by J. R. Mabry
Cain shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “I guess I’d man up and carry it out.”
“It’s not something that you would do every day though, right?”
“Hell, no! I’m not bomb squad.”
“And you wouldn’t do it for fun,” Richard asserted.
“Of course not.”
“Same here. A working like this is extremely dangerous. No one in their right mind would do it for fun. Only idiots would do it to achieve a magickal end. But Marco is a magickian. He knows how to do it, even if he doesn’t like doing it.”
Cain nodded, making the connection. “That’s helpful. Just how…dangerous is this?”
“The bomb thing is safer,” Richard admitted.
Cain whistled, raising his eyebrows.
“You’re patronizing us,” Richard said.
“Maybe a little,” Cain said. “I think everything you’re saying is complete nonsense.”
“You should definitely stay, then,” Richard said. “Just make sure you’ve hit the little boys room before we start.”
Marco popped the last bit of sandwich into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his hands. “I’m ready when you are. Let’s get this over with.”
Richard shoved a bit too much sandwich into his own mouth and nodded his agreement. He sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the place beside him.
“Which demon should we summon?” Marco asked, readying a pen and paper. “It has to be a sigil, I know.”
“Well, what sigils do you know?” Richard asked.
“I know Tephalus—”
“He’s a low-level sloth demon,” Richard scrunched up his nose. “He won’t have any idea what the higher-ups are up to. What do you got higher up on the food chain?”
“Hmm…it’s been a long time since I studied the Lesser Key of Solomon. What about Carnaris? I can draw that.”
Richard frowned. “Who is he?”
“She, actually. She’s a vampiric succubus.”
“Let’s take a pass on her. Why are female demons always succubi?”
“The demonic hierarchy is even more patriarchal than earthly governments these days,” Marco opined.
“I think you’re right about that,” Richard agreed. “Who else? We need someone with reach.”
“Oh, I got it,” Marco snapped his fingers. “Mandrake.”
“Mandrake? Like the root?”
“Yep. I used to invoke him—not summon him, mind you, but just, you know, invoke a bit of his energy—back in the nineties when I was young and stupid.”
“For what?”
Marco shrugged. “Paying my bills. Balancing the checkbook.”
“Mandrake is a…what? An accounting demon?”
“Something like that. He’s a bureaucratic functionary. Big on numbers. He doesn’t get around much. Has an office in the business district of hell. But he has big ears.”
“Like, actual big ears?” Cain asked, an amused smile spreading across his lips.
“No, figurative. He hears things. Lots of things,” Marco said.
“What can it hurt?” Richard said. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
49
“Who the fuck—” Turpelo bellowed.
A hush descended on the Cloven Hoof as people from other tables halted their conversation and looked over.
Turpelo shrank a bit and waited until the ambient noise resumed its former level.
“I surmise by the way the two of you are dressed that you are Blackfriars,” Purderabo said calmly with a hint of snootiness in his voice.
“That would be a correct surmissumption,” Mikael said.
“Did you just make that up?” Kat asked.
“I did. Like it?”
Kat bopped him on the nose with the tip of her index finger.
“Worse,” Purderabo said to Turpelo. “Blackfriars in love. Gods help us.”
Mikael slid his hand into his cassock and clutched at the Talisman of Amitiel.
“And why would Father Kinney send two low-levels to see us?”
Kat gave him a mock-pout. “He doesn’t think very much of us, Mikael.”
“That’s all right, since it’s mutual,” Mikael grinned.
“What do you want?” Turpelo asked.
“Is ‘Enjoying your company’ so far-fetched?” Kat asked. “Do they have french fries? I’d trade half my liver for a plate of garlic fries.”
“They have excellent fries,” Mikael said. “I like the sweet potato with the sun-dried aioli with capers.”
“That…is good,” Purderabo said, raising a chubby finger.
“See?” Mikael said. “We’re getting friendlier already.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Turpelo asked again, this time with a bit of growl in his voice.
“Well, first,” Mikael began, “we’re impressed. The whole conversion of the East Bay into the fifth circle of hell was sheer genius. Hats off to you.”
“We’re kind of proud of that ourselves,” Turpelo took a swig of his beer.
“So you claim responsibility for your act of terror?” Kat asked.
Both magickians froze then looked at each other.
“You tricked us,” Turpelo shook his finger at Kat.
“You’re pretty gullible,” Mikael said. Turpelo opened his mouth to protest, but Mikael continued. “What we don’t understand is why.”
“Why what?” Purderabo asked.
“Don’t be coy,” Mikael said. “Why did you hang activated sigils all over the East Bay? What’s it for? It can’t just be chaos for the sake of chaos.”
“Why can’t it be?” Purderabo asked.
“Because Larch is too goal-oriented for that,” Mikael said, “and you know it.”
Purderabo pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the table.
“What’s it for?”
“It’s a test,” Turpelo said. “We wanted to see if it worked. Now that we know it does, we’re going to scale it up.”
Mikael felt the talisman grow cold.
“Why would you want to do that?” Kat asked.
Mikael interrupted. “Don’t bother answering that. You’re lying. You have no intentions of ramping up.”
Purderabo and Turpelo exchanged glances. “How—”
“Never mind how,” Mikael said. “Is this about money?”
“Yes,” Purderabo answered. “Larch thinks—”
“Lie,” Mikael said. “So it’s not about money. Is this about power?”
“Not really,” Turpelo sighed.
“Well, for once you said something true,” Mikael said.
“You get a gold star!” Kat clapped.
Turpelo scowled across the table at her.
“Is this about winning someone’s affections?”
“Don’t be daft,” Purderabo almost spat.
Mikael’s brain raced. He’d exhausted the usual magickal motivations for mischief. Then he had an idea.
“Did Larch put you up to this at the behest of someone else? Maybe someone with more power? Maybe someone…not human?”
“Not even close, Christian,” Purderabo grinned grimly. The talisman was warm, so that was the truth.
“Take a look at this beer,” Purderabo held aloft the glass, now nearly drained of the IPA.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mikael caught movement and realized Purderabo was trying to raise the attention of the waitress without being noticed.
“It has such potential for either pleasure or pain,” he continued. His other hand flapped wildly like a pinned seal. No waitress seemed to notice.
Mikael sat up straight in the booth, goose bumps erupting on his arm.
“What is it, honey?” Kat asked.
“I know,” he said.
“You know what?”
Mikael cocked his head and looked Purderabo straight in the eye. “You’re just keeping us busy, aren’t you? The whole East Bay thing, it’s just a distraction. You’re doing something else—something you didn’t want
us to notice because we’d be too busy…”
He didn’t need the talisman then. The smile on Purderabo’s face said it all.
50
“Normally, I’d have incense,” Marco said.
“You make do with what you have,” Richard reminded him.
“Right.” Marco took the paper on which he had drawn the sigil of Mandrake and folded it into a triangle. Then he pricked his forefinger with a pushpin and smeared a bit of blood on the paper. Getting on his hands and knees, he placed it carefully within the Circle of Containment.
“Whatever you do,” Richard said to Cain. “Don’t leave this larger circle. It’s the Circle of Protection. As long as you’re inside it, the demon can’t touch you.”
“Aye-aye,” Cain said. He looked as if he were enjoying this. Richard sighed. Cain would be the only one.
“Center, everyone,” Marco said.
Marco and Richard sat down cross-legged in the Circle of Protection, facing the Circle of Containment.
Richard relaxed and felt himself connect with the slow rhythmic energy of the earth.
He did not look at the sigil, but he knew what Marco was doing. He would be staring at the sigil, softening his gaze, blurring his own vision. In the absence of incense, Marco would need to rely on more interior methods of visual obfuscation to entice the demon to manifest visibly. It was a transitional thing. Once the manifestation took hold, the demon would be able to emerge without the use of further aid. It was getting started that was the hard part.
Within moments, Richard felt the temperature in the room drop and the hair on his arms stand up straight with static electricity. Marco was succeeding. Something—someone—was coming through. Richard opened his eyes and saw an image appearing within the paper triangle—although he was not able to make it out. Was it a beaver? A muskrat? A capybara? It was hard to tell, but other things were happening that commanded his attention. The wall before him rippling slightly with liminal energy. Wisps of fog drifted into the room, mingling and coalescing into vapor trails, then into formless clumps, and then, in a way that Richard would never, ever get used to, into recognizable shapes.
“Why is it so cold?” Cain asked, his voice higher pitched than it had been.
“Shhh…” Richard shushed him.
“What the fuck is that?” Cain pointed at the form taking shape in the Circle of Containment.
“Greetings, Mandrake, master of the numerical arts,” Marco called to the shapeless form before him. “I welcome thee and bid thee welcome. I command thee by the holy tetragrammaton to assume thy human form and speak to me.”
The shape hovering in the air before them transformed. It took a while before Richard realized what he was looking at, but gradually the image made sense. The being before them was a small man standing with his back to them. He was wearing the robe of a medieval scribe, and held a quill pen in his hand. These are all aspects of his iconography, Richard thought. He isn’t really holding these things. Then Richard reminded himself that the demon didn’t really look like this, either.
As he turned toward them, Richard beheld a small, moleish man, his face drawn up to a single point at his nose, but his nose was actually quite small in relation to his other features. Tiny spectacles perched on his concave, diagonal cheeks. He wore a cravat and a waistcoat.
“What the fuck?” Cain breathed. Richard reached over and squeezed his arm reassuringly. The detective was literally shaking.
“I’ve got year-end reports to prepare for nearly two-dozen departments,” the demon said, sounding both bored and annoyed. At first, his words sounded like they were coming from underwater, but by the time he spoke again, they sounded bold and fiery. “So I am not grateful for this interruption. What do you stupid ass-clown magickians want now?”
“This isn’t real,” Cain said. “This can’t be real.”
“Oh, faithful Mandrake, we do not summon thee for frivolous purposes,” Marco nearly intoned. “Neither do we seek our own advantage.”
“Not that I would care if you did,” Mandrake rolled his eyes. “What do you want, magickian? I have a stack of papers the size of a refrigerator on my desk, and I have no time for your petty scheming. Is it algebraic alacrity you’re looking for? I can grant that and then we can both be on our way.”
“We want information,” Marco said simply.
The demon cocked his mole-like head. “What kind of information?”
“We want to know what the magickian Larch is up to—he and his confederates in the Order of the Hawk and Serpent.”
“What they are up to?” the demon asked.
“I compel you by the Holy Name to tell me,” Marco said forcefully.
Mandrake waved. “No need for threats. I see what you are doing. It is not without nobility. There has been much disruption.”
That’s an understatement, Richard thought, but he kept his mouth shut and let Marco work.
“Who are these others?” the demon craned his neck to see past the magickian.
“This one is a police detective—” Marco began.
“He looks like a scared rabbit. Boo!” Mandrake jerked forward, stopping just shy of the edge of the Circle of Containment.
Cain jumped, and Richard gripped his hand. Cain squeezed it so tight Richard felt the bones in his hand shift with a pop.
“The other is a Christian friar and a student of the Black Arts.”
“He’s not afraid of me,” Mandrake seemed to find this surprising.
“He has a healthy respect for you,” Marco countered.
“That seems…wise,” the demon turned his gaze once more on Marco.
“Do I need to compel you?” Marco asked. “Do you really want me to invoke the Name?”
“Gods, no,” Mandrake shook his head. He sighed. “What makes you think I know the answer to your query?”
“Because nothing happens in hell without filing a cost analysis report with you. If it’s anything of note, happening anywhere, you know something about it,” Marco said.
“You flatter me, magickian.”
“I say only the truth and no more.”
“Hmm…” Mandrake looked like he was considering his options.
“I’m going to start invoking in five…four…three…”
“Oh, all right, all right. No need for the Name to stick its prickly, painful, intrusive presence into my business.”
“What is Larch up to?”
“He intends—and I have this on good authority, since we ran a cost analysis on this six months ago when the Duke Sheradrigan first suggested it—”
“So this—whatever it is—wasn’t Larch’s idea?”
Mandrake guffawed. “We haven’t seen a truly creative magickian since Crowley.”
“Fine. What was the cost analysis for?”
“The defeat of the Name,” Mandrake said simply. The demon even smiled.
“Do you mean that Larch intends to defeat God?”
“To destroy him, yes.”
“How?”
“By throwing one sephirot into chaos after another.”
“Do you mean he is ascending the Tree of Life—”
“And sawing off each branch as he goes.” The demon’s smile grew more broad than Richard would have thought his face could physically allow.
Just then the door swung open. “Cain, I—what the fuck?” Perry stepped into the room, her jaw dropping almost immediately.
With more speed than Richard could follow, the demon transformed into what looked like an oversized possum, all nose and claws and tiny, snapping teeth. Before he could blink he saw the demon lunge at Perry, clawing at her face and upper torso with sharp, four-inch nails, ripping her skin to shreds and sucking her soul into its gullet. Perry’s body dropped to the cement floor of the basement with a sickening thud.
51
Kat and Mikael walked to the other side of the bar, out of sight of Fraters Turpelo and Purderabo. “What do you think?” Mikael asked.
“It m
akes a hell of a lot of sense,” Kat answered. “It’s sneaky. It’s even kind of brilliant.”
“Yeah, but what makes me nervous is what we didn’t find out.”
“You mean what they’re really up to?” Kat asked.
“Right.”
“So…why don’t we go ask the man himself?”
“Who? Larch?”
“Yeah. I mean, we can’t go home. What else are we going to do?”
“We could get a hotel room,” Mikael’s eyebrows bounced playfully.
“Are you suggesting we fiddle while Rome burns?” Kat narrowed one eye at him. “That is very naughty.”
“It would be fun.”
“It would be fun. It would also be hard to explain to God.”
“Uh, there is that.” Mikael thought for a minute. “So…how do we find Larch?”
Kat chewed on her lip. “We could follow those bozos,” she pointed back at the table.
“We’re pretty obvious,” Mikael said.
“So let’s ditch the cassocks for the time being,” Kat said. “God will understand—we’re undercover. I’m guessing that the cassocks are mostly what these guys see. We’re not people to them, we’re Blackfriars. I bet if we walked over to them in our street clothes right now and asked if they’d like to order anything else, they’d just ask for onion rings.”
“No…” Mikael said.
“Wanna bet? How much?”
“Are we talking sexual favors?”
“Huh,” Kat appeared to be thinking it over. “Okay. One thing…out of the ordinary.”
“Anything?”
“Within reason.”
“Damn.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Kat put her hands on her hips.
“You’ll see,” he leaned down and kissed the end of her nose.
“I’m serious,” Kat said. “What were you thinking?” The playfulness was gone, and she looked angry.
“I…uh…I thought we were having fun.”
“We…we were…” Kat looked off into space. “You know what? I’m really, really irritable. And if you say anything about the time of the month you will never, ever get another sexual favor again.”
“It’s the…” Mikael pointed up.
