New Orleans has always been a melting pot. “How so?”
“Well, for one thing, witches like me, who choose an alternate path, aren’t seen as pariahs. We co-mingle. There’s a place for us, too. There are various shades from white to dark there, so it makes sense.”
“That had to be a revelation,” I say, picturing the scene in my head.
“The best kind. It gave me a clearer picture of what my future may look like.” Having finished her drink, she places it on a coaster. “Do you want to show me the sigil?”
I dig into my handbag and pull out the paper. “I drew it on the fly, so this is my loose rendition at best.”
She peers down at it and tenses.
My stomach drops.
“Where did you say saw this?”
“I didn’t. The crime scene was at a retirement home.”
She traces the symbol and shudders. I wonder what she can sense that I can’t.
“I’m not surprised you saw it a crime scene. This is dark.”
“How dark are we talking?” I ask.
“More than likely was never human.”
Thinking back to the body, it’s not hard to believe. “Maybe it was the signature needed to summon a demon?”
“You said it disappeared, though?”
“Yes.”
“They might’ve been calling their master and connecting to power freely given. Can you tell me about the body?”
“Do you have a strong stomach?” I ask sincerely.
“I’ve developed one over the years.” Her eyes harden.
I describe the victim.
“If it’s demon, you have one of two things … a younger one, who came to do the dirty work himself, or one who’s higher on the food chain, and didn’t need to.”
“I’m hoping for option one.” I pause. “How can you tell?” The question is out before my brain can filter it.
The joy leaves her face. “When you become attuned to the darkness, you see things you wouldn’t normally. It’s like the sixth sense all witches have turned on its ear. You become aware of the creeping darkness. The disturbed and unnatural. It binds you to death in a way our kind is never meant to be.”
I see a shadowy figure nearly hidden in the depths of her irises, longing to break free, and gain control. She blinks. It’s gone, out of sight, but never forgotten. I dread the day I look into her eyes and see the person she used to be trapped and desperate to escape.
I’ve summoned entities before, but never demons. They’re a different story altogether. The summoning needs to be airtight, and the summoner must be more powerful than the being he seeks to command to hold them. If this creature is as high up as she believes, it’d be dangerous to try.
“I wouldn’t suggest trying to summon this thing unless you really know what you’re doing. Demons are born tricksters. One misstep and they have their in.” She paused. “I can try to make contact through a séance if you’re willing to enter into a circle of protection with me.”
“I’ve never done one before.”
“It’s basically the same rules as a circle. You can’t break the protection, and you have to mingle your powers to call out to the creature you wish to summon.”
I hesitate. Keeping my magic separate from black magic is more than a moral call. It’s physically uncomfortable to mix incompatible magic types. Black magic feels terrible. Still, I owe my people their safety. There’s no way of knowing how many will lose or have already lost their lives to this creeping silently in the darkness.
“I’m in.”