Cast of Characters
Warlocks
Mark Glassner
Mary Sullivan
Sex Slaves
Alison
Desiree Fitzsimmons
Lana
Chantelle
Xiu
Korina
Fiona
Violet
Lillian
Demons
Lucifer
Lilith
Sisters of Mary Magdalene
Mother Superior MaryΔm
Sister Theodora Mariam
Sister Louise Afra
Other
Brandon Fitzsimmons
Doug Allard, P.I.
Tina Allard
Agent Noel Heinrich, FBI
Jessica St. Pierre, Reporter
Nurse Thamina
Dominion Ramiel, Angel
Prologue
Lilith's daughters stalk,
devouring men.
Fever burns,
flesh fails.
Lilith's daughters stalk,
and men cry out.
They cry out for
salvation.
For the Living Gods.
Lilith's daughters stalk,
while Seattle burns.
--Songs of Man's Lament 1:1-3
Lilith -- The Abyss
I smirked as Mark Glassner walked into the Priestess's trap. Sister Louise Afra was a beautiful specimen, and my eyes drank in her lush figure as she strode calmly through the mayhem. I watched them from the Shadows, the highest layer of the Abyss, so close to the living world that I could see it, hear it, and even smell it, but I couldn't touch it.
Chasity's--one of Mark's Thralls--gun barked, shooting Desiree, a brown-skinned Thrall controlled by Sister Louise, in the breast.
My pussy grew wet at the violence.
"It looks like your plan is unraveling, Lucifer," I smirked. "He's forgotten all about the crystal."
I could feel the crystal in Mark's jean's pocket. A point connected to my soul, the last bit of obligation I owed Lucifer from eons past when I had been a mortal woman spurned by my husband. Why had he finally given it to this Mortal?
"She has not exorcised him yet," Lucifer answered, his voice unperturbed as Mark was clubbed from behind and pinned.
He glowed beside me. I could not look directly at the Morning Star. He always burned so bright with pride. I delighted in watching his plan unravel, to witness his humiliating failure. Mark was subdued by his own Thralls. The women he called a sluts. What a disgusting man. All he did was demean women.
Every man did.
"Look at him fight her cunt," I laughed, savoring the sight of the Priestess's hips working up and down on Mark's cock, the disgusting sack of flesh straining to stop his orgasm.
In the middle of the struggle, the slug remembered the crystal. He struggled, reaching into his pants to grab it. My good mood dwindled. Lucifer grew even brighter. This was the Morning Star's last humiliation for me, forcing me to be bound to a man. My eyes flickered to the Priestess.
If I was summoned, I could use the Priestess. My eyes widened in realization of the possibilities Sister Louise represented. She was a priestess. She could be my vessel. I stilled my excitement. I couldn't betray anything to Lucifer. He could not know my plans.
"Looks like he's undone," I forced myself to purr--I had to maintain my disdain, I couldn't let Lucifer become suspicious of my plans--when the crystal sailed out of Mark's hand. My insides clenched in fear. Hope lurked inside me. Freedom from my prison had almost been in reach. But if Mark could recover the Crystal and--
His woman grasped it. Mary. She spoke the words, completing the ritual. I was bound to her, summoned to my Mistress's side, my spirit yanked towards the mortal world. The boundary between the Shadows and reality grew thin. I stepped through the Shadows into the real world.
I was free. Not permanently. Once Mary used up her three boons, I would be cast back into the prison. But I had a Priestess in my grasp. If I manipulated Mark and Mary right, I just might seize the key to my freedom.
Lucifer was a fool to give me this opportunity. He should have listened to me when I told him to choose that whore Astarte for this task. He will howl and gnash his teeth when I am free, and he rots in the Abyss.
Chapter One
As the Tyrants' prominence grew, they drew the attention of Law Enforcement. In less than a week, Mark Glassner had been placed on the Ten Most Wanted List, vaulting his profile to a national level. Agent Noel Heinrich was central in the FBI's attempt to stop them.
--excerpt from
The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy
by Tina Allard
Monday, June 10th, 2013 -- Agent Noel Heinrich -- Tacoma, WA
I reached the doorbell first, Special Agent Peterson, a senior agent, at my heels. Mark Glassner had struck again. He robbed three different banks, using his gas to make the branch managers claim responsibility.
Watching the security tapes was sobering. At each bank he sexually assaulted at least one bank teller. While the women all seemed to enjoy the assault, it was the gas. Whatever compound Mark Glassner used made people biddable to his commands had robbed his victims of the ability to consent.
That's why we were at the home of Monica Jephson. She was the victim from the first bank robbed this morning. Shortly after Mark departed the Parkland branch of American Bank, she left with a fellow bank teller, Kylie Cooke. Based on what we heard from the security tapes, she should be home.
I rang the doorbell, then adjusted my mirrored sunglasses, keeping my youthful face still and serious. If I smiled, I looked far too pretty to be an FBI agent, even with my sandy-blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun.
Peterson stood beside me in his cheap, gray suit and navy-blue FBI windbreaker. He rubbed at his balding head, shifting in agitation. We were getting a lot of heat as this case grew more and more bizarre. Our SAC, the Special-Agent-in-Charge of the Tacoma office, chewed out Peterson earlier today, and I knew Quantico chewed out the SAC last night.
No one knew how Mark made people obey. No trace of the gas--it had to be a gas, what else made sense--could be found. And if it wasn't a gas, then how? Hypnosis?
Peterson let out a growl and hammered at the door. "Come on," he snarled. "It's the FBI! Open up!"
Peterson was persistent. The door rattled as he hammered on it. Lights were on inside. A curtain stirred on the second floor. The door creaked beneath Peterson's repeated blows. He was about to break down a victim's door.
"Sir," I said. "You need to..."
My voice trailed off as he glowered at me.
I was still a junior agent. I barely had any field time. My job was to be quiet and learn from the best. Peterson had an amazing record in counter-terrorism and bank robberies. I was lucky to work with him.
If his head didn't explode from the strain of this case.
Footsteps echoed inside. The door opened. A plain-faced, young man, his brown hair mused, wearing a loosely wrapped, blue bathrobe opened the door. "Um, can I help you?" he frowned, fear tinging his eyes.
"I'm Special Agent Peterson and this is Agent Heinrich," Peterson answered. "We need to speak to Monica Jephson."
"I'm her husband, Jonathon. She's a little tied up right now." A slight smirk crossed Jonathon's lips. Why? "Can you come back later?"
"I'm afraid not, sir," Agent Peterson answered, seeming cool and collected again. He hid his agitation well. "There was a robbery at the bank where she worked today. We need to interview her." He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "Your wife may also be the victim of a...um...sexual assault."
"Well, come on in, and I'll go untie her."
"Untie...her, sir?" Peterson asked as my brows furrowed.
"She's my sex-slave," Jonathon answered with a sheepish smile. "I like to tie her up."
Peterson flushed, but I couldn't help the amuse smiled curling my lips. "We'll wait in your living room, if that's okay, sir?" I asked.
"Sure, sure," he nodded, holding the door open as he headed upstairs.
"What's going on?" growled Peterson, looking up at the ceiling. "Are we walking into the shit?"
"The phone call, sir," I reminded him. "I believe Mark suggested, 'From now on, bitch, you do whatever filthy things your husband wants,' to her. This may be part of it. Or..."
Peterson eyebrows raised and my cheeks grew warm.
"She's read Fifty Shades of Gray."
The man groaned. "My wife reads that garbage. But she's never asked me to tie her up."
A few minutes later, Jonathon and his wife Monica trooped down. She wore a pink robe, a big smile on her face. My eyes flickered to her wrists and the red ligature marks. Her honey-blonde hair was a mess and her face flushed.
"Hi, I'm Monica," she smiled, sitting on the couch, her husband beside her.
I pulled out the digital recorder and hit record. "Special Agent Peterson and Agent Heinrich interviewing Monica Jephson with husband, Jonathon Jephson present, June 10th, 2013, at..." I glanced at my watch, "6:23 PM." I set the slim, silver-gray recorder down, pulling out a small note pad from my jacket pocket.
"Monica, could you tell us what happened when Mark Glassner entered the bank today?" Peterson asked.
For the last five days, ever since the Buy Best Incident, I had interviewed dozens of Mark's victims. It was always unnerving. Like most of them, Monica spoke in such glowing terms about the man. "He saved my marriage," she gushed. "I was so uptight. I wouldn't do anything for my husband. But Mark showed me how wonderful sex could be. It's not something to be ashamed of."
"Nope," her husband beamed, squeezing his wife's thigh.
"And the fact that Mark raped you doesn't at all bother you?" I asked.
"He didn't rape me," she laughed. "He wanted to fuck my ass, and I was more than happy to let him."
"That was just the gas," I sighed. "You're a victim, Monica."
Her expression grew frosty. "Mark Glassner is a wonderful man. He showed me who I truly am."
"And who's that?" Peterson asked.
She looked at Jonathon with such a loving look. "My husband's sex slave." She cuddled close to Jonathon.
"And doesn't it bother you, sir?" Peterson asked. "The man raped your wife."
"Well, I was mad at first."
"He disciplined me," gushed Monica. "So wonderfully."
"But Mark's coaching really changed her. I loved Monica, but there were times when she was so frustrating. And now I feel so close to her."
"All thanks to Mark," sighed Monica. "He's so much more than a man."
I groaned. Not another one that thought Mark was an angel or an alien. That gas really messed her up. It's why Peterson and I both carried gas masks with us. If we ever found Mark, we had to be ready to stop his gas.
"Monica," I said. "We'd like you to go down to a hospital so the doctors can perform a sexual assault test."
"My husband's fucked all my holes this evening," Monica said frostily. "I don't see what that would prove. Besides I wasn't raped. I consented. And Mark changed me. So what if he robbed the bank. It's insured. The man deserves his money."
"I think it's time you left," Jonathon added. "You're agitating my wife."
I glanced at Peterson. He gave a slight shrug.
"Interview terminated, 7:04 PM," I said into the recorder, thumbing off the switch. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card. "If you do change your mind, that's our office number. On the back, there's the number for a counselor. I suggest you follow up."
