Meanwhile, back in my prison, my luck had started to change for the better. Not that I had gotten free, or anything as serendipitous as that. That was too much to hope for. It also appeared to be too much to hope for that Koschei would ever think to feed me. And even though I started hearing voices (from down below my prison, somehow-maybe I was on the upper floor of wherever I was), I was unable to call out to them due to the spell on my voice, or in any way make noise that would attract their attention. And even if I could, who was to say that they weren’t minions of Mr. the Deathless, or something like that?
However, I had at least gotten started on getting free from this chair.
When I’d been captured, my pack and all the contents therein, along with a few odds and ends hidden on my person, had been confiscated. However, Mr. the Deathless had not checked my insides for anything, a fact I was now using to my advantage. And yes, I am aware of how weird that sounds. But it makes sense if you understand that before I left, Baba Yaga brewed a special potion that I then drank, and therefore it was now inside of me. And it was my secret weapon.
See, something people mostly already know about gargoyle blood is that it’s really, really hot. It makes it difficult for non-gargoyles to treat us when we’re injured. What many people don’t know, and which is mostly a deeply-kept secret,* is that when we’re under extreme physical and/or mental stress, it sort of boils. That is to say, it gets hotter. It doesn’t hurt us, but it goes from burning to scorching for almost anyone or anything else. And Baba Yaga had given me a potion that would amplify that in such a way that I could use it to my advantage now.
Most doctors would probably advise against purposely making yourself bleed, especially when your blood sugar is low because you haven’t eaten or drank anything for what is probably more than twenty-four hours. But this was an emergency, so I dug one of the claws of my right hand into my palm (because I am ambidextrous, it didn’t matter which one I used). Soon enough I felt the sting of pain as I pierced my own skin, and after pressing a little harder, I felt the blood start to leak out. The pain caused a bit of an adrenaline rush, and I augmented it by thinking about all the consequences of failure: losing Calla forever, dying here, leaving Xen and Phil alone, never getting to see my family again-well, maybe not that one. Except my mother. And my little brother Elijah. And Morty, who was more or less family. I encouraged all my anger and fear and worry to rise to a fever pitch, and could actually feel my blood temperature rising. I heard more voices somewhere outside my prison now, but ignored them. Getting out was far more important.
The chair I was sitting in was solid steel, magically reinforced. However, my bleeding palm began to burn through it like the third eye of Shiva through Ganesha’s head. Eagerly, I wiggled it back and forth, feeling the metal dissolving under my hand. It took longer to eat through than I would have liked, but I doggedly continued on. Even when I started to see black spots before my eyes, and my ears started ringing, and I started having that light-headed feeling like I’d been out in the sun for far too long.
Wonder how much I’ve lost? I’ll die if I lose more than six pints. Let’s see, if one drop can dissolve up to two centimeters of metal, and the arm of this chair is about three inches thick, and if it takes .38 seconds to dissolve the steel-
I was distracted from my inane calculations by the fact that that part of the chair was starting to wobble and bend a bit. Deciding I didn’t want to waste anymore time waiting, I pushed down as hard as I could. If I’d been at full strength, I could have done it with much less trouble. As it was, I had to shove and strain and push several times, before finally, with a satisfying snap! the part of the chair broke, giving me a chance to slide my arm free, albeit with the spell attached. And as I’d feared, it then shrank to fit snugly around my wrist, like the world’s worst bracelet. But when I dripped a bit of my blood on it, it actually dissolved the part it touched, allowing me to peel it off and toss it away. Baba Yaga’s magic is pretty potent stuff.
I dissolved my other bonds, and then pressed my now-numb claw to my chest, in an effort to stop the bleeding. It ate right through my shirt, so I had to press it against my bare fur and flesh (which, luckily, it didn’t appear to be hurting). I was still trapped in this hellish place of light. I still had no voice. I was also starving, thirsty, and possibly suffering from self-inflicted anemia. But at least now I was partially free. I just needed to take a rest, just close my eyes for a moment, and then I could find a method of getting out of here…
*So be grateful that I trust you enough to tell you about it.
Showing posts with label spell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spell. Show all posts
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Season of the Witch part 7
My mirror opened up in the corner of the Red Square, and I collapsed out onto the cobblestones, holding my gut in pain and waiting for it to subside. Thankfully, I managed not to even dry heave, and after the shaking and agony and feeling like my insides had been mercilessly played tug-of-war with had dissipated somewhat, I found myself being helped to my feet by what appeared surprisingly to be a human tourist of some kind.
“S toboy vse vporyadke?”* she asked, looking at me with concern.
“Da. Bolshoe spasibo,”** I reassured her, raising a claw and nodding. She looked me up and down, not convinced, and commented that I looked terrible. I just said that travelling made me nauseous sometimes. The tourist laughed, and said that she understood how I felt, before asking if I was sure she couldn’t take me to my hotel or something. I said that no, I’d be fine in a moment, but thanked her again for her time. She walked off with a smile over one shoulder and a parting “Dasvidaniya!”***
Once inside the cathedral, I went to the basement (not bothering with a tour guide), admiring the art and architecture as I went. It really is a beautiful place; despite the direness of my reason for being there, I couldn’t help noticing the fake brick paint job (also known as pod kirpich), the places with the genuine brick walls, the gold-covered artwork, and the walls decorated with fancy flowers. But I didn’t have time to admire it long-I had a sword to find.
Baba Yaga had instructed me to examine anything with a possible aura on it. She also knew about my ability to see magic, and had cooked up (almost literally) a spell to make it even better for this situation. It came in the shape of a pair of fake eyeglasses; when I put them on, they allowed me to distinguish what different magical auras meant, and would light up accordingly. Red meant a trap, green was just a concealment or enchantment, blue was a little bit of both red and green-type spells, and yellow sparks me showed where the spell could be disabled, if possible. It made me question whether she really hadn’t seen Mission: Impossible.
Most of the spells I found, around certain objects, and even on some of the cobblestones, were red. None of the green ones that I’d tried so far was what I was looking for. If this were any other case, I would probably have given up in frustration, and tried again tomorrow. But the freedom of someone that mattered a lot to me was at stake; I couldn’t afford to waste even a second trying to find the entrance to wherever Mr. the Deathless kept that sword.
And then, finally, it appeared that I had found something. In a corner of one of the rooms, under a window, there was a set of brick stairs. That was already strange enough, unless they opened and closed the window with the benefit of gnomes; however, there was the added peculiarity that the stairs were glowing blue. Just in case it was a fluke of some kind, I peered over the tops of my glasses at them. Without the glasses, I could still see that there was a spell. Put them back on, and the blue color showed up again. On a wild hunch, I decided to see if this was the opening I needed. I didn’t know how it was possible, but it was worth a shot. Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a few of my supplies: a skeleton key (literally made out of bone), a ball of pure white, unblemished yarn, four silver thumbtacks, and a black-and-white PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign (in several languages). Then I set to work.
The trick here, which could play an instrumental part in my getting out of here alive, was getting past the spell without Koschei ever finding out I was there. If his spells were disturbed, then he would definitely know someone was messing with them, and even with my little bag of tricks, I would probably end up a gone goose. As it was, I had to be careful how I touched the thing while I worked.
First of all, I hung the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on a convenient peg on the wall; even though those things mainly seem to tempt people to do just that, they are still useful in their own right. Besides, this one was enchanted to automatically encourage people to obey it. Then I pulled out one of the thumbtacks, and gingerly, trying to keep my claw from trembling, I set it down in the upper right hand corner of the stairs. Where it touched the spell, it hissed and fizzled, causing a few more yellow sparks to appear. I froze in alarm; I didn’t want it to disintegrate the spell entirely, no no no…
After a tense second, the rest of the spell sort of bubbled up around the needle part of the tack, leaving just the plastic sticking out. I exhaled slowly, and then completed the process with the other tacks in the other corners. I then unwound some of the yarn, enough to leave a long tail, and then wound the beginning of it around one of the tacks. Once I felt it was secure, I pulled it out to the tack opposite, and wound it around that tack, etc.
Once I had finished, I had what appeared to be a square laying on top of the spell and stairs, just big enough for me to go through if I tucked in my wings a little bit. Now for the last stage. Using one of my claws to cut the yarn, I stowed the remainder of the ball in my pack, and produced the skeleton key. Looking around, I decided to insert it in the left side; as I brought the key close, a keyhole appeared in the spell. I inserted the key, and turned it until I heard a click, before pulling it up. And lo and behold, the spell moved up with it, having turned into a sort of trapdoor. Mission partway accomplished.
I glanced over my shoulder, to see if anyone was watching me. Fortunately, there was nobody visibly paying attention to me. And if they were, well, too late to do anything now. It was now or never. So I reached under the new door, being careful not to touch the upper side, feeling some relief when my claws touched brick, and lowered myself inside feet first. Unfortunately, I had to let it close over me, and could only hope that either it lasted long enough for me to get out, or if the spell absorbed it, then I could find a new exit.
*Are you all right?
**Yes, I’m fine.
***Now I hear you wondering what is wrong with this picture: why would a human woman not be alarmed at the fact that she was suddenly talking to a gargoyle? The answer, again: a highly useful spell Calla created that I keep in my pocket for special occasions. It means that humans see me as just another roguishly handsome human. Even if I am rather scruffy. Very useful for these kind of situations. Every non-humanoid monster should get one.
“S toboy vse vporyadke?”* she asked, looking at me with concern.
“Da. Bolshoe spasibo,”** I reassured her, raising a claw and nodding. She looked me up and down, not convinced, and commented that I looked terrible. I just said that travelling made me nauseous sometimes. The tourist laughed, and said that she understood how I felt, before asking if I was sure she couldn’t take me to my hotel or something. I said that no, I’d be fine in a moment, but thanked her again for her time. She walked off with a smile over one shoulder and a parting “Dasvidaniya!”***
***
St. Basil’s Cathedral was just across the way. And since it was a Monday in June, and therefore not the tourist season, it was relatively easy for me to walk towards it, and buy an admission ticket at the western church. So far, so good.Once inside the cathedral, I went to the basement (not bothering with a tour guide), admiring the art and architecture as I went. It really is a beautiful place; despite the direness of my reason for being there, I couldn’t help noticing the fake brick paint job (also known as pod kirpich), the places with the genuine brick walls, the gold-covered artwork, and the walls decorated with fancy flowers. But I didn’t have time to admire it long-I had a sword to find.
Baba Yaga had instructed me to examine anything with a possible aura on it. She also knew about my ability to see magic, and had cooked up (almost literally) a spell to make it even better for this situation. It came in the shape of a pair of fake eyeglasses; when I put them on, they allowed me to distinguish what different magical auras meant, and would light up accordingly. Red meant a trap, green was just a concealment or enchantment, blue was a little bit of both red and green-type spells, and yellow sparks me showed where the spell could be disabled, if possible. It made me question whether she really hadn’t seen Mission: Impossible.
Most of the spells I found, around certain objects, and even on some of the cobblestones, were red. None of the green ones that I’d tried so far was what I was looking for. If this were any other case, I would probably have given up in frustration, and tried again tomorrow. But the freedom of someone that mattered a lot to me was at stake; I couldn’t afford to waste even a second trying to find the entrance to wherever Mr. the Deathless kept that sword.
And then, finally, it appeared that I had found something. In a corner of one of the rooms, under a window, there was a set of brick stairs. That was already strange enough, unless they opened and closed the window with the benefit of gnomes; however, there was the added peculiarity that the stairs were glowing blue. Just in case it was a fluke of some kind, I peered over the tops of my glasses at them. Without the glasses, I could still see that there was a spell. Put them back on, and the blue color showed up again. On a wild hunch, I decided to see if this was the opening I needed. I didn’t know how it was possible, but it was worth a shot. Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a few of my supplies: a skeleton key (literally made out of bone), a ball of pure white, unblemished yarn, four silver thumbtacks, and a black-and-white PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign (in several languages). Then I set to work.
The trick here, which could play an instrumental part in my getting out of here alive, was getting past the spell without Koschei ever finding out I was there. If his spells were disturbed, then he would definitely know someone was messing with them, and even with my little bag of tricks, I would probably end up a gone goose. As it was, I had to be careful how I touched the thing while I worked.
First of all, I hung the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on a convenient peg on the wall; even though those things mainly seem to tempt people to do just that, they are still useful in their own right. Besides, this one was enchanted to automatically encourage people to obey it. Then I pulled out one of the thumbtacks, and gingerly, trying to keep my claw from trembling, I set it down in the upper right hand corner of the stairs. Where it touched the spell, it hissed and fizzled, causing a few more yellow sparks to appear. I froze in alarm; I didn’t want it to disintegrate the spell entirely, no no no…
After a tense second, the rest of the spell sort of bubbled up around the needle part of the tack, leaving just the plastic sticking out. I exhaled slowly, and then completed the process with the other tacks in the other corners. I then unwound some of the yarn, enough to leave a long tail, and then wound the beginning of it around one of the tacks. Once I felt it was secure, I pulled it out to the tack opposite, and wound it around that tack, etc.
Once I had finished, I had what appeared to be a square laying on top of the spell and stairs, just big enough for me to go through if I tucked in my wings a little bit. Now for the last stage. Using one of my claws to cut the yarn, I stowed the remainder of the ball in my pack, and produced the skeleton key. Looking around, I decided to insert it in the left side; as I brought the key close, a keyhole appeared in the spell. I inserted the key, and turned it until I heard a click, before pulling it up. And lo and behold, the spell moved up with it, having turned into a sort of trapdoor. Mission partway accomplished.
I glanced over my shoulder, to see if anyone was watching me. Fortunately, there was nobody visibly paying attention to me. And if they were, well, too late to do anything now. It was now or never. So I reached under the new door, being careful not to touch the upper side, feeling some relief when my claws touched brick, and lowered myself inside feet first. Unfortunately, I had to let it close over me, and could only hope that either it lasted long enough for me to get out, or if the spell absorbed it, then I could find a new exit.
*Are you all right?
**Yes, I’m fine.
***Now I hear you wondering what is wrong with this picture: why would a human woman not be alarmed at the fact that she was suddenly talking to a gargoyle? The answer, again: a highly useful spell Calla created that I keep in my pocket for special occasions. It means that humans see me as just another roguishly handsome human. Even if I am rather scruffy. Very useful for these kind of situations. Every non-humanoid monster should get one.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
TANSTAV part 33
Chapter 9 part 4
Well, at least he was being honest with us. But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea. However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination. I'm just conservative like that.
Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan. And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.
"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"
Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.
"Huh?"
"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires. If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat? I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us. How well have you thought this through? I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming. "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"
Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'. I should know; I've used that code before.
It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able. I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.
This is great!
Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too. Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side. He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest. I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening. Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided. I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.
Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but). They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other. Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any. Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation. Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.
"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically. "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full! An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman! Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"
Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole. Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free. After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist. But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me. I was idly curious as to what would happen.
Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place? That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier. Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup. Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee. Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.
"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder. "It could kill you if you went in there now! It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"
"But what do we do? He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.
Xen looked despairingly over at me. To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!" In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.
The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound. It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped. Fleming looked startled. He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze. He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him. The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed. If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.
You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you? Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious. I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing. I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo. While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.
Suddenly, the spell went berserk. It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions. An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail. Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room. We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time. My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).
"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder. "How?! What did I-"
He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle. Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.
I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.
"Oops."
Fleming was not appeased.
"YOU!" he screeched. "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"
A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat. Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible. I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears. Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language. In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear. I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.
Well, at least he was being honest with us. But the fact that I would receive a commendation for contributing to this maniac's plan did not improve my morale, oddly enough. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure some people find the prospect of having their life force drained in order to create a vampire a very intriguing, even enjoyable idea. However, I have a low tolerance for having my life force drained, especially if its purpose is for ultimate world domination. I'm just conservative like that.
Not only that, but I could see some extreme flaws in Fleming's plan. And, feeling I had nothing to lose, I took the opportunity to point them out.
"...So, what happens when we run out of humans?"
Fleming frowned uncomprehendingly.
"Huh?"
"Well, according to the myths, humans are the natural food source of vampires. If, as you say, you plan on turning the whole human race into vampires, then what are they supposed to eat? I suppose they could feed on animals, but with that many of them in the world, and such a limited supply of animals to compensate, soon there'd be none left, and then they'd have to resort to us. How well have you thought this through? I mean, since you started this with the best interests of monsters at heart, to suddenly have your creations start depending on our blood to survive is kind of-"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Fleming. "I'll worry about that when the time comes!"
Which was code for, 'I haven't thought about that possibility, but there's no way I'm going to admit it to you, annoying person who just made me look stupid'. I should know; I've used that code before.
It was at that point that I suddenly realized that the ropes, though unbreakable, were not un-slip-out-able. I figured this out by the fact that as I was shifting my hands, I suddenly found that my left thumb was free.
This is great!
Taking the opportunity, I began working on wiggling the rest of my hand out too. Meanwhile, Fleming made a gesture with the bandaged hand, wincing as he did so, and Jessup slowly went to his side. He handed over the splatter gun, and at Fleming's command, he lay down on the altar, hands folded across his chest. I almost felt sorry for him; he was about to be used to create a monster that would annihilate mankind, and he probably didn't even know what was happening. Then I remembered what he had almost done to Xen, and my pity instantly subsided. I went back to concentrating on freeing myself.
Over in the corner, Xen and Calla were not standing idly by, like you'd expect of damsels in distress (believe me, they are anything but). They were standing back to back, and trying to untie each other. Since nobody was taking any notice of them at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any. Needless to say, I did not draw Fleming's attention to the situation. Speak of the devil, he was now pulling a chain that opened a hole in his roof (with the ends of the lightning rods poking through), revealing that the storm had reached its height.
"Perfect conditions!" he cried enthusiastically. "A storm with thunder and lightning, yet on a night when the moon is full! An exact replication of the experiments of President Newman! Now to charge the spell with lightning, add my modifications, and then it will begin!"
Carefully, he levitated the spell into the air, until it was directly below the hole. Then there was a short wait, during which I was able to get my left hand all the way free. After that, it was a simple matter of pulling the loop of rope off my right wrist. But for the time being, just for a moment, I stayed where and how I was, with my hands behind me. I was idly curious as to what would happen.
Finally, I heard the sharp retort of lightning striking the rods (Two bolts at once, in almost the same place? That’s a coincidence that pretty much only ever occurs in the places where monsters live) and sizzling down, to hit the spell, which suddenly turned a brighter shade of green, and looked a lot healthier. Without needing any assistance from Fleming, the ball of light zoomed down, and hovered over the recumbent Jessup. Fleming stood by the altar's side, smiling with glee. Calla, now free of her ropes, started forward, but Xen grabbed her and held her back.
"No!" I heard her cry over a roar of thunder. "It could kill you if you went in there now! It's never a good idea to enter a pentacle when a spell's taking place!"
"But what do we do? He'll be killed!" Calla wailed.
Xen looked despairingly over at me. To her evident surprise, I smiled at her, and mouthed the words, "It'll be fine!" In all likelihood, she thought I was either trying to reassure her by lying through my teeth, or I had lost my mind.
The spell left the altar, and began circling the pentacle, testing it to make sure it was sound. It zoomed around the five points of the star, skimming the ground once in a while, reveling in its new life-and then it stopped. Fleming looked startled. He made as if to approach-and, remembering where he was, froze. He couldn't leave the pentagon that was the center of the star, because that would expose him to whatever damage the spell could inflict on him. The spell in question was hovering tentatively over one particular spot on the pentacle; if it had been alive, and given to emotions, I would have said that it was perturbed. If you looked closer, you would see why: there, marring the perfect chalk circle, were five drag marks, creating a small set of holes in the pentacle.
You forgot about my stumble earlier, didn't you? Well, believe it or not, even with my hands tied, I'm not that clumsy when the situation is serious. I'd remembered that you have to be careful with spells in pentacles; they are very delicate, and if the pentacles or spells are messed up even the tiniest bit, it can destroy the whole thing. I've even heard horror stories of screwed-up spells in pentacles turning on those who cast them, and obliterating them into nasty, slimy blobs of goo. While I didn't necessarily thoroughly wish that on Fleming, it would certainly make fixing this whole mess a lot easier.
Suddenly, the spell went berserk. It began leaping and jumping around the room, smashing into the walls (because of the flaw in the pentacle, it could leave), smacking into the ceiling and floor, just hitting everything it could-though, unfortunately, missing both the insane mage and the demon, but fortunately missing me and my companions. An utterly horrified Fleming tried to intervene, to use his magic to capture and subdue the spell, but to no avail. Old and senile as it was, it had soon beat itself to pieces of residue, lying here and there throughout the room. We all (except Jessup, who was still hypnotized) stared aghast at the remains of what had been one of the most controversial spells of our time. My historian's heart bled for it, and asked President Newman to forgive me for this desecration (though his soul, may it rest in peace, probably rejoiced at the destruction of his great folly).
"How could this happen?!" howled Fleming, clutching his hands to his head, wincing with pain because it involved moving his damaged arm and shoulder. "How?! What did I-"
He stopped, as his bulging eyes noticed the dragged-through part of the pentacle. Suddenly looking a little murderous, he turned to me, and looked down, seeing the white dusting of chalk on the claws of my left foot.
I shrugged and gave a sort of grin.
"Oops."
Fleming was not appeased.
"YOU!" he screeched. "YOU FILTHY, DESTRUCTIVE, SPELL-WRECKING _________________ INTERFERING ______________ LOUSY__________ SON OF ___!"
A lot of the vile epithets he cried out are ones I would rather not repeat. Let us just leave it at the fact that they were mostly very opprobrious remarks, some of which were not particularly realistic or anatomically possible. I noticed Calla wincing and covering her ears. Good, she was far too young to be hearing that kind of language. In fact, it was stuff that nobody should ever have to hear. I think it was about then that Fleming grabbed up one of the splatter guns and shot me.
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