You Slay Me
Page 64
"Better than that, we have a digital video camera," Ophelia said, running for a closet. "We'll film your demon! Oh, this is so exciting!"
"That would be wonderful," I said in a voice that dripped unease. The two sisters followed me into the bed-room, newly cleansed and sadly Jim-less. I took theSteganographia from the shelves and thumbed through it. I was vaguely familiar with the book, having read the translation (and decoding—part of the book had been written in a numerical code) a couple of years ago. I found the demon lord's symbols and sat down to draw a circle of ash made by paper I had burned earlier.
"I have no idea if this will work or not without the proper equipment," I warned both women. Ophelia sat on the bed behind me, filming me as I drew the circle widdershins with salt. I stopped halfway around the circle, al-most overwhelmed with despair that welled up from deep within my heart. Why was I bothering? Why was I wast-ing my time? I'd just embarrass myself in front of Ophe-lia and Perdita when I couldn't summon Bafamal. They'd know I was a fake, a liar, someone who couldn't even perform a simple delivery without messing it up. I'd failed in that, just as I failed Jim. Even Drake was dis-gusted with me.
I fought back a sob and finished the circle, arguing with myself the whole while I traced the twelve symbols of Ashtaroth. By the time I had done the six symbols for Bafamal, I was very close to just rolling
myself up into a ball and indulging in hysterical tears. Only the steady red light blinking on Ophelia's digital recorder kept me from giving in.
I pricked my finger with a pin Perdita gave me, then closed the circle with my blood. Nothing happened. There was no sense of thickening air as there was when I had summoned Jim. There was no tingle when I passed my hand over the circle. It was just a circle. I frowned, consulting Perdita's book, trying to recall everything I had done with Jim.
"Is something the matter?" Ophelia asked from behind me.
"Er… no, I guess not," I said, closing the book. I had done everything the same. Maybe the difference was be-cause Ashtaroth was a different lord than Jim's former one? I shrugged, too upset and dispirited to care very much. I stood and called the quarters, aware not of the sense of something waiting to be called forth, but instead, a dread seemed to press in on me from all sides.
"I conjure thee, Bafamal, by the power of thy lord Ashtaroth, also called the keeper of the horde, to appear before me now. without noise and terror. I summon thee, Bafamal, to answer truly all questions that I shall ask thee. I command thee, Bafamal, to my will by the virtue of my power. By my hand thy shall be bound, by my blood thy shall be bound, by my voice thy shall be bound."
One second the circle was empty; the next a handsome blond demon stood within it, watching me with a specu-lative gaze in its smoky gray eyes.
Bafamal had arrived.
17
The demon had changed clothes from the last time I'd seen it; now it was wearing scarlet pleated pants with a bright yellow shirt and azure tie. Very chic, very primary colors.
"Ever the fashion plate, I see," I said, taking a step back.
It smiled and made me a little bow. "You called me, oh master?"
I staggered over to a chair. The despair swamping me increased with the presence of Bafamal, draining me physically until I felt like a well-wrung limp rag. Behind me, Ophelia and Perdita stood, but I couldn't spare them even a glance. I had a horrible feeling that if I didn't keep my attention focused on the demon, it would break free of my control. "Bafamal, I command thee to answer my questions. Were you at the mortal Aurora Deauxville's house when she was killed?"
The demon smiled. "I had that pleasure."
"Were you there at the behest of the person who killed her?"
"I was."
My shoulders slumped. "Were you the tool for the death of Aurora Deauxville?"
Bafamal rubbed its hands, the open enjoyment on its face making my nausea increase. I clutched my
stomach, fighting the urge to vomit. "Not the death, no. I strung the mortal up, though. That was fun."
My stomach lurched. I gritted my teeth. "Were you present at the house of the mage named Albert Camus?"
"Yes."
"Were you there at the request of the person who killed him?"
"None other."
"Were you the instrument of Albert Camus's death?"
"No. I heard you set fire to him later. Classy style you have, Guardian."
Behind me, Ophelia gasped. I ignored the demon's at-tempt at provocation, fighting wave after wave of nausea. My voice cracked as I asked, "Who summoned you, Bafamal?"
The demon's grin grew wider. "Drake Vireo, the green wyvern."
My heart turned to stone, fracturing into a million pieces. I knew Drake was guilty—I had ever since I'd found Bafamal lounging around in his house—but to hear the confirmation of it destroyed a part of me I hadn't known existed. Blackness swam before me. I clutched the arms of the chair and forced myself to breathe slowly. If I passed out, I'd lose control of the demon, and who knew what horrors that would unleash. "Who killed Au-rora Deauxville?"
"Drake Vireo."
Pain stabbed through me. I turned my mind from it. "Who killed Albert Camus?"
"Drake Vireo."
Wetness streaked my cheeks. I lifted my hand to brush away the tears and found my fingers stained red. I was weeping blood. "Who ordered you to hang both Aurora and Albert?"
"Drake Vireo," the demon answered gleefully.
"Why?" I asked, my voice sounding like two rocks rubbed together. My mouth was so dry, I could hardly swallow. "Why did Drake summon you?"
"He needed my help to conduct the murders and es-cape undetected."
I closed my eyes and swayed, desperately trying to hang on to consciousness. "What does Drake intend to do with the Tools of Bael?"
Behind me, something glass crashed to the floor. I hoped it was the small bud vase that was next to Perdita rather than the video camera.
Bafamal buffed its fingernails on its shiny yellow shirt. "He wants to rule the mortal world, of course."
It was enough. I couldn't stand any more. With each word, another little piece of my soul was torn from
me. I gritted my teeth and drew the symbols of evanescence. The demon didn't say anything, just grinned as I spoke the words that would disperse it back to its origin. With the final command, its figure blinked out as if a plug had been pulled.
"That would be wonderful," I said in a voice that dripped unease. The two sisters followed me into the bed-room, newly cleansed and sadly Jim-less. I took theSteganographia from the shelves and thumbed through it. I was vaguely familiar with the book, having read the translation (and decoding—part of the book had been written in a numerical code) a couple of years ago. I found the demon lord's symbols and sat down to draw a circle of ash made by paper I had burned earlier.
"I have no idea if this will work or not without the proper equipment," I warned both women. Ophelia sat on the bed behind me, filming me as I drew the circle widdershins with salt. I stopped halfway around the circle, al-most overwhelmed with despair that welled up from deep within my heart. Why was I bothering? Why was I wast-ing my time? I'd just embarrass myself in front of Ophe-lia and Perdita when I couldn't summon Bafamal. They'd know I was a fake, a liar, someone who couldn't even perform a simple delivery without messing it up. I'd failed in that, just as I failed Jim. Even Drake was dis-gusted with me.
I fought back a sob and finished the circle, arguing with myself the whole while I traced the twelve symbols of Ashtaroth. By the time I had done the six symbols for Bafamal, I was very close to just rolling
myself up into a ball and indulging in hysterical tears. Only the steady red light blinking on Ophelia's digital recorder kept me from giving in.
I pricked my finger with a pin Perdita gave me, then closed the circle with my blood. Nothing happened. There was no sense of thickening air as there was when I had summoned Jim. There was no tingle when I passed my hand over the circle. It was just a circle. I frowned, consulting Perdita's book, trying to recall everything I had done with Jim.
"Is something the matter?" Ophelia asked from behind me.
"Er… no, I guess not," I said, closing the book. I had done everything the same. Maybe the difference was be-cause Ashtaroth was a different lord than Jim's former one? I shrugged, too upset and dispirited to care very much. I stood and called the quarters, aware not of the sense of something waiting to be called forth, but instead, a dread seemed to press in on me from all sides.
"I conjure thee, Bafamal, by the power of thy lord Ashtaroth, also called the keeper of the horde, to appear before me now. without noise and terror. I summon thee, Bafamal, to answer truly all questions that I shall ask thee. I command thee, Bafamal, to my will by the virtue of my power. By my hand thy shall be bound, by my blood thy shall be bound, by my voice thy shall be bound."
One second the circle was empty; the next a handsome blond demon stood within it, watching me with a specu-lative gaze in its smoky gray eyes.
Bafamal had arrived.
17
The demon had changed clothes from the last time I'd seen it; now it was wearing scarlet pleated pants with a bright yellow shirt and azure tie. Very chic, very primary colors.
"Ever the fashion plate, I see," I said, taking a step back.
It smiled and made me a little bow. "You called me, oh master?"
I staggered over to a chair. The despair swamping me increased with the presence of Bafamal, draining me physically until I felt like a well-wrung limp rag. Behind me, Ophelia and Perdita stood, but I couldn't spare them even a glance. I had a horrible feeling that if I didn't keep my attention focused on the demon, it would break free of my control. "Bafamal, I command thee to answer my questions. Were you at the mortal Aurora Deauxville's house when she was killed?"
The demon smiled. "I had that pleasure."
"Were you there at the behest of the person who killed her?"
"I was."
My shoulders slumped. "Were you the tool for the death of Aurora Deauxville?"
Bafamal rubbed its hands, the open enjoyment on its face making my nausea increase. I clutched my
stomach, fighting the urge to vomit. "Not the death, no. I strung the mortal up, though. That was fun."
My stomach lurched. I gritted my teeth. "Were you present at the house of the mage named Albert Camus?"
"Yes."
"Were you there at the request of the person who killed him?"
"None other."
"Were you the instrument of Albert Camus's death?"
"No. I heard you set fire to him later. Classy style you have, Guardian."
Behind me, Ophelia gasped. I ignored the demon's at-tempt at provocation, fighting wave after wave of nausea. My voice cracked as I asked, "Who summoned you, Bafamal?"
The demon's grin grew wider. "Drake Vireo, the green wyvern."
My heart turned to stone, fracturing into a million pieces. I knew Drake was guilty—I had ever since I'd found Bafamal lounging around in his house—but to hear the confirmation of it destroyed a part of me I hadn't known existed. Blackness swam before me. I clutched the arms of the chair and forced myself to breathe slowly. If I passed out, I'd lose control of the demon, and who knew what horrors that would unleash. "Who killed Au-rora Deauxville?"
"Drake Vireo."
Pain stabbed through me. I turned my mind from it. "Who killed Albert Camus?"
"Drake Vireo."
Wetness streaked my cheeks. I lifted my hand to brush away the tears and found my fingers stained red. I was weeping blood. "Who ordered you to hang both Aurora and Albert?"
"Drake Vireo," the demon answered gleefully.
"Why?" I asked, my voice sounding like two rocks rubbed together. My mouth was so dry, I could hardly swallow. "Why did Drake summon you?"
"He needed my help to conduct the murders and es-cape undetected."
I closed my eyes and swayed, desperately trying to hang on to consciousness. "What does Drake intend to do with the Tools of Bael?"
Behind me, something glass crashed to the floor. I hoped it was the small bud vase that was next to Perdita rather than the video camera.
Bafamal buffed its fingernails on its shiny yellow shirt. "He wants to rule the mortal world, of course."
It was enough. I couldn't stand any more. With each word, another little piece of my soul was torn from
me. I gritted my teeth and drew the symbols of evanescence. The demon didn't say anything, just grinned as I spoke the words that would disperse it back to its origin. With the final command, its figure blinked out as if a plug had been pulled.
