Dark Fugitive, page 15
part #2 of Nightshade Series
“Naked is sacred,” he tells Dawn, noticing her staring at the other girls, who have their crop hoodies on, and only their crop hoodies on. Magus Mathias wore a long yellow dress, which looked more like a drape. One would normally see this and presume that he was gay, but considering the way he drooled over her and treated his followers, Dawn knew otherwise and never doubted his sexuality for a minute. He was clearly just eccentric, and perhaps a tad flamboyant, but certainly not homosexual. “My real name is Alexei Sirieus,” he confided in her, hoping she would appreciate his honesty, and maybe even open herself up to him in return. “It’s a German name, and can be a tongue-twister for some people, so I changed it. Besides, Magus Mathias sounds more like a spiritual leader, don’t you think?”
What the fanatical guru didn’t reveal to Dawn was that he had been severely maltreated as a child, which would become a pivotal factor in him becoming a sinister savage. Before he would come to be the charismatic pseudanor, he had a damaging history of being bullied, rejected, and made to wear a pink dress and smeared lipstick…and that was from his church leaders. This, however, failed to turn him queer, but rather motivated him to use religion as a slick way to manipulate and molest as many jailbait women as possible. The Golden Veil coven called him Mathias, but also referred to him as Master Vaingory, especially during certain ceremonies and selective rituals.
Mathias gives Dawn moonshine, which she immediately indulges and gorges herself with to make up for lost time. She gulps the heavy, fiery liquor down her throat, as if it were water and she was dying from dehydration, while Mathias talks her ear off. Little did he know that she wasn’t paying any attention to his rants and ramblings. Even when she’d take a break from her appeased alcoholism, she couldn’t give him her undivided concentration, as she was too focused on and distracted by his other tattoo, which was even more appalling and revolting than the one on his hand. He had the number 666 tattooed on the center of his forehead, just above his eye level. His eyebrows were also completely shaved off, which made his appearance look even more bizarre and macabre. This diabolical and blasphemous number was intended to pay homage to his unhealthy obsession with the decayed, Aleister Crowley. Mathias wore an amulet, hanging over his chest, which was a triangle that had a small circle on its tip, with a horizontal crescent moon resting on top.
The Buzzcocks tune, Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve), comes on, playing from one of the phonographic records from Mathias’s extensive, near-mint collection of LPs. This doesn’t help Dawn’s current heartbreak, as the UK lyrics only further remind her of Cheri, who wasn’t as easy to walk away from as she had made it seem. The punk song was about loving someone who was clearly bad for you, but being terrified of losing them and living without them. Zeena noticed her slouching on the green sofa with her face in her hands, as Mathias hovered over her like a dark cloud. Zeena took Nikolas by the hand and led him to the couch, whether he wanted to come with or not. As soon as they joined Dawn on the sofa, Mathias took his silent cue and stepped away.
“Are you okay?” Zeena asked, while tenderly rubbing her back. “Can we do something for you? Can I do something for you?” she asked, while delicately throwing herself at her, just in case Dawn wanted to use her body to soothe her sorrows. Nikolas sat on the other side of Dawn, rolling his eyes and not nearly as attentive or nurturing as his bleached-blonde girlfriend.
“Cheri had an agenda all along,” Dawn said, sobbing softly, as she confided in Nikolas and Zeena about what the culpable Cheri had told her in strict confidence. “I trusted her, and she was a fucking chameleon. I’m so stupid. I should have known something was wrong. Whenever we would make love, I would feel sick afterwards, like she had stolen my health.” Dawn leaned to her side and let Zeena cradle her against her bosom. Zeena wore a fairly tight and revealing blouse, and no bra, so Dawn’s head got to feel the blunt of her bust. This would have turned her on, had she not been so traumatized and fractured over learning Cheri’s dark secret. Zeena stroked her hair and fondled her scalp, while Dawn cried into her welcoming and underage chest.
“There are no psychic vampires,” Nikolas declared, trying to refute his Machiavellian, future father-in-law who had coined the term. Cheri wasn’t an energy vampire, but he assumed she was, based on the evidence that she possessed some of the same characteristics. “There are no good vampires, just as there are no white witches. Don’t believe in all that contemporary Wiccan bullshit, because that’s all it is. You are what you are, and if your personality is counterfeit and used to deceive others, you’re a fraud and a hypocrite and I can’t condone or respect that.”
“It just stings,” Dawn said, weeping softly. “I opened up to her. I let her in. She’s an animal. Part of me wants to forgive her, but I don’t know if I can?”
“We don’t believe in forgiveness,” Zeena shared. “Jesus taught his followers to turn the other cheek, but if you live by that proverb, sooner or later you run out of cheeks,” she told Dawn, as she wiped away her tears with her soft hand. “There is no redemption for maltreatment, but only retribution.”
“Zeena grew up with a pet lion,” Nikolas repeated what Zeena had previously shared with her. “The Bible talks about Daniel being in the lion’s den and what a miracle it was that God saved him from being devoured by the bloodthirsty beasts, but there was no miracle in that. Lions, and the animal kingdom in general, are naturally more benevolent than most human beings. Humans are the real animals.”
Sienna brings over a serving tray and offers Dawn a cup of Chai tea. The tray, pitcher, and the cup are all made from sandalwood. The tea has infused chamomile and patchouli leaves as a garnish. There is a pair of mint candies that sit on the tray as well, as an after-refreshment. Dawn politely declines, but Sienna can’t hear her, as she is legally deaf. She stares at Dawn with her ghastly look, making her feel awkward and nervous. Sienna’s Waardenburg Syndrome is hard to look at, even for Dawn. Her dual-colored eyes, which are widely spaced, make Dawn uncomfortable. The herbal blend smells like lemon-flavored catnip. Zeena gives the light-skinned gothic girl a look, which lets her know that Dawn isn’t interested and is already taken care of.
“You should’ve taken the black tea,” the Satanic princess told Dawn. “It relaxes the mind and opens you up to receiving divinely-guided messages and visions.” As Zeena heard herself giving this advice, she remembered that she was talking to an American Indian, who likely needed no help in that department. She continued petting Dawn’s pretty head, as another bottomless girl approached them.
“Would you like an appetizer?” Gwenn offered, holding a different, but similar, wooden tray of finger food. “Perhaps avocado dip and pretzels, or a nice orange peel?”
“Guinevere!” Joy yelled over the music, calling Gwenn Gates by her witch name. “Leave Dawn alone! She doesn’t want any!” Embarrassed, Gwenn bowed to Dawn, as if giving an unspoken apology, then humbly walked away in humiliation.
“You should try the wine here,” Nikolas recommended, as Zeena’s hands change course and begin to explore Dawn’s body, first over the clothes, then under. “The girls always spice it perfectly with cinnamon and basil.”
Dawn, in her vulnerable state, doesn’t fight Zeena’s aggressive moves, but instead gives into their mutual yearning for one another. This leads to heavy petting, fierce kissing, and passionate facesitting, which all take place right there on the couch, in front of everyone. Dawn’s clothes were easier for Zeena to take off, than it was for Dawn to get Zeena out of her snug, black leather pants. The daughter of American Satanism smothers Dawn’s pretty face with her juicy ass, spreading her butt cheeks to give the Cherokee easier access to her neighboring holes, as Dawn vigorously rimmed Zeena’s brown eye and thoroughly cleaned her wet pussy with her eager tongue. Zeena’s cunt tasted as sweet as sugar, but she was a wolf of an entirely different breed. Though Nikolas doesn’t approve, he joins in on the voyeurism as a closeted cuckhold, which overpowers his feelings of pride and jealousy. Zeena reciprocated Dawn’s avid diligence by leaving love bites and bruises all over her body, with her audaciously assertive chewing and sucking. Zeena didn’t mind Dawn’s body hair, but actually found it arousing. Zeena was very fond of animals, and Dawn was certainly bringing the animal out in her. This was quite evident, since Dawn's abdominal and pubic hair had begun growing back rather quickly and suddenly, after a time of being nonexistent, and it appeared to be solely attributed to Zeena’s influence and attention.
Hours later, the party is still going strong, well into the morning after. The Eagles’ song, Witchy Woman, begins to play, as Dawn casually shuffles through Mathias’s vinyl collection of LPs, many of which are by The Doors. Dawn’s body is still sore from playing with Zeena, but the pleasure had far outweighed the pain, and she knew she would heal as she always did. Mathias sees Dawn going through his record collection and immediately perceives it as rifling. He walks over to her, not just to ensure that she doesn’t steal, but to once again try in vain to win her over. Dawn looks at the covers for the albums, Face the Music, by ELO; Dark Side of the Moon, by Pink Floyd; The Second Annual Report, by Throbbing Gristle; and Blood on the Snow, by Coven. She even finds one or two 7-inch singles, including, House of the Rising Sun, by The Animals. Mathias can tell that she’s still on the edge of a total meltdown, and can see her hands trembling from the unstable combination of hurt and anger. Zeena had certainly been a relaxing distraction, but that refreshing exchange could never begin to replace what she felt for Cheri. Dawn tried to pretend that she had moved on, but she knew better and couldn’t deny who was in her heart. Dawn wasn’t the type to let go of someone she loved, which was just one of the many ways she was different from most people.
“Love and life are both four-letter words,” Mathias tried to convince her that she was better off discarding Cheri, since love is more often a curse rather than a blessing, which Dawn was admittedly beginning to agree with. “Damaged attracts damaged, unfortunately. Don’t allow this disappointment to germinate in the soil of your heart.” He laid his left hand on her shoulder as he told her this, which she wasted no time in shrugging off. However, he did take it as a good sign that she submitted to wearing one of the zippered yellow hoodies, although she insisted on wearing a pair of yellow panties to go with it. So, she was still playing hard to get, but he could tell that she was coming along…slowly but surely. He was making progress, or so he thought, which he was significantly pleased to watch and witness.
The fundamental pastor from the Pentecostal church is there. He’s wearing a polyester jacket and his hair is stylishly permed. Dawn recognizes him, as she watches him lounge lazily on the couch, snorting coke, and getting felacio from an underage prostitute. There were other very young whores in other rooms of the compound, who were shamelessly cheating on their trusting boyfriends, devoted fiancees, and loving husbands. The perverted preacher laughed to himself, not just high on the dope he was ingesting, but also from the smoke stacks of secondhand toxins that were infecting the pagans and burn-outs who had been invited to this hedonistic bash.
“What?” he asked her, noticing her rude stare. “Do you want to taste this, too?” he crudely offered, referring to his phallic wand. “Is it your birthday too, doll? What’s your sign? Come here then. Come to the witch doctor. Make a wish and blow,” he arrogantly and obscenely propositioned her, not recognizing Dawn from visiting him before at his sham-of-a-church.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing your cross?” Dawn asked him.
“The cross was originally a symbol of sadness,” he said to the young Dawn, “and brought tragedy to those who wore it. It was also a symbol of mockery, not praise or respect, which shows you that Christians don’t know their Bible. Now, why don’t you come over here, little girl? Let’s get freaky.” Dawn was one of many who couldn't figure out Nikolas's age. He looked older than his statutory girlfriend, but nobody knew by how much. She would have asked him, but he creeped her out. Dawn also didn't wish to upset Zeena.
“You’re the minister from that non-denominational…” she began aloud, calling him out for the despicable fraud he was. Little did she expect that he wouldn’t flinch from being exposed or even attempt to deny his professional identity. He did, however, notice the evil eye she was giving him.
“What’s a matter, baby?” he interrupted, while clearing his throat and beginning to second guess whom he was actually dealing with. “You look like you’re demon possessed.”
“Demonic possession is a falsehood,” Nikolas suddenly cuts in, as he sneaks up from behind and lays his hands on Dawn’s shoulders. “We are in control, not the demons.”
“You never answered my question,” Dawn reminded the minister.
While this pointless discourse launches between these two, Mathias has isolated himself in one of the few vacant rooms, looking over a special gift that he had earlier sent one of his girls to purchase. He had learned through the grapevine that Dawn had lost a valued flask that meant a great deal to her, and that she particularly had an affinity for silver. Mathias was formerly an Assistant Pastor of the London-based temple, The Process Church of the Final Judgment, but he renounced established religion and branched out on his own to start a new movement, in which he was the master and lord. His lucrative leadership in New Orleans, San Francisco, and Midland had made him ridiculously rich, so he could afford to buy Dawn whatever fancied her.
“You are as bitching as the fertile mother,” the perverted preacher acknowledged her, while swallowing nervously and kissing her ass. “That’s just a gig to pay the bills. I get a full offering plate every week and tax free status. Why wouldn’t I do this for a living?” he asked, boastful and proud of his criminal sacrilege.
“You’re a monster,” she confronted him.
“God is the monster, my scary little hussy. The lamb has seven horns and seven eyes. Revelation speaks of four creatures in paradise, who bear the heads of a calf, a lion, an eagle, and a man, who are each full of eyes and wings. Talk about monsters. God demanded animal sacrifices in the Old Testament, and even had Isaac nearly murdered by his father, just because he could. Think about that for a minute…believers brutally and willingly slaughtered their pets and livestock, as well as their children, to cleanse themselves of sin that wasn’t even sin. Yet, Satanists are the ones who allegedly butcher kids and animals, when it’s they who hold these precious gems as sacred. God put Job through hell, just to win a bet. God is a narcissist. Everything he does is to abuse his power and boost his own ego.”
LSD and cocaine are being passed around on an 11”x14” mirror. Some of the guests had finally begun to fall asleep, right where they were, be it on the floor or on furniture. Those who were still awake, were stoned out of their minds. Mathias wanted to get her sedated, but Dawn wasn’t going to fall prey to his vices or wiles. She was gradually becoming lethargic, but it was going to take a major distraction for her to let down her guard. This is where the new flask would come in to play, but he couldn’t give it to her quite yet. This piece of silver needed to be primed and modified first, before placed into her hungry hands. Mathias was moonstruck over Dawn, on an obsessive level. Like his submissive apostle, Joy, he could see Dawn for what she was, and it aroused him in a way he had never before felt. He desired her with an unrelenting lust that extended far beyond prurient hunger, and he would have her, whatever the cost. She had rejected his sexual advances every time, so using magick to lower her wall of defense was his only option.
“Goodbye, sweet Dawn,” Zeena bid, after kissing her passionately on the mouth and then ever so gently on the forehead.
“You’re leaving?!” Dawn asked, naive in thinking that Zeena was going to stay with her, or at the very least take her with them.
“Yes, my beautiful. Nikolas and I are expected home in California,” she replied nonchalantly, as Nikolas opened wide the front door for his seductive 15-year-old girlfriend.
Dawn felt sad and used, as she hurried to think of anything that she could say or do to make Zeena not go, or invite her to go with them. “What if I became a Satanist too?” she asked in sheer desperation, not thinking about what she was actually offering or suggesting.
“Aww, baby, that’s precious, but not possible,” Zeena said, in a condescending tone, while giving her one last hug.
“One can’t be converted into Satanism. It doesn’t work that way. Our theology isn’t like the patriarchal religions. Satanists are born, not made,” Nikolas explained, without an ounce of decency or hint of sensitivity.
Zeena and Nikolas return to San Francisco, leaving Dawn in Mathias’s wicked but capable hands, somehow convincing her to stay with him and his loose disciples at his mammoth home in Midland. Zeena and Nikolas would later form the Satanic gospel band, Radio Werewolf, in 1984, in Los Angeles, inspired in part by meeting Dawn that night in 1978. This band would grow to build a cult following, both in California and in Europe. Zeena would later wed Nikolas in 1988. They continued to operate The Werewolf Order (a school of Black Magick that ran from 1988-1999), though disbanded the musical collective in 1993. High Priestess, Zeena, would establish the Sethian Liberation Movement on November 8, 2002. Nikolas was obsessed with idolizing Charles Manson, sympathizing with him for taking the blame for crimes that weren’t technically his fault. Photos of Spahn Ranch were often used in the band’s artwork, which was one of their regular tour stops. He and Zeena would live to have a happy and lasting marriage, and settle in Berlin, Germany. The couple would renounce The Left Hand Path in 1990, and convert to Tantric Buddhism.
