Order of the Golden Dawn (Neophyte Series 2)

3. Night Justice

        MOVING THROUGH THE CROWDED room, I edged forward, keenly aware of the strange eyes upon me. My palms were damp, and I discreetly wiped them in my pockets as we followed my father through the swarm. Each gaze that landed on me—every judgmental turn of cheek—felt like a pinprick, like being surrounded by a room full of Thomas Vaughn Bishops. I fought the urge to shrink back, to find a quiet corner where I could disappear from sight. The polished faces around me seemed carved from marble, their expressions unreadable, eyes sharp and appraising.

Each member of the Order stood at the pinnacle of their respective fields, or steadily making their way there—powerful, influential individuals who manoeuvred the pieces of industry like a complex game of chess. Some operated in the public eye, others covertly in the shadows. As I passed, I overheard snippets of conversation: discussions of contracts and signing bonuses, debates over business strategies, whispers of political legislation early in development. Meanwhile, servers glided through the crowd with silver trays of bubbling champagne and exquisite hors d'oeuvres that even the most worldly among us had never tasted. The air buzzed with the confidence of the wealthy and privileged, and a pang of intimidation struck me. I followed Edward deeper into the throng, feeling the weight of prying eyes and curious glares.

Each attendee was dressed in the latest fashions—silk embroidered fabrics, white gloves, top hats, canes, and tailcoats at every turn—exuding an effortless opulence that made my own unease all the more acute.

'Now, do you see why proper attire was paramount, cousin?' Edward murmured with my obvious unease, his lips barely moving as we wove through the crowd. A cornucopia of exquisite fragrances—fine imported tobacco, aged spirits, and perfected wines from around the world—filled the air with every step.

'Indeed, Edward, you have my thanks,' I replied with a nervous breath. My initial reluctance was replaced with genuine gratitude for his intervention. Without his foresight, I was certain I would have been the subject of gossip and ridicule all evening.

As we approached the rear of the room, I noticed a shift in Edward's posture—a slight straightening of spine, a more confident stride. This was his element, and I couldn't help but feel a touch of envy at his ease. We neared a small, secluded group, and I felt myself shrinking further with every step, as though I were a shadow slipping across the floor. The men spoke not with words but with the tilt of a head, the flick of an eye—an unspoken language of power and privilege. Each movement was a nuance, a signal in a conversation I could not hope to decipher. They held their champagne flutes like scepters, symbols of their control, their eyes glancing over the room like monarchs surveying their subjects. My father's approach drew their collective attention like iron to a magnet. I stood straighter, trying to mirror Edward's poise, though I felt a world apart.

'Tom! My dear chap, will you join us?' The voice was rich and smooth, polished like the mahogany cane in his gloved hand. As he spoke, he swirled the contents of his glass absently, a gesture that hinted deep calculation. He was a figure cut from the cloth of power—tall and commanding, with silvery-white hair parted with precision. His handlebar mustache and thick mutton chops, though slightly out of vogue, lent him a distinguished air, reinforced by his piercing black eyes, which matched his wildly unkempt eyebrows, like tiny onyx weeds creeping up his brow.

'That's D'Onston,' Edward whispered as all eyes turned to my father. The name struck an instant chord the moment it slipped from his lips. I recalled the argument between the mysterious hag and my father back at our estate—this was the man who had summoned the Order to meet. He must be someone of great importance, I thought.

'We were worried you weren't going to make it,' D'Onston said with a smile I couldn't quite read—warm on the surface, but with an undercurrent of something colder beneath.