Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

lest someone spread the Word without LaVey or his heirs drawing a percentage of the profit.
    Other regalia was available for purchase through the site, such as black candles, silver calabra, ceremonial robes, daggers, and various herbal potions. And the Devil took credit cards.
    Julia could easily separate these self-serving tenets from the cruel memories of her own past. This packaged-and-shrink-wrapped product bore no connection to the abuse she had suffered at the hands of Satan worshippers. As with all religions, it wasn't the words or the beliefs or the long-dead prophets that defined transgressions. It was people , those of flesh and blood and bone who mindlessly swallowed whatever was fed to them, blind to the true nature of the hand bestowing the blessings.
    Julia shuddered as her own memories tried to spill from their carefully latched closet–goat's head and a silver blade and smoking crucibles and bad people.
    Julia clamped her eyes shut and squeezed her temples between her palms. Her breath became shallow and her pulse accelerated to a flutter.
    No, that's for Dr. Forrest and Dr. Forrest only. Not for here, not for now, not for YOU.
    She took a deep breath, scared. The panic attacks were occurring more frequently. Despite her sense that she was being healed, despite her faith in Dr. Forrest's treatment, she felt on the edge of a great black chasm, and the next step would have her falling into the ink of oblivion.
    She forced herself to inhale, thought of sunshine and clouds, heard Dr. Forrest's voice counting down from ten, let her fingers grow warm and plump and light. Let her body dream itself as a piece of the sky, apart yet part of it all. Let herself become air.
    And, riding on the breath came a warmth and comfort and a soft, distant breeze that suggested a gentle voice.
    God? Is that you?
    But if it had been God, the very act of focusing had driven him back to his hidden hole in the heavens. She concentrated on Dr. Forrest’s instructions and let herself relax further.
    When she returned from her mental vacation, the computer screen still glared. Nothing but words. If she were to understand how Satanists worked, she needed to translate this nonsense. Maybe if she read LaVey's ideas with a cold and academic eye, without the preconceptions, Satan would lose his power to reach out from the past.
    After a few minutes of going through the rules, she thought she understood something of Satanism's attraction. Indulge yourself in this world, right here and now, instead of waiting for an eternal reward. Seek gratification of the flesh and mind instead of the spiritual satisfaction of a life wasted helping others. Be kind only if it leads to personal gain, otherwise practice cruelty, and don't dare turn the other cheek.
    Give in to nature instead of rising above your base animal instincts. Take what you want, because if you have the power to take it, it rightfully belongs to you.
    Be selfish and petty and to hell with everybody else.
    The "official" portrayal of Satan wasn't the damned, evil Prince of Lies presented by the conservative sects of the Christian church. This Satan was a smiling, benevolent uncle who always had a pocketful of candy to dispense. This Satan never punished. This Satan didn't require that his followers roast for an eternity to prove their devotion.
    Well, which one is the real Satan? If God indeed wears many faces, the devil must have more masks than a Hollywood prop shop.
    Even though LaVey urged his followers not to harm children or animals, only full-grown adults who happened to be standing in the way, the other camp believed that blood offered power and magic. And to them, what Julia considered the Crowley Camp, power was what Satan was all about.
    Not that Aleister Crowley attributed his power to Satan. No, that would have deflected some glory from Crowley himself, who petulantly demanded to be called the Great Beast. So yet another false prophet inflicted the world with his self-aggrandizing beliefs, the magick so precious that an extra letter had to be added. Scariest of all was Crowley's espousal of blood as life energy, with sex as a source of power and magic. Naturally, the most potent "spiritual working" came from the fluids of the innocent: the children.
    So Crowley basically built himself a religious system that excused the molestation of children, and in fact encouraged it. The idea of the fat, drugged-out satyr abusing a child made her want to vomit. Crowley's first