By Gerry Levinson
Cassandra was raising the bowl high above her head when it happened. Flames seared her flesh, reaching around from her back, climbing up her arms, her neck, leaping high from her head only to be constantly replaced by new flames at her feet. She knew then that the final conflict was over. The world as she knew it was vanishing, burning in a final conflagration of nuclear fire. The curse she spoke in the church that day long ago was coming true. Laughter burst out of her mouth to join the flames, climbing up toward the heavens, carrying her message of joy and triumph. No woman priests. Hah. She was powerful, invincible. She commanded the flames to begin, and they did. She watched as the walls of the room caught fire and turned to ashes. The coven, standing below her in two semicircles, followed. She watched, the moment lengthening for her alone, as one after the other of her followers was seared, burned, and eliminated. They didn�t have her spells of protection. She had enjoyed developing her power and control over them and was sorry to see the faithful die. Especially Allen. So amusing. Such a pretty boy. She planned to introduce him to some of the deeper mysteries later that night. Now, it was too late. Really a shame she thought, watching him vanish. The might have been together in eternity. Rebecca, her acolyte, was the last. She had more power than the others, of course, and held off the flames long enough to look once at Cassandra. But her plea for help came too late. Haunted by the despair in her eyes, Cassandra continued to see it long after Rebecca�s ashes were consumed by the flames. As she stood waiting, her hands still holding the bowl high, Cassandra wondered at the stillness of the moment. It should be done, she thought.
By now her pain should be over, the firestorm should have passed her by, consuming the trappings of that paternalistic world which so needed to be ended. Her victory over it should be complete. She looked around, peering through the flames which still seared her body. There was nothing left of the room, the building, her coven. Yet the flames still burned her flesh. The world�s pain was ended, but hers continued. This wasn�t how it was supposed to be. From a short distance away, her familiar stared at her, his green eyes the narrowest of slits against the brilliance of the flames still licking at her. Always a handsome cat, his black fur was still sleek, and he rested his paws on the charred rock without any apparent pain at the heat. No flames touched his body. She knew her familiar was a powerful demon, but until this moment didn�t realize how powerful. When he first appeared in her apartment, materializing in front of her as a result of her spell, she named him Beelzebub for Satan�s most powerful assistant, and bound him to her will with another ancient spell, held to his earthly shape by a silken collar he wore. Now she saw that the collar was gone, burned away with all the rest of the material world. Humbled, she realized that he must have used his power to enhance hers, making her more powerful. Making her able to cast the spell that destroyed the world.
The flames burned. She knew without looking that her robe was gone. All that was left of the world in this place was that bowl, Beelzebub, and herself. Beelzebub changed before her eyes. The familiar cat shape blurred, expanded, and re-formed. She saw the demon as he really was. Beelzebub. Himself. In truth. She saw his malicious smile as he slowly vanished, returning to his own realm, to his true Master, his horrible eyes watching the flames searing her body, his smile lingering in her mind long after she could no longer see him. The old folktales were wrong. She knew that now. The witch�s existence did not end with her familiar. Beelzebub was gone from this world, but she remained. The flames burned, but they didn�t consume. Her spells of invulnerability and everlasting life were holding. And then she knew. The priest was right when he cast her out of the church that day so long ago. She would burn in hellfire forever.
Back to Stories