I sit in one of the dives

On Fifty-Second Street

Uncertain and afraid

As the clever hopes expire

Of a low dishonest decade:

Waves of anger and fear

Circulate over the bright

And darkened lands of the earth,

Obsessing our private lives;

The unmentionable odour of death

Offends the September night.

And so it had begun all over again. The peace gained at Versailles was not a noble one. Germany lay in ruins. Disgruntled veterans returned home to a country divided by warring political factions. Hampered by national war debts and racked by a depression which shot the price of bread to a staggering sum, the country fell to its knees and was ripe for the picking. A former postcard painter turned street-fighter languished in jail. On his release, the embittered ex-corporal drew to his cause an assortment of dreamers, thugs, and madmen. The nation watched. Supported heartily by some, and tolerated by a great many wearied of dissent and encouraged by order, Hitler and the Nazi party gained prominence.

Berlin in 1943. Spring was here. The linden trees were in full bloom and the city had recovered from the staggering news of the loss of the entire German 6th Army at Stalingrad. A sunny warmth cocooned the city. Inside an imposing brick fortress-like structure, blond young officers in black uniforms strode briskly through the lobby of the SS Political Research Department. The silver death heads on their collars made Quentin shudder. When would the world ever learn, he wondered. Don't they realized what happened just a generation ago? He thought of Colin, long buried now in a British Army cemetery in France. His eyes narrowed in hatred. It was men like these efficient young officers who brought destruction to the world. Men who turned blind eyes to the evil their service created.

Quentin had come to Berlin in the late 30's. Within the Nazi party bloomed a sect of darker spirits. Men and women familiar with black arts and the ancient lores of magic, myth and ritual. Hitler himself was fascinated by astrology and numerology. He encouraged research, and rejoiced at the antiquities raiding his army carried out in each invasion of other nations. And so Quentin had found himself here, researching the stolen, accumulated knowledge. Still looking to end the curse which plagued him. He was once again a stranger in a strange land.

He had traveled to Switzerland first, A well-placed bribe to a sleepy and disinterested village clerk obtained a birth certificate for a long dead infant by the name of Egon Wittner. From there, it was an easy trick to secure a Swiss passport . With Switzerland enjoying the status of a neutral nation, he was allowed to remain in Germany when war broke out.

His activities had not gone unnoticed, however. Frequent requests for books on myth and magic at the university were noted and his long hours perusing the back shelves of Berlin rare-book dealers were appraised. He was detained one morning, as he left his flat for coffee. He was asked many questions about his interests. Quentin could feel a subtle squeeze since then. He was encouraged to share his research with the SS. At night he knew he was being followed. He suspected things had become quickly dangerous. Of course he was still immortal, but if they came for him and found he could not die, he knew he would quickly become a captive for their notorious medical research programs.

A stout, heavily perspiring man burst through an office door and jovially called for Quentin to enter. "Herr Wittner! How good it is to see you again!" Hauptmann Kreuzer took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow with meaty, freckled hands. Quentin sauntered in, smiling charmingly. Inside he felt taut. He exchanged banal pleasantries yet his mind was elsewhere. The Holy Chalice. They had found it. That was the frenzied gossip of the outer circles at the PRD. His mind reeled with the possibilities. The Holy Chalice. Rumored to have been the cup from which Christ himself had once sipped. The Chalice for which Arthur's knights had once searched. Legend told that when found again it would produce miraculous events for those who possessed it. Those who knew how to harness its powers. Quentin felt himself on edge. He had to find the Chalice. Had to see if he could bring its powers under control and end the decades old curse which haunted him.

Kreuzer removed a black leather portfolio from a drawer in his desk. He smiled up at Quentin with narrow, piggish eyes. He emitted a girlish giggle as he whispered conspiratorially. "And so my friend, we have it. That is to say Von Konigswald, has it. What we have though, is something he doesn't know exist. And something which holds the key to what he has."

Quentin was stunned. General Von Konigswald ran the PRD. A dangerously obsessive man with a memory for the past transgressions of others, he had risen to his position over the corpses of his predecessors. 1936. The Night of the Long Knives. Hitler's own sharks fed among themselves in a frenzy of twisted loyalties. Those who survived were the very ruthless or the very lucky. Von Konigswald was both. And now this spring of 1943 found him in command of the PRD and in possession of the world's rarest and most sought-after artifact; The Holy Chalice.

He listened carefully to Kreuzer. What did he mean? If Von Konigswald had the Chalice, then what else would he need? Perhaps he lacked the knowledge to employ it, he surmised. Then what was it Kreuzer had? He turned his best blue-eyed charm on Kreuzer. "Well, Hauptmann, whatever you have there must surely be important and this may not be the place to show me. I assume we're going somewhere?"

Kreuzer let loose with another of his schoolgirlish giggles. Quentin despised the man. Kreuzer was a fool. If he wasn't careful, this porcine, giggling idiot would bring it all crashing down upon them with his notorious risk-taking. To think he would have so casually brought what ever it was inside that portfolio to this PRD nest of vipers was incredulous.

"Yes, of course, my friend. My driver is outside waiting. Shall we?" Kreuzer did up the top button on his uniform and cocked his officer's cap to a rakish angle. Beaming broadly, he escorted Quentin through the door. Once in the car, Quentin began another question but Kreuzer curtly nodded toward the driver. They sped silently a few blocks, then the sedan pulled up sharply to the curb.

The driver jumped out and quickly returned with a starkly striking, uniformed woman. She ducked swiftly inside and sat across from Quentin. Kreuzer giggled again and introduced them. "Egon, my friend...this is Anna-Leise Hannaker. Leutnant Hannaker. Also with the PRD."

He had heard of her. A political officer with the dubious charm of being exceptionally striking. Like most of the SS, she was a Nordic type. Her eyes were not the boyish sky-blue of Quentin's, however. They were dark, almost violet in color. Her whitish blonde mane swept slickly up beneath her black cap. He flashed his best disarming grin for which he received a penetrating stare. Ignoring Quentin, she leaned close to Kreuzer and whispered something to him. Kreuzer's face contorted in laughter as he squealed in delight.

Quentin sighed inwardly and slouched back into the seat. A real ice princess, he mused. Kreuzer rudely shouted directions to the driver. They quickly left the city and drove on until the outlying towns gave way to scattered villages. The landscape changed from open fields to a thick stand of ancient forest. Through the trees he could make out a clearing. Soon a heavily-timbered, magnificent hunting lodge came into view. A Waffen SS soldier stood on guard, armed with a submachine gun. Another soldier walked the perimeter with a sleek, black German Shepherd.

They entered a great, gloomy hall adorned with mounted game trophies. Glass eyes stared flatly from long dead stags. Racks of antlers bristled from each wall. Down the hallway could be heard muffled laughter and the tinkling of a piano. They stepped into a small, dark study and quickly shut the door. Lt. Hannaker fixed Quentin with another icy glare and bluntly spoke.
"Herr Wittner, we have little reason to trust you, but much to gain from your knowledge. If you leak anything about what we are about to say, I personally assure you, you will live to regret it. Do I make myself clear?"

Despite himself, he flinched. The Somme had taught him that although he may be immortal, he was not immune to pain.

Hannaker watched him closely. She noticed his flinch and smirked at his weakness. She took the leather portfolio from Kreuzer and slid it across the desk.. "Open it." she commanded.

Quentin slowly opened the portfolio. Inside he found a brittle, illustrated manuscript. The writing was Latin. His last twenty years had been spent in the pursuit of varied knowledge, and he gratefully congratulated himself on his hidden talent for languages. He quickly translated the manuscript aloud;

"From the vessel that brought succor to our Lord, shall also flow the goods of heaven and the powers over earth. In the face of dark and light shall the vessel be blessed. Let a dark innocent and demon fair alike be sacrificed, then shall all behold. But he that would gain the knowledge shall look to the lord of Salem, for in he will lie the knowledge of the Chalice."
Padraic 1100 AD

Padraic...a 12th century monk in Ireland who'd been responsible for the preservation of many ancient writings. As Quentin read the words he thought of their meaning. "Let an innocent and demon alike be sacrificed.." Was that to be interpreted literally?

Hannaker stood and stared openly at Quentin. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. This woman disturbed him. The whole damn country spooked him. What happened to the Germany of Beethoven, Bach, and Schopenhauer? He didn't want this dread again. Hadn't he already suffered enough? He wanted to turn and run.

"Herr Wittner, you have much knowledge in the conjuring of demons, have you not?"

Quentin was startled. Where was this going? Were they planning on wresting the chalice from Von Konigswald? Why did they need him? As for his conjuring abilities, how could they know this?

He smiled weakly and offhandedly replied, "Scholarly references, yes. It's always been my interest."

Hannaker gave a derisive snort. With a steely voice she replied, "Why so modest, Herr Wittner? I've heard much about you. Do you remember Dr. Kemmerich? You had a most interesting conversation with him...let me think...last week. Monday afternoon to be exact. You discussed a rare treatise by Cotton Mather, of Salem witchcraft fame. Kemmerich reports you made several fascinating references to a last chapter. Oddly enough, Herr Wittner, that last chapter was destroyed by fire in the New York Public Library rare book collection which was I believe, in 1910."

Quentin remembered the conversation. He had managed to shake his SS tail and finally meet with Kemmerich at the university. They had spoken of conjuring. He had forgotten then, that the treatise he read in 1910 was long destroyed. How much more did they know about him? Suddenly he realized what they were driving at....Cotton Mather...the Salem witchcraft trials....The lord of Salem...Somewhere in that long destroyed treatise was the key to working the Chalice's magic!

Hannaker stared hard at Quentin, as if willing a reply. He said nothing. Better to know what else they knew...what else they wanted. Hannaker brought her hands to her hips and chortled. "Herr Wittner, do I intimidate you? I suppose I need to make this very plain. Very well. Listen."

She thrust her hands to her hips and parted her lips slightly in a menacing smile. "Thanks to Kemmerich, we know that you have read this missing chapter. There is no one in Germany now, who has done so. You seem to have studied it well, Herr Wittner. The knowledge you have may well allow us to master the Chalice. You will share that knowledge. If you don't we shall kill you. Very simple."

Mather's last chapter....it spoke of the demon world and carried descriptions of various conjurer's tricks. Nothing came to his mind immediately. His mind seemed blank. He was too nervous, just now. I need to get away, somehow, he thought. I need time to think...

Quentin shrugged his shoulders. He summoned as much calmness as he could muster, and forced a weak grin. "Nothing comes to mind, Leutnant Hannaker...Perhaps if you gave me some time? After all, it was rather a lengthy chapter from an often tedious treatise."

Hannaker smiled enigmatically. She turned on her heels and strode quickly from the room, her words tailing her. "Oh but of course...we've a party to attend!"

Quentin shot an angry glare at Kreuzer. "Kreuzer, I realize you work for the Party, but could you have at least questioned me yourself? Did you have to drag her into this?"

Kreuzer shrugged and replied, "Egon, my friend...Anna-Leise is brusque but she has her charms. Just remember what she said about not telling anyone, yes?"

Quentin rolled his eyes in disgust. "I think I got that part." he replied. He slowly followed Kreuzer out of the room, lost in thought. He suddenly thought of Barnabas. God, if he were here to talk to about this...he was so alone....always alone. The pain of immortality was in the losses...a man in one lifetime grieved as one by one, those of his generation died off or fell away. An immortal grieves all the losses of several generations. There was no place to run, now. There was nothing to do but see it through, somehow. And be alone...

He entered a dark, cavernous room. A scattering of tables were illuminated by flickering candles. A chrome-plated bar snaked around one wall. In the corner, a knot of Waffen SS officers stood about a piano, belting out `Lili Marlene.' Throughout the room were tables filled with crystal bowls, holding floating white blossoms. A cloying scent of jasmine filled the smoky air. At the tables, boisterous groups of sleek officers laughed heartily with several stunning, jeweled women. Laughter and loud conversation filled the air. A white-tuxedoed waiter walked by with a silver tray of drinks. Quentin snatched a whiskey and walked away from the crowd.

Towards the back wall were several oversized, leather sofas. He sat nursing his drink. He had suddenly realized how selfish he had become again. His curse against what was happening in the world now. Lenore and her children and grandchildren....their peace versus something much more powerful he could attain: Could he alter world events? Could the Chalice be powerful enough to stop the Nazis? He laughed inwardly at himself. Listen to me, he thought. From selfish coward in one moment, to unlikely shining hero in another; always the story of my life....

He took another drink from the bar and sought refuge again in the corner. It was all a waiting game now. He had all the time in the world. He was seventy-three years old. He was used to waiting. He sat watching the crowd...

Quentin slowly grew conscious of being watched. A tall, muscular man in a trim black tanker's uniform stood over him. His face was turned away to the side as he spoke. "Herr Wittner, do you mind if I join you?"

Quentin was instantly on his guard. I'm getting to be too well-known around here, he gloomily thought. He nodded his head with a polite smile. The big man sat down and slowly turned his face toward Quentin. It was horrific The left side of his face appeared melted. Deep livid red and pink blotches had destroyed the side of his nose and pulled his misshapen lips down into a permanent animal snarl. The eyebrow was gone and beneath a swollen, enlarged lid, a small, colorless eye stared blindly out. The man smiled crookedly. "It does take some getting used to. For myself as well. If I rise early I sometimes forget and only when I begin to shave do I remember. Herr Wittner, I'm Leutnant Willi Tjaden."

Quentin smiled slightly. I'd introduce myself, but it appears you know me."

"Yes. We have mutual friends. Anna-Leise...she thinks quite highly of you."

Quentin suppressed a laugh. "Does she? Well, the lady is certainly a mystery to me."

Tjaden turned his ruined side away and gave another crooked smile. "I'm glad of that. She is my fiancee, you see. A man with your looks make for stiff competition with me."
Quentin smiled sympathetically with the man. Looking at him from the right side, one could see what a pleasant, handsome face it had been. From the right side shone a clear gray eye flecked with gold.

Tjaden leaned forward with a flask. "Herr Wittner, have you ever tasted Mead?"

Quentin shook his head. "I've heard of it. The drink of the Vikings, wasn't it? Honeyed wine, I believe."

Tjaden nodded. "This is a special concoction of mine. A little addition of spiced 157 proof rum. Please..try it,"
I assure you, it isn't poisoned. Believe me, I know how Anna-Leise and her friends may seem. Here..watch me."
Tjaden took a long swallow from the flask, then wiped it with a flourish on his sleeve.

Quentin took the flask and sipped it at first. It was indescribable. The spiced taste and powerful warmth rolled down him and set a small tingling glow in each limb. A slow, lazy grin crossed his face. He took another drink, a long swallow this time, then appreciatively closed his eyes. I can't believe I haven't come across this in my seventy-three years, he mused.

Tjaden clapped his shoulder. "Listen Egon...and please, call me Willi...Egon, I've been watching you. I feel you are a man worth knowing. I think we have something in common."

Quentin was intrigued. Why was this seemingly decent fellow with his sad ruined face doing involved with that Nazi witch Hannaker? And what was on his mind?

Tjaden looked at him appraisingly. "Egon, I was with the 5th Panzer Division. I commanded a tank platoon on the Eastern front. I've seen things that no one could describe. And you.....you've seen something also. I am an observer by nature. Especially now...I sit back from the others and watch. That's how I know about you."

"I'm not quite sure what you're about, Willi."

Tjaden reached into his breast pocket and removed a gold cigarette case. He removed two and offered one to Quentin. "Moroccan...the best."

Quentin did not normally smoke, but he felt the need to stay sharp. Where was this fellow going, he wondered. He took the offered light and inhaled deeply. Rich, thick, slightly sweet smoke filled his throat. Tjaden offered him another swallow from the flask and continued.

"Egon....You've got it.....the `thousand yard stare.' What all combat veterans develop. I saw it in your eyes while you were watching the crowds. And when a waiter dropped a glass a while earlier, I saw you flinch."

Quentin took another deep draught from the flask. "Willi, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm Swiss. We're neutral, you know. Ask me about clocks and chocolate, instead." Quentin grinningly replied.

Tjaden shook his head impatiently. "Egon...I know better. You've been there. So..soldier to soldier...I want to talk to you. Look at these others..." He shook his head in disgust. "Political officers who hide behind desks...Waffen SS..some fight all right, but most terrorize Jews and Russian peasants."

Tjaden turned his ruined face toward Quentin again and whispered lowly, " War taught me one thing. To hate war itself. And all these people here tonight."

Quentin relaxed. Tjaden was a rare find here. What a predicament the poor fellow was in. Engaged to the gung-ho Nazi ice princess feeling the way he did. Perhaps he could make this man an ally. He inhaled the cigarette deeply again and quietly replied, "Willi....that isn't a very popular opinion in Germany just now..."

Willi gave another crooked grin. "It is in this corner of the room, eh, Egon?"

"Willie...Feeling the way you do...What about Anna-Leise?"
Tjaden hung his head. Softly he replied, "That is the problem...we were both raised up with all this, you understand...it's hard to break away from it. I will bring her around, you see. There is quite an underground growing. Slowly, you understand, we must be careful. But we're growing..I'm not very active...but I do what I can here. I'm in command of a local Volkssturm unit. The people's reserves....old men and boys, really, but there are also wounded veterans like myself, who've had enough. I help them, with any information I can provide."

Quentin felt strangely relaxed. He took another swig and handed the flask back to Tjaden. He took another drag of the cigarette. Smoke curled pleasantly out of his nostrils as the Mead filled his body with warmth.

"Willi...." he grinned suddenly. He was about to tell Willi something. What was it? "Willi...." he started again and stopped. Quentin stood suddenly, almost falling. He felt dizzy. Am I that drunk, he wondered? He looked around. The room seemed darker. There were whispering, laughing couples on the other couches. He heard what sounded like a cracking whip and then a sharp cry. He felt at a loss and began to wander aimlessly...drugged....the Mead..the cigarette...he stumbled out of the room and walked crookedly down the hall. Where am I going....don't know...just go...walk..somewhere...

He crashed into two men whispering against the wall. Hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away. He bumped into a door which cracked open. Another room...dark...no lights in this place...He felt for a wall and leaned heavily against it. There were soft foosteps... Someone here?

A cool hand reached out and touched his cheek. Quentin froze. The hand reached up and caressed his brow. He struggled to speak. The same cool hand brushed against his lips and pressed softly. Jasmine filled his nostrils. A soft, hot body pressed against his. He reached out to push away, but his hands instead held... Soft...silk...hot...His jacket and tie were off. Cool soft hands fingered at his buttons and his shirt fell free. He slid down against the wall, moaning softly. It was so good....

A soft, thick mane of hair brushed against his shoulders. Hot kisses rained down on his bare chest. He lay passively, mind blank and body burning...The cool, soft hands and hot mouth were everywhere and time fell away.

Someone was inside his head. Memories would rush up inside him then be flung aside, like someone rifling through drawers. Quentin's mind raged in alarm.....inside of him he was chasing someone....don't trust...don't listen...don't talk....Someone was talking to him. His head hurt. Someone was talking to him...kind and soothing. Why did his head hurt? He fell...from the stairs...he'd tried to climb them..his head hurt, but Mama was there...She was dressed in an organdy silk gown and smelled so good when she picked him up..."It's OK, Quentin...I'm here...Mama's here..."He smiled softly. Tell me a story, little one...tell Mama about the golden cup...

Quentin smiled again. His mind relaxed. In a soft, childish voice he replied, "up high, Mama...up high..we go up high an' look down..we see them."

She kissed him lightly. Inside he jerked again. No....not right....it was her....she was inside with him...Now there was someone else. Someone also familiar. Someone who would help him..

Violet eyes changed to mild blue. The face grew more oval. The white-blonde main grew a softer golden and was swept up in delicate curls at the side. A long slender, neck and a soft look...Beth...She looked at him sweetly. "I've missed you Quentin...tell me a story...tell me about the Chalice...Where will we use it, love? How and when?"

He smiled again..."Beth, I remember....Mather... Padraic's spirit came to him...He said....... where the cliffs look down to the sea....Where the armies will come by sea from the west. There the magic will come forth when the demon and innocent are slain...the sixth day of the sixth month...The year of 9..The Immortal shall call.....me, Beth..come with me! Help me!"

Beth? She was gone. Quentin sat up suddenly and shivered. He was drenched in sweat. He looked around groggily. He was sitting up in bed. Hannaker sat in a chair across from him, clad only in Quentin's shirt. She gave him a long, curious look. There was something different in her eyes. He suddenly remembered. She was in that room with him! She had been inside his head. Playing with his memories. A sharp bitterness hit him. This is what rape must feel like. Anna-Leise had taken his body and played with his mind. How much else did she know about him? Oddly enough, he no longer felt any fear of her. He was beyond even his earlier hate. He looked at her stonily.

"You are a very remarkable man, Quentin...your memories...so incredible...so vivid. I don't know whether to believe it all. Either you are mad or you have lived over fifty years without aging. You're mad or you've been a man-killing beast....You've known vampires and witches, and even survived the Somme." She looked at him wonderingly.

He stared back. "I must say, Anna-Leise, you're not very original. Drugging and seducing. It's been done before."

She lit a cigarette and tossed her rumpled hair back. Smoke curled from her nostrils as she gave a soft laugh. "I seem to recall several memories of yours, involving getting girls drunk and taking advantage of them."

"How did you do it, Anna-Leise? Hypnotize me?"

She pulled her chair closer toward the bed. With an intense look she replied, "Listen to me, Quentin. It isn't some cheap nightclub hypnotist trick. I've psychic powers. Not like those who pick lucky numbers or predict the future. I can actually enter people's minds..know what they're thinking...know their memories. Yes, I drugged and seduced you. I had to make you relax. Make you trust me. And make you remember what you'd read."

Quentin swung his legs over the bed, his face taut. He hands clutched the edge of the bed tightly. He leveled his eyes into hers. "Listen to me, Anna-Leise...The tables have turned, somewhat. Mather said `the Immortal will call.' You know that's me. It's my destiny to hold that Chalice. If you've been deep enough inside of me, you know it's me. You need me. I think we need to start discussing an alliance, here."

Anna-Leise said nothing. She turned away, then rose. She walked to the wall and leaned against it, tossing her hair back and looking at him curiously. She didn't like the way she was starting to feel. She'd warned Willi about using her gift on others. He'd insisted, and it had worked. But Quentin's memories shook her. She'd taken other men down and raced through their minds. Even then it was hard. Once you have lived inside of someone, you developed a certain bond. But his memories were so epic...so wildly varied...all the passion and frenzy...the edge of despair always present....the quick anger...Looking at him now, she ached to touch him once again. His tall, lean frame so graceful, his blue eyes now stormy under challenging dark brows. She'd sensed the depth of the love he'd given to others. What would it be like to have this fascinating man love her that way?

Quentin sensed again that something had changed in her. He closed his eyes in concentration. There was something of her lingering inside of him. A curiosity...a heat....a need...He rose and walked to her. She turned away, reaching for her dress. He grabbed her hands. She turned to him, frowning. He leaned into her, pressing her body against the heavy paneling. A hand went to each side of her, trapping her tightly between himself and the wall. She pushed against his chest, even as her lips parted and her mouth sought his. This time he took her. Hard and long until she ceased to move beneath him and they lay panting in silence.

They sat together, half-dressed at a corner table. Anna-Leise combed her long mane and swept it up in a neat bun. She struggled to control her feelings. There was something more important now. She fixed her eyes on his. He looked at her questioningly. "Quentin...about what Mather said. I know where and when you are to do it!"

He looked at her in interest. "And?"

"Think, Quentin...'where the cliffs look down to the sea and the armies will come by sea from the west'.....and think of the date! `The sixth day of the six month in the year of 9.' The year of 9 in Numerology is a reduced number. Next year will be 1944. Add the numbers 1,9,4,4 together and you get 18. Add 1 and 8 and you have 9. That is the date...June 6, 1944.'

Quentin didn't quite follow her. "What about the cliffs and the armies `by sea from the west?'"

She grasped his arm and earnestly exclaimed, "The Allied invasion, Quentin. Look at what's happening now. We're falling back in Russia. We all know Stalin is demanding that Roosevelt open a second front. Look at all the men and supplies starting to trickle in Great Britain. Many think it's just a matter of time before they cross the English channel and invade. By next summer, they'll be ready. That must be the date! And the cliffs....could that be Normandy? I've been there...sheer cliffs on some parts looking down over the sea."
She looked at him, triumphantly. He watched her, trying to fathom her feelings and motivations. It seemed as likely an interpretation as any. And so it was probably true. And if she kept the secret of the invasion from the Nazis? Just what in the hell was going to happen, anyway? Didn't she understand that? Whatever powers they were about to produce were surely greater than themselves....

Quentin took her arm. "Anna-Leise...think about something a minute. We don't even know what we're doing, really. We've been chasing after something we don't have. If we get it, what then? Wait for the invasion, stand there on the cliff, conjure up demons and perform sacrifices, then see what happens next?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you excited?"

He shook his head. "Anna-Leise, we've all been chasing after the Chalice like it was something out of a children's fairy tale. Like it would give us three wishes. Whatever power we release we might not able to control."

They stared at one another. Anna-Leise sat back in the chair and lit another cigarette. She inhaled slowly and deliberated. He was right. They'd all been obsessed with this thing. She laughed inwardly. Quentin had sought it to end his curse. Kreuzer was hoping for riches. Willi had wanted to strike back against the Nazis in order to save a shred of honor for his beloved regular army. And herself? She didn't know even now, what her motivation was. But Quentin was right. Whatever their motives were, they had no idea what would really happen. It was all very dangerous now. But there was something else to consider. It was meant to happen. He was the Immortal. It was kismet.

She spoke slowly, watching his eyes. "Quentin, whether we understand it or can control it, doesn't matter. It's fate..you know it. Whatever is the pull, I'm in it with you. It doesn't matter now what either of us want. We've a bond. And when the time comes we'll go there...and what will be shall happen."

He arched an eyebrow. "Here's another consideration...what about Willi?"

Anna-Leise sighed. She pulled the shade on a broad-beamed window and looked out to dazzlingly sunny skies. It was very late. Willi would be angry. He would suspect she had taken pleasure in her duty of seducing Quentin. He would be right. Poor Willi. His ruined face and ceaseless, disturbing Eastern Front tales horrified her. Had they ever really loved each other, even when he was whole? Their lives seemed a carefully orchestrated procession from the Hitler Youth and Young Maidens to the army and the PRD. A young Aaryan warrior and his destined bride, it seemed. The war intervened with their wedding plans. Now that he was back, it was expected. She shuddered suddenly. She had been inside of Willi's memories to know how torturedly jealous he could become. She would have to steel herself to meet with him. And then there was the `meeting' with Von Konigswald later tonight, to consider....

"Quentin, we're going to have to work quickly. You must trust me now. Only Willi, Kreuzer, and Von Konigswald know about the Chalice. Kreuzer is taking me to Von Konigswald, tonight. I'll be with him, Quentin...alone. Do you understand? I'll have the Chalice tonight."

Quentin felt an unexpected surge of jealousy. She was going to seduce Von Konigswald...enter his mind as she had his. Would she enjoy it as much as well? What sort of bond was between Anna-Leise and himself? Could he even call it love? It was more of an obsession. Was it the same for her? He shook off the thought. and frowned. "Anna-Leise, if you get the Chalice, what then? What about Willi, Kreuzer, and Von Konigswald?"

She smiled enigmatically. "Let me worry about that. I've got to go. But before I do, there's something else I'd like you to think about. In your mind is a memory of a `demon fair.' Angelique was her name. You conjured her before, Quentin. That must be her. When the time comes you must know how to do it again. As for the dark innocent, again, let me worry about that. Now then, off I go. This is my family's lodge. You're quite safe here, until I return."

Quentin watched her silently as she adjusted her clothing and strode briskly from the door. His mind flitted restlessly from thought to thought. Was she cold-bloodedly on her way to kill three men to gain the Chalice? To help him fulfill some sort of destiny? None of it made much sense. And Angelique...Summon Angelique? Summon her and kill her for some ancient prophecy? He couldn't do that...Her lovely face and wicked ways came back to him in strong memories. He'd hated her, admired her, and sometimes he admitted, even lusted after her. They had learned to be unlikely friends. He'd last seen her forty-six years ago. Was her to see her now, only to destroy her?

Quentin wandered aimlessly through the lodge. Uniformed servants scuttled silently about, taking little notice of him. He entered a library stocked with thick, leather-bound volumes. On the walls hung portraits of proud, gowned ladies and fierce, uniformed officers. Black Forest landscapes and illustrated tales from Wagner's operas were interspersed with the portraits. He tried to gain a sense of Anna-Leise from the room. No doubt she was from fine, ancient stock with a proud ancestry. All this culture and history, he mused. For what? A young woman raised up to follow orders and to strive for a destiny twisted from a megalomaniac's frenzied nightmare. Willi was the same. He at least was seeing the truth for what it was: Germany was no longer a country of music, poetry, and science. The country's proud heritage was squandered on deceit, conquest, and genocide. And Anna-Leise? Was she now to help him because she had seen the truth, or was there another dark reason hidden within her?

Dusk fell over the lodge as rain clouds swiftly gathered outside. The torrent broke and soon the rain began pelting the windows in a staccato beat. He'd taken a volume of Shakespeare with him, and sat reading dreamily by the now roaring fireplace in the library. A large, grayish, furry dog had wandered in. A wolfhound, of some type. It sat by the fire, gazing at him with yellow, curious eyes. He called softly to the dog. It stood up and cocked it's head, as if examining Quentin. "Good boy...c'mere boy.." The dog padded softly over to Quentin and laid it's massive head on his knee. He stroked the dog's head absent-mindedly as he continued to read. Hero and Leander...He lost track of time as he read the ancient lines:

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Whoever loved, that loved not at first sight?

She entered the room, impatiently. Her cap was off and her hair, damp from the rain. Quentin looked up, then rose. She ran to his arms. They stood still, embracing tightly and kissing hungrily. He neither knew nor cared where she had been...what she had done...none of it mattered. He was broken from his passionate revelry by the odd sound of slow clapping. He turned his head and saw Willi's large body stretched out in a chair. The blind eye turned away, and the clear, grey eye focused on him.

Quentin stood stock still. A slow blush rolled up over him. He looked at Anna-Leise. Neither fear nor surprise showed on her face. She left Quentin's side and kneeled by Willi. Touching his arm, she looked up at Quentin. "I've told him all, Quentin. He understands. He will help us."

Willi smiled thinly. His misshapen face twisted the smile to a slight snarl. "So it is destiny we all pursue. So be it. I'm not so noble, Quentin, that I couldn't rise from here and wish to kill you. But then I couldn't kill you, could I? I could make your life miserable, though. Do not forget that."

Quentin smiled ruefully. "Willi....Being miserable is never anything I take lightly. I never meant for this to happen, you understand?"

Willi shook his head scornfully. "Oh no, of course not. We are all our own worse enemies. This was my idea, Quentin. I encouraged her to use her powers, even after I knew the danger of a possible bond. And of course I should have known better with a man of your looks and charm. So be it. Take her, my friend. May the having be as rich as the desire was. Funny thing...it often isn't, in the long run."

Anna-Leise pointed with a triumphant smile, to a small chest by the door. "There my love..there is your destiny."

Quentin's pulse quickened. He walked slowly to the chest. He picked it up and carried it to the desk. Gently setting it down, he turned back and gazed at Anna-Leise. She came to his side, stroking his hair. Her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered encouragingly. "Open it, my love...open it."

With a creak, the ancient, hinged lid gave way. Inside sat a golden object so immensely beautiful in its simple, graceful lines, it was almost painful to behold. He couldn't bring himself to touch it. He felt awed and ashamed in its noble presence. Tears formed in his eyes. Was he truly meant to work its magic? And with such unlikely accomplices? He gently lowered the lid and looked back towards Willi. He waited until he found his voice, then spoke quietly.

"And now?"

Willi looked away to the fire. "Now? We wait, my friend. On the appointed time, we'll be there. No need to worry about Kreuzer or Von Konigswald. I've taken care of them. When the time comes, we shall be at Normandy."

Quentin felt ill. He had despised Kreuzer and knew of Von Konigswald's deadly reputation. But he had long since grown sick of killing. He carried an immortal's guilt of endless life. Taking the short life of others, no matter what the cause, seemed so wrong. And to have killed men for the sake of this noble artifact....He scowled at Anna-Leise. "Was killing them necessary?"

She shot him a perturbed look. "Quentin, how did you think we could get around them? Kreuzer was suspicious. He wanted the Chalice for personal gain. It wasn't likely he'd come around to our point of view. As for Von Konigswald...his soul was damned already. Have you heard of the Final Solution, Quentin? Let me tell you something....Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, the insane, the slow...None of these people are needed for the Thousand Year Reich. Our friend Von Konigswald had very bloody hands. Not any longer. He is floating somewhere near the bottom of a lake, just now. His death might just have delayed the deaths of some more innocents."

He looked at Willi, who nodded in assent. "It's a little late for any of us to feel guilty, Quentin. We've all blood on our hands. Look at me....Do you see this face? Let me tell you what happened. Last fall, before Stalingrad fell, we drove our tanks up to a bridge. Russian boys were taken from school and thrown in front of us so that their outnumbered armor could regroup. Those boys laid their bodies down behind overturned carts. They fired at us with rifles from the last war. We rolled over them, Quentin. Like stepping on ants, it was. Do you know what a boy looks like after a Panzer tank has rolled over him? When I opened the hatch to see, I gagged. There was one boy still alive. He'd crawled onto the tank and when he saw me, he sprayed me with a flame-thrower. My crew shot him. Several times, I'm told. Someone said later he was just thirteen."

Anna-Leise came to Quentin and took his hand. She turned her enigmatic face to his. "This is our plan, my love. I've papers for you as a disabled veteran. I am your wife. We're to take over a small farm by the coast. When the time comes, we'll be ready. Willi is being transferred to the coastal defense force. He'll try to join us from there. We'll need to change our appearance.

They left for the coast that evening. An elderly Frenchman and his young son worked the farm for them. The next few months passed as if in a dream. They made love often. In the haystacks in summer. In the cottage with the tide breaking below them. Once even in a freshly mown field...a yellowish moon smiling benignly down on their fevered coupling. At night he was restless. He would stand watching her dream. He would look out at the sea and imagine the coming armada. He thought of Angelique and hoped deep within himself that some sort of divine justice would come of all this. Something would take hold of him, showing him what it was he must do. Until then, there was only the waiting....

June 5th was rainy off and on. That evening Quentin felt a remarkable peace. They had earlier gone out on the cliffs. For a brief period, the sun shone brightly on the green fields. They brought bread and cheese, and a bottle of wine. He felt oddly as if they were having some sort of rehearsal. A Last Supper before Armegeddon...Anna-Leise was quiet most of the day. Her eyes watched him quizzically. From time to time an enigmatic smile would cross her face. Quentin's mind felt blank. He could not hold many thoughts for long.

They sat up in the cottage. As midnight passed, his head slumped forward and he slipped off into sleep. Anna-Leise walked outside and around to the barn. There in the calving stall, she removed a tiny stone figurine of Baal from her pocket. She kneeled and stared at it a moment, then softly began an age-old chant. A look of intense concentration crossed her face. She swayed from side to side as the chanting continued. From another swirling world, Baal accepted her intercession and fiery images of Diabolos crowded her mind. She could hear his harsh voice...could feel his hot, fetid breath against her cheek.

"What are you seeking?"

"I want the Immortal. To have him, I must also be immortal. "

"You want immortality? Such a simple request, really..... Very well, you shall have it and your Immortal. That is, if you can have him over his will. In return, I shall have your soul. Do you understand?"

Within herself she examined every doubt. Quentin was hers if she made this trade. They would be immortal together. The Thousand Year Reich would fall in ashes. Others would die or age. But not them. This was her destiny. The only way she could have him. If not, he would leave when this was over. Inside him was a tormenting loneliness. She had seen it. If she were to become immortal, he would not leave her. She had seen his memories and knew the others left behind in death or aging. But to trade her soul? Within herself an ironic laugh broke forth. Her soul....what was left of that? Two men lay dead already. She could not forget the faceless names on the PRD lists she had casually approved for extermination. She made the vow. Baal roared in approval while Diabolos smirked.

Anna-Leise sat waiting in the barn. She heard gravel crunching as a big sedan slowly pulled up. Willi came to her. He was holding the hand of a sleepy little girl. Anna-Leise looked at him gravely. He moved as if in a dream, saying nothing. He was in battle dress. He wore his Iron Cross and tanker's badge. A Luger was strapped to his hip. He took the girl and began walking with her to the cliff. Anna-Leise turned back toward the cottage.

Quentin rose as she entered. She came to him, but they did not touch. They stood closely together. She looked up into his blue eyes. So dreamy tonight, she thought. He is a million miles away. She whispered, "It's time now." He nodded slightly, and bent to pick up the chest. Together they walked out to the cliff.

As they grew closer, Quentin became aware of the little girl. Round, dark eyes looked out from under a mop of black curls. She was dressed brightly in colored rags. In her small arms, a rag doll was tightly clutched. He turned to Willi accusingly. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Willi remained unflappable. "A `dark innocent', Quentin. I think she fits the bill, well. She must be about four years old. Her name is Lashka. A gypsy girl. I'm doing her a favor, you see. I pulled her last night off a train to a concentration camp. By now her entire family is dead. This was my role, Quentin...it always has been. To find the sacrificial innocent."

Quentin sat the chest down. With an angry snarl he snatched the girl's hand from Willi. "I won't do this, damn it. I won't harm this girl!" Anna-Leise was quickly there by his side. He let go of the girl's hand. He grabbed Anna-Leise's shoulders. "Listen to me! I won't do this!"

Anna-Leise reached up at his arms. She pushed them away and leaned into him. He grabbed her as if to pull her away and then her lips met his. She kissed him hard, even as she crept up inside of him. She found his most dreaded memory. Loneliness...decades old loneliness. She held the memory...made him see it...made him feel it until his body was wracked with sobs. They sank to their knees, his head buried against her shoulder. She comforted him, whispering softly, "You won't be alone any longer, my love...not any longer...but you know what must be done."

Dawn was breaking over the coast. Thunder rolled in from the sea. Quentin's eyes sought the sky. It was slowly growing light with the dawn. Something was wrong. There was thunder, but with the growing light he could see no clouds. He heard Willi exclaim, "My God, look at that!"

He rose and looked out to sea. It was an incredible sight: The sea was scattered with ships of all sizes. A fantastic armada of steel vessels stretched back over the channel. Toward the beaches, small landing crafts were disgorging men who scrambled waist-deep in the tide to gain the shore. Willi and Anna-Leise grabbed him. They pushed him down to the chest. Anna-Leise opened the it. She took his hand and squeezed it hard. "Now Quentin...Call Angelique, now!"

Deep within the bowels of Hell, Diabolos called for one of his favorites. It was time to loose her again. The man who had called her before and raised such lovely havoc, was calling again. She awoke quickly. She looked at him in curiosity. With an air borne of the inevitable, she asked quietly, "What is it now?"

Diabolos grinned. "Do you remember the young upstart who caused so much trouble for your beloved Collins family? Well, my dear, he's had quite a life since then. He will call you shortly. Do you recall? His name was Quentin."

Angelique stared in shock. "Quentin Collins?" Diabolos laughed in assent. "The very one, my dear. He is a man of destiny, it seems. The Holy Chalice. He is the Immortal. He holds it now on the destined day. Only one thing my love...He lacks a `demon fair.' That will be my little donation."

Angelique thought hard. Images of Quentin filled her mind. The handsome ne'er-do-well with his boyish looks and arrogance. How she had cowed him at one time. She had even saved his life twice at Barnabas' request. There was another time...she blushed a little as she recalled how at Diabolos' command she had sought to earn Quentin's love. It had never happened. Though she had been in love with Barnabas, it still had pained her. She'd often wondered why it had bothered her so. Now Quentin was calling her again. To sacrifice her as the `demon fair?' He couldn't do that! They had become friends. They were much alike in many ways, she often thought.

She gave Diabolos a beseeching look. "Please....After dying as I did...after giving up Barnabas as I did...let me go back and sleep. I want nothing to do with him. "

Diabolos laughed merrily. Come now, dear one...this time it is most interesting. You see, he has a choice to make. First he must know whom to sacrifice. Then he must know what to wish!"

Angelique began to argue. Diabolos waved a hand, sending her on. "Kismet!" he bellowed. "Kismet.." he said again, this time more softly.

Quentin closed his eyes and let the memory roll back. He was with Evan. Evan's words rolled though the air. The commands and beseechments....the carefully recited ancient script....A flash of fire scorched the field and Angelique stepped from within.
Her eyes took in Willi. He stood stiffly, fingering his holstered weapon. The little girl stood quietly before her, still clutching her doll. Quentin stood to the side. An intense-looking young woman clung to his arm.

A slight smirk crossed Angelique's face. So like Quentin to have a woman at times like these. Her glittering eyes met his. The fire from which she had stepped burned hotly. She walked swiftly to Quentin. He looked down at her. "We meet again, Quentin. Is this how you repay old friendships? Kill me then, and get on with it. Are you killing the little girl as well?"

The little girl? He looked puzzled. Angelique words caused him to turn. He looked for Lashka. Anna-Leise was standing by Willi. She held the girl's hand. He watched them. Anna-Leise was doing something. What was it? He watched her hands at Willi's hip. She had his Luger in her hands! She was yelling something at Quentin as she aimed the trigger. The gun...it was pointing down at Lashka. His staggered towards them, even as the girl fell.

He knelt in the damp grass, holding her small, limp body. Her mop of curls hung lifelessly. He soft dark eyes were already cold and fading. He screamed loudly. Anna-Leise dropped the gun and knelt by his side. She threw an arm around his neck and hotly whispered, "It had to be done my love....Now kill the witch. Put her in the fire! From fire they come and from fire they go! Kill her and we'll fulfill destiny, Quentin! I'll live forever with you...I did this for you!. I gave my soul to be with you forever!"

Quentin looked at her in horror. Her violet eyes were as cold as marble. There was neither love nor hate, there. Only will...He pushed her aside. She kneeled before him again and thrust something cold and heavy in his hands. The Chalice...the gold grew warm in his hands. Time slowed to a crawl. In his mind crowded the thoughts of seers through the ages. He saw the Black Death sweeping over many countries, leaving empty villages behind.. From the Asian steppes came hordes of Barbarians, stripping and raiding the lands freely. He saw each cycle of evil and with each event, one chosen had risen at the appointed time. The Chalice would succor, then disappear again...and this went on through the ages. Now there was one more step after the dark innocent....the demon fair.

Angelique fixed Quentin with a glittering stare. He looked back into her deep sapphire eyes, and suddenly knew. He turned viciously and lunged for Anna-Leise. He brought her face to his..."It's you...you did this..sold your soul and killed that little girl!" His voice kept cracking..he fought back anguish. Why, damn you! Why?" Anna-Leise grabbed at his hands, digging her nails into his palms. Her violet eyes were wide and blazing now. "There is no, why.....why should we know?" Her lips parted in an animal-like grin. Her voice grew low and charged. She pulled him up with her, close to the fire. "Love me, Quentin...Love me or kill me..."

Down below the ant-like figures were fighting and dying on the beaches. Black angry patches of smoke swelled out above the cluttered battlefield. Planes were overhead now, and time was running faster.

Angelique was suddenly there by his side. Her clear, melodic voice rang in his ear. There was a terrible, cutting calmness in her words. "She has to die, Quentin. She is the one. She sold herself, for this."

He turned his head back, shouting over his shoulder. "No! She sold herself for me...It's different!" He held on to Anna-Leise, who stood swaying before him, watching him as if in a trance.

Angelique's voice rose harshly. "She has to die, Quentin. Diabolos sent me here to help you. She is the one!"

" I won't do it!", he yelled. Anna-Leise laughed shrilly. She tossed her hair back and pushed up against him. He let go of her and turned away. He heard scuffling behind him and looked back. Willi was struggling with Anna-Leise. He was trying to draw her into the fire. They fell to the ground instead. She grabbed for the Luger and shot him in the chest. She stood over him, panting. She turned and reached a hand to Quentin. He looked away, horror-stricken. Angelique was at his side again, her voice low in his ear. "Take her hand, Quentin...help her go."

He took her hand and they stepped close to the fire. She turned to him, bringing her mouth to his. Even as her lips brushed his, he felt her racing into his mind. She reached in again...reached for the memories.."All the loneliness, Quentin...all the loneliness....you remember the loneliness....." He staggered and held on to her. Someone was grabbing at him, pulling him away. He spun around. Angelique was there, with the Chalice. She thrust it back in his hands. She leaned down low, eyes blazing. Her words burned into him. "We've all done our part now, Quentin. You must do yours."


He grabbed Anna-Leise at the fire's edge. She whispered again, "Love me or kill me..." He stood still a moment, then with the Chalice in one hand and Anna-Leise with the other, pulled them both inside. She fell back without a sound. Her burning image flared brightly, then was gone. There was a momentary blinding heat, then he felt himself flung out from the fiery circle. Quentin staggered away, clutching the Chalice. "Anna-Leise!" he cried. The Chalice grew heavy in his hands. He looked down at it. Inside there was wine splashing. A question came into his mine.....a short question...a simple question.....he wanted to laugh. The question hung in the air:

"WHAT DO YOU WISH?"

He looked around wildly. The battle raging below and above them. Angelique watching him. Willi lying dead. The smoldering patch of grass where Anna-Leise disappeared. The little girl...Lashka....her small crumpled form lay on the bloody grass.
What do I wish? What do I wish? God.....The war? No....there had been wars before and surely there would be others. This pivotal battle on the beaches below....it would be won or lost by the men fighting it. What do I wish? End this curse? End my immortality? No....my own cause....He carried the chalice to Lashka's body. He knelt and kissed the child's pale forehead.

"I WISH HER ALIVE"

He brought his trembling lips to the Chalice and sipped slowly. His eyes closed. When he opened them again, he heard a soft whimper. He reached quickly for the girl. Even as he watched, the color rose to her face and the limp arms gained life and reached for him. He swung her up to his chest and hugged her hard.

Angelique felt Diabolos calling again. This time it was so short, she sighed. She was moved by Quentin, suddenly. He had become the unlikeliest of heroes. She smiled and shook her head. Unpredictable. That was Quentin...and a wild heart. But what a heart it was, she thought. She strode quickly to him.

"Angelique.... This was right...I feel it...I've got to get her out of here, now."

She took his arm and smiled brightly. "You'll get her safe. I must leave now."

His steady blue gaze bore into hers. They stood silently a moment. "Angelique....Thank you." She laughed sharply, flashing a brilliant smile. You know what thanks I asked for the last time we met." Leaning up, she kissed him quickly. She laughed again, and was gone.

In 1969, at the age of 30, Dr. Lashka Molyar shared the Nobel award for Medicine with a team of doctors who worked to eradicate the scourge of smallpox. A newspaper clipping carried a short interview. Among her comments was a statement that caught at Quentin's heart: "I have known since I was young, I had some sort of destiny to fulfill. The challenge was to find it."

Finis