Morgaine and Asmodeus Read online

  * * * *

  After Morgaine arrived the next evening, Michael asked her, “Did your vision tell you anything?"

  "Yes, but not enough. Simply that something momentous is going to happen to you in Chicago. I saw its skyline and your hotel and heard music, a beautiful melody. But I couldn't determine its source. That's all. I have no idea what it means. How about the Asmodeus information? Did you review it?"

  "With a fine tooth comb. If it ever contained an answer, it's gone now. Lost many years ago."

  "Sad. How could you allow that happen?"

  "Believe me Morgaine, before computers, typewriters and printing presses, it was extremely difficult keeping written knowledge from being lost. Especially arcane knowledge during the inquisition."

  * * * *

  Before Michael started his lecture tour, Morgaine moved out of her cottage into Moonwood, the mansion Michael had purchased in the Catskill's. He already had several other acquaintances from the psychic institute living there. It made it simple for her to sneak into his secret lab and access his computer. The day after he left for Chicago, she stole down to his hidden office which was in the cellar. There she found that he had another secret that he had not told her about.

  * * * *

  In Chicago, in the middle of Michael's lecture, as his eyes roamed the room, he locked eyes with a lovely chestnut brunette sitting on the aisle in the second row. It was as he had told Morgaine. As soon as he saw the woman, he was in love with her. Maybe it was a type of psychic phenomena, an instinct with him, the ability to detect a compatible aura. His heart skipped a beat, and he knew he must meet this woman. Because he did not want to be too obvious and forward and do something that might turn her off, he used sleight of hand to arrange for her to win the prize of having private reading with him. A private reading as a door prize was Morgaine's idea. The goddess of fate must have made her come up with the idea at this time. It provided the perfect way to see the beauty alone without a lot of preliminaries. Once he was alone with her, he was sure that she would be his—as had all women that he had ever been attracted to.

  CHAPTER 2

  MELODY TRENT

  Moonwood was in the Catskills in an area of that had the New England charm of interesting scenery and old houses. That is how Michael described the property to Morgaine when he bought it. It was a magnificent mansion, almost a hundred rooms, a mixture of eighteenth and nineteenth century architectural styles added to and modified many times, with wings and towers and porches and artistically carved gingerbread everywhere. Originally the house was of cut stone, gray granite and bluestone, materials found in abundance in the Hudson Valley and nearby Vermont. Sometime during the colonial period this was replaced by Georgian architecture, popular in those days. The wings’ copper roof, towers and gingerbread were pure Victorian.

  Morgaine never knew why Michael had wanted such a white elephant, but did not question him about it. After all, he had plenty of money. Since she had been managing him, the dollars rolled in, and he had become a celebrity. In many ways, he was a mysterious person, which only added to his charm. Nonetheless, since his mansion had many rooms, several persons involved with the psychic institute, including Morgaine, stayed there as permanent house guests.

  Morgaine learned that Michael had met a woman in Chicago who interested him. Although she was horribly jealous, she kept this emotion buried and vowed to encourage this relationship. Considering the passion for Michael raging within her breast, she knew that it would be difficult dealing with this new romance of his. Nonetheless, the demon Asmodeus needed a sacrifice of a woman who loved Michael. If that was the way to save Michael, so be it.

  When Michael's car pulled into the driveway on the afternoon that Michael brought Melody Trent to Moonwood, the sky had darkened and thunder rumbled in the distance. Morgaine waited in the den with his other house guests, drinking tea and alcoholic drinks and conversing. The sounds of the couple mounting the steps to the front door carried into the den. Morgaine heard Michael giving orders to the butler, and the couple conversing in the foyer. She took a stiff swallow of brandy and stared at the double-doors opening. Michael escorted a strikingly beautiful woman into the room. Morgaine was instantly seized by a terrible jealously like a knife through her heart. Michael's new love was gorgeous with a marvelous figure, poised and well-dressed in the latest fashion. A dreadful premonition that this woman would cause Michael to be lost to Morgaine forever made Morgaine act irrationally. She rushed up to Michael, threw her arms around his neck and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. “Welcome home, darling Michael,” she said in as a sultry voice as she could manage.

  Michael did not respond to this “warm” welcome, but stiffened, took Morgaine's arms and forcefully but gently pushed her away. He whispered in her ear, “What the hell's wrong with you?” Aloud he said, “I appreciate the enthusiasm Morgaine, but not in front of my new friend. You certainly love to create scenes. Please be good. Everyone, I'd like to introduce Melody Trent. Melody, this actress calls herself Morgaine Fabiano."

  Morgaine laughed as she held out her hand. “Don't mind me, Melody. I like to make believe that Michael still has feelings towards me. So you're his latest. I hope you have better luck with him than I've had."

  "Pleased to meet you too, Miss Fabiano."

  "Oh darling, call me Morgaine. Or even Morgy. We're all friends here.” Morgaine grabbed Melody by the shoulders, kissed her cheek and gave her a hug almost as enthusiastic as the one she'd given Michael.

  Michael introduced Melody to the other house guests; Mildred Hoffstator, a middle-aged psychic; Father McGillicuty, a Catholic priest, and Sylvan Marcrome.

  They chatted until a maid announced that Melody's room was ready, at which point Michael whisked her away. As he led her out he tossed over his shoulder, “We'll see everyone at dinner."

  "Seven?” Hoffstator asked.

  "I assume so. Ask George."

  After Michael and Melody left the room, Mildred Hoffstator said, “She's very beautiful and charming."

  "You would think so,” Sylvan replied implying that Hoffstator was attracted to Melody.

  Morgaine said, “She's just the right sort of person for Michael."

  Sylvan raised his eyebrows. “Really, Morgaine? I would've thought that you'd be terribly jealous."

  Morgaine shook her head. “It's all over between Michael and me. We're just friends now."

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon the storm broke with fury. Lightning streaked the sky, rain lashed the windows, and thunder echoed and reechoed in the hills. The old house creaked and groaned, and the shutters rattled. At times the lights flickered. It suited Morgaine's mood completely. A storm raged in her heart, a storm of jealousy. Yet, her mind told her that to save Michael's life, she must do nothing to spoil his affair with this Trent woman. She paced the room, battling between her two inclinations, to destroy Michael's relationship with Melody and to encourage it.

  At seven she joined the other residents for dinner. A few minutes later, Michael escorted his new love interest into the dining room. She was clad in a sexy cocktail gown, a slinky red thing held up by thin pipe stem straps. Michael looked more debonair than usual. He wore a white silk shirt open at the collar, a gray satin scarf, a tweed jacket and black trousers. As Michael seated Melody to a place on his right, a lightning bolt struck so close that the crash came at the same instance as the flash, the wind howled around the house, pellets of hail hit the windows and the lights flickered again.

  Afterwards Michael tapped a water glass with a spoon for attention. Conversation ceased as everyone gazed at him in anticipation. “Before we begin dinner, I would like everyone to meet my new friend, Melody Trent.” Using the spoon as a baton, he pointed at a handsome man across the table from Melody. “This is Lance Flebert—actor.” Flebert was a washed up movie actor who never made it big. At the height of his career he got mixed up in a sex and drug scandal.

  "Movie star you mean,” Melody said,
giving him a winning smile. “You were Rod Gunman in Blaster. That's the last movie I saw you in."

  He grinned back and nodded. “Thank you for remembering. I hope to make a comeback soon. Very pleased to meet you, Miss Trent."

  "Melody, please. And I'm happy to meet you. It's not often that I get to hobnob with a movie star. Count me as a fan."

  "Well!” said Michael in a mock angry voice. “I'm quite jealous. How can I compete with a handsome celebrity? Next to our resident movie star is Father McGillicuty, whom you met this afternoon.” The priest and Melody nodded greetings. “And Morgaine, you've also met."

  Morgaine exchanged dagger stares with Melody. “Hi."

  Next Michael introduced Melody to the Jaspers, a well-heeled, occult dilettante couple in their sixties. Brigham winked and complimented Melody's looks. Corinn let out a nervous giggle along with her, “Pleased to meet you, Melody."

  Michael said, “To your left, darling, is Doctor Rhami Deju, a rival psychic."

  Rhami rose and bowed as he was introduced. He took Melody's hand and pumped it. “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Trent. May Vishnu smile upon you."

  "And may God bless you, Doctor,” she replied.

  Next to Deju was a young Amerindian, Robert Longfeathers. “Robert practices altarnate medicine,” Michael said.

  Longfeathers grinned. “He means that I'm a tribal shaman or medicine man, whichever term you prefer."

  Next to him was Jack Westcott, a gaunt man, extremely pale, bearded with wire-rimmed glasses, blue jeans and a pullover shirt whose eyes were red and dilated. “Until recently, Jack's been working on an important government project."

  Westcott looked grim and his eyes studied the table in front of him. “You needn't have mentioned that. I despised that job. If you people only knew what your government was up to.” He let out a brief horse laugh and suddenly sobered. “Uh ... sorry Miss Trent ... Melody. I ... uh ... am glad to meet you. Call me Jack."

  The last person on Melody's side of the table was Mildred Hoffstator.

  After the introductions, Michael signaled the butler, who had been hovering nearby, to start serving. He carefully filled everyone's glass with white wine and disappeared into the kitchen. While they waited for the first course, Melody asked, “Where is Mister Marcrome? Won't he be dining with us?"

  Morgaine laughed, and Mildred Hoffstator shook her head. “Poor Sylvan. He has so many hang-ups. You see Melody, he's paranoid about vampires, actually believes they exist. And worse, he insists that Jack is one and hides in his room while Jack is about."

  "I don't blame him,” remarked Morgaine. “You've got the pallor of a ghost, and none of us have ever seen you during the day. I'm beginning to think Sylvan is right."

  "You'd better watch out Morgaine,” Westcott said, leering at her. “One of these days I'll bite you on the neck.” After this remark, however, he lowered head and sullenly stared at his plate. At that point, soup was served. Without looking up, Westcott said, “The reason I'm always up late is insomnia. Whenever I try to sleep at night, I can't help fretting about what the government is doing in secret laboratories and...” He was interrupted by a singularly loud clap of thunder. The lights flickered and dimmed.

  Michael, in a low voice to the butler, said, “Please get candles, George. I'm afraid we could be in for a power failure."

  George scurried away, appearing a few minutes later with two other servants carrying candelabra with fresh candles in them. “Shall I light them, sir?"

  "Yes. And please turn off the lights in here. We'll have a romantic candlelight dinner.” He glanced at Melody in a loving manner, which Morgaine felt as though she had been assaulted physically.

  "We could have a seance,” Longfeathers remarked fatuously.

  Meanwhile, Westcott ignored the whole business. “...I get restless and must walk around. I can't seem to relax until just before dawn. By that time, I usually collapse in my bed and sleep the rest of the day."

  "And what do you do all night?” asked Morgaine in a malicious tone, her mood becoming bleaker by the moment as she noticed how attentive Michael was being to Melody. “Suck blood?"

  Westcott flushed and said testily, “Sometimes I go online with my computer. You'd be surprised how many other insomniacs are on the net. Or else I take a stroll."

  "Looking for victims,” Morgaine persisted with her needling, taking out her frustrations on Westcott.

  When Westcott realized what she was doing, he grinned. “Yes. I especially enjoy sinking my teeth in attractive young ladies—like you for example. Besides, I only suck blood because of what I am. What's your excuse for human sacrifices to the devil, you witch?"

  Morgaine laughed. “Oh I admit to being a witch, a sorceress actually. But a good one."

  Jack Westcott leered and asked in a sarcastic tone, “How do you mean that, Morgaine? Are you good at sorcery? Or are you a moral person?"

  Morgaine snorted and lit a cigarette. All this banter with Michael having eyes for no one except Melody made her nervous. She shifted in her seat, and her hands trembled as she held her lighter to her the cancer stick in her mouth. “Both,” she replied.

  Melody asked, “Are you saying that you're a real witch and can do magic? If so, what sort of magic? Mystifying our charming host? Or perhaps you place curses on people."

  To alleviate the growing tension in the room, Michael started a discussion on magic. “I believe all of us here, except perhaps Melody, are involved in magic one way or the other. After all, what is magic except the ability to see hidden relationships between the material world and the astral plane, between the animate and the inanimate and between the seen and the unseen. In other words, magic is simply another science, the science of the occult—or if you prefer, paranormal philosophy."

  Deju remarked, “I disagree. Magic is more than what is usually thought of as the occult sciences such as astrology, ESP and prescience. A true conjurer has knowledge of the proper ceremonies and incantations to call upon powerful supernatural entities to allow him or her to control and command the hidden forces of the cosmos."

  Corinn Jaspers said, “Yes, and there are two kinds of magic, black and white, depending on its intent and consequences."

  Westcott perked up. He refilled his wine glass. “Which kind do you practice, Morgaine?” he asked maliciously.

  "White of course. You just heard me tell you that I am a good sorceress. Like Glinda in the Wizard of Oz, if you like. The truth is that Witchcraft is an earth religion. I worship several gods and goddesses."

  Westcott went into a spasm of laughter.

  Longfeathers said, “Actually the correct terms are High Magic and Low Magic. A practitioner of High Magic is primarily a philosopher who seeks understanding of the universe in order to better himself spiritually and intellectually. Although he may coerce supernatural beings to serve him, he is more concerned with natural or Hermetic magic such as alchemy and astrology. Like our host here.” He raised his glass in Michael's direction.

  "Low Magic, on the other hand, is what witches practice—and I suppose to some extent Shamans, such as myself. It is homespun, utilitarian and materialistic."

  "But,” Melody asked, “aren't witches wicked by definition? They get their power from Satan."

  "You're Catholic, aren't you?” asked Morgaine.

  "Yes, but what...?"

  "That's a myth propounded by your church during the Middle Ages. It was part of their campaign to stamp out Paganism. I consider myself a disciple of the religions of the earliest civilizations. The priestesses of those times were peaceful, just and moral. When men took over, civilization deteriorated as the status of women was lowered. The witches of the Middle Ages were wise women who exercised psychic powers unknown to most people. The original witches’ Sabbaths were nocturnal protest rallies against an oppressive Church and ceremonies of worship of the old gods."

  These remarks seemed to surprise Melody. “Witchcraft to you is simply a pagan religion in which you are a belie
ver then?"

  "Yes, that's true. Although it is more than a religion."

  "So, what do you do? I mean in the way of ritual."

  "I used to belong to a coven. Our rituals varied from elaborate ceremony, to spontaneous ritual, to simple meditation. Generally we consecrated a sacred space, a circle in which we worked magic and worshipped the Goddess, various gods and other goddesses."

  "What about this Goddess, what's she like?"

  "She's the life force, Mother Nature, Gaia, the Earth, the Cosmos, the great Mother of all things, the interconnectedness of all things."

  Melody asked, “This coven is a cult then?"

  Morgaine made a face. “Hardly. The opposite in fact. A cult is a gathering of people who owe blind allegiance to a charismatic leader who ostensibly represents the Truth and whom they worship. Witches come to the Craft through study and communing with nature. Witches are highly individualistic."

  "I have a question about your religion,” said Father McGillicuty. “Do you have a sacred book, like the Bible or the Talmud?"

  Morgaine began to enjoy being the center of attention and explaining her religious beliefs. “No. The Bible and the sacred books of other paternalistic religions are supposedly the word of a deity revealed through a prophet. Witches have no such thing. Witchcraft is a Pagan folk-religion passed by word of mouth. A Witch keeps a Book of Shadows which is a combination workbook and journal. It only means something to the person who keeps it and contains rituals, discoveries, spells, poetry, herb lore and so forth."

  Westcott said, “What about the evil one, Morgaine? Don't you witches worship the devil?"

  "Propaganda. Satanism is a practice of profaning Christian symbolism. It's a Christian heresy, not a Pagan religion. The gods of Witchcraft have nothing to do with Satanic practice. I don't even believe that Satan exists. It's the Judeo-Christian religions that brands our gods devils."