Hazmat & Other Toxic Stories by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Author:Lawrence Watt-Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, short stories, stories
Publisher: Misenchanted Press

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The Great Ritual

He scrubbed at the lines painted on the tiles, wishing blood was easier to get up. He really couldn't allow the cleaning woman to see the pentagram, he told himself; she'd probably think he was some sort of Satanist.

He smiled wryly to himself. As a sorcerer he knew better than anyone that Satanism was nonsense, but he wasn't about to attempt to explain to some ignorant drudge the difference between raising demons and the ritual manipulation of natural forces.

He promised himself that next time he did anything here that required a drawn figure he would use a sheet, or a piece of paper the way Gerry did, rather than having to go to all this trouble afterward.

Even as he muttered the promise, though, he knew he wouldn't. Some rituals had to be done properly, with everything exactly right, and he would not trust a sheet, either of cloth or paper, to stay as flat and steady as required. One little tear and the pentacle seal would be broken and worthless, unable to contain the forces he wanted to control.

At home he had a pentagram cut into the concrete floor of the basement, grooves ready to be filled with whatever substance might be called for, but he could scarcely set up anything like that in his office.

Perhaps the best and simplest approach would be to do all his conjuring at home, but for most of the year he couldn't be sure of getting home before sunset, and many of the most interesting effects could only be achieved at the moment the sun touched the horizon. His weekends were usually devoted to the really major spells, so these smaller experiments had to be done here.

He looked the floor over critically and decided that it would do. It was not entirely clean, but the remaining traces were not recognizable as blood, and the lines were not complete enough for someone ignorant of magic to recognize them as a pentacle.

Satisfied, he rolled down his sleeves, tossed the rag he had been using into the bucket, then shoved the bucket and mop back in the storeroom where he had found them. He fetched his jacket and briefcase from his desk and strolled out toward the elevators.

When the elevator door opened he saw that someone else was in the car – a young woman he recognized as one of the Circle, a fellow sorcerer. She was not one of his own little group of friends, but he had definitely seen her at the full convocations.

He stepped into the car and looked her over as the doors closed.

She was tall, with shoulder-length brown curls, dark eyes, and skin that was neither tanned nor pale. She was too thin for his liking; if she had come seeking a partner for any of the sexual rites he wasn't particularly interested.

She turned and said, without preamble, “I was sent to fetch you.”

That was rather intriguing. “Oh?” he said.

“The Council wants to see you.”

He froze. That was not intriguing, that was distressing.

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