by Debra Dunbar
I removed a few sections of padding, prying the staples up with my utility knife. Luckily the subfloor underneath was plywood and not chipboard. I sat back and eyed the four-by-eight piece. I could do a four-foot diameter circle within one sheet of plywood, or deal with the joints and create a larger circle across two sheets. I ran a finger along the seam and grimaced. No one cared if one section was a bit higher than the others, or if there was a gap. The foam and the carpet evened it all out.
This was risky enough without trying to contain energy across two gaps. Four feet it was. Better than the three feet it would have been in my kitchen or bathroom, but I wasn’t sure the extra foot was worth all the demolition work I’d just done. Hopefully the demon would appreciate the extra space.
I cleaned my piece of plywood as best as I could, then got out my paint set. In a pinch, chalk worked, but it often left gaps and smudges that allowed energy leaks—or room for a demon to escape. I painted until my wrists ached. By the time I was done it was ten minutes until midnight. Perfect.
I had a four foot circle, binding runes on the inside reinforced by another circle. I’d thought about adding a triangle, just in case, but that would have made the summoning area really tiny. Besides, this was a low level demon, commonly summoned for information. I’d never seen him need more than one circle.
I double checked the sigil in the center, took another look at my incantation, and thought of what offering I could make to the demon as I lit the four black candles, and then the incense.
Yes, my landlord was gonna kill me. Whatever had caused those stains on the carpet padding probably wasn’t as bad as defacing the carpeting, having dangerous open flame, and bringing a being from hell into the apartment building. The last was probably an event worthy of immediate eviction, even if the lease didn’t specify any prohibition against demon summoning. I’d just need to be careful and make sure none of the other residents knew. Luckily this should be a fast ritual.
“I invoke, conjure, and command thee spirit to appear before me in this circle. Come into this circle and give answers, faithful and true, to all my questions. Come peaceably without delay into my presence.”
Kneeling, I drew the demon’s sigil on parchment and touched it to the flame of the candle in the southern quarter. It caught so fast I barely had time to toss the burning paper into the metal bowl.
“Vine, I request your presence. Appear before me and hear my appeal.”
I opened the bottle of wine, pouring some into a crystal glass and setting both bottle and glass at the edge of the circle. Then I sat down to meditate. Centering, balancing, I let go of this world and called out, “Vine, I respectfully ask you to appear. I need your knowledge, and would like to share an offering with you”
A surge of energy hit the room, rocking me backward. The candle flames went sideways, incense smoke flattened on the ground in a spiral around the outer edge of the circle. This wasn’t typical. My breath caught in my throat before I managed to push the anxiety away and focus, pouring my energies into strengthening the perimeter. I shouldn’t have needed to do it, but something was wrong about the energy flowing into the circle.
I felt it, pressing against me, compressing my lungs to the point that I could barely breathe. One by one, the flames atop the black candles went out. The runes glowed bright white—the only light in the room. Dark as it was, I saw it. Smoke blacker than the darkness around me rose in a column from the floor, flowing outward only to be halted by the line of runes.
The pressure…it was as if an anvil were on my chest, as if the building had collapsed on top of me. I took tiny breathes, tried not to panic, and kept the circle intact. What was up with Vine? I’d seen him summoned twice before, witnessed three other demons being summoned, none of them ever appeared like this. And none of them ever put forth this amount of energy.
The black smoke coalesced into a bipedal shape. Eyes glowed like coals, blue flames around the edges. In the dim light of the apartment I could see the impressive horns rising from his head, the gnash of sharp, white teeth in a black snout. This wasn’t Vine. I’d copied the sigil accurately, summoned according to the most formal of methods. What in hell had responded to my summons?
“I respectfully request the presence of Vine. Any other demon is not welcome.”
That was a bit confrontational, especially given the type of runes and circle I’d cast, but I was getting scared. Where was Vine? Who was this demon and why had he responded? There were very specific rules concerning evocation and invocation and the dealing with celestial and infernal beings, and this flew in the face of all of them.
Vine is otherwise occupied, so I am here in his stead.
I fought back a wave of terror. Vine had never spoken. He’d always communicated his information either through dream or divination. Who was this?
Who is this Templar Knight who summons demons? Clearly your Order’s manifesto has taken an interesting turn.
Shit, shit, shit. I’d used an invocation, not an evocation because the Goetic demons were somewhat friendly and helpful. They responded best to polite respect, to offerings and requests. And they expected an open channel of energy with the mage. The circle I’d drawn was meant for balancing energies, not forcibly holding malignant spirits.
My mind was screaming a warning, but all I could do was focus every bit of my mental capabilities toward containing this being. I had an instinctive feeling this wasn’t a friendly or helpful demon.
“Thank you for attending, but your presence is not required. Depart to hell forthwith, not to return unless summoned anew.”
That was kind of the equivalent of saying “get the fuck out of here, please”. The response was a roar of power that knocked me backward. I lost focus. The runes dimmed, then darkened, plunging the entire apartment into blackness. Something cold brushed my side—icy cold, sharp pain, and then numbness.
“T’voghnel anmijapes,” I screamed, throwing all of my power into the banishment every Templar learned before they could walk.
The sound of small explosions all over my apartment had me curled in a ball, shielding my face. I felt the demon’s power like a vise on my head… and then nothing. I counted my breaths, waiting in case that metaphorical other shoe was about to drop. When I finally opened my eyes and rolled upright, the golden glow of a street light was streaming through a broken window into my apartment. Candle fragments, broken glass and wine were all over the floor. I got up and made my way to the light switch, careful to not step on any of the broken glass.
It was just as horrible with the lights on. In fact, I was tempted to turn them off and go to bed, hopefully to awaken to a miraculously repaired apartment, but I knew better. Slipping on my flip-flops, I grabbed a roll of paper towels and a broom, and got to work.
Cleaning wasn’t easy when your hands were shaking. Wine and broken glass wouldn’t be a problem, especially since the carpet was nicely rolled up against the wall and still relatively clean. It was the lack of window that was going to cause me some serious trouble. It was past midnight on a Thursday, and I didn’t have a sheet of plywood to nail over the thing. Would someone try to rob me up on the third floor? I thought about the money in the tampon box, about my need to sleep without worrying if someone would climb in and assault me. Tired as I was, I’d need to do one more spell—an illusion this time, to make sure the window looked intact. It wouldn’t last past dawn, but at least I’d be able to sleep, especially if I added an alarm spell to it.
I thought about the demon that had appeared. I’d been pushing that to the back of my mind, but with the apartment clean and the carpet re-rolled out, it had returned to my thoughts. Who had it been? It sure as heck wasn’t Vine. I’d seen him summoned numerous times. He’d been the go-to demon for Haul Du.
A vision hit me of that smoke demon appearing the next time Haul Du summoned Vine. Could they hold him? Being used to Vine, the experienced mages didn’t always take the precautions I’d just done. If that thing showed up instead of
Vine, a whole lot of mages could die. I wasn’t very happy with the members of Haul Du, but I didn’t exactly want them slaughtered by a minion of Satan.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts, hesitating a few moments before dialing Raven. It went to voice mail four times before she finally answered.
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” She was whispering, like others were nearby, listening in.
“This is urgent. Have you guys summoned Vine lately?”
She hesitated. “That’s not… I can’t talk to non-members about such things.”
Damn it. “You’ve got to tell the others, Raven. I summoned Vine tonight and another demon came. He was not friendly, and I barely managed to send him back. Cross Vine off your list and use another Goetic demon.”
“Maybe you made a mistake with the sigil?”
A valid assumption for someone who’d only been an initiate for eight months. Raven was forgetting something, though. “I’m a Templar. I’ve been drawing sigils in a null room for over a decade.”
“Maybe the incantation—”
“Something is wrong with Vine. Either he’s dead, or he’s been subsumed by this other demon. Trust me, Raven, you don’t want to deal with this guy.”
“They won’t believe me, Aria. And I’ll be in big trouble just for talking to you.”
These idiots were going to get themselves killed. There were a few of them that I wouldn’t mind seeing in the obituaries, but I liked Raven. There had been a time when I’d considered her my best friend.
“Tell them that I left you a message. As a Templar, I’m tasked with protecting Pilgrims on the Path. This is my public service announcement to you Haul Du pilgrims, warning you of danger ahead. Okay?”
She laughed, and for a second I felt a lump lodge in my chest. We’d been friends.
“Okay. Take care, Aria.”
She hung up before I could reply. Damn, that lump in my chest hurt. I had two quick spells to do before bed and I was an emotional wreck. Time for drastic measures. Time for the Emergency Beer.
Everyone should have an Emergency Beer. Not the light stuff that you drink after mowing the lawn, or something happy and fruity. No, Emergency Beer should be dark and rich, with enough alcohol to be noticed, but not enough to put you in a stupor. I carefully choose my Emergency Beer, replacing it with something else when it had been consumed. This one was a barley wine that had been in my fridge for five months.
I got out a brandy snifter, wanting to honor the Emergency Beer with an appropriate container. Then I reached in to grab it, the bottle of barley wine in my almost-empty fridge next to a bottle of mustard and a white box.
Huh? I pulled the white box out with the care of a bomb-squad technician. The way my evening was going, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a bomb in my refrigerator. I stared at it as I poured my beer, but there were no red or blue wires to snip, just a piece of twine looped into a bow on top.
I pulled the thread, eased open the lid, and looked inside. There, nestled in wax paper, sat six cannoli.
I wasn’t sure whether this was an apology or not, but any guy who brought me pastries, even if he broke into my apartment to do so, was pretty close to winning my heart. Too bad he was a vampire.
Chapter 5
MY LANDLORD WAS pissed. Not only was he up early on a Friday morning supervising my window replacement, but he’d needed to pay the contractors the emergency rate. Correction, I’d needed to pay, because as I’d been informed many times in the last thirty minutes, these sort of repairs were not his responsibility.
I’d thought about lying and saying some drunk threw a rock at my window last night, but I just couldn’t. It was my fault. So instead I lied and told him I was practicing tai-chi and had a mishap with my bo staff. I think the only reason I wasn’t out on the street with all of my belongings was my payment of last and this month’s rent in cash. That meant I was caught up. And it also meant that after paying for the window, I’d have about fifty bucks left in my tampon box.
Which was just enough to get me to and from Middleburg, Virginia.
The summoning hadn’t worked, and given the results I was reluctant to try again with another Goetic demon. My call with Raven last night made it quite clear that I shouldn’t expect help from Haul Du or any of the other ceremonial magic groups in the northeast corridor. That left my family.
It says a lot that I was weighing the risks of attempting another summoning against the unpleasantness a family visit would bring. I knew I’d eventually have to go home and make nice with everyone. My parents had been leaving the occasional message on my voicemail. There were regular deposits in my old checking account—money I refused to touch. They were extending the olive branch, and I knew I looked like a jerk for not accepting it. Of course, that olive branch was full of thorns, and any return of the prodigal daughter would be celebrated with constant questions about when I was going to be a responsible adult and take my Oath.
Ugh. Luckily I had to work later this afternoon and could delay this trip until tonight. Weekends were usually family time, and there was a good chance my brother and sister and their families would also be in residence. I’d soldier through Sunday, and head back that night using work as an excuse. Hopefully I’d not need to repeat this trip for another six months.
By the time the contractors finished with the window it was nearly noon and I’d eaten three cannoli for breakfast. Hyped up on sugar, I locked my door and headed for the police station.
The records division was in the Baltimore City Archives, which luckily had a parking lot that didn’t charge an arm and a leg. Once in, I made my way to the information desk and asked where to file a request to see a cold case file.
“Online.”
Crap. “Can I fill out the form here?”
The woman shoved two papers at me. “Fill out the registration form, and the research appointment request.”
I thanked her profusely and went off to fill out the forms. When I returned the woman was gone, and a man was at the desk. He was a balding guy with a skin tone that desperately needed some sunlight and a paunch that desperately needed some time on the treadmill. Although if I had this job, I’d probably be deathly pale and fat, too. There’s only so much sitting a person can do in one day, and the boxes of donuts on a table toward the back probably didn’t help with the weight issue. I eyed them, but was still buzzing from my cannoli fest this morning.
The man looked over the forms and nodded. “Seems complete. We’ll order the files and call you when they arrive to schedule a time for you to see them.”
Government. Moving at the pace of an advancing glacier since the dawn of time. We Templars weren’t much better, but sheesh, I needed to see the records now, not in eight months.
“Is there anything I can do to speed this up?” I tried on my best smile. My looks weren’t movie-star beautiful, but I’d been called pretty.
No pretty enough, evidently. “They might not even be here. A good number of the records are kept at the Maryland State Archives in Annapolis and we have to order them. If you want to pay a fee, we can make copies for you and mail them.”
I figured that would take even longer. “No thanks. Is it possible they’re on microfiche or scanned electronically? I don’t need to see the originals, just read the files.”
He smiled sympathetically and gestured around the room at their antiquated equipment. “It’s not like in the television shows. Unless something is going to trial and we need to get copies to the fifty lawyers on the case, it doesn’t get scanned. Reports are electronic, but they’re archived after a certain length of time, and lots of notes are still done by hand.”
Drat. “Thanks anyway. I appreciate it.” I did. He’d taken the time to explain, hadn’t dismissed me or bitten my head off. Working in a coffee shop for six months had taught me how hard it was to remain friendly and cheerful with grumpy, demanding people on the other side of the counter.
“Want a donut?”
This dude needed a promotion. He was giving government workers a good name.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He waved me around the desk over to the table where the square boxes were lined up. They were half empty, and of course all the chocolate ones were gone. I had my pick of glazed, jelly filled, and some mystery cake-type donut.
“I’m Rob.” He pointed at the mystery donut. “They’re apple spice. Don’t tell anyone, but they’re the best ones here.”
Guess my smile worked better than I thought it did. “Aria. And your donut secret is safe with me.” I pulled back my sleeve so it didn’t drag in the powdered sugar and reached for an apple spice.
When I looked up, Rob was staring at my wrist. “You’re a Templar.”
How did he know? Most humans went about their normal lives thinking we died out with the Crusades. “Yes, I’m a Templar.” I didn’t feel the need to explain my non-Knight status. “Thanks for the donut, Rob.”
“In fourteen twenty-eight a group of travelers was captured just outside of Vaucouleurs, France. Half of the party died, but the rest were rescued by a Knight of the Temple.” His wide eyes met mine. “I’m descended from one of those survivors.”
Hundred Years War. Joan of Arc. It was way past the heyday of the Templars but some of the families in France had survived the purge and continued their duties in stealth. It warmed my heart to hear his story. It had been so long since we did that sort of thing. It was nice to know this tale had been handed down through generations, that this man remembered and appreciated our protection.
Rob looked around, as if worried he’d be overheard. We were the only ones in here beyond an ancient woman nodding off at her desk in the far corner and a young man bouncing his head vigorously to whatever was streaming through his headphones. “Look, those files really do take forever to get here, but I’m due for my break. I’ll pull a couple boxes of microfiche and let you look through them in one of the rooms.”
