Cerulean. The bright blue mineral vein shot through the prehistoric schist of the Great Below. Equal parts pigment and drug. It goes by many names: Peacock Powder, Truth Talc, the Straight Dope, Blue Jay (or just, “Jay”), Bluebird or Blue Butterfly (or simply “BB”), Blue Mascara, Cobalt, Azure. But many just call it – and the effects it engenders – the Blue Blazes. Users smudge some of the blue powder on the temples to bring on effects that include: preternatural strength, preternatural toughness, as well as a wiping away of the illusions that keep mortal men from seeing the truth of the denizens of the Underworld. In first-time users the Blue Blazes create an adrenalin rush and an eerie, powerful focus – a high that peaks with the initial use and is never again matched. Blazeheads are said in this way to “chase the blue” or “hunt the peacock”. Many never know that the visions they sometimes see are true – they believe them to be by-products of the drug, hallucinations that accompany the feelings of invulnerability and clarity. As a drug it’s quite rare and fetches a high price among those who know of its existence. The Organization controls Cerulean. Or, at least, they think they do.
– from the Journals of John Atticus Oakes, Cartographer of the Great Below
A passing subway train shakes the walls. Fluorescent lights swing.
As they do, the shadows of the room move – shadows of crooked card tables, of antique scales, of the little towers of tins that tilt and teeter as the train passes.
Once the noise has calmed down, the half-man, Octavio, says, “C’mon, man. Death’s Head isn’t real, Mookie. You know that.”
Mookie’s not Blazing right now: if he were, he’d see a man with hair like braided vines, with skin like tree bark and fingernails like rose-thorns. Octavio’s a half-and-half, like Werth: but, while Blind, all Mookie sees is a broad-shouldered black man with long, puffy dreads going halfway down his back. Behind him, a couple other workers – ex-Mole People – pull out a few softball-sized hunks of Cerulean, the blue of the pigment an unearthly hue, here in the bright lights of the secret room not far from the Brooklyn Bridge Station.
Mookie shrugs. “I know. But I was told to ask.”
The ex-Moles use the bottom of plastic buckets to crush the Cerulean. They pulverize it to a powder. They measure it out into neat little piles. The piles go onto scales and then into little unmatched tins. Each equaling one ounce of Blue. Rumor has it it’s starting to catch on with rich kids and celebrities: folks who’ve finally caught wind that there’s some secret hush-hush drug out there, some trip-balls hallucinogen that makes you “see things” and “feel like you could take over the world.”
If Blue really catches on after all these years, it may be time to upgrade from little operations like this one. Mookie has a hard time envisioning rows and rows of trailers in some abandoned Jersey lot like they’re cooking meth or unbundling bales of weed. Besides, it’s not like Blue is in endless supply down here: you can always grow more marijuana or make more meth. Cerulean is like gold: you find the vein, you tap it, then it’s gone. It doesn’t come back. And one day they’re gonna get tapped out.
Speaking of that, Octavio says:
“Heard you found a new vein, bruh.”
Mookie nods. Reflexively he reaches for the leather satchel he carries over his shoulder and pulls it tight. He trusts Octavio, but the other Moles – they pulverize the Blue just hoping to get a taste. Addicts, all of them. “Under the Garment District, yeah. The Hell’s Kitchen crew knows their shit pretty well. They’re the ones that found it.”
You use Blue to find Blue – when you Blaze, you can sense more Blue through the walls. Like a heartbeat dully thudding behind the rock. A vein in every sense.
“No more problems with the gobs?” Mookie asks.
Octavio shakes his head; his dreads stay still as his head moves. “Nah, bruh. Thanks for saving our bacon.”
Mookie looks down at his scabbed over knuckles. “It’s fine.”
“They’re gettin’ worse, though. The gobbos. All riled up and shit.”
“I know.” Before Octavio can continue down this topic, Mookie asks again: “You sure you haven’t heard nothing about the Purple? No Death’s Head anywhere?”
“Nah. But I know I guy who knows a guy who got a hold of some of the Red.”