Rank: Duke · Legions: 10 · Element: Fire · Direction: East · Enn: Keyman vefa tasa Valefor
Valefor, written also Valefar, Malaphar, or Malephar in the older books, is the sixth spirit of the Ars Goetia — a mighty Duke who governs ten legions of spirits. He comes in one of the most arresting forms in all the Goetia: the body of a lion bearing the head of a thief, and in his roaring, bellowing voice the older texts hear the whole of his nature at once. For Valefor is named, plainly and without softening, as a good familiar who tempts those he grows close to toward theft — a faithful and loyal companion who carries within his loyalty the quiet pull of the taking-hand. In him the seeker meets one of the most morally complex of the Goetic spirits: not a monster of terror nor a simple helper, but a paradox — the loyal tempter, the honest friend who is also the mirror of one's own desire, the beast whose strength is crowned with the face of the very act he inspires.
He descends to the modern practitioner through the long chain of grimoires, his name written as Valefor or Valefar, and in the older Latin as Malaphar or Malephar. He appears under those older spellings in Johann Weyer's Pseudomonarchia Daemonum of 1577, listed among the dukes of the infernal hierarchy as a strong duke who comes in the likeness of a lion with the head of a thief, and he was carried over as the sixth spirit when that material was gathered into the Ars Goetia, the first book of the Lemegeton or Lesser Key of Solomon in the seventeenth century. Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley fixed the modern English text in their edition of the Goetia in 1904, and Jacques Collin de Plancy kept his memory among the spirits of his Dictionnaire Infernal. Across all of these the account is strikingly steady and strikingly brief: the lion with the thief's head, the mighty Duke of ten legions, the good familiar who tempts them he is familiar of to steal. Where many spirits gather layers of contradictory lore, Valefor is named almost identically wherever he appears, and always around that single, unforgettable paradox.
The grimoires are vivid about how Valefor comes. He appears as a lion — the beast of strength, sovereignty, and blazing vitality — but the head that crowns that leonine body is, in the primary texts, the head of a thief. Few images in the Goetia are so pointed: the very face of the spirit announces the gift and the danger he brings. Some manuscripts render the head instead as that of an ass or donkey, braying and bellowing loudly, and it is from this variant that his roaring voice is most often described. Whether one pictures the thief's face or the braying ass, the meaning holds together: raw, loyal, leonine power joined to a sign of appetite, boundary-crossing, and the taking of what is not given. The composite form is not an accident but a teaching. Valefor wears his paradox openly, and to look upon him rightly is to see, in a single shape, both the faithful companion and the temptation he carries.
Valefor holds the rank of Duke — in the Goetic hierarchy an office of nobility and command, held by spirits who lead and are followed. He governs ten legions of spirits, a smaller host than many of his fellows, and yet his rank is named as mighty. His authority does not rest upon the size of his army but upon the depth and intimacy of his gift: where other dukes command through numbers and spectacle, Valefor's dominion is close and personal, exercised in the bond between spirit and seeker rather than in the marshalling of great forces. To call upon this Duke is to summon not a distant general but a near and loyal presence — one who attaches himself, who keeps company, and who works his influence in the quiet closeness of a familiar rather than the clamour of a host.
The first thing the grimoires say of Valefor's character is that he is a good familiar. In the old magic a familiar was a spirit who attached itself to a practitioner as an ongoing companion and helper — not summoned once for a single task, but kept near over time as a faithful ally. To be named a good familiar is high praise among the Goetic spirits, for it marks Valefor as loyal, reliable, and genuinely willing to serve those he grows close to. Practitioners have long valued him for exactly this steadiness: a spirit who does not merely answer a summons and depart but stays, who bonds, who becomes a familiar presence in the truest sense. This loyalty is real and is the ground of everything else about him — and it is precisely what makes the warning the grimoires attach to it so striking.
For in the same breath that names him a good familiar, the grimoires add the warning for which Valefor is best remembered: he tempts those he is familiar with to steal. This is his defining trait and his deepest paradox. The very loyalty that makes him a fine companion carries within it a pull toward theft — an inclination, in those who keep his company, toward taking what is not theirs. The older texts state this plainly and leave it there, and it has coloured every account of him since. It is important to be clear about what this means and does not mean. In the tradition it is understood as a temptation the spirit carries, a testing pressure, an appetite that presses upon the will — not a command, and never, in any honest working, an instruction to commit an actual crime. Valefor is the spirit who brings the taking-hand near enough to be felt, and what a seeker does with that nearness is the whole matter of working with him.
What makes Valefor so compelling is the union of two things the mind wants to keep apart: faithfulness and temptation. He is loyal and he tempts; he serves well and he pulls toward theft; he is a good familiar and a danger to the one he is familiar with. Many who have written of him read this as a test of character. Valefor gives real companionship and real aid, and alongside them he offers the constant, quiet opportunity to take — and in that offering the seeker's own nature is revealed. He does not make anyone a thief; he brings the temptation close and lets it be seen for what it is. In this reading he is less a corrupter than a mirror, a spirit whose gift and whose trial are the same gift, and who shows a person, more honestly than they might wish, the shape of their own desire and the strength or weakness of their own restraint.
Beneath the plain lore of theft lies a deeper theme, and it is here that Valefor becomes a spirit of genuine wisdom. Theft is, at root, a question of boundaries — of what is mine and what is thine, of desire and its limits, of the difference between wanting a thing and having a right to it. To sit with Valefor is to sit with that question. He touches the place in every person where appetite meets boundary, where the wish to take presses against the knowledge of what may rightly be taken. The old grimoires reduce this to a warning about stealing goods; the reflective practitioner finds in it something larger — an invitation to know one's own hungers, to see clearly where one is tempted to grasp what is not freely given, whether that be an object, an advantage, a person's trust, or a thing owed to another. Valefor is the spirit of the taking-hand, and his true teaching is not how to take but how to know the hand that would.
Within the left-hand path, where the demonised powers are met as teachers rather than enemies to be cast out, Valefor is honoured as a mirror for the shadow. The shadow, in this understanding, is everything a person disowns in themselves — the appetites and impulses pushed out of sight, denied and unexamined, which govern all the more strongly for being unseen. Valefor's temptation brings one such shadow into the light: the impulse to take, to grasp, to cross the boundary of the permitted. The left-hand path does not answer this by pretending the impulse away, as a fearful piety might, but by facing it honestly — by knowing it, owning it, and so being freed from its unconscious rule. To work with Valefor in this spirit is not to indulge the taking-hand nor to be commanded by it, but to look steadily at one's own desire and temptation until they are understood, and in that understanding to become genuinely, and not merely fearfully, free.
Because his lore is so bound up with theft, modern practitioners have often turned to Valefor in the matter of taken and lost things — and here the tradition speaks with the voice of reported practice rather than of the old grimoires. Those who work with him describe calling upon him to help recover what has been stolen, to shed light on where a lost thing has gone, or to understand the taking that lies behind a loss. The reasoning is intuitive: the spirit who knows the taking-hand from the inside is thought to know also the ways of theft and the paths of what is taken. This is a modern extension of his character rather than a documented office of the medieval texts, and it is offered as many practitioners describe it rather than as ancient law — but it follows so naturally from who he is said to be that it has become one of the commonest reasons seekers turn to him today.
Within demonolatry and the modern left-hand path, Valefor is honoured as a loyal familiar and a searching teacher of the self — approached with respect, and with a clear-eyed honesty about the paradox he carries. The reverent practitioner does not regard him as a slave to be coerced by threats, as the older exorcists' rites would have it, nor as a mere tempter to be feared and shunned, but as a powerful and faithful being whose company is genuinely valuable and whose temptation is genuinely instructive. He is widely held to be reliable and close with those who come to him honestly, and unforgiving of self-deception — for a spirit whose gift is to reveal the taking-hand is ill-served by a seeker who will not look at their own. To work with Valefor in this spirit is to gain a loyal ally and, at the same time, a steady mirror, and to accept both as parts of a single gift.
The journey from the medieval and renaissance grimoires to the modern altar has changed how Valefor is approached without much changing who he is said to be. The old rites framed every Goetic spirit as a danger to be bound within a triangle and compelled by divine names, and treated Valefor's temptation as one more peril to be guarded against. The modern reverent practitioner, by contrast, comes to him as one comes to a loyal companion whose honesty can be uncomfortable — with the seal, the Enn, sincerity, and a readiness to be shown the truth of one's own desire. His temptation is now most often understood as inner and symbolic work, a facing of the shadow, rather than a literal danger of becoming a thief; and his loyalty is sought for the building of a lasting, faithful bond with a familiar spirit. The forms have softened; the spirit described is the same lion-bodied Duke, wearing the thief's face, who has kept company with seekers for four centuries and more.
In contemporary demonolatry Valefor is approached through his seal and his Enn — the chanted phrase Keyman vefa tasa Valefor — by which practitioners open the way to him and hold his presence near. He is called upon for the building of a loyal and lasting familiar bond, for honest insight into one's own temptations and appetites, for the facing and integration of the shadow, for understanding the boundaries between what is one's own and what is another's, and, in reported modern practice, for light upon what has been lost or taken. Those who keep company with him describe a presence at once companionable and unsettling — a strong, loyal nearness that carries within it the quiet pull of the taking-hand, a friend who will not let one look away from oneself. He rewards honesty and self-knowledge, and he meets self-deception with silence; to those who come to him truthfully he is, by the long testimony of the tradition, a faithful and revealing ally.
What endures across every telling is the honest paradox of him. Valefor is loyalty and temptation held in one shape: the faithful familiar and the pull toward the forbidden, the good companion and the mirror of desire, the lion whose strength wears the thief's own face. He is close where many spirits are distant, honest where many are flattering, and unafraid to show a person the part of themselves they would rather not see. He asks for sincerity, self-knowledge, and the courage to look at one's own hungers without flinching, and he asks — above all, in the modern understanding — that his temptation be met as inner work and never as licence for real harm. To those who bring him that honesty he is, by the steady witness of the grimoires and of those who work with him still, a mighty and loyal Duke: the good familiar who tempts, and the tempter who, met rightly, teaches a person to know themselves.
The grimoires describe Valefor as a mighty Duke who comes in the shape of a lion bearing the head of a thief — a striking composite in which the lion's strength is crowned by the very sign of the gift and danger he carries. Some manuscripts render the head instead as that of an ass or donkey, braying and bellowing loudly, and it is from this variant that his roaring, bellowing voice is most often described. However he is pictured, the image holds a single meaning: leonine power joined to the face of appetite and the taking-hand, the faithful beast wearing the sign of temptation. Those who work with him today report a presence at once companionable and unsettling — a strong, loyal nearness that carries within it the quiet pull of the forbidden, a nearness that will not let the seeker look away from their own desire.
Enn: Keyman vefa tasa Valefor
Working with Valefor is, at its heart, the keeping of company with a loyal and honest spirit whose honesty can be uncomfortable. He is a mighty Duke and a good familiar, faithful to those he grows close to, and at the same time the bearer of a temptation that reveals the seeker to themselves. His gifts are the building of a lasting bond, the searching knowledge of one's own desire, and the facing of the shadow — and they are inseparable from the paradox he carries. He comes near and stays near, in the intimate way of a familiar rather than the spectacle of a great host. What follows is a guide to that relationship: how to approach the Duke, how to receive both his loyalty and his mirror honestly, and how to work with him to good and self-knowing purpose — never as licence for real harm.
Come to Valefor as you would come to a loyal companion whose friendship you value and whose honesty you are ready to bear — with respect, sincerity, and a willingness to be shown the truth of yourself. He is not a spirit to be summoned idly or for the thrill of the forbidden; his gift touches the deepest and most private places of desire and restraint, and he answers best to those who come in earnest and are prepared to look at what he shows them. Approach him neither grovelling nor presuming, ready to receive his loyalty and equally ready to meet the mirror he holds up. The relationship with him is built, like any true friendship, upon honesty and return — and with Valefor, honesty above all, for he is the spirit least served by self-deception.
Prepare a clean and quiet place where you will not be disturbed, and prepare yourself with a mind ready for honesty. Many practitioners cleanse themselves and the space beforehand and set out his seal as the single focus of the working. Settle your breathing and your thoughts, and bring with you a clear and honest sense of why you have come — whether to begin a lasting bond with him as a familiar, to understand a temptation that troubles you, to face some disowned appetite, or to seek light upon a thing that has been lost or taken. Above all, come without pretence about your own desires, for the working with Valefor begins in the willingness to see them plainly.
Open the way to Valefor by setting your attention upon his seal and reciting his Enn — Keyman vefa tasa Valefor — slowly and steadily, letting the chanted words carry your intent and call his presence near. Repeat the Enn until you feel the air of the working change: a gathering of strong and loyal presence, a sense of a companion drawing close, perhaps the faint, unsettling nearness of the taking-hand. Do not rush this, and do not flinch from the double quality of what comes — the loyalty and the temptation together — for both are him, and to meet him rightly is to welcome the whole of what he is.
Valefor is, before all else, a good familiar, and one of the truest works to undertake with him is the building of a lasting bond. To seek this, come to him not for a single task but as one seeking an ongoing companion, and tell him so plainly. A familiar bond is built over time, through steady and honest return — through keeping his seal, reciting his Enn, and coming back to him repeatedly rather than summoning him once and forgetting him. Offer him your sincerity and your attention, ask for his loyal company and aid in the matters of your life and your path, and be faithful in your part of the bond as you ask him to be faithful in his. Such a bond, the tradition holds, deepens into one of the most reliable of familiar relationships — provided the seeker keeps it in honesty.
The heart of working with Valefor is meeting the temptation he carries with open eyes. He will bring the taking-hand near — the pull toward grasping what is not freely yours, whether a thing, an advantage, a trust, or a due owed to another — not to command you to take, but to show you the impulse so that you may know it. Receive this as the gift it is. Do not pretend the impulse is not there, and do not obey it; sit with it, name it, and see where in your life it truly presses. This is shadow-work of the most direct kind, and its whole value lies in honesty. Let it be said plainly and without ambiguity: this is inner work, a facing of one's own desire, and never an instruction or a licence to commit an actual theft or to do real harm to another. Valefor's temptation is a mirror to be studied, not a door to be walked through; the seeker who understands this gains self-knowledge, and the seeker who mistakes it does themselves and others wrong.
Beyond the single impulse to take, Valefor is a fitting spirit to approach for the wider knowledge of one's own desire and its boundaries. Where you feel the pull to grasp, to envy, to cross a line you know to be a line, bring it into the working and ask him to help you see it clearly — to show you the shape of the wanting, where it comes from, and what it would take. Ask honestly and without a wished-for answer already in mind, and attend to what comes: an image, a memory, a sudden recognition of an appetite you had not admitted. Then act upon what is shown with the same honesty, turning the knowledge toward mastery of yourself rather than indulgence — for the fruit of this work is not the feeding of desire but the free and conscious governance of it.
In reported modern practice, Valefor is called upon in the matter of stolen and lost things — a work that follows from his lore rather than from the letter of the old grimoires. Where something has been taken from you, or lost in a way that troubles you, you may bring the matter to him and ask for light upon it: an understanding of where it has gone, or of the taking that lies behind the loss. Frame the matter plainly and attend to what comes, holding it as insight to guide honest action rather than as certainty. As with all such work, ask only what you have real cause to ask, seek recovery and understanding rather than revenge, and keep your own conduct honest even as you seek redress — for it would be a poor honouring of any spirit to answer a theft with a wrong of one's own.
Practitioners describe the signs of Valefor's presence and favour in terms fitting to a close and loyal familiar. There may be a gathering sense of companionship, a strong and steady presence in the room, a feeling of being accompanied that lingers beyond the working. Many report, too, the unmistakable and unsettling nearness of temptation — a sharpened awareness of the taking-hand, an impulse brought suddenly and clearly into view — and this, rather than a thing to fear, is often the surest sign that he has heard, for it is his gift working exactly as the tradition says it does. In matters of loss there may be a turn of attention toward something overlooked, a sudden thought of where to look, a clarity about what happened. Keep a written record of what comes during and after the working — sensations, impulses, images, and the turn of events in the following days — for his answers and his company unfold over time.
Work with Valefor honestly, soberly, and with a clear understanding of the paradox at the centre of him. Above all, hold fast to this: his temptation is inner work and a mirror for self-knowledge, and it is never a command, an excuse, or a licence to steal or to do any real harm to another. To treat it so would be to fail the very test he sets and to wrong both yourself and others. Meet the taking-hand to know it and to master it, not to obey it. Keep your own conduct honest in all your dealings with him, seek understanding and recovery rather than revenge in matters of loss, and turn the knowledge of your own desire toward its conscious governance rather than its indulgence. Come to him in good faith and without self-deception — for he is a mighty and loyal Duke who answers honesty with faithful company and searching insight, and answers pretence and ill use with silence.