“I think I finally understand why I came here,” Barbara said after a long pause.
“To hear the word of Asatru?” Janea said, grinning.
“Perhaps,” Barb replied, seriously. “I hold a great deal of anger in my soul. I’m very careful to not let it out, to Witness as a Christian should, every day of my life. And the anger at petty people, daily frustrations, I still feel that those are sins. Turn the other cheek is the right way to deal with those. But… I wonder if… if righteous anger, the anger of Samson in the temple and the anger of David, if this is not a facet of… God.”
“The White God has been a very angry and vengeful god on occasion,” Hjalmar said. “Sodom and Gomorrah come to mind.”
“But not since the Coming of Jesus,” Barbara pointed out. “Jesus was a man of peace and he brought peace wherever he went. Well… except to the moneychangers in the temple,” Barb admitted. “Even with the Devil he simply ignored his temptations.”
“True,” Janea said. “But what if the Devil had attacked the children who were listening to His sermon?” she asked, cocking one shapely eyebrow. “Those that he called forward to sit at his very feet. Would he have been so forgiving?”
“Probably not,” Barbara had to admit. “I’m surprised that you know the Bible that well,” she added.
“Well, it used to be a case of know thine enemy,” Janea admitted. “I mean, I generally work in the Southeast. I especially did when I was just getting started. And, well, the Bible-thumpers…”
“But you’ll also find that learning a lot of comparative religion is a good idea in this job,” the man said. “There’s no religion or myth you want to overlook. The foundation has an extensive library and I wish I could read absolutely everything in it but I don’t have the time.”
“I’ve read the Bible, the Talmud and the Koran,” Janea said, ticking off the list on her manicured nails. “Each in multiple translations. And the Apocrypha. And the Dead Sea Scrolls translations. As well as all the Vedas and shamanistic Buddhism tracts. And I still feel like I only scratched the surface.”
“America is a country of immigrants,” Hjalmar pointed out. “In, oh say Borneo, you’ll only find the spirits of Borneo.”
“Interesting choice,” Barbara said with a laugh. “I lived there once.”
“Yes, but Westerners are few,” Hjalmar corrected. “They don’t bring… northern European werewolves or vampires with them. Very few people are acolytes of the dark powers and they tend to stay in the U.S. if they’re from the U.S. Ditto Europe. But the immigrants that come to these shores… many of them are from the far places where evil still waits on quiet feet for the unwary. It is not only the workers and the farmers and the hunters that come to these shores, but the various shamans and priests that they support. And the acolytes of the dark powers that hide in their midst. Then there are all the idiots who buy a grimoire in Barnes and Noble and think they’re playing when they try to summon. Little do they know.”
“You can find summoning spells in Barnes and Noble?” Barb said, aghast.
“In at least one book that was published there is an accurate method for summoning a Persian daevas. It was a minor daevas, but nonetheless we were busy for a while and Ahriman was reinforced strongly by the souls of many… well, call them innocents. It was called the Green River Slayings.”
“I thought they caught the guy who did those?” Barbara asked.
“Well, he was one of the ones who read the spell, wasn’t he?” Janea said. “There have been several mass murders and serial killings driven by that particular daevas.”
“Fortunately,” the Asatru said, “we were able to get the second printing modified so the spell was wrong. And, of course, the summoner had to do certain rites that guaranteed their soul was tarnished. They also had to have at least a trace of power. But between the acolytes that come from other shores, where they had been in balance with shamans combating them, and the penchant for study that some Americans have-”
“We’re getting overrun,” Janea said, shrugging. “There simply aren’t enough operatives, especially high level ones. Expect to be busy.”
“Well, that should go over well with my husband,” Barb said, dryly.
Chapter Four
Barbara contemplated the previous evening as she made her way to her first seminar: Introduction to Demonology. The evening had turned into one long free-form discussion. History, mythology, legend, archaeology, particle physics and cooking had all entered in at one time or another. She had talked with the lamas for a time and been mightily impressed. They weren’t just yellow-robed mystics from the back of beyond. The lama had a Ph.D. in physics from Reading University and his apprentice was working on his masters in comparative religion. The lama admitted that he had obtained his degree before it was discovered he was the umpteenth reincarnation of the Kotan Lama. But both of them were well traveled; indeed it was the first time Barb had been able to discuss the Far East with anyone in a long time, let alone with someone remarkably intelligent and, yes, wise.
She had spoken with some of the Wiccans, who ranged from very down to earth to very… out there. Barbara knew now, beyond belief, that demons roamed the earth in many guises. But she was still pretty sure that crystals couldn’t cure warts, much less fend off demons. She did listen, however, to some of the more… functional members of the group, who gave her a series of small charm tips that could be used for minor household protections. When she wasn’t sure if the use of magic violated her faith, it set off a long discussion of same by people who had, she suspected, far more knowledge of the Christian Faith than the Reverend Dr. Jasper Winton Mulgrew, her minister.
She had gotten to bed very late, for her, her head reeling. The people had ranged from very strange to fascinating. All had been far more intelligent than the friends she and Mark had made in Jackson. And, generally, wiser. She had found herself having to rev her brain up in a way she hadn’t known since her university days, or before, simply to keep up with the flow of conversation. And she also found herself bewildered by a series of in-jokes that seemed endless. Of course, with a group like the Foundation, with everyone being “in” on the secret, in-jokes were only to be expected. But what in he… heck were space goats and why did they baaa every time Hjalmar opened his mouth?
There was a small group in the room when she arrived, some of whom she recognized from the night before. She took a spot near the front, nodding to a few of the people she recognized, and opened up the portfolio that had been provided. It was embossed with the “People of Faith” symbol and had a pen in the slot already. There were large boxes stacked in one corner of the room and from the labels on them she suspected they were boxes of books. If so, and if they were for them, she was going to need a book bag. There was also a covered easel with a flip chart of some sort. There were quite a few pages to the flip chart.
The teacher turned out to be Sharice, wearing another brightly colored dress. She bustled to the front of the room, dropped her load of books on the table and turned to the group with a smile.
“Good morning,” she said. “I don’t usually teach intro demonology so I hope you’ll bear with me while I get up to speed. Generally there’s a joke about now,” she added, smiling, “but I don’t know any jokes about demonology. Except one. How do you know the difference between a demon and an angel? We battle the one and we work for the others.” She looked around at the snorts and nodded.