Read Online Succubus Takes Manhattan by Nina Harper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nina Harper
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straight razor to nick myself. Ichor is essential to the process. Now I can buy lancets by the fifty count at the local Duane Reade.
Before the ichor came the setup. I got out the brazier and laid out the lancet, the cell phone, the chalice, and the salt before I dragged the step stool out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
The top of the hall closet is full of the magical equipment I don’t use very often. Once upon a time I would have had this all much closer to hand, but since the Internet and the cell phone had become commonplace among Hellspawn, I didn’t need to do ritual to communicate anymore.
I could ask Marten tonight. That would be amusing dinner date conversation.
No. I had to return my attention to getting to Meph. I had already compounded an incense for porting to the highest regions of Hell, and of course it was on the bottom of the big paper bag of incenses. After a good ten minutes of rummaging, I found the packet in a Ziploc baggie with Meph’s name in Magic Marker on the side. The only other thing I needed was salt. That came in a dark blue Morton’s carton on top of the fridge.
When I had everything organized, I lit the vanilla-scented candle that lived near the brazier, hit the light, and focused my thoughts. I scattered salt in a circle around me that included the sink and mirror, touching the tiled wall on each side. Then I started the selfigniting charcoal over the candle flame. I lit the incense and presented the brazier to the four cardinal points, thoroughly stinking up the bathroom, the towels, and my hair. Only when the entire area had been psychically cleansed and prepared did I pull the plastic cap off the lancet and stab the end of my first finger.
Then, as the ichor started to well up in the cut, I followed the lines of the sigil on the phone screen, and reproduced the drawing on my bathroom mirror.
A sigil is a map and a word and Names of Power all at the same time. Some are linked to entities, others to places, and a very few to organizational centers. When I was satisfied that the sigil was drawn correctly, I began to chant the Names of Power associated with Meph and the area of Hell I needed to enter. The vibration in the chanting activated the ichor sigil in the mirror and it began to shimmer.
I repeated the chant again, louder, watching as the lines of the figure went from flicker to steady glow. A third repetition and a final censing of the image with the smoke made the lines and symbols before me blaze like neon, and the color of this brilliant sign suffused the small circle I had drawn.
Smoke from the incense obscured the bathtub and toilet. The sigil became more real than I was, and I saw my hands as ghostly shadows in the smoke. It was time. I called on Mephistopheles in his secret Names of Power and reached out to the small circle that indicated the starting point of the map.
I felt my being sucked into the bars of light. The sensation was like being propelled through all the strokes of the sigil, each in order. The movement was rapid but on some level it felt like it took forever.
And then I was in Hell. In a tiny jewel box of a room appointed in the Venetian manner, gold and deep red and sky blue all combined into a dizzying Baroque array. A great gilded wing chair upholstered in pink and blue and gold brocade sat facing a delicately curved settee in a different brocade of similar hues. A Murano chandelier glittered overhead in four falls of dolphins and dragons that reflected and enhanced the warm golden candlelight. Two delicate side chairs completed the seating and the rest of the space was filled with tables made from inlaid marble and wooden marquetry.
I knew Mephistopheles would appear on the wing chair, but try as I might to concentrate, I could not see him arrive. I was watching an empty space for a few minutes, and then Meph was there, sitting as if he had been there waiting for me, his Brioni suit a matched chalk-striped medium gray that brought out the
Before the ichor came the setup. I got out the brazier and laid out the lancet, the cell phone, the chalice, and the salt before I dragged the step stool out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
The top of the hall closet is full of the magical equipment I don’t use very often. Once upon a time I would have had this all much closer to hand, but since the Internet and the cell phone had become commonplace among Hellspawn, I didn’t need to do ritual to communicate anymore.
I could ask Marten tonight. That would be amusing dinner date conversation.
No. I had to return my attention to getting to Meph. I had already compounded an incense for porting to the highest regions of Hell, and of course it was on the bottom of the big paper bag of incenses. After a good ten minutes of rummaging, I found the packet in a Ziploc baggie with Meph’s name in Magic Marker on the side. The only other thing I needed was salt. That came in a dark blue Morton’s carton on top of the fridge.
When I had everything organized, I lit the vanilla-scented candle that lived near the brazier, hit the light, and focused my thoughts. I scattered salt in a circle around me that included the sink and mirror, touching the tiled wall on each side. Then I started the selfigniting charcoal over the candle flame. I lit the incense and presented the brazier to the four cardinal points, thoroughly stinking up the bathroom, the towels, and my hair. Only when the entire area had been psychically cleansed and prepared did I pull the plastic cap off the lancet and stab the end of my first finger.
Then, as the ichor started to well up in the cut, I followed the lines of the sigil on the phone screen, and reproduced the drawing on my bathroom mirror.
A sigil is a map and a word and Names of Power all at the same time. Some are linked to entities, others to places, and a very few to organizational centers. When I was satisfied that the sigil was drawn correctly, I began to chant the Names of Power associated with Meph and the area of Hell I needed to enter. The vibration in the chanting activated the ichor sigil in the mirror and it began to shimmer.
I repeated the chant again, louder, watching as the lines of the figure went from flicker to steady glow. A third repetition and a final censing of the image with the smoke made the lines and symbols before me blaze like neon, and the color of this brilliant sign suffused the small circle I had drawn.
Smoke from the incense obscured the bathtub and toilet. The sigil became more real than I was, and I saw my hands as ghostly shadows in the smoke. It was time. I called on Mephistopheles in his secret Names of Power and reached out to the small circle that indicated the starting point of the map.
I felt my being sucked into the bars of light. The sensation was like being propelled through all the strokes of the sigil, each in order. The movement was rapid but on some level it felt like it took forever.
And then I was in Hell. In a tiny jewel box of a room appointed in the Venetian manner, gold and deep red and sky blue all combined into a dizzying Baroque array. A great gilded wing chair upholstered in pink and blue and gold brocade sat facing a delicately curved settee in a different brocade of similar hues. A Murano chandelier glittered overhead in four falls of dolphins and dragons that reflected and enhanced the warm golden candlelight. Two delicate side chairs completed the seating and the rest of the space was filled with tables made from inlaid marble and wooden marquetry.
I knew Mephistopheles would appear on the wing chair, but try as I might to concentrate, I could not see him arrive. I was watching an empty space for a few minutes, and then Meph was there, sitting as if he had been there waiting for me, his Brioni suit a matched chalk-striped medium gray that brought out the
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