ask Ginnie the etymology of that name. I was also afraid to.
Coffee was waiting on the table, and Gin was putting bread into the four-slice toaster. I put Daniel into his highchair, took a sip of coffee, then mixed the baby’s powdered formula with water for his bottle.
The coffee had been made earlier by Dad, who had left for work at eight. Fred was already on his way to school, and Mother was still asleep, a privilege she insisted on three days a week—Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays—now that her children were older. Today was Tuesday. Later on, she and I would shop for that new crib for Daniel.
Gin had warmed the coffee. Our toast popped, and Daniel’s bottle was ready. I sat at the table opposite Gin and fed Daniel while we ate.
Gin resumed the conversation for me. “You never did answer my earlier question.”
“What was it?” I couldn’t remember, my head filled with all the names and histories she’d mentioned.
“I asked you where you’d heard the name Azmodeus. I mean, it’s not your normal top-of-the-morning conversation, and you didn’t sound as if you knew the biblical history on him.”
I thought of citing a book or even a movie, but decided the truth served me better. “I dreamt about someone named Azmodeus. It was a very strange dream. I lived in a land called Eliom where I and others worked in this huge garden. I lived with my father—my mother had left us when I was small—and we were friends with another family. The family consisted of Lucifer, his wife, and their three sons. The sons were Ashtoreth, Bael, and Azmodeus.”
Ginnie silently sipped her coffee, not answering at first. Finally, she set her cup down. “Eliom sounds suspiciously like Olam. You know, Baruch Atoy Adonai, Elohenu Melech Olam. Blessed art Thou, King of the Universe. I think Olam means Universe. It sounds to me as if your subconscious was working overtime. There are other word-sound connections I picked up right away. Eliom and a vast garden. The Garden of Eden. And I’m sure even you remember the serpent was in the Garden—Lucifer. As far as the other demonic names, you must have picked them up from some source, and buried them until they appeared in your dream. You do have one heck of an imagination.”
I froze at the implication in her tone.
“What? Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. Maybe some of this psychic stuff is real. I’m just reminding you not to forget there are other explanations.”
“Maybe.” I relaxed again. “So the name Bael is among the Satanic Hierarchy?” I asked her casually, so casually that I wondered at my calmness.
Gin considered her answer carefully. “Yes, but it’s another case where the name appears in different forms, each with separate legends attached to it. Bael is supposedly a great king in Hell and looks rather strange with three heads, only one of which is a man’s. Then there’s Baal, which in ancient Hebrew meant ’little god,’ and who also doubled as a fertility god in Canaan. Not a nice guy. His cult sacrificed children by burning them . . . Leigh Ann, you’re blanching. Look, the book you ought to read is The Black Arts. I have a copy of it hidden in my closet. Mother doesn’t know, and I don’t want her to. Keep it that way.”
“Where is it?”
“In a box on the top shelf.”
“Gin, how come you’re not shocked? That I even dreamed these names?”
She gave me that challenging look that often changed conversations on the paranormal into heated arguments. “How come you’re not shocked that I know of them and their histories? That I’m hiding that book from Mom?”
“You’ve already explained that.”
“Yeh, well, that wasn’t the whole explanation.”
“What was?
“That I want to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what, Gin?”
“In case these entities are real. Knowledge can be a powerful weapon, Leigh Ann. It can dispel the darkness and change something potentially fearful to laughable or absurd. You and Mother believe so strongly in the unseen good. I want to be prepared for the opposition, if you accidently tamper with it or unleash it.”
“Unleash what?”
“Evil.” She leaned back in her chair, grimly satisfied. “I strongly suggest you read that book. Maybe it’ll cure you of such dreams. If not, next time you dream of this Bael or Baal, you can tell him to take a hike back to Canaan!”
Her face flushed and her blue eyes flashed molten daggers at me.
“Gin. Ginnie . . . .”
Her breath came heavily and with a sick shock, I recognized the expression on her face. It was one and the same with that worn by the smirking Azmodeus in my dream.
“No one wanted you to come back into our lives,” she drawled sarcastically. “Why don’t you drop all this talk about Bael and save yourself, before you’re in too deep?”
Her features had altered, her pale blue eyes flecked with green and her fiery hair emanating a light yellow mist. Even her cheekbones sharpened tautly, suddenly thinner.
Daniel began crying. He pushed his bottle away. Gin’s eyes slid caustically to him. She raised her hand slowly, edging toward his throat.
“GIN!”
Her hand dropped as if it belonged to a puppet. She glared at me, her eyes confused, but they were her eyes, pale blue, and her hair and features only. The strange manifestation had fled.
She picked up her coffee cup, sipped, and put it down. “You really do need to read that book. If only to know how absurd some of this mysticism can be. It could even be dangerous if you mixed with the wrong nuts. Why’s Danny crying and looking at me that way?”
“You got a little . . . emotional there. It scared him.”
She didn’t answer, confused.
“Gin, are you angry that I’ve come back home?”
“Angry? With what you were going through back in Queens? No. I’m glad. I want to see you and Danny have a better life, and you need a safe haven to start over. What better place than with your family?” She glanced at the clock. “Oh, my God. Look at the time. I’ve got to get dressed, or I’ll be late.” She stood up, looking at Daniel. He had quieted. “I’m sorry, Danny. Aunt Ginnie didn’t mean to upset you.” She took his small hand in her fingers. He seemed to forgive her.
“Ginnie, wait.” I moved around the table and clasped her in a hug. “Thank you for caring about me, Gin.”
She hugged me back. “You’re welcome. I love you, too, but I’ve got to get dressed.” She broke away and laughed as she walked away. “What did you just do, Leigh Ann? My skin’s tingling, and my stomach has butterflies.”
“I hugged you. That’s all.”
“Hmn. Must be static electricity.”
I watched her closely as she reached the living room and headed to the stairs.
The
