Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
It was one in the morning when we finally ushered everyone out of the bar.
Despite our adamant protests, Rusty, the toothless charmer that he was, managed to wrangle another two pints out of us before his wife called and yelled at Nick down the phone.
Although I was just as much to blame as Nick was, watching that burly, six-foot-something wall of muscle that he was getting yelled at by a little old lady was nothing short of hilarious.
And very necessary after the weird interaction with the suited creep.
Both still feeling a little off about the whole thing, Nick had decided to drive me home and waited outside my building until I’d made it safely inside.
A string of texted ‘thank yous’ and one ‘you’re the best manager ever!
’, and I was back in the comfort of my apartment.
In keeping with my usual anxious energy, I locked the door, making sure to check it twice before whipping off my work clothes, tossing them into the laundry hamper, and heading for a shower.
I turned up the temperature of the water until it was so hot it was burning my skin.
The kind of heat that had you questioning if the water was actually hot or really fucking cold.
Showering after a shift was a necessity, as was the scorching heat of the water.
It was really the only way to wash away the grime that latched onto me the moment I stepped into The Bootmaker.
And if I was being honest, I just wanted to wash away all the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
Whilst the party had been fun, the social interactions had left me feeling physically and emotionally drained and in need of two or three days in the presence of my own company.
Unfortunately, I’d promised to see my grandparents tomorrow to help out with some last-minute gardening.
I’d planned to be over first thing in the morning, which meant I had just enough time to wash my hair, put on some laundry, and continue pondering the lack of food in my fridge.
But my mind kept pulling back to the book as much as I tried to convince myself it didn’t.
I mean, what the hell was I expecting to happen?
The notion that trying again might somehow result in a different outcome was ridiculous.
It wasn’t like demons were real. But in the realm of possibility, statistically speaking, somewhere in all the dimensions in all the universes, one of the Quinceys had managed to actually summon a demon, right? So, why couldn’t it be me?
As much as I was cynical about romantic love where I was concerned, there were no two people I loved more than my grandparents.
My grandmother had gotten ill eight months ago with a lung condition I could never quite remember the name of.
Or at least that’s what I told myself. I think a part of me, something subconscious but ultimately very selfish, had chosen not to learn it, hoping that it wouldn’t make it real if I didn't know.
But one routine check-up had evolved into countless hospital appointments, two procedures, and an endless string of bad news.
My grandmother never showed it, but she was in a lot of pain.
And my grandfather was too, for different reasons, but he was in pain nonetheless.
Maybe it was desperate and ultimately futile, but I wanted to try each and every possible avenue to give them their life back.
Modern medicine could spell out the word terminal as much as it damn well pleased, but I would try anything, because they were worth it.
Their love was worth it. I mean, it was the kind of love that came around once in a lifetime.
My grandfather had said it countless times when I was growing up.
He would gush about how lucky he was to find his soul mate, when so many other people were seldom as lucky as he was.
When I’d asked him what it felt like, he’d barely been able to find the words to describe it, explaining it like a convergence, like everything collapsing inwards on one singular point before clicking into place.
And suddenly, they were it. The one. The only person who would ever make you feel whole again.
For all they had done for me, they deserved countless more years of feeling whole. Together.
So, once again, I found myself sitting in a salt circle (more like a salt oval, but who’s really keeping track).
I’d timed it so I could start the incantations at three am, or what was better known as the witching hour.
If I was going to give this ritual a second chance, I might as well go turbo spooky and use every available tool in my arsenal.
It just turned out that I had very few “tools” at my disposal.
For a girl with an endless supply of candles, I wasn’t sure how the only black candle I had in my possession was a phallic candle that Esme had gotten me as a gag gift for my last birthday.
“It’s pretty and it’s big and it smells unbelievable.
Don’t sit on it, though, that’ll fuck up your pH balance,” she had said in between mouthfuls of my grandmother’s blueberry pancakes whilst I tried not to die of embarrassment.
I set the candle next to the bottom half of a silver trinket that moonlighted as a silver bowl for the duration of the ritual.
It was no larger than the palm of my hand, but again, the instructions really should have been more specific.
I looked down at the tattered teal book, my last desperate plea to the universe, before letting out an exasperated sigh.
Quincey, you’re not right in the head. I told myself, preparing for the inevitable disappointment I’d feel when this futile endeavour turned out exactly as I expected.
I looked up at the black and white photograph of my grandparents hanging over my kitchen table before trailing the palm of my hand over my face.
“Please, please, please,” I whispered softly before reopening the book.
I’d already collected all the necessary bits for step one, so I made quick work of cutting another lock of hair and lighting the cock shaped candle, fighting the smirk that tugged at the corner of my lips as I did
Step 2.
Light the black candle and whisper into the flame.
“Demon of darkness, Prince of Hell
I beckon you forward, with one simple spell.
Through the veil of night, I seek you out,
Dedicated till the end, on my knees devout.”
I took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t get your hopes up, okay. I repeated the mantra in my head whilst repeating the incantation as clearly as possible, keeping my eyes firmly shut so as not to throw off my already waning concentration.
Step 3.
Place each strand of hair into the fire.
I actually did need to open my eyes for this bit.
I was clumsy, had no insurance, and had no intention of setting everything I currently owned on fire.
The locks of my hair fizzed at the ends, and a slightly acidic smell crept up my nose.
I’d just washed it, so alongside burning hair, I was likely burning away whatever residual chemicals still clung to the strand.
Step 4.
With your hands hovering above the water, chant the final incantation and summon the demon.
“In the very fibres of my being, exists both want and greed,
It’s three wishes I seek, and three wishes I need.
In pact, we’ll be tethered, all wishes made whole.
In return I offer everything, everything, and my soul”
I held my hand over the tiny trinket and spoke the last few lines of the incantation.
Trading one’s soul seemed like such a massive request in return for three wishes.
The genie in Aladdin had done it for free, for fuck’s sake.
But this wasn’t a children’s movie, and a lot of the time, life didn’t have those neatly tied up happy endings that everyone held out for.
Life was hard, cruel, and painful. But I’d happily trade my soul to take Maura’s pain away.
I cracked an eye open and then another—
Just like the previous night, a large clang carried through the silence of my apartment, followed by a slightly overweight black cat emerging from the veil of my patterned curtains.
“Mortimer?” I looked down at the cat suspiciously.
He approached slowly, taking in the picture in front of him before settling me with a look that was quintessentially cat, unimpressed and slightly disgusted.
It was a look that said what the fuck are you doing?
And given that I sat in the middle of my dark apartment with nothing but a salt ring around me as if I was fighting a siege against a rogue army of snails, it was hard to argue with his points. Telepathically, of course.
“Now you are going to think I am crazy, but I’m going to ask one time, just to be sure,” I said, standing up and taking the black cat with me.
He might be an outdoor cat, but he’s an absolute slut for a cuddle.
“You’re not a demon, are you?” I whispered.
“If you are, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. ”
He meowed once before jumping out of my arms and onto my forest green sofa, where he proceeded to stare at me, his amber eyes clear in the darkness of my apartment.
I sighed, stumbling slightly before flicking on a small table light in the kitchen.
“Well, at least we tried. So much for maledictions and hex—”
The knock on my door was loud. Aggressive. Frightening.
I whipped my head around so fast, I almost gave myself a crick in my neck as I stood, staring at my door. What the actual fuck?
Okay, breathe. Breaaathe. brEATHE.