“With the physical preparations complete, I executed the Word, the Will, and the Wave of the demon summoning spell I had decided on. I had practiced the components of the spell for a week, making sure I had everything right.”
I paused. I felt sick to my stomach, like the wine wasn’t agreeing with me. The wine wasn’t to blame. It was the sickeningly vivid memory of what I called up from the pits of Hell that turned my stomach.
“It was the hardest spell I had ever cast, but I did it. I summoned a demon. It rose up from the pentagram like a fine red mist that hardened into flesh and bone once I completed the words of the spell. It looked like the bastard child of a ram and a spider, with huge curved horns and an exoskeleton dripping mucus that bubbled and popped when it hit the floor.” I shuddered at the thought of the thing. I had a sudden sense memory of the way the demon smelled: of skunk, brimstone, decay, rot, and eternal grasping evil made flesh.
“The demon struggled against my Will, trying mightily to free itself. Its attempts to get free were like ocean waves smashing against the levees of my mind. But, my Will and the pentagram held.
“I had done it. I had summoned a demon, something I was sure no one my age had ever done before. At the rate I was going, I just knew I would become the youngest Master Sorceress in the history of the Conclave.
“If I hadn’t been so busy congratulating myself, maybe I would have realized the demon and I were no longer alone. Dad had come home earlier than expected, and he had walked into the living room without me noticing.
“‘Sage, what have you done?’ was what he said. Simple words, yet I’ll never forget them.
“Startled by Dad’s unexpected appearance, my Will imprisoning the demon in the confines of the pentagram faltered for an instant. An instant was all the fiend needed. It sprang out of the pentagram and circle of holy water like a rabid dog that had broken its chain.
“It didn’t leap at me, though. I wish it had. It leaped for my father. The demon’s body merged into my father’s like a raindrop hitting a bucket of water, disappearing as if it had been a figment of my imagination.
“Dad turned to me. I had never seen such hate on his face before. He flicked his wrist at me. I flew backward into the air like I had been thrown by an invisible giant. I slammed into the wall behind me and was held there by some powerful unseen force, unable to move a muscle. I dangled on the wall like a painting, with an immense weight pressing against my chest.
“My father stepped toward me, looking up at me with a twisted face I barely recognized. I’ll never forget his words: ‘Foolish girl, playing at magic you can’t begin to understand, much less control,’ he said in a voice that was his yet, somehow, not his. ‘I could squash you like the bug you are, but this body’s memories give me a better idea.’
“My father, obviously under the demon’s control, climbed the stairs. He returned a few minutes later holding a knife in one hand, and the Smith and Wesson Dad kept in his nightstand in his other hand. It’s the same gun I keep in the end table in the living room. Brandishing the gun at me, my father explained that he would carve me up like a veal cutlet, yet be careful to leave me alive. Only then, when I was begging to be put out of my misery, would he shoot and kill me. He would call the police and report that he had tortured and shot his own daughter. When the police arrived, the demon would vacate my father’s body, leaving him to be arrested and imprisoned for murdering his only daughter. I would die, the demon said through my father, knowing that not only had my stupidity gotten myself killed, but it had ruined my father’s life as well.
“I literally could not move a muscle as I hung on the wall. The demon’s dark magic was too powerful. I couldn’t even blink. I could hardly see through my tears by that point. The demon was right. Dad had warned me about fooling around with black magic. My arrogance and stupidity were about to get me killed and ruin Dad’s life. Not only would Dad go to prison for something he was not responsible for, but he would have to live the rest of his life with the memory of cutting into and shooting me.
“Laughing maniacally like an escapee from an insane asylum, my father put the gun down on the table, about to get started on carrying out the demon’s plan. But, Dad’s hand hesitated when he tried to remove his hand from the gun. His arm started to shake, like when you’ve been working out a body part too hard and it gets tremors.”
My blubbering, which had mostly subsided, started up again. “Dad picked the gun back up. He slowly lifted it. His arm shook like moving the gun took a superhuman effort. He pressed the barrel against his temple.
“‘No! Stop! What are you doing? I command you to stop!’ my father screeched, his voice almost inhuman. I’ll never forget them, the last words Dad ever spoke. His last words, but not his last message.
“Dad was facing me. His face was still twisted and feral as his shaking hand pressed the gun against his head. But, for one brief instant, his face cleared, becoming normal, becoming the face I loved again. His lips flashed a brief, sad smile. He winked at me.
“Dad pulled the trigger, blowing his own brains out. His body toppled over. The magic holding me immobile against the wall dissipated. I collapsed into a heap on the floor, my legs so stiff they couldn’t hold me up.
“I crawled over to where my father had fallen. I held him as his blood pooled around us, expanding like a dilating red eye.”
I coughed, clearing my throat. “Dad loved me so much he was able to overpower the demon’s control over him. When he killed himself, he also destroyed the demon which was bonded with him. He sacrificed himself to save me. He died because of me. I killed him just as surely as if I had pulled the trigger myself.”
It took a little while for me to compose myself again. Puck was uncharacteristically silent, but I felt his presence, like a warm comforting blanket around me.
Eventually I said, “It was two days before someone found us on the floor of the living room. One of Dad’s co-workers got worried because he hadn’t shown up for work and wouldn’t answer his phone, which wasn’t like him. The police had to literally pry me from Dad’s stiff body. Though I remember them doing it, I remember it like it’s a scene from a movie. You know, like it was happening to someone else. Shock, I suppose.
“A big part of me died along with Dad. I stopped studying magic altogether. To this day, everything I know how to do is a variant on what Dad taught me. It’s why I don’t have my Master’s status. After Dad died, it was a long while before I cast another spell. It was years before I returned to some semblance of normal. During that time, just looking at me the wrong way would set me off. I was mad at the world, but especially mad at myself. I got into fights constantly. It’s why I have a record. I had serious anger issues.” I thought of me punching Willow and how I had wanted to cave Daniel’s skull in. I shook my head. “Some things never change, maybe.”
You ending your magical training at sixteen is why you aren’t as skilled a sorceress as you could be? Puck asked.
I nodded, wiping my nose again with the paper towel balled up in my hand.
And that’s why training for astral projection is so hard for you? Because you’re afraid of what might happen if you practice high-level magic again?
I nodded again. “I am terrified of what might happen if I continue to pursue high-level magic. I clearly don’t have the good judgment to handle it. Look at what I did to Dad.”
You were a child then. Children do childish things. Now you’re a woman. You must learn to trust yourself more.
“Yeah, and me trusting myself worked out so well for my father, didn’t it?” I asked tartly. “Besides, ‘trust yourself’ is easy for you to say. You’re a centuries-old magical genius.”
Puck laughed bitterly. Yeah, I’m a genius. But being a genius doesn’t mean I’m wise. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. Like how I got stuck in this cloak. That mistake was a humdinger.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Nah. We’re talking about you, not me.
“Believe me, I’m sick of talking about me.” I again wiped my cheeks dry with the back of my hands. “You must think I’m the world’s biggest crybaby.”
Nope. Abraham Lincoln was hands-down the biggest crybaby. You should’ve seen the way he bawled his eyes out when he was engaged to somebody he didn’t want to be engaged to, but was too much of a pus—uh, a scaredy-cat to break it off. I dictated a letter for him to send to her that subtly suggested how awful her life would be if she married him. And that was the end of that. He never heard from her again. Abe was so grateful, he later almost named his firstborn Puck, but Mary Todd put her foot down. If a guy with no backbone like him could win the Civil War, imagine what you can do.
“Sometimes I wonder how much of what you say is true, and how much is your way of distracting me.”
Telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth all the time is boring. The truth is for those who lack creativity. That reminds me of the time I gave my penis a nickname. Back when I had one, that is. I called it The Truth because it was so big, no one could handle it. Except for this Halfling named Big Bertha. She was half human, half giant, and all woman. Her vagina was so big, when she shaved it, the Environmental Protection Agency arrested her for deforestation. You could shove a—
“Okay, okay, stop.” I shook my head. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to take my mind off my father, away from how you got trapped in the cloak, and onto whatever tall tale you were about to spin. I appreciate the effort, but it’s not working. I want to know how you got trapped in the cloak. You’re the first person I’ve ever told about my father. I shared a deep, dark secret, so now it’s your turn.”
Oh, all right, Puck said. But only because you already spilled the beans about yourself.
Like I told you before, I’m a genius. I knew it even at an early age. I made sure everyone else knew it, too. And as you know, people just love somebody telling them how much smarter he is than they are. Ha! Sike! Suffice it to say, before I got trapped in this thing, I didn’t have many friends. I certainly didn’t have any girlfriends. The only way I would’ve gotten girls to pay attention to me was if I had dosed them with a love potion. And believe me, I considered it. Never did it, though. It seemed a little too rapey, even though I was desperate for female companionship.
My lack of friends didn’t bother me. Well, it didn’t bother me much. I told myself everyone was just jealous of how smart I was. In hindsight, I might’ve been a little on the obnoxious side.
“I find that hard to believe.”
Sarcasm is so unbecoming of a sorceress. Anyhoo, I thought that if I did something really spectacular, everyone would have to finally recognize my genius. They would finally be forced to like me. It wasn’t until years later I realized that the words “forced” and “friendship” don’t really go together.
But before I came to that realization, I strove to prove myself, to show the world how awesome I was. I wanted to achieve something big, something that would make the world sit up and really take notice.
After careful study, I became convinced it was possible to magically transfer human consciousness to an inanimate object. Think of how it would revolutionize human society if I pulled that feat off! Dying would be a thing of the past. People discounting me, ignoring me, not wanting to be my friend would be a thing of the past too. Or so I thought.
I concocted a spell I was sure would work. It took months to plan and work the kinks out of, and days to cast. Obviously, I pulled it off. The spell removed my consciousness from my body and transferred it to this cloak. The spell was supposed to wear off after a few hours and return my consciousness to my body. Unfortunately, it didn’t. The spell’s been going strong for centuries now. My body’s long dead, obviously. I was only eighteen at the time of the transfer, and my body lived on in a coma for less than a year. I hadn’t even lost my virginity.
That last admission confirmed a suspicion I had about Puck. People with a lot of sexual experience didn’t talk about it incessantly like Puck did.
My parents and my sister Carmela are as dead as my biological body, of course. My sister had a few descendants, but they all died out, so I’m the only branch remaining of my family tree.
I never did figure out what went wrong with the spell, and I’ve literally spent decades trying to puzzle it out. Some of the other magicians who have donned me have tried to free me from the cloak, to no avail. Frankly, I’ve given up trying. I’m trapped here, probably forever. I’m eighteen going on infinity. Puck sounded bitter. So, I understand when you said you were arrogant by summoning that demon. I’m the god-king of arrogance. Unfortunately, the title doesn’t come with randy female worshippers. Just dry cleaning bills.
Puck fell quiet. I let what he had told me sink in for a while.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” I asked. “We’re both a hot mess. We’ve really screwed ourselves over.”
I disagree. Despite the fact I sometimes feel sorry for myself, my life’s not all bad. Thanks to my association with a string of magicians, I know more about magic than I would if I had lived conventionally. There’s something to be said for knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Also, some of the magicians I’ve bonded with have been pretty good eggs. Don’t get me wrong—I wish I hadn’t gotten stuck in this cape. But it is what it is. There’s no use in moaning and gnashing my teeth about it.
As for you and your situation, I’m not gonna lie: You shouldn't have been fooling around with black magic. Your dad was right about that. You made a mistake. A big one. But frankly, so what? Everyone makes mistakes. Unless you’ve got a time machine you haven’t told me about, the past is the past. All you can do now is make sure your past mistakes intelligently inform your future decisions.
I'm buried alive in a coffin of my own making. You're not. You can move on with your life. I didn’t know your father, but I suspect he’d say the same if he were here. He sacrificed his own life so that you could live. You should honor his memory by doing just that—living your life to its fullest. And for someone like you with your magical potential, that means embracing that potential, not being afraid of and running from it.
I mulled Puck’s words over for a long while. Ten years had passed since Dad died, yet I was in many ways the same 16-year-old girl who had cradled his lifeless form in her arms. My magic hadn’t advanced since then. I was impulsive and impetuous. Anger always boiled right under the surface of my psyche. I had flings like that one with Bigfoot instead of serious relationships. I lived for today with no thought of tomorrow, which was how I had gotten into so much debt and was always behind on my bills.
I was a fly stuck in amber of my own making, trapped in the mistakes of my past as much as Puck was literally trapped in his.
I was a grieving and fearful 16-year-old in a 26-year-old’s body. As much as I hated to admit it, Daniel was right about me being childish.
Maybe it was time to grow up.
I stood up, stretched, and washed my face in the kitchen sink. I used cold water. A baptism of sorts. I was still tired, and I hoped the coldness of the water would give me a much-needed pick-me-up. I still had a lot of studying to do if I was going to attempt astral projection.
The water didn’t do much. Maybe a baptism needed to be performed by a minister for it to work correctly. Preferably a hot one. Oh well. Nobody ever said turning over a new leaf and becoming a new woman was easy.
“You’re pretty smart for an 18-year-old,” I said to Puck as I dried my face.
You ain’t just whistling Dixie. I am a genius after all.
“There’s one thing you were wrong about, though. You said you didn’t have any family. Well, now you’ve got me. I think we’re going to wind up being pretty good friends.”
Friends with benefits? Puck suggested eagerly.
“Definitely not. Besides, you’re trapped in a cloak. How would that even work?”
I've given it lots of thought, he said with excitement. We could—
“No.”
But—
“No,” I repeated firmly.
Killjoy.
CHAPTER 18
For the love of all that’s holy, Puck exclaimed irritably, there’s a gap in that line in the upper right corner. Are you really that desperate to have the jikininki make a meal of your guts while we’re gone?
I looked closely where Puck had indicated. He was right. I was learning he usually was.
I shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had Puck not caught my mistake. Jikininki were ghosts with mouths filled with piranha-like teeth who ate human corpses and other bodies whose souls had vacated them. The jikininki were but one of the many dangers that could waylay the unwary astral projector. I had learned about them and things even more terrifying over the past week and a half during my crash course in astral projection.
I had drawn a complex symbol in the middle of my living room floor with ash wood charcoal. While I was doing my spiritual walkabout, the symbol was supposed to keep away from my body all the invisible nasties who flocked to soulless bodies like vampire moths to a flame.
I grabbed the charcoal and filled in the gap Puck had pointed out. Then, careful to not smudge any of the other carefully drawn lines, I reviewed the protective symbol, painstakingly going over it inch by inch.
The symbol was a giant circle with a large square inside it. Each corner of the square touched the circle. The square was big enough for me to sit in its middle without smudging it. In the four spaces formed between the square and the curve of the circle were various glyphs from my recent studies. I had carefully drawn them under Puck’s sharp-eyed and even sharper-tongued supervision. Despite the heart-to-heart moment we shared several days ago, he still sometimes treated me like a child who couldn’t be trusted with blunt-tipped kid scissors unsupervised.
Sorceress Super Hero Page 19