Morgaine and Asmodeus

by Joe Vadalma

  By this time just about everyone had finished the main course. “I'll have George serve coffee in the sitting room,” said Michael. “It's more comfortable, and I've hired a string quartet to celebrate Melody's joining us."

  Everyone headed toward the parlor. Melody snuggled up to Michael as she took his arm and smiled secretly at Morgaine's evil eye stare. Four musicians in tuxedos played chamber music by DeBussy, Mozart and Beethoven for an hour and half while George served coffee, decaf, tea and brandy. Morgaine chose the brandy.

  After the concert the chairs were moved to the walls, additional drinks were served, and the string quartet struck up a waltz. Michael danced with Melody, Morgaine with Westcott, Hoffstater with another woman who had shown up after dinner, and the Jaspers with each other. Partners were exchanged on the next set. Michael danced with Corinn Jaspers, and Melody was chosen by Lance Flebert. When the musicians struck up the third set, Morgaine snagged Michael, and Melody danced with Brigham Jaspers. When the set was over, Melody stomped over to Michael and said, “I've got a bit of a headache. I think I'll go up to my room.” She waved at the other guests. “Goodnight everybody. It was nice meeting you."

  * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Morgaine got the idea that she would like to test Melody's commitment to Michael. She excused herself, went upstairs and rapped on Melody's door.

  "Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Melody said icily.

  "Look Melody, I know you think I'm after Michael. But it's not like that at all. Please come to my room for a few minutes. I have something important to tell you."

  At that moment the storm started up again with a loud crash of thunder and flickering of hall lights. Melody shuddered and stared at Morgaine incredulously. Nevertheless, she followed her down the hall. After they entered Morgaine's room, Melody said, “Okay Morgaine, what do you want?"

  "You're in danger."

  "What? From who? You? Is this a threat?"

  "Heavens no. It's Michael."

  "Michael? Are you going to tell me that he's a Bluebeard? That he murders young women whom he takes as lovers?"

  Morgaine lit a cigarette from the butt of the one she had been smoking. “Not that. He'll make you his slave, as has he has me."

  "What! What kind of nonsense are you spouting? If you feel as though you're his slave, whose fault is that? Really Morgaine, you've got to get on with your life. It's all over between you two. Even if he breaks up with me, it'll just be someone else."

  Morgaine grabbed Melody's arm. “You don't understand. I mean that I'm literally his slave. I can't help myself. And you will be too if you don't get out now. Leave this house. Go. Before it's too late. He's a sorcerer."

  Melody shook her arm free. “I don't know whether this is a scheme to get me to break up with Michael or whether you're delusional. I'll be kind and believe the latter. You'd better see a psychiatrist, Morgaine."

  "Oh Melody, I wish I knew could convince you that I'm telling the truth and that I'm not insane. But, I guess you'll just have to find out on your own. I hope you do before it's too late.” Melody looked at Morgaine as though she were crazy, shook her head and started to leave. “Did you know Michael is over a thousand years old? He was born in nine-eighty something."

  Melody turned to her. “Really? He told you that? Or was it a fictional character he was talking about?"

  "No, it was himself. If you don't believe me, ask him."

  After Melody left the room, Morgaine thought, I wonder what she'll make of all that. If she believes me only a little bit and still sticks it out with Michael, it'll prove that she's the one—the one that I must sacrifice to Asmodeus. She shuddered at the thought of having to go through with the actual act. But she knew she must to save Michael.

  CHAPTER 3

  MEPHISTOPHELES

  The next day Michael stormed into Morgaine's room. “Okay Morgaine, what's going on?"

  She concentrated on the carpet and said in a low voice, “What do you mean?"

  "You know damn well what I mean? What did you tell Melody last night?"

  She gazed at him sheepishly. “Just the truth. That I'm your slave and that you're a thousand-year-old sorcerer."

  Michael shook his head with disdain. “Oh Morgaine, Morgaine, what am I to do with you? You know, she half believed you. You see, she works as an editor, and I gave her my autobiography to read as a work of fiction."

  "Really?” The idea struck Morgaine as funny, and she giggled. Michael laughed with her. Finally, she said, “So, you're definitely serious about this Melody Trent."

  "Yes. I'm in love with her."

  The perfect sacrifice, thought Morgaine. She knew better than to say that to Michael aloud. “Okay, I'll be nice and supportive. I wish you only happiness. But tell me, Michael, when are you going to tell her the truth about yourself?"

  He shrugged. “How can I? Either she wouldn't believe it or figured I was in league with the devil."

  "She'll have to know sometime. Break it to her a little at time."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Take her on a little time traveling trip with the Crystal of Oman? She would see you existing in a past time."

  "Not a bad idea. Thanks. By the way, you frightened her so much that I told her you were a little...” He made a circle with his finger by his forehead.

  Morgaine laughed. “Perhaps you're right."

  * * * *

  The next few days Morgaine made every attempt to be friendly to Melody, hoping to relieve the tension between them. She did not flirt with Michael or hang on to him. Dinner conversation often centered around the occult, magic, philosophy and religion, which seemed to make Melody uncomfortable. It was obvious that she thought much of what the others told her were fantasies.

  One night in the wee hours of the morning Morgaine was awakened by a phone call from the psychic institute. There was a crisis that required the presence of both her and Michael. She tiptoed into the master bedroom, gently woke Michael up without disturbing Melody and whispered the essence of the problem. Grumbling, he got dressed, and they drove down to Weschester County to the institute, an hour and a half drive each way. Before they left, Morgaine sent Mephistopheles to spy on Melody.

  When they returned late the following evening, Melody rushed through the door from the room that adjoined the master bedroom. When she saw that Morgaine was with Michael, her expression became one of anger and hurt. Michael gave her his best smile. “Hi Melody, sorry we're back so late, but you wouldn't believe the traffic on the Taconic.” When he went to kiss her, she turned her head so that he could only peck her on the cheek. He signaled Morgaine with a movement of his head that he wanted her to leave.

  She did not pay attention. Instead she acted as though she was unaware of Melody's anger. “Hi Melody, how's things? Have you seen my cat? Somebody told me he might be with you. That's why I came in here with Michael."

  "Yes, he's in my room. I'll go get..."

  Before she finished her sentence, Mephistopheles appeared at the door between the rooms. Morgaine said, “There you are precious. Mommy missed you.” She crouched down, scooped the cat into her arms, kissed and doted over the animal. She gave Michael and Melody a little wave and left.

  Instead of returning to her room, Morgaine listened at Michael's door. She heard Melody say, “Michael, we need to talk ... about many things."

  "Certainly darling, just give me a few minutes to get settled. Have a seat. Something to drink darling. I'm having brandy."

  "I'll have one too—a stiff one."

  Morgaine heard drinks being poured.

  "Okay Melody, I guess you wanted to know where Morgaine and I were all day, and why we had to depart so hurriedly last night."

  "You can start by telling me that. But there's a lot more we need to talk about."

  "Fine. I have nothing to hide. Morgaine and I run an organization called the Westchester Institute for the Occult. WIO for short. It's a school for people who want to learn about paranormal
phenomena, astrology, witchcraft, Tarot reading, UFOs and other arcane subjects. Morgaine and I are the directors. Morgaine also teaches The Craft there part time. I also give lectures from time to time. Well, late last night, the dean called in a panic. Their regular Craft instructor called in sick, and they wanted Morgaine to replace her for the day."

  "What is ‘The Craft?’”

  "Uh ... witchcraft. That's what they call it nowadays."

  "In other words she teaches people how to cast spells, give curses and mix magical brews?"

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. You see, as Morgaine has already explained to you, witchcraft or The Craft is more of a religion, a spiritual experience—paganism if you will, although magic is involved. If you want to know more about it, I have books and pamphlets..."

  "Yes, I'd like to read them. But skip the explanations for now. Go on with why you went down there with her. You said that Morgaine was called down to replace a teacher who called in sick at the last minute. Morgaine is a big girl. I assume she drives. Why did you have to go?"

  "Well ... uh ... this is embarrassing. Morgaine insisted. She said that there were problems at the school and that this was a good opportunity for me to straighten them out."

  "I'll bet she did. What problems?"

  "Difficulties that I've known about for a while, but had been procrastinating about acting to remedy the situation. There are conflicts between the administration and certain instructors, people who claimed to be psychics who were hired as consultants. The teachers said that the administration was meddling in the curriculum. The dean complained that the ones making a fuss were self-promoting frauds who were teaching things that would get the school into trouble. I spent the day in meetings trying to establish a middle ground between academic freedom and administrative control. I let a couple of people go."

  "Okay, I believe you. Next time though, if you're going away, please let me know. Wake me up. I'm not a terrible bear when awakened. Or if that's not possible, at least give me a call when you get there."

  "Yes, of course. You're right. It was thoughtless of me. Please forgive me, Melody."

  "You're forgiven."

  This was followed by silence, and what to Morgaine sounded like kissing.

  Melody said, “Wait, before we get involved, there's other stuff I want to talk about."

  "Sure. Refill?"

  Melody began to talk a blue streak, not pausing until she unloaded several complaints and fears. First, she said she had been terribly upset and embarrassed by the Tantric classes the female house guests were holding in Mildred Hoffstator's room. Then she said, “I think Morgaine's cat can read minds. I seem to have had a mental conversation with it.” She told him that a ghost had manifested itself to her. “Also, I want to know about the manuscript you gave me. Is it a work of fiction or your autobiography? I ask you again, Michael, are you a thousand-year-old sorcerer who sold his soul to the devil? Does it have anything to do with all the spooky stuff that goes on here? You people scare me with all your occult talk."

  There was a long silence. Finally Michael said, “Well, as far as my age, as part of my business I'd like people to believe that I'm an ancient sorcerer. Perhaps I am if you accept reincarnation as a fact—which I do. Most people do not recall their past lives. Or if they do, only bits and pieces. I'm one of the fortunate few who recalls more. That is the basis for the book—a fictionalized account pieced together from the scraps of recollections of past lives. Somewhat distorted, however. I needed to back fill a lot. In essence it's what I've claimed all along, a work of fiction.

  "Now for this business of me selling my soul to the devil. That part is an absolute fabrication, making for high drama. I wouldn't even consider doing such a thing even if it were possible. Besides, not being either a Jew nor a Christian, I do not believe in such an entity as Satan. That whole chapter on Faust is based on a scrap of a pre-birth memory of someone I was—someone whose real name I do not know. I simply used Faust because of the similarities."

  "You're an atheist then?"

  "No, nor an agnostic, nor a Moslem, Hindu nor a member of any of the usual organized religions or cults. You might call me a pagan or a Theopist. I believe that there are spirits in everything and powerful preternatural entities who sometimes can be called upon to help us or who may at times interfere in our lives in good or bad ways. Sometimes I think of them as gods, sometimes as demons, sometimes simply as spirits, but I really don't know what they are. The ghost you saw in the corner of your room today was probably one of those supernatural beings."

  "I see,” Melody said.

  "Does my religion or lack of it make a difference between us, Melody? I know you're Catholic."

  "I don't think so. I'm really not all that religious and have had my own doubts. But Michael, could we get away from here for a while. This mansion, your weird friends, all this occult business. Although I'm an adaptable person, I need relief from it for a couple of days."

  "Of course darling. I've got a great idea. Why don't we spend a long weekend in The City? Tomorrow's Friday. We could take the train in—it's a lovely ride along the Hudson. We could see a play, do some sightseeing, go to a nightclub, anything you want to do."

  "That sounds wonderful, Michael."

  "Okay, I'll have my secretary book us a hotel room."

  Morgaine heard him dialing and tell his secretary to make reservations. As she strolled to her own room, evil thoughts went through her head. She was still of two minds. She wanted Melody to fall deeply in love with Michael so that she would make a perfect sacrifice to Asmodeus. But she did not want Michael to reciprocate those feelings too deeply and lose him completely. It seemed to her that the opposite was happening, that Michael was falling head-over-heels for this Trent woman, and she loved him only in a shallow selfish manner.

  * * * *

  When Michael and Melody returned from New York, Michael gathered his house guests into the den and announced that they were engaged. The women gathered around Melody to admire her ring which contained a huge solitaire. The men congratulated Michael, shook his hand, slapped him on the back and made jokes about losing his freedom. Morgaine gushed over the expensive diamond, hugged and kissed both Michael and Melody enthusiastically and wished them every happiness. That evening the couple celebrated with drinking and merrymaking.

  Sometime during the evening, Father McGuillicuty, who had become somewhat inebriated, asked loudly, “So Michael, when do you plan to join Melody in holy matrimony?"

  "Uh, well we haven't actually discussed a date. I'd like to tie the knot as soon as possible. What do you think, darling?"

  Melody replied, “Well, it takes time to arrange a wedding. Not that I want a big one with hundreds of guests. I went through all that during my first marriage. But there are a few people that we should invite; everyone here, my mother, friends back in New York, former work mates, you know. And I want to be married in The Church by a priest."

  Michael got thoughtful. “I think I could arrange everything by the middle of October."

  "Really? Usually, it's the bride or her parents who do all the planning."

  Morgaine remarked, “Oh Melody, leave everything to Michael. He's awfully good at arranging parties. All you'll have to do is select gowns for yourself and your bridesmaids. Let him take care of everything else."

  "Well, I..."

  Sylvan said, “Do it girl. Why go through the aggravation? Make Michael work if he wants to marry you."

  * * * *

  Later that day, while Melody was taking her daily jog, Morgaine approached Michael. “So, you and Melody are getting married with a Christian ceremony."

  He shrugged. “Why not? Melody is a Catholic, you know. I was once too. In fact, I was a Christian when I first met you."

  Morgaine grinned. “Is that why you would never let me see you naked when we made love? That old time religion made you a prude. And what are you now?"

  "A pagan, same as you. I've told Melody as much."

&nbs
p; "So, why not a pagan ceremony too?"

  "I don't know whether she'd go for it."

  "Hey, if she loves you, she should be as respectful of your religion as you are of hers."

  Michael looked doubtful. “I don't know."

  "Look, you don't have to say anything in advance. I'll arrange the pagan ceremony, and you take care of the Christian one. Then, we'll spring it on her at the last moment so she can't back out without making a scene. You deserve this from her. If she loves you as much as you say she does, she'll go along. I know I would for a man I loved."

  He wrinkled his forehead and made a face, but finally agreed. “Okay Morgaine, if I let you do this, will you promise to stay out of our hair. No more goofy stories to her or telling her that you're my love slave."

  "Agreed. Wait. It'll be fun."

  * * * *

  The Catholic marriage ceremony was to take place at Moonwood in an old chapel in a tower of an unused wing. It had an organ, pews and an altar. Michael had the servants clean it up and a florist festooned it with flowers. Michael let it slip to Morgaine that Melody was uneasy about Father McGuillicuty performing the ceremony. Morgaine shrugged. “She's got to learn to live with your friends peculiarities."

  When the big day arrived, Morgaine and three other women house guests rapped at Melody's door early in the afternoon. They were dressed to the hilt, showing lots of bare bosom, shoulders and backs and reeking of perfume. They had all had a taste of the bubbly and a few puffs of Mary Jane. They were chattering, giggling and making a noisy racket.

  When Betty, Melody's friend, opened the door, Morgaine and the others poured through. They bantered about double-entendres and sexual remarks about honeymoons and marriages and cackled loudly at their own jokes. After subjecting Melody to this bridal ribbing for a while, they got down to their real business. Mildred Hoffstator took a deep breath and stepped in front of the other women, her tremendous, double-dee, almost-naked wet-from-perspiration breasts heaving and jiggling as though trying to escape from her too-tight evening dress.