The Baker's Guide to Risky Rituals

by Kathryn Moon

  “Why can’t we call the low key one? Ashtaroth?” Rosa asked.

  “Information isn’t his domain,” Imogen said with a shrug. “And if we think of these demons in terms of an army, which I think they might be with Beleth at the helm, a demon without rank is less likely to know as much as a King.”

  “Is it safe?” June asked.

  Imogen went still, staring at the book on the table, eyes flicking over the words. Finally, she shook her head. “No. There’s four of us, which is better protection, but you’ll have to be very careful to do things exactly as I say. If he isn’t bound properly, we won’t get the answers, and we’ll be trapped with a pissed off demon.”

  Josie was liking this plan less and less the longer she thought it through. It had seemed easy enough before hearing their names and ranks. What was so scary about a demon named Pie? King Paimon, on the other hand, had a weight on her tongue, and his sigil printed in the occult book looked cryptic and dizzying. “What about after? We’re not talking about summoning a demon from Hell, and then sending them back. What happens when we run into this guy on the street again?”

  “Demons are bound by strict rules. Being invoked is a contract they’re required to perform when called on. Provided we don’t break any rules, they can’t act against us,” Imogen said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Not just in the act. We don’t know why they’re here yet. If their orders include us as collateral damage, then that’s what we’ll be.”

  “That’s true, even if we don’t demand answers,” June said. She and Imogen locked gazes again, and Josie wished they would share with the class for once.

  “You still want to? Really?” Imogen whispered.

  Rosa sat up straight, sliding the book to herself and turning back to Vine’s pages. “Sweet Pea is my home. I wanna know what I gotta do to keep it safe. So you two better make up your minds and help, so I don’t get eaten by an angry demon.”

  According to Imogen, there were five concrete elements of demon summoning, and then a sixth—intention, which was the most important. As rituals went, Josie found it to be surprisingly similar to many others she’d participated in, including calling the Loa. It took a day to prepare before they returned to Imogen’s cabin, where she led them downstairs to the basement. Then down another, more narrow, set of stairs that led to a dark, empty, and stifling cellar. There was a chalk circle that took up seventy-five percent of the floor, leaving tight corners for each of the witches to stand in.

  Rosa was kneeling by a large incense burner, dressed in a simple black sheath dress they had each purchased for the ritual, something new and uncluttered with daily energy. She packed the burner with wormwood and dandelion, and some fresh tobacco that Josie thought Ghede Linto would’ve approved of based on the pungent stench. Josie arranged a plate of nearly raw deer meat she’d purchased from a local hunter, and a cracked pomegranate. June had a pair of hand cymbals in her grip, her knuckles white around the handles as she watched her sister finish painting a gold disk with a white sigil, Vine’s mark.

  “Are you ready?” Imogen murmured, brush poised to make the final lines. Josie thought Vine’s sigil looked a little like a man’s face wearing a crown, arrows coming down from the crown.

  “Ready,” Rosa said, bouncing on her toes.

  June nodded, and Imogen looked to Josie last. “Ready,” Josie said, voice cracking with nerves.

  “Whatever happens, keep your feet where they are. Don’t smudge the circle,” Imogen instructed.

  The coven nodded, and the brush landed on gold, an inverted crown marking down the line of the empty face. Imogen set the gold seal on the floor at the northwestern corner of the circle and rose up, candle flames around the circle stretching waist-high with her movement.

  Josie swallowed, her throat tight and the temperature in the room flaring warmer. Her sheath dress scratched at her hips, just a hair too snug over her curves. Her palms were sweating against the porcelain of the plate in her hand. She tried to quell the thunderous racing of her heart, but as Imogen’s hands raised to her sides, palms up, Josie’s heart only hammered faster.

  What a dumb idea, Josie thought. Except it had been hers.

  “Thee I invoke, Vine, child of the Bornless one,” Imogen called, her voice drawing up the same weight and command Josie had first heard on the street outside of Rosa’s, as Imogen threatened a pack of demons.

  “Thee, who makes home in the void place,

  Thee, who steals souls without granting,

  Thee, who tears walls and builds towers,

  Thee, of rough waters and great storms,

  Thee, who sees my kind in their hiding.”

  Rosa’s breath caught audibly as the candle flames wavered and sputtered as the air grew damp and thick with the ozone of an approaching storm. Imogen nodded to them, the circle was working, hooking into the demon Vine wherever he was, tugging him to them.

  “Hear me, Vine,

  Ar thiao rheibet atheleberseth,

  A blatha abeu ebeu phi,

  Thitasoe ib thiao.”

  Josie shivered at the eerie sounds on Imogen’s tongue, and when she looked to June, her gray eyes were pressed shut, a shimmer of tears on her cheeks. Imogen continued, calling Vine again and reciting his skills and accolades, before repeating the eerie chant. An impossible breeze circled the sealed room, and Josie had to fight to keep still as the candle flames licked at her sides, threatening to catch.

  “Come thou, into the circle.

  Come, Vine, and hear my command.

  Come and obey my will to which you are bound into keeping.

  These are the words!” Imogen bellowed, eyes focused hard on the center of the chalk circle.

  The air wavered there in the heart of the circle, smoke from the burner catching on the breeze and spiraling into the center of the room, until it formed a heavy cloud.

  “He’s coming,” Imogen whispered, and her eyes were huge and wild, fixed with hunger on the growing smoke.

  The weight of the room grew crushing, as if the ground was dragging Josie down, her knees wobbling beneath the dress she wore. She understood as she watched, the smoke stretching and contorting until it was formed into a beastly shape, shadows darkening behind the pale gray cloud of perfumed smoke. The rumble of tension and magic expanded into a blaring roar, a growl trumpeting with rage. The floor shook, and Josie locked her knees and held her breath as her eyes watered, the heat too strong and the smoke too fragrant.

  June’s cymbals came together with a crash on the opposite side of the room, out of Josie’s sight, and the tremble in the ground stopped. Smoke sank to the floor, and the growl softened to a low and steady threat.

  Josie’s entire body was frozen as she stared at the demon they had trapped in the circle. It was not the redheaded beast of a man covered in tattoos and leather, but a tall and stocky figure seated atop an enormous black horse, whose gold hooves beat at the ground. It was impossible for the man and the horse to be as large as they were, to force Josie to stare up at them in terror. The ceiling was barely three feet above her own head but she felt as if she gazed up miles to look at Vine on the back of his steed.

  He had a lion’s head, blood red hair hanging down to the middle of his back, and eyes layers and layers of black above a snarling maw. He was naked, skin the shade of a vicious sunburn, and as he shifted on the horse, Josie caught sight of his cock, horrifyingly thick and short and angrily purple. This was the demon they’d called. The man who’d glowered and stomped through Sweet Pea was an illusion, and Josie was cowed to realize how comparatively friendly Vinny looked next to King Vine.

  “Vine, King and Earl of Hell, you are bound to speak a true answer to the questions posed to you,” Imogen said, and Josie marveled that the witch could bear to look directly into the demon’s eyes.

  “Witch, you are bound to die with my boot on your throat,” Vine snarled back.

  June stiffened, and the cymbals made a soft hissing rattle. Vine twitched and snarled, h
is head rolling on his shoulders in response to the sound.

  Josie found Rosa’s eyes where she stood in the corner to the right, and Rosa mouthed to her, “The fuck!”

  “Why have you come to Sweet Pea?” Imogen asked.

  “I was ordered to,” Vine said, furred cheeks twitching and black eyes narrowing.

  “What orders?”

  “King Beleth the Warlord’s.”

  “State them,” Imogen said, snapping.

  Vine snarled with irritation, and shifted again, the horse beneath him stepping back and forth in the scant inch of space inside the circle. “Be patient, Vinny,” Vine said, but the voice was not his own. It was Bell’s, sounding irritated and tired, the whisper rasp having the strange effect on Josie of unravelling some of the terror coiled in her chest. “Don’t fucking touch that… Just wait… Just go do something fucking useful, would you?”

  Imogen only smirked, and Josie wished she could speak. But she wasn’t sure if that would break the invocation contract, and she wasn’t about to face this lion headed demon in the tiny cellar. Imogen was quiet for a long stretch, in a staring contest with Vine, as she worked through the words.

  “What is the intention of the Hell’s Bells Motorcycle club in coming to Sweet Pea?”

  Vine grumbled, the noise vibrating uncomfortable in Josie’s ear. “To ruin this fucking town.”

  “How?”

  “Whatever means necessary.”

  “Was it one of you that murdered the tourists in the woods?”

  “… No,” Vine admitted reluctantly.

  Josie’s eyes darted between them, and Imogen’s own stare flicked to her. Josie’s lips parted, a question crawling up her throat, and Imogen nodded.

  “Why Sweet Pea?” Josie asked.

  Vine’s spine stiffened, and he tugged at the inky mane of his horse, the beast taking side steps to turn and face her. The breath on her face was painfully hot and dry and rancid as she stared up the long nose of the horse and into the lion’s eyes.

  “Shoulda had her start with the questions,” Vine said, a black tongue flicking out over white fangs.

  “Answer,” Imogen commanded.

  “Hell sent us here because on the map of the world, Sweet Pea is a fucking beacon of good,” Vine said. “And it’s bleeding into the earth and the people who live here. If we hadn’t come, it might spread further.”

  His eyes, so electric and violent even in the darkest shade, were fastened to Josie’s. She thought her own might burn up in her face before he released her stare. The longer she looked at him, the harder it was to breathe, to stand, to think. His voice pounded in her ears like a nail driving into a coffin.

  “But we are here. And we will stomp this candy coated fucking shithole into embers and ash, and nothing beautiful will ever grow in this town, ever again. Four witches won’t stop us. Nothing will.”

  June slammed the cymbals together with a crash, and lightning ribboned through the room, snapping down on Vine and his horse. The sound cracked, breaking the hypnotic pain of Vine’s speech, and light blinded Josie, a slam of energy throwing her back into the wall behind her. Her head hit the stone, but the stab of pain was a relief in comparison to being trapped in Vine’s gaze.

  When the stars cleared from in front of her eyes, the candles had dimmed to blue wisps on small stubs of wax, and they were alone in the cellar of the cabin again. Rosa was seated on the floor, gasping for breath, and June had her arms around Imogen, supporting her younger sister as she sagged with exhaustion.

  “What… what are we supposed to do?” Josie whispered, staring at the circle on the floor, the chalk scorched in the center.

  “We protect Sweet Pea,” June said, voice hard and eyes on her sister.

  Bell was waiting in the armchair of Vinny’s bedroom, face turned down in a frown as he drummed his fingers on the leather in the idle minutes until the other demon reappeared. They’d been riding back to Grimsby House when the quiet stretch of street filled with the perfume of tangy herbs and tobacco. Vinny had barely pulled his bike over, when he snarled and leaped off the back into thin air. Bell had circled back to the spot, catching the last whiff of cinnamon and something floral.

  The witches had snatched his soldier right out from under his nose.

  In his mind, Bell kept his grip tight around the reins he’d been granted for the mission, waiting to feel slack on the line connecting him to Vinny. The thread loosened and Bell grinned, yanking hard on the leash.

  Vinny was dragged to him, still snarling, body naked and twisted, lion’s snarl bared.

  “Control yourself,” Bell ordered.

  Vinny crouched and roared at Bell, his breath heavy with rot. Bell raised a hand, and the sound croaked to nothing. Vinny stumbled back on his heels and turned away, and Bell waited for the subtle shift, the demon standing taller and smoother. A moment later, re-dressed and with the human disguise in place, Vinny faced him again, and Bell released the stranglehold on his voice.

  “You could have intervened,” Vinny growled.

  He should have intervened. Bell didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t expected the attack. He was chosen to lead this mission for a reason, and the moment they’d walked into Josie’s bakery and found a witch, he should have been preparing for this moment. Instead, he found an excuse.

  “I was curious. What did they want?” Bell said.

  “To know why we’re here,” Vinny said, scuffing his hand through his bright hair and walking backwards to the foot of his bed. He’d claimed one of the guest bedrooms, immediately turning all the art to face the walls and taking every decorative knickknack and locking it in the closet. At least he hadn’t burnt cigarette holes in the rose carvings of the headboard yet. It was Bell’s personal opinion that petty vandalism was beneath their work.

  “And did you tell them?” Bell asked.

  Vinny bared his teeth at him. “You know how the contract works.” So, yeah. The witches were aware. “For fucks sake, why are you smiling?” Vinny asked.

  “I think this is going to be fun,” Bell said, shrugging.

  “We’re compromised,” Vinny said, slowing down his words as if Bell was missing the point.

  He wasn’t. Bell sighed and pushed up out of the chair, Vinny tensing on the bed. “If you’re concerned about your chances against the witches, I can assure you that this team has everything under control,” Bell said, smug smile spreading as Vinny glowered up at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve faced an actual opponent in battle. Sounds like an entertaining change in the plan.”

  Bell turned to let himself out, and Vinny’s voice stopped him. “Would Curson agree? Or Morningstar?”

  Bell’s teeth ground in his jaw, but he smiled at Vinny as he turned. “Notify them, Vine. But it won’t get you that transfer you requested. You were sent here to follow orders, my orders. Curson may have assigned you to this unit, but we are here on Morningstar’s command. And if you think I haven’t earned Morningstar’s trust after my lifetime of service, you don’t understand our master.”

  Bell left Vinny in the ensuing silence, taking the broad curling staircase downstairs. Privately, he wished Vinny’s request to be transferred to a different mission had been granted. He didn’t mind having another King on the mission, in fact he was glad to have Pie. Vinny was just an asshole, and Bell had a low tolerance for those. Pie had caught wind of the request after it’d been rejected, while Vinny was bitching to an indifferent Barbie.

  Speaking of the taciturn demon, Aim and Barbie were in the kitchen burning something on the stove, the back door hanging open. Pie was in the garden, stretched out on a loveseat by the ironwork tea table, his head thrown back and eyes staring unfocused up at the stars. His glasses lay discarded on the table next to a cigarette burning in a porcelain saucer.

  “Are you gonna smoke that?”

  Pie blinked but didn’t stir. “I just like the smell. Reminds me of offerings.”

  “Too bad the witches didn’t summon you,
” Bell said, eyeing his second.

  Pie hummed in something that might have been agreement. “They know now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this intentional or a miscalculation, Beleth?”

  Bell huffed and threw himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Does it have to be one of the two? Can’t it be…convenient?”

  “Will you retaliate?” Pie turned his head, and the smoke curling through the air between them twirled at the command of Pie’s fingertip.

  Bell grinned at the thought. “Well, I’ll have to, won’t I? Remind them who they're dealing with.”

  He ignored Paimon’s narrow-eyed stare as the possibilities grew in his head. He knew just where to start.

  The kitchen witch’s home smelled like her, sweet and spicy, vanilla hanging like a cloudy backdrop over every piece of furniture. The apartment had a warmth to it that made Bell uneasy, as if those oversized pastel pink pillows on the couch were capable of dragging him into their depths and putting him into a lazy, decadent nap.

  He helped himself to snooping through the living room first, rifling through magazines and notes on recipes. When that was dull and fruitless, he hunted the kitchen and discovered the world’s most intensely chocolate brownies he’d ever tasted. There was magic in the kitchen, lingering on cupboard doors, but it was harmless and loving, only the intention of sharing care and kindness. Not even a damn love potion in sight.

  The bedroom was a large open space with an enormous bed on a white platform. Beleth stared at the twisted sheets for longer than he would’ve cared to admit. Perhaps the man’s body he was wearing was starting to develop a man’s appetites, because he enjoyed the image of Josie his mind conjured, tan skin against baby blue sheets, curves on display. The reverie ended as a hum of power thrummed out of the corner of his left eye.

  “Here we go,” Bell purred, facing the altar arranged on a table in front of a large window.

  He frowned as he stepped closer. It was unlike any altar he’d seen before. Witches’ altars were meant to be tidy displays, made of natural items. The one in Josie’s bedroom was cluttered and colorful, full of bottles of booze and a box of cigars, dry and fresh flowers, silk patterned scarves, a harmonica and a plastic tambourine, colorful drawings, and strange figurines that were a cross between saints and demons. Candles glowed in safe containers, and ash lay on an incense burner from the morning. Bell couldn’t puzzle it out, but there was no denying the hearty glow that touched every single item on the table. Whatever Josie was praying to, it was listening.