Almost Demon (The Sigil Cycle) Page 5

  “I’m in.”

  Relief smoothed the worry lines from his forehead. He flipped the cover open and then began to pace.

  “For some reason, this town has become a hotbed for these spirits. There is an abnormal amount of activity up until about a ten-mile radius beyond the city limits.”

  “Lucky us.” I laughed, nervously.

  “Indeed.” He pointed to the title page. “And this is where we arrive at the Lemegaton.”

  “The what?”

  “The Lesser Keys of Solomon. It contains the seventy-two true names of the demons that are said to have been bound to the king in servitude. Upon his death they were freed but this book is a legacy of his knowledge. Now all we need is to summon one and ask them why the Dybbuk have decided to come for the people of Harrisport.”

  I ran my hand over the pristine white parchment. “That easy, huh?”

  The light extinguished from his face. “Unfortunately, things get a little complicated.” He turned to the next page. “Let’s not dwell on the negatives. Look here.” He pointed to the large flower-shaped image. “The image on the top is some sort of cipher to break codes.”

  I pointed to the alphabet listed with its corresponding numerical value. “What’s on the other pages?”

  “The summoning names of these demons,” he said, tapping on the list at the bottom. “Their position in the hierarchy, and their special talents.”

  “Demons?”

  “And angels. There are two facets to sigil magic.” He cleared his throat. “A sigil is a symbolic representation of a demon or an angel. One can draw upon the powers of a certain being or energy or one can summon the actual entity. To summon the actual demon, you need to know its true name.”

  “But why summon them at all if you can just draw its power?”

  “For any number of reasons. The main one being etiquette.”

  “Seriously?” I was flabbergasted. “I must have misplaced my copy of Emily Post’s Guide to Demonic Encounters.”

  His nostrils flared. “This is serious and I am only going to tell you this once. Otherwise, you cannot be trusted and I am wasting my time.” He raised his voice. “When you create a sigil without purpose, there are severe repercussions. Energy is not created. It’s all there but everything has its source and essentially any power you are using is channeled from elsewhere. You will under no circumstances draw power from unknown sources, is that clear?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to but I thought it prudent to keep things calm. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What’s your first name?”

  “Thom.” His curt reply filled me with a mixture of hope and doubt. I was fascinated by this energetic man who, in one fell swoop, had turned my world upside down with this forbidden knowledge. “Are you ready to continue?” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “I hope I’m not keeping you from something more important.”

  “Like what? If you haven’t noticed, there isn’t much to do around here, and my after-school job is kind of on indefinite hiatus.”

  “Very well. Where was I?”

  “Summoning demons,” I reminded him.

  “The next step is what is referred to as charging. The summoner focuses on these symbols until the power is drawn into them.”

  “So what exactly are these symbols?” I asked, excited by the knowledge that there was more to this world and comforted by the belief that Brian might be somewhere better. Not just gone.

  “Yes. Let’s first move a step back. The power of the written word is infinite. Letters have the capacity to affect our surroundings, aside from magic. Letters form words that in turn form ideas that every person projects into the universe. Once spoken. they carry the burden of returning to their source.”

  “Like karma.”

  “Exactly. You say something positive it boomerangs backs. Unfortunately, negativity accrues compound interest and returns threefold.”

  “So how does using this magic not rebound on the user?”

  “That is where names come in to play. Using a demon’s true name creates a conduit for the energy. The sorcerer knows where it’s coming from and can funnel it back to its source. We’ll get into the details another time. For now, I just want you to learn how sigils are drawn.”

  He ripped out a blank sheet from my binder and set it before me. Using the back of a pencil, he pointed to the rosette on the cover page of the book.

  “This is a template.” He placed the paper over the book and started circling letters and connecting them together with lines. “You start with the first letter of the name and draw a circle. From there you draw a line to each consecutive letter until you reach the end, where you close the sigil with a perpendicular line. Try one.”

  I scanned the list for anything familiar. I recognized one of the first ones from a cheesy horror movie I had seen once and placed my paper on top of Mr. Flynn’s. Our fingers touched briefly and I noticed the warmth emanating from him. Pushing those thoughts away, I started at the A in the center ring, went back and forth between it and the Z, next was the E and finally the L.

  “Azazel,” I said and put the pen back on the table.

  He picked it up and circled the symbol. “Good. After you have created the designated sigil, you encircle it and add a pentacle within. This will activate its ritual function.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Simply put, yes. But in time you will learn that when done with more finesse, sigils become more powerful and easier to control. That, however, only comes with practice.”

  “So where is he?”

  “Azazel?” He chuckled. “He’s not very likely to show up. The demon of sorcery would need a lot more pomp and circumstance.”

  “So demons can control whether or not they appear?”

  “To some extent. Otherwise, every Goth kid around would be able to summon a prince of hell. Keep in mind that it is prudent to be courteous. A demon will act as civilly as you treat them.”

  “Why bother showing up at all?”

  “They usually want something and are always on the lookout for a good bargain. This leads me to rule number two: never promise a demon something that you cannot deliver. Otherwise, the ball is in their court and you are in debt to them until they see fit to release you.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “It usually is.”

  “Any other numbered rules?” I asked.

  “One more for now. Always store your sigils in a safe place and never destroy them.”

  “So how do they actually work?”

  “That’s for our next lesson. For now, take the grimoire and practice. Familiarize yourself with those we will possibly be dealing with. We need to get a handle on the Dybbuk flying about.”

  “Cool.”

  “And with that I must go.”

  “Already?” I checked my watch. It was already six thirty. “I just don’t understand one thing. Why do you need me?”

  “You can see them,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “Only humans who have the sight can harness the power of the demonic arts.” He grabbed his satchel and was gone before I could reply. I sat there eyeing the tracing in front of me, curious about my ability to help Thom. What was I getting myself into and how come he could see them?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The house was empty and dark. I flicked the switches on the control panel in the kitchen, illuminating the pendant lamps that hung over the breakfast bar and the recessed lighting that staggered through the small formal dining area down to the sunken living room that opened up to the backyard.

  I opened the freezer, took out a pizza, and tossed it into the oven. After setting the temperature, I sprawled out on the couch and turned on the television with the intention of finishing my homework at a normal hour.

  My eyes wandered from the flashing screen to the page of math equations I was loathe to finish to my bag, thrown casually onto the round gl
ass coffee table. Its contents had spilled out, and I could see the corner of the grimoire.

  He did say I needed to practice.

  I pushed my work aside with promises that it would get done in homeroom and placed the antiquated text in my lap. The calligraphy was beautiful and the illustrations fierce–pictures depicting beings that were part human, part animal, riding astride beasts, brandishing vicious weapons, baring their teeth. There were kings, princes, dukes, marquises, and counts, each with their own army of lesser demons. Their job descriptions ranged from inciting jealousy to deforming the young.

  “Barbatos, Duke of the Legion of Thirty, Eighth Demon of the Lesser Key. Yields the power to speak with animals. Sees both Futures and Pasts. Uncovers that which has been hidden with Magick.”

  Interesting.

  When I heard the jangle of keys in the door, I ran to my room and shoved the mystical book under my bed, adjusting the bed skirt so that it didn’t look like I was hiding something under there. Back in the kitchen the oven timer chimed that dinner was ready.

  “Hi Dad,” I said, grabbing the mitts and pulling the hot pie of melted cheesy goodness out of the hot oven and setting it on a trivet.

  “Hey, pumpkin. How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  He unloaded the armful of groceries onto the counter and placed a kiss on the top of my head. I helped put the canned goods and boxed meals away while waiting for dinner to cool. I slid two slices of pizza onto a plate, grabbed a bottle of seltzer from the fridge, and made my way down the hall.

  I paused in front of Brian’s door, the one directly across from mine. Change of plans. I toed the door open and settled into the brown leather bean chair he used while playing video games. Nothing was out of place. Everything was just as it was the day we went out.

  “I promise you, he always leaves it unlocked,” Jenny said, as we all piled out of her tiny car and started up the winding road that led from the cabin to the shed by the water. Somehow, Brian and I, the tallest out of the four, were stuck in the back with no legroom for the two-hour drive to Lake George.

  “Race you.” I tagged Brian and catapulted forward, the soles of my sneakers skidding on the gravel.

  “You’re no match for me,” he said, yanking on my ponytail and throwing me off balance.

  When we had all reached the large blue shed, Jenny tried the door. “It’s stuck,” she said.

  “Let the man try,” Brian said. Brian gave it a good pull.

  “It’s not stuck, Jenny. It’s locked. Did you think to mention it to your dad that we were coming?”

  “He never locks the shed. Just the cabin.” She pulled out her cellphone. “Let me call him. I’m sure there’s a spare key somewhere.”

  “I’ll be right back. I think Jenny has some blankets in the trunk. We can just hang out,” Mimi said.

  Jenny never reached her father. We spent the afternoon lazing around on the grass behind the dock instead, watching the boats speed by and the sun sparkle on the water’s crystal surface.

  When Brian and Mimi made up some story about looking for some skipping stones, I decided to put Jenny on the spot. “What’s going on with them?” I asked, when I was sure Mimi and Brian were out of earshot.

  She grimaced. “What do you mean?” Jenny was a terrible liar.

  “Spill it,” I said. “I’ve been watching them give each other googly eyes all day.”

  “Mimi said she wanted to tell you herself. She said she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t get your permission.”

  “Do what?”

  “Date Brian.”

  “What do you mean, date Brian? He has a girlfriend. Not that I like her all that much but Brian isn’t the type to cheat.”

  “He told Mimi that if she was willing, he’d break it off with Allison. She said she would think about it and told me that she wanted to ask you first.”

  I wiped the crumbs on my jeans, left the plate on the desk and crawled into a fetal position beneath the plaid patchwork quilt of Brian’s bed. The sheets still smelled like him. I turned my face into the pillow and inhaled. Not too deeply. Can’t have the scent of him disappear just yet. I clenched the edges of the blanket. Tears streamed down my face and I opened my mouth wide in a silent scream.

  It was midnight when I woke up. I picked up the dish of stale leftover crusts and went out to drop it in the kitchen sink.

  The television glowed but the volume had been muted. With no sign of my dad, I padded to my own room and shut the door. I got out of my clothes and into leggings and a sweatshirt. I lay in bed, thinking about the last few days and how the outrageous events had to be part of a major, concussive hallucination.

  Leaning over my bed, I grappled in the dark for the book. When I felt it beneath my fingers, the doubtful thoughts in my head melted away. I relaxed back into the mattress and went back to sleep.

  “How’s it hanging?” I asked Ghosty, as I adjusted my position to stretch out my hamstrings.

  As usual, the black Dybbuk, as Mr. Flynn referred to these inky spirits, sat motionless on the grass. After seeing Allison’s strange behavior and Ms. Halle’s psychotic break, I knew I should keep a distance but for some reason, this one felt different. It felt more lost, not as malicious.

  When I got back into the house after my run, my dad was already gone. So said the hot pink sticky note on the fridge with the words Be Home Late.

  After the well-deserved shower, I stood in front of the open closet, staring at my clothes. I caught my reflection in the mirror and began to trace the ridges of my scar that ran from the middle of my shin, over my knee and to the top of my thigh. Jeans it is.

  Pleased with my choice of a red plaid shirt and boot cut denim, I made sure to retrieve the grimoire from beneath my bed before starting out for school. Charlotte, my rock, was waiting for me at our usual spot.

  “Hey, Gem.” She was already wearing her cheerleading uniform beneath the matching navy letter cardigan.

  “We need to talk,” I said, not able to resist the urge to spill all the nitty-gritty details of the past two days.

  “Let’s go.” She checked her phone. “Ten minutes to homeroom.” She took me by the hand and dragged me to the girl’s bathroom.

  She dropped her mammoth-sized velvet purse on the counter and took out her make-up arsenal. The black vinyl case had a handle and everything, and was filled to the top with every mascara, powder, eyeshadow, and liner known to woman.

  “Want some?” she said, handing me a tube of mascara.

  “Isn’t that unhygienic?”

  “It’s new. Can you believe I entered one of those online giveaways and I won a box full of new make-up.” Her smile brightened the room. “Take it. You could use some.”

  “Uh thanks. I think.”

  “So?” she asked, swiping an extra layer of cherry red gloss on her lips. “What’s up?”

  Chalk it up to nerves or good sense but I suddenly thought it unwise to mention anything dealing with the supernatural.

  “It’s Ian,” I said. “I think I really like him. A lot.”

  “Ooh. I’ve seen him. Definitely a keeper,” she gushed.

  “I just don’t know if I’m ready to get into that yet.”

  “Listen, Gem,” she said. “You just have to jump in. No one is going to hold it against you.”

  “They already are. Matt won’t even talk to me.”

  “They’ll all get over it.” She turned to me and grabbed both sides of my face. “Come to practice today. Just watch. No pressure.”

  “Okay,” I said, unsure if I was sincere or not.

  The bell rang through the intercoms. I put my arms around Charlotte and squeezed.

  “And you better get your hands on Ian before Allison does. I’ve seen her trying,” she added. ”Wow, I got to get to class.”

  Before walking out, I spent an extra minute in front of the mirror until finally I gave in and decided to put on some of the makeup Charlotte had unloaded on me.

  When I wal
ked into homeroom, I was surprised to see Ian there. Everyone else had already clustered in groups, either copying homework or deep in conversation. Mr. Flynn acknowledged my presence, checked off my name on the roster, and went right back to attacking a stack of papers without saying so much as a word.

  I didn’t let his mood sink into mine and put on a smile with a bit of fake confidence. I psyched myself up for what I was about to say to Ian. “So, I was thinking we could catch up after school today.”

  That wasn’t too hard.

  “Oh hey, I’m sorry, Gemma, but I was planning on going to try-outs. You could come watch.”

  This was a problem. I really didn’t want to say no and not just because he looked yummy in his hunter green zip-front sweater. I needed some sort of answers from him if I didn’t want to implode from the stress of not having anyone to talk to about any of the surreal experiences I’ve been having. “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Come on. Don’t start playing hard to get.” His grin was full of mischief.

  “It’s not that, I swear. I just haven’t been on that field since last year. My brother used to be quarterback.”

  His face remained blank.

  “Before he died,” I added.

  His expression softened.

  “Why don’t you come watch and then you can tell me all about him after, over some food. My treat.” He placed his hand over mine and I practically melted.

  “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

  The day went on as usual, including the shoves in between classes and snide remarks that seemed to be my new normal. During English, Mr. Flynn was evasive, never glancing my way and not calling on me the couple of times I actually raised my hand. So I spent the hour sneaking glances at Ian, watching the way he would spin his pen around in one hand or how his face would take on a far-off look like his mind was millions of miles away.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Ian said when the bell rang.

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.” He smiled and took off. “Gotta run.”

  It was pretty lonely out on the bleachers. Everyone there was trying out for the team or squad or watching from the sidelines. I was happy to see that Charlotte had her hands full, weeding through the freshmen for potential junior varsity candidates.