Cast of Characters
Warlocks
Mark Glassner -- Mary Sullivan
Sex Slaves "The Sluts"
Alison -- Desiree Fitzsimmons -- Xiu -- Korina -- Fiona -- Violet -- Lillian -- Chastity (deceased) -- Nurse Thamina -- Karen (Sister Louise Afra) -- Jessica St. Pierre, Reporter -- Agent Noel Heinrich, FBI -- Dr. Willow WolfTail -- April -- Sam
Demons
Lucifer -- Lilith -- Marduk
The Cult of Lilith
Lana -- Chantelle -- Babylon -- Crystal -- Starlight
Sisters of Mary Magdalene
Mother Superior MaryΔm -- Archangel Gabriel -- Dominion Ramiel (Angel) -- Doug Allard -- Tina Allard
Other
Brandon Fitzsimmons -- 51 (bodyguard) -- Antsy (Mark's Sister) -- Alice -- Sandy (Mark's Mother) -- Sean (Mary's Father) -- Tiffany (Mary's Mother, Sister Theodora Mariam) -- Shannon (Mary's Older Sister) -- Missy (Mary's Younger Sister) -- George (Shannon's Fiance)-- Damien (Missy's Boyfriend) -- Felicity (Sean's Slut) -- Joy (Sandy Slut) -- Avialle (Antsy's Slut) -- Rachel -- Leah -- Jacob
Chapter One
Tracing Brandon Fitzsimmons's movements between Germany and his spectacular attack on Tacoma is difficult. He took care to hide from all, including the budding Tyrants. But we do know he was in Madison, Wisconsin in the summer of 2013. It is the only way to explain how Professor Scrivner got his hands on a copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor to translate it. The most infamous Warlock to arise from his leaked translation was the Ghost of Paris.
--excerpt from
The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy
, by Tina Allard
Wednesday, June 26th, 2013 - Brandon Fitzsimmons - Madison, WI
"What can I do for you?" Professor Scrivener asked as I knocked at his door.
"We have an appointment," I answered.
"Oh, right, the translation. Come in."
Elation surged through me. Everything was about to change. I would regain the power Mark Glassner had robbed from me when he took my wife and stole my home. I would show him that there were consequences to actions.
The nuns have failed time and time again to stop the bastard. So fuck them. It was time to take matters into my hands. Literally. I clutched the leather-bound, ornate manuscript of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor in my tight grip. It contained what I would need to equal Mark in power.
Then destroy him.
I stood in the Department of Hebrew and Semitic Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. After claiming the book from the Altgrave and fleeing Germany back to the States, I did my research. I had to find someone to translate the book. And Professor Scrivener was a leading expert in the translation of ancient Semitic writings.
My free hand twisted the knob and yanked open the door. Professor Scrivener was a man in his fifties, black hair going gray, with deep, green eyes peering at me from behind horned-rim glasses. He sat at a desk in a small office cluttered with books and papers. I squeezed past the door, unable to fully open it. I squeezed my girth through, the knob digging into my gut. Once inside, I had to step over more books stacked on the floor to reach his desk.
"Is this a broom closet?" I asked.
"Something like it," the Professor snorted. "And you're...? I'm sorry. I'm terrible with names."
"Brandon Fitzsimmons," I said and reached across his desk to shake his hand. He had a strong grip, I was surprised to discover, crushing my hand as he smiled politely at me.
"What can I do for you, Brandon?" he asked, a hint of impatience wreathing him like bad cologne. He had several books spread open before him and a notepad covered in his tight script.
"This," I said and handed him the Magics of the Witch of Endor.
He took it, glancing at the cover before opening it up. "Hmm, Aramaic. Unusual given the style of binding. This is a folio from the fourteenth or fifteenth century, correct?"
"Something like that," I answered. "I acquired it recently. I can't find any translations online."
"And you want me to translate all of this?" He arched an eyebrow. "I thought this was a small document, not an entire folio. As you can see, I have my own work that needs doing."
I was prepared. "I'll pay you $300,000 to translate the book."
His jaws dropped and his eyes bugged. He spluttered, struggling to speak.
"I'll pay you $100,000 up front and the other $200,000 on completion."
"Is this a joke?" he finally managed to spit out.
I pulled out the cashiers check from the inside jacket of my suit made out for $100,000. It was the bulk of my money. I was hoping greed would blind the man from asking too many questions. I handed it over. He took it.
His hands shook as he looked at the check.
It was a gamble, using the last of my money minus the small amount to survive on for the next few weeks. But if the book contained what I hoped it would, $100,000 would be a pittance. And once he finished translating the book, well, I could find a different way to reward him.
"Jesus, Mary, Mother of Christ," he said, licking his lips. "This is too much."
"It's not." I told him. "Not for this. It is important to me. I need it as soon as possible. Drop all your other work. I will call once a week to check on your progress. And no questions, okay?"
He licked his lips, nervous, then glanced down at the check. I could see the questions whirling in his mind, the doubts and whispers of caution. But there was that glint of avarice in his eyes as he kept glancing at the check. He wiped his damp palm on the leg of his brown slacks. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He glanced up at me, staring at me intently, his green eyes peering into my brown eyes. His hand shook as he folded up the check and slipped it into his pocket.
"Okay. We have a deal, Brandon."
I pulled out my briefcase, opening it. I produced a contract I had typed up. "This is an NDA. You will show the book and the translation to no one else but me. I need complete discretion on your part. Understand?"
"Yeah," he nodded, staring at the check again, disbelief in his eyes. I doubt he made that much in a year. I could see his eyes moving as his brain worked through it. "Yeah, yeah, of course."
He grabbed a pen and hurried to sign it, like he was afraid he would either chicken out or this would all be revealed to be a bad joke. It was like he thought I was from one of those prank shows, his eyes flicking around the room looking for the hidden cameras. He scrawled his signature across the bottom and dated it. Then I signed.
"Done," I smiled, nodding my head.