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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Lillith Summoned

  Copyright ã 2004 Alayne Warren

  Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004

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  Dedication:

  To everyone who believes in Witches and Warlocks—Happy Samhain!

  Ritual

  My tools were gathered upon the grass at my feet. No longer green and lush, the browns and ambers of autumn had rushed in, turning the grass and trees around me into burnished gold. The air held a chill, not quite cold, that made my nipples harden and reach toward that caressing finger of air.

  Nakedness at night was my favorite indulgence. My second would be my rituals, and on this night before Samhain, like no other, I was in my element. I love everything about Samhain—its colors, its chants, its magical tools and even more magical words. I love feeling the ability to connect with my departed loved ones, but more so, the feeling that I’m beginning a period of my life anew.

  October thirty-first is not just Halloween, is not just Samhain or Ancestor Night, but is also the beginning of the Celtic New Year. And I, Lilith, am a practicing Wiccan Priestess. For me, naked in the moonlight of a harvest moon, alone on a cliff-side overlooking the sea, about to begin my yearly ritual, there is no better place on earth. It was the eve of Samhain, true, but I had rituals that needed to be done early to allow me more time for tomorrow night’s festivities.

  I could smell the salt from the water hundreds of feet below me. As I stood a few inches from the edge of the bluffs and raised my head and arms to catch the last lingering brushes of the breeze, I almost felt as if I could feel the spray from the waves upon my bare skin. I couldn’t, of course, but the illusion is there.

  Some of my fellow brothers and sisters have never understood why I performed my particular ritual on the eve of Samhain, with only myself for company. Why not wait until we’re all gathered together before invoking the spirit of my dearly departed? Why, indeed?

  Ancestor Night has, for each individual, a special meaning. Some members of the coven asked guidance from their passed mothers, fathers, grandparents or siblings. I, in my special ritual on the eve of Samhain, always asked for guidance from Conroy, the husband and life partner I had lost over six years earlier.

  Conroy, as his Irish Gaelic name implies, was beyond wise. He was the counterpart to my foolishness, the polar opposite of my hardheadedness. Conroy was, quite simply, the love of my life.

  When we first met, I was already a practicing Wiccan. Conroy thought me foolish—and undeniably beautiful. Our love and passion was instantaneous, something that could not be denied. Neither of us wanted to deny it, so it all worked out in the end.

  Wiccans, contrary to popular belief, are not the types of witches and wizards that can defy the course of what life throws in front of us. Conroy was killed in a boating accident, swept overboard by waves that not even the strongest practitioner of magic could control.

  I’ve grieved for him since. Conroy was my lover, my best friend, and my partner in all things. His death has never become less of a burden; in fact, as time goes on, sorrow begins to settle heavier and heavier upon my heart.

  I have my coven, I have my friends, and I have my fellow believers. What I don’t have is the feeling of love and security that Conroy brought to me. The only man to ever make me feel whole has long since passed the boundaries of this earth, and I am still floundering around, lost and helpless without his steady presence.

  On this night, as on every Samhain eve since Conroy’s passing, I would invoke his spirit to guide me through the coming year. There was calm in the ritual, peacefulness in knowing that I would be able to commune with him once again, if only for a little while.

  This ritual was my salvation, giving me the strength to live another year without the comfort of being in his arms.

  I had already swept the area for my circle, and outlined it with salt. The black Goddess candle sat at the top left corner of my altar, made up of my black satin altar cloth, my ritual tools, and a picture of Conroy and I, taken so many years earlier, along this very same bluff.

  I leaned down and carefully place the black God candle at the top right corner of the altar, and set breads on the altar an equal distance between the two tapers. On the pentacle that was sewn into the center of my altar cloth, I placed more bread, fresh vegetables, and apples.

  The wind picked up, and I felt it breathe upon my naked skin. I had already bathed and purified myself in preparation of the ceremony. I was wearing nothing but my own cloak of waist-length sable hair and the ring that Conroy had given me on our first wedding anniversary. A platinum band encircled with pentacles and pentagrams, it was my most cherished possession.

  I sat down in front of my altar and did a silent meditation to ground myself. Then I rose to cast the circle, and began my ritual.

  I lit the Goddess candle and invoked her guidance.

  “Dark Mother, rule of the night, Goddess of death and rebirth, Hear and behold your Child this night as I honor Thee and Thy realm. I stand humbly before Thee, asking for Thy blessing and favor. Lift, now, the Veil between the world, as this time-out-of-time begins, that I may commune with my ancestors as they journey to the Summerlands.”

  I stepped back from the altar, never letting my gaze wander from the Goddess candle. The flame flickered in the wind off the sea, and seemed to grow brighter and larger before my eyes. The Goddess was listening.

  I moved to the God candle and prepared to invoke his guidance.

  “Dark Father, aged Consort of the Crone, Lord of the Underworld, Hear and behold your Child this night as I honor Thee and Thy realm. I stand between Thee and Thy Lady, asking for blessing and favor. As this time-out-of-time approaches, stand ever guard as the Veil lifts, keep safe my ancestors, and all of my loved ones as they journey to the Summerlands.”

  The God candle was still—no wind rose to ease its flame along. I concentrated harder, projecting my wish for safe journey as Conroy made the journey between our two worlds. It seemed as if hours passed, days, but I know it was only minutes before the flame finally jumped to life.

  I reached for an apple from my altar, and stepped back once again. The God and Goddess were listening.

  “Tonight as the barrier between the two realms grows thin, Spirits walk amongst us, once again. They be family, friends, and foes, pets and wildlife, fishes and crows. But be we still mindful of the Wee Folk at play, elves, fey, brownies, and sidhe.”

  I used my Bolline to cut the apple crosswise, revealing the symbolic pentagram at the core of the fruit. Taking a bite out of one half of the apple, I set it back down on the Pentacle of my altar.

  “Some to trick, some to treat, some to purposely misguide our feet. Stay we on the paths we know, as planting sacred apples we go.”


  I lifted my wand to bless the Feast of the Dead. Waving it over the bread, vegetables, and fruit, I offered the feast to the God and Goddess.

  “This Feast I shall leave on my doorstep all night. In my window one candle should burn bright, to help my loved ones find their way as they travel this eve, and this night, until day. Bless this offering, both Lady and Lord, of breads and fruits, greens and gourds.”

  I carefully placed my wand back on the altar and bowed my head, silent as both Lord and Lady hopefully received my blessing. After minutes of silence, I lit the black votive candle that was resting inside my cauldron.

  “Dark Mother, Your cauldron is a well of death and rebirth. Dark Father, Your sword both protects and annihilates. Hear me now as the past year slowly dies, only to be reborn again. Tomorrow, the last of the Harvests shall be complete. This symbolic Harvest is of my thought-seeds, planted and nurtured throughout this past year. May the good come to pass and the bad be cast aside. With Your divine guidance and protection, I step into the New Year. May I have good health, prosperity, and happiness.”

  With the flame of the black votive candle, I lit the wick of the white pillar that also rested in the cauldron.

  “As the New Year is born, we are all reborn with new hopes and dreams. Guide me in the future as in the past. Give me strength and courage, knowledge and fulfillment. Assist me as I attempt to achieve my goals.”

  I snuffed the black votive and replaced it with a new one. I removed the white pillar and moved it to center of my altar. I stared into the flame, thinking of my goals for the coming year. Please, I thought, guide me as I seek to begin my life anew. I do not wish to forget Conroy, but to replace my sorrow with only happy memories of what once was. I do not seek a replacement for my love, but the ability to live my once as I once did—happy, fulfilled, and peaceful. I hoped on all that I held holy that the God and Goddess were listening. I could not make it through another year with this heavy heart, with this weight upon my heart and soul.

  “Every beginning has an ending, and every ending is a new beginning. In Life is Death, and in Death is Life. Watch over me, my loved ones, and all of my Brothers and Sisters, here and departed, who tonight are joined together again for fellowship and celebration. Bless us all as we light our bonfires, our hearth fires, and the eternal fires in our hearts. Guide us and protect us, tonight and throughout the coming year. Blessed Be! Blessed Be!”

  I raised my arms high above my head, taking in the breeze, the salt of the ocean, the spill of the moon. I embraced those of my ancestors who were listening, who would guide me and, I hoped, redeem me. I reached out to them all—my Brothers and Sisters, Conroy, every man and woman on Earth. I embraced them, and in return, I hugged my arms around myself to gather inside me their love and pride.

  I had chosen not to do spellworking after the ritual, since all of my spells for protection and self-confidence would be done tomorrow, on Samhain, in the presence of my brethren. Instead, I celebrated the ritual with a few small bites of cake and swigs of ale, then closed my circle.

  The white pillar candle I would take home with me, to leave burning for the night in my window.

  My ritual was finished. Now I could only hope for the best, that the God and Goddess had heard my pleas and accepted my feast and blessings, and would guide and protect me through the coming year.

  After all of my instruments were put away, I lay flat on my back in the slightly damp grass, watching the moon above me and feeling the sway of the ocean through the ground under my body.

  And then Conroy was there, not in person, but in spirit. I couldn’t see him, but his voice whispered in my ear like a caress, so perfect that for a moment I was sure I could turn my head and catch sight of him.

  “Go to him,” he said, and I know that I frowned.

  “Go to whom?” I asked. I didn’t dare turn my head for fear that any movement would cause his spirit to flee.

  “The one who calls you. The Warlock who has petitioned the God and Goddess for help of his own, as you have.”

  The wind stirred, and I felt Conroy’s hands upon my body. Or I thought I did, as the breeze blew over my naked skin and things low in my body pulled tight and sharp.

  “Go to him, my love, for he needs you as I no longer do. I have work to do in the Summerlands, and you still have work to do upon the Earth.”

  He wasn’t here, not in a physical form, but I felt anyway his lips press upon my own in a lingering caress. “Go the Sun Warlock, Lilith, and allow him to ease your pain as you ease his in return.”

  And then he was gone, as was the wind. The ocean below me was silent, and the world darkened as the almost full moon slipped behind a bank of clouds.

  Go the Sun Warlock, he’d said. I knew exactly whom he meant, and I didn’t want to go. But Conroy had told me that the Warlock could ease my pain—and isn’t that exactly what I’d asked the God and Goddess to do?

  I gathered my silk bag, full of the tools I’d used in ritual, and gathered the white candle in my free hand. As I walked the open field back to my home, I wondered how in the world I could possibly ease someone’s pain, when my own filled my heart to overflowing.

  Especially the pain of a man I could not bear to look upon.

  Succubus

  I have been obsessed with the thought of summoning a succubus for so long that I can no longer remember when the idea first came to me.

  Succubus comes from the Latin word succubare, which means, literally, to lie under. A succubus is a female demon that comes to men, usually in their sleep, to seduce them and have sexual intercourse with them, thus sucking up their power and life force—again, literally—often times to the point of exhaustion or death for the male who has summoned her.

  When I put it that way, it sounds insane. What man, even one who is starved for sexual attention, wants to be sucked dry to the point of death?

  I don’t want to die, but I also refuse to live another year without the touch of a woman to bring me sexual fulfillment. You would think it would be easy for me to ease this sexual hunger that throbs and thrashes inside of me. I am, after all, a Warlock. A Sun Warlock, to be exact, with powers that other Witches and Warlock’s can only dream of.

  The tendency to avoid other people, along with their aversion to me, puts a damper on human contact.

  If you asked members of the general population why they avoid me, or, for that matter, the members of my coven, you’d undoubtedly get one of three answers. First of all, my power scares them. Secondly, I’m not that friendly. And last but not least, the scar that runs down the left side of my face has the ability to frighten more than just small children and household pets.

  I have to admit that my powers are large, and for those unschooled in their meaning, intimidating. A Sun Warlock can, as the name implies, harness certain energies of the sun, and turn those energies into manifested powers. I have learned to tap into the infinite power of the sun, and to turn around and use that power for other means.

  My actual physical attributes can, and do, change according to whatever ritual of magic I am employing at any given time. My skin may become warm to the touch, my eyes might glow like the embers of the sun, and my hair color can surprisingly change to the color of whatever fire body I am close to. I am a Sun Warlock, yes, but I can also use the energy of smaller bodies of fire, such as a bonfire or even the small flame of a candle. I am also surrounded by a small, warm glow of light that never disappears. Not actual shining, but the illusion of shining.

  As for my actual powers, they are many, and can be used in a variety of ways. I can actually cause gravity to change for a person or object. I can enwrap myself in a sphere of light and thus have no need for food, water, or air. I can summon a sphere of light to embrace the darkness, without being in the actual vicinity of a flame. I can harness the power of the sun into a fireball. During the hours of sunlight, I can silently send a message to another Sun Warlock, regardless of his physical distance from me. I can also make metal so hot to the
touch that it becomes a brand.

  That leads me to my scar. I can withstand heat that no normal human, witch or warlock, could ever withstand. But I, like everyone else, am susceptible to a steel blade. When that blade has been heated up to temperatures beyond endurance, and is slashed in my direction, I am powerless to stop it. And I was powerless, when having extended my abilities to heat the blade to use upon my enemy, he turned it onto me.

  I used to believe that I was a handsome man. Before I became disfigured, before I realized that no woman would willingly come to my bed.

  I’m not unfriendly, as my brothers and sisters believe. I have simply housed myself and my emotions behind a wall of my own making, to guard myself from the emotional harm that others unknowingly inflict upon me.

  Which is why it has been over nineteen years since I’ve lain with a woman. And is why, even with the possibility that it may kill me, I have chosen to summon a succubus to relieve the sexual frustrations of my very human body.

  A lifetime ago, it seems, I wished for the love of a woman to compliment me. I even had it once, during a time when I was just coming into my powers. The results were disastrous, and I have since learned that for all the light and warmth that I can wrap around myself, love is nothing but another illusion to bathe myself in.

  Now, I’ll settle for sex that will purge my mind of everything I once had, and then lost. My powers are at their fullest strength in the daytime, when the sun shines pure and bright over the land. But summoning a succubus is tricky business—it’s been attempted, sometimes with tricky results, for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Through my study of the matter, I’ve learned that it’s a ritual best done in the night, with only the pale light of the moon shining down.

  Which is why I stand naked in the clearing in the woods behind my home, on the eve of Samhain, with only the moon to light my way. I live high on a bluff overlooking the ocean, as distanced and alone, as cut off from the rest of the world, as I myself am. I spend very little time staring at the sea, but when I perform my rituals, I come to the clearing that nature has provided between the forest of trees.