Chapter 12

It was a big brown Tudor style house that had been built in the 20's. It was set back from Beverly Boulevard in Beverly Hills, behind a towering hedge and a couple hundred feet of immaculate lawn. The long, capacious drive and small parking lot beside the private tennis court and guest house was lined with cars when Frank turned in through the wide gateway. A servant with a flashlight checked Dean's invitation and directed them to a parking place close to a gardener's shed.

In the back seat of the Mercedes, sitting with Jonathon Dean, her slave, Donnathia said eagerly, "I can hardly wait. All this money and power waiting to be used. All these ripe souls."

Jonathon Dean advised, "Please don't ... overwhelm people. Not too soon. As beautiful as you are tonight, in that dress ... you'll be the center of attention anyway."

Donnathia was breathtaking. She wore a stunning off the shoulder opaque blue gown that shimmered in any light and provided brief hints of flesh tones where it fitted smoothly to her hips, belly, thighs, breasts as she moved. She wore no bra, nothing under it but sheer pantyhose. From some unknown source of knowledge she had applied a subtle combination of make-up: eye-shadow, liner, lashes ... lipstick, rouge, powders ... until, miraculously, she had achieved an enchanting look of sophisticated innocence. With her face, youth, and body, with a tumbling flow of honey-blonde hair, she was an incredibly lush Marilyn Monroe type.

It was Jonathon's mission to guide her, to caution her, to make sure she was introduced, sometime during the night, to the dynamic Jack Dixon, and to other influential political and financial figures. It was Frank's function to stay with her and play her father, to also meet the important people, and to advise her. The demon was powerful but inexperienced. The Plan could be weakened by a wrong move, a bad performance.

Donnathia, Frank, and Jonathon walked up the lane of parked cars to the big, brightly lit house. Raga rock drifted from a few open windows. Laughter, talk. Well-dressed men, elaborately gowned women moved in the large, gayly decorated patio beside the looming Tudor bulk.

Jonathon said, "You'll meet Vonda Hartford first. She's a closet butch and she'll try to get you alone for a proposition and whatever else she can get away with on the sly. I'd advise not going too far with her at this time, though it wouldn't do any harm to let her think you're her kind of girl."

Donnathia smiled. "I'll add her to the coven."

Jonathon frowned. "Go slow." He led Donnathia and Frank into the house. They found Vonda in the back, by the large, figure 8 pool. She was talking to a dumpy, bald man and a lovely young woman with straight black hair and a slender, willowy body.

As soon as Donnathia and her men emerged from the sliding glass doors at the rear of the house and started down the stone steps, Vonda turned as if magnetized to face them. She smiled warmly with her famous wide mouth and sensuous lips. Her green eyes were large, expressive and wise with experience. Decades of creams and treatments had kept age-lines and creases to a minimum. She looked thirty-five and was actually fifty-five years old.

Vonda couldn't escape Donnathia's blue eyes. "Ahhh, how beautiful! Dean, you didn't at all do her justice." Vonda took two steps to meet Donnathia. She took her hands. "You're breathtaking, child."

"I'm far from a child, Vonda." Donnathia's voice was low, brimming with sexual overtones, invitation, promise.

"Obviously not, my darling." Vonda swayed, locked into those flaring beacons of blue. She flushed.

Jonathon plucked at Donnathia's elbow. He looked appealingly to Frank. Donnathia was using too much power too obviously. Like a child in an unattended candy store—she couldn't resist.

Frank said loudly, "I've always dreamed of meeting you, Miss Hartford. I'd be very interested to know if you will be making any more pictures." He slipped an arm around Donnathia's waist and pulled her off-balance. The "spell" was broken. Donnathia turned her head and glared at him then realized why he had done it.

Vonda appeared shaken. She blinked and turned away, recovering. "I want you to meet Freddie Biggie and his wife, Ginger."

Jonathon stepped in smoothly and provided names. Vonda appeared still mildly in shock. She finally added, "Freddie builds houses ... lots and lots of them."

Donnathia said, amused, "Mr. Biggie, you should get together with my daddy. He makes bricks ... lots and lots of them."

Frank said, shaking Biggie's hand, "I already sell you about a half a million brick a month."

"Yes—Kaiser. Good brick."

They laughed. After a moment Vonda took Donnathia away to meet other guests. Frank and Jonathon followed closely. The fifth introduction, near the heavily patronized bar at the edge of the patio near the smorgasbord table, was to a short, thick man with a full beard streaked with gray. He wore a brown suit with a vest and gold watch chain. He sipped at a tall reddish drink that appeared to be a Gin Sling.

Vonda said disgustedly, "Professor Carew, how can an educated man drink a concoction like that?" She had picked up a Martini.

"Miss Hartford, Medievalists often acquire strange tastes." He met Donnathia's intense blue gaze and narrowed his eyes. He frowned.

Vonda laughed. She explained, "Professor Carew doesn't have any money to contribute to the cause of Jack Dixon, but he does have a big reputation now because of his latest best-selling book—"

Carew interjected, "I am told. I have no royalties as yet."

"—THE RETURN OF SATAN. His name on our letterheads will impress a lot of impressionable, wealthy people, we hope."

Frank said, "I thought you deep, scholarly, history types kept out of contemporary political wars."

Carew smiled wistfully. "I live in the here and now, even though my mind is usually immersed in the there and then."

"Does your study of the Dark Ages tell you anything about now?"

Carew shrugged. "Perhaps. I think we'll have a dictatorship in this country within twenty years. I hope we can use one of the last few elections to get a good man into the Presidency."

Frank said, "A good man wouldn't take us into dictatorship."

"The best we can hope for is a man who will be gentle about it and will be a benign ruler with some humility and compassion."

Donnathia said harshly, too loudly, "What do you know of Satan?"

"I've studied Witchcraft and Satanism and related matters for over thirty years."

"Do you believe?"

"Occasionally." He looked sharply at Donnathia. He glanced at Frank and Jonathon, then flicked his keen gaze back to her.

Donnathia asked, "Did you know Dainis Webster?"

"He was a student of mine. Rather unbalanced, I think."

Donnathia laughed crudely. "And now he's dead and his soul belongs to ... " She fixed Carew with her drilling blue eyes. "Who knew more—you or he?"

Jonathon plucked at her elbow again. She was betraying too much. Vonda appeared confused. Donnathia did not sound like a mere sweet young thing with a terrific personality and a stunning physical appeal.

Carew was not overpowered. He flinched but was not captured. He made the sign of the cross before his face and murmured, "Lofaham, Solomon, Iyouel, Iyosenaoui."

Donnathia paled. She blinked and looked away. "Was that a spell or something?"

"Yes. A shield."

Donnathia asked, again in the role of young beauty, "Is it in your book?"

"Yes. Though it's hard to remember and difficult to pronounce properly."

She smiled. "Then there's hope for Satan after all."

Vonda said, "I think people take all this witch stuff too seriously."

Jonathon put in, "I do, too. Let's get back to politics."

Carew kept watching Donnathia closely. After a moment of small social talk, Jonathon suggested, "Frank, why don't we take Donna around and let the movie producers get a look at her?"

Vonda said, "I can do that far better than you two." She took Donnathia's arm. "Would you like to be a movie queen, my dear?"

Donnathia smiled. "I'm willing to consider it." She dismissed Jonathon and Frank with a small, decisive gesture. "Don't worry about me, Daddy. I trust Vonda."

Frank watched them move away. He hoped Donnathia would not make a serious mistake. He wanted to talk to Professor Carew alone. He said to Jonathon, "Better drift along behind her and be ready to step in if she gets in too deep, too soon."

Dean nodded and moved away. He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Frank was left with Professor Carew. He asked, "Do you know about black masses, invocations ... exorcisms?"

"Of course. Actually, that's my specialty. I've become famous because of Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist. Suddenly people want to believe in the old anti-establishment religions." Carew smiled. "Interesting phenomenon. Science is dead; long live the supernatural."

"Do you think Satanism a real threat?"

"Yes, I do. I'm now a minority of one, since Dainis was murdered ... by a demon."

Frank's mouth became cottony. His heart thudded. "You think a real demon—?"

"The police called me over to see ... to see what had been done to him. He was sacrificed and his soul sent over to Hell. I think only a demon could have done it. I've seen a configuration—a sign—of that kind only once before, in an ancient book. A drawing of that design using human entrails was made in twelve hundred six A.D. in Rome."

"Did you tell the police that? A demon murdered Webster?"

Carew smiled wryly. "Not quite. Just that someone 'possessed'—a twisted, warped, psychotic mind did that. Someone who knows the rituals and lore of Satanism intimately."

"And there aren't many who qualify."

"No. Fortunately, I had an iron-clad alibi—I was lecturing a class of seven graduate students at the time of the murder."

"But a demon! Demons aren't that common nowadays, are they?"

Carew looked up at Frank. "No. I think it's been hundreds of years since an authentic invocation—a raising—of a demon has been accomplished. I think Webster managed it somehow. It takes a just-so coming together of certain elements."

Frank licked his lips and asked, "Would a highly neurotic young virgin be one of them?"

"Yes, the prime element. Hysteric young virgins, their minds bubbling and seething with psychic energy ... they're the catalyst. Certain combinations of sound reach deep into their souls. Certain designs and certain chants somehow weaken the fabric that separates our universe from the next. There's a leap of that energy—a split nanosecond of penetration, of an opening, and a demon—actually an alien mind from that other universe who is probably tuned to react to that rare opening—is into our universe ... into the girl ... and we are all in mortal danger."

Frank nodded. He decided! "Professor, I've got things to tell you ... "

Vonda guided Donnathia toward the house. "Would you like a bite to eat? I can mix you a drink if you like. Does your father mind if you have a mild alcoholic drink now and then?"

"I decide those things. He takes orders."

"Oh?" Vonda's cool, calculating, yet passionate eyes traveled Donnathia's spectacular body to her ravishing face. "Yes, I suppose he does. That's the way to treat men, isn't it?"

"It's the way to treat slaves."

Vonda laughed delightedly. "You're my kind of girl." She led the way into the big, somber house. "Would you like to see the upstairs? I have some interesting things you might like."

"You mean I have some interesting things you'd like." Donnathia smiled at Vonda's expression. They were inside the house, standing near the stairs. Donnathia leaned close and whispered, "Do you want to kiss my tits and eat my cunt? "

Vonda gasped slightly. "Well ... how appearances do deceive! I haven't been this surprised in years." Her famous sensual mouth parted in a wise, knowing smile. "Why waste time? We'll only have a few minutes now before suspicions are roused to fever pitch."

"Just ... a lick and a promise." Donnathia started toward the stairs as if she owned the house.

Vonda touched her arm. "By way of the kitchen and the private back stairs is best, under the circumstances, Donna."

Two minutes later, on the second flood, Vonda unlocked a door and Donnathia entered a large, masculine appointed bedroom. The bed was massive, wood-framed, the walls were paneled in cherry wood, the carpeting was forest green, the lamps brass and marble, the pictures were modern non-objective oils—strongly colored, vivid, violent.

Vonda closed and locked the door from the inside. "This is my second, very personal bedroom. The frilly one is for show, to buttress my feminine image." She smiled wryly. "For the increasingly rare photo interviews asked for by the fan magazines."

"Jonathon Dean said you're a closet butch. It's an open secret in Hollywood."

"We keep these things to ourselves—in the business. Gossip leaks out to the jerks, but as long as I'm discreet and keep up my outside image and don't wear men's clothes in public that's as far as it goes. Appearance is all."

Vonda came to Donnathia. She was breathing faster. "You're an actress. You fooled me. You're fooling a lot of people. You know the score." She embraced Donnathia.

"Don't kiss me on the mouth! Not on the face —not anywhere above the neck. I don't want to be mussed. Get back."

Donnathia unfastened her sheer, off-the-shoulder blue gown and carefully stepped out of it. She was naked but for pantyhose and shoes. She toed the blue and silver shoes off and peeled down the pantyhose. She said, glancing at the entranced older woman, "I want you naked, too."

Vonda hastily complied as she feasted her eyes on Donnathia's perfect, lush body.

Donnathia went to the bed and lay on it. She asked, "Do you have any toys in here?"

"Toys?" Vonda pulled her slip up and off.

"Dildoes. If you're a real butch I want you to lick me up and then fuck me hot and heavy till I come."

Vonda gazed at her, again surprised. "My God, how incredible you are." She hastily undid a half bra, pushed down her black panties, and rushed to a dresser. She came to the bed with an extremely realistic soft plastic penis, complete with scrotum, attached to an elastic flesh-tinted harness.

She asked, "Is it too big? It's a little over eight inches."

"This body loves big fat pricks. Come on."

Vonda moaned with happiness. She stepped into the harness and adjusted the wide straps on her hips and in her crotch. The artificial penis projected heavily from her loins.

She climbed onto the bed. She lovingly kissed and fondled one of Donnathia's globular breasts and sucked the button nipple. She was trembling. "You're so beautiful ... "

"Get to eating. We haven't got time for romance." Donnathia pushed Vonda's famous face down to the waiting, open hollow.

Before she dipped her wide, sexy mouth to the lightly fuzzed blonde mound, Vonda asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"I love pleasure. You're probably very good at licking girls off ... and at using that prick. I can use you in my special, inner family, to serve me, if you're really as well connected and influential and knowledgeable as I've heard you are."

Donnathia sank her demonic blue gaze into the woman's mind, through Vonda's suddenly dilated green pupils. "Satan lives. I am his servant on Earth. You are my servant in all things. I claim you. You are mine."

Vonda shook as if she had a terrible fever and violent chills. She sucked air. She groaned.

"Yes ... yes ..."

Donnathia released her. "Eat me!"

Gasping with shock, but still passionately eager, Vonda closed her large, confused green eyes and lowered her head to feast at the moist, entrancingly formed young vulva.

Donnathia soon arched her back. "Ohhh ... yess. Oh, Great Satanachia, this one is superb ... skilled beyond the father ... "

She shivered and panted. She quickly reached a climax. Her stomach muscles knotted under velvety skin. She jerked to a half-sitting position. "NOW—THE PRICK! THE PRICK!" She flopped back, writhing, and drew her knees up to her cushioning breasts.

Vonda came up over Donnathia. She was gasping, wet-mouthed, as she inserted the head of the penis. "My sweet darling ... my master ... " She was barely aware of her words. She arched her hips and buried the big dildo.

Donnathia gripped under her knees with greater strength. Her arms vibrated. Her belly suddenly bloated. Her entire body quaked. "Now ... fuck! Fast! Make this bed shake!"

Vonda moaned with joy and complied. She gripped Donnathia's shoulders and drove the dildo till she was sheened with perspiration. Fast, hard, deep! Each thrust to the hilt, each plunge ending with a slap of flesh against flesh.

From the first giant thrust, Donnathia babbled with pleasure. Internal tremors shook her every few seconds. She rocked under the heavy, powerful thrusts and impacts. After a long, low, keening moan that climaxed in a near shriek of ecstasy, Donnathia cried, "Enough!" She pushed Vonda away with her knees and arms. The big plastic penis slid juicily from her. She lay still for a moment, breathing deeply.

Vonda risked caressing Donnathia's perfect body. "We should go back down now." She checked her diamond-crusted wrist watch. "It's been over ten minutes."

Donnathia nodded. She left the bed with Vonda and dressed. They helped each other attain their former appearance. Donnathia went to the window and parted a translucent orange drapery. "I want you to introduce me to Jack Dixon."

Vonda came to the window. She searched the patio below. She rested her left hand lovingly on Donnathia's waist. "There he is. Are you on the make?"

"Yes. He'll be President."

"Why not go for the man who owns the President? See that fat tub in the tight tux next to Jack? That's Grant Ten-Eyk, the President and major stockholder of the banks. He, and men like him, buy and sell politicians by the dozens. These are the men who really run this world, because they own it."

Donnathia smiled. "Then I'll take both of them ... and more later."

Vonda stared at the girl in wonder.