Estelle Ana Baca

Tag: 20th Century AD

  • Astaroth’s Wager, the Conclusion (Really!)

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XVI.

    The police were there, and they were asking questions about what had happened. They wanted to know why the stove hadn’t been repaired. They wanted to know why Thomas hadn’t been at the office when they called. They wanted to know why his wife and infant child were still sound asleep in their beds when the fire took hold at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. They wanted to know why the neighbors had said that his deranged sister was always screaming in the night. They wanted to know if she’d started the fire, or if it had been he, who had been fired from work that day for stealing. They wanted to know why one of the items he’d been accused of at work stealing had been recovered at the scene. In fact, it was the only thing that had survived the entire blaze: a gold lighter that seemed untouched by the flames.

    He vociferously denied everything when they carried him away to the police station and booked him.

    He sat in the cell that night. There was a great part of him that didn’t feel as if it had been real. It had been too much to happen in one day. Too much loss. He couldn’t process it. It was simply unbelievable that everyone he loved and everything he had was gone.

    He returned to the thought that he had felt truly ruined at 24, but he was more than ruined. He was irreparably fractured. There would be no healing. He’d had so much, and it was gone. All of it was gone. He collapsed underneath the weight of his grief and wept in his cell all night.

    The next morning, he met with his court appointed lawyer. The police believed that he’d murdered his sister, his wife and his child, and burnt down his home, and all on the day that he’d been caught stealing from work. There was no evidence to prove that he hadn’t been there. As far as the State of California was concerned, he was guilty. He was a dead man walking. The lawyer said it was inevitable.

    And when he lay on the cot in his cell that night, one thought was set to repeat in his mind. “It’s hopeless. It’s completely hopeless.”

    *          *          *

    “You weren’t supposed to win this one, Astaroth. I’m not ceding my Estate,” Sitri said.

    “You will cede your Estate to me. I killed an angel, a Nephil and six primates in this wager. I won. Thomas Carver is a broken man, and Michael isn’t darkening your doorstep to seek revenge for his fallen brother. And if you don’t, remember that I am now Queen of Greece and Anatolia. I will bring down upon you the fury of Asia Minor if you don’t relinquish your lands.” Astaroth said.

    “Svipul?” Sitri asked in desperation.

    “You offered her your Estate for your mistakes. You never should have offered it up if you weren’t willing to part with it. Take what she gives you,” Svipul said.

    Sitri couldn’t afford to wage a war against Astaroth when his own Estate claims were in question, so he relinquished his claims. Astaroth had become Queen of Britannia, too.

    Astaroth was relatively benevolent, and she bestowed upon Sitri the Estate of President of London and the Home Counties. She made Svipul the Princess of Athens, and Caius became an honorary Knight.

    The Gas Chamber at San Quentin Prison, California.
    The very same gas chamber in which Thomas Carver died. He was executed in February 1939.

    *          *          *

    Up until day the State of California executed him for the murders of his wife, his child and his sister, Thomas never knew another shred of hope. But as he prepared to inhale the noxious vapors that would kill him, he discovered a shimmering, lost thing. Because he believed in his innocence, he hoped that after his heart had stopped and his soul had left his body, that he would see Adelaide and Hank and all his other loved ones again.

    Estelle will be taking the reins next week. I need a break after this one. Dominus vobiscum.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XVI

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XV.

    Adelaide and Hank were still sleeping soundly when Thomas got up the next morning. He admired and envied the peace of their slumber and saw no need to wake them as he slipped out of the bedroom. Florence was already stirring in the kitchen, however, and she offered to make him breakfast. The stove wasn’t lighting properly again. He said, “I thought they were supposed to come by with a new stove yesterday.”

    “They did, but it was working fine yesterday morning, so I just sent them away while Adelaide was taking a bath with Hank,” Florence explained.

    Thomas groaned. It had taken them two weeks to order the new stove, and he was deeply annoyed at the possibility of another two weeks before they could schedule a new delivery. “Please don’t send them away next time. This stove hasn’t worked in a while.” He fetched his gold lighter from his coat pocket and used it to light the stove, and after it was lit, he set the lighter down on the kitchen table.

    He sat down to drink his coffee and caught the time. He wasn’t quite sure how, but it was twenty minutes later than he’d thought it was. He dashed out the door without breakfast and hurried in to work.

    When he got to his office, Bernadette was missing. For some reason, she hadn’t shown up or called in to tell him where she was, and he went about his morning handling everything she normally did, such as answering his calls and filling out forms, in addition to writing a report about the missing $1,000 in accounting.

    Thomas went into the accounting office to follow up on his investigative work from the night before, and he was met with a number of cold dismissals from everyone there. He found it extraordinarily odd that none of them wanted to make so much as eye contact with him. After a couple of minutes of trying in vain to get information out of them, he headed back to his own office.

    He ran into Mr. Meese in the hall. “Tom—I was just looking for you. I need to see you in my office. Say—do you have a light? I can’t seem to find mine.”

    Thomas reached into his coat pocket for his lighter, but he remembered that he’d left it on the kitchen table. He apologized—“My sister borrowed it this morning”—and followed Mr. Meese into his office.

    Mr. Finch, the head of the studio, was waiting in Mr. Meese’s office along with a sheepish Bernadette.

    “Have a seat, Tom,” Mr. Meese said.

    “What’s this about?” Thomas asked. He was worried. He didn’t understand what was going on.

    Mr. Finch said, “Bernadette here came forward with what happened. We told her she didn’t have to, but she felt it was only right that you had a chance to face the person who produced the evidence against you.”

    “What evidence?” Thomas asked.

    “The check you stole. She found it underneath your clock this morning,” Mr. Finch said. “Now, I hardly want to make this a police matter—”

    “I didn’t steal anything!” Thomas cried.

    “Tom, I didn’t say anything about the lighter before—” Mr. Meese said.

    “What?”

    “You stole that lighter out of my office. It’s ok—you can keep it, but I’m afraid—”

    “I haven’t taken anything! You gave me that lighter, back in San Francisco—remember?” Thomas pled.

    Mr. Finch said, “Son, you can’t keep your job. Now, we need you to pack up your office and leave by one o’clock. If you’re not out of here, we’ll have to call the police.”

    “This has got to be some kind of misunderstanding. I didn’t steal anything. You’ve got to believe me. Mr. Meese, please—you know I didn’t take anything from you,” Thomas said.

    “Tom, I hope you can learn to be a better man after this,” Mr. Meese said.

    “Bernadette—where did you find it exactly? Maybe it was someone else,” Thomas insisted.

    “It’s a good thing your father’s not here to see this. He’d’ve been disappointed in you, son,” Mr. Meese said.

    There was no further discussion. Thomas was shown to the door, and while a couple of Mr. Meese’s burlier male assistants watched, Thomas packed up his office and left the studio offices.

    Santa Monica, courtesy of lapl.org
    This would have been considered a vintage photo of Santa Monica back in 1937, as it was taken at the turn of the century.

    He couldn’t go home, though. Everything had just started to improve for them again, particularly with Florence’s miraculous recovery. Thomas was sure he wouldn’t be able to get another job in the pictures, because he knew he couldn’t get Mr. Meese to write him a letter of reference. They’d have to sell their house and move to an apartment, and Thomas would have to take whatever job was available to them again. He was only 24, and he felt ruined. He didn’t understand why, either. He couldn’t figure out what had happened. The greater part of him was outraged at the thought of being accused of stealing, even though he hadn’t done so much as steal a paperclip from the office, and he wanted to run through the studio offices, screaming and punching everyone who didn’t believe him. He fantasized about it, but he didn’t do it. He just drove to Santa Monica and stared at the ocean from the pier until it was the time he typically headed home.

    The traffic home was difficult. Despite staring at the ocean all afternoon, Thomas had no idea how to explain to Adelaide what had happened. The afternoon was extremely hot, and the air felt hotter when he drove into his neighborhood. There was a stinging, unpleasant smell in the air that was characteristic of a fire, and because he didn’t believe that his day could get any worse, it didn’t occur to him that it could be his own house.

    At least, not until he pulled onto his street.

    Everything was gone. Everything. Everyone was gone, too. Adelaide and Hank and Florence. They were all gone. They were dead. They had all died in the fire that had destroyed everything that Thomas Carver had counted as his own in the whole world.

    The conclusion is coming next week! Really! Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XVII.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XV

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIV.

    “Astaroth, tomorrow’s the first. You have five days to wrap this up,” Svipul cautioned. “What do you have planned?”

    “Oh, I guess it’s time. I can’t wait to be myself in public again, I tell you.” Astaroth called to her favorite Neku, “Caius! Florence is waiting for you to finish her off!”

    “Am I to possess her as planned, madam?” Caius asked.

    “Possess her and then go through with the elimination as discussed. I won’t begrudge you if the damage extends to the rest of the neighborhood. Use your imagination,” Astaroth said.

    Popular Mechanics, December 1937. From Wikimedia.
    A completely modern kitchen in 1937.

    *          *          *

    Adelaide Carver awoke on the morning of the first of June to the sound of activity in the kitchen, and she hoped that the disturbances wouldn’t wake up the baby. She fell compelled to sink back into bed, for the only one who could be responsible for noises was Florence, and she knew that Florence’s presence in the kitchen was, in all probability, a bad thing.

    “Good morning, Addie. I was just about to make myself some eggs and coffee. Would you like some?” Florence asked.

    Adelaide stared at Florence without issuing any assent, dissent or comment.

    “What about some oats then? I thought I saw some in the cupboard,” Florence asked.

    Adelaide still couldn’t find any words in her extreme fatigue to express her confusion and surprise.

    “Well. I’ll just make you some eggs then. Hope you like them scrambled, because that’s how I like mine. I’ll get you some toast, too,” Florence said.

    Adelaide discovered a few words in her haze. “How are you feeling?”

    “I think I just needed some sleep. That kind doctor came by yesterday, and I had the best sleep I think I’ve had in at least a year. Maybe even two. I don’t know what kind of miracle drug it was he gave me, but you should see asking the doctor for a prescription if you think you need a rest, too,” Florence said.

    “Good. I might have to ask him later on today,” Adelaide said.

    Florence served Adelaide a cup of coffee with lots of cream and sugar. “Here you go, sweetheart. It’s about time I served you, after all you’ve done for me these last six months.”

    Adelaide recovered her silence and awe at Florence’s complete shift in behavior.

    “I can’t imagine what you must think of me. I’m embarrassed about everything that’s happened lately. I’ve been a nightmare. I hope you never know what it’s like to lose your entire family, because it really is one’s worst nightmare come true. Now that you’re a mother, I think you can relate even more. I did go insane, but I couldn’t help but act out some of the horror I’d come to know. But I got up about an hour ago from that sleep, and I realized something,” Florence said.

    “What was that?”

    “I realized that I still have you and Tom and Hank. And you’ve been far kinder to me that I deserve. I’m sure I would’ve put me into a hospital by this point. I’m lucky that my little brother never gave up on me. And I’m lucky that you put up with him putting up with me,” Florence said.

    Thomas wandered sleepily into the kitchen. “I heard voices. What’s wrong with her today, Addie?”

    “Mornin’, Tom. Do you want some eggs?” Florence asked.

    *          *          *

    Thomas took the opportunity to take a brief inventory of his office supplies for his stationery order while he was on the phone with Adelaide. His desk clock displayed 1:47, and he was due in Mr. Meese’s office at 2 on the dot to accompany him on a tour of the set for the newest musical. He figured he had just enough time to deliver the order to Bernadette, his secretary, before he had to be in Mr. Meese’s office. “So the doctor said she’s recovered?”

    Adelaide said, “He checked her over completely and said that she’s perfectly normal. Whatever it was that was making her sick seems to be over. He gave her some more of those pills to help her sleep, though, just in case she gets worse again.”

    He sat back in his chair. “That’s incredible. I’ll have to find out more when I get home tonight. Pick up some steaks at the butcher, will you? It’d be nice to have a proper dinner with you and my sister later.”

    “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll cook ‘em up the way you like ‘em,” Adelaide answered.

    “Ok, dear. I’ll be home no later than six. Love you!”

    Thomas put his coat back on, delivered his order to Bernadette and had a chat with her about everything on his schedule for the rest of the week, and made his way over to Mr. Meese’s office.

    Mr. Meese was on the phone when Thomas appeared in his doorway, and Mr. Meese beckoned for him to come in and take a seat.

    Mr. Meese said, “We’ll get to the bottom of this before the end of the day tomorrow. I don’t want to make this a police matter until we know who’s responsible….Yes….Of course….Thank you.” He looked up at Thomas and said, “Change of plans, Tom. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

    “What’s the problem?” Thomas asked.

    “It’s an accounting mix-up, but since it’s related to this latest picture, they’ve put me on it, which means I’m putting you on it. Someone walked off with a check for $1,000. Needless to say, the studio doesn’t want the police involved unless it’s absolutely necessary. Find out where it went, Tom. I’ll make the tour of the set with McAlpin. That’ll be all,” Mr. Meese said, and he got back on his phone.

    Thomas walked past his office on his way to the accounting office, and he said to Bernadette, “Call my wife and tell her that something’s come up and that I probably won’t be home as early as I’d hoped.”

    *          *          *

    Thomas replayed his investigative conclusions during his drive home. The clerk entered in the wrong amounts to the wrong payees and tripled the error when he recorded it incorrectly in the ledger. The mystery was solved.

    He was exhausted when he got home at ten that night. There was a note on the kitchen table.

    Your steak’s in the refrigerator. Sorry I couldn’t stay up to greet you when you got home. You can wake me up and tell me about your day when you get home. We still need to talk about our anniversary next week. Love, A.

    He couldn’t bear to wake her. He knew how little sleep she’d had lately. He curled up next to Adelaide and held her, falling asleep next to her for the very last time.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XVI.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIV

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIII.

    It was the morning of May 31, 1937, and Adelaide was wickedly exhausted. A great amount of her exhaustion had come from the complete lack of sleep she’d had since Hank was born, but it wasn’t Hank’s fault at all. He didn’t cry or fuss as much as other infants, even though his feeding schedule included a late night meal at half past one and a first breakfast at five.

    Thomas’ sister Florence had had a really difficult night. Adelaide wished that she could chalk it up to an anomalous event, but she’d lost count of how many times Florence had perpetrated some wild disruption on account of her madness. Adelaide was tired of locking up the knives, scissors, pens and matches to keep away from her. If the mere suggestion of them didn’t make her scream, the sight of them initiated battles in which Florence would try to seize them. In the previous five months since she had been released from the hospital, Florence had used the knives and scissors to carve into the floors, the pens to write on the walls and the matches to heat the knives to sear her already scarred flesh and set small fires in the house. Adelaide had pled with Thomas to put Florence into a hospital, but he absolutely refused every single time the suggestion was made.

    Hank had fallen asleep on Adelaide’s chest after his second breakfast. She wished he could tell her if he’d had a tough time sleeping in the same house as Florence, too.

    Thomas looked like he felt like the rope used to tie down a tent in a hurricane when he shuffled into the kitchen. He laid his coat on the one of the chairs at the kitchen table and whispered. “Have you made any coffee?”

    “You might need to heat it up again. I boiled it about an hour ago,” Adelaide responded in a whisper as well.

    Thomas turned on the gas on the stove, but the pilot failed the light the burner. He turned off the gas and fetched his gold cigarette lighter from his coat, returning to the stove to repeat his actions and igniting the gas with his lighter. He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Thank God tomorrow’s the first. They said they’d be delivering the new stove tomorrow, since this one’s never really worked.”

    “I told you what happened—”

    “Addie, there’s no way—”

    “—and you didn’t believe me, just like you didn’t believe me—”

    “—that Flo broke the stove like you said she did.”

    “—about the window or the clothesline when I was still pregnant, and I don’t know how you can expect me to raise your son in a house where your sister is keeping us up all night screaming about the cats outside. And if it’s not the cats, it’s the birds. And if it’s not the birds, then it’s triangles. When will it end?” Adelaide argued. Her whisper had an impassioned hiss to it, and Hank adjusted on her chest.

    “She’s my sister. I can’t just throw her out. You know she can’t take care of herself.”

    “She needs a doctor. She needs to be in a hospital.”

    “You know what they do in those hospitals,” Thomas said.

    “Tom—I don’t want her around the baby anymore. He doesn’t get enough sleep—none of us do—and I know you heard her last night. Don’t deny it.”

    “I did.”

    “So tell me what she said, so I can hear it from you. Because if you heard it too, then maybe you’ll start to believe me when I say that I don’t want her anywhere near our son,” Adelaide insisted.

    Thomas sighed and rubbed his face. “She said that the cat told her that babies were evil, and the only thing that stops evil is fire.”

    “Well?”

    “Fine. I’ll call the doctor today and have him come by as soon as possible,” he conceded.

    “Thank you. What do I do with her in the meantime?” she asked.

    “She’s sleeping now, right?”

    “She’s the only one in the house who actually gets any sleep,” Adelaide countered.

    “Let her sleep. Hopefully the doctor will give her something to sleep so that when I get home tonight you and I can have a nice evening where we’re not trying to restrain my sister and we don’t fight and we can figure out what we’re going to do celebrate our anniversary and Hank’s month-old birthday next week,” Thomas said.

    “I’d love that,” Adelaide replied.

    “And I love you, Adelaide. And I love you, son.” Thomas kissed his own index and middle finger and pressed the translated kiss to Hank’s forehead.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XV.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIII

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XII.

    It was just past two in the morning on December 25, 1936, when Caius returned to his master. Astaroth was sitting before a roaring fire in the drawing room of a mansion in Beverly Hills. Caius inhabited the body of a rat and leapt onto her shoulder. “I have returned, madam.”

    Constance Bennett's Home in Beverly Hills, California
    A contemporary postcard of Constance Bennett’s home, one of the Meeses’ neighbors. The architectural style employed at the Meese home was very similar.

    “Caius! I’ll bet you’ve succeeded!” Astaroth squealed. “And on Christmas! That’s a fine touch. The primate investigators will probably think it’s an accident. Here—let me call Svipul here. She’s been possessing the body of a primate. You can take over for her for the meantime.”

    “You look different, madam. Have you been possessing the body of a primate as well?”

    “Never in an angelic age, no. I’ve become so accustomed to looking like this horrible little man that I completely forgot that I’m among friends,” Astaroth said. Over the previous five months, she had been pretending that she was Mr. Philip T. Meese—an older gentleman of average height with gray hair combed in such a fashion so as to cover his baldness, blue eyes, a bulbous nose, three chins and a considerable paunch. She marched over to the nearest mirror and without any visible transformation, blonde bombshell Astaroth was the reflection that the mirror reported back to her. “That’s better. I’m wondering when women will have any sort of power and independence again in this world. I hope it’s soon. I hate having to look like bald, fat men to be taken seriously by primates. The late Mr. Meese was the least repulsive motion picture studio executive for me to destroy so that I could steal his identity and station.”

    Svipul had had to adjust, too. As soon as she saw Caius as the rat, she departed the body of the gray-haired, garishly-dressed Mrs. Ada Meese, and her body crumpled to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Svipul immediately took her usual form—a far more severe-looking but less attractive blonde than Astaroth—and said, “Oh fantastic—Caius, take over for me. I’m sick of that woman. Humans are just so bruisable. I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t know how you are able to cope with them.”

    The rat ran out of the room and towards the kitchen when Caius departed its body, and within a fraction of a moment, Mrs. Meese was upright. “She smells better than most humans. Thank you, madam.”

    “Tell me—are all the Warrens dead, except Florence?” Astaroth said.

    “It is so, madam.”

    “And how did it go?”

    “I started with the children, as was your suggestion, madam, and I inhabited the body of a stray cat. I taught the elder child how to write my name using various dead languages, and I taught him some very small spells to hurt his younger sister and parents. As his punishments got worse, his anger grew, and when he discovered that Santa Claus only left him a lump of coal for Christmas, I convinced him to start a fire to destroy his family. I made sure he was trapped in the bedroom and possessed Florence only long enough to escape with very serious burns. She’s in the hospital now. The police should be by to inform Thomas Carver of what happened to his sister later today. I heard the officers in Kansas City discuss contacting the local police here in Los Angeles to make the notification. Their expectation is that her brother will take Florence in and look after her,” Caius explained.

    “And her mental state?”

    “Florence knows her son started the fire. She’d been trying to stop him from burning down the house all week long. Given the strain from such a personal tragedy, his magically-enforced systematic torture of them all and their many financial woes, she’s quite mad, madam,” Caius stated.

    “Impressive,” Svipul remarked.

    “Thank you, Chancellor Svipul.”

    “If I’m perfectly honest, I have to admit that I’m envious of all the fun you had. Now that the hook is baited, we wait. And I’ll have you know that there’s a new title in this for you, too, Caius. There’s no reason for you to remain a mere Devil any longer,” Astaroth said.

    “Might I inquire after your mark, madam?” he asked.

    Astaroth explained, “Oh, the newlywed Carvers are ever so deeply boring: so in love, can’t believe their luck, expecting a child in May, blahblahBLAHBLAH. But not for long! Merry Christmas, Thomas Carver. I hope he truly enjoys it, as it’ll be his last.”

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIV.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XII

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XI.

    Adelaide found it difficult not to be taken with Thomas’s enthusiasm. She returned his smile and asked, “What happened?”

    “Yesterday was a pretty normal day at work, when into the elevator walks this man—kinda older, wearing a really nice suit and hat, going to the ninth floor. Something about him felt kinda familiar from the start. Anyway—we start going upstairs when this man just starts staring at me. So I ask him about his day, and he answers politely but doesn’t really mention much, until out of the blue he asks me, ‘Are you Henry Carver’s son? The Henry Carver from Independence, Missouri?’

    “This man introduces himself as Philip Meese, and he starts asking after my parents. I told him that Pop passed away last January and was followed by Mom the following April. Then this Mr. Meese tells me how it’s a shame that he’s gone because my father was a great man who helped him out once. Apparently this Mr. Meese was travelling through Kansas City in ‘02 and got taken for all his money by a dishonest man, and my father spotted him a dollar to get a hot meal and a part of a train ticket to Chicago, where, incidentally, he made his first fortune.

    “So Mr. Meese gets off on the ninth floor, and he’s up there for about twenty minutes before he gets back in my elevator to go back downstairs. He goes on to tell me that he always wanted to repay the favor to Pop, but he never got back to Kansas City to look him up. Then he asks if I’d be willing to let him take me out for dinner that evening to discuss a business proposition with me.

    “This Mr. Meese takes me to John’s Grill for dinner and buys me a steak with all the trimmings. He tells me all about how he’s involved in the pictures these days as a producer. Even though everyone else has fallen on hard times, he’s making lots of money in Hollywood. Then he tells me that he’s been looking for a hard-working young man like me to work with him and learn the business of being a producer, and he offers me a job working in his offices with him the week after next if I can convince my bride-to-be to elope with me and move down to Los Angeles.

    “I’ll be making at least four times what I make here, Addie. We can get our own house and everything,” Thomas said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette lighter. “Look—this is what Mr. Meese gave me. He said it was his way of investing in me, like collateral. It’s gold. You can bite it yourself if you don’t believe me.”

    Adelaide took the lighter. There were small indentations in the corner where Thomas had bitten it to test the gold’s authenticity. Along the bottom, there was a geometric arrangement of triangles engraved into the gold, and it looked like this:

    strth

    “So whaddya say?”

    Adelaide felt a touch of hesitation. She remembered the dream she’d had the previous morning in which they’d eloped. She couldn’t remember how it had ended, but she felt like the ending was important when compared with the other dreams she’d had that same night. Of all the dreams she’d had, it was the most positive of them all, and it didn’t occur her to that she ought to find the precognitive nature of the dream in itself a reason for hesitation. In fact, it made the circumstances feel right, and she put aside her momentary misgivings.

    She looked into Thomas’ eyes. His enthusiasm was contagious. She knew that he didn’t want to be an elevator operator or a grocer, and that he’d discovered his opportunity to make something of himself. She knew that she’d be happy as long as she was with him. All the rest was forgivable.

    She threw her arms around him and kissed him. She said, “I’ll sneak out an hour before sunrise. Meet me here then.”

    “I’ll buy us tickets for the first train for Los Angeles tomorrow. We can get married there.”

    “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Adelaide Carver!”

    And it was so that on Tuesday, June 9, 1936, Adelaide Grayson married Thomas Carver, with Mr. & Mrs. Philip Meese serving as their witnesses. Adelaide didn’t understand why, but after they kissed before the Justice of the Peace and the Meeses, Adelaide thought about the dream she’d had in which she and Thomas had eloped. She remembered that in her dream, the witnesses they had chosen were the same two women with the swords she’d seen in the dream with Rose Nielsen.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XIII.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part XI

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part X.

    “Now that I’ve eliminated the angel and the Nephil in the mix, I can get down to business,” Astaroth declared.

    “You know, you could easily have this entire wager sewn up by tomorrow,” Svipul said.

    “Absolutely not. The true destruction of hope requires the investment of time. I have a slightly less than a year to accomplish this, and I’ll make sure it’s done right,” Astaroth said. “Don’t bother with the primate—I’ll take her home. She might require some motivation to accomplish what comes next, and I know just how to do it.”

    Astaroth left Svipul in Antwerp and took Adelaide back to her bedroom. She hovered over Adelaide to gather information, spending more than an hour slipping into the young woman’s subconscious. The sun was threatening to claw its way over the horizon when she called for Caius, and he possessed a small robin and perched on the windowsill of Adelaide’s bedroom to receive his master’s directive.

    A Robin
    Nekus often possess birds, like this fantastic robin, on account of their mobility and relative stealth. They’re never able to survive it, though. Poor little guys.

    “Quiet, Caius,” Astaroth ordered in a barely audible whisper. “I need her asleep. The manipulation of dreams is one of the best tools that Apokomistai have at our disposal. It’s almost a shame that I can’t teach it to you.”

    “What do you wish of me, madam?”

    “I need you to find Thomas Carver’s sister. Her name’s Florence Warren, and she lives in Kansas City with her husband Roy and their two children Eugene and Lois. They live in the Carver family home, and they’ve been, as the primates put it, having a awfully hard time lately,” Astaroth said.

    “What will you have me do, madam?”

    “Possess any creature you like, with the exception of a primate. A bird might work—something the primates are inclined to prefer, something cute—and I want you to stalk that family. You might start with the children and work your way up. I’ll leave it up to you—you’ve always demonstrated a prodigious amount of creativity when it comes to inspiring madness within primates. I don’t care how you do it, but I want a specific outcome.”

    “And what would that be, madam?”

    “I want everyone in that house to die in a fire within six months. Except Florence. I need her alive,” Astaroth said.

    “And in what condition, madam?”

    “As scarred and insane as possible,” Astaroth said.

    *          *          *

    Adelaide Grayson woke from her slumber not long after sunrise. She had a groggy notion that Rose Nielsen had fallen asleep guarding her, but Rose was nowhere to be found. She didn’t give Rose’s absence too much thought, for she was distracted by the odd sequence of dreams she’d had. The first was an incomplete scene in which she and Rose had been transported to a strange location where there were a couple of women who threatened them with swords and knives. The second was a nightmare in which she was tied to a stake and consumed by fire. The third was a pleasant dream that she carried with her into consciousness, and in it, Thomas reported to her that he’d been offered a once-in-a-lifetime job, and that they were running off to Los Angeles to elope.

    Just as she did every morning, Adelaide went downstairs to assist with breakfast for the boarders. She greeted her mother sleepily and asked about Rose while rinsing out the urn for the coffee.

    Mrs. Grayson answered, “Miss Nielsen left about twenty minutes ago. She rang the bell to call me, paid her bill and left in a big hurry. She left a letter for you at the desk, though. She specifically mentioned that you were very kind to her.”

    “Did she say where she was going?” Adelaide wondered.

    “I asked, but she didn’t answer. I’d imagine that she left an explanation in that letter.”

    Adelaide and her mother served the boarders their breakfast, and just as Adelaide was sitting down to enjoy her own breakfast after everyone had left, Thomas appeared in the kitchen.

    “I wanted to check on you before I went in to work. That angel—Kavati or whoever—it was wasn’t around when I woke up this morning,” Thomas said.

    “Miss Nielsen wasn’t around when I woke up, either. She left me a letter when she checked out of here in a hurry before I got up,” Adelaide said, presenting the letter from her apron pocket. “It’s odd, though. I could—” She paused.

    “What is it?”

    “I had the strangest dreams last night. The weirdest was that Miss Nielsen and I—I can’t even remember all of it. I only remember that she ripped me out of bed and transported me to a place where there were these women with swords. That’s all.”

    Thomas refrained from issuing a comment. “Let’s see what’s in the letter. May I?”

    Adelaide handed him the letter, and Thomas unsealed the envelope and laid the Rose’s missive on the table where both of them could read.

    Dear Miss Grayson,

    I hope that this letter finds you well and able to accept my apologies for leaving abruptly. My father returned while you were sleeping to inform me that the matter is settled and neither you nor Thomas are in any danger. My gifts are now required elsewhere, and I must leave San Francisco immediately. I wish you and Mr. Carver the very best in your future together. May God bless you and keep you always.

    Sincerely,
    Miss Rose Nielsen.

    “I guess that’s that,” Thomas replied. “I’d love to stay, but I have to get to work now. I’ll come by later tonight.”

    “See you later!” Adelaide said, sneaking in a kiss on the cheek. She ate the rest of her breakfast in the silence, entertaining a marvelous fascination with the vivid nature of her dream with Rose and the two women with swords.

    *          *          *

    Thomas never stopped by that evening. He telephoned her to let her know that he had been detained by an awesomely fortunate opportunity and that he would stop by with an explanation the following morning.

    Adelaide awoke the next morning feeling far more refreshed than the day before, and she was grateful for the solid, dreamless sleep she’d had. Breakfast came and went without any sign of Thomas, and Adelaide and her mother were preparing for the lunch service when Thomas finally arrived. Although he was absolutely brimming with cheer, his appearance came in tandem with a host of apologies for both Adelaide and her mother. He asked to speak with Adelaide in private, and Mrs. Grayson obliged by leaving them alone in the kitchen.

    Thomas’s lips parted to reveal a brilliant grin. “I’ll tell you, Addie—this has been the most remarkable week! Except for the day I met you, my love, yesterday was the luckiest day of my life!”

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XII.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part X

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part IX.

    “What will you have me do now, madam?” Caius asked.

    “Well—Stolas should be calming down right about now and on his way to come kill me,” Astaroth said. “I know you’re partial to the body of that Prussian primate, but it’s time to let it go. Leave it, and leave here. You don’t want to be around when at least one angel shows up. I’ll call for you when I’m finished here.”

    “As you wish, madam,” Caius replied. He sat down in a chair in their suite. The body that he had possessed went limp, falling into the deep unconsciousness characteristic of a coma. The essence of his Neku self had departed.

    “Did you have to destroy my Kazuko as well when you destroyed all the other Nekus?” Svipul asked Astaroth. “It’ll take me at least two centuries to develop that kind of loyalty in another Neku.”

    “I can’t argue with that. Nekus don’t really grasp their utter dependence upon their Apokomistai masters for at least half a millennium,” Astaroth said. “But you do realize, my dear Svipul, that you have a better chance at getting an audience with God than you do in extracting even the slightest apology from me.”

    “So—what is your plan now?”

    “I give Stolas not long at all before he’s here to try to take back my ellamadus,” Astaroth said. She migrated to the middle of the suite where there was an open space on the carpet.

    “And then?”

    “There’s the rub, isn’t it?” Astaroth said.

    “You’re not even going to provide a hint as to what to expect?” Svipul asked, joining her in the open space.

    “You can expect fun. Draw your sword. If you would be so kind as to provide me with support, I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your bravery.” Astaroth held the Ashera Didilak in her open palm. She muttered a few phrases, and the ellamadus glowed brightly again.

    “Is that the Ashera Didilak?” Svipul asked.

    The ellamadus went dull in her hand. “Break my concentration again and you’ll find out just how much damage the Ashera Didilak really can do. Now—be ready. We don’t know how ready for battle the half-primate will be,” Astaroth ordered.

    Svipul drew her sword.

    Astaroth pronounced a few more phrases in the ancient, forgotten language, and for a few moments, her voice changed, so that the timbre of her voice more closely resembled a percussion instrument than a vocalized sound. The Ashera Didilak’s lavender light grew as unbearably bright as the sun for a fraction of a moment, until its light collapsed in on itself. The ellamadus phased out of sight for a similarly tiny amount of time and reappeared in Astaroth’s palm as it had before she had channelled its magics.

    Rose Nielsen materialized out of thin air, and she fell on her knees onto the floor. She looked as if she had been awakened from a nap. Nonetheless, it appeared that she had sensed that she was being unexpectedly ripped from the comfort of where she had been, and with the one hand she had, she had gripped what was closest to her to anchor her. Much to her horror and Astaroth’s delight, it was a similarly sleepy and disoriented Adelaide Grayson.

    Rose and Adelaide quickly tried to scramble to their feet, but Svipul held her blade at Rose’s throat. Svipul said with a voice filled with unnatural menace, “Keep to the floor and quiet. Both of you.”

    Adelaide’s shock took the better of her. Her entire complexion turned grey, and she fainted again.

    “Look, Svipul! Sitri isn’t the pathetic warrior we thought he was. I’ll go out on a limb here and guess that you’re unarmed, Miss Nielsen. I’d be willing to bet that you’ve forgotten your blade, too,” Astaroth said with an unnervingly giddy expression.  “That primate might be able to lend you a hand in a very literal sense, but unless you brought your own weapon to disarm her, she’s useless to you now in every other meaningful way.” She directed her attention to Svipul and said, “What do you think? One pun too many?”

    “Why do you want Adelaide?” Rose demanded.

    “This has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with a miscarriage of a wager. I might even let the primate go when this is all over,” Astaroth said.

    “My father and Kivati will be here soon,” Rose threatened.

    “I’m counting on that,” Astaroth retorted. She held up the Ashera Didlak again and resumed eliciting its magics. The lavender light flowed out of it in long threads that circled Rose until they formed a faint chamber around her. Rose tried to protest, but the chamber only echoed her own sounds back to her. She looked panicked, and she started pounding on the walls of the chamber.

    “Take the female primate with you and leave,” Astaroth said.

    “I’ll meet you at my flat in Antwerp,” Svipul replied. She lifted Adelaide off the floor, and the two of them vanished.

    Astaroth was alone in the suite with Rose inside her mystical chamber for no longer than a few long moments when Stolas appeared.

    “Astaroth! I want it back!” he cried.

    “I told you I just wanted to borrow it. You’ll have it back before you know it,” Astaroth said.

    Rose was furiously kicking at the walls of the cocoon in a demonstration of futility when the entire character of the room shifted: ItzamnĂĄ and Kivati had arrived.

    Human eyes would never have caught everything that happened during the few seconds in which it all transpired: Astaroth tossed the Ashera Didilak in the air, drew her blade and vanished; Stolas caught the ellamadus; Kivati struck Stolas down and killed him; Itzamná struggled to break into the chamber to save his daughter; Astaroth rematerialized behind Itzamná, struck him with her blade and killed him. There was a jarring blast of light that burst in the room from Itzamná’s death, like supernova in the supremely miniature, and while Kivati was stunned by the explosion of Itzamná’s Graces, Astaroth seized the Ashera Didilak. She issued one final command to the Ashera Didilak, and the walls of chamber around Rose rapidly drew in to crush her and kill her. Kivati struck out at Astaroth to engage her in battle, but Astaroth’s merely lobbed the Ashera Didilak back at her and vanished.

    The hotel suite went still. Kivati was alone in the silence with Caius’ dying human host and a clump of black material that resembled obsidian where Stolas had met his end. There was a shift in the atmosphere of the room from the detectable metaphysical markers that an angel and a Nephil had perished there.

    Kivati reported back to Heaven that Astaroth had been involved in Itzamná’s death, and she requested permission to pursue, detain and destroy her. The response she received infuriated her: no further action was to be taken, for Itzamná had disobeyed when he left his post once again to save his daughter from an Apokomistis with a reputation like Astaroth’s. Rose hadn’t had much of a chance in the hands of any Apokomistis with an ellamadus. Had they not responded, Itzamná’s lifeforce would have remained in tact, and he wouldn’t have died. Without an ellamadus, Astaroth was no more dangerous than the average Apokomistis, and pursuing her wasn’t of the any immediate importance. Kivati was ordered to return to her post immediately and without complaint.

    Kivati eyed the Ashera Didilak carefully in her palm. Her fingers closed around it, and she smashed it, obliterating one of the most powerful magical objects in ever in existence.

    *          *          *

    Adelaide was still unconscious on the floor of Svipul’s flat when Astaroth joined them. Svipul said, “I have an idea on how to tie up this Thomas Carver loose end. You can use the Ashera Didilak to—”

    Astaroth interrupted, “I gave the Ashera Didilak to Kivati before I left the scene, and I’m sure that by now she’s turned it into a useless pile of metallic powder.”

    “Why?”

    “Stolas is no more. I will lay claim to all his territories and possessions at the soonest, after we’ve taken care of Thomas Carver.”

    “But the ellamadus—your power would be unquestionable with it.”

    Astaroth grinned. “My power is unquestionable without it. The only purpose it could serve in the future would be to deliver my own downfall, just as it did for Stolas. The only reason one ever needs a ladder after one has ascended to a rooftop is if one has the intention of coming down. I have no intention of ever relinquishing my title of Queen, and I no longer require the ladder that allowed me to reach this height. That, Svipul, is power.”

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part XI.

  • Astaroth’s Wager, Part IX

    Back to Astaroth’s Wager, Part VIII.

    An ellamadus is to white magics what a grimoire is to black magics. Unlike traditional grimoires that feature spells neatly written out in books or scrolls like the Lemegeton or the Picatrix, ellamadi are more like the grimoire known as the Orrery, in that they are objects that are meant to harness a specific type of energy and release it if one can unlock how to use it. They demand that its user possess a fluency in the manipulation of metaphysics that is magic, and without that basic knowledge, they’re just pretty objects. On account of their potency and immeasurable value to demons, any angel who came across one was on orders to confiscate and destroy it, and demons went out of their way to keep them out of the angels’ sight.

    This particular ellamadus was known as the Ashera Didilak, which roughly translates to the children’s lament. When only its lower magics are unlocked, it endows its owner with the sort of metaphysical brawn that allowed Stolas to defeat Dantalion and become a King. Its higher functions include summoning magics, which are far more complicated than you might think, for although summoning a demon is relatively easy, summoning an angel, human or hybrid creation isn’t, and they can reunite all the members of a family, including angels. It’s a highly useful tool for parents, which is why it can be a bane to the offspring of its possessor.

    Astaroth gingerly handled the Ashera Didilak. She uttered a few words in a long-lost language that made the orb emit a pale lavender glow in her palm. It lit up her face, emphasizing the lines of menace that flanked her smile. She said, “Stolas is an even bigger idiot that I could ever ever have imagined. It was common knowledge that he had an ellamadus, which was just what I needed, but this changes everything. Come to think of it, it might have been wise of him never to advertise that he had the Ashera Didilak. I’d’ve come after it centuries ago.”

    “What shall I do now, madam?” Caius asked.

    Her eyes were still fixed upon the Ashera Didilak. She ordered, “Pay the proprietors so we can leave. I’m tired of Athens already. Regardless, we ought to leave before Stolas is finished with that boy and senses that something’s wrong. What’s worse is that the hotel maids haven’t cleaned this suite properly. It smells like all the parts of primates that I despise.”

    “Where are we going next, madam?” Caius wondered.

    “Oh, if only I cared that all the others are going to be upset for calling them back to me so soon. I honestly didn’t think I’d succeed this quickly. Anyway—find Svipul. We’ll meet her wherever she is, and wherever that is, book a suite for all of us that meets my standards. And make sure that it doesn’t reek of mammalian excretion, or this will be the last private errand you make with me.”

    Astaroth wasn’t paying attention to Caius’ nod of compliance, for she was entranced by the Ashera Didilak. “And Caius…”

    “Yes, madam?”

    “Mention none of this to Svipul. Let her believe that she’s ‘helping’.”

    The Hotel Lenox
    An old postcard of the Hotel Lenox.

    Svipul and her Neku Kazuko had been tracking down information about Rose Nielsen in Boston when Astaroth, Caius and the rest of her demon entourage took up at the Hotel Lenox. While Kazuko had gone off on her own to follow a lead, Svipul joined Astaroth and the others in the pretense of dining in the hotel’s restaurant. She looked rather pleased and declared, “Kazuko reports that—”

    Astaroth glared at her, and Svipul went silent. It was clear that a silent exchange had begun between the two Apokomistai. Astaroth said, “Svipul, we must be more careful than to announce our future plans in public. Given the circumstances, I’d imagine that you’d be more panicked.”

    Svipul had switched gears, and she followed Astaroth’s lead. “What were you able to find out about Itzamná?”

    “It’s useless. I can’t defeat him. I’ll just have to negotiate with him,” Astaroth explained.

    “And how do you intend to do that?” Svipul asked.

    “The good news is that I have something that an angel wants. I’ll just have to arrange an exchange with him, like we’d discussed before, and maybe he’ll leave me alone. I was really hoping to get through 1936 without a battle,” Astaroth said.

    “Where were you thinking?”

    “Don’t play stupid. We’ve already booked the suite for the week, and I don’t want to make it too easy for him. Boston’s nice and public. Even kind of quaint. He won’t be at risk to spill the beans about what he is if we take the fight to him,” Astaroth replied.

    Astaroth, Svipul and the others kept up the appearances of dining until the earlier hours crept over Boston. A few of the Nekus left to practice ill deeds upon a few of the humans who’d had the misfortune of lodging at the Lenox, and Astaroth and Svipul had retired to the suite. As the dawn was breaking, Caius reported to his mistress’ side. “It’s accomplished, madam.”

    “Explain,” Astaroth demanded.

    “Stolas believes that you stole his ellamadus so that you might use it to buy your pardon from Itzamná, madam,” Caius said.

    Astaroth clapped her hands. “Excellent! Thank you, Caius.”

    “It’s my pleasure, madam,” Caius answered.

    “Oh, and Caius? Round up all the others. I need to see them now,” Astaroth said.

    Caius did as she ordered, and all her Nekus returned to her suite. It didn’t matter to her who had betrayed her confidence to Stolas or questioned her strength against a Watcher, but after a few fiery moments, the only Neku left in existence within the entire city of Boston was Caius.

    Dominus tecum.

    On to Astaroth’s Wager, Part X.

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