Summoning the Night
Page 60
A soft light pulsed in the middle of the binding triangle. It grew, filling out with the form of the incubus. Sallow-skinned and black-headed, the demon was the height of an average human, his body lean and wiry. His pleasant face featured heather eyes weighted with thick gray lashes. A matching patch of pale purple skin tipped his sternum. Rows of tight, gray scales trailed over his shoulders. Overall, fairly appealing, if a little feminine for my tastes.
He was sitting cross-legged inside the binding triangle, yawning and naked, like the first time I’d seen him. Not surprising—he was a sex demon. His head rotated in all directions when he realized he wasn’t in Kansas any longer.
“Voxhele of Amon,” I said in a mustered cheerful greeting, still fighting waves of nausea. “Remember me?”
A smile spread over his face. “Mother of Ahriman, a pleasant surprise. These aren’t the Hellfire caves—how wonderful! Where are we, exactly?”
“Not far from the caves, geographically speaking.”
He made a noise of disapproval and scratched the scales on his shoulder. “I owe you a favor, don’t I?”
“Yes—”
“Oh, wait. I remember you, too,” he said, speaking to Lon while looking him up and down with a lewd grin. “If this favor involves all three of us, I’m fine with that.” He leaned back on the palms of his hands, displaying his wares. I wasn’t sure if he was pierced in several places, or was naturally bumpy. I tried not to stare.
Lon mumbled something derogatory under his breath as he picked up the engraved silver tube and a stack of photos, enlargements of the cannery mandalas.
“I need information, not sexual favors,” I said to the demon.
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Depending on what it is . . .”
I held up a hand. “I’m obligated to inform you that you are bound by me now, and must answer honestly.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Ask your question, and I’ll weigh it to decide if it’s an even trade for the favor I owe you.”
From outside the circle, we showed him the silver tube and pointed out the engraving. His eyes widened. A few seconds passed as he glanced between us, then said, very carefully, “And wherever did you find that?”
“Can you translate it and give us the meaning?” I asked.
His eyes darkened as he considered, then he sighed heavily. “It’s the name of a demon from my plane.”
“What’s his name?” Lon asked.
“It would translate loosely as ‘Grand Duke Chora, Commander of Two Legions.’”
Never heard of him. “Two legions? Don’t most of the dukes command like fifty legions or something?”
“I don’t follow politics,” Voxhele said as he inspected his fingernails.
Lon’s face remained stoic. I couldn’t tell if he recognized the name or not. I certainly didn’t. There are, it is said, hundreds upon thousands of Æthyric demons, and only a smattering of those were cataloged in goetic texts and grimoires over the last century; when they were, many were listed with conflicting summoning names and half of them were dead.
“Do you know anything about this Grand Duke Chora?” I asked.
“I serviced a Duke Corelia last week,” Voxhele said with a sly smile. “He was more than a mouthful, and let me just say—”
“Voxhele, please.”
He sighed, great and long-suffering. “Chora commands a notorious battalion of Dragoons.”
I glanced at Lon and wrinkled my nose. “Dragoons?”
“Mounted infantry,” he clarified.
“They ride horses?”
A dark, slow smile lifted Voxhele’s face. “Not exactly horses, no, but they are beasts of a kind. . . .”
“Anything else?”
“He’s missing.”
“From where?”
“From his command. Some say he’s dead, but there are rumors that he’s on assignment.”
“What kind of assignment?”
“No one knows.”
Huh. Looks like we just identified Merrin’s demon. I elbowed Lon, requesting the mandala printouts. “What about the writing around these? Are they names too?”
Voxhele stood up, leaning close to the border of the binding, and studied each printout. “Yes, they’re names.”
“Who?”
“Not who. What. They’re names of stars. At least I think so. This isn’t a subject I’ve studied, Mother.”
Stars. Interesting. We asked him which stars, but the answers he rattled off were foreign. He admitted that he didn’t know their translation in English or in Latin. He also wasn’t familiar with the old language used on the scroll inside the silver tube. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to summon an incubus for assistance. I should’ve known that damn favor was worthless.
“What class of magick is this?” Lon insisted, referring to the mandalas.
“I’m afraid that goes beyond my simple knowledge. Only higher-level demons have been trained to wield magical talent. I’m not very savvy about such things, being the lowly prostitute that I am.” He licked the corner of his mouth with a forked tongue while ogling Lon, who popped his jaw to the side in annoyance.
“What’s this mean here?” I asked, pointing to an Æthyric word that was repeated on each of the mandalas.
“That means ‘door.’”
He was sitting cross-legged inside the binding triangle, yawning and naked, like the first time I’d seen him. Not surprising—he was a sex demon. His head rotated in all directions when he realized he wasn’t in Kansas any longer.
“Voxhele of Amon,” I said in a mustered cheerful greeting, still fighting waves of nausea. “Remember me?”
A smile spread over his face. “Mother of Ahriman, a pleasant surprise. These aren’t the Hellfire caves—how wonderful! Where are we, exactly?”
“Not far from the caves, geographically speaking.”
He made a noise of disapproval and scratched the scales on his shoulder. “I owe you a favor, don’t I?”
“Yes—”
“Oh, wait. I remember you, too,” he said, speaking to Lon while looking him up and down with a lewd grin. “If this favor involves all three of us, I’m fine with that.” He leaned back on the palms of his hands, displaying his wares. I wasn’t sure if he was pierced in several places, or was naturally bumpy. I tried not to stare.
Lon mumbled something derogatory under his breath as he picked up the engraved silver tube and a stack of photos, enlargements of the cannery mandalas.
“I need information, not sexual favors,” I said to the demon.
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Depending on what it is . . .”
I held up a hand. “I’m obligated to inform you that you are bound by me now, and must answer honestly.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Ask your question, and I’ll weigh it to decide if it’s an even trade for the favor I owe you.”
From outside the circle, we showed him the silver tube and pointed out the engraving. His eyes widened. A few seconds passed as he glanced between us, then said, very carefully, “And wherever did you find that?”
“Can you translate it and give us the meaning?” I asked.
His eyes darkened as he considered, then he sighed heavily. “It’s the name of a demon from my plane.”
“What’s his name?” Lon asked.
“It would translate loosely as ‘Grand Duke Chora, Commander of Two Legions.’”
Never heard of him. “Two legions? Don’t most of the dukes command like fifty legions or something?”
“I don’t follow politics,” Voxhele said as he inspected his fingernails.
Lon’s face remained stoic. I couldn’t tell if he recognized the name or not. I certainly didn’t. There are, it is said, hundreds upon thousands of Æthyric demons, and only a smattering of those were cataloged in goetic texts and grimoires over the last century; when they were, many were listed with conflicting summoning names and half of them were dead.
“Do you know anything about this Grand Duke Chora?” I asked.
“I serviced a Duke Corelia last week,” Voxhele said with a sly smile. “He was more than a mouthful, and let me just say—”
“Voxhele, please.”
He sighed, great and long-suffering. “Chora commands a notorious battalion of Dragoons.”
I glanced at Lon and wrinkled my nose. “Dragoons?”
“Mounted infantry,” he clarified.
“They ride horses?”
A dark, slow smile lifted Voxhele’s face. “Not exactly horses, no, but they are beasts of a kind. . . .”
“Anything else?”
“He’s missing.”
“From where?”
“From his command. Some say he’s dead, but there are rumors that he’s on assignment.”
“What kind of assignment?”
“No one knows.”
Huh. Looks like we just identified Merrin’s demon. I elbowed Lon, requesting the mandala printouts. “What about the writing around these? Are they names too?”
Voxhele stood up, leaning close to the border of the binding, and studied each printout. “Yes, they’re names.”
“Who?”
“Not who. What. They’re names of stars. At least I think so. This isn’t a subject I’ve studied, Mother.”
Stars. Interesting. We asked him which stars, but the answers he rattled off were foreign. He admitted that he didn’t know their translation in English or in Latin. He also wasn’t familiar with the old language used on the scroll inside the silver tube. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to summon an incubus for assistance. I should’ve known that damn favor was worthless.
“What class of magick is this?” Lon insisted, referring to the mandalas.
“I’m afraid that goes beyond my simple knowledge. Only higher-level demons have been trained to wield magical talent. I’m not very savvy about such things, being the lowly prostitute that I am.” He licked the corner of his mouth with a forked tongue while ogling Lon, who popped his jaw to the side in annoyance.
“What’s this mean here?” I asked, pointing to an Æthyric word that was repeated on each of the mandalas.
“That means ‘door.’”
