Commitment - Predatory Ethics: Book II (13 page)

“Years later I met the first disciple at Rome and through trickery and bald faced lies Peter bested me in front of the Emperor Claudius. That began the imperial assimilation that would end with Constantine’s adoption of Christianity as the Roman Catholic Empire. The Council of Nicea began the long history of intolerance that saw millions dead in the name of Jesus Christ. The persecution culminated in the Catharae Crusade but never fully went away. The Catholics reached an apex in their intolerance at Albi and Languedoc but continued their domination and bigotry well into the modern centuries.” He took a sip of his Tom Collins. “Is that enough?”

Melusine assured him it was, with a smile and gentle nod of her head. “All this time I never knew,” Melusine explained. “I’m more impressed than ever. So you’ve been alone all this time.”

“Not always alone,” he answered. “One does what one can.”

“This Ursus you’ve been asking around about do you actually think he was the AntiXos?” she asked.

Simon was again shocked at her knowledge and candor, and despite the surprise he felt, soldiered on. “Contrary to Biblical accounts there’s not just one. There’s one every time the stars align to release Him.”

“Was He ever a She?” she asked.

“No. I think the destructive aspect of this human projection has mostly always been male. Testosterone and all that.”

“What about Shiva?” she countered.

“The exception that proves the rule,” he said quickly.

“Has your AntiXos been reborn yet?” She took a sip of wine. “Ursus and the Cathars died out centuries ago. Do you think our times brought Him back?”

“I really can’t be sure,” he lied.

“You’re not being entirely honest, Simon,” she quipped and made him blush at the discovery. “You do know. You just don’t want to tell me.”

“I don’t think you would understand.”

“How condescending. I’ve lived longer than you, Simon, and you’d be surprised what I can understand.”

“If you’re going to tell tall tales at least try to make them believable. You can’t be older than me.”

“In the years you’ve been around did you ever hear of Mother Rothschild, the Constant Widow, Melusine Anjevin, Asmodeus’s only Daughter?” she asked as their dinner plates were cleared away.

“You’re proposing that you are she?” Simon doubted.

“I am. How could I prove it to you?” She was earnest in making him believe. “Ask me anything and I’ll answer.”

“The Constant Widow would know the 13 founding families,” he asked after a long contemplation of what to even ask.

“Rothschild, Hapsburg, Goethe, Rockefeller, Warburg, Rhodes, DuPont, Guelph, Ghibelline, Giustiniani, Oltramaire, Astor, and Russell,” she said without hesitation.

“What is the Windsor’s real name?”

“Hapsburg-Goethe.”

“Who is the demon the Black Nobility are all purported to be descended from?”

“Would that include me then? Would that make him my father?” she asked.

“I guess it would,” he replied.

“Asmodeus,” she said evenly.

“You certainly know your occultica. You know your Arcanum.”

“Occultica? Is that even a word?” she answered with a chuckle. “Yet you’re not convinced.”

“Should I be?” he answered semi-seriously. “We’ve been enjoying each other’s company. This is the first time in quite a while in which I have relaxed with a woman, and you want to convince me you’re a demoness, second only to Satan?” He looked at her for any registration of what he said. He saw none. She believed everything she said; it was true, or both. “You’re serious.”

“Mmhm.” An eyebrow arched in emphasis was her answer, followed with. “Occultica? Another made up word, you’re quite the auteur.”

Simon could not help feeling somewhat anxious at this turn in conversation. He nervously took a long drink of his whiskey and uncharacteristically added. “Really?”

Melusine’s growling laugh came again. Earlier it was endearing and dangerously sensual, evocative, but now it was just plain dangerous. She saw his increased agitation and was disappointed. “Simon, you finished telling me you were a rival to Jesus and have lived centuries trying to make your Gnostic beliefs come true, and now you’re uncomfortable at my revelation?”

“Well, yes,” he answered. “I’m human.”

“No, you’re not. That was established. I thought you would be one of the few who wouldn’t have an issue with my past.”

“I was once human.”

“I’ve lived as a human far longer than you,” she countered. “I’ve been in this existence with everyone else so why are you looking at me like I grew horns and a spiked tail?”

“Can you? Do you?” he asked.

“No. Lower-ringed fiends do that and really dumb and unimaginative people see that when they conjure the higher lords,” she replied with irritation. “Back to my question. Do you really think this time has brought Ursus back?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? A simple affirmation without anything further?”

“In truth, I think he’s returned and will not do what he’s destined to. He doesn’t want to. He only wants to live an ordinary life.”

“He unfortunately won’t be allowed. It is not his decision to make.” Melusine was adamant. “I have spoken to him, have you? Do you want to?”

Simon only managed a weak nod of his head in affirmation.

“That’s a, yes, Simon, you do?” These cows were a chore to manage, Melusine thought. Even after more than a millennium of life this one was still a child to his emotions. “I’ll come to your dreams soon and introduce you. I’m sure you and Ursus will have much to catch up on.”

“Why are you doing this then?” he asked.

She laughed again and made Simon’s hackles rise.

“He asked the same thing, but he didn’t know who I am.” She thought for a second and added. “Why not? I have nothing to fear from you, Simon. I certainly don’t have anything to fear from a boy, no matter who his father is. I think I could learn—we could learn something from all this.”

“There’s no ulterior motive here?”

“We don’t always have to have one. The Dark Nobility are not all monsters.”

“You’re Black Nobility, not Dark. The descendants of Asmodeus are beyond Dark or Predators aren’t they?”

“Very astute and correct, Mr. Magus. What I said still holds true, however, we’re not all monsters.”

“If any of your press is any indication, I would think that wasn’t true of you.”

“Is everything they write about vampires true? Come now, Simon, everybody has bad press, even the human celebrities do. There’s not a week that goes by that Elizabeth Taylor’s or Elvis’s obesity isn’t plastered all over the magazines. Judy Garland isn’t allowed to die in peace from all her drug-addled excesses. Jacqueline Kennedy is hounded every day incessantly. We’ve all suffered bad press.” Both let the conversation lapse and let the topic die in the air. Each took a sip of their respective drinks and Melusine broke the silence first.

“This was fun,” she genuinely shared.

It was Simon’s turn to laugh. The small chuckle was an honest understanding and sharing of the moment. He understood Melusine was being genuine and his open laughter also started her laughing. It kept going for some time.

“The Constant Widow had fun,” he started and sent them both into more laughter.

“I know. I don’t know where that came from. I don’t say fun.” Melusine reached across and put her hand on Simon’s. “I really don’t. You bring out a side of me I thought I would never see again.”

“Speaking of that, when do you want to do this again?”

“Another date?”

“Is that what this was?” Simon asked. “Do vampires and demon descendants date?”

“Apparently they do.” Melusine chuckled. This time it was endearing, a bubbling caress to the ears. To anyone looking at the two, they would say both were smitten.

TIME: March 15
^th
, 1975, Templar Chapter House, New York, U.S.A.

Anicée did not like North America at all. It was too new with most structures only being at most less than a couple of centuries old. She didn’t dwell on this abhorrence but concentrated on the task at hand. It took weeks to track down and make plans to bring back the Eternal Consort. Last week a fortunate stroke of luck gave them an opportunity they could not pass up.

A disenchanted Freemason had been made Grand Master of not only his house but of the Templars as well. This was highly unusual and many said it was in fact unique. The two organizations were only linked in rumor, the Templars never even being mentioned in anything but history. Now they were thought of as one and the same with newspapers and magazines naming them interchangeably. Next to stories about Phnom-Penh’s struggle in Cambodia and exposés on the Soviet Bloc were stories detailing the demise of both orders. Their long histories were detailed in easy to digest bullet points of no more than two sentences each. The entire article could be read at a long bowel movement just before your ass fell asleep on the bowl.

Anicée watched Didier pay their taxi fare and waited for him to join Helen and herself before they entered the Grand Lodge of New York on 23
^rd
Street. She wasn’t nervous to enter on her own but had waited in deference for the loyal man who was ever at her side. She also hadn’t hesitated in bringing both Helen and Didier with her on the quest that concerned all pagans.

As they entered, the robust little Frenchman went to the guard post and requested to speak to the Most Worshipful Arthur Lange, their new Grand Master. The whole temple was an armed camp with conspicuous security throughout the front and along its perimeters. In recent past they had seen new reason to be wary of those outside the Brotherhood. The covert attack on their chapter houses worldwide had been very coordinated and lightning quick, many calling it a blitzkrieg. Little was known about their attackers save that many of them referred to themselves as Final Reichians. “Who comes up with these names?” Helen told Anicée. They were straight out of a far-fetched horror novel. Final Reichians indeed.

An armored sedan pulled out of the side driveway and the back door opened to usher the waiting pagans in. Once inside and behind tinted glass they sped away into the Manhattan traffic and talked to an animated Arthur Lange, newly commissioned Grand Master of the Templar/Masons. He looked harried and in need of rest but was also the picture of vitality. He spoke quickly but succinctly with a lawyer’s confidence borne from years of public speaking.

“Priestess, thank you for coming. We have been waiting for you for a few hours. I was starting to get worried.” He went to a knee before Anicée and touched her wrist to his forehead. It was a lost greeting that fell out of practice centuries before. It took Anicée and Helen by surprise but Didier thought it fitting and beamed with pride that Anicée was finally being treated with the respect afforded to her.

“Rise, Sir Lange. So much has happened to your order. I cannot begin to understand what you’re going through,” she consoled.

“I’m sure you’ve read or heard the news of our attack. The Templars and the Freemasons were nearly wiped out, but we prevailed and persevere despite the Teutons best efforts otherwise.”

“These were Teutons who attacked your houses? I thought they were gone before the Templars were eradicated.”

“That’s what the world thought about the Templars, but we all know how wrong that was.”

“How did this happen?” Didier asked. He was uncharacteristically forward and spoke without his usual request for permission to do so.

“Mr. Lebeuf, we have almost nothing to go upon but the few attackers who were left behind. They all fought like fiends, many succeeding in completely wiping entire chapter houses out.”

“How bad is it Brother Lange?”

“I can’t go into specific numbers of what we had and how much or where the houses are still standing, but we lost more than half of our number and holdings.”

Deep breaths of shock were followed by Didier’s pronouncement. “My dear, that’s beyond decimation. That’s awful.”

Father Lange shook his head in affirmation and his beefy jowls shook with emotion he barely still controlled. “We will be recovering from this for quite some time. Now, to the reason you’re here.”

“The Eternal Consort,” Anicée said reverentially. “We know he’s in Massachusetts, but we have to find a way to get to him and bring him back with us.”

“What if he doesn’t want to go?” Lange asked.

“He’s the Consort,” Didier answered.

“Yes, but so far he’s also been the AntiXos, and he’s not followed that plan either,” Helen interjected.

“What are you saying?” Anicée asked in a pique. “That he would refuse his place?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Helen finished.

“I can’t believe you. Why would you say such a thing?” Anicée was feeling attacked by Helen’s obstinacy.

Helen had no such motivation. She simply carried over what the Templar said to its logical conclusion. “What do we do if he doesn’t want to do as he’s told?”

“Is that possible?” Didier asked in a childlike innocence.

“No.” Anicée was becoming more irritated as the conversation went down this impossible road. “It’s not possible. Every Consort has to be a willing sacrifice. None must be coaxed or forced into giving themselves to the Goddess.”

“Has there ever been an unwilling Consort?” Lange asked.

“Not in our history. I don’t know about classical times. The nature of the mysteries were that they were never recorded but passed down in verse and oration,” Helen answered. She saw Anicée was contemplating the impossible.

If the Redeemer, The One, did not want to come with them, all they believed would be ruined. No more. Nobody wanted that, least of all the priestess whose whole life was dedicated to the Goddess. Helen laid a gentle hand on Anicée’s arm and her eyes consoled her, trying to calm the fears, confusion, and anxiety. Didier looked on and added his own comforting presence and imploring gaze.

Contemptible Joy

Time: March 20
^th
, 1975, Danvers Hospital

Adam walked the corridors of the Danvers at a medium stroll. He neither shuffled nor hurried to his destination, because he had none. He simply ambled along enjoying the lack of anything. The only thing on his mind was last night’s
McMillan and Wife.

Who did Rock Hudson think he was kidding? Who came up with that name anyway, Rock Hudson? Call a powder puff steel while you’re at it, Rock Hudson indeed. Susan St. James was intriguing but yappy. It was a toss up over who was more feminine though, Susan or Rock? Adam chuckled at the thought of Rock’s hulking frame stretching out Susan’s panties and pantsuits. He probably ruined much of her wardrobe that way.

Life wasn’t all chocolate and flowers. The drawback, okay, one of the drawbacks, to being in an asylum was that he couldn’t leave when there were soap operas on. Every weekday there was
General Hospital
,
The Doctors
, and
Another World
. He would just about retch up his breakfast every day if he didn’t get out of the common room and read a book. He would open up Stephen King’s
Carrie
, John le Carré’s
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
and forget the imbeciles watching the soaps. Despite the pitfalls inherent in having to share his entertainment, he was happy to be whole again.

He missed only one thing about being broken. He missed the comfort he could find in himself. The past year and a half had given him self-reliance from an unlikely source. The woman in his dreams had been instrumental in showing him how to stand on his own two feet. Melusine gave him the confidence to know he could reason things out, and the actions of anybody else had no bearing on how he should feel or how he should behave.

He already knew that what people expected of him should have no influence. Neither did any consequences of his participation or failure to participate did with anything anybody wanted of him. He had fallen into a chasm of self recrimination over Kosta’s death and all the many, many deaths associated to his tributes.

Richard Speck, Charlie Manson, Ted Bundy, and John Gacy would’ve done what they did with or without him. He had to believe that no matter what anybody else showed him. Guy Benoit would’ve been who he was too. He would’ve found others to sacrifice and summon Xar-eel, Belial, and Melchom. They would’ve found another Guy Benoit. Those fiends would’ve found somebody else to use for their tributes. If it wasn’t the Redeemer, there would’ve been another One.

Adam would no longer be defined by any of it, nor anyone else. Like it or not, Adam was going to suck it up. He was Elvis, the Beatles, John Wayne, and the Fonz rolled into One. His only consolation was that his face wasn’t plastered all over the newspapers, magazines and TV screens like they were. He was revered by the many priests and reverends in the world.

Adam didn’t think about any of that. He mercifully didn’t know any of it, was finally calm, no longer fractured. He looked forward to meeting the woman who helped him in his dreams. He never saw her face and kept her at bay because she was part of those who wanted him to fulfill Revelation. Adam finally no longer cared. He could deal with them all: Illuminati, Dark and Black Nobility, Luciferians, Templars. They couldn’t make him do what he didn’t want to.

Now he wanted to thank Mother Rothschild for her help. She was there for him when nobody else was and he would always be grateful. Yet it was time to move on, time to grow up.

Adam thought of Kostadino and whereas before he would despair and torture himself over Kosta’s damnation, he now only felt regret for not being able to do anything about it. He refused to go any further because there was nothing he could do. No one on earth could earn Kosta a reprieve from the Hell that held him.

Nobody.

He turned into his room and saw Dr. Gallagher speaking to his roommate. The poor man looked to Adam for help from the tiny chatterbox in a lab coat but could only plead with his eyes. She had not yet stopped for air and was telling the man of his condition and treatments at a mile a minute. He should be kept aware that he was by no means an anomaly in his manic depression and whereas in the past electroshock therapy had been used to limited and at times disastrous effect, did you see , oh, love Jack Nicholson, such a great actor, and easy on the eyes, what a smile he totally deserved the Oscar. That McMurphy guy was amazing. There are so many McMurphys in the system you wouldn’t believe it. How about you? Don’t talk much do you? Would you like a Juicyfruit?

She laughed, a snorkeling, little halting chuckle that was framed by more thoughts and words and opinions yet all so connected and without structure never having cohesion on the whole but flowing from one thought and unrestrained utterance to the next. That Chief Bromden was the best character in the movie, yes, but he is even more important in the book. We see everything through his eyes, he is us, yet in the movie McMurphy steals the show and why wouldn’t he? Jack Nicholson is an amazing actor. Did you know he’s a real ladies man? Do you believe?

“Hi, Adam, how are you feeling today?” Then total silence followed. The silence startled Adam and only a long time later understood he was being addressed. The other patient took the opportunity and flew out of the room faster than his tattered plaid slippers could carry him. All Adam saw was a prodigious blur of powder blue, hospital issue pajamas and then an empty bed behind the tiny doctor who now faced Adam.

“What?”

“How are you feeling today?” Her usual rapid, incessant words were not crowding out of Dr. Gallagher.

“I feel amazing, doctor,” Adam answered pleasantly. He knew better than to ask how she was. The answer would take interminable minutes to impart only to end with it’s not about her feelings but the patients. She’s paid to be here.

“Not long left together. You’re going to be leaving us by the end of next week, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Adam beamed. He felt a tremendous pride at his successful recovery. It was a long road to betterment and Adam knew Dr. Gallagher had also helped him.

“Where’s Dr. Megin?” The second in command at Danvers was curiously absent and Adam was surprised that Dr. Gallagher was by herself. In fact it had been a nagging feeling when he saw her at first until he realized she wasn’t with her constant companion.

“Oh Mary was transferred, promoted really,” she answered, beaming herself. “Somebody up there must like her because they decided to oust Superintendant Phoggel or Superintendant Stick Up His Arse, as Mary called him and give her his job. Can you believe it? Now she’s bossing me around.” The smile on Dr. Gallagher’s face just about went from ear to ear.

“That’s odd isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me?” Helen puffed out her chest with pride for her friend. “She’s so young too. She’s going to do an amazing job. That’s what the office needed anyway, a woman’s touch. If you want something done right give it to a woman, Mary always said.”

“That’s a little sexist don’t you think?” Adam teased.

“Call a cop.” Dr. Gallagher burst out laughing and was joined by Adam.

“I’m starting to see your point,” he finally agreed.

“Oh, it’s almost ten, nearly lights out for you guys.” Helen glanced down at her watch and picking up her clipboard waved at a passing orderly and rushed out of the room chattering away. She could be heard calling out to him, what was it Quentin, that’s French wasn’t it? Her father was named Gyles. He was a Scottish immigrant, came over in the early 1900s and stayed at Montreal’s Goose Village, but they got rid of that part of Montreal when they were industrial planning for Expo ‘67. What a shame that was. He voice trailed away and Adam saw his roommate re-enter and wave a quick hello to him after fearfully seeing if Dr. Gallagher had left. Adam waved back and they both went to their respective beds, got under the covers, and waited quietly for the lights to go out a few minutes later.

Time: April 2
^nd
, 1975, Whittier Mansion, San Francisco, California, U.S.A.

Rolf Hess sipped brandy at the mantle where fire would normally blaze but was now empty and cold. Under the direction of the Fuhrer he had removed much of the ostentatious finery Bernhardt’s predecessor Balzeer McGrath had amassed. The overly gilded everything and too fine tapestries were all gone, the walls left bare and austere just as Herr Hitler liked it.

Severe, bare, Spartan.

The Third Reich had idolized the ancient minimalists with their rejection of most decorations and embracing of martial ideal. There would be time enough to replace the discarded works with more suitable Aryan depictions of Wagner scenes and reinterpretations of Teutonic myths.

Hess wore the new uniform Hitler had directed be donned by all in the Final Reich. His pants were still the ballooned riders with blood piping tucked into mirror polished jackboots. The black dress Waffen shirt was now the same blood red as the pant piping and emblazoned with an updated Laconian Lambda. The Spartan scarlet that was the ancients’ signature cloak now covered their spiritual descendants. Just as the Third Reich admired the ancient hard-asses, the Final Reich emulated them. The Spartan scarlet covered their torso and over their hearts blazed a black Lambda. Some had even been moved by the Fuhrer’s speech about their past spiritual fathers to have tattooed it onto their skins directly beneath where it appeared on their shirts.

The Third Reich had emulated the Teutons who were martial ideals of diligence and fortitude. They also looked to the Cathars for spiritual guidance away from the Weakling’s Citadel, the Catholic Church. Now both had been replaced and Rolf thought on the speech his, their Fuhrer gave before he went to meet Lucifer, their Overlord. He congratulated them on their pure thoughts and explained the wonderment of their undiluted Aryan heritage. He further showed how he could trace their heritage back to the uncompromising Spartans who made the world tremble.

The Teutons were a pale imitation, a splinter arm of the Templars who history had proven to be treacherous and self-serving. The Teutons were good examples of purity and idealism in the face of overwhelming odds. In the Middle Ages, they had stayed true to their fatherland and hadn’t begun the money lending and handling that had degenerated the Templars to little more than Jews. They deserved the fate King Louis left them to. They had become higher than the God-appointed kings and were brought down by one for the money they so coveted.

The Teutons did not go into politics the Templars had. Before 1307 they had been hand in hand with the Cathars, their prestige marred by the Catholics Crusade and annihilation of their worship. There was one Church to God, Catholicism, and the Cathars were not that church. In the formative years of the Third Reich the Thule Society and Ostara steered Germany to the Teutons as their ideal and believed in the Cathari rejection of Catholicism, yet they hadn’t completely embraced it. They were still intimidated by their revered place in God’s eyes, no matter how tarnished they had made their seat.

The Fuhrer had stopped, gathering his thoughts, and went on to explain their new ethos, their New Orders. Now they would follow neither tarnished nor crumbled path to God. They would follow no God but themselves. They were all Gods in the eyes of their liege Lucifer and his prophet Adolph Hitler. They would remain adhered to the rigid and unbending resolve of their Aryan, Doric ancestors. Laconia had spawned the first martial civilization Sparta and their ideals would live on in their Final Reich.

God is not dead as the degenerate Jew Nietzsche said.

God is obsolete!

It was time to let the Devil have his due.

It was time to let the Final Reich have its due.

We are the Shocktroops, the Blitzkreig of Hell! We are preparing the world for His coming. Hell is too small for Lucifer, and can no longer house His brilliance, His light! It needs to illuminate the world which has been in the shadow of Xianity too long!

His selected few Reich Marshalls were beside themselves with wonder at their exalted place in the New World Order. They would be lords in the new hierarchy. In the past thirty years since the Third Reich had fallen they had been persecuted, little more than criminals, forced to live in the armpit of the world—South America. Now they would restart their purge, their conquest. Since WWII, they had become demonized and the name of Nazi was evil incarnate. They would see how right they were.

Before they committed their acts of inhumanity for base reasons, never for ideals, never for the very reason of evil. The Final Reich would enslave the world for Lucifer and His minions, for pure enjoyment and sustenance, rapturous need for pain and suffering. Hell had gone too long with the scraps and cast-offs of the damned, now they wanted everything.

Time: Hell.

Lucifer and Adolf Hitler sat at the head of a banquet table, giggling maniacally. They cried tears of joy and held their sides from the uncomfortable peals of unrestrained laughter the just kept coming.

“That was brilliant,” Lucifer finally squeezed out. “If only you hadn’t gone completely insane you would’ve indeed taken over the world.”

“Danke, sir, danke. I owe you everything. Whatever you wish, just ask it,” he humbly replied.

“You’ve already accomplished more and faster than I would’ve hoped.” The Fallen Angel generously added. “Mold whatever remains of the Luciferians and Templars to what you wish. A gift to you as a gesture of my gratitude for putting the upstart in his place.”

They both looked up past the colonnaded portico of Lucifer’s stately manor to the inventive torture going on in the middle of the colossal banquet table. It was the former Grand Master Templar and Supreme Tribunal of the Luciferians continually burning at the stake. The searing flesh anyone within thirty feet could smell was constant, the meat never burning off but regenerating at an equal measure as it burned. He was the centerpiece to the banquet of the highest-ranking demons who drank and feasted on his misery. The physical inflictions were horrific yet paled to the special Hell Lucifer created for his treacherous lieutenant. Through eyes filled with eternal physical pain, there was also added the psychic anguish Bernhardt put himself through when he had ventured to Hell the first time. He relived this premier betrayal and unspeakable crime to his daughter Seraphina. His sacrifice of her trust and innocence had been the first payment he had made to his ambition and killing her with his own hands was the final betrayal that put him where he had fallen from.