Hellish beehive ftb where my refund is


A fan fiction story from the world of the Harry Potter series

Email: [email protected]
Copyright © 2005 by Thorsten Oberbossel

Previous story

Anthelia, a niece of the once overpowering dark witch Sardonia, managed to survive the death of her own body and a little more than two hundred years later, in the 20th century, to return in the dead body of Bartemius Crouch transformed into a woman. She founded the Order of the Spider, acquired the ancient knowledge of a former witch lady and created an assistant and scout in the non-magical world in the boy Benny Calder, who later lives on as Cecil Wellington. Actually, now that she has pulled the soil in the United States from the black magician Lord Voldemort, who has returned to Europe, she could pursue her own goals further. But an ancient creature of darkness has been awakened from a long sleep by an unsuspecting man incapable of magic and is now up to mischief on the North American continent with this man, the chemist Richard Andrews. Anthelias attempts to defeat this creature end with losses of fellow fighters. Richard Andrews, completely subservient to this creature, commits a myriad of gruesome murders in order to break away and is urged by his new mistress, the daughter of the abyss, to bring her the vitality of young women, which he absorbs through the act of love and so on can give back to his new master. The police and the Ministry of Magic are puzzling over how this unpleasant incident could have come about. The US Secretary of Magic hides the truth about Richard Andrews. Allegedly it is not the formerly well-off chemist, but a doppelganger committed by unscrupulous criminals. But will the truth be so easy to keep under the covers?

The cover behind the blue container seemed to be excellent. But somehow their opponents knew how to find them there. Four brawny figures, trained to fight and kill with brute force, fell upon the petite woman with the currently dark brown hair, who was just able to avoid the blow with a machete before one of the coarse fellows jumped at her directly. She bounced to the side, ripping up a nail file-like thing in a single swift movement and ramming it all the way into the abdomen of the man attacking her directly. Immediately she had to submerge before another blow with the machete. The blow with the dangerous knife hissed just past her left ear, cut off the ends of her hair that were definitely protruding and clanked against the container. Splinters of metal splashed off the blade of the bat. Then she wielded her stabbing weapon again. This time she caught the machete by the arm and tore open his dark green jacket. She twisted her wrist so that she drove her pusher tool right into the overgrown arm. In doing so, however, the thin blade broke off. But she didn't care. Because the machete fighter winced, staggered and fell over behind. The attacked woman whirled around to look into the black throat of an MP barrel.

"And bye!" Said the third muscle man, pulling the trigger. But the woman let herself fall to the side in a flash, so that the sheaf of her hand whizzed past her. The woman was full of adrenaline that stimulated her muscles and nerves to peak performance. She did not hesitate long and threw a load of dirt in the face of the MP rifleman. This shot senselessly over them, hit the container and survived the ricochets that rebounded from it only because the angle of fire was too far and the rebounding projectiles, following the laws of physical reflection, flew away at an equally wide angle. The next moment the harried woman tore a small pistol from her dark blue jacket and pulled the trigger. A tiny arrow flew out and hit the man with the MP in the leg. It winced, slipped, and the man fell to the ground like a felled tree. The fourth attacker kicked her pistol out of the hand of the beleaguered. But that didn't help him. Because the same hand shot forward in a flash and crashed into the man's larynx with deadly force. She heard it crunch and saw how her opponent rolled his eyes and gasped for air. With one more blow, she ended the attacker's life.

In a much practiced manner, she forced herself to quickly calm her breath and her pulse when she saw that she had finished off all four opponents. The exercise was over. She had used her physical and mental strength successfully. These were the last opponents she had overcome during the month-long training session. The woman, who looked as if she couldn't possibly have stood up to four armed men, looked at her watch with the anti-reflective glass. It was now exactly seven in the morning on May 2nd. The eastern horizon was already bright enough to see all the details of the battle. She had knocked out three men with her harmless poison weapons, neurotoxin extracts from very deadly marine animals, more deadly than ten bites from a cobra. The fourth was inferior to her unarmed martial arts. The whole thing had only lasted half a minute. The hunters who thought they could kill someone who was unpleasant for someone had become their own prey. The woman reached into her jacket and took out a cell phone. She dialed a certain number and said:

"Mantis here. I survived. Send someone to take away the rubbish!" Then she put her cell phone back in her jacket. She wrapped a leather rag around the poisoned nail file and put it away securely. She secured the missing poison arrow pistol and put it back in her jacket. Finally she walked away, completely unimpressed by the four bodies.

The old factory site where the woman had fought was more than excellent as a training ground. Because everywhere opponents could hide or take cover from people with firearms. The woman who called herself Mantis, however, had survived every attack, partly unarmed, partly with her special weapons. Your boss, Albert Finch, would be satisfied. Probably soon she would be given a really dangerous job that she could only do if she used all her senses and all her skills to the full.

The torches and candles were out, and Anthelia, the returning seventeenth-century witch matriarch, sent her guests home. She had celebrated Walpurgis Night with twenty federal sisters, the holy evening among mainland European witches between the thirtieth of April and the first of May. Actually, so Anthelia knew, magicians were also part of this celebration. But their organization was to remain a secret, accessible only to witches who shared their view of a deserved supremacy of all witches on earth and recognized her as their leader.

When she finally went to sleep to get eight hours of sleep, she thought again that a few days ago she had revealed herself to the mighty witch Lady Ursina Underwood, who thought she was leading into her affairs. She knew that she would soon have to inform all the sisters of the so-called night faction of the Sororitas Silenciosa that she, Anthelia, had truly risen from the dead. Over this thought, she fell asleep in order to give the magic of a vital object the power to continue to protect her from many forms of violence.

Patricia Straton, one of the witches from the Spider Order founded by Anthelia, was sitting with Delila Pokes, a fellow sister from Australia, in an abandoned log cabin on the prairie of Nebrasca and talking to them about Anthelia's plans and the dangers that had and had not yet arisen could be eliminated.

"The upstart is still hiding. He probably wants to wait and see if he can lure the boy Harry Potter out of Hogwarts without risk. Maybe he'll try some of his lazy tricks to get the information," said Delila Pokes and deleted a strand of golden blonde hair from her face. Patricia Straton nodded. She had good contacts in England. Even after Anthelia's order was known to the night factionaries there, the connections still worked excellently. So she knew that the local Ministry of Magic was still looking for Dumbledore, Sirius Black and the Death Eaters who had fled Azkaban in January, but did not say a word about the fact that the wizard Voldemort, unnamed by most wizards, might have a hand in it . Patricia knew that Dumbledore would have to be watched out for. Because at that time he had formed a powerful troop against the dark lord and had certainly called them together again long ago. Now that the old wizard, much too idealistic for Patricia, was no longer at Hogwarts, all opponents of his had to expect that he would show up somewhere to fight her. What still seemed strange to Patricia was the fact that Dumbledore had allegedly trained a group of his students under the leadership of Harry Potter's offensive and defensive spell, which is revered in many parts of the wizarding world, contrary to the express instructions of the Minister of Magic and his relentless henchman Dolores Umbridge.

"We haven't heard from Hallitti for a long time," said Delila. Of course, like all Spider Sisters, she knew the threat posed by the reawakened Daughter of the Dark Fire.

"She will probably be hearing from you again soon," whispered Patricia Straton. "She has become insatiable. According to the laws of reason, she should lead her addicts very carefully. But she chases him on one foray after the other. Besides, the highest sister knows that the actions of this accursed Richard Andrews angered dangerous muggles who made him I'm sure they hunt just like the police. Hallitti will either soon give up her addicts or do something that will give her more power than she wields over him at a stroke. The highest sister told me something recently. "

"Yes, I remember. Lady Nimoe, the Australian leader of the night faction, has already read her smart. It could be that Hallitti wants to collect a lot of life energy purposefully in order to conjure something up. We should be prepared for the daughter of the dark fire will soon become even more dangerous. "

"Thank you, the strength she already has is enough for me to be afraid of her enough," said Patricia Straton.

"The other two daughters of the abyss. Do we know exactly where they have their resting places?" Delilah wanted to know.

"Of course. But that doesn't help, because the resting places are magically locked. The highest sister once mentioned that it would only be possible to destroy one of these creatures if they could penetrate their sleeping cave and destroy their jar of life. However, that is precisely what is suicidal." said Patricia Straton.

"I know, because the jar of life immediately releases all the life energy it contains, albeit as a destructive force. That is a dilemma."

"The highest sister does not want a kamikaze action, she once said. If we manage to destroy the jug without harming ourselves, then we will. But to do this we have to be able to penetrate the dark creature's cave."

"You are right, Patricia. You are absolutely right. Another question: This Richard Andrews is a bearer of invincible magical powers. His son Julius is a full-fledged magician. I once let my connections play and learned that he met Aurora Dawn is. Couldn't this boy be of use to us? "

"The highest sister has already admitted that," confirmed Patricia. "However, at the moment we cannot get close to the boy because he is either in Beauxbatons or lives with a defense expert against black magic who hides her house in the magic of the Sanctuafugium. Apart from that, at the moment it is more important to add Hallittis to addicts to pursue him to her and then try to destroy the pitcher of the abyss daughter's life. "

"To do that, he'll have to reappear somewhere," said Delila Pokes.

Picklock, a bustling goblin known as thief, was annoyed again. This anthelia had his consecration stone and with it all power over him. Where he used to be able to roam undisturbed in the world of the Neddelwocks, who were called Muggles by wizards, he was only allowed to walk through the streets of the Muggle settlements to do certain jobs for this witch. He had often toyed with the idea of ​​facing his people and preferring to be drowned by them in liquid gold than to work for this Anthelia like a stupid house-elf. Now he had the assignment to visit a certain Mr. Petrocelli in the huge city of New York, from whom Anthelia thought she could get important information. Anthelia wanted to spy on the man. As a goblin he was particularly well suited for this because his race was born with the ability to be invisible and he could also walk through solid walls like a ghost as long as the walls were not made of forged iron or plastic.

It stank like the plague. These Neddelwocks blew poison clouds from their self-propelled cars with a crackling roar, making the air almost opaque here. Meter-high red neon letters on the walls of the sky-high residential and work towers advertised insurance companies, banks, law firms and much more. Picklock, who was walking through the streets under the protection of his body-hugging aura of invisibility, had to work hard not to cough when a meter-long truck with a loudly crackling diesel engine pulled along on the black asphalt to his left and its clouds of exhaust gas dragged behind it like a bluish train. The goblin could make out a group of half-strong Neddelwocks, who lounged in black leather clothes on the wall of a house and grinned stupidly as if the world around them was one funny playground. One of the guys had a video camera, one of those little boxes with an eye in it that could hold what that eye caught. Picklock had often wondered if he wanted something practical when he watched the guy filming a group of young girls on camera.

"Hey, yeah, girls! How about a brilliant pick-me-up?" Asked another guy, a pimply-faced boy with tousled blond hair and a bicycle chain as a necklace.

None of the girls answered. They just went a little faster. The blonde, obviously not used to not getting an answer, got up and followed the five girls.

The guy with the camera looked after him, put his precious video device next to his friend, and hurried after his companion. Picklock grinned. The camera called out to him that he could take her with him now. Of course, no one here heard that except him. He crept up to the remaining teenagers, who watched the five girls quicken their pace.

"Go ahead and it's going to be really fun," said one of the boys.

Picklock was now in front of the camera, which was turned off on a bag. A quick grip and he was holding it in his hand. A quick swing carried it into his shoulder bag, which could hold more than it revealed from the outside. The guy stared at the camera suddenly rising and then simply disappearing. He stared as stupidly as a Neddelwock just stared when magic was being done right next to or in front of him, struggled for composure and felt for the bag on which the camera had been.

"Eh, shit! What happened to Dan's camera?" He asked, probably not knowing who either.

"She has a new home now," Picklock warbled and quietly walked away. The boy, who had seen his friend's camera just disappear, jumped up and called after his two comrades to come back. But they just seemed to be in a hunting frenzy. Because they just turned into a cross street and disappeared into the cover of the gray city block. Then something strange happened, which also amazed Picklock.

White fog streaked the sidewalk from somewhere. The youngsters ignored him until the streak of vapor thickened and a phenomenally beautiful woman with pale skin and fiery red hair peeled out. One of the guys saw her and seemed to be positively electrified, while Picklock felt the vague feeling that something dangerous was going on from this woman. It had to be like that, because women who came out of fog were mostly witches or worse creatures, from whom even a cheeky goblin like Picklock should flee as quickly as possible. He did that by quickly stamping his feet and sank into the ground in a flash.

It reappeared a few kilometers away, or at least it returned to the surface of the earth. But he still remained invisible.Now that he had hurried off, he realized that this being might have noticed that something near her had needed magic. He just hoped he wasn't being followed. He went to the address where he would find this Petrocelli, a house in a leafy park in a posh part of Manhattan. He closed his eyes to increase his hearing twenty times. There were seven men in the house. They spoke in quick, spirited language. Then one of them said in English:

"What does our great guardian angel say? We shouldn't get upset? Yes, does he think we can just accept it as our best customers are killed?"

"Of course we have to show that we don't put up with anything, Luigi. But I've talked to the Capi of the other families. We want to find out first who this bastard works for. So, Mr. Young, tell your boss about us." hold still until the measure is full. But if that happens, then we will ruthlessly retaliate, "said a man's voice that must have belonged to a veteran leader. Picklock slipped through the thick wall into the house and approached the conference room where he had located the voices.

"Don Ricardo, thank you for respecting our wishes. Of course we know how precarious the situation is for you. After all, we would like to maintain a good relationship with our business customers, just as you would like to maintain a stable relationship with your customers . I can assure you, however, that we are already on the case and that we are guaranteed to clear any problems out of the world, "said the man who was called Mr. Young. Picklock managed to briefly slip through the marble floor and not come out a second later in the conference room. He watched the seven men, four of whom were more like bodyguards because they leaned quietly against the walls and their hands rested on baggy jacket pockets. Picklock wondered if he should try the camera. It was small enough not to reach beyond his invisibility aura when he wore it so close to his body.

Very quietly he took out the video camera, felt it, and discovered the small buttons with which it could be operated. But somehow it had become too loud. Because one of the men leaning against the wall looked in his direction and let his hand slip into his pocket. Picklock stood still, silent. It was too dangerous to mess around with a camera now.

The man, whose voice must have belonged to the man named Don Ricardo, spoke to the bodyguard. He made reluctant gestures and stood there calmly again. Both spoke so loudly that Picklock dared to turn on the camera. Fortunately, there was a computer running in this room, its cooling fan overlaying the soft hum of the camera motor. Picklock took the company of the seven men very carefully and kept listening to them.

"We haven't heard from this guy for a long time. It may be that they took him out of the country," said the man who had been called Luigi. Don Ricardo, the slightly stocky older man with the mousy gray hair, said in English:

"I don't think so. We have all airports and seaports under control. It cannot possibly leave the country unless it is over the Rio Grande to Mexico."

"No offense, Don Ricardo. But he was able to travel through different countries without being recognized," countered Luigi.

"Not anymore. The other families have pointed their people on the airline and shipping lines, in the train station and airport cafes and at the docks to report him immediately if he shows up somewhere. Then we can find out who is covering him leads."

"Have we found out where the real Andrews is?" Luigi wanted to know.

"Somehow I don't believe our old FBI acquaintances, Luigi. They just say it's a doppelganger because they don't want to admit how well they have been tricked. I think this is the real Richard Andrews. I have myself with me notified a cousin in London who should check what man has been up to before he was here in New York. "

"What's that good for?" Luigi asked and was annoyed because the answer was obvious. One wanted and had to find out the weaknesses of this man. But Young shook his head.

"Before you get yourself or good acquaintances in unnecessary trouble, Don Ricardo: My superior will offer you an already complete dossier from Richard Andrews, provided you make the aforementioned standstill agreement with him. The best thing you can do is come to us in Nassau in a fortnight. to clear up the details! "

"As you mean, Mr. Young," said Don Ricardo with a slightly pinched expression. Young left the conference room. Picklock stayed there and kept listening to the six men. Although he didn't understand the language, he thought the camera would record it. Should this Anthelia grapple with it.

Four patrol cars were chasing the streets of Manhattan after someone called for help on their cell phones. Five girls, tourists from Virginia, were followed by shabby but dangerous looking street boys. The two nearest districts had immediately sent two emergency vehicles each to clarify the matter. Because it had happened too often around here that tourists had been attacked and robbed by street gangs. Women and girls were even brutally raped.

"This is the area, Lieutenant," said the young sergeant who was in one of the patrol cars with Lieutenant Douglas Remmington.

"I hope we can get the boys without them doing anything bad," said Remmington. Then the message came over the radio that the police car had found the five young women. Two guys who chased her ran away immediately when the city police approached. But you have it right away.

"Car thirty-nine here, fleeing youngsters have just made out. We'll take action when possible."

"Roger, car thirty-nine," came a confirmation from the operations center. "Be careful of firearms, however!"

"I understand," came the reply from Car 39.

"Hey, look there, that woman there!" The sergeant said to Remmington. This looked around. But there was no woman. At most, white haze blown together by the wind.

"What kind of woman is supposed to have been there, Sergeant Willes?" Remmington asked.

"I was wrong, sir. At first I thought I saw a woman dressed in white with red hair. But it could also have been this streak of fog. - But there is a person behind."

"Go ahead and stop!" Commanded Remmington. Immediately the patrol car pulled over to the side of the street, where a motionless young man lay in no more than an undershirt. Around him was a black, glittering leather suit like that of a motorcyclist.

"What happened here?" Remmington asked as the loud whimper of the siren faded and only the rotating light on the roof remained on.

"Cover me up!" Ordered Remmington and opened the door. His driver drew his service rifle, a .38 Smith & Wesson, one of the standard armaments of the city police, and watched as the lieutenant looked around in all directions at the motionless fellow. Then a second youth, also in black leather clothes, stumbled up from the right. Remmington raised his own gun and very harshly told the boy to put his hands up. Shivering, the boy stopped and stared at the young fellow on the sidewalk, who lay there in a strangely submissive posture and no longer moved. Sergeant Willes slipped out of the car and took on the task of keeping the kid in check, but he wasn't thinking of doing anything bad. It looked more like he was about to run away. So it seemed to the sergeant. Remmington meanwhile examined the motionless, almost naked youth. Then he said:

"Willes, there is no such thing. We have the same case here as we did with Dampsey. The boy is dead, but unharmed. He looks as if he couldn't have believed what he saw."

"The Bride of Hell!" Stammered the boy Willes held in check.

"The what?" The sergeant asked brusquely.

"Daa was such a woman who came out of a fog. She smiled at us and smiled at us with glittering golden eyes. Then I couldn't move, sir. She then grabbed Jock, pretended to want to." sleeping with him. Jock glared like a car with big headlights. The bride just took it off, turned up her white doll dress and just messed with Jock. I thought I was crazy. But I couldn't move. Jock did that really enjoyed it until he was getting limp. This woman then came up to me. She looked at me and then said I was poisoned and wouldn't give her much. Then she just walked away. Jock was lying on the floor the whole time. At first I couldn't leave. At some point I was able to start running. I thought she's going to kill me too. Then I heard the roar of the other cars and wanted to make me come in the other direction.

"Then get in the car! You must know the game," said Remmington. While Willes searched the boy with his legs apart and his hands on the roof, the radio croaked that the two fledgling youths had been arrested. All they would have had with them were knives and some homemade drug pills. Willes found something similar in the boy who, when asked for his name, said his name was Johnny McGrath, which was confirmed by identification papers found on him.

"So you're one of the Black Soldiers, that gang that roams around?" Remmington wanted to know when he discovered a tattooed gang sign on the right arm of the kidnapped boy.

"Um, yes," the boy admitted. He was very meek and cooperative. Somehow that seemed strange to Remmington. To be on the safe side, he handcuffed Johnny's hands behind his back and put him in the back seat. He took the radio microphone to signal the control center that they had found a dead youth and were bringing a disturbed friend from him to the station when a dark ball flew towards the car from the right. Remmington froze. The ball flamed as if from fire, from night-black fire. Then the eerie missile crashed into the patrol car and burst into a hungry vortex of pitch-black flames, which inexorably and relentlessly ate the metal of the car, only to devour the two policemen and their prisoners. The whole thing took less than two seconds. None of the three men stood a chance.

Hallitti stood on the roadside, invisible to human eyes. She was a little annoyed that she hadn't killed the drugged boy straight away if she didn't want to absorb any of his vitality. So she had to destroy two policemen and her car with the dark fire to which she owes her nickname, to discharge the life she had just absorbed in the dark magic that lit the night-black hellfire and threw it at a target.

"Regrettable negligence," thought the demonically beautiful creature. "The irrepressible, untouched power has done me good. I have to find another one."

They couldn't even find the remains of the police car, and apart from a leather gown lying around there was nothing left of Jock. Because Hallitti had thrown the body of the emaciated teenager into the vortex of dark flames, whereupon the body crumbled to ashes in seconds.

The search for Remmington and Willes kept the New York City Police on their toes for days. There was the murder of a mugger who had been up to mischief in the South Bronx, one of many unfortunately too familiar incidents, even if no external injuries could be proven.

The group responsible for the detection of magic in Mughal settlements recorded a brief violent release of sinister forces at nine o'clock on the evening of May 3rd. When they arrived at the determined location with a raiding party of standby wizards, all they could see was a small pile of rust. As if something made of iron had completely disintegrated into red dust within a few seconds, as if the rust of a thousand years had eaten away all solid metal in a single second. One of the wizards quickly took a sample of it into a container that remained the same temperature and Disapparated with his colleagues because there was nothing else around, which was responsible for any sorcery. When the observations and reports reached the head of the law enforcement department via official channels, Minister Pole intervened himself and imposed an absolute ban on information about the incident. When the minister sat in front of the burning fireplace in his summer residence in Florida that evening, he wondered whether he shouldn't educate several employees about the danger that had threatened the Muggle and wizarding world for several months. The pile of rust proved that someone had thrown the power of dark fire on a metal body. In addition to everything magical and all forms of life, the dark fire found nourishment in all metals except gold and platinum as easily as an ordinary fire in straw and wood shavings. But what kind of metal thing was that?

A little later he learned that two New York police officers were missing. Was it okay that the creature had destroyed these two cops in her car for finding them? Then that meant that this creature was truly ruthless in not leaving witnesses.

He took a pinch of flea powder, tossed it into the fireplace, whereupon the flames flared up into a roaring, emerald green wall of fire, stuck his head in it and shouted:

"Laveau Institute, Davidson!"

His head seemed to be torn from his neck and tossed around with unbridled force. Then, when it was quiet, Minister Pole breathed a sigh of relief. His head was now in the fireplace of Elysius Davidson, the director of the Laveau Institute for Defense against Dark Forces in the New Orleans marshland.

"Ah, Minister," said Elysius Davidson, greeting the most senior wizard in the United States.

"She reappeared herself, Elysius. The daughter of the dark fire was looking for male victims in New York. At least we suspect that because two policemen got in her way and disappeared without a trace. We found pure rust, which probably came from one of those Muggle cars. It is certain that this car was destroyed by dark fire. I fear the creature is becoming insatiable. "

"Yes, Minister Pole. We also noticed that a dark discharge of force had been released on the east coast. It must have been. However, in order to be able to work its most powerful magical powers, it must sacrifice life force it has absorbed. That means "She will probably be looking for new victims soon, if she doesn't send her slaves straight away."

"You mean that Richard Andrews?" Minister Pole made sure.

"Of course, sir. I think the creature went out for prey itself because its addict was wanted a little too much. You don't know anything about it in the Muggle world, do you?"

"Not that I knew about it, Elysius. It should stay that way. All our secrecy is no longer worth Knut if it turns out that the alleged fairy-tale monsters and demons mentioned in many religions actually exist."

"Speaking of secrecy. Jane Porter has repeatedly asked me to at least tell the Andrews' what's going on with Richard Andrews. You know, this poor man has a wizard for a son ..."

"Please tell Madame Porter once more that I said no one but me, you, you and the dedicated Zachary Marchand, who is overseeing the situation in the Muggle world for us, should be informed of this nothing if this cruel truth is revealed to the non-magical mother or her son.If I remember correctly, the boy is in Beauxbatons and therefore as safe as a boy can be while the mother lives in the house of Madame Brickston who is out Need for protection from enemies familiar to us has put a Sanctuafugium magic around her home. So why unsettle them unnecessarily? "

"Jane thinks, and I'll only pass it on as she said it, that the boy Julius has a right to know what is happening to his father. After all, she promised him to take care of him."

"I don't know why such a monkey dance should be done around a wizarding student from a Muggle family," replied Pole. "But when I said that only the four of us should know about the return of this dark creature, I mean it this way and no other, with no exceptions and special rules."

"I'll tell Jane when she gets back from Ecuador."

"What is she doing there?" Pole wanted to know.

"We have persecuted a black magician who belongs to a brotherhood that is up to mischief in Central America. They call themselves Hermanos de Montezuma and want to revive the ancient empire of the Aztecs, but only at the level of the priests and magicians of that time."

"Then I hope Madame Porter returns safe and sound," said Pole. "I am just surprised that my colleague from the South American Wizarding Union has not yet contacted me."

"Because we found this dark magician here in New Orleans. You know that we sometimes get messages from the L.I., the sources of which are inaccessible to the Ministry."

"Oh, the ghost of the old voodoo queen has come back. Good, you have your business to sort out. I just told you what I know and that we must remain the only ones who know about it."

"I get it, Minister Pole," affirmed Mr. Davidson. Poles head disappeared from the chimney.

Elysius Davidson paced up and down. Shouldn't he tell the minister what he'd found out after all? It was necessary, indeed vital, that the boy Julius Andrews should know what was happening here. But he, Elysius Davidson, had had to swear an oath when he entered the Laveau Institute that he would never violate the clear orders of the incumbent Minister of Magic. This was important to the respective ministers because the creme dela creme of the North American experts for and against the dark arts were united in the institute. Jane Porter, the very sociable, even humorous employee, had to take this oath as well. But what could Davidson do? He was not allowed to inform anyone, even if he could think of dozens of people who ought to know, like Professor Dumbledore, who had recently sent him an owl, that he was well and could soon get out of cover, like Ernestine Wright, who had it in the news of the repression of dark forces would have brought them far if they had not accepted the vacant post of headmaster of Thornttails out of sheer sentimentality. He still knew Semiramis Bitterling, who had once been a teacher at Hogwarts and had gone to the research group for dark wizarding beings after the hiring of Severus Snape, which was suggested by Dumbledore. Then there was Professeur Blanche Faucon, who, also for sentimental rather than compelling reasons, preferred teaching Beauxbatons to her actual calling to fight the dark arts. Davidson would have informed all these witches and wizards at once, had it not been for the unambiguous order of secrecy from the Minister. He thought that in other countries it might be noticed if strange things happened in the States. But Davidson knew better than some that a well-organized network of cover-up specialists had been set up under Minister Pole, which insiders like Davidson called the daydream brigade because they made manifestations of magic in the Muggle world look like hallucinations or daydreams.

Davidson sat in his high-backed black leather armchair. A pearly white hand penetrated the wall, followed by an arm and a body. Davidson could see the apparition now. It was the waking spirit of Marie Laveau, the once infamous voodoo queen in the New Orleans area.

"The top of you told you to keep silent?" Asked the translucent figure of a woman, whose long, dark hair glowed slightly blue from the fire shimmering through it.

"Yes, he made me stop saying anything, Madame Laveau," said Davidson.

"The magic of the evil being is overpowering. It will kill everyone who comes into contact with it, like the poison of the snake. You alone will not be able to do anything against this creature."

"I know that," said Davidson, pulling himself together like hell not to appear or sound disrespectful.

"Well, then you will have to confide in others who know this spell better and also those who are not directly affected by it," replied Marie's ghost.

"The orders are binding, Madame Laveau. We must not break them. A magical oath compels us not to disregard them."

"I am well aware of this," said the spirit in a warm, rather maternal voice. "But I do not like to watch here in this world and experience how the spirits of evil exploit the ignorance of the living to obtain power and nourishment. But I too must not intervene on my own. But one should If the opportunity arises, I will support you as before with my knowledge and my gifts. Have a pleasant evening, Elysius! " Spoke it and escaped through the wall.

"What opportunity?" The head of the Laveau Institute asked himself. Then he picked up the book on ancient religions that he had been reading when Minister Pole contacted him.

Picklock stayed in that conference room for two hours, then he returned to Anthelia, who, by means of a spell against the consecration stone, showed him clearly that he should kindly return to her. When he stood before her with bowed head, she gave him a piercing look.

"Didn't I clearly order you not to let things go with you from the world of the magical ?! What made you disobey me like that, Picklock Loluck Haberzak?" She ruled the goblin, who felt every word go through him like a sword.

"I needed the part, M-m-master A-anthelia," stammered the goblin and took out the camera. Anthelia nodded abruptly.

"It was not necessary to use such an artifact, especially a stolen one. But the owner will probably no longer have any use for it. For the woman you saw coming out of the fog has this artifact from the collection of images among the boys to whom you have seen stole, looked for their form of food and probably found it. Because I heard that the law enforcement officers of the incompetent miss two of theirs and will probably never find them. "

Picklock looked at Anthelia very dumbfounded. Could she see into his brain because she knew what he had seen? Sure she could. Because she was too sure of her cause to have guessed well.

"Well, so we will see a good fellow sister in the house and hear what you could get with this picture-collecting eye and the sound catcher attached to it, Picklock. In the meantime I will release you to do what you want, unless you again act against my clear instructions, things of the Unable to not let go. " Picklock bowed like a servile house-elf and walked away. He was annoyed at being at the mercy of this witch for better or for worse. But the laws of his kind compelled him to serve or obey those who could pronounce his consecrated names and who also had the consecration stone in his possession.

Anthelia apparated to Romina Hamton, a Muggle-born co-sister. She connected the camera stolen by Picklock to her own television and video recorder, placed a cassette in the large recorder and hit record. Then she ran the two-hour recording that Picklock had made more or less quietly. Anthelia, who was more than powerful in the Italian that was being spoken, grinned superiorly when she heard that the families of the honorable society of North America were already looking for Richard Andrews. Then she heard something that made her face angry. Those inepts actually intended to kill Richard Andrews on the spot if he were to wrench the life of a street girl again with Hallitti's magic. When the recording was complete, Anthelia said:

"In a fortnight, on the eighteenth of May, this Ricardo Petrocelli will meet with the gang leader of this praise Young and some other bag-tailors. Good to know when and where this will happen. I will attend this meeting. This gives me the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: I obtain access to the networks of the criminal brotherhoods of the incompetent, and I can make it clear to these simple-minded incompetents that their power is nowhere near to kill Hallitti and her dependents. "

Romina Hamton asked what to do with the recording. The conversation on tape was too explosive to keep here. Anthelia took the casette.

"This thing is safe in our headquarters." She said goodbye to Romina and Disapparated.

Back in the old Daggers villa, Anthelia let herself slide gently into the world of perception of Cecil Wellington. The boy who used to be called Benny Calder was sitting with some schoolmates over homework. On May 20th, they would take their class on a day trip to Washington, the capital of this confederation. In and of itself a very rich source of important knowledge, said Anthelia. The boy had come to terms with his new way of being and the life he was now leading. Sure, in between he cursed the wicked witch who had torn him out of his usual life. But he also had to realize that Anthelia's intervention gave him a whole new chance to make more of his life.

"Nothing came of the New York thing on the news," Anthelia realized when the boy she was monitoring without his knowledge watched the 9 o'clock news. "Is it possible that Halitti has now gone alone again on the hunt for human life force?"

In any case, nothing happened in the next few days that would have been important for Anthelia or the tidy wizarding world. But that was just the calm, the calm before the storm.

In the Christian world it was May 10, 1996. The incident with the missing police officers had already been passed on to the FBI. The United States' quarters were looking for the missing cops Remmington and Willes. But the world in front of the televisions and computer screens, on the radios and in the newspapers did not notice any of this. But then something happened that suddenly caused the waves of the past two months to rise again and hit sky high.

Loretta had woken Richard up after a week in her dome-like sleeping cave, allowed him to get something to eat and then completely "incorporated" a brothel in Mississippi. Somehow, Richard knew, she was now keen on the life force of young girls and he, like her, was out to leach people out to death through sex. The life energies always flowed into him. He had to give part of it back to Loretta. But he felt really good doing it and, above all, never felt as exhausted as the times when she hadn't told him about her dark nature, in another time when he had still had a regular working life. This predatory desire for vitality had increased in him so that he was always happy when Loretta sent him back into the wide world. She made sure once again that her perfume of inattentiveness, which she drizzled onto his cheeks and chest before each use, was dosed correctly. It was not Richard's so stimulating perfume that made him so receptive to her, but a strange scent like spring air over a meadow, which he could never smell for more than a second before he thought he wasn't wearing any fragrance at all. Loretta had told him that this perfume kept everyone who looked at him from thinking deeply about him. Only when he himself was excited or when people were under great tension did this devil stuff not work. After all, he had already deprived several dozen willing women of everything they had to offer. That wouldn't change either.

He kissed Loretta goodbye and felt the medallion she had given him for Christmas send a pleasant shiver through his body. He closed his eyes and thought he was floating for a second. Then the shower subsided. He looked around.

The sun shone like polished white gold from the almost cloudless spring sky. Richard heard various birds chirping, warbling and calling. He was standing on the edge of a small town with houses lined up like toys in front of him. Yes, toys that he, Richard, should enjoy. He went out to eat something in this city, to look around and then to go to "The Purple House", where he would have a different kind of food.

Loretta's perfume of inattentiveness did its overwhelming effect. Nobody recognized him on the streets. Yes, he could even take a taxi to the best restaurant in town for a sumptuous menu for two hundred dollars. In his good suit, he did not attract attention between the wealthy and business people. The only thing that set him apart from the others was the fact that he was sitting alone at his table. But even this didn't seem to bother anyone here at the moment.

Four men in ready-to-wear suits sat across the table talking in Spanish. Richard, who could not speak that language, understood nothing of what it was about. But from the men's faces and the furtive glances they let wander through the restaurant, he noticed that it was important to them and that they did not want to be overheard as much as possible. But what had the four men to do with him? Its activity was directed towards women. At least he could be grateful to Loretta for not making him do things that were disgusting to him. But if she wanted the life force from a man, she would get it herself. Nobody knew that better than himself.

After lunch he went to see the city. He wondered whether he should go to the capital, Jackson, only twenty kilometers away, but pushed it aside because he had to be back in town on time for dusk. Because what he had to do would take him a whole night, starting as young as possible.

Richard strolled through the alleys that exuded the charm of the American southern states and presented houses from the time before the Civil War. He visited one of them. The owners had gone to Texas for work and offered the house to tourists from all over the world as a museum for the Confederation, along with some purchased antiques. Richard went through the venerable house with some Japanese, Germans and even Scots and listened to what the gray-haired administrator and tour group leader said. He could spend a full hour like that. The only thing that was really exciting was that he had to be careful not to be caught by a photo or video camera. Although it was not allowed to take photos with a flash in the rooms of the Gardener House, the modern video cameras could do well with little light. Loretta's perfume was only effective when viewed and perceived directly. A tourist who later watched the video would easily recognize the bald man as Richard Andrews or his alleged doppelganger.

After the charge of spiritual pleasures, Richard headed for the Purpurhaus, a brick building located a little away from the southern city limits, which had previously belonged to a plantation owner itself and which acquired a dubious reputation after the civil war because the daughters of those killed in the war offered their bodies here to the To make ends meet fatherless families. but the history of the purple house didn't interest Richard anyway. It was only important to him that thirty light girls between fifteen and forty-five look after their customers, depending on their needs and budget. Since his escape from Detroit, Richard had got into the habit of pocketing the sums of money from the prostitutes he had sucked out in order to later be able to bait other ladies of the night. His check card would give him away immediately if he used it to collect money. That was why he had left her with Loretta whenever possible.

"Good evening, sir", Richard greeted a woman who had probably already had the cosmetic surgeon and an ambitious hairdresser to cover up the traces of age. Her hair, dyed blond with a lot of hydrogen peroxide, was curled into a wild lion's mane flowing down to her bare shoulders. What she was showing in front of the chest was more than what Mother Nature had intended in its growth, said Richard, when he looked at the manager of the purple house, who was sitting at the reception in a tight red glitter gown.

"Good evening, lady. I don't care - let's call it generosity," said Loretta's willing follower and put two hundred dollar bills on the counter, looking so thoughtfully that the brothel boss had to get the impression, there is still more to be had.

"Who recommended us, sir. I don't remember having greeted you in our parlor," replied the hydrogen blonde.

"Hmm, I got the tip from a guy named Charlie in Phoenix, Arizona," Richard said. The woman behind the counter winced briefly. Then she smiled.

"So you've only come here now?" She asked, sounding casual.

"That was six months ago," said Richard with an amused smile. The brothel manager nodded in understanding. Then she asked if Charlie had recommended anyone to him. He shook his head. Then he was asked which type of woman he liked the most, and he said that it was not about looks, but about performance, which the woman at the bar was clearly enjoying.She took the two bills and put them in the large cash register, which Richard looked more like a safe.

"Well, do you want to book a pas-de-deux or a party?" She asked slyly. Richard thought for a moment, then said calmly:

"Party with unlimited number of visitors, as long as I'm the boss."

"Hmm, you need it very much, don't you?" The woman replied in a wicked tone. He nodded. That was also the pure truth.

"Well, four regular customers have signed up. So I have to keep four girls free. These are these." She got a photo album from under the counter, flipped it open, and pointed with her long, coral-red painted index fingernail at four beautifully dressed women with blond hair and ample bust. Richard nodded and chose ten girls of different skin and hair colors "for the first time", from petite Japanese women to plump city dwellers in the United States, even an Indian was there who was called "Rising Sun". Richard grinned because he remembered the old song about the "House of the Rising Sun" that he'd listened up and down as a teenager until he discovered his love for jazz.

"Who can have it," said the receptionist and certainly also the mother of the house. "But for the party you have to pay twenty more Benjamin Franklins."

"This President has never been so popular," said Richard and put twenty more hundreds on the counter, which quickly disappeared into the sturdy cash register. Richard was still smiling the smile of the man who had loose money and who liked to brag about it. then the housemother called the ten girls who had been ordered in the rooms and informed them that they had been invited to a party.

Richard played the big donor and first invited everyone to champagne and wine. He himself preferred pure orange juice because he had to manage with alcohol, he said. Then he set about meeting three of the women first. He had to be careful not to immediately release the life-sapping magic Loretta had given him. But little by little the three women became more and more tired, so that Richard quickly asked the other girls who kept him happy with their skills. Then it was the turn of the Indian woman, whose black hair was polished to a high gloss and whose bronze-colored skin gleamed seductively as she approached Richard. Loretta's locket lay on a window ledge behind the heavy curtains. Fogged by the heavy perfume that had been sprayed in the rooms of the Purple House, Richard saw the Native American daughter look at the window and was slightly startled when she saw the glittering medallion peek out from behind the curtain. For a moment she seemed as rigid as a pillar of salt, then she smiled seductively. When Richard approached her to enjoy her caresses too, she shrank back and called out a word that he did not recognize. Immediately he felt that something was not going the way it usually did with him and her. Had she recognized him? But the other girls had let him take them away without recognizing him. Did the magical perfume no longer work in this breath of wicked vapor?

"What is it, Rising Sun?" He asked, sounding harmless.

"Stay away from me, prisoner of the evil spirit!" She hissed, making Indian gestures that he couldn't understand. She was singing something that he couldn't understand, but that penetrated him like an anesthetic. She saw him stop, then she grabbed her outer clothing, which she dressed up as a good squaw, put on her clothes, letting her singsong continue. Richard felt how he found this girl less and less interesting, as if she too had been wetted with a perfume of inattentiveness. But what had she thrown at his head? "Prisoner of the evil spirit."

"Get away from him!" Rising sun called. "He's a prisoner. An evil spirit breathes through him and drinks your life!"

"Sunny, that's nonsense," laughed Chloe, a plump woman who would certainly have served the painter Rubens as an excellent model.

"Shut up!" Richard growled, suspecting that this Indian woman had seen through him. He had to kill her here and now. But then he would no longer be able to take the remaining girls without problems. Trapped in this dilemma, he did not notice how the rising sun stormed out of the large playroom and ran away shouting. Richard wanted to go after her when Chloe offered herself to him. Loretta's and his hunger for vitality prevailed over the urge to chase the dangerous confidante. Richard couldn't say whether this was a mistake, because Chloe's body snuggled against his. She wrapped him up with her limbs and stooped so skillfully that not a second later he was united with her. Though he had put on a condom, as had been advised since the spread of dangerous diseases around the world, he had managed enough times to be able to get along with his victims without this protective device. But Chloe's embrace and the movements of her body forced him to stay in her rhythm for the time being, to enjoy her dearly bought devotion like any other customer. He tried to kiss her. But she managed to avoid his mouth. He knew that many prostitutes strictly refused to be kissed by their suitors. After all, contagious diseases could also be transmitted in this way. Or maybe they wanted to keep some of their intimate independence when they were already selling the rest of their bodies. But somehow Richard managed to unite his lips with hers and sucked. As a result, he withdrew a lot of life force from Chloe in one fell swoop, so that it suddenly subsided. With a movement that was often practiced, he was able to strip off the contraceptive that was annoying to him and find direct union. As a result, new life energy flowed from Chloe onto him. She was getting more and more tired. He broke off body contact before it came to the extreme. prepared again and took the next commercial bedfellow.

When he had exhausted everyone so much that they could no longer think clearly, he took all the remaining life energy from one after the other. When he got to Chloe's, the door flew open and the house mother stood in the doorway with a Beretta ready to fire.

"Done, Mr. Andrews!" She cried dangerously. Richard gave a start. Since he was so close with Chloe that he couldn't just jump up, he could only look down at the barrel of the pistol, puzzled.

"No, I'm not finished yet," he said, sounding extremely calm.

"You are Richard Andrews. I saw the video of you entering. Get away from Chloe!"

"Don't go," said Richard. "She's so attached to me at the moment. Unfortunately, I can't roll her away from me."

"Get away from the girl or I'll blow your brain out!" The hydrogen blonde called, now anything but accessible. Richard looked at Chloe. Her eyes were already glazing over. She let him maneuver her away without resistance. He jumped up, pure as nature had created him and looked casually at the pistol and then into the determined eyes of the brothel boss. She was puzzled and saw the nine girls spread out on the floor, the round bed and the sofa, who stopped making a sound. Richard took advantage of this moment, darted forward like a biting snake and grabbed the pistol with one hand and the blonde's neck with the other. The woman's wrist cracked and the gun fell from her. Gasping, she fought for air and blood supply. But Richard didn't give her a chance. He grabbed her with both hands so that in one swift movement he turned her head more than ninety degrees to the left. The upper cervical vertebrae couldn't take it and broke with an ugly, final cracking sound. Like a boring stuffed animal, the owner of the purple house was pushed back when Richard was certain that she would never point a gun at him again. Then he realized his situation. He was recognized. What he had feared in the Gardener House had happened here. A video recording of him, which was viewed again after he entered, had exposed him. Perhaps this Indian girl had been teasing, too, from wherever she had known what was wrong with him. The only thing that was certain was that he had taken nine pleasure girls from the market in the usual way and that he could visit ten more girls. The force with which he had killed the boss within seconds impressed him. He took off his clothes, first put on the medallion, which, except for sexual matters, always had to be around his neck, and quietly left the large party room. He heard the distinct noises of working women and their customers and crept down to the counter. He saw the photo album open and found a drawer under the counter. He opened it gently, took out a cash book or something similar, and leafed through it. He found an entry "Party for blond Englishmen, $ 2000 (more in prospect)" and "The Se ores Gonsales, Miguez, Alameda and Diego arrived as advertised, Pam, Jacky, Gina and Peggy as usual." He could still see on a register which ladies were currently free. They probably hadn't heard the riot in the party room or they were gone. He decided to go see her. He ran up the stairs and went to the rooms. In fact there were none of the free ladies left, and it gave the impression that they had left very quickly for a long time.

"Damn!" Richard cursed. Then he crept downstairs. These four se ores still had work to do. Should he just interrupt her? He went back into the party room and searched the dead boss for important things like keys or other things. He picked up a set of keys, the Beretta, and a notebook. Then he went back to reception. He looked for the video recorder that must have been used to record it. The camera could be well hidden behind one of the mirrors or well camouflaged in one of the pictures with motifs of Greco-Roman amusement. He didn't care either. But he couldn't find the recorder. He tried the keys to open the safe. He trusted that if someone surprised him, Loretta could bring him back immediately. So he took his time until he put the correct key in the lock and unlocked the cash register. Like a cash-collecting machine, he made the crumpled banknotes disappear into his suit. He didn't even count. Then he found the tiny VCR with a tiny screen attached. The cable disappeared into the massive steel wall of the cash register and would probably pick up power and video signals from somewhere. Richard rewound the small cassette and placed the tiny playback eyepiece over his right eye. and saw the five customers who had stopped in here in the last hour and a half, himself and four Latin American characters whom he recognized immediately. Those were exactly the four he'd seen at lunch in the restaurant! The world was small after all, Richard realized with a smile. He could still see the Indian woman standing in front of the counter gesticulating wildly before she ran away very quickly. She escaped. He'd better have her right away ...

"Buenisima, Chicaaaa!" One of the four suitors called out at the height of his passion.

"So he's done," thought Richard and decided to continue his hunt. He took the videocassette out of the recorder and pried open its case with superhuman strength. He just pulled the thin magnetic tape and tore it up like scrap paper between his fingers. He dropped the snippets in the safe and tossed back the broken case. Then he carefully locked the closet. He went to the front door, saw that it could be locked with a portcullis, lowered it and closed the door with the security lock. He also locked the opening mechanism for the grille with the associated key. He quickly scurried through the corridors of the first floor and also blocked the iron back door and the entrance to the in-house garage. Then he noticed another key that he hadn't used until now. Which room might it fit in?

The second Latino or Mexican found the delight demanded for a lot of money. Richard just grinned. It never had to be that loud for him to be fun. But at least he could have another girl right away. While he was thinking that he found the room with the last untried keyhole, a cupboard under the stairs upstairs. At least it looked like a closet from the outside. But inside was a platform like a dumbwaiter in a feudal town house. Richard found a pull switch, tugged at it, and triggered the motor that carried him with the platform down. In the basement of the brothel there was a warehouse for all kinds of boxes and sacks. Richard recognized immediately that not only was free love being sold here, but stolen goods and contraband goods were also being handled. Some sort of large petrol can caught his attention. It looked like it had just been parked here. It was sealed with a tight seal and had some characters on it that he could not read.

"Don't bother with that, Richard! Get the others!" A voice whispered in his mind. His "good conscience" had spoken to him. Sometimes Loretta did that when she wanted him not to be inattentive. He nodded without a visible interlocutor in front of him and left the basement with the elevator platform. Just upstairs on the ground floor he met two of the four Se ores from the south of the USA, who were pacing around in front of the barred and barred entrance gate, very disturbed. One of them saw Richard and asked him something in Spanish. Richard remained calm and asked back:

"I beg your pardon, sir ?!"

"Hombre, where Mamaputas?" The taller of the two men wanted to know.

"Which mom?" Richard asked, sliding his right hand into the suit, where he felt the cold grip of the Beretta.

"Trini, es el hombre mataputas!" Hissed the larger of the two. The second jerked his right hand to an ugly bulge in his sleek suit. But whatever he wanted to draw, Richard already had his gun and fired it through the fabric of his suit pocket. There was a loud bang, and the Latino fell over with a gasp. The taller guy threw himself to the ground and probably tried to pull a gun too. Richard pulled the still slightly smoking Beretta free, but could not aim precisely.

"Compa neros, me ayuden!" Shouted the one lying on the ground. Richard fired a shot that struck just over the stranger through the wood of the reception desk.

"Que pasa, Fredo?" It came down from above. Richard jumped backwards to the stairs and up the first few steps. The one lying on the ground threw up a weapon. Richard quickly pulled the trigger. A bullet found its target. Fredo, as the second was probably called, could no longer be spoken either. Richard now spun around and rushed up the stairs. Then both suitors who were still present came through the room doors with their trousers half pulled up. Richard saw it as a waste of time to talk to them. He fired two shots in a second before either of them could do anything. The lead bullets had precisely found their way into every man's heart. The two se ores fell like felled trees on the flokato carpet of the corridor. Four women, busy with their clothes, stepped out of the rooms. They saw the dead and then Richard.

"Don't shoot, Mr.!" Pleaded a dark-skinned woman with a blonde-dyed natural curl. Richard smiled thoughtfully, like a man who knows he can no longer be stopped. He aimed the Beretta at each of the joy girls. Then he ordered:

"Each in their room. Get the key!"

One of the four said that dying as a heroine was better than living as a cowardly woman and jumped at Richard when he was threatening her colleague with a gun. He stepped to the side, made the woman jump into space and gave her a brutal knock in the back with his elbow that made her tumble headlong down the stairs.

"Anyone who digs a pit for others, girls ... Let that be a warning to you!" Richard snapped. Then he drove the three remaining brothel girls into their rooms, took the keys and locked them. The windows were barred, he knew from his visit to the party room. Apparently they didn't want any delinquent suitors or women deserting here. Richard remembered that the previous owner's body slaves must have been kept in these rooms. Trust wasn't as good as constant control.

"Richard, those on the floor below!" It whispered in his brain. He jumped down. She was still alive. He quickly tore off her clothes and fell upon her like a hungry wolf. After only two minutes he had sucked all the remaining life energy out of her. He dressed again, jumped up to the first floor and unlocked the first room.

He saw the spray can, which was aimed at him too late. A load of pepper hit him full in the face with a hiss. Nose, mouth and eyes seemed to be on fire. Richard screamed loudly and staggered back. The girl jumped at him, threw him on his back with a judo throw, and swung her left foot back.Richard, frozen in the shock of the attack, felt the kick on his chin and saw a swarm of exploding stars. But immediately he saw clearly again. Not even his eyes burned. He started up. The joy-girl, presuming that she had overpowered the dangerous man, backed away. But Richard got hold of her, shoved her into the room, which was decorated in dark red tones, and threw her like a rag doll onto the wide bed. Then he slammed the door and locked the inside. He tossed the key in a corner, before knocking down like a slamming eagle on the woman who was just sitting up again, brutally grabbing her arms and ripping off her clothes with his teeth. Less than a minute later he was also completely naked and got what he wanted to get from this girl too.

The municipal police in Muddy Banks, a sleepy town near Jackson, Mississippi, received a highly alarming call shortly after ten o'clock in the evening.

"This is Margo from the Purple House. That Detroit lunatic is here, Andrews!" Exclaimed a very excited woman's voice. Sergeant Pine, who had answered the call, flinched. Has this guy really been here yet?

"Margo, we'll come as soon as possible. Don't try anything! Let him go if necessary!"

"He's killing my girls. One of them said he was possessed by the evil spirit. I can't watch him ..."

"Margo, leave the man alone. He's too dangerous!" Pine called again. But then there was a click in the receiver.

"Damn it! Guys, red alert! Move out to the purple house! That crazy whore killer is here!"

"What?!" Four cops yelled at the same time.

"Call the special forces and, preferably, the FBI, too, Pine! The guy is very dangerous."

"That made our colleagues in Detroit all!" Shouted Willis, a squat sergeant. Captain Fullerton, the district manager, rushed out of his office and shouted:

"No hussar rides, people! Call special forces! Alert the FBI in Jackson! Then into the west and the armored cars! No hasty actions!"

"Of course not!" Pine called and was already dialing the emergency number.

Moses Greenthal was bored with nothing more than typing out routine protocols. What he was just editing for the electronic archive referred to a bank robber who had robbed seventy branches of the American gold and silver reserve bank in Georgia, Oklahoma, Alabama and Louisiana, relieving them of money and precious metals worth four million dollars. The robber was recognized at Jackson Airport and arrested by Greenthal and his partner Maria Montes. He had deposited the money and gold in a locker at the main train station, where he would probably want to fetch it when enough grass had grown over the matter. He now had to type this entire annoying report into the computer. Then the phone rang. Moses quickly pressed the key combination CTRL-s to temporarily save what had been written so far. Then he picked up the phone and listened briefly. His state of mind switched from boring annoyed to the highest alarm level within a millisecond.

"We're moving out immediately. Where is this brothel?"

"South of our city limits. The special forces are already alarmed," came back one answer.

"Damn it, how long will it be before they get there?"

"About half an hour," he got an answer.

"Well, then we'll put our special task force on the march, too," said Moses Greenthal, and after a few short sentences put the phone down. He left the computer on the left and hurried from his office to that of his partner Maria, who was on the phone with someone.

"... No, Mrs. Porter, he's not here yet .. My colleague," she said and quickly hung up.

"Maria, it's on fire! This whore killer from Detroit has now also arrived in Mississippi and is probably doing a big all-round blow in a brothel called the Purple House. The special task force from them is already on the way. We'd better go there too."

"Dios mio!" Said Maria Montes. Then she remembered what she had just heard from her conversation partner:

"Beware of this man. I am not allowed to tell you everything, just this much, the man is dangerous, even for us!"

"Mo, over twenty city policemen couldn't cope with him. They say he doesn't work alone," said Maria Montes.

"We still have to get it," Moses insisted, urging us to hurry.

"Then go to the west," said Maria, before she realized what funny line she had just put up.

"In five minutes in the car. We're in the third row anyway."

"Si, colega!" Confirmed Maria. Whenever she was as aroused as she is now, she would always revert to her mother tongue, even though she had been at home in the United States long enough. She checked her service weapon, a Smith & Wesson 38 and the reserve cartridges, her cell phone and the FBI-specific two-way radio. Then she fetched a set of bulletproof underwear from the special operations magazine, changed quickly in the ladies' bathroom and was standing in front of the shared company car less than four and a half minutes later. Moses just came around the corner looking slightly stiff. The bulletproof clothing was also uncomfortable for him and restricted freedom of movement. However, if it protected the life of its wearer it was an acceptable condition. They got into the car and drove off at high speed. Mary planted the warning light with a detention device on the roof while Moses turned on the siren. Then it went at more than 100 miles an hour to Muddy Banks, an otherwise very insignificant small town.

When the FBI agents, along with their heavily armored special operations forces, stopped in front of the Purple House, a woman was calling for help. But the cry for help was overlaid by a cry of pain.

"That is not true. The botch it off quite calmly," said a city policeman with the badge of a sergeant. The sign on the front of the uniform read "Wilson Pine.

"He's crazy, people. He doesn't care whether you hunt him or not. Maybe that gives him even more momentum," said another policeman, while three elite policemen masked like a mixture of astronaut and knight with crowbars and power cutters worked on the head-high bars in front of the door with the wine-red window curtain.

"The house is just a fortress for him. By the time we're inside, he has killed the woman," said Moses.

"Whoever forged this lattice has delivered a work of the century, the hell another one!" One of the hooded policemen growled. Through the closed helmet visor, his voice sounded like something out of a closed coffin, eerily hollow and threatening.

"There, the woman at the window!" Another policeman called. Several submachine guns swung abruptly towards the window. The woman stretched her arm through the grille and dropped an object that glittered in the light of the opened headlights. Then she pulled something or someone back with brute force.

"That wasn't a weapon," everyone recognized who saw what was happening. One of the policemen in full riot gear ran towards the window in the fire protection of his colleagues, while marginal screams rang out from inside.

"Has anyone got a whisper bag?" Asked Pine. One of the special operations troops pointed to the emergency vehicle. A loudspeaker system was installed there. Maria ran up to it without being asked and jumped into it. She found the switch for the call system and said:

"Mr. Andrews, or whatever your name is! Please don't harm the girl. We want to negotiate with you. Unnecessary violence doesn't get anyone any further!"

"Maria, what's the point?" Exclaimed Moses Greenthal. He ran over just as a shot ripped through the window. Four MPs answered with a rattle at the same time. But whoever shot out of the house was obviously already back under cover. Except for holes in the purple brick wall, the police's fire had brought nothing.

"They want to be specialists?" Moses asked when he got to the loudspeaker truck. "Shoot right away if someone inside farts too loudly."

"He shot because the colleague wanted to pick up this thing," said Maria.

"I know. He also fired into the back of my suit," said Moses. Then he picked up the microphone and called Richard Andrews himself.

"You only have one chance if you let all the live hostages alive and negotiate with us. The house is surrounded. You are locked up at the moment. Killing someone doesn’t make any money."

"I do!" A scornful voice came from the house. Then came the last scream of a woman, and then a fierce curse.

"My locket! You bastard gave me my locket ...! That can't be!"

"What does he mean?" Asked Moses.

"I suppose the thing that the woman just threw out the window," said Maria. Then more shots rang out from the house. This time one of the officers said he had a clear target and blew back a sheaf of twenty from his heavy MP.

"The house can now be torn down," smirked Pine dryly, who had also gone to the loudspeaker truck. He informed Mary and Moses that he had received the call.

"What kind of medallion does he mean?" Asked Moses Greenthal. Maria Montes seemed somehow far away with the thought. She only looked at the house, where two bars were being loosened from the door grille.

"They'll have to blow up," suspected Moses. In fact, a special operations officer put up a small detention charge. With a clear gesture instructed everyone to step back from the door and jumped back. Less than four seconds later the charge went off. The door shredded and two policemen stormed the house in the dust and smoke. Then two special agents of the FBI who had been trained to storm banks with hostage-takers came and broke into the house.

"The spook will be over soon. It can't hide for so long. They'll search all the rooms now," said Greenthal. "He could have been over the mountains long ago. Why was he waiting for us here?"

"Maybe he had to kill all of the women here?" Suspected Sergeant Pine. Maria Montes seemed to release this communication from absent-mindedness.

"He always has to," she said. "He can't help it."

"Oh, do you already have a profile of him?" Moses asked subtly.

"Exactly the same thing that you have already read that Ruben Martinez faxed us. Apparently he is caught in a kind of obsession that he must first get rid of all witnesses who are immediately dangerous to him.

"Above all, we don't know how he kills her," said Moses Greenthal. Maria Montes didn't seem to be of the same opinion.

"But we know how he doesn't do it," she said. She didn't want to say out loud what she was really thinking, even if her partner had bought it from her without hesitation.

"My son Olli once read a book where a man made a pact with the devil. It said that he would never have to die if he sacrificed a soul to him every week. He was given a stone that selected that victim literally sucked empty. "

"For God's sake," shrieked Maria. "That must not be."

"You don't believe in black magic, do you?" Laughed Pine. "I only said that because things like that with Andrews lead to such stupid stories."

"Here, take a look at this, please!" Said a policeman in full street fighting gear, first flipped up his helmet visor and held out a flat, round glittering thing on a chain to Maria and Moses. "Seems like some kind of talisman.

Maria Montes suddenly seemed to feel a painful stitch in her chest. In any case, she reflexively grabbed her left breast, better something under it. Moses looked at the medallion, looked at the inscription and mumbled something until he was shocked and shouted a Jewish prayer.

"For the sake of your soul, get rid of it!" Cried Maria Montes. The policeman with the medallion shrugged his shoulders, disturbed, and held out the little piece of jewelry. It felt as if sparks were jumping from it to the FBI agent, little dark purple sparks. Yes, did his eyes fool him? Four golden sparks crackled back from Maria Monte's body until he withdrew the medallion.

"For your soul's sake, throw it away, man!" Cried Maria Montes irrepressibly. Moses Greenthal nodded wildly. He sang his prayer formulas. Then he jumped forward, grabbed his colleague's arm, snatched the locket from him and hurled it away in a high arc with all the force that his trained arm could give.

"The bridal jewelry of Lilith's daughters," moaned Moses Greenthal. "That man in there is a prisoner of darkness."

"Please what?" Returned Pine, puzzled. Then his face twitched.

"Madame Margo said one of her girls claimed that Andrews was possessed by an evil spirit. That is probably not true. I must have ended up in a wacky horror film," Poltergeist V "or" The Curse of the Demon Part II " or what."

"It would be nice, Sergeant Pine," said Maria Montes. Moses looked at her puzzled. Then he said:

"This medallion is the wedding gift when one of the daughters of the night woman Lilith, who was also called Lahilliota by the Babylonians, finds a chosen one among mortals and makes him one of theirs. The spells of dark bondage and domination are inscribed in it. I, the Mischugger boy, half said these formulas. I felt a strong greed arose in me to put it on. I threw it away just in time, and no one should touch it any more. "

"Greed, something like lust for sex?" Asked the policeman who brought the medallion. Moses nodded.

"Shit, that almost got me too," he said, pale as a sheet and immediately ran off to prevent his colleagues from touching the locket. He shouted that it was a bomb that could go off at any moment, a suicide weapon.

"Guys, you can't be serious," Pine said in disbelief. "You're not telling me you both work in Department X or what?"

"Do we know whether such a department does not exist," said Moses. "I only know that I was not mistaken. The medallion of evil exists, and you, Maria, felt it too."

"I didn't feel this greed or whatever, but a kind of electric shock that went through my body. It was then clear to me that the thing is cursed," said Maria Montes.

One of the policemen suddenly seemed to be pulled by invisible strings. He walked slowly towards the locket. Then he walked quickly, bent down and picked it up. He spun around and tossed it into the darkness. Maria could see a figure in white clothes standing in the trajectory. Then something big and hideous came down out of the sky. It looked like a gorilla with lizard scales and leathery bat wings, like a cross between a pterosaur and an ape. The policeman, who had just tossed the locket to the figure in white, jumped back. The figure in white tore an elongated object into the air and called out something that Moses recognized with another horror: "Avada Kedavra!"

A blazing flash of green light whizzed towards the falling figure, hit it full and enveloped it in a cloud of phosphorescent sparks. An absolutely inhuman roar was the answer. At the same time, shots rang out from the house.

"Las Brujas malas," groaned Maria Montes. The locket was now on the floor. The figure in white clothes dove to grab it, then the winged monster lunged at her and dug its claws into her back. Less than a second later, the white clothes turned red with blood, while the witch was first torn into the air and then thrown back to the ground with unrestrained force. Then the flying monster rose again. The figure in white clothes lay on the floor. One of the policemen hurried over to the locket, bent down, and grabbed it.

"Let him leave it before the night woman's daughter ..." shouted Moses and rushed out of the car. Maria Montes wanted to call after him to stay in the car. But Moses was already running. An MP volley crashed out of the house and threw Moses over the front. Who shot there?

Anthelia, the highest sister of the Spider Order, had ordered before her usual bedtime to double-check all information from the Muggle world to make sure that one could not find out where this Richard Andrews was. Since she herself had to keep to a sleep rhythm that was not so frequently interruptible in order to preserve the magic of Dairon's life-support belt, she put Pandora Straton in charge of the night watch she had set up, which consisted of several sisters of the Spider Order. When the half-Indian witch Wanda Waxingmoon came to the headquarters in the old Daggers villa at ten past ten in the evening, Pandora was sitting with Patricia Straton and the twelve-year-old witch girl Dido Pane at a game of Kobol.

"Sisters, is the highest sister still up?" She gasped as if she hadn't Apparated but ran.

"She's already sleeping," said Dido. "She always sleeps around the time."

"The addict turned up in a brothel in Mississippi. My mother just mentiloed me. My half-sister Sunny, who ran away from home five years ago and probably ended up on the wrong track, sent her a call for help. She can do it herself not actively doing magic. But she can use some rituals and recognize hidden magic, like my mother, "said Wanda, who, in addition to the Order of Spiders, also belonged to the Order of the Silent Sisters.

"What does she mean?" Wolte Dido know. Patricia Straton just said:

"In half a minute you'll be in your room and stay there or end up in my cousin's dollhouse!" Dido did not dare to protest against it. She jumped up and ran as if chased by dogs into the attic room that Anthelia had assigned her.

"Then we'll get the addict," said Pandora Straton, very excited. "Where is this brothel?"

"I can take you there," said Wanda. "Mother sent me the picture and the situation as a waking dream picture. Shall we?"

"Is he there alone?" Pandora wanted to know.

"Sunny should have managed to get the Muggle Police on the move. This Andrews won't wait for them to come."

"If he has the order to consume all the prostitutes in the Den of Sin," said Pandora. Then she said: "But we have to keep our distance. We can only watch until we get a safe opportunity to catch the guy. Come on, Wanda. We'll let you lead us!" They took each other's hands and closed their eyes. Then there was a loud crash and the three witches were gone.

A few moments later there was another crash less than a kilometer from a purple brick house. The three witches let go and ran towards the now gloomy-looking truck house. Patricia quickly said:

"Indeed, he is in there and in the frenzy of greed. He has just attacked the third of four whores still alive and is busy with her. I have to isolate myself, his greed is so violently angry."

"What do you feel with your senses of a medicine woman's daughter?" Pandora asked Wanda. She froze in fear.

"You of the dead magic can sometimes be happy to be blind and deaf to many things. I hear the spirits of those who have been killed. They fight back under pain in the body of the man who has absorbed them. But they burn like thin branches in the campfire. They will not pass into the sublime posterity. I feel how the inner self of the third woman is also withdrawn from the body. The dark power works in the intoxication of body bliss. That is terrible, "she said, too deeply disgusted.

"But your father is also one of the dead kind of magic, as you animists like to call us," laughed Patricia before she got dead serious again. "The fourth of them does not come out of the room. The doors are reinforced with thick oak planks. This is also a slave-holding house, like our headquarters."

"I'll take a closer look at this," said Pandora and disappeared with a soft pop. Patricia immediately took a stiff posture and mumbled the magic words for the exosenso spell, which allowed her to immerse herself in the pure sensory perception of a being designated or well known to her without being noticed. She closed her eyes and watched her mother look at the outside of the house, always staying under cover. When she returned after a minute, Patricia withdrew from her mother's world of perception.

"There are at least sixteen dead people in the house, four of them men. I could sense that for sure," said Pandora. Patricia nodded. Because she, too, had noticed everything that Pandora Straton could have heard while stalking around the house.