Winter

by Rod Rees

  Bollocks.

  “Your Holiness, there was no artifice. Miss Laveau has the ability to read the thoughts of all those she touches. For corroboration of this you must speak with your man Tomlinson; he witnessed the séance.”

  “I have spoken to Tomlinson. He has been interviewed rigorously.”

  Poor bugger.

  Crowley ran a finger idly along the edge of his mildewed teeth as he struggled with a decision. “I would like a demonstration of your PsyChick’s ability. I wish to be convinced of her talent as a clairvoyant.”

  Now this should be interesting.

  “Then I must counsel you, Your Holiness, that to commune with the Spirit of another, the mambo Laveau must connect with them, flesh against flesh.”

  Vanka saw the man’s eyes sparkle as his imagination kicked in. But excited or not at the thought of being flesh against flesh with the beautiful Ella, he still hesitated. It was Ella who—literally—took matters into her own hands. She used a finger to push a wisp of hair back from her face and then began, very theatrically, to strip her leather gloves—slowly, oh so slowly—finger by finger from her hands. It was one of the most erotic acts Vanka had ever seen performed and its effect on the men in the room was electric: every eye was fixed on her. The girl was a born show-woman.

  This done, she stretched out her naked hands to Crowley, inviting him to take them in his. Like a man in a trance, he did as he was bade. Immediately Vanka stood up and positioned himself behind Ella, lifting his hands and placing one on each side of her head, his fingertips touching her brows. She let out a low moan. “Mah, mah, ah am in communion wit a most powerful soul. Hum, hum, Your Holiness, sah, yous a strong, strong houngan, full of mucho de vitality and de manly essences. Wooo-whee . . . yous make mah little heart go pit-a-pat.”

  Brilliant.

  “Mambo Laveau,” crooned Vanka, “I command you to journey to the Other Side, to commune with the Spirit World. Are you ready to do this?”

  “Yeeesss, ah is.”

  Ella began slowly to roll her head. Gradually the tempo of the rolling increased and as her head rolled so too did the volume of the low moan she was emitting. Suddenly she slumped back in her chair and began to shake, her body quivering in a most extraordinarily exciting fashion. Vanka tore his attention away from the girl’s trembling bosom and back to the job at hand.

  “I am here.”

  Even Vanka was startled by the voice that Ella managed to find within her. There was nothing mock NoirVillian about this accent; it was perfectly enunciated Anglo spoken in an amazingly deep voice. It was certainly not the sort of voice that one would believe could emanate from a girl, even one as tall as Ella. It drew astonished gasps from the SS guards, and out of the corner of his eye Vanka saw Clement raise a grubby hand to make the protective sign of the Valknut across his chest.

  “Who calls me from across the Abyss?” groaned Ella. “Who is the one who disturbs the peace and tranquility of Aiwass?”

  From his long experience in running séances Vanka knew that no matter what happened, no matter how confused events became, no matter what surprises presented themselves, it was vital for the psychic to remain aloof and confident throughout. But even Vanka couldn’t prevent his eyes widening when he heard what Ella said; where the girl was conjuring all this nonsense from he had no idea.

  But his reaction was as nothing compared to the effect her words had on Crowley. Even as the name Aiwass was uttered it seemed that the mask of arrogance that decked his face crumbled.

  “Aiwass?” he muttered.

  Again Ella rolled her head but now when she spoke it was as though the words were being unwillingly wrung out of her, as though the uttering of each reluctant syllable was a trial. “Yeeeess. I am Aiwass: Minister to Hoor-par-kraat, Keeper of the Great Seal of Horus the Child, and Guardian Angel to those who seek to take up the burden of Truth. I am the One Who Sees.”

  “What do you see?” asked Crowley in a hoarse voice.

  “That Which Is Yet to Come.” There was a silence as Ella seemed to struggle with the Spirit possessing her. “Who calls Aiwass from the Realm of Shadows?”

  “I-I call you,” came the stuttered reply. “Aleister Crowley c-c-calls you.”

  “I know you, Crowley!” Ella uttered the name as a strangled scream. There was an immediate shuffling of feet as her SS audience backed away. “Behold,” she gasped as her voice sank so low that it was no more than a whisper. “I am your Guardian Angel, sent to guide you on the path of Unification.” Once again her voice mutated; now the vowels were clipped and ill pronounced but powerful nevertheless, projecting the animal force of the woman to the corners of the room. “Oooooooh . . . I have been sent from the World Beyond to guide you and to teach you. Heed me. Follow me and I will show you the Way, show you the Way to enlightenment and to resurrection. I hold the keys to the doors which seal the Demi-Monde from the Spirit World.” More head-rolling, which Vanka thought was a little excessive. “You, Aleister Crowley, are destined to lead the Chosen to the Ark of the Reborn, to guide the Children of the Second Coming.”

  From somewhere to the side of the room there was a solemn “amen”: the SS audience was really getting into the spirit—the Spirits—of what was happening in the room. Ella’s voice rose higher and spittle glistened on her lips.

  “Reject asceticism, let what you will be the whole of the law. Do nothing that restricts you or confines you. Through your guidance, the Demi-Monde will merge with the Spirit World, with the World of Shadows. You have that power in your hand. You have the Spirit Maiden. You have the Daemon.”

  “The Daemon?” uttered an incredulous Crowley.

  “Yeeeeessssss . . . the Daemon. You have her in your power but yet you do not know all her secrets. She remains mute and unyielding. She is the great enigma. But I, Aiwass, will help you. It is the will of the Spirits that you understand all. Ask your questions.”

  “What is the Daemon’s name?”

  “She calls herself . . . she calls herself . . . Norma.”

  An astonished gasp from Crowley.

  “Beware: she is of the highest level. She sits at the left hand of Loki himself. Beware of this Daemon for she is a succubus, sent to trick and deceive. In the Spirit World she is known as Naamah and is one of the most powerful of all the Daemons. Guard her well, Crowley, but do not harm her lest her consort, the fearsome Daemon Asmodai, journeys from the Darkness to take revenge.” Ella’s voice was now so low as to be almost inaudible. Vanka found himself having to lean forward to better hear what she said.

  By the Spirits, she’s good.

  “I, Aiwass, have been sent to guide and protect you. I must commune with Naamah and I must make her cower before your wisdom and your strength. Then and only then will all her secrets be yours.”

  “What secrets?”

  “I know she is the daughter of a Daemon possessed of much power. He is a Daemon who calls himself ‘the president.’ He is powerful, but know you this, Crowley, there are ways in which he can be made your servant, there are ways he can be made to do your bidding. We must tease these secrets from the Daemon . . . secrets that will allow you to control the Spirit World.”

  “What are these secrets?” Crowley urged.

  “Ooooooh . . . the veil between the Spirit World and the Demi-Monde closes . . . my strength . . . fails . . . summon me . . . again . . .” And with that Ella slumped forward across the table as though unconscious.

  Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant; always leave the mark gagging for more.

  “The Spirit Aiwass has gone, Your Holiness,” said Vanka as he gently pulled Ella back into her seat. “It must have been a most potent Spirit the mambo Laveau was communing with to have drained her so quickly.”

  “Oh, it was, it was.” Crowley slowly withdrew his hands from Ella’s grip. Then he too sat back in his chair, a look of stunned incredulity on his face. “That was remarkable, Mephisto. Your PsyChick is a woman of profound ability. I used all my powers to block her but stil
l she penetrated my psychic defenses.”

  He twisted around on his chair and signaled that he wanted—needed—a drink. It took the downing of three large glasses of Solution before the color returned to his cheeks and the confidence into his voice. “I wish your PsyChick to have a sitting with a Daemon.”

  “A Daemon?” Even Vanka couldn’t keep a tremble of apprehension out of his voice. Daemons were meant to be terrible, hideous things that came to the Demi-Monde from out of the darkest depths of Hel.

  “We have captured a particularly powerful Daemon and I wish to use the mambo Laveau’s powers to discover all the Daemon’s secrets and concealments.”

  “Then I must ask the mambo Laveau if she believes her powers to be sufficient to deal with such a mighty Spirit.”

  Hearing her cue, Ella mumbled, “Water.”

  Remarkably it was Archie Clement who played waiter. The sight of an SS colonel waiting on a Shade was one, Vanka decided, that would live with him for a very long time. Ella drained the glass and, refreshed, she raised her head and stared in an unfocused sort of way at Crowley. “Oh my, yo set me de most mighty of challenges, Your Highness, sah. De Daemons have de great powers and to conquer dem ah must call on all de Spirits to aid me. Man, ah’ll have to call on de Great Lord Bondye to help me and to do dat, Your Holiness, ah must commune wit de Daemon in a hounfo, in a WhoDoo temple.”

  “Is there such a temple in the ForthRight?”

  Stupid question. It was Crowley himself who had banned all churches in the ForthRight except those dedicated to the worship of UnFunDaMentalism.

  “No, sah, dere ain’t.”

  “Can this temple be built?”

  “Yes, Your Holiness, if ah am given a room big enough.”

  “Very well. In three days you will come to Dashwood Manor to perform a sitting with the Daemon.”

  WHEN CROWLEY AND HIS SS ENTOURAGE HAD SWEPT OUT OF THE pub, Burlesque bustled back in and after cursing and swearing about the bottle of Solution that Crowley had drunk but not paid for, he had been at pains to tell Ella that the appearance of the SS had been nothing to do with him. He had obviously taken her warning to heart.

  “I know, Burlesque,” Ella had reassured him, “I know.”

  “So wot did Crowley want?”

  “Crowley wants me to perform a séance at Dashwood Manor.”

  “Dashwood Manor? That’s wun ov them big ’ouses in Kensington where all the nobs live. Gor, that’s great. I’ll be able to charge fifty guineas.”

  “The séance Crowley is talking about is to be performed before the Leader, Reinhard Heydrich.” As statements went, Ella knew it was a real revelation. Vanka’s mouth flopped open in astonishment.

  “Heydrich?” he gasped. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “I’m a clairvoyant, remember?”

  Vanka shook his head. “No . . . not Heydrich . . . I’m not going anywhere near that fuck . . . no . . . bollocks to that.”

  Burlesque, by contrast, was enthused. “Gor, that’s even greater, that is. The Leader, you say? That trick yous pulled on that Morris bloke musta really got the feathers flying in the Ministry an’ no mistake.” Burlesque called over to a passing barmaid for a glass of Solution. “We’ll be able to arsk a fortune in fees.”

  “Are you fucking insane?” snarled Vanka, abandoning his usually cool demeanor. “Perform a séance for Heydrich? If there’s even a hint of trickery then we’ll be arrested on the spot.”

  Burlesque wasn’t listening. “Maybe I should ask a century, wot wiv it bin the Leader an’ all.”

  “I don’t care if they’re offering a thousand fucking guineas. I can’t spend it if I’m banged up in Wewelsburg Castle hanging from the ceiling by my scrotum, now, can I?” Vanka shook his head even more firmly. “No, I’m not doing it. I’ve one rule in my life and that’s to keep as much distance between myself and those fucking”—his instinct for self-preservation kicked in; he gave a quick look around to make sure there was no one in the pub listening to what he was saying—“lunatics who run the ForthRight as is humanly or, in their case, as is inhumanly possible.” He shoved his half-finished glass of Solution across the table. It seemed his thirst had suddenly deserted him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get home urgently.”

  “Wot? But we’ve got fings to discuss, Wanker, like wot share ov the takings I’m getting. As your manager—”

  “Fuck your discussions, Burlesque, I’m going home to pack.”

  “Pack? Where yous goin’?”

  “A place called Somewhere-Else-in-the-Demi-Monde.”

  “Ah, don’t be like that, Wanker. I’d ’ave thought you’d ’ave bin pleased.” Burlesque took a stone-cold sausage off Ella’s plate and gave it a ruminative gnaw. “Iffn Miss Ella here can do the business wiv a Daemon, well, the sky’s the limit. We’ll be able to charge—”

  “Are you totally fucking crackers, Burlesque? Can you imagine the amount of shit we’re going to be in if our séance goes wrong in front of Comrade Leader Heydrich?”

  “Yeah, but fink abart it, Wanker: wot iffn it goes right! I can see the handbill now. ‘Burlesque Bandstand Entertainments proudly presents, by royal—’ ” He stopped. “Nah, I can’t use the word ‘royal,’ the Party’s still twitchy.” He paused to scratch his groin, presumably, Ella decided, searching for inspiration. “That’s it: ‘by Imperial Warrant: Wanker Maykov an’ the Amazing Miss Marie Laveau, the Demi-Monde’s Foremost Physicalists.’ You’ll be a star, Wanker. Make a fortune we will: twenty guineas an ’ead we could charge to attend wun ov your sorries, no problem.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “I think we should, Vanka.”

  The two men turned to look at Ella. Men in the ForthRight weren’t accustomed to being interrupted by women, especially when they were discussing business.

  “Now yous talkin’ sense, Miss Thomas.”

  “Under no circumstances,” Vanka continued to protest.

  “I need to, Vanka,” insisted Ella. “It might be the only way I have of finding the friend of mine I was telling you about, the one who is missing.”

  Vanka shot Ella a venomous look and when he answered his voice had a distinct edge to it. “No way. We’ve created far too big a stink as it is. The last thing you want to do is attract more attention. You start being paraded around in front of Heydrich and the Checkya will nab you for sure, and if they nab you, they’ll nab me.”

  “Is that your final word, Vanka?” said Ella in an equally determined voice.

  “Damned right it is.”

  “Then I’ll do it without you,” she said quietly.

  The mouths of the two men flopped open. “You can’t do it without me,” protested Vanka.

  “Oh, yessen she can,” interjected Burlesque quickly. “I’ve seen ’er. She don’t need yous, Wanker. I’ll get you a new assistant, Miss Thomas . . .”

  Vanka glared at Burlesque, obviously angered by the abrupt way he’d been demoted from “star” to “assistant.”

  “ . . . maybe even a new frock. That old bit ov curtain ain’t suitable for a star like wot yous will be.”

  “Wait a minute, Burlesque. Ella here is my assistant. This is my act.”

  Burlesque shrugged his protests aside. “Times change, Wanker. Opportunities like wot this is don’t come around very often and when they does, they’ve gotta be grabbed wiv both ’ands. Gor, I can see it now, Miss Thomas ’ere playing the Palladium.”

  Burlesque lapsed into a lucrative daydream, leaving Ella to deal with a scowling Vanka. “Vanka, it’s a great opportunity. We’ve got to do it. I need your showmanship, Vanka; I need you to work the audience.”

  Vanka shook his head. “I can’t, Ella, there might be people there, people I don’t want to meet.”

  The penny dropped; now Ella understood Vanka’s reluctance. “For the love of God—for the love of ABBA,” she quickly corrected herself, “there are people I don’t want to meet either.” Wasn’t that the truth; the prospect of being
in the same room as Reinhard Heydrich certainly wasn’t flipping her bananas. “But that’s not a problem, Vanka. I’ve been thinking about how we could spice up our act and I’ve come to the conclusion that we need to be a bit more theatrical. You’ve already been billed as Mephisto so no one will know your real name and if we come onstage wearing masks—”

  “Masks?” asked Vanka incredulously. “Like they wear in the Quartier Chaud?”

  “Yes, that way no one will be able to recognize either of us.”

  “I like the idea of making your act a bit more theatrical,” mused Burlesque. “We could ’ave a coupla birds wiv really big charms wandering around in the—”

  “Shut up, Burlesque,” snapped Ella, and to her amazement, that’s just what he did. “I need you, Vanka, I need you to help me design a trick so big that no one will ever imagine that it is a trick.” Ella suddenly became aware that Burlesque was hanging on her every word. “I need you to help me design the temple, the hounfo.”

  “Wot’s a hounfo?” asked a suddenly nervous Burlesque. “Is it expensive?”

  AN HOUR LATER ELLA AND VANKA—HAVING LEFT A HALF-PISSED AND very happy Burlesque asleep in the Pig—were sitting back in Vanka’s rooms.

  Vanka had lapsed into a fretful silence as though he knew what he should do but couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. It took half a bottle of Solution and nearly an hour’s worth of dark brooding before he pulled himself out of his mood. “Is this Daemon—the one Crowley was talking about—the one you want to take back to NoirVille?” he asked.

  There was no point in lying. “Yes, I got that much out of Crowley. He was a tough one to read and he blocked most of his mind off to me, but I found out about the Daemon and one or two other bits and pieces of useful information. The main thing though is that Crowley has given me a golden opportunity to rescue the Daemon.”

  “So come on, tell me: why is it so all-fired important that you abduct this Daemon? Are you mixed up with the Blood Brothers? Are they making you do this? Do they want the Daemon back in NoirVille so they can milk it of its blood?”

  Ella sighed. “It’s too difficult to explain, Vanka. All I can tell you is it’s something I have to do; I have to help the Daemon escape Crowley and take her to NoirVille.”