Ash: Return of the Beast

by Gary Tenuta

  He looked at the drawing on the paper. “Of course. The Lucifer Seal. The modified one with all the extra lines that now decorates the foreheads of six corpses. What about it?”

  “I think I figured out what those additional lines are.”

  “Is it important?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But it’s interesting. Look.”

  She moved the drawing aside and laid a different one down in its place.

  Kane looked puzzled. “What’s all this?”

  “Took a while to figure it out, but the symmetry…”

  “The what?”

  “The way the lines are laid out. The design is symmetrical. In other words, the right side is a mirror image of the left side. See what I mean? So I separated the right side from the left side so I could see each side separately.” She pointed to the two circles side by side. “Still, it didn’t look like anything I recognized. So, to simplify it even further, I eliminated that nine-sided perimeter. That’s when it hit me. They’re numbers. The lines are the numbers seven and four.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You remember I told you about the original Lucifer Seal and the numbers incorporated into its geometry and that whole concept of Jesus and Lucifer being one and the same?”

  “Vaguely. I remember you said the Lucifer Seal was practically unknown.”

  “That’s right. Only initiates of the highest order in the Dark Arts would even know about it. That fact, along with these numbers, tells me our killer definitely has access to information that few people have ever been privy to, much less ever heard of.”

  “I don’t get it. How do you know that?”

  “Because of the sevens and fours. Whoever designed this alternative seal is telling us he understood the hidden meaning of the original, especially the Jesus-Lucifer connection.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She pointed to the single image at the top of the page. “What you’re looking at here are actually the numbers seven and four overlaid on top of each other and mirrored. But it’s not just a seven and a four. It’s really seventy-four and forty-seven overlaid on top of their mirror images.”

  “And that means… what?”

  “English gematria.”

  “English what?”

  Ravenwood gave a 60-second crash course on gematria, explaining that he could think of gematria as a kind of sacred numerology used by the ancient Greek and Hebrew priests and mystics.

  “They, of course, used the alphabets and number systems of their own respective cultures,” she said. “See, words and phrases that turned out to have the same alphanumeric values were thought to be relevant to each other in some way. In more recent times, someone developed a way to use our Latin-derived alphabet in a similar manner with the English language. The code was simple.” She grabbed a pen and wrote on the paper:

  A=1 through Z=26

  “Using this code,” she continued, “you just calculate the alphanumeric value of any word or phrase.” She stopped to see if she was losing him but he seemed to be hanging in there, waiting for the punch line. “So, using this code, it just happens that the names ‘Jesus’ and ‘Lucifer’ both have the same gematria value of seventy-four. That’s interesting on several levels that I won’t go into, but there’s more.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “In some Luciferic rituals, or what some might call Satanic rituals, the idea of reversals is a key component to the magick. For example, they’ll often turn the sign of the cross upside down. A kind of reversal, you see? And, by the way, the word ‘cross’ also has a gematria value of seventy-four, as does the word ‘messiah’. Reversal, opposite, anti. Get it? Anti-Christ?”

  Kane rolled his eyes. “Clever. But––”

  “Not done yet. Check this out. When you reverse the seventy-four you get forty-seven. Add them together and you get this.” She grabbed the pen again and wrote:

  74 + 47 = 121 = ANTICHRIST

  Kane’s eyes widened. “No shit? The word ‘antichrist’ has a value of one-twenty-one?”

  “And we’re still not done. In the Bible, both Jesus and Lucifer are associated with Venus, otherwise referred to as the Morning Star. That fact has been a subject of theological controversy for ages. Now look at this:

  74 + 74 = 148 = MORNING STAR

  Ravenwood chuckled at the dumbfounded look on Kane’s face. “That’s nothing. Here’s the final kicker. Remember our discussion about the nine-sided shape of this symbol and the occult significance of the number nine?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  She wrote something on the paper and turned it for Kane to read:

  74 x 9 = 666

  She sat back in her chair. “Pretty cool, yes?”

  “Pretty damn weird is more like it.”

  “That, too. But what it tells us is that our purp knows his stuff. He knew the secret message of the Lucifer Seal. He’s either a powerful adept of the highest order in some ancient mystery school or someone else at that level is assisting him.”

  “You think so?”

  “There’s no other explanation.”

  “I wish there was.”

  Ravenwood nodded. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER 20

  A Few Hours Earlier…

  Jason put his guitar down as Cowl came in through the back stage entrance. “About time you showed up. Where the hell you been? We’re all set up. You hear what happened here today?”

  Cowl unloaded his guitar and plugged it in. “No. What happened?”

  Billy Cox grinned and knocked out a few thumping bars of the Peter Gunn theme on his bass. “Murder, dude!”

  Cowl moved up to the center microphone and tapped it a couple times. “Check…check…”

  “Yeah,” Jason said. “At least we’re guessing it was murder. Cops aren’t saying much. Anyway, that preacher who was gonna lead the big protest thing tonight was found dead in the men’s restroom.”

  Cowl tuned his low E-string and echoed a couple of Billy’s Peter Gunn riffs. “Serves him right for thinking he was gonna mess up our concert.”

  Jason was a bit taken aback by Cowl’s response. “C’mon. The guy died, for Christ’s sake.”

  Cowl grinned. “I doubt he died for Christ’s sake.”

  Rick, the drummer, picked off a rim shot.

  “Thank you,” Cowl said.

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”

  Cowl was getting irritated. “What the fuck, man. The asshole had it comin’.”

  Billy rested his bass on the stand and lit up a joint. “I can’t believe they didn’t cancel the concert.”

  Rick laughed. “Are you kidding? There were already hundreds of fans lined up around the block by noon and a thousand more on the way.”

  “Damn right,” Cowl said, reaching for the joint. He took a toke and passed it back to Billy. “Nothing can stop Mega Therion. You oughta know that by now.” An odd grin crept across his face. “So, you guys ready to rock?”

  CHAPTER 21

  ONE HOUR LATER…

  Detective Wheeler handed a page of notes over to Kane. “Here’s the names of the band members, their phone numbers and addresses. We ran a quick check. No priors. Clean sheet on all of these guys. But check this out.” He produced another sheet of paper and handed it to Kane. “It’s a flyer for tonight’s concert with a picture of the band on stage. The guy in the middle is the leader. Check out what he’s wearing.”

  Kane took the flyer. “Well, I’ll be damned. A hooded robe.” He moved to the copy machine, ran one off for Ravenwood and handed it to her.

  “Yeah,” Wheeler said. “But I wouldn’t get too excited. From what I hear, a lot of his fans show up at the concerts wearing hooded robes. Bunch of friggin’ weirdos.”

  “Mega Therion,” Ravenwood said, reading the flyer.

  Kane looked at her. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “No, can’t say that I have. Not exactly the kind
of music I have on my iPod. But the name is interesting.”

  Kane shrugged. “Really? It’s Greek to me.”

  “Maybe that’s because it is Greek. It means Great Beast. No doubt a reference to Aleister Crowley. Crowley sometimes used it as a pseudonym.”

  Wheeler shook his head. “What are we talking about here? Who’s Crowley? What’s this about a beast?”

  “I’ll brief you on it later,” Kane said. “Right now I want you to go to a concert.”

  Wheeler backed up. “What? Oh, no. C’mon. I don’t wanna have to listen to that crap for two hours.”

  “Grab Detective Moreno and get on over there.”

  Wheeler shook his head. “Moreno? She’s not gonna like it any more than I do.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to know what goes on at one of those concerts. You can report to me in the morning. Now get out of here.”

  “Um… tickets are sold out.”

  “Your badge is your ticket, Wheeler. Now get the hell out of my office. And try not to be conspicuous when you get there.”

  “Conspicuous? I’m wearing a suit and tie, for crying out loud.”

  “Take the tie off.”

  “Oh, yeah. That oughta do it.”

  “So find yourself a hooded robe. Go!”

  Wheeler left in a huff and Kane turned to Ravenwood. “Rookie. Drives me crazy sometimes. Where were we?”

  “We were talking about names and I just noticed the band leader has an odd name, too. You don’t hear the name, Rye, very much.”

  “Well, according to Wheeler’s notes here, this Rye Cowl’s real name is Rodney Duckworth.”

  Ravenwood chuckled. “You’re not serious.”

  “What it says here.” He handed the notes over to her. He could see her wheels were turning. “What is it?”

  “The name ‘Rye’ was beginning to ring a bell and I just remembered why. There’s a hell of a blues guitarist named Rye something. His guitar playing was dubbed into a movie about Robert Johnson back in the eighties.”

  “Who the hell is Robert Johnson and why would you remember something like that?”

  “Long story. But I was just thinking this Rye Cowl may have borrowed the name from that other guy. Seems likely because of the music connection.”

  “Okay. But what about the last name? I’ve heard the name before but I’ve never seen it spelled that way. Have you? Doesn’t seem like something someone would just make up out of thin air.”

  Ravenwood nodded. “Good point. I can’t recall ever seeing it spelled like that either. But of all the names he could possibly pick, why would he choose that one, regardless of how it’s spelled?”

  “Maybe the name of someone he admires or idolizes? You know. Like you said about his first name.”

  “Could be. Or––”

  He saw her wheels spinning again. “Or what?”

  “Hang on,” she said, taking a pen from her briefcase. “It’s a long shot. But I have a nose for things like this.” She started jotting something on the back of the flyer.

  “A nose for things like what?”

  “Just give me a minute.”

  He leaned back and gave an impatient groan.

  Finally, Ravenwood looked up with a smug expression. She slapped the flyer down on his desk. “Tell me that’s just a coincidence.”

  Kane looked at what she’d written. “What’s this?”

  “Rye Cowl is an anagram for Crowley.”

  “A what?”

  “An anagram. It’s a type of word play where the letters of a word are rearranged to form another word. In this case the letters in the name ‘Rye Cowl’ are the same letters that spell the name ‘Crowley’.”

  Kane’s eyebrows went up. “Well, I’ll be a son of a–– How did you know that?”

  “I told you. I have a nose––”

  “––for things like this. Yeah, I heard you. So this guy thinks he’s Crowley reincarnated or something?”

  Ravenwood shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  Kane cautiously entertained a glimmer of hope. “You think this could be our guy? He did have a motive, when you think about it. That preacher was bent on trying to ruin the concert. I mean, I’ll admit, killing the guy is a pretty extreme way to put a stop to the protest but still––”

  “Yeah, but it could just as well have been one of the fans of the band. Wheeler said a lot of them are so into it that they dress in hooded robes at these concerts. The word ‘fan’ is short for fanatic, you know. Who knows what kind of demented fanatics might be under some of those robes? Not to mention the fact that we’ve got a major Church of Satan right here in Seattle. I happen to know that the head of that church is not only an expert on everything Crowley ever wrote but he’s also an exceptionally knowledgeable practitioner of the Dark Arts. I wouldn’t doubt if he and some of the members of his church are also some of Cowl’s biggest fans. They could all be suspects. But there’s still a problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You could argue that Cowl or one of his fans had a motive for killing this preacher because of the protest thing. But, what about the other five preachers? The motive falls apart. You’ve read the reports. There’s nothing linking any of them to Cowl, to his band or to anything even remotely related to any of that. Hell, there isn’t even anything linking any of them to each other.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. We’re missing something.”

  “I wish you had a nose for that.”

  “Oh, I do. Believe me. I just haven’t caught a whiff of the scent yet.”

  “Well, you’ve got another nine days to get your sniffer goin’. Be nice if you could catch a whiff of something before then. I say we start with this Cowl guy. Let’s pay him a little visit tomorrow and see what kind of a scent he throws out.”

  “You read my mind.”

  “Not really. I just have a nose for these things.”

  Ravenwood took the jab with a grin.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Next Day…

  Kane and Ravenwood drove along Millionaire’s Row checking the addresses.

  “Look at these places,” Kane said. “Must be nice. Devil music must pay pretty good.”

  “Yeah. Cowl’s place should be just up ahead.”

  Kane slowed down as the decaying old mansion came into view. One of the front windows was boarded up. Old yellow shades and heavy dark curtains were drawn closed on the others. “Jesus Christ. Looks like the goddamn Munsters live there.”

  “Kind of fits, though, doesn’t it?”

  Kane parked the car on the street and they climbed the crumbling stone steps up into the cool shadows of the large front porch. A tangle of dried vines from several long-dead Wisterias still clung to the cracked pillars on either side of the stairs. The worn ‘Welcome’ mat below the front door was slippery with moss.

  Kane looked around. “I’m surprised there isn’t a ‘Beware the Hound of the Baskervilles’ sign nailed to the door.”

  Ravenwood looked surprised. “Wait. You actually read the book?”

  “What? No, I saw the movie. Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.”

  “Serious? How old are you anyway?”

  “Late night TV.”

  Ravenwood shook her head and grabbed the tarnished brass ring that hung from the door. She gave it three solid raps. “That oughta wake the dead.”

  The door creaked open just a crack.

  Kane whispered. “Perfect. Complete with sound effects.”

  “FBI!” Ravenwood called out. “We just want to talk with you.”

  No one answered. She drew her gun and nudged the door a little further. “Rye Cowl? FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  No answer.

  She pushed the door all the way open and whispered over her shoulder. “You got my back?”

  “Right behind you.”

  She took a breath, raised her gun and stepped into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 23

  Three Months Earlier…


  Up to this point Cowl’s initiation had consisted mostly of learning the calls and incantations and mastering the correct vocal intonations for every syllable. He was made to recite them in exhausting and seemingly endless repetitions, stumbling over the strange, unfamiliar words, until he got them right.

  For the first three days he felt as if nothing special was happening and he was starting to doubt the entire process. The Messenger, however, continued to lure him with the promise that his ‘Someday’ was very close at hand. The power of that single, irresistible lure was all it took to keep Cowl hooked. His confidence was renewed in short order when, on the night of the fourth day, he had his first indication that something was indeed happening.

  Earlier in the day the Messenger had instructed him on how to prepare a special pigment, an alchemical concoction, that he would use to paint the complex version of the Lucifer Seal onto the wood floor under the carpet in the Inner Sanctum. The color of the pigment was to be vermillion produced by an ancient method of mixing mercury and molten sulfur.

  Cowl protested that he had no idea where to obtain such materials but the Messenger told him not to worry, it would be delivered to his door by an old Chinese gentleman. Cowl laughed. Maybe the Messenger has a sense of humor. Within seconds of being informed of this odd circumstance, three loud raps of the brass knocker on the front door shook Cowl out of his chair. He answered the door and was handed a package by an old Chinese man who said nothing, bowed once, and scurried away.

  Cowl closed the door and turned to the Messenger with a bemused look on his face. “Magick?”

  The Messenger shrugged. “More like a payment for services rendered.”

  “Services rendered?”

  “It’s a very long story. But you have work to do. I suggest you get to it.”

  That night, after the image of the Seal had been rendered, Cowl was instructed to cross over the perimeter of the Seal and position himself on his knees at the center of the image.