Mistwatchers

Demon summoning 101 

Medea

For the second time that day, the stone mortar cracked in Medea's hands. She inspected the imperfection, huffing a sigh through clenched teeth. It was shallow, the spell would still hold. When she reached for the pestle, the tool fissured and broke into two halves. She stuffed the pieces into her cloak pocket and took one of the spares from her drawer of infinite usefulness. 

‘I saw that.’

‘Oh, don't be such a toe mushroom,’ she stuck out her tongue at the judgemental rabbit, stretched out on a pillow on top of her workbench. If she didn't concentrate on grinding the bonedust and nimroot, the consistency would be all wrong.  

‘Don't be so nervous, Mede. You'll ruin it.’ 

The crack in the bowl lengthened, forking into several prongs like a lightning strike. 

‘Great advice, Clive. Maybe I can just stop breathing too, at least then I wouldn't have to do these fracking trials anymore.’

The rabbit’s long black ears flicked in annoyance, his pink nose twitching. How could a rabbit look so snooty? 

‘I'm trying to help you. If you're not careful you’ll bring half the building down.’

‘Clive!’ The last of the nimroot flew at the rabbit's head without Medea touching it. He dodged easily, hopping from the workbench to a stool and the root splattered against the wall leaving a purplish stain. As if the dingy attic needed anything else to add to the grungy atmosphere.  

Medea resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. ‘You promised not to bring that up again.’ 

If a rabbit could roll his eyes, that's what Clive would be doing, Medea could tell. A weasel would have suited him better than a rabbit. 

‘Are you nearly done?’

‘Don't touch my pentagram,’ she warned.

 Clive stopped his paw mid poke. 

‘If the salt line is broken, we'll be releasing an Olgoch Demon into Mistwatch.’ 

‘And the Coven will never give you back your licence.’

‘Not. Helping.’

Medea knelt beside the pentagram she'd drawn on the warped wood floor of her one-room attic apartment. Everything was ready: she had rolled back the threadbare rug and pushed the mismatched items of furniture to the edges of the room. Candles flickered from every spare surface to ward off unwanted visitors that might try to hitch a ride on her spell. Most importantly, the Blood Moon shone through the skylight, a pool of crimson alighting in the centre of the salt circle. 

‘Hood?’

‘Right.’  

It was important to keep one’s identity hidden when summoning a soulless creature of hell. Medea rested the mortar on her lap, pulling the hood of her cloak low to hide her face. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply, centring herself, feeling her magic bubbling away in her belly. When she was ready, she pulled just a little of the warm enigmatic energy into her hands. 

She cracked an eye open. Nothing had exploded, which was a good sign. 

Taking a knife from beside her, Medea held her palm over the mortar filled with ingredients and ran the blade over it. The cut stung, and blood immediately seeped to the surface, trickling down her hand to her wrist. 

‘Don't spill any.’

‘Go suck a slug, Clive.’

She angled her hand so that the blood dripped into the bowl, spirals of smoke rising where the droplets fell. 

‘Invocasis Demula’

With her non-bloodied hand, Medea scooped up some of the mixture and flicked it onto the pentagram. 

Nothing happened. 

Clive's ears twitched, and he rubbed his face with his paws. ‘Are you sure that was the right incantation?’