chapter 22 The Cabinet of Lamech Ben Abraham #2
Crowley becomes impatient. “This is all very interesting, Redway. But to tell you the truth, I’m getting damned sick of magic.”
“Are you really, sir?” Redway approaches the cabinet. As he does so, he reaches into his watch pocket and removes a small silver chain and begins to chant:
“At the ending of the light—at the limits of the night—we stand before the unborn ones of time.”
As he recites, a silver key materializes at the end of the chain. He inserts the key and solemnly opens the doors and moves aside.
Crowley can now see the entire spectacle.
“Then perhaps you now wish to leave my shop and rejoin your friends next door?”
Crowley doesn’t answer but approaches the cabinet. He stands for a moment, gazing in wonder. He leans in and looks closely at the book.
“I’ve seen this book.”
“Indeed, you have, Mr. Crowley. You wrote it.”
Crowley reaches both hands toward the book and gently lays his fingertips on the cover. The gold Masonic ring on the ring finger of his right hand tingles with an electric charge that seems to set his spine on fire.
“Remove the book, Mr. Crowley. Remove it if you can.”
Crowley pulls the book through the mirror.
Moina pulls the book through the mirror.
As they do so, we see Moina’s bandaged left hand become her right hand; and the ring on Crowley’s right hand now adorns his left.
There is a blinding flash of white light and the roaring howl of a mighty wind.
The sound is deafening. In the formless white, we see glimpses of a snow-covered mountain peak and other glacial-type features.
Crowley, wearing his parka and climbing gear, is once again on the Baltoro Glacier, standing on one side of the ice bridge.
There is a figure on the mid-point of the bridge itself. It is himself . . . the Crowley in street clothes who passed through the cabinet just a moment ago.
The Crowley on the bridge carefully turns to face his own image from the past. Suddenly a deafening gust of wind nearly blows him off. He teeters on one leg. His movements cause the bridge to groan loudly and start to crack under his feet.
He regains his balance and cautiously tries to take a small step toward the Crowley of the past. The bridge continues to groan and crack. He stops for a moment to let it stabilize.
From behind, he hears a voice. It is Moina Mathers. “I should be very angry with you, Brother Crowley.”
Crowley manages to rotate his body just enough to see her on the other side of the bridge.
She is dressed once more as the Priestess Anari from the Rite of Isis.
She is divinely radiant and even more breathtakingly beautiful than before.
Her eyes and hair are perfectly styled in the Egyptian manner, and her naked breasts seem impervious to the icy wind.
She is overpoweringly attractive, without hint of guile or malevolence.
She speaks with the siren’s voice of an angel.
“It seems your efforts to save my husband and the order have succeeded only in destroying them both. You are a naughty boy.”
“Yes. My mother called me the Beast 666.”
“Well, little beast, you are a very special one. Very special indeed. I see now that I misjudged you. MacGregor was bright, in his own sad way. But he’s weak! Come to me now, and I shall be the other half of your soul.”
“Which half might that be, Mrs. Mathers? Are you sure there’s room for us both in here? And why me?”
Another voice joins the conversation. “Because, little brother, you are perfectly good and perfectly evil. It’s disgusting, really.”
Crowley pivots to see that in place of the Crowley of the past, Allan Bennett sits like a Buddha, wearing the ochre robe of a Buddhist monk.
“Allan, help me!” Crowley pleads.
“He cannot help you now,” Moina calmly announces. “He’s renounced magic. He’s renounced everything, even his friends. It’s what they do.”
Bennett smiles and adds, “A magician who doesn’t know limits to his power . . . has no limits to his power, little brother.”
Crowley turns back to face Moina. The bridge groans and cracks again, this time more severely.
Moina beckons Crowley with a jeweled hand. “Take me, little beast. You need me. Without me you will die in obscurity—dust lost in dust. Come. I shall make you immortal. Together we shall reign as gods!”
Another gust of wind nearly blows Crowley off the bridge again. He regains his balance, but the bridge is almost ready to collapse.
“I believe I agree with you, Mrs. Mathers. But it’s you, I think, who should come to me.”
He thrusts both hands forward and grasps the air in front of him as if it were a rope tied around Moina’s waist. He draws his fists back toward his body.
She is magically hurled through the air and into his arms. The bridge groans terribly.
Moina is exhilaratingly thrilled. She looks adoringly into Crowley’s eyes.
“Mrs. Mathers, I have to confess. You’ve never looked lovelier.” He means it. He kisses her firmly on the mouth. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him back even more passionately. The wind stops. There is complete silence.
Moina looks deep into Crowley’s eyes. “I will make you a god.” “Oh, my dear Mrs. Mathers, I could just eat you up.” Crowley’s body suddenly swells to enormous size.
His body writhes and transform into the likeness of a hideous Himalayan demon.
Moina is still caught in the arms of the monster.
The wind howls, the bridge groans and starts to collapse.
The monster’s awful beak yawns open so wide it could swallow Moina’s head.
With one mighty gulp it does just that. Her screams are drowned as her entire body disappears into the quivering belly of the god.
The bridge collapses completely, and the monster tumbles into an abyss of white swirling snow.
Mrs. Horatio stands before the large dressing-room mirror at Cumming’s Costumes; she is dressed as a Musketeer and is trying on a large feathered hat. “What do you think of this one, Dinky?”
Dinky, wearing lederhosen, peeks around her Musketeer hat when Crowley tumbles out of the mirror head-over-heels and onto the dressing room floor.
Mrs. H. doesn’t seem at all surprised. “Oh dear. Dinky, he’s fallen asleep . . . right off his chair, poor darling. Are you all right dear?”
Crowley is dazed and not sure where he is or how he got there. “What? Where? I think so. How embarrassing.”
Dinky helps him up. Crowley looks at his own reflection in the mirror, then gazes down at his right hand. His ring has returned to the correct place. He takes a deep breath and presses his hand against his stomach as if in pain.
Mrs. H. looks concerned. “Are you sure you’re well? You look a little nauseated.”
“Yes, I believe so. It must have been something I ate.”
Mr. Redway closes the cabinet doors.
Monsieur Babar closes the cabinet doors.