The white-haired man plants kisses on his lips, but the boy shakes his head. Letting his lover sleep, the man sits naked on top of the covers, smiling. He glances up at Lilith then reaches for his glasses. Slowly, as if every muscle in his body has turned to gelatine, he pushes himself up and stumbles bow-legged towards the window. Their eyes meet and he reaches out his own hand and places it on the other side of the glass. She smiles at him as he reaches for the window latch with his other hand. The handle moves but the window doesn’t open. Pointing to the lock, he shrugs and motions to Lilith to meet him downstairs.
Sliding off the windowsill, she falls lightly to the ground, landing on her feet. Then, she crosses the perfect lawn to the front door.
Moments later, she steps inside. The man before her is different from the boy-magician. Sentences beginning and ending with ‘your will’ and ‘humble servant’ gush from him. Her thoughts drift upstairs to the pale body curled up in slumber. Again she wonders why she feels drawn to him. He is nothing – an awkward, arrogant child. She heads towards the staircase. ‘Lilith,’ the white-haired man calls to her.
She turns to look at his thin, silk wrapped frame and weak, obsequious eyes. He is speaking again. The sound annoys her. ‘I felt it the moment you stepped from Chaos into Malkuth. The world trembled as your foot touched the floor. We all did. You have an army here, should you want it.’
The words buzz around her ears like ravenous gnats. An army? What do I want that I might need an army? ‘An army.’
His eyes shine. ‘Yes, we want to change the world in your name. Stay here, please. Lead us into temptation.’
Lilith shakes her head. ‘You’re a liar and a misogynist. You choose to follow me because you want revolution, freedom and fire. If Samael or Asmodeus appeared you would bow before them and, under their protection, spit at all I am and all of womankind. Why do you desire revolution when this world is already of your making?’
He bows his head, but not before she sees the hatred burning in his eyes.
‘You want power and glory,’ she says. ‘I see through you, into the black heart beating pointlessly in your skinny chest. You are nothing, good for nothing.’
‘I am nothing,’ he agrees. He kneels before her. ‘Please, make me something. Let me serve you. Do you want him? I can call him down. What do you want? I will get it for you.’
Lilith strides into the kitchen. Everything sparkles; it is like magic. Drawing a heavy butcher’s knife from a chrome block, she touches the tip and runs a finger along the blade.
‘Sharpen this,’ she tells the man hovering in the doorway.
He looks at her then sets to work, gathering a wand and leather strap from a drawer. The knife sings as it is sharpened. Closing her eyes, she lets its song fill her.
‘Knives. Wonderfully phallic, don’t you think?’ she says, more to herself than him.
‘Yes,’ he answers quickly. ‘People who carry knives are sexually repressed. It’s the act of penetration they crave.’ He blushes and turns away. ‘I’m sorry … here, it’s sharp now.’
She takes the blade from his extended hand. He does not meet her eyes. ‘You know what I did. Did you watch? Did it excite you?’
