An Angel from Hell story
by Christopher Leeson
The Cabal, Jezebel knew, had emerged from amid the oldest of Asian secret societies, going back as far as the days of Nimrod. Under changing names, the cult had been the moving force behind many of the most blood-thirsty oriental thrones prior to the Crusades. The arrival of Christians into the Holy Land didn't upset its plans; instead, the Cabal sized up the intrusion as a new opportunity. Converts were made, and many Crusaders, the Knights Templar, especially, fell in with Cabalistic mysticism. With ease, the Templars cast off the faith of their ancestors in exchange for the promise of wealth and power, commencing the secret worship of the dark demon that they chose to call Baphomet. A ritual to Baphomet revealed to them a vast hidden treasure, and cultists taught them oriental banking processes to help maximize the value of their loot. They were good students, and in fact improved upon the old system of legal thefts and swindles.
The new Satanists, returning to Europe, took their Cabalistic doctrines home with them, and also the ancient Babylonian banking system, thereby becoming the debt-masters of the entire Mediterranean world. The Templars', being scions of the great noble and royal houses, quickly drew many of their friends and kin into the Cabalistic cult. When the spreading danger of this new apostasy became too obvious to ignore, the European old guard struck back, denouncing the Templars for what they were and using troops to suppress them. The blow was strategically backed by Pope Clement V and it fell most heavily in France, but the reprisals were ultimately ineffective. Most of the knights, along with nearly all their wealth, eluded the dragnet.
It was the Templars' themselves who spread stories about their own "total destruction," but, in fact, the majority of the knights had gone to countries where they would be protected, including Scotland and Portugal. With a truly Satanic lust for vengeance, they quickly struck back against their enemies, using poison, assassins, and curses. Their most formidable opponents among the anti-Templar backlash died untimely deaths, usually under suspicious circumstances.
The Templars then infiltrated back into their own strongholds, having set up secret societies under a myriad of names. The cultists created new banks, by which they came to dominate Europe's kingdoms through debt and bribery. Their vile religious documents were eventually codified into books of rites and rituals that no insider could reveal on pain of death. The Stone Builders' Order, one of the most successful of the Baphometic secret societies used elaborate ritual to seduce the high-born and spread itself like a plague across the entire Western world.
A portion of the Cabalistic cult, calling themselves the Illuminati, dared to come out in the open in the latter 18th Century, and made its goals known. That was too much, even for a corrupt society, and the Illuminati were quickly driven back into the shadows. But the Cabalist movement as a whole was not seriously affected and it continued his subversive work with renewed caution.
Some of the older Cabalistic bloodlines came to be revered as Cabalist royalty, such as the Rattfilther family, which managed, through swindles, to take over the Bank of England in late Victorian times. Having gained control of a nearly inexhaustible source of wealth, the Cabalists moved on to the next stage of their centuried plan – the provocation of a series of world wars intended to leave the international banks and corporations as the last power-mongers still standing. The Cabalists were now actively striving to achieve their end game for the glorification of Satan – world-wide genocide. Every death in these wars would be an explicit blood-sacrifice directed toward the empowerment of the Demon.
As the comforts and distractions of materialism weakened the traditional faith of the Europeans, their beliefs were further subverted by provocateurs. Cabalists gained undo influence in the academies and theories called "scientific" were calculated to undermine belief in the Scriptures. With a Western world already reeling from the pace of change around it, many were deceived. But the Cabalists were not rationalists; as always, they worked to take advantage of every sort of social ferment. While they were solidifying their stranglehold upon the universities, other provocateurs were at the same time promoting mesmerism and spiritualism upon avant garde groups. Celebrities such as Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini lent these Cabalist initiatives a veneer of respectability, probably without understanding the sinister underpinnings of the people with whom they were cooperating.
Anarchists in the pay of great banks began World War I by means of a carefully-calculated assassination. The conflict allowed Cabalists “Merchants of Death,” such as Sir Basil Zaharoff, to make countless millions through the sale of horror weapons. The disintegration of society on every side gave the Cabal the opportunity to bring the first Communist regime into power. The banking system, allied to the arms producers, alone could have made socialism succeed, financing Lenin while undercutting the faint attempts of war-weary democracies to wipe out such an evil system.
Stalin was encouraged to carry out an experiment in totalitarian control in exchange. Far from being the enemy of the banks and robber barons, he was their pet. Having met with such success, the Cabal felt ready to launch a second world war, ostensibly to put down a loose association of freelance dictators that had emerged from the chaos of the post-war era. Their nationalism stood in the way of the Cabal, which wanted to promote a globalistic mind-set and a homogeneous, demoralized system that their oligarchy could rule. Also, Satan's appetite had only been whetted by the First World War. He wanted many more tens of millions of sacrifices. The horror of it all played into the Cabalists' hands, causing a decline in nationalism and allowing the United Nations to be created. From the start, it was intended to be the platform that Satan's own anointed leader, called the Anti-Christ, who would one day gain control of. If Shekinah were to be believed, the hour was late. The Anti-Christ-to-be was already plotting with the international billionaires, whose goal since earliest times had been to make over the entire planet into a single death-camp.
At that point, Jezebel summoned her thoughts back to the present. She glanced over to her companion. “How did you connect with that deputy this afternoon?” she suddenly asked Holly. “I've been warning you; phones are dangerous.”
“I didn't phone,” the young woman protested. “When that Dodge was going after your car, I started praying for you. The officer drove up just minutes later. I ran out and flagged him down.”
The blonde frowned. “You were praying for me? Why not for yourself?”
“I thought they'd get you before they got me.”
The Watcher regarded her skeptically. “How's all that praying been working out for you?”
The brunette betrayed a quick smile. “Well, here we are.”
Jezebel sniffed. “Lucky us.”
The fallen angel was just then distracted by the condition of her clothing. Her jeans were covered with dry mud. She unsnapped the waistband and worked her way out of them.
“Oh, my God!” Holly exclaimed.
Jezebel saw what Holly was seeing. Her ripped briefs were held up by one leg only, and there was dried blood between her thighs.
“I'm...I'm so, so sorry,” the waitress stammered.
The Watcher snorted. “Don't make an apocalypse out of it. It's only sex.”
Holly shook her head. “Sex of the worst kind.”
Jezebel didn't want to talk about it. “I'm going to take a shower.”
The fallen angel soon returned, towel-dried but naked. Digging into her bag, she found an undershirt and another pair of nylon briefs. Holly sat quietly, observing. The Watcher noted her expression out of the corner of her eye. Being pitied by a mere human made her feel like doing something violent.
“I've been wanting to ask you...” the waitress began.
“What should I call you? Is your identity some kind of secret?”
The angel frowned. She despised the name of Jezebel, and Delilah was no better. “Jill,” she finally said.
Holly nodded. “Jill. Somehow I wasn't expecting anything so – ordinary. But having a name to use makes you seem a little more real.”
The Watcher looked askance. “ I don't seem real?”
“You're too mysterious to seem real. Like, where do you come from? What do you do for a living?”
Jezebel finished dressing. “I could lie, but why waste the energy?”
“Why not just tell the truth?”
“You couldn't handle the truth. But come to think of it, if you decided to hang yourself, I'd be rid of you.”
Holly looked pained. “That's mean. I don't know you and I didn't ask for any help, but you've gone through a lot of trouble for me anyway. If this is only a job for you, what exactly is your job?”
“My job is doing what I'm told. If you were smarter, you'd be doing the same.”
“Why can't you ever be nice, Jill?”
Jezebel grimaced, not liking being called Jill, but she didn't have a better alternative. “Where do you get the idea that you're likable?” she asked. “I bet a lot of those Hollywood types treated you nicely enough while they were trying to do you in. Niceness is phony; it's over-rated. With me, this is as good as things get, so don't push it.”
“You must be getting paid by someone. But who pays people to help people they don't even know?”
“That's not what's happening here,” the angel replied, not looking at the girl.
Holly paused, expecting that Jill to say more. When she didn't, she said, “You talk tough, and you must be kind of tough, to stand down those men all alone. So, are you some sort of military contractor, or a professional bodyguard?”
“What I am is tired of talking,” Jezebel said and flopped down on the bed. She hated feeling tired; it was so human.
“Okay,” Holly said resignedly. As the girl stood up to clear the bags of groceries from her bed, she noticed a Gideon Bible on the lower shelf of the nightstand. Picking it up, she flipped through the leaves.
“You read the Bible?” the other woman asked.
“I thought you didn't want to talk.”
Jezebel scowled. “Okay, don't talk.”
The waitress smiled wanly. “There were no Bibles in the school I went to; the teachers acted like they were porn. And Mother never took me to church. But after what happened at the ritual, and on the bus, I've decided that there's a lot more going on in the world than I ever knew about. Angels and that sort of thing, I mean. It isn't an easy read; it sounds like a Shakespearean play. But this was just about the only book in the house where I was renting my room."
When the blonde said nothing and turned away, she continued.
“I had no car and no money, and nothing to do; the landlady didn't even let me watch her TV. It was weeks before I saved up a few dollars to buy as much as a fashion magazine.”
She wrinkled her nose. “But, you know, I wasn't interested in that kind of reading anymore. I didn't even feel like the person I'd used to be. All the articles were silly and pointless. Nobody in them was talking about the world as it really was. Even the basic idea of fashion suddenly seemed unimportant." She shrugged. "If I'm going to stay a fugitive, the fashionable part of my life is over.”
The Watcher looked back at her. “Why don't just you go home and tell your producers that you're sorry?”
“I can't. I won't do what they want me to do.”
“That's about the first intelligent thing you've said today,” Jezebel responded indifferently.
“Is there anybody that you actually like?” Holly asked suddenly. “I bet that if you ever did care about a person, you'd be really something.”
“Don't count on it.”
The waitress sighed and resumed paging through the Bible. “Hey, there's a note in this book.”
“Nothing. It's just an address. But it says, 'To Jill.' Isn't that mind-blowing. It has to be a coincidence.”
Jezebel glanced across at her. “What's the address?”
“Holiday Inn, 6939 N 102nd Cir, Omaha, NE, Room 632. January 21.” That's three days from now. Funny thing; we've been going in the direction of Omaha. Say, do you think that that angel of mine could have left this note card here for us to find?”
Jezebel snorted. “It's probably been inside that book for years.”
Holly went back to her reading, when the blonde girl suddenly stood up and eyed the waitress with intensity. The brunette met her glance warily.
“Let me see if I can pick you up,” the angel said.
“Are you kidding?”
“I'm serious. I have to see how strong I am.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jezebel turned away. “Forget it. I already know my strength is gone. If either of us are going to get out of this mess alive, I have to get it back.”
“I don't understand.”
“So, what else is new?”
Jezebel stood in place for a moment, thinking, her expression grim and determined. Then she abruptly pivoted and went to her luggage, lifting out the red mini-dress and rummaged around for the rest of the outfit.
“You're sure full of surprises,” the ex-singer remarked.
“We passed a bar up the street. I'll be over there for a little while.”
Holly looked doubtfully at the skimpy pile of garments. “It looks like you're gearing up for a weekend expedition.”
“Don't over-think it.”
The brunette shook her head. “Have fun. I'll snack on whatever we have left; I'm almost afraid to step outside. Anyway, I want to get some sleep.”
Jezebel had found a small makeup kit, which told her that Shekinah had apparently thought of everything -- damn her. “It's a good think I've painted women's faces before,” she muttered.
Holly raised one eyebrow. “You were like a cosmetician?”
After their first foray into sin, the two hundred Watchers had gone into full rebellion. It was like every resentment that they had nursed about their Creator's treatment of them suddenly came to the surface. They wanted to make the Father understand that his human creatures were so inferior to the angels that they were unworthy of his love.
To drive home that point, they had taught men how to make and use weapons of war. In contrast, they instructed women in sorcery and seduction. The accouterments of the latter -- eyeliner, shadow, paint, blush and powder -- had all existed in Heaven, though they had never been used in the way that the Watchers used them. The rebels didn't have to be creative; they had only had to pervert what they already knew and make it fit into their plans.
Jezebel placed the makeup kit before the mirror of the bureau. Thousands of years had passed since she had handled cosmetic paint, and even then had never applied such foolery to her own face. The blonde's first experiment, though not unartful, made her look somewhat Egyptian. Holly stepped in at that point and, with the angel's surly consent, made Jezebel up like a Twenty-First Century party girl, and also arranged her hair.
“Your walk needs work,” Holly advised. “You tramp around like a soldier.” The waitress demonstrated how show business women strolled in order to attract admiring glances. “Keep your head up, shoulders back, and lead with your boobs. With your arms swinging loose, like this, make your hips swivel. Got it? Try to keep your weight on your heels. And, yeah, keep this mantra in mind while you're walking: 'Shoulders, hips, heels.…'"
The Watcher watched, but refrained from practicing the moves until she was standing alone outside the motel. As Jethrel, she had already seen many thousands of women plying their skills, but tonight Jezebel had an ulterior motive in trying to emulate them. Being quick learner, it took the angel only a minute to get her stride right, even while wearing the unfamiliar stiletto heels. In fact, it all came to her so easily that she had to wonder whether she was only doing something that Jill Arendel's body already knew how to do -- as do it as if by second nature.
The Watcher glowered. It was no big surprise that the girl had been a slut. Shekinah had said that Jill had acquired a Jezebel spirit. Unfortunately, the Watcher was depending on that same spirit to help her exceed her debilitating mortal limitations.
Her fists clenched. The Father had seemingly made human beings inferior to the angels in every way. Why did he treasure them so much -- even to the point of humiliating his better creation for their benefit?
Jezebel decided not to hike to the Sandhillers Saloon, not caring for the cold breeze on her barely-clad legs. Instead, she drove the short distance in her car. When inside the place, she sized up the small weekday crowd. Fortunately, she did not require a large audience.
The angel approached the bar, doing the sashay that Holly had demonstrated. To her satisfaction, people were looking her way. When she sat down on a stool, she tried to increase the interest of the onlookers by posing her legs languidly. The barkeeper hailed her with more than casual interest and took her order attentively. He was giving out the radiation of lust and Jezebel was feeling an agreeable tingle.
Her drink came and she began so sip. When an attractive girl passed nearby, Jezebel sent her a smile. She wanted to know if Lesbian lust could be as potent as men's. The fallen angel would actually have preferred to be with a girl that night, since old habits died hard.
The girl smiled back, but continued by. Fortunately, other people were still staring. Whatever the chemistry of the dark energy they projected, she was progressively feeling stronger and more vital. A giddiness came on her, in stark contrast to her recent rape experience and her teeth spontaneously gritted.
The attackers had been a species of Nephilim, and one of the most odious variety.
In the old days, the class to which they belonged had been called the emmim, “the terrible ones,” for the horror that they instilled in mankind. That name had perished with the ages, but they still existed. Today, they were commonly referred to as wesen, a German term that simply meant “beings.” Across history, men had destroyed the hybrids wherever they could be found. Only the emmim species that were shape-shifters able to hide in the midst of human society had escaped extinction. The gang that had abused Jezebel had been a wesen type called ghūls. They were descended from a ravenous Middle Eastern carrion eater, one of a sort that had since died off in the wild.
“Can I buy you another drink, pretty woman?” a baritone voice from behind asked. Jezebel looked over her shoulder. A reasonably presentable male was standing there, grinning confidently. Jezebel decided not to wait for a better selection; something was telling her that she shouldn't leave Holly alone for much longer. The Watcher needed to take advantage of any opportunity and, besides, the energy she had drawn in so far was having an intoxicating effect and she was eager for more of it.
The blonde shifted, forced a smile to her lips, and motioned for the man to take the stool beside her.
To be continued in Chapter 4, Part 1...