Among them was a young painter
named Althea Gyles, an unconven–
tional young woman whose work
had appeared in the
Savoy.
Al–
thea felt herself surrounded by
Crowley's insidious aura, and went
to her friend Yeats to ask if she
could do anything to save herself.
The poet was deeply concerned.
"Bring me a drop of his blood and
I will exorcise it," he said. Althea
pointed out the practical difficul–
ties of obtaining a drop of Crow–
ley's blood. "In that case," Yeats
conceded, "bring me a hair of his
head." Althea thought that might
be possible, but would nothing else
do as well? "Bring me any object
from his rooms."
Althea accordingly went to
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Crowley's rooms for tea, and cov–
ertly managed to steal a hair of
her host's head and, for good meas–
ure, to hide one of his books under
her arm. But Crowley suspected
foul play. "Before you go," he
hissed at her, "you must visit the
sanctum sanctorum."
Althea want–
ed to refuse, but dared not.
Helplessly she allowed the magi–
cian to lead her down a long cor–
ridor, dimly lit by the light of one
taper, until at last she arrived
in
front of a tabernacle covered with
mystic signs and symbols. Crowley,
after invoking the chthonian pow–
ers, suddenly pulled open the door
of the tabernacle, and a skeleton
fell into Althea's arms. She
screamed, dropped the book, and
ran off in terror.
But she still had the hair of
Crowley's head, and when she had
recovered from her fright, she car–
ried it to Yeats. The poet cast the
requisite spells and exorcisms, and
Crowley was not long in feeling
their effect. That night when the
black magician went to bed, he
discovered a vampire beside him;
all night long she bit and tore at
his flesh. His best charms proved
of no avail against her ferocious
advances, and for nine nights the
torture went on.
At last, desperate from loss of
blood and sleep, Crowley went to
consult another magician, more
experienced in such affairs than he,
and was instructed as to what to
do. On the tenth night, as soon as
the vampire put in an appearance,
