Magick, in the context of Aleister Crowley’s Thelema, is a term used to show and differentiate the occult from performance magic and is defined as “the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will”, including “mundane” acts of will as well as ritual magic. Crowley wrote that “it is theoretically possible to cause in any object any change of which that object is capable by nature”. John Symonds and Kenneth Grant attach a deeper occult significance to this preference.
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Crowley saw Magick as the essential method for a person to reach true understanding of the self and to act according to one’s true will, which he saw as the reconciliation “between freewill and destiny.” Crowley describes this process in his Magick, Book 4:
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One must find out for oneself, and make sure beyond doubt, who one is, what one is, why one is …Being thus conscious of the proper course to pursue, the next thing is to understand the conditions necessary to following it out. After that, one must eliminate from oneself every element alien or hostile to success, and develop those parts of oneself which are specially needed to control the aforesaid conditions. (Crowley, Magick, Book 4 p.134)
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In my fiction, and in keeping with Crowley’s definition above, magick is simply a kind of engineering that takes advantage of an understanding of nature that is very different from—and far more comprehensive than—the understanding humanity currently possesses.
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Jane had gotten in somehow so, there had to be a way out of here. This was a prison for her, whatever it had been designed for, and every prison had at least one exit.
A prison without an exit was a tomb.
Jane briefly considered the possibility that that was precisely what this was—an oubliette. A place to drop her in and forget her.
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
John took careful steps toward the building, watching as rain shattered the mirrors of the puddles on the cobblestone path, golden worms of light wriggling in them.
Finally, a few feet from the door, he forced himself to look at the body recumbent on the steps.
It wasn’t Jane.
John took a quavering breath, realizing he’d been holding it for the last dozen paces.
It wasn’t Jane.
His twin must still be alive.
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Brad had never been gone more than three months before.
Something certain told Dævara he wasn’t coming back.
That meant he was dead or captive. There could be no other reason.
She tried finding him with the Syrat, but her emotions where he was concerned were so intense and conflicted, all attempts came to naught
After weeks of agonizing, Dævara made her choice.
She packed up, said goodbye to her friends, and went looking for her lover.
from ‘The Silvergrey Sea’
[Drago] backed away as Dævara stepped out of the mound of cloth and bent from the waist to retrieve it.
She took her time.
The diminutive whore’s backside was poetry in flesh. A waist that couldn’t have been larger than twenty inches offset slender hips to increase her bum’s apparent tumescence…
…she turned back to her client. Her eyes were sparkling liquid fire. Dark red tresses worked their way around her shoulders, their curling ends brushing the pale blue areolas that capped her small teats.
Lamplight caught the silver sparkles dusting her white flesh as she moved in a way that would have put serpents to shame.
She wore no jewelry.
She needed none.
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Bradwold, tall and lean, had a weathered, angular face and was dressed in leather and chainmail, his square-toed boots plated with steel. A steel cap was under his left arm. Steel-backed gauntlets were tucked into a wide leather belt.
His eyes were a luminous green. Bradwold’s beauty was interesting until he smiled, then it was devastating.
Dæv felt a heat in her cheeks and upper chest that she hadn’t since those first heady days after her rebirth.
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Like the many lovers Dævara had taken in the says since learning she was becoming an elf, flying was a glorious sensory revel.
Air driven past with gale force furrowed the skin of her teats, tummy, and thighs like the fingers of a sadistic masseur.
The air chilled her to the marrow, forced her limbs to splay behind her.
The wind pushed its thumbs into her eyes, squeezing tears out.
Her hair flogged her back.
It felt wonderful.
