The Demi-Monde: Winter (24 page)

Crowley looked around the Prancing Pig in disgust. It wasn’t often, Vanka guessed, that someone of so elevated a rank came so close to the ForthRight’s blood poor: normally he would have his steamer’s armoured glass between him and the hoi polloi, but today he was seeing how the have-nots really lived. And despite Burlesque’s best efforts to tart the Pig up, the pub’s back room was still the epitome of poverty chic.

Raising a scented handkerchief to his nose, Crowley held a quiet conversation with Clement, then looked in their direction, threw off his golden cloak and walked across the pub. Immediately Vanka sprang to his feet, made the Party salute and recited ‘Two Nations Forged as One’.

Crowley didn’t even do Vanka the honour of returning the salute. ‘You are the psychic who presided over the séance where that scoundrel Morris was unmasked as a seller of fraudulent Psychic Indulgences?’ he asked, and indicated to one of the StormTroopers that he should be brought a chair.

Vanka’s courage nearly failed him, then with a great effort of will he answered in as casual a voice as his strangled guts would allow: ‘I am, Your Holiness.’

‘And this is the PsyChick, Marie Laveau?’

‘Yes, Your Holiness. She was instrumental in the unmasking of Morris.’

To Vanka’s astonishment he saw that – ABBA only knew how – Ella had managed to unbutton the top buttons of her bodice, revealing her long, slender and very tempting neck. As she was introduced she began to squirm around on her chair like a lovesick schoolgirl, wriggling her remarkable body in a really quite coquettish way. She giggled and simpered and if he hadn’t known her better, Vanka would have been positive that she was making a pass at His Holiness. His Holiness seemed to be of the same opinion.

What the Hel was she playing at?

‘You will instruct her to remove her veil,’ Crowley ordered with a decided catch in his voice.

Artfully, Ella did as she was told, throwing His Holiness several lascivious little glances when her beauty was revealed. She sat there looking simultaneously coy and vampish, batting her huge eyes and looking impossibly sexy. Vanka watched as conflicting emotions danced across Crowley’s face: there was revulsion at being in such close proximity to one of the races UnFunDaMentalism proclaimed to be little better than animals, and then there was lust. Shade or no, Ella was a beautiful woman, and even someone as racially myopic as Crowley appreciated beauty when he saw it.

Lust must have triumphed over revulsion because, amazingly, he demeaned himself to address Ella directly. ‘I am informed by Comrade Colonel Clement that you are in the ForthRight at the behest of Comrade Beria. Am I to presume that you are one of those Shade witches skilled in the WhoDoo arts?’

Ella bobbed in acknowledgement, managing to give her interrogator a disconcerting peek down the front of her bodice as she did so. When she answered, to Vanka’s surprise she adopted the cod-accent of a WhoDooist. ‘Ah am, Your Holiness, ah am de WhoDoo Queen Marie Laveau, de most powerful mambo in de whole of NoirVille. Ah am able to speak wit Papa Legba, de Lord of de CrossRoads, who guards de doorway dat divides de people of de Demi-Monde and de
loa
, de Spirits of my people. It is Papa Legba who has bestowed upon me mah powers of clairvoyance.’

To Vanka what Ella was spouting sounded like arrant nonsense but it certainly had an impact on Crowley. He sat down in his chair and the quite obscene expression on his face segued into one of respectful caution: something had certainly
struck a chord with His Holiness. But he still seemed unconvinced. He turned back to Vanka. ‘I give you a chance to admit that the unmasking of Morris was accomplished through artifice. Admit that you exposed Morris’s villainy by means of trickery and legerdemain rather than by use of occult talents and I will be moved to be lenient.’

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-apat.’

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 in hand.

‘I am here.’

Even Vanka was startled by the voice that Ella managed to find within her. There was nothing cod-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 tranquillity 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 call you,’ came the stuttered reply. ‘Aleister Crowley 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 still she penetrated my psychic defences.’

He twisted around on his chair and signalled that he wanted – needed – a drink. It took the downing of three large glasses of Solution before the colour 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.’