Summoning the Night
Page 59
“If you really want to be impregnated by demon seed, I’d be happy to comply,” he joked. “There’s no need to call up an incubus for that.”
I glanced up from a photocopy of the incubus seal. “Lord knows you’re good at impregnating, but I’m gonna have to pass, thanks.”
I’d already finished drawing a double-strong Æthyric-level binding triangle onto the floor of an old open-air workshop in the woods of Lon’s property, a half-mile away from his house—a half-mile away from Jupe. It was really just a glorified carport on a concrete pad, with one full wall of metal siding that sheltered our work from the dirt road, and two half-walls. It housed a tractor that he used for clearing land and some miscellaneous tools locked up inside metal cabinets. Not fancy, but it had the electricity I needed for kindling from a row of fluorescent lights above us.
The circle was finished. Lon let me borrow a full-sized caduceus. Good thing, because the miniature one I’d been carrying around all day in my pocket would have likely blown to smithereens with the amount of Heka I needed to kindle for securing this thing. I brushed off my hands and double-checked that everything was correct: the binding triangle, the summoning circle, and the incubus seal. All good. Time to start charging the triangle.
“Ready?” I asked.
Lon inclined his head and gestured for me to begin.
I took a deep breath and reached out for electrical current. It was nice and strong here, readily available. I pulled it inside and kindled Heka for several seconds. A firm push, and it rushed from me and ran through the caduceus. White light seared the chalked markings, solid and steady, no cracks or static. I didn’t have time to fully appreciate it. The post-magick sickness came on the heels of the release, dropping my stomach to my feet. I closed my eyes for several seconds and counted breaths until it abated. Not too bad, but it would get worse after the next round.
“You could just do it with your ability. It’s dark now. Moon’s out.”
“I’ve had about all the strange magick I can handle today.” This way might take longer, but at least there wouldn’t be any surprises.
The binding triangle had been charged. Next up was the circle. This time I had to focus harder to kindle more Heka. Summoning requires a big, big charge. When I pulled from the current, all the lights buzzed and flickered. Too big a pull and I’d short everything out; not big enough and I’d have to start all over again. I strained, carefully seeking the breaking point in the electricity. A sharp pop cracked the air on the other side of the shed when one of the fluorescent bulbs gave way and sent tiny shards of glass tinkling onto the floor.
Raw energy coursed through me, standing the hairs on my arms on end. Making my skin itch beneath the surface. Firing up every nerve in my body. My cells were rubber balls, bouncing off each other, erratic and frenzied . . . just a little further.
Lon murmured anxiously from the side. I ignored him.
The caduceus tip was poised at the chalked border of the summoning circle. Kindled Heka swirled inside me, begging for a release—I hadn’t pulled this much current in a long time, and I couldn’t hold it any longer. With a groan, I pushed it out in a smooth, heavy stream. Sweet, holy relief. The circle fired up so bright and strong, it hurt my eyes. I tried to laugh in victory, but it came out like a warped yelp.
If I’d been a surfer on a board, nausea would be the thirty-foot wave that broke too soon and knocked me down. The fall was surreal. Slow motion. I crumpled to the side, away from the circle. My shoulder hit the concrete. Pain ripped through me, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to roll over before the vomit came . . . and it did. I retched violently. Mostly water and the crackers I’d eaten when we returned from the putt-putt center. I’d planned for it, so my skunk-striped hair was twisted up into a loose knot on the crown of my head: I’m a pro.
Lon’s hands pulled me up, setting off a flare of pain in my injured shoulder. A cry broke from my lips. He jerked back, apologizing, then shifted his grip to my waist.
“Water and towel,” I croaked, coughing from the stomach acid burning my throat. White terry cloth appeared in front of my face. I wiped my mouth, then swished bottled water and spat it out as Lon silently unrolled yards of paper towels. “I’ve got it,” I complained. “I can clean up after myself.” I briefly wondered how Frater Merrin managed to go through this every week at the Silent Temple. Maybe the nausea wasn’t as bad when you were used to pulling that much Heka all the time. Or maybe he was just stronger than me, Moonchild or not.
Lon dropped the paper towels in a pile over the vomit. “Leave it. Go finish.” His hand emerged from his pocket with a pack of gum. He offered me a piece with a whisper of a smile on his lips. I snatched it out of his fingers. “I’ll brush my teeth before kissing you, don’t worry.”
“Small favors.”
The circle was perfect. The binding was perfect. The seal inside the binding was perfect. All I had to do was call the incubus. There are several ways to do this, several calls in multiple languages. Some work better than others, depending on exactly what you’re attempting to summon. But I always try their name first, without all the extra bells and whistles. For something as simple as an incubus, it should work.
“Voxhele of Amon!” I called out, pushing my will through the summoning circle as I paced around it. My legs were rubbery, still fighting the last waves of Heka-sickness. I anxiously smacked Lon’s gum. Fiery cinnamon. It tasted like him; he loved cinnamon, hated mint.
I glanced up from a photocopy of the incubus seal. “Lord knows you’re good at impregnating, but I’m gonna have to pass, thanks.”
I’d already finished drawing a double-strong Æthyric-level binding triangle onto the floor of an old open-air workshop in the woods of Lon’s property, a half-mile away from his house—a half-mile away from Jupe. It was really just a glorified carport on a concrete pad, with one full wall of metal siding that sheltered our work from the dirt road, and two half-walls. It housed a tractor that he used for clearing land and some miscellaneous tools locked up inside metal cabinets. Not fancy, but it had the electricity I needed for kindling from a row of fluorescent lights above us.
The circle was finished. Lon let me borrow a full-sized caduceus. Good thing, because the miniature one I’d been carrying around all day in my pocket would have likely blown to smithereens with the amount of Heka I needed to kindle for securing this thing. I brushed off my hands and double-checked that everything was correct: the binding triangle, the summoning circle, and the incubus seal. All good. Time to start charging the triangle.
“Ready?” I asked.
Lon inclined his head and gestured for me to begin.
I took a deep breath and reached out for electrical current. It was nice and strong here, readily available. I pulled it inside and kindled Heka for several seconds. A firm push, and it rushed from me and ran through the caduceus. White light seared the chalked markings, solid and steady, no cracks or static. I didn’t have time to fully appreciate it. The post-magick sickness came on the heels of the release, dropping my stomach to my feet. I closed my eyes for several seconds and counted breaths until it abated. Not too bad, but it would get worse after the next round.
“You could just do it with your ability. It’s dark now. Moon’s out.”
“I’ve had about all the strange magick I can handle today.” This way might take longer, but at least there wouldn’t be any surprises.
The binding triangle had been charged. Next up was the circle. This time I had to focus harder to kindle more Heka. Summoning requires a big, big charge. When I pulled from the current, all the lights buzzed and flickered. Too big a pull and I’d short everything out; not big enough and I’d have to start all over again. I strained, carefully seeking the breaking point in the electricity. A sharp pop cracked the air on the other side of the shed when one of the fluorescent bulbs gave way and sent tiny shards of glass tinkling onto the floor.
Raw energy coursed through me, standing the hairs on my arms on end. Making my skin itch beneath the surface. Firing up every nerve in my body. My cells were rubber balls, bouncing off each other, erratic and frenzied . . . just a little further.
Lon murmured anxiously from the side. I ignored him.
The caduceus tip was poised at the chalked border of the summoning circle. Kindled Heka swirled inside me, begging for a release—I hadn’t pulled this much current in a long time, and I couldn’t hold it any longer. With a groan, I pushed it out in a smooth, heavy stream. Sweet, holy relief. The circle fired up so bright and strong, it hurt my eyes. I tried to laugh in victory, but it came out like a warped yelp.
If I’d been a surfer on a board, nausea would be the thirty-foot wave that broke too soon and knocked me down. The fall was surreal. Slow motion. I crumpled to the side, away from the circle. My shoulder hit the concrete. Pain ripped through me, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to roll over before the vomit came . . . and it did. I retched violently. Mostly water and the crackers I’d eaten when we returned from the putt-putt center. I’d planned for it, so my skunk-striped hair was twisted up into a loose knot on the crown of my head: I’m a pro.
Lon’s hands pulled me up, setting off a flare of pain in my injured shoulder. A cry broke from my lips. He jerked back, apologizing, then shifted his grip to my waist.
“Water and towel,” I croaked, coughing from the stomach acid burning my throat. White terry cloth appeared in front of my face. I wiped my mouth, then swished bottled water and spat it out as Lon silently unrolled yards of paper towels. “I’ve got it,” I complained. “I can clean up after myself.” I briefly wondered how Frater Merrin managed to go through this every week at the Silent Temple. Maybe the nausea wasn’t as bad when you were used to pulling that much Heka all the time. Or maybe he was just stronger than me, Moonchild or not.
Lon dropped the paper towels in a pile over the vomit. “Leave it. Go finish.” His hand emerged from his pocket with a pack of gum. He offered me a piece with a whisper of a smile on his lips. I snatched it out of his fingers. “I’ll brush my teeth before kissing you, don’t worry.”
“Small favors.”
The circle was perfect. The binding was perfect. The seal inside the binding was perfect. All I had to do was call the incubus. There are several ways to do this, several calls in multiple languages. Some work better than others, depending on exactly what you’re attempting to summon. But I always try their name first, without all the extra bells and whistles. For something as simple as an incubus, it should work.
“Voxhele of Amon!” I called out, pushing my will through the summoning circle as I paced around it. My legs were rubbery, still fighting the last waves of Heka-sickness. I anxiously smacked Lon’s gum. Fiery cinnamon. It tasted like him; he loved cinnamon, hated mint.
