She stands, knocking my husband to the ground. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and crawls after her with his tongue hanging out. He presses his lips against her feet. I turn my head and clench my fists. Allegra’s laugh fills the air. Blood drips from my palms onto the ground.
“Stop her,” a voice whispers. “Do not abide this evil.”
I try to move, but my feet stick to the ground and my hand slows in its reach towards the scene in front of me. Dario takes our baby from the demon woman. He cradles him, crooning a lullaby, and looks back up at Allegra. She is the only thing he sees as he places our child into the fire.
My screams mix with the baby’s wails. I lurch forward, but my feet are lead. Smoke fills the room, gagging me. I cannot look away from the tiny figure writhing in the flames.
“Marco.” His name falls from my lips with a sob.
Allegra laughs and helps Dario to his feet. He laughs with her, his face still holding that look of bliss. In that moment, I hate him for his ignorance. She runs a hand down his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into it. They kiss, slow and deep, savoring every moment. Then, she rips his heart from his chest. She holds it out to me with a smile, letting his body drop to the ground.
“You tried to stop me, but your husband’s heart is still mine,” she says.
The demon leans over me, still holding my husband’s heart. I try to claw at her eyes, but she knocks my hand away. She grips my jaw in her hand and forces me to meet her gaze. An amaranthine glow flares from her pupils. I fall into her gaze.
“I will reward you for your ingenuity,” Allegra says. “I will make you mine.”
The purple intensifies, encompassing her eyes. It slips into the cracks in my mind and fills me. Nothing else exists.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I woke with my sheets soaked in sweat again. Allegra’s voice still rang in my ears. The afternoon rays shined through my window. Unconsciousness had held me captive to my dreams for the whole day. I wiped my face and pushed down the feeling of sorrow. My cell phone sat on the bedside table, a gift from John, who convinced me it was useful to keep in touch with people. No calls. He must still be upset over what had happened last night. In my fear of losing him by starting a relationship, I may have lost him anyway. I sighed and sat up. Lying in bed wouldn’t help anything, and I had a ritual to perform.
Marge sat with her feet propped on the kitchen table when I entered the room. One of Esais’s books balanced on her knees, and she flipped through it as she ate a sandwich. I breathed in the scent of real Columbian coffee and walked to the counter to pour a cup.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“Tres has run off to his girlfriend, and Adrian’s locked himself in the garage.”
“So, how long do you have on your contract?” I asked.
Her head jerked to me, and she narrowed her eyes. After another minute she nodded. “About five years.”
“Why’d you do it?” I asked.
“I didn’t,” she snapped. “My mother tried to get us out of the hell we were in and made things worse. She traded my soul, not hers, because I was the one suffering.”
I frowned. “I didn’t know others could sell your soul to demons.”
She shrugged. “Something about legal guardians being responsible.”
“That’s just wrong. There should be a way to fight that.”
“I’m trying. If I kill the demon that holds my contract . . . ”
“Do you even know who it is?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“So you’re just traveling around, killing whatever demon you come across?”
She shrugged. “I’ll find one eventually who knows.”
This sounded familiar. My mind flashed back to a young angry widow carving a swath of demon flesh in Italy. I’d had a mentor though. Good Father Ricci with his balding hair and watery eyes. He also thought every dead demon was a boon to humanity. Because of that, it had taken me centuries to get on the trail of Allegra. Marge didn’t have forever. This woman had been through a lot. She’d come out damaged, but she still stood at least, and I had to make sure she remained so.
“Marge, you need to have a plan. Otherwise, you’re just wasting what little time you have left.”
“So what do you propose I do?”
“We’ll research. I’ll check with a few of my contacts to see what they know.”
“Mine led me here. You see how well that worked out,” she said.
“I doubt the alastor has left. He won’t risk failing a mission if he can help it. With the hellhound dead, all he can do is drag Ose back to his master.”
She finished off her sandwich and stood up. “Well, I’m going out to look for it.”
I nodded. “Good luck.”
In the living room I found the bloody remainder of Marge’s pants still in the trash. Tres had been upset enough from his argument from his brothers to forget about them. This worked out better than I hoped since I needed Marge’s blood.
I walked to the den with my bag and closed the wooden door behind me. I moved the furniture to the edges of the room and rolled up the carpet. From the bag John had given me, I pulled out a jar of alchemical paint made from quicksilver. This would have been why John had taken so long. Most people mistook quicksilver for mercury. It took the most skilled alchemist to tell the difference. I wasn’t one of them, but I knew a few. Quicksilver remained a mystery in alchemy, but was still one of the most powerful components. Many an alchemist had theorized on the origins of the substance, but nothing had been proven. I never really cared. I preferred using it for its ability to channel magic in ritual work.
I painted a circle on the concrete that took up most of the free space in the room. Inside the circle came a triangle with its points touching the circle. Within the triangle I painted a square and in that I painted a smaller circle. I set a small table into the innermost circle and placed my sword, a bowl of herbs, two wax dolls, and a mirror on it, along with several black candles. The color black repelled or blocked energy. I laid out a small brazier with burning sage to purify the room while I cleansed myself.
I let the water from the shower run down my body. My stomach was doing flips, and the muscles in my back bunched together. I breathed out the anxiety I felt, imagining it to be viridian smoke leaving my mouth. These emotions would taint the energy I intended to channel for this ritual. I envisioned my body surrounded by a Prussian blue aura. I stepped out of the shower in a focused state of tranquility and slipped on a white robe. I was ready.
The sage had burned itself out by the time I came back into the den. I placed small bowls of angelica incense on the three points of the triangle. The herb was attributed to the archangel, Michael, and the fumes would dispel evil or hostile magic. I picked up my sundang. Many Hermetic ritualists like to have a special sword for working their magic. My sword was an extension of me and so it allowed me to channel energy easier.
I raised the blade to my face and closed my eyes. I envisioned myself growing larger and larger until I floated in space, with the planets floating around me. A star hung above my head, blazing with white light. I raised my sundang and pierced the star. Its energy flowed through my sword and into me. I opened my eyes and walked to the outer circle. I moved clockwise with the tip of the blade pointed along the edge of the outer circle. A blue light tinged with gold-white trailed from the sword’s point.
I stopped at the eastern point and drew a five-pointed star. It hung in the air, its white light playing shadows along the bare walls of the den. I pierced its center and projected my energy through it until the star glowed cerulean.
“Ihvh,” I chanted.
I continued my path until I reached the southern point. I drew another star and pushed my energy through it as I chanted. “Adni.”
I walked until I reached the western point and did the same. “Ahih.”
The last star was at the northern point. “Acla.”
The circle closed arou
nd me with an audible hum. A cylinder of blue white light rose to the ceiling. I breathed deeply and moved to the altar, facing east. I held my sword in front of my face with the tip facing up.
“Before me, Michael,” I said.
Michael, the Sword of God, led the seven archangels and was the general of Heaven’s Host. His element was air, and he was the Guardian of the East.
“Behind me, Gabriel.”
Gabriel was the Word of God, another of the seven archangels. He led the trumpet angels. His element was water, and he was the Guardian of the West.
“To my right, Raphael.”
Raphael was titled God’s Heal. Many miracles were performed in his name. His element was earth, and he was Guardian of the North.
“To my left, Uriel.”
Uriel was the Fire of God, the punisher. He took great pleasure in his work, supposedly. He was the Guardian of the South.
“About me flames the Pentagram.” I touched the blade to my forehead and the four stars flared. “And in the column shines the six-rayed star.”
I set my sword on the altar and let out a breath. The circle had been cast and the divine entities called for protection. Now came the actual ritual. I picked up the mirror and arranged it so it pointed down on the table. I wrapped the scrap of Marge’s pants around one of the wax dolls. I cut my hand, bled into a white cloth napkin, and wrapped it around the second doll.
“I name you Malantha. No more shall you do us harm. No more shall your eyes spy us,” I said.
I let my will and energy flow into the dolls as I spoke the words. On their foreheads I carved pentacles, five pointed stars surrounded by a circle. I set the dolls into a bowl of herbs consisting of salt, bay laurel, angelica, and garlic. All were used to protect against evil. I placed a black cloth over the dolls, imagining Marge and me being hidden from Malantha’s eyes.
“No more shall you interfere in my life, nor in the lives of my loved ones. By the power of God and by my will. So mote it be!”
I stood and walked counter-clockwise, releasing the energies of the circle. I would return the next midnight and the one after to repeat the words. After that, she wouldn’t see us coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Marge gripped the chain-link fence, looking up at the top several feet above her head. Small wisps poked out from under the black cap she’d worn to cover her strawberry blonde locks. I snickered. Marge would probably kick me if I ever referred to her hair as golden locks. She looked over at me, her brow wrinkling.
“What?” she mouthed.
I shook my head, waving her on. We all looked like sneak thieves in the tight black shirts and pants we were wearing. The rest of us hadn’t needed to cover our hair; mine was black and the boys had dark brown. Tres said we looked like a group of teenagers on their way to vandalize property. I’d failed to understand his excitement, but all my trespassing had been done after my marriage. I didn’t feel the nostalgia of my youth.
The fence clinked every time Marge put her foot on it. She paused at the top to survey the area below before hopping down. I climbed last, watching for any guard approach as I waited. The impact of the landing jarred my knees, but I kept my balance.
We’d entered into the food court. Streetlights bathed the boarded stand in a yellow light. The ground was cleaner now than it’d been during the day, thanks to the cleaning crew that swept the place after closing. I wrinkled my nose as a breeze brought the smell of stale popcorn. Still, it felt good against my damp face. The air remained humid, even at two in the morning.
We slipped in between the stands, peering around corners before scurrying to the next safe haven. At this moment, security became more dangerous than any monster. We couldn’t kill a human if we were caught. We’d have to abandon the plan or end up in jail. I preferred to stay away from the law. Nancy’s suspicions and the incident with the dog attack had already put us under police scrutiny enough.
“How much farther?” Tres asked, keeping his voice low.
“Past the Ferris wheel, across from the roller coaster,” I said, pointing.
I shivered as we crept past. The wheeled monstrosity loomed above us with its caged seats rocking in the wind. Metal scraped against metal as they moved. A shadow moved in one of the cars that looked almost human, and I stared hard at the car, but it remained motionless. With a long breath, I moved on. We weren’t here for a confrontation.
I stopped in front of the wagon, facing off with the gypsy woman. Gloom shrouded the painting, but I felt her smile. The air felt thick like water. It closed in on me, pressing on all sides, and I took a deep breath and let it out, counting to ten. I jumped at Tres’s hand on my shoulder.
“This is it?” he asked.
I nodded. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I didn’t trust myself to speak without stumbling over the words.
Marge hopped up the steps and jiggled the handle. “Locked.”
“I got it,” Tres said.
He pulled a silver Swiss army knife out of his pocket and unhooked a thin pick from it. He bent over the lock with a penlight in his mouth. After studying the lock, he straightened another lock pick on the knife and set to work. In a matter of moments, the door swung open.
“I didn’t know your brother had such talents,” I murmured to Adrian.
He shrugged. “Did you think Esais would learn how to do it?”
I shut the door behind us as we crowded into the tiny room. Tres played the light over the room. A circular table stood in the center of the room, draped in layers of scarves and surrounded by three chairs. A crystal ball sat atop it. Tasseled scarves adorned the walls, their colors muted by the lack of light. With the right light, this would have given off a gypsy feel.
Goose pimples rose on my arms as a chill swept over me. This place was wrong. The walls felt like they crept closer. I bumped into Adrian in my haste to search a small table near us. The gloom obscured his expression but from the jerk of his head, he was annoyed.
“Okay, this place is too small for all of us. Two can do this with no problem,” I said.
Marge snorted and pushed past me to the door, leaving the rest of us to stare at each other. I wanted to join her, but that would leave Tres and Adrian. They wouldn’t know what to look for and might bumble on something harmful.
“I should stay,” I said, straightening my shoulders.
“I will, too,” Adrian said.
I blinked, staring at his semi-obscured form. Was this some sort of torture he wanted to put me through? I could think of no other reason why he would volunteer to be in my company. Great, not only did I have to scan this place again, but now I had alone time with my least favorite Van Helsing.
Tres handed me the flashlight with a shrug. “I’ll keep watch with Marge, then.”
I turned to the table, putting my back to Adrian. I took a deep breath and looked beyond what normal people saw. I gulped back the bile that rose in my throat, which caused the burning in my stomach to increase. The same yellow from outside swirled around me, filling the wagon. It reminded me of water I’d seen spill from a sewage plant. I swayed, wiping my damp forehead.
“Are you all right?” Adrian asked. He almost sounded concerned.
I nodded, letting air out through my mouth. After a few minutes, my stomach stopped trying to rebel against me though the burning remained. I focused trying to find the source of this. I noticed that the tiny black lines created spirals in the yellow. They floated together, forming a picture if I unfocused my gaze.
“About the symbol you used to protect the house.” Adrian spoke up.
I blinked, rubbing my eyes. The swirls formed the face of a catlike creature, a large predator. It looked a lot like those pointillism paintings created by Monet, confusing up close but could make sense if you stepped away from them. The fangs of the cat were bared in a grin. I had seen that face so many years ago.
“What about it?” I asked.
“Is it possible to combine the symbol with another to form so
mething that can kill demons?”
I stared at him, taking in the cool emerald and yellow-orange that surrounded him. Even the muddy red of the anger comforted me. I shut my mouth and shook my head, trying to concentrate on his words. Still, I didn't take my eyes off of him.
“A symbol?” I asked.
“Yes, like the ones around the house.”
“I’ve never heard of it being possible. Symbols like that are very specific in their creation,” I said.
He raised a brow. “Am I distracting you?”
“No, it’s just . . . ”
“You usually seem capable of talking while doing your scan.” he said. “What is different?”
I sucked in more air. “This place is intense. I’ll be fine. So, why do you want it?”
He cleared his throat, placing his hands behind his back. “I have an idea for a weapon that will harm demons.”
“Based on a symbol you’ve never seen before?”
He chuckled. “Which is why I asked if you had a symbol. You, at least, seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Is that a compliment?” I asked, a smile pulling up the corners of my mouth.
“Maybe.” he turned his head away.
I walked to the center table and sat on the single chair. The black began to move once I took my gaze from Adrian. My eyes focused on the scarf. The biggest concentration came from under it. I lifted the tasseled cloth away and revealed a small table. A rectangular object sat wrapped in red silk. Not that I could see the red with all the black and yellow that radiated from it. This had to be the source. My hand paused in midair. I didn’t want to touch it, but I had to see inside.
“Did you find something?” Adrian turned from the table he was inspecting.
I laid the object next to the crystal ball. A stack of cards lay in the silk, their edges yellowed. On the topmost card a goat-headed figure crouched on a pillar, his clawed feet digging into the stone. In his hand he held a torch, and his wings spread out behind him. A man and a woman stood chained to the pillar, naked with small horns protruding from their heads. The card lay upside down, but I still knew the name printed at the bottom. The Devil.
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