While the speakers emitted the tune Staircase to Hades, the Cybersybil was forced to reflect on the dualistic nature of many Pb's song lyrics. Choosing to believe that the group was primarily Gnostic in tone, if not practice, the occult mistress knew, however, that rumors swirled aether-like around the band's founder, James Mage. A self-professed admirer, if not follower, of the sinister Black Magick practitioner Aleister Crowley, Master James had been most adept over the years of creating a facade of murky darkness that acted as shield from a prying public's eyes. "I really cannot believe that dear Jimmy is a Satanist, an agent of Lucifer," Olivia observed to no one since Lucky had left the study at Château Taureaux. "I mean, it just doesn't make sense...sure, such an image might sell records, but I don't believe he prays to the devil or does any of that nonsense that Crowley did, especially the Star Fire ritual. Blech. And double blech. Just because one feels drawn to dark powers doesn't mean one is evil, right? Persephone guides souls through the maze of the afterlife, she is compassionate, and Pluto...." "Ohmygods!" Olivia gasped. "Is that why I was first captivated by the neter Nepthys and now, Persephone of the Pomegranates? Is my alchemical compliment a Dark Lord?" Confusion entered a usually logical mindset, hellbent on distraction. True, Olivia was bored and not feeling much-fulfilled of late, despite her most recent incarnation as Queen of Coins, selling vintage clothing to children of priviledge in a town named after Heaven. The money was decent, her business partner, a strapping blonde gay man named Princess Pearl, kept her on her toes, but...no one she met in her newly chosen enterprise understood the Occult, cared about Alchemy or even knew what Esoteric meant unless it was a dress sporting a rare Balenciaga label. "Is that why I almost named the shop Moonchild?" the Peyton woman demanded of the Quintessence. "Of course I didn't because Crowley wrote a novel by the same title...and then there's all the other things...the weird synchronicities. All the English...stuff. Oh, Gods, it can't be. I won't believe it. It's nuts - am I losing my mind? And what about Duke? He is so good and kind...he loves me. I love him. Why am I having these horrible doubts?" Lucky Kentucky sauntered back into the library, eyeing her minion with malicious intent. "Meooooow!" she screeched in imitation of a black and white owl she had heard in the forest many moons earlier. "Meeeoooowoo!" "Gods! Lucky, you scared the crap out of me! Be quiet you little beast...why did I say that? Ohmygods, Crowley called himself The Beast! It's that wicked Ms. Maddie, I know it - she's sending me Crowley vibes from London, the wench. It's like that time I stayed at her house in Dullwitch and the blackness almost overcame me in bed - it was horrible, Kitty....awful. Gods. She's the one who introduced me to that imbecile, evil Earle....and the one who sent me to Watkins that morning to meet her bookseller who tricked me into actually handling a book that had belonged to...Crowley! Uck!!! Quick, we have to put Seal of Solomon protection talismans in all the windows." The memory of standing in the basement of Watkins, holding a small brown volume that seemed to burn her hands to the point of flinging the book onto the floor, re-entered Olivia's waking state. She could almost hear the devilish laugh of Mr. Ickaris, Maddie's rare manuscripts contact, as he retrieved the offensive article and opened its cover with reverence. "Guess who this belonged to?" he had taunted. "Uhm...Simon de Montfort?" "Even better," Mr. Ick had chortled, proud of his deception. "Look!" "Oh, Aleister Crowley's autograph....how clever...you always make me laugh," O had replied before leaving Cecil Court for a Middle Eastern lunch that had stuck in her throat. "That bastard. Damn OTO mumbo-jumbo. They are ALL nuts!" the Peyton lass observed while she herself taped a certain copied circle onto each window of the room; a seal whose reported virtue was so great, legend claimed, that being armed with it, no harm could ever come to the bearer. "Aleph, caph, he, jod, mem, beth, beth, resh," the Cybersybil chanted, intoning the Hebrew correspondents for the sacred Malachim script employed by Moses and the ancient Prophetesses that was inscribed within the wheel. "Or, less nicely put: Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bows shall be broken. By the combined powers of El and Asherah, so mote may it it be." "MEEEEOOOOW" "Yes, my little assassinator, let's get you some cat treats - of course they're called Temptation!"    Text Copyright © 1999 - ad infinitum cybersybils.com. All rights reserved.