CHAPTER Thirteen HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?
Standing on the side of an icy mountain ledge with a sheer drop off, the snow-laden wind swirled around Deliverance and Sixt with such force she had to concentrate to remain standing.
Dressed in the jeans and jacket she’d chosen for a pleasant fall day in New York, Sixt wrapped her arms around her body that was shaking from the cold. She wasn’t sure which was worse. She was frozen from the indescribable cold in a literal way and she was frozen by her fear of heights in a figurative way.
“Since I’m not as cruel as you,” Deliverance shouted over the roar and whistle of the wind, “I’m going to give you a choice about where you’ll serve out your sentence, which will be the same length of time as the curse I endured.”
Sixt couldn’t speak even if she’d wanted to. Her mouth was too numb to form words. And the threat of falling had her too terrorized to take her eyes away from the view of what might have been a bottomless cavern for all she could tell.
She felt a small tug and tried to open her mouth to scream, but before she could draw breath she was shocked by the abrupt warmth and change of scenery in the passes. Then they were standing in mud on the banks of a narrow jungle river.
When a mosquito the size of a hummingbird flew up and hovered in front of her face, she gave a small yell and swatted at it.
“Because I’m magnanimous, I’m giving you one of four choices. This is number two.”
Thinking she felt something against her leg, Sixt looked down to find a boa constrictor slowly winding itself around her boot. She squeaked, jumped, and tried to fling it away by kicking. But it was huge, heavy, and, apparently, determined. When that didn’t work, she gathered some magical energy that encouraged the snake to uncoil itself and be on its way to some more agreeable prey.
She was acutely aware of the fact that every expenditure of magical energy would bring her closer to the moment when there was nothing in reserve. She didn’t know the extent of her ability to drain her store because she’d never been forced to deplete her well of resources. But she knew it wasn’t limitless.
She looked at Deliverance with big liquid eyes, but found nothing in his expression other than iron-fisted resolve. While she was trying to sort through her thoughts, she heard the river’s waters move and saw a spectacled caiman the size of a house rear its head out of the water. Just as she sucked in a shaky breath, she felt a tug and found herself back in the passes.
When they emerged the third time, they were on a desert hill with nothing but waves of sand dunes as far as the eye could see from any direction.
“Now that you’ve seen some of the highlights of this dimension, let’s move along to door number three,” Deliverance said in a cheerful tone that was cruelly deceptive. “You’d better use some magic to protect your skin or it will be burned to a crisp within,” he looked up at the sun, “well, let’s just say you’re already turning pink.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. And when it gets dark, it gets cold. Really, really cold.”
Feeling the familiar tug, followed by a few minutes in the passes, Sixt braced herself for what might be behind door number four.
They stepped into a dimension that looked like one of the human versions of the Underworld. A blast of heat like a furnace hit Sixt so hard she stumbled back. Deliverance grabbed her roughly by the neck of her jacket and stood her upright.
It was night wherever they were. They stood on the side of a volcanic mound gushing an asphyxiating amount of smoke and ash. Just below was the reason why Sixt could see where she was. A river of lava flowed through the canyon they overlooked, fiery chunks throwing a dim light over the landscape, gases popping and spewing intermittently.
“One of my favs. What do you think?”
Sixt looked at Deliverance as if she was on the verge of refusing to believe that any creature would deliberately torture another in the ways he’d just outlined. Graphically.
“Ah. I see you think I’ll relent if you look pitiful.” Donning a sad face he shook his head, then burst out laughing. “On the contrary. The more pitiful you look, the more delicious is my revenge.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the passes for a fifth time. When they came out they were on top of a Bavarian mountain in springtime. Blue sky. Sun shining. Wild flowers in full bloom. It looked like the opening of Sound of Music.
“I don’t want you to be distracted with discomfort while choosing your fate. So here you are. Warm.” He held up her free hand and the rest of her lunch that he’d stolen appeared there. “Fed. And taking a last look at what you’ll be missing for the next two hundred fifty years. By the time you’re released,” he lowered his chin, “if you survive and if I remember you, things will probably have changed a lot. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll catch up.”
He looked at her uneaten yumpling. “Eat up. I’m not going to wait all day. You have five minutes to decide which reality will be your home.”
He walked off a ways and bent to pick an edelweiss. “Look at this. Pretty, isn’t it?” He looked back over his shoulder to show Sixt. “Oh.” He made a dramatic show of pretending to be surprised. “I forgot two things that may factor into your decision. First, use magic at your own risk. The results could be… well, extremely unpredictable.” He chuckled. “Second,” he gave her a look that said he’d love to have a drum roll, “all four of the dimensions under consideration are deserted. Unless you count wild life, some of which you encountered, you’ll be completely alone. There’s no escape unless a wayward elemental should happen by, notice you, and take pity on you. Even in that very unlikely event, assuming they wanted to help you, and not use you, the chance of them knowing how to find Loti Dimension is…” he looked upward for a second, “essentially nil.”
Sixt took in a deep breath through her nostrils and tried to imagine whether or not she could survive a solitary existence for so long, whether or not she would want to survive.
“Two minutes,” he said. “If you don’t choose when I say time’s up, I’ll choose for you.”
Her mind raced through the various scenarios, each more horrifying than the last when her imagination began to engage the infinite number of disastrous outcomes.
When Deliverance turned to her and said, “Time’s up,” she raised her chin and said “Desert.” She decided that she’d meet her fate with dignity rather than whimpering. Besides, she was pretty clear on the fact that begging would do no good. The demon’s heart had gone cold as stone.
In less than a minute they were standing on the dune hill again. She immediately took off her jacket and put it over her head. That meant the only skin still exposed was on her hands. She decided she could ration just enough magic to protect her hands. She ‘wished’ for invisible gloves and the sting of burning immediately ceased.
She didn’t know why the demon was still there. He’d gotten what he wanted.
Deliverance watched as Sixt pulled her jacket over her head. She wasn’t making his revenge the fun he’d imagined. He’d expected lots of tears, begging, pledges to do anything he wanted. She wasn’t giving him any of that.
He respected her for her refusal to whine, but resented her bravery at the same time. When she turned his direction, he knew she was silently saying, “What are you waiting for?”
So he pressed his lips together and vanished.
There was no point in walking. She’d believed the demon when he’d said there was nowhere to walk to. So she decided she’d sit down and think her predicament through. There had to be a way to deal with her situation other than burning to ashes and blowing away with the sand.
When she tried to sit down she discovered that the sand was hot as a stove top. She could stand only because she’d been wearing boots with thick tire tread soles. That was the good news. The bad news was that she couldn’t sit down.
Well, that was part of the bad news. The rest of it was that there was no water, food, or way to lie down and sleep - the very foundation of the hierarchy of needs.
Screaming curses into the wind, she vowed that, if by hook or crook she did ever manage to escape and return to what amounted to ‘the world’ as she knew it, she would bespell herself into forgetting that she’d ever seen the demon, Deliverance.
When Harm returned to the penthouse after spending hours gathering up everything he would need for his trip, he immediately sensed that something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Everything was in its place.
“Hello!” he called out.
Neither Sixt nor the demon responded.
He autodialed Sixt and got voicemail. “Hey. It’s me. Where are you? We were going to dinner? Remember? You’re buying? I need to know where and when. I vote for something deep fried and covered in fat sauce.”
At eight o’clock Harm was still waiting for a return call. Or a text. He picked up his phone to call again even though he knew the eighteenth time wasn’t likely to produce a different result. With the phone to his ear he walked toward Sixt’s side of the apartment. He passed her study, thinking he’d check her bedroom. For what he didn’t know. The ring he heard in his ear was followed by a faint ring coming from Sixt’s rooms.
He hurried through the door and followed the ring to her bath. She’d left her phone on the counter.
Picking it up he saw that her assistant at WC6 had left as many calls and texts as he had. He’d learned enough about Sixt since they’d reconnected to know that she might ignore messages from him, but she would never ignore messages from Ainsley, her assistant.
He tapped the return call feature on one of the messages.
“Oh, thank heavens. There you are!” said Ainsley.
“No. It’s Harm.”
“Her brother?” There was a pause and he thought he heard Ainsley begin breathing faster, like she was afraid. He thought his sister didn’t have friends, but Ainsley sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Honestly I don’t know. I can’t locate her. We were supposed to have dinner.”
“Why isn’t her phone with her?”
“I guess it’s unusual for her to go out and leave her phone?”
“Unusual? It means the world is coming to an end.”
“Not to be dramatic or anything.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make light of this. I’m just saying that, until recently, she was the sort of person who takes her phone to bed and would have it attached surgically if she could.”
Harm hadn’t met Ainsley, but he kind of liked her voice and the fact that she couldn’t help having a sense of humor, even when it might not be appropriate.
“Well, wait. That used to be the case. But she was gone for a few days and said she didn’t want to be contacted unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless the world was coming to an end.”
“Do you have a problem? Like people who laugh at the wrong times. You joke at the wrong times?”
“No. I mean I get why you’d think that, but those were her words. I swear. It was a quote.”
“Have you heard from her since she’s been back?”
“She’s been back? For how long?”
“I guess that answers my question.”
“So she wouldn’t leave her phone behind. But she did.”
“What should I do?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I could call the hospitals?”
“Do you have the number for the car service?”
“Of course.”
“Call them. Then call me back.”
Harm hung up. While he waited to hear back from Ainsley, he looked around. Everything was in its place except the phone was left behind.
He asked himself why she would do that and remembered that she was getting a lesson on reading auras or something like that. Maybe she didn’t want to be disturbed. Maybe the demon told her to leave the phone.
The demon.
The blond hairs on Harm’s forearms stood up as a chill ran upward over his nipples to his scalp. He knew before the phone rang that the car service hadn’t heard from Sixt.
“Hello,” he said flatly.
“It’s Ainsley.”
“I know.”
“They haven’t received any communications from her. Should I call the police?”
“No. She wouldn’t want you to do that.” He sat on the side of his sister’s bed. “I think I may know what’s going on, but I need you to run interference. I’ll find her and take care of this, but you need to be her proxy until she comes back. I’m speaking for her now.”
“Proxy.” Somehow, even though they were not on video call, Harm knew she was shaking her head. “No. No. No. I’m an assistant. Not a, um, decision maker.”
“Sometimes life asks us to be more than we think we are. For the time being, you are a decision maker. Nobody knows better than you what Sixt would do in any situation. Tell people she’s taking a leave of absence and you’re in charge until she returns.”
“Harm…”
“Whenever a decision has to be made, just ask yourself what she’d do. You’ll be fine. She’ll appreciate this more than you know. I appreciate it more than you know. And there will be a pot-of-gold bonus in it for you.” She was quiet. Too quiet. “Ainsley, you’re still the assistant. Your job description was just expanded temporarily. Okay?”
He heard her take a deep breath. “Okay.”
“You are the best. She always says so.”
“She does?”
“Absolutely.”
That was a lie, but a kind lie. Harm briefly wondered if Sixt would be able to read his lies when he found her.
He continued to sit on the side of the bed for a couple of minutes, mind racing. That demon had done something. Harm knew it. He’d been worried that something might happen when she released Deliverance. And, by all appearances, something had gone wrong.
Finally he dialed Wolfram, one of the warlocks he’d planned to meet at the airport the next morning and then added others to the call after casting a redaction spell. Only those he invited to hear his words would be able to understand what was said.
After summarizing Sixt’s history with Deliverance he explained that he felt strongly the demon had done something.
They all agreed that the purpose of a coven was collective magic and, what would be a better use of that than recovery of a sister?
“I was more or less calling to beg off the trip. I really hadn’t expected to involve all of you, but I really appreciate the offer.”
“It’s not an offer. It’s happening,” Wolfram said.
“What are you suggesting we do?”
“We’re going to summon his ass and rescue your sister,” said Aodh.
“I don’t know how to do that,” Harm said.
There was general agreement that no one in the group did know how to do that as those sorts of magics had always been reserved for their female counterparts.
Aodh spoke up. “I don’t know how to do it, but I know where my sister keeps the family books.”
“Can you get the right one?” Wolfram asked.
“Yeah. Of course. She’ll never know it’s gone.”
“Okay. So we’re doing this,” Harm said.
On hearing everyone’s agreement, he said. “Aodh, when you find the right one, look at the spell and make sure you’ve got everything we need.”
“We’ll skip the downhill,” Wolfram said. “We can do extreme boarding anytime. We’ll go straight to Kathmandu and find a guide to take us to the cave. If the stories are true, it will amplify our power and we’ll pull that bastard to us like we’re magnets.”
They agreed on the plan and disconnected except for Wolfram.
“Don’t worry”, he told Harm. “We’ll get her back. Meanwhile, your sister will be okay. I met her. She struck me as… resourceful.”
Harm smiled and started to say something, but his voice caught. What if she isn’t okay? He struggled for control and finally managed to say, “Yeah. She is.”
After hours of standing in the burning sun, Sixt wasn’t just desperately thirsty. Tired didn’t just mean that she couldn’t stand up forever, which was true. It also meant that her store of magic was waning.
She’d been over it in her mind a thousand times while she stood there putting off the inevitable.
There was only one option.
Magic.
She’d replayed what he’d said again and again. Use magic at her own risk could mean anything. Hotels post signs at pools that say swim at your own risk when no lifeguard is present, but if the swimmer is strong and sober, there’s not much risk.
The second warning was even more vague. He said results could be unpredictable. Okay. So her spells might twist. Wasn’t that a risk every witch learned to watch out for by the time they were adolescents? Skilled witches, like herself, always had compensatory measures at the ready, just in case.
For that matter, how did the demon know whether witch magic would work or not? Did he ask around? Test it out using another witch? Probably not.
He might have been trying to paralyze her with fear so that she didn’t even try. Or manipulate her into delaying an experiment until her magic reserves were low and it was too late.
Any of those things, or combinations thereof, were possibilities. She wished she’d had her head about her to check his aura for lies when he was laying down his own set of ‘ground rules’. But she’d been caught up in the horror of the worst her imagination could project. So it was anybody’s guess.
She closed her eyes and envisioned a ball of light forming, then beginning to grow and brighten as it did. When it was so bright it was all she could see, she threw her arm out in front of her and yelled, “Shelter.”
She opened her eyes at the moment she released the spell from her consciousness and proclaimed it loudly to the vacant dunes.
What happened next caused her to gasp and take a step back.
“Good Hecate Day,” she said.
Standing in front of her was a winding rock path that followed a running stream through a garden shaded by tall palms to the door of a structure that looked very much like the Taj Mahal. She had no idea she was holding that in her mind, but perhaps that was what the desert landscape suggested to her unconscious.
She jumped and squealed a little, but then realized that she shouldn’t celebrate too soon. Perhaps there was some very ugly surprise lurking in the building. Perhaps. But somehow she didn’t think so.
The shade of the palms was just a few steps away and she found that, as soon as she stepped onto the garden path, the temperature plummeted to a very pleasant range. She pulled the jacket away from her head and started toward the building, which she hesitated to call a house. It looked more like a temple. Or a dream.
Nothing had ever in her life looked as good to her as the clear running water at her feet. She knelt down, cupped some in her hand and started to bring it to her lips, but stopped with the thought that it might be poison. She stared at the water for a few seconds before deciding that poisoned water wouldn’t be a much worse way to go than dying of thirst.
She tasted the water and found it sweeter than anything ever bottled. She filled her hand again and again until her thirst was completely slaked.
Proceeding to the house, she picked an orange from a tree laden with ripe fruit, each leaf so perfect and glossy it looked like it had been polished. The garden was full of flowering bushes and vines that wound around the tree trunks.
Again an inner voice suggested that the fruit might not be what it seemed. She sent the fear scurrying, broke the peel of the orange, and closed her eyes with delight when the air filled with the nose-tingling scent of fresh citrus. The flesh of the orange was almost as red as grapefruit and sweeter than any orange she’d ever tasted.
Just as she made her way to the door and pushed it open, she realized it was getting darker. It came to her attention partly because of twilight setting in and partly because the garden was completely outfitted with lighting. Lighting that illuminated trees from the ground up. Lighting that accentuated the garden walls. Lighting that lined the pathways. Lighting in the flower beds. And certainly not least, lighting the exterior and interior of the house, making it as inviting as any fantasy. Power source courtesy of magic.
“What do you know?” she said aloud. “I have a good imagination.”
She stepped inside. While the exterior made the building look monumental, the interior was small. Just one room that housed a small round dining table, a couch, a chair, and a bed against the wall. It was beautifully decorated in a style that reminded her of what she’d done with the interior of the house in Aspen.
“I must like that a lot,” she said. Again to no one.
There were no electronics, but there was an extensive collection of books and there was a wood Pan flute hanging on the wall. She’d always said she wanted to learn to play.
The only other room was the bath and, again, it looked very much like her bathroom in Aspen. She turned the sink faucet and laughed out loud when a stream propelled by strong water pressure fell into the hammered copper basin.
Sixt was grateful beyond measure for the unexpected comfort she’d been afforded because magic had never responded to her so effusively and so effortlessly. Deliverance’s implication was that her magic, should she attempt to use it, would produce undesirable results. But perhaps he was just playing head games. Perhaps the ‘unexpected’ to which he’d referred meant unexpectedly good.
Even so, she would never forget or forgive her ‘sentence’ as decided by the demon, because she found herself growing more anxious as night fell. She tried telling herself that, if there were no humans, there was nothing to fear.
Unfortunately, traumatically induced phobias that take root in a young psyche have no respect for reason and, as it grew darker outside, she began to experience waves of fear that caused her body to shake.
She huddled on the couch with a heavy throw pulled around her even though it wasn’t needed because the ‘house’ was maintaining a perfect temperature inside. Eventually exhaustion overtook her, despite the fear, and she fell asleep.
She woke the next morning to the sound of birds, still sitting, knees drawn up, at the end of the couch. After blinking away the disorientation and remembering what had transpired, she breathed in deeply and smiled.
Birds.
The birdsong in the trees outside was delightful and somehow made her feel less alone.
Rally had tracked down a guide magically. In Kathmandu it wasn’t easy to tell the mystics from the mundanes. While he was negotiating with the man, Harm had a look around. He hadn’t been there for a hundred years, but not much had changed.
Rally came back and said that the guide wanted three thousand Nepalese rupees. That would be for him, his three men, and yak rental. The agreement was that they would carry the gear Harm’s group brought with them, plus tents, food, firewood, and utensils. They would stay outside the cave for up to three days, which is the extent to which provisions would last, and would do the cooking.
It was easy for Harm and the others to calculate the expense because the exchange rate to dollars was more or less a hundred to one.
“I’ll pay it,” Harm said with a look that let Rally know there was no amount of money he wouldn’t pay to get his sister back safe and sound. “How long?”
“Three days.”
“That’s too long.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Ask him if he’ll go with us by helicopter and tell the pilot where to land.”
Rally went back to talk to the man. At one point he was looking at Harm, pointing him out. The guide gave Harm a good long look making Harm think he was discriminatory about who he took to sacred places. At length he seemed to make up his mind and nodded at Rally.
They agreed that they would charter as many helicopters as needed to transport the seven warlocks, a guide, his two men, and equipment. In other words, everything but the yaks.
Three hours later they were standing on a plateau with the guide explaining that there would be a short climb to the ledge and a short walk around the side of the mountain. They were told that the cave entrance wouldn’t come into view until they were there.
The warlocks each carried a Coleman twin LED lantern capable of twenty-five watts for eighty-five hours. It wasn’t daylight by any means, but multiplied times seven they’d be able to see where they were going and what was around them. They’d also packed a supply of fruit, bottled waters, and energy bars, except for Turf, who brought Snickers, and towels packed inside the bedrolls they carried on their packs. Various and sundry magical items had been doled out, but nothing in the way of casting paraphernalia weighed much. They’d managed to travel light.
The guide and his men carried firewood and firestarter logs to the mouth of the cave and left it there. They seemed to be skittish about the idea of entering the cave, which was fine with the warlocks. They would just as soon restrict energy deposits and not have to clean up whatever residue humans would leave behind.
“Let’s go,” Jean Mar said. As he gave a gentle slap to Harm’s shoulder, the helicopters took off behind them.
Everybody in the group knew that Harm was understandably eager to find out what had happened to his little sister. The sooner they got to it, the sooner they’d know what had happened to Sixt.
The climb to the ledge was steep and without a path, but it didn’t require special equipment. The hair-raising part of the journey began when they reached the ledge and inched around the part of the mountain that had been out of sight. The ledge was narrow and icy. It was clear that one wrong move would mean plunging to a bottom that couldn’t be seen from their vantage point.
The guide and his men walked along, seeming as carefree as if they were on the sidewalk in Kathmandu.
When they reached the mouth of the cave without incident, it was evident that the warlocks, who thrived on extreme adventure and were no strangers to jeopardy, were relieved. The guide left the wood and starter logs just inside the mouth of the cave and said they’d be back at dusk and leave hot food in the same place.
Left alone inside the mouth of the cave, with the light of outdoors on one side, darkness on the other, they set their packs down to pull out the lanterns, then pulled them back onto their backs. Aodh stopped long enough to ward the entrance against other visitors. They needed to be sure they weren’t surprised.
As they started into the maw of the mountain, Harm could hear Sixt’s voice teasing him about believing folklore. She’d said something about snake oil.
What if there’s nothing here? he asked himself, but he didn’t want the others to pick up on his doubts. So he covered those thoughts with “Whistle While You Work”. He chuckled to himself when he made the connection that his subconscious had probably latched onto that particular tune because the dwarves were miners.
Wolfram led the way. Aodh brought up the rear. As they went further into the cave the wind tunnel noise that had been near deafening at the opening got further and further away, while the cave itself took on an atmosphere of quiet. There wasn’t much to see. Rock walls. Sand floor. Fortunately the ceiling was high enough for all the warlocks, who were tall by human standards, to stand up straight with a couple of feet of clearance above their heads.
After ten minutes of walking the naturally formed corridor began to gradually widen until they emerged into a cavern that appeared to be vast. As they held their lanterns up, Mallach gave a breathy whistle of appreciation. The sight before them looked more like a temple designed by gods than a random accident of geology.
There was a pool in the center roughly fifty feet across and half that distance to the other side. The walls were adorned with flowstones, calcium carbonate formations that resembled the wax drip deposits that form on bottles that have served as candle holders for a very long time.
Huge red stalagmites, appearing to grow upward stood in the pool like silent sentries with wafts of steam rising from their feet. Pale stalactites hung from the ceiling and a rimstone dam of green calcite accentuated the pool’s border like an artist’s design.
The chamber floor seemed to be made of some kind of crushed stone.
“Hey. Look at this,” Turf said. Everybody turned their lanterns his direction. “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it for myself.”
“Torches?” Aodh scoffed. “Somebody’s got a cliché problem.”
“Yeah? Well.” said Mihai. “Clichés get a bad rap. There’s a reason why they’re popular. Who’s got fire? Let’s see if it lights.”
“Here’s another one,” Jean Mar pointed his lantern at an iron torch cage about ten feet away.
Wolfram pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicked it, and the torch came to life, making as much light as all their lanterns put together.
The warlocks exchanged grins. Turf and Rally started a search for torches and, when they were done, thirteen fires were illuminating the space, adding to the surreal beauty.
“Is this black onyx?” Rally leaned down and picked up a piece of stone from the floor. The onyx floor was reflecting the torchlight like thousands of little twinkling lights. Between that, the fire, and the steam rising from the pool the cavern felt full of life.
“Pretty,” said Mihai.
“Yes, but they’re kind of sharp. I’d hate to have to crawl over this floor naked if it had been dusted with salt,” Rally said. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “What?”
“What’s keeping the torches lit?” asked Jean Mar, which let Rally off the hook for his bizarre comment.
Turf shrugged. “Don’t know. Magic I guess.”
“Whatever it is, I like it.”
Harm dipped a finger into the water. “Warm,” he said. He brought his finger to his mouth. “Tastes okay.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Mallach asked him.
“It means it’s alright for liquid that is not beer,” Harm replied.
Turf snorted. “I’m claiming that as a magical goal. A pool of beer. I understand it’s good for skin and hair.”
“Skin and hair, my ass,” said Aodh. “Nobody likes warm beer and nobody wants to soak in cold beer.”
“I don’t mind warm beer,” said Harm.
Jean Mar spoke up. “Figures. You Germans.”
Everybody laughed but Harm, who hadn’t forgotten why they were there for a second.
Wolfram sensed Harm’s reluctance to take the lead since he was the newest member of the group. So he took charge. “Okay. Time to get down to business. Did you bring the book?” He directed the question to Aodh.
Aodh pulled a old-looking leather tome with a brass latch out of his pack. “Got it.”
“Okay,” Wolfram said. “You read from the book. We’ll get everything set up. Did everybody bring swim shorts?” They all started talking so he held up his hand. “Did anybody not bring swim shorts?” No one responded. “Okay. It’s warm enough in here to be okay in shorts. We’ll change before we do this.”
Turf posed the question they were all dying to ask. “Why?”
“I’m going to spell the water. If things don’t go the way we want with the demon? Jump in.”
“That is ridiculous,” Mallach said.
“You got a better idea?” Wolfram charged. When nobody said anything, he continued. “Walk us through it step by step, Aodh.”
“Who’s good at composing incantations?”
When no one jumped in to volunteer, Mallach offerred, “I’ll do it.”
“Alright. What’s the demon’s name?”
“Deliverance,” Harm said.
“Okay. We’re going to summon him, imprison him in a circle and interrogate him. Agreed?” Wolfram asked everybody.
Harm cleared his throat. “Have any of you ever done this before?”
Silence.
“I think my great-grandmother’s sister might have done it.”
Turf threw his hands up. “Great.”
“We just need to be really sure that we bind him against reprisal. I think he’s got a vengeful streak.”
“Good idea,” Wolfram said. “How do we do it?”
Rally, Turf, and Jean Mar made the trek back to the cave entrance to fetch the firewood.
First they drew a circle about eight feet in diameter with salt. Then they laid the wood so that it would burn in a circle. Before it was lit they changed into shorts.
“Ow. These rocks hurt my feet,” Rally said.
“You should have brought flip flops, numb nuts,” said Turf.
“What kind of pussy would think to bring flip flops?” Rally retorted.
“The kind who doesn’t whine about his widdle fweet hurting,” Turf said.
“Knock it off and grow a pair,” said Wolfram. “Time to put on your magic hats and act like big boys.”
Aodh noticed Turf pull a knit skull cap out of his pocket and put it on. “You don’t really have a magic hat,” he deadpanned.
Turf just shrugged. “I call it a lucky hat. But it can pull double duty.”
“Mallach, you got something?” Wolfram asked. Mallach nodded. “Well, read it to us.”
Magic rush the demon’s flight
Bring him here this moonless night
Interrupt what he is doing
while we stir the spell a’brewing
As we conjure here this hour
Let this spell not twist or sour.
Air and Water, Earth and Fire
Bring the demon we require.
To Witch Gods, we give reverence,
Call the demon, Deliverance
Wolfram pursed his lips, but said, “It’ll do.”
Mallach, who had been raised in the American south ended by saying, “Can I get an abracadabra?” Either nobody thought the reference was funny or nobody got the joke. “Somebody wrote a note in the margins that the easiest way to hold the demon once you’ve caught him is by envisioning a glass cylinder the same size as your circle. Remember to give it a top or bottom. He can escape into the air above or the ground below.”
Wolfram nodded. “Everything else ready?”
“I think so,” said Aodh. “You want to do a checklist?”
“That’s a good idea,” said Wolfram.
They went through the paraphernalia required to conjure a demon according to the book Aodh borrowed from his family’s library. Everything was in place.
“Harm, since it’s your sister, you should make the sacrifice,” Wolfram said.
Harm took the paper with the invocation and the feather pin offered to him by Mallach along with the athame offered by Wolfram.
“Turn around,” Harm said to Rally, who did so without question. Harm held the paper to Rally’s back, pierced his forearm deeply enough to bring blood, then dipped the pen four times. Enough to complete his signature. He was careful to use his given name, Hans Lichterketten, and not his alias.
“Alright,” said Wolfram. “When we get to the incantation part, I think we should stand around the circle and join hands.”
Turf started shaking his head. “No.”
“Why not?” said Wolfram.
“Are. You. Serious?”
“Yes.” Wolfram’s confusion cleared suddenly. “You are not homophobic.”
“No,” said Turf. “I’m not homophobic. I’m just not interested in holding hands with other guys.”
“You don’t mind traveling halfway around the world with us, literally, swimming with, sleeping on the ground with us, but you draw the line at holding hands?”
“Yeah,” said Turf.
Rally shrugged. “Let’s find a work around.”
“Like what?” Wolfram asked.
Rally looked around. “We can take the laces out of some of our shoes. Instead of completing the circle by holding hands, we’ll complete by each holding onto an end of a lace. That way we’re still connected.”
Wolfram looked at Turf. “But we don’t have to hold hands.”
“Exactly,” said Rally.
“It’s okay with me,” Wolfram agreed. Looking at Turf, he said, “But it’s a lot of extra trouble to cater to your damage.”
“I’m not damaged.”
“Seven shoe laces say otherwise.”
“Whatever.”
They proceeded to carefully follow steps until they were ready for the actual rite. They lit the fire. When the entire circle was aflame, Harm placed Mallach’s invocation on the fire. They each took hold of an end of shoe lace and began moving clockwise around the fiery circle.
“As soon as we have him, envision an invisible impenetrable cylinder with a top and bottom,” Wolfram said. “And remember, if anything goes wrong, jump in the water.”
“How do we know that will work?” Rally looked at the water.
“We don’t,” they all said in unison.
“Did everybody remember to say goodbye to loved ones?” When there was no answer, Rally shrugged and grinned. “Life is for learning. Let’s do it.”
Mallach recited his words then the other six joined in repeating the last four lines together.
Air and Water, Earth and Fire
Bring the demon we require.
To Witch Gods, we give reverence,
Call the demon, Deliverance
The flames in the wall torches leapt outward like kerosene had been poured on them. The warlocks continued moving and chanting. The pool water began to slosh as small waves made their way toward the rock rim. But the warlocks continued moving and chanting.
Each of them felt the indescribable tingle of magic at work as the power began to build. It was the first time they experienced the unique potency of a core coven working together with a single purpose in mind.
Deliverance was drinking petuil with satyr friends. He didn’t drink often, but the occasion called for it. The occasion being the profoundly empty victory of punishing the witch who’d cursed him. It had not only given him no satisfaction, but had left him with a sour feeling about himself and his life in general.
He was committed to erasing the discomfort with the help of mind-altering substances when he was suddenly sucked away as if by a giant vacuum.
His first reaction was alarm, which naturally it would be, but within a couple of seconds he matched the experience to something from his past. He was gods damned being summoned! By a witch!
He appeared in the midst of a fiery circle, looked around, recognized the warlocks and almost smirked, thinking they would have been better off without the fire. Didn’t they know he was a fire demon?
They’d stopped chanting and moving about and were staring at him like they were surprised he’d shown up. Amateurs.
“Harm,” Deliverance said drily as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“What have you done with my sister?”
“She committed a sin against me and it wasn’t a little one. Retribution is my right.”
“Taking care of my sister is mine.”
“And that is why it was foolish to summon me.” He glanced around. “And endanger your new playmates.” The remark was intended as a barb, but Aodh and Mihai both laughed. Deliverance was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to needle them, but forged on. “We’re at an impasse.”
“That’s not the way I see it, because you’re in there and we’re out here,” said Harm. “Where’s my sister?”
“I gave her some choices about where to serve out her sentence. She chose a desert dimension. Not very hospitable, but if it was fun it wouldn’t be a punishment.”
Wolfram leaned over and whispered something to Harm.
“What will you take to give her back?”
Deliverance laughed. Serious fucking amateurs. “What could you possibly have that I might want?”
“Well,” Harm pointed to the circle in which the demon was imprisoned, “your freedom.”
The demon sighed. “Here we go again. You think I can’t get out of this.” Harm looked around at his companions, who all nodded and murmured in the affirmative. “I’m pretty sure I can get out of here. And if you make me prove it, it won’t leave you in a very good bargaining position.”
Harm looked at Wolfram then at the demon. “If you can get out, why are you still there?”
Smiling like he was enjoying himself too much, Deliverance said, “Perhaps you caught me when I was bored and I’m enjoying playing with you.”
“That’s one possibility,” Harm agreed. “The other is that you can’t get out.”
Deliverance’s smile faded. His attempt to intimidate the youngsters was losing its fun factor. He surreptitiously pushed against the invisible barrier of the circle. It held.
He blinked and tried again, pushing a little harder. Not only did it hold, it gave no indication of weakening and he wondered if the little brats might have managed to pull off a bona fide summoning. He raised his hands and tried to break the shield. It didn’t even ripple.
What was he missing? He looked around at the faces watching him and was puzzling it through when an idea hit him. He looked up and counted. Reaching the number seven was the sort of, “Oh shit!” moment that demons rarely confront. After all, there is a reason for their arrogance.
The kids, and he thought of them that way even though their ages ranged from ninety-three to four hundred and twenty, had managed to form a warlock coven. He wasn’t sure it had ever been done before. As in ever. Because getting seven warlocks to work together was thought to be not just improbable, but impossible.
Harm smirked. “You want out? Give me my sister.”
Deliverance crossed his arms again and set his jaw. “Okay. You win. I was going to go get her in another day or two anyway. Let me out. I’ll get her and leave her at home.” He shook his head slightly. “Her home, I mean.”
“Right. We don’t have any get out of jail for free cards to hand out today.”
The demon’s nostrils flared. “Look. I’ve been amiable about this so far, but I only have so much patience for little warlocks getting too big for their britches.”
“We’re not letting you out of there until we have your vow that you’re going to get her,” Wolfram whispered to Harm. “And that there will be absolutely no reprisal for her, for us, for our families, our friends, our pets, our homes, our stuff, or anything else that relates to us in any way.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I will get her and deliver her home. There will be no reprisal against her, you, your families, your friends, your pets, your homes, your stuff, or anything else that relates to you in any way.”
“What’s the book say, Aodh?”
“Book says that, if you call a demon by name and ask him directly if you have a deal and he says yes, he can’t go back on it.”
“Deliverance,” Harm said. “Are we agreed on a deal that you will get my sister, take her home so that she is there waiting when I get back, and that there will be no reprisal whatsoever against her, us, our families, our friends, our pets, our homes, our stuff, or anything else that relates to the seven of us in any way?”
The demon glared at Harm. “Yes.”
“Speak the terms out loud.”
A muscle ticked in the demon’s jaw. He was thinking that it was a good thing that he’d pretty much decided to let Sixt go regardless of the antics of the little gang of warlocks.
“Yes. I agree to the deal that stipulates I will get Sixt and deliver her home so that she is there waiting when you get back, and that there will be no reprisal whatsoever against her, you, your families, your friends, your pets, your homes, your stuff, or anything else that relates to the seven of you in any way.”
Harm grinned and clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He looked around at his cohorts. “Let the barrier drop.” Turning back to Deliverance, he said, “You’re free to go. No hard feelings.”
Deliverance gave a small push and realized that he was, indeed, free. He walked through the fire and stood directly in front of Harm. He held Harm’s gaze for a few seconds, said, “Until next time,” then he simply wasn’t there.
Harm looked at the others and barked out a laugh. “We summoned a demon!” Honestly, they couldn’t believe they’d summoned a demon, made a deal, and lived to tell about it. They were going to be named in the Annals.
The warlocks broke into raucous laughter and self-congratulations.
When the euphoria began to fade, Rally said, “We’ve come all this way. We can’t leave without a sacred swim. Even if it’s a short one.”
Without waiting for agreement, he jumped in and the others followed, whooping and hollering like the boys Deliverance thought they were.
“Oh man,” said Turf. “This water feels good.”
“I could get addicted,” said Mahai.
“We’ve got to clean this place up before we go,” said Mallach.
“What do you mean?” Turf looked around. “It looks fine to me.”
“There’s going to be a ring of ashes where the fire’s burning. You should always leave a place better than you found it,” Mallach said with authority.
Rally snickered. “Isn’t that the Girl Scout motto?”
Mallach flushed. “That doesn’t mean it’s not a good policy.”
Wolfram shot up out of the pool from having been submerged, drops of water flying from shaking his longish hair. “Will you shut up? For fuck’s sake I’m trying to immerse myself in a spiritual experience. We’re here at the top of the world, in one of the most sacred places on Earth, and you dickwads are arguing about who’s going to clean up.”
Everybody stopped and stared at Wolfram for a full three seconds before commencement of a spontaneous pile on.
As Harm was finishing dressing for the trek home, Rally leaned toward him and said, “Is it just me, or just my imagination, or do you feel sort of, uh, more powerful?”
“Yes. I feel it, too. I don’t know if it’s the water or if it’s the seven of us together. Either way, I’m feeling like I’ve had my vitamins.”
Sixt spent her day talking to birds and rearranging the house. Literally. She moved walls, expanded and retracted square footage, redecorated, ate like Henry VIII, and added thousands of full-flowering New Guinea impatiens to the garden. Fuchsia. Orange. Red. It was a riot of color. Oh. And she built a swimming pool shaded by overarching palms and surrounded by tiki torches.
Remembering a video journalism piece that she’d seen, she wished for an African gray parrot. A handsome specimen flew through the open door and landed on the arm of the sofa where she sat.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” he mimicked, in the same tone.
She laughed. He laughed in a voice that was almost disturbing in the closeness of its mimicry.
“Well, that will teach me to laugh out loud,” she said.
The bird did not answer, but cocked his head as if waiting for her to say something that interested him.
“I’m Big Bird.”
He obliged and said, “I’m Big Bird.”
“I like Sixt.”
He repeated that faithfully as well.
“I hate Deliverance. He’s not a demon. He’s a scoundrel, a pig, and a villain.”
Hearing the bird repeat that sentiment delighted her to the point where she had to laugh out loud and was willing to hear the bird copy her laughter. But when she heard her laughter coming back to her, which she hated, she blurted out, “Fucker,” before she caught herself.
It was the sort of mistake owners of gray parrots live to regret.
She went through the library and wondered if her subconscious mind had catalogued all that many books without her awareness of having seen them. As busy as she tried to be, she was aware of the ever-present fear of night approaching. By late afternoon, when she felt the panic of being alone beginning to take hold in earnest, she decided she needed to do something about it.
She was a witch. If she could control her exterior world, and it was clear that she could, she should be able to influence processes in her interior world as well. It was logical. It was reasonable. And it was untested.
Judging by the light, she estimated that she had two and a half hours before total darkness. She came up with a set of mantras designed to convince herself that she feared nothing and cherished time alone, especially at night.
She knew the recitations needed to be out loud or they wouldn’t work as well.
“You will not remember or repeat my mantras,” she said to Big Bird.
He bobbed his head in birdlike fashion in a way that could have been an acknowledgement or a quirky coincidence. But since the entire environment and its occupants sprung from her mind, she reasoned that she may have created a parrot capable of obeying commands.
She went out and sat by the pool to begin the process of convincing her subconscious mind that she was not afraid to be alone at night. The bird flew through the open door and sat on a nearby wrought iron chair. Though he occasionally copied the tweet patterns of other birds in the garden, he never repeated a word of her verbal meditations.
“Good bird,” she said.
He replied immediately. “Big Bird is a good bird.”
She laughed out loud. And was sorry that she did.