“You’re crazy,” I whispered, and Simon immediately shook his head.
“No, I’m really not. The two of us together can do this. I know we can.”
Without worrying about the consequences, I pulled my hands from his. “You can’t seriously think I’d be okay with helping you summon a demon even more powerful than the ones you’ve already called here. It’s too dangerous.”
A frown creased his brow, but he still looked almost too relaxed, as if the outcome of our argument was a foregone conclusion, and he was only allowing me to make my protests because he knew he’d wear me down in the end. “You need to think about this, Miranda,” he said softly. “Think about the Castillos, these people you claim to care about. I don’t want to hurt any more of them…but I will if you won’t help me.”
I wasn’t surprised by this threat; I’d been expecting it. “By helping you, I’d be putting them just as much at risk.” And the whole world, I thought, but I doubted that argument would carry any weight with Simon. “You think that you’ll be able to control this being you want to summon, but if he’s as powerful as you say, I don’t see how he would ever obey your commands.”
“Because he would be bound to me,” Simon said, his tone completely reasonable. Too bad I knew his arguments were basically the exact opposite of reasonable. “That’s how these things work. I’ve studied how to do this — do you think I learned something like that in high school?”
He pointed at the complicated patterns and sigils on the floor, and I swallowed. No, he had to have delved into some pretty arcane materials to come up with all that. I remembered how he’d told me that he’d hidden his magical nature from the de la Paz clan, posing as a gardener or house cleaner or whatever else it took in order to get close to the books on magic and ritual they’d been collecting for generations. That they possessed these things wasn’t any real secret, although no one talked about it much. They’d always been more interested in the knowledge behind magic rather than its actual practice.
What frightened me now was that I couldn’t know for sure whether he’d actually drawn all these patterns correctly. One line off by a degree or two, the wrong symbol used in a critical spot, and all those fancy markings on the floor wouldn’t be of any more use than a hopscotch grid. And when a summoning like this went wrong, it went horribly wrong.
He had trapped me neatly, that was for sure. I had to go along with his plans for this ritual, because if I didn’t, I could be the cause of the spell backfiring…and I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere around if something like that happened.
“You say that it’s going to work that way,” I told him. “But how do you know for sure? This isn’t a simple demon we’re talking about, right? Who is it?”
“I can’t say his true name,” Simon replied. “It’s part of the summoning. But one nickname for him is the Lord of Chaos.”
That epithet sounded vaguely familiar, as if I might have once heard someone mention it someplace within earshot. Or maybe I just wanted it to sound familiar, because I had to admit that “Lord of Chaos” didn’t sound like a very friendly person. “I’d think chaos is the last thing you’d want,” I remarked. “Considering you’re so into making sure you have control of everyone and everything around you.”
“You’re missing the point,” Simon said. “He’s extremely powerful, and because he’s chaotic, any attempts by the Castillos to bind him — even if they have someone with this kind of talent, which I seriously doubt — are going to fail.”
None of this was reassuring in the least. I had no reason to believe Simon could control this being any more than I or one of the Castillos could. What would happen once it was let loose on the world?
“But you can control him,” I said, not bothering to hide the skepticism in my voice.
“Together, we can control him,” he corrected me. “That’s what I was talking about you — you and me together, harnessing his energy. He’ll be our servant, and the Castillos will have no chance of fighting back.”
I didn’t want anyone to be my servant, least of all a demon with the unappetizing name of “Lord of Chaos.” Besides, I’d seen plenty of horror movies that involved demons and devils and what-have-you, and it never seemed to turn out well for the people who did the summoning. You’d think they would have learned.
“It sounds exhausting,” I said. Although the last thing I wanted to do was seem at all friendly, I had to do something to get Simon off this tear. I moved closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Can we talk about this upstairs? It’s cold and damp down here.”
He hesitated for a moment, eyes searching my face. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but I had to hope I looked as guileless as possible, that I was only asking him to go upstairs because I was getting chilled in the little underground chamber, and not because looking at all those diagrams and symbols on the cement floor had begun to make me feel almost physically ill.
“All right,” he said at last. “We can’t do the summoning until three in the morning anyway. I just wanted to show you.”
I managed to smile. “Thanks, Simon.” I let go of his arm, and he hung back while I began to climb the stairs, then followed a moment later. Soon enough we were back in the relative brightness of the garage, although I couldn’t quite shake the sensation that something was now watching me, a cold intelligence not quite of this world.
No, that had to be just the heebie jeebies. Simon hadn’t opened a portal yet, hadn’t uttered any words of a spell. So much of our magic was done by sheer strength of will, by calling forth the powers hidden within us, but this kind of a summoning would require an incantation, a rigid ritual to ensure that the entity being summoned would be properly controlled when it emerged on this plane.
If such a thing was even possible. I’d seen Simon’s powers at work myself, but even he was overreaching here. Whether I’d be able to convince him of that was uncertain at best. The thing he wanted above all else — yes, above even me — was to take control of the Castillos, to give himself the status in this clan that he’d been forever denied by the Santiagos. Obviously, he was willing to take enormous risks to achieve that goal.
For the moment, about all I could do was be relieved that we had some time before this supposed ritual was going to take place.
When we came into the kitchen, Simon took both our glasses and refilled them, then handed me mine. “Drink it all,” he commanded me. “You’ll need to drink at least eight glasses between now and the ritual, to purify yourself of any toxins you might be carrying with you. And we’ll both have to fast until then.”
“Do we really need to do this tonight?” I asked, although I took a few obedient sips of water once I was done speaking. “I mean, this doesn’t sound like the sort of thing we should rush into.”
“It’s two nights past the full moon,” Simon replied. “That’s what I need — that waning power, the power of the dark, but one that’s more powerful than a waning quarter moon, or a crescent moon. We can’t afford to wait.”
I hated how he kept saying “we,” as though I’d already agreed to this insanity, rather than doing my best to talk him out of it. “I don’t even know what to do — ”
“You don’t need to do anything,” he cut in. “I’ll be doing all the work. I just need to borrow your power to make sure the spell is strong enough. In the meantime, though, we’ll both need to purify ourselves.”
That sounded ominous. Our kind of witchcraft didn’t require purification rituals, unless you counted quiet meditation to center one’s mind as a kind of ritual. “Purify?”
He smiled at me, but that glitter was back in his eyes, the one that told me he was thinking of matters that were anything but pure. “We’ll need to bathe — separately, if you were worried about that.”
Of course I was, but I didn’t want to come out and admit it. I settled for giving a noncommittal shrug, and he continued.
“I’ll give you some incense to take to your room. For the rest of the day
, once you’ve bathed and cleansed yourself” — he paused there, and I wondered if he was thinking about my boast about having sex with Rafe multiple times — “then you’ll sit quietly and meditate, and keep drinking water. That’s all. I need you to be focused, not distracted by inconsequential things.”
I couldn’t think of anything less likely to keep me from being distracted than asking me to meditate. Many of the witches in the McAllister clan were very good at it, but I’d never been able to count myself among their number, maybe because I’d never seen much need for focus because of my sad lack of any magical skills.
Well, all that was in the past. I’d do my best to get my brain to cooperate, not because I wanted to help Simon, but because I was scared shitless of what might happen if his spell backfired and this Lord of Chaos was set loose to go rampaging through this plane of existence.
“Got it,” I said, my tone neutral.
He appeared pleased that I didn’t want to argue anymore. “Drink up,” he said, “and then I’ll refill your glass and bring a pitcher by later on.”
I didn’t really feel like chugging the water in my glass, but I knew he wasn’t giving me much of a choice. Without replying, I lifted the tumbler to my mouth and drank the water all down, then held the glass out to Simon. Still wearing that pleased expression, he refilled it.
“Good. Go on upstairs. Run a bath, and use the bath salts in the little canister on the shelf by the tub.”
None of this sounded very reassuring — what if he decided to walk in on me while I was naked in the bath? — but I didn’t argue with him. I had to hope that he was serious about this whole purification thing. Trying to get down and dirty with me while I was in the bathtub didn’t sound like a very good way to remain pure.
“Okay,” I said, then took my glass of water with me and went upstairs. Since Simon didn’t immediately follow, I supposed that meant he wanted me to go ahead and get started.
To my surprise, I found a dark hooded robe lying on the bed when I went into the room he’d given me for my use. The robe definitely hadn’t been there when I’d left earlier, which meant Simon must have left it on the bed while I was out walking around the grounds. The message seemed clear enough, though; he wanted me to put on that garment after I was done in the bath.
Fine. But I sure as hell was wearing something under it.
I got out clean underwear and a T-shirt and some yoga pants, figuring that would be a simple enough ensemble to wear under the loose-fitting robe. It slithered over my hands when I picked it up, telling me the fabric was probably silk. He must have bought it online, or maybe commissioned a local seamstress to make it. Either possibility seemed equally plausible…although its presence told me he must have been plotting this ritual for a while, planning to have me assist him. Goosebumps lifted on my arms, but I told myself I needed to stay calm. Simon’s scheme was crazy, and yet I knew my best chance for survival was to keep it together and pray that this summoning wouldn’t go horribly wrong.
Carrying my change of clothes draped over one arm and my glass of water in one hand, I went across the hall to the bathroom. After I set everything down, I locked the door, and sent a little of my magic out toward it, telling it that it wasn’t supposed to open for anyone except me. Whether that would really work, I didn’t know, but it felt a little better to know there was more than just a flimsy interior door lock between Simon and me.
This bathroom was large, with a separate shower stall and sunken jetted tub. The window on the far wall had been redone with stained glass, a stylized rose. It sent an odd, bloody reflection into the room. Not all that reassuring, but at least the patterned glass made an effective visual barrier.
I turned on the taps, then located the little canister of bath salts Simon had told me to find. When I opened the lid and took a sniff, I found that the contents had a sharp, aromatic scent, not sweet at all. What it was, I couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t smooth and subtle enough for sandalwood, but it had that kind of a feel to it.
After waiting for a few minutes, I tipped some of the salts into the water, then trailed my hand through it. The temperature was just about right, and nothing about the feel of the water against my skin seemed any different than the times I’d taken a scented bath at home.
Moment of truth. I hesitated for a long moment before I reluctantly grasped the hem of my sweater and pulled it over my head, then laid it on top of the counter. Next with my boots and socks, then my jeans. I paused again, fingers closed around the front clasp of my bra. Even with the door locked and that extra spell laid on it, I couldn’t keep myself from worrying that Simon had been waiting for precisely this moment to come walking in.
However, as the seconds passed, I realized I had to do this. Jaw clenched, I unfastened my bra, then stepped out of my panties and got into the tub. The water felt soothing, and the scent of the bath salts Simon had provided was curiously relaxing. If someone had told me I would have felt comfortable taking a bath under the same roof as Simon Escobar, I would have laughed in their face, but I couldn’t deny that this felt better than I’d expected it to.
All right. Time to meditate.
I closed my eyes, let the warm water swirl around me. Problem was, all I could really think about was Rafe, about how I prayed with every fiber of my being that he’d somehow find a way to locate me before the clock struck three and Simon forced me to perform this terrible ritual with him. And also, my thoughts kept straying to how good it had felt to be in his arms, to have him make love to me. I would have liked to have him here in the bath, that was for sure.
None of this was exactly conducive to entering a purified state, but that was Simon’s fault for expecting me to follow all these silly steps. After about ten minutes or so, I basically gave up on the meditation and reached for a washcloth, scrubbing myself down before I at last climbed out of the bath and dried myself off.
Then it was time to get dressed as quickly as possible. Once I was safely covered up, I went back to the bathtub and drained the water, then gathered my dirty clothes to take them back with me to the bedroom, where I’d spied a hamper just inside the closet door.
No sign of Simon during any of this. I disposed of the clothing in the hamper, then went and sat on the bed. Was I supposed to be in a lotus position? I didn’t know about that, but I spotted the incense and a burner of carved soapstone sitting on the dresser, and realized I was supposed to be burning some while I meditated.
This incense had a fresh, clean scent, unlike the cloying stuff Simon had burned in his basement ritual room. It reminded me somewhat of a white sage incense my Great-Aunt Rachel used sometimes, although I couldn’t be sure whether it was the same kind or not.
I did my best. I really did, because I knew the consequences of this summoning going wrong were even worse than what would happen if Simon actually managed to summon this demon lord and somehow get him under his control. But my thoughts kept skipping and jumping around, refusing to leave me alone. I thought of Rafe, and Cat, and Eduardo, and Rafe’s two sisters in their comas. I thought of my parents, and how I wished I could somehow get a signal out to them that we needed help. So many things, none of which had much to do with the ritual that loomed ever closer.
While I was in the bath, Simon had put a pitcher of water in my room. From time to time I would refill the glass and drink, and then a while later have to go use the bathroom. During none of these excursions did I see any sign of him, although the door to the master suite stood slightly ajar, as though he kept it open so he could keep tabs on me.
Outside, dusk eventually fell, then night itself. My stomach began to complain about not getting any dinner, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. I supposed we would eat later…assuming we both survived the summoning we were about to attempt.
More time passed, and I found myself fighting sleep, my eyelids drooping now that my stomach had apparently realized it wasn’t going to get fed that evening. Several times my whole body would jerk as another wave
of weariness passed over me. I wondered whether it really mattered if I slept or not, but some stubbornness forced me to stay awake. Possibly I did sleep for a few fitful periods, although I couldn’t really recall whether I’d done so or not.
At last, though, Simon was at my door, a tall, looming figure in the black robe he wore. In fact, I could see very little of his face except the gleam of his eyes, thanks to the hood he’d pulled up to cover his head.
“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.
Of course I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway and got down off the bed. My muscles were cramped from sitting crosslegged for so many hours, although I hoped the kinks would work themselves out once I’d been moving around for a while.
“Come along,” he said.
I followed him downstairs, then out to the garage, where I stood, trying not to shiver in the dead of night cold, as he lifted the trapdoor to the basement. At least he turned on the light, which allowed me to descend the stairs without tripping over the long robe I wore. When I got to the bottom, I moved to one side, giving the chalked symbols on the floor a wide berth.
Simon came down after me, then paused to wave his hand at the candles, bringing forth their flame once again. After he had done that, he moved to the wall next to the bottom step and touched his hand to the light switch, shutting off the overhead fixture.
I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a gasp.
“It’s all right,” he said, even though I knew this was far from all right. “We can’t have any artificial light during — well, during.”
Dark deeds done in the dark, I thought, but I kept those words to myself. “I understand.”
He seemed pleased that I hadn’t protested. “Good. Come here.”
Mysterious Ways Page 17