Summer has been selected to visit Ghostheart’s preferred coffee joint and keep an eye on them. Charlotte and Daph are instantly recognizable, and spiritually potent, while Summer can disguise herself. Plus, as Charlotte assures her to a decidedly mixed reaction, there’s nothing that stands out about her soul or aura.
The place is Mater Luna, one of those expensive coffee joints across town. It’s in the same neighborhood as the Theosophical Research Society, the Anson Museum of Witchcraft and Magick, the Santuario de las Brujas, and other places that high school kids would have been warned to stay away from in the past. Summer is no longer in high school and admits to some personal curiosity beyond the mere thrill of going into a forbidden place of business.
Mater Luna is decorated like the nave in a gloomy cathedral. There’s an ambient soundtrack coming from artfully concealed speakers while people sip coffee, write in leatherbound journals, whisper to each other, and stare at the strange spiraling designs on the walls. Summer is pretty sure she can detect a whiff of cannabis, probably from one of the rooms in the back for special clients.
She’s done up her hair, changed it to a rainbow color scheme, and reworked her face and eyes. She’s still the same height - there’s only so much you can do with a Newman shell on short notice - but has dressed to change her silhouette. She’s pretty sure Ghostheart never met Pneuma up close and in person, and that what they saw of Radiance won’t give her away either.
Is it all for nothing? No - Max Gallian is there, sitting in a corner, poring over a collection of tomes and magazines. She’s not here to make contact, just observe, so she subtly dispatches a butterfly drone and then takes a seat of her own.
It’s around the time Summer has had her third sip of this “smoking mirror” concoction from the menu that Max announces themselves to her. They haven’t moved from the table, but they’re clearly addressing the butterfly. “My perceptions have increased since my return. If you wish to observe me, you can do so from my table.”
There’s no reason not to, she supposes. She stands, takes the cup and saucer, and weaves her way through the crowd of strangers to take a seat.
“Coffee is one of the most accessible tools for expanding one’s consciousness,” says Max.
“I beg your pardon?”
The villain gestures upward, at the butterfly’s hidden position. “You’ve transcended human physical and mental limits through technology. Those of us born of flesh and blood can only get by on the inadequate chemical tools at our disposal. But of those, coffee has become both socially acceptable and ubiquitous.”
Summer smiles. “I suppose so.”
“Would you like to hear more about me? I assume that’s why you came.” Max takes a sip of their own drink.
Summer nods. Why not?
“My father was one from beyond the veil. My mother was alive - at the time I was born. I inherited qualities of both worlds. To see beyond that veil, to understand. And to know how dangerous it was when crossed.”
Max looks up, finding Summer’s gaze and matching it with a burning intensity. “Modern civilization seems compelled to destroy whatever it touches. You pollute the air, the water, the soil. You take what you wish and leave garbage in trade. You use, and use, and use, and the detritus is thrown back, unhindered.”
“Do you know that there is a spiritual detritus as well? Regret, anger, insecurity. You build up the ugliest of emotions, but rather than address them, you release them into the afterlife. And then what? They return. Again, and again. Hurting people, in subtle ways sometimes, overtly in others. Your very way of life torments the living after you are gone.”
Max taps something on their phone, then hands it over to Summer for inspection. “Read it aloud,” they direct.
Summer complies. It’s a quote, from the book “John Dies at the End”. “Try to imagine a Hitler or a Vlad the Impaler or even the nasty old man at the dump who steals people’s cats and buries them alive. Now imagine those guys but strip them of all their limitations. No bodies, so they never die or run down or get tired. Give them literally all the time in the world. Imagine that malice, that stupid hate just burning on and on and on like an oil well fire.”
Max takes their phone back. “This. This is why I fight to keep the veil intact. Do you understand?”
Summer is shaken by what she’s been told, and what she’s read, but she nods regardless. “I think I do. Very well, actually. You see, myself, and my family, we all feel very strongly about addressing and resolving our emotions. We don’t like leaving things unsaid or undone. It feels wrong, to bottle it up and never let it out. It doesn’t feel healthy. And we know enough about neurobiology, and can see the effects of stress on a living brain, to really understand the damage such things can cause even in this life.”
Max’s smile is an attempt, but Summer can see the pain behind it. “I admit I have hurt people. I accept the label of ‘supervillain’. But I am not the worst. And if I could get people to wake up, to see beyond, to understand the harm they do, I’d be content.”
They lift their coffee mug and finish the drink. “And if it means stopping any forces from beyond from claiming territory - or people - here, I’d go back to prison for that.”
Summer nods again. “I suspect that’s what will happen.”
Max shrugs. “I won’t ask how you found me. I’m sure you have your ways. I wish you equal success in all your detective endeavors.”
Summer finishes her own coffee and stands. “We will see that justice is done,” she promises. “For everybody.”
“To justice.” Max lifts their coffee cup in a mocking toast, and sets it down only after Summer has exited Mater Luna.
https://liamsinger.medium.com/magic-ceremony-and-alchemical-mysticism-in-coffee-765caca52f12