Elva Rackthorn and the Tears of Azrael

Demons at Teatime, Part 2

The chalk pentacles on the floor were perfect—the lines straight and even, the circles gracefully arced, the runes all written with precision. Even the extra protective daubs of crushed marigold around the sigilry were carefully calculated and executed. A single smudge wouldn't be Elva's undoing, but the rule of thumb was that a messy pentacle meant a messy death if a necromancer was weak-willed.

Elva wasn't weak-willed, thank-you-very-much, but she didn't get this far in three years of self-taught necromancy by being careless. And besides, her borrowed books had vibrant full-color illustrations of what could go wrong and avoiding those gruesome outcomes was quite the motivator for precision in act and will.

But she caught nothing amiss on her third check, not when she consulted the books sprawled out on her bed and not when she stood back and surveyed her handiwork, like a general assessing the land for a skirmish. Most sigilmancy these days was materials-based and low-risk, but necromancy, which could pull creatures from the Night World or spirits of the recently departed back from the Betwixt, required particular vigilance. Elva should have had a necromancy master guiding her and checking her work, but since Father had banned her studying from necromancy, Elva had to make do with books stolen from Mother's locked-up office. And while books were great and all for learning, they were terrible at holding conversation.

Luckily, demons were quite chatty when well-fed.

As the last word of the incantation echoed in the air, pronounced clear and crisp and reinforced by Elva's will, the room dimmed and chilled and became something entirely different from the summer day outside. Shadows shifted as the lines of the pentacle glowed blue-green, the runes burned golden, and silver fog swirled within the major circle as the demon formed within. As the fog fizzled away, the demon's shape came into view: six spindly arms jutting out from a narrow, bug-like torso, two spiny legs bent in a crouch like cricket's so the sharp knees framed the beast's bulbous head. And on that head, three large eyes, two where they were supposed to be and one vertical in the center of the forehead. The thin-lipped mouth opened wide to show rows of tiny but razor-sharp teeth and a long purple tongue, barbed like a cat's. A voice like an orchestra of out-of-tune instruments trying to hit the same note echoed forth.

"Well, if it ain't my favorite human pup with a bucket of chalk. You gonna let me eat or what?"

Elva fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was always a nice surprise to summon Lucky— a childish nickname that had stuck— but his cheekiness was as irksome as his riddles. "I called you, I bind you, and by my circle I contain you." That said in a single breath, Elva continued more conversationally, "And if if it isn't my favorite demon cobbled together with leftover parts. You'll find pig entrails in the second minor circle. I hope the offering will make you cooperative."

Lucky flashed Elva a quick many-toothed grin before diving into his food. Even with her eyes closed, Elva could hear the wet, slick, slapping sounds of his feasting. The rhubarb turnover she had munched on at market began to reassert itself in her stomach.

Not noticing, or perhaps noticing and delighting in Elva's nausea, Lucky spoke though a mouthful of food, a strand of viscera dangling over his lips. "Not much of a choice not to cooperate. You've got these circles all set up to spell the answers right out of me. Bit overkill, by the way, that second penalty band you've chalked up." He gestured with one gangly arm at the extra circle of sigilry Elva had enclosed Lucky's pentacle in."It's like having a circle of knives dangling around me. Rather poor hospitality, don't you think, given what a good guest I am? Minimal death threats, detailed answers." He slurped up the last intestine, flecks of blood seeming to hang in the air as they hit the invisible wall of energy extending up from his chalk circle. "I eat everything on my plate."