before. May we talk?”

  Jasmine had read somewhere that one of the best ways of coping with grief – or mental trauma of any kind – is to throw oneself into work, or study.

  For all of the disorientation and anxiety she had experienced in her first few weeks of college, she soon found herself settling in. Her Modern English Literature course was well-taught and engaging, and there was a wide variety of societies and clubs on offer.

  One afternoon, she was handed a leaflet advertising open auditions for a forthcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, and though it had been a while since she had last trod the boards in Drama Club at school, she decided to give it a go.

  At first, she had thought of going in for one of the significant, though smaller, female roles – Nurse, or Lady Montague or Capulet perhaps – but deciding to throw caution to the wind, Jasmine put herself down for Juliet.

  “Okay, people. I need a Romeo and a Juliet, and we’re going to go with the balcony scene. Who do we have?”

  Jasmine raised her hand and saw only a handful of prospective Romeos do the same. Her heart sank when she saw that one of them was the weirdo who had quizzed her about the book.

  “Right, Romeo, we’ll start with... you. Yes, you. Chap in the black T-shirt. Richard? And” – the director cast her eye over the clutch of Juliets. Jasmine was just about to lower her hand when she was singled out. “Yes, you my lovely. You are...?”

  “Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine and Richard, splendid. Let’s go from, ‘But soft, what light...’”

  She wasn’t expecting there to be any chemistry between them, but Richard spoke his lines as though he meant them; he was a generous actor, bringing her more fully into the role, helping Jasmine give a performance that at least felt halfway real.

  She left the auditions feeling quietly confident and was going over her lines again in the cafeteria when Richard sat down opposite her. It may have been the light or the fact that she wasn’t as tense as she had been at their first meeting, but he looked younger somehow.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “I thought you did really well today.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “Look, I just wanted to apologise about all that... strangeness before, with the book.”

  “Oh, d
on’t worry about it. I’d forgotten all about that to be honest.”

  “It’s just that old books are a bit of a hobby of mine.”

  “What kind of things are you into?”

  “Areas of esoteric study and research mainly. What some may call magic.”

  “Hah! You should talk to my mother. She used to be into all that stuff. She owns the shop on the High Street – Destiny. Well, she did. It’s going to close down.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Nothing to be done about it now, I suppose.”

  “And what was the book you were reading?”

  “Just some old diary. I thought” – that it could help, that there was magic there that I could use – “it looked interesting, but it’s a bit boring to be honest.”

  “Even so, I’d like to see it, if I may.” Richard leaned in a little too close and Jasmine drew back. For a moment there had been a strange, musty smell and an expression crossed his face that made him look old. She blinked and he was leaning back in his chair. “It might be that I could help you understand what is in the book. Some of the more esoteric texts need a little translating. That is, if you would like?”

  She thought back to when she had found the book, and the feeling she’d had that it was somehow meant to be hers.

  “That sounds great,” Jasmine said, “I’d like that.”

  “Splendid. Well then, if we two are to be Romeo and Juliet, as I very much hope, then why not bring it along to one of the rehearsals, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  He held out his hand and Jasmine saw that he had the most beautiful, slender fingers

  “Thanks, Romeo... God! I mean, Richard. Richard is what I meant, of course. I’m so sorry.” Jasmine was sure that her embarrassment had lit her up like a beacon, but Richard smiled.

  “No need to be. Soon then, my Juliet.”

  Arodias was confident the roles would be theirs. After all, on the morning of the auditions, he had taken the precaution of burning certain powders while describing complex geometries over the smoke.

  He had always suspected that the book had remained in the home of Nathaniel Creed. No doubt Creed had set up wards to keep it from his sight. In any case, Nathaniel was hundreds of years dead and the book was back in the world.

  And the girl may be useful, beyond being his route to the book. When he had first seen her, she had been reading Nathaniel’s words not just with a glimmer of understanding, but a hunger for more.

  Yes, she had something, this Jasmine. He may yet have need of her.

  “Oh god, you utter utter idiot. ‘Thanks, Romeo.’ Romeo! Oh yeah, well played Jasmine. Top of the class.”

  She blushed as she remembered the conversation. She’d never spoken like that to a boy before. And he’d hardly been the master of subtlety himself. My Juliet. Any other time, she’d have been running for the hills, but there was something about Richard – a certain intensity, an alluring intelligence. She didn’t know quite what it was, but she did know that she wanted to see him again.

  “‘Thanks, Romeo’. Oh God oh God oh God!”

  There was a soft knocking on her bedroom door. “Are you okay in there, my love?”

  “Fine, Mum. Just struggling with some homework.”

  “Is there anything that I can do?”

  “No, I’m fine really.”

  “Okay then. Well... I love you, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know, Mum.”

  Jasmine waited until she heard her mother’s footsteps recede before she took Nathaniel Creed’s diary from under her bed.

  She needed something to focus her mind, to take her away from thoughts of Richard for a while. Perhaps he had been right to be so interested in the book. Word by word, it was starting to speak to her.

  “Well, my lovelies, we have our Romeo and Juliet. Round of applause please.” Richard looked at Jasmine and winked. She smiled, a little abashed, and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Just as she’d promised, she had brought the book with her, and it was this that was on her mind that afternoon, rather than the words of the play.

  “That was terrific, Jasmine. Very stirring,” the director said, after they had read through Juliet’s first scene.

  “Really?” Jasmine said. “I think I tripped over a couple of the lines.”

  “No, no, that was perfect, really.”

  She looked from the glassy sheen in the director’s eyes to the disgruntled expressions on some of the other actors’ faces, and felt that the cast were not in agreement.

  But then they were onto Mercutio and Romeo’s verbal sparring, and Jasmine’s thoughts returned to what she had learned the previous evening.

  Nathaniel Creed’s philosophy was unlike anything she had encountered in the world of magic, either through her mother or her own studies. Creed’s approach was unusually anti-human, and concerned itself not so much with discovering the spiritual side of oneself, as denying the individual’s place in the universe. Indeed, he referred to the human race as an ‘accident’; a by-product of a vast process humanity didn’t have the capacity to understand. He wrote about the importance of erasing one’s own identity, becoming a nothingness — a gateway through which something could enter.

  Jasmine looked up as Richard sat down beside her. On the stage Friar Lawrence was going through his morning ablutions.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Richard said.

  “Oh I was just wondering who this Al-Hazred is that the author mentions. Any ideas?”

  Richard looked briefly taken aback.

  “Are you okay?” Jasmine said.

  “Yes, fine. Fine. Just a bit tired. But, yes, that name does ring a bell. Listen, I was thinking that we could take a look at the book together, tomorrow evening, over dinner at my house.”

  “Your house?”

  “Of course. I’ll have a meal prepared for us and... Oh, I see. No, nothing like that of course. It’s just that we’d have access to my library and –”

  “Look, why don’t you come over to mine instead? We have a pretty impressive collection of books ourselves, and I’m sure that you and Mum would get on like a house on fire, being into magic and all that.”

  “‘And all that?’”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I also cook a pretty mean curry. And we can learn more about this.”

  Jasmine gestured with the book and Richard’s hand shot out, as though he meant to grab it.

  “Sorry,” he said. “May I... may I just take a quick look?”

  “Romeo and Juliet,” the director called, “you’re up. Party scene run through, yeah?”

  “Of course,” Richard replied, and, managing a weak smile, he turned back to Jasmine. “Later then.”

  “Since when did you start cooking?”

  “Since you stopped bothering, Mum.”

  “Heh. Fair point. Are we having guests?”

  “Just a boy from college. Richard.”

  “A boy from college, eh?”

  “Don’t start. It’s not like that.” At least, she didn’t think it was. Richard was simply coming over to help her understand Creed’s book, and Creed’s book would help her with their shitty life. She was sure of it. “Anyway, I think you’ll like him. He’s into all that weird stuff.”

  “How flattering, Jasmine. Thank you so much.”

  Richard was alarmingly punctual. Jasmine had been intending to change before they sat down to eat, but instead she had to answer the door in tracksuit bottoms and an ancient T-shirt. Richard himself was dressed so formerly that it looked like he was on his way to a funeral. As he stepped over the threshold, he brought with him a faint odour of mothballs. He hadn’t brought any flowers or wine, but then Jasmine didn’t think that it would have occurred to him to do so.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “Oh, and this is Mum.”

  “Mrs Cooper. A pleasure to meet you.”

  Richard held out his hand and Penelope didn’t take it.

  Well isn’t this getting off to
a flying start? Jasmine thought. “Right, well. As I said, dinner is pretty much ready, so why don’t we go and sit down?”

  Penelope kept up the silent treatment all through the meal, and glared at Richard as though daring him to make a wrong move. Jasmine had no idea what had got into her. She had never been this off with any of her other boyfriends; not that Richard was boyfriend material, she reminded herself.

  Richard bolted down the meal as though desperate to get it over with.

  “Okay, then,” Jasmine said as she cleared the plates. “Shall we make a start on those lines then Richard?”

  “Lines?” Penelope said.

  “Oh, I haven’t told you have I? Richard and I have been cast in the college production of Romeo and Juliet, as the leads.”

  Penelope couldn’t have looked less delighted if Jasmine had told her she was pregnant.

  “So, we’re just going to go over our lines. Okay?”

  Her mother didn’t respond, but she did hold Richard with a baleful glare as they left the room.

  “I’m so sorry about Mum,” Jasmine said, once the bedroom door was closed behind them. “She’s been going through a lot, you know?”

  Richard didn’t answer. He was standing at the dresser with his back to her, staring down at the book.

  “So, here it is,” he said, reverence in his voice. “Nathaniel Creed’s book. I’d heard so much. Had no idea it was so close.” Richard turned around with the book in his hands. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was under a pile of junk in the basement of Mum’s shop.” Jasmine wasn’t sure why she felt the need for the white lie, perhaps it was the intensity in Richard’s eyes as he opened the book. “Where did you hear about the book in the first place?”

  “Creed and I...” Richard cleared his throat and started again. “Nathaniel Creed’s work is very well known within certain circles.”

  “Famous wizard. Got it.”

  “Wizard is far too... trite a word for what Creed was. Creed was...” Richard gestured with the book, as he sought for the right words.

  “This is not magic.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, the knowledge within this book concerns itself with something far greater. Magic is often mere wish fulfilment; ludicrous ritual, offering, at best, a temporary salve to suffering.” Jasmine thought of all the junk in her mother’s shop and nodded. “But Creed knew. To involve oneself with true knowledge, one must entirely forget oneself. Humanity is nothing; less than nothing – a cosmic joke. There are beings... out there that have terrible, infinite power. True sorcery, real magic, lies in attracting their attention.”