by Nancy Madore
Butch was floored. “Are you…? I mean, is it…?”
“It’s been altered, but it’s definitely one of ours,” she replied. “It’s easy enough to pick up on, as are your thoughts. But then again, we understand all forms of communication.”
Butch was thoughtful a moment, then he suddenly blurted out, in what sounded to Helene like French—“Reconnaissez-vous ce?”
“Ce dialecte est venue des veilleurs qui sont établis dans l'ouest,” she replied with a scornful little laugh. It was a short, mirthless laugh, but it exposed enough of her teeth to create a ghastly sight and, noticing their expressions of horror, she instantly closed her lips with a little sob. Slowly and deliberately she raised her claws to her hair, adjusting it so that it would cover the lower half of her face. She turned away from them slightly in order to further obscure their view. One large, stunningly beautiful eye peeked out at them from the thick curtain of black hair.
“What have you done to me?” she asked again. “Why am I like this?”
Butch cocked his head to one side in that thoughtful manner he had. To Helene, the familiar gesture was a welcome sign that he was returning to his old self again. “I’m not sure,” he said. “You…didn’t look like this before?”
“Of course not!” she said.
“We just conjured your soul,” he mused thoughtfully. “Maybe this is what it looks like.”
She seemed to consider this, but didn’t appear pleased.
“Is your name Lilith?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Are you a soul?” Huxley blurted out suddenly. “Or…some kind of demon?” Lilith just stared at him with contempt and he turned to Butch, confused.
“Aren’t you bound by the ring to do all that we ask, including answering our questions?” Butch asked.
“I am bound only to those who wear the ring,” she replied.
“Are you a demon?” Butch asked, repeating Huxley’s question.
“Of course not,” she replied haughtily.
“Tell us what you are then, as much as you know,” persisted Butch.
“I am the offspring of an angel, a Nephilim. My father, Anu—” she broke off with a little sob, shutting her eyes tight while she struggled with some inner conflict. She seemed embarrassed to let them see her pain. “Poor father,” she whispered miserably. It took a moment before she was composed enough to continue, and then she changed the subject. “My mother was one of the daughters of men. When I died, I was taken to the dark place where I have remained until now. It seems like such a long time.” She looked at Butch carefully. “You found the books?”
“We have your Book of the Dead,” he replied. “And, of course, Huxley here has the tablet of the Qliphoth. Your book was a copy apparently, but it would seem that it was quite authentic in spite of that…” His voice trailed off.
Helene was about to burst. Butch was babbling on about trifles! Why didn’t he ask better questions? She knew he was still reeling from the shock but she was impatient to know more. Yet she didn’t dare speak. But suddenly, as if she knew Helene’s thoughts, Lilith turned to look at her—really look at her—settling her gaze on Helene for what seemed like an eternity. Helene froze, not daring even to breath.
“We have so many questions for you,” Butch was saying. “Why…I hardly know where to start! I’m afraid I need a minute to clear my head. In the meantime, uh…I mean, first, would you like anything? A chair perhaps, or…uh,” he cleared his throat before continuing awkwardly—“Something to wear?”
Lilith’s gaze moved back to Butch. “A covering would be nice,” she said.
“We’ll find her something!” Helene’s father volunteered. His voice sounded strange. He had kept hold of Helene’s hand the entire time, and now, as he led her into the bedroom, it was swimming uncomfortably in his sweaty grip. She waited until they were alone to gently twist it free. Her father didn’t appear to notice. His expression was full of anxious excitement.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, but before she could open her mouth he continued in a loud whisper. “It’s astonishing! I can’t believe it! I never expected such a thing!” With each statement he gave her a little shake as if to emphasize his point. “But you might be frightened,” he said, pausing to examine her face. “Though you seem calm. Are you sure you’re quite all right?” Again he didn’t give her a chance to answer. “It’s a significant discovery!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder. “This is certainly the most important discovery ever made!”
“I’m fine!” Helene put in the first chance she got. “I’m not afraid at all. It’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me too!” His excitement had the effect of increasing her own. The two of them stood there a moment, staring at each other and smiling in wonder. Her father’s pupils were so large that she could hardly see the green parts around the outer edges.
“The covering for Lilith!” he suddenly remembered. They fished through their suitcases, but none of their clothing seemed large enough to fit the creature in the living-room.
“What about this?” Helene asked, holding up a thin, woolen blanket from one of the cots. Her father liked the idea, and when they brought it to Lilith, she seemed pleased by this choice as well. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, she wrapped the blanket around her torso, just below her arms, securing it over one shoulder as easily as if it had been designed for that.
“May I move freely about the room?” she asked. When Butch hesitated she added—“The circle has no more significance. It was a pathway out of the dark place, nothing more. If I had the ability to resist the ring I would have done so by now.” Her candor shocked Helene. There was a frankness in her manner that squashed any doubts about whether or not she spoke the truth.
Butch motioned for her to go where she liked, and she stepped out of the circle and cautiously sat down on the couch. For some reason this made the situation seem all the more peculiar for Helene. “How do you know so much about the ring?” Butch asked.
The rest of them were slowly following suit, arranging their chairs to face the couch. Helene moved hers close to her father’s. Everyone seemed to relax just a little.
“Azazyl instructed us,” Lilith told him. She sat regally, yet continued to hide the lower half of her face with her hair as she spoke. Helene got the impression that Lilith had been a very proud woman at one time.
“Azazyl?” repeated Butch.
“He was one of the Watchers,” Lilith explained. “An angel…like my father.” The mention of her father brought another spasm of anguish.
“Ask her about the dark place,” suggested Helene’s father.
“Can you tell us about it?” asked Butch.
Lilith shuddered. “When my soul left my body it was taken there. It’s just like it sounds; an infinite vacuum of nothingness.” Helene was reminded of the extreme darkness that descended on them moments before Lilith appeared. “I think I must have been there for many years,” she continued. “Can you tell me how long it’s been?”
“When did you go there?”
“It was just after the war between the Watchers and the Others,” she said.
“The Others?”
“The angels who came to stop the Watchers.”
“Mmm,” mused Butch. “I can’t think of any incident in history that might be linked to that.” He thought about it a moment longer and then continued on a different tack—“This dark place,” he said. “Is this where everyone goes when they die?”
“No, not you,” said Lilith. “Only Qliphoth.”
“Qliphoth?”
“The souls of the Nephilim are called Qliphoth.”
“Where do the rest of us go?” Butch asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, but she seemed to be considering it. “Azazyl told us that there is a place where your souls go when you die, but he didn’t say where it was. All I know is that our souls are different from yours in that they remain here on earth when we
die. That’s why the Others created the dark place.”
“So all of these Qliphoth are in the dark place?”
“No. Only the ones who were captured during the war have been imprisoned there. The rest escaped.”
“So you died in the war,” concluded Butch.
“Yes,” she said. “I drowned in the flood.”
Butch cocked his head. “The flood,” he echoed. “What flood?”
“The flood that came with the war,” she replied. “At the inception of the war the Others unleashed a terrible storm. There was an earthquake and then an immense explosion of water. The water was everywhere. It seemed like the whole world must be covered in it. Surely you must have heard of it!”
Butch exchanged meaningful looks with Helene’s father. He seemed about to speak but could only manage a strangled little groan.
“The survivors,” Lilith continued anxiously. “Do you know what happened to them?”
Butch got up and began pacing the floor. “To be honest, this is the first we’ve heard of the dark place…or of the existence of souls other than our own,” he told her. He was clearly agitated, and appeared to be struggling against an impulse to jump up and down. As soon as he got himself under control he sat back down. “We are archeologists,” he continued in an apologetic tone. “We study artifacts from lost civilizations.” He punctuated this with one, quick, spurt of laughter and then continued—“And quite frankly…I wouldn’t even know how to categorize you.” He stood up and resumed his pacing. “If the flood you’re talking about is the same flood we have recorded in our history,” he paused here to add to Helene’s father—“…which, incidentally, occurred around the same time that the tablet was written,” before continuing to Lilith—“…then that would mean you’ve been in the dark place for somewhere in the vicinity of five thousand years.”
Lilith stared at him in surprise.
“Another thing we didn’t understand is the manner in which your Book of the Dead was copied,” Butch went on. “It doesn’t seem consistent with any other documents that we’ve found. Is there anyone who might have had reason to…?”
“Asmodeous!” Lilith whispered, and her face lit up so brilliantly that one could almost forget the horrible teeth and claws.
“Asmodeous?” Butch turned to Huxley. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“It is familiar,” agreed Helene’s father. “But I can’t think of where I’ve heard it before.”
Helene couldn’t keep quiet any longer. She read about Asmodeous in one of her father’s books. “He was a djinn!” she blurted out. “He helped King Solomon build the temple.”
“She’s right!” exclaimed her father. “I remember it now. Solomon claimed to have power over these spirit creatures he called djinn.”
“Do you suppose these Qliphoth souls could, in fact, be Solomon’s djinn?” asked Huxley.
“Who is Asmodeous?” Butch asked Lilith.
“He was a Nephilim, like me,” she replied coolly, but she was clearly affected by what they’d said. She was practically quivering with emotion.
“Ah!” said Butch, thinking this over. “I wonder. Djinn is an old Arab word. If memory serves, it means something to the effect of, ‘to hide or be hidden.’” He turned to Lilith. “Why might someone call you that?”
Lilith replied with a little sigh of resignation. “In order to avoid the dark place it was imperative that our souls escape the Others. Our souls were only at risk once they were released in death. That is why they go into hiding.” Lilith turned to Helene. “What happened to the djinn they call Asmodeous?” she asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” said Helene. “The story just kind of ends after the temple was built. But one legend claims that Asmodeous exchanged places with Solomon and escaped.”
Lilith seemed hopeful as she considered this.
“Was Asmodeous a friend?” Helene asked because she was dying to know and it was clear that Butch wasn’t going to.
Lilith turned to her. “Yes,” she replied. “I have wondered what happened to him all these years.”
“I seem to recall seeing that name in other writings as well,” said Helene’s father. “I think in some of the Jewish texts, in particular, he was considered a powerful demon.”
“Asmodeous a demon!” cried Lilith, her enormous eyes flashing anger. But the anger abated just as quickly as it arose and Lilith laughed bitterly. “The sons of men were always looking for someone to blame for their problems,” she explained with a little shrug. “Every time anything went wrong they either accused one of their own of angering the gods or claimed it was the work of a demon. They could never take responsibility. Always looking for a god to save them. Any god would do. They even thought we were gods!” She snorted in disgust. “What could we do? Someone had to do it, and we were natural leaders. We inherited that from our fathers.”
“Do you have…powers?” asked Butch, clearly embarrassed by the question but determined to know, just in case. Helene had been wondering the same thing. She kept thinking of the Arabian tales of genies with magic carpets and three wishes.
Lilith considered the question. “I can’t really say what this…,” she looked down at herself as if searching for the right word—“…body is capable of. I didn’t have any form at all in the dark place. But it feels…limited. My senses seem to be lacking. I can see you, I can, in a distant kind of way, feel this blanket, and I can vaguely sense the warmth of this room. But everything seems to be reaching me as if through a screen. I don’t feel hunger or other physical sensations.” Lilith was thoughtful another moment. “I doubt that I have any mystical power, such as you’re thinking of,” she said. “We have always been bound by the same laws of nature as ordinary men, even when we were Nephilim. We were simply bigger and stronger and smarter. It was the same with the angels. The bodies they created for themselves were very similar to those of men. But the angels had superior knowledge, which they could use to manipulate the laws of nature. This was how the Others brought about the flood. Their manipulations caused that catastrophe. None of it was brought about by supernatural means. Every circumstance is subject to the unbending laws of nature as set forth in creation.”
“Do you have this ‘superior knowledge’ as well?” asked Butch.
“No. The angels have had millenniums to learn the secrets of the universe. They were here long before this world was created. They taught us many things. But there was not enough time, and we didn’t realize the danger we were in until it was too late.”
“But you learned the secret for returning to earth from the dark place,” observed Butch.
“Yes,” said Lilith.
“What were you planning to do once you got back?”
Lilith looked at him in surprise. “Live,” she said simply.
“But how?” he pressed. “Surely you didn’t expect to simply ‘blend in’ in your present form.”
Lilith paused then, and Helene got the sense that she was choosing her words very carefully. “There is a way to breach the barrier between the living and the dead so that our souls may enter a living body and dwell there.”
Butch gasped. “How?”
“I do not know,” Lilith replied. “I was killed before I learned everything.”
Butch turned to Huxley. “I think I need a drink.”
Huxley got up and went to fetch a bottle. When he returned, he carried three glasses and a bottle of whiskey. It appeared that Helene would not be included this time. Huxley poured a hefty portion of the acorn-colored liquid into each glass and handed them out.
Butch took a large swallow from his glass and then looked at Lilith. “Do you drink?”
“I don’t think it would have the same effect,” she said.
Butch seemed at a loss for words. He took another swallow of whiskey.
“What are you going to do with me?” Lilith asked.
“I was just wondering that myself,” said Butch, surprising them all with his candor. He
tilted his head to one side with a small, humorless smile. “You see, I never—not even for a moment, mind you—expected this outcome to the experiment.” He turned once again to the others. “Any ideas?” he asked, his large, toothy smile gleaming humorlessly in the brightly lit room.
Helene noticed that Huxley’s and her father’s glasses were completely drained. Her father was the first to speak. “I don’t think there’s any question, is there?” he said. “This discovery is more important than anything that’s happened to mankind, excepting maybe their existence! Why, we now have living proof that there’s life after death!”
“But think, for a moment, of the consequences this knowledge could bring to the living,” said Butch. “You heard her. These Qliphoth souls—Qliphoth, mind you, there’s no evidence here that our souls can be brought back from the dead—have the ability to enter living bodies. Lilith says she doesn’t know how to do it and I suppose that must be true because she’s bound by the ring to tell the truth, but if this knowledge is out there it’s only a matter of time before someone discovers it.”
“What are you proposing?” asked Huxley.
Butch looked at him. “Nothing at the moment,” he said thoughtfully.
“My head is spinning,” Huxley admitted. “But I think my first impulse is to agree with Bob. This is too big to conceal.”
“Also,” added Helene’s father—“Who can say what further discoveries might be made from this? Perhaps this could be used to our advantage. At any rate, if the world knows about it, any potential risks could be prevented.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Butch said. “But something else is bothering me at the moment.” He looked at Huxley carefully. “How well do you know this Lieutenant Brisbin?” he asked.
Huxley looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it was all a bit too easy, wasn’t it?” he asked in his calm, sensible way. “He gets word of this Book of the Dead in some cave near here and just happens to know a bloke who’s looking for it.”
Helene’s father gasped. “You don’t think…?” But, glancing at Helene, he didn’t finish his question.