Almost Demon (The Sigil Cycle) (6 page)

“Who knew so much work went into these things? But apparently Marcus really likes to put on a semi-professional production so he made everyone audition right away.” Her demeanor had turned remarkably serious. 

Marcus, whom we all knew was born Marc Torres, was a fixture in Harrisport, always with the same olive green scarf around his neck, regardless of the weather, and newsboy hat concealing his male pattern baldness. He directed the two school performances and ran the Roundabout Community Theater. This year, with the help of private funding, Principal Kelly was able to add a drama class to the curriculum. 

“I’m proud of you, Char.” 

The rest of the day passed by in a slow wave of boredom. I spent my time analyzing my supernatural trip with Ian, who was nowhere to be found, and wondering if I should mention any of it to Charlotte. 

I did perk up as soon as it was time for Mr. Flynn’s class, excited at the prospect of getting any information out of him that would help get rid of the ghosts that were beginning to become more of a nuisance. I sat down and rummaged through the endless stuff in my bag in search of a pen. 

“Hey.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could make out Ian taking the same seat as yesterday.

“One sec. Got it.” I held my ballpoint up in glee and ran my gaze from the tip of his black Chuck Taylors, over his fitted black cargos, to the waffle knit Henley until I reached those charming eyes.
They’re greener today
.

“Good afternoon, class.” Mr. Flynn marched into the classroom, satchel tucked under his arm, wearing white tennis shoes with dark wash jeans.
Eek
. “Today, we will begin our unit on Lies and Deceit with
Hamlet
.” He walked over to the closet at the far end of the room and pulled out three stacks of paperback editions of Shakespeare’s classic. “Allison, will you please help me distribute the books.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Flynn.” I could have sworn I heard her purr like a cat.

With the class busy, I leaned over to Ian and said, “About yesterday.”

“What about it?” he said looking like he had just eaten the canary.

“Well,” I was grasping for the right words, “what exactly was all that?”

He slid his desk closer to mine until I was able to make out the slight stubble on his jaw that trailed down his neck and smell the intoxicating scent that clung to him like second skin.

“You didn’t seem eager to talk afterwards. I could only assume you weren’t too impressed.” He was still smiling, the only indication that I shouldn’t take him seriously.

“Well, I was waiting for you to ditch the surfer look. I’m finding this ‘you’ a bit more irresistible.”
Did that just come out of my mouth?

His laughter was melodic but contained. “I’m more than willing to catch up later.”

I groaned at my own disappointment. “I can’t. I promised Mr. Flynn I would join his book club. For extra credit. I kind of need it, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“I fail my tests miserably.” 

Just then, Mr. Flynn rapped on his white board with a long metallic pointer and pulled up a series of slides. “These are your notes,” he said in a militaristic tone. “Please copy them from the board. These are the only notes I want you taking. When everyone is finished, I expect your full attention. Then I will regale you with many fascinating facts about William Shakespeare.”

The lecture ended up being more interesting than anticipated. Listening to his accent could have been the reason why Mr. Flynn had everyone enraptured, or his captivating theatrics. Nevertheless, time flew by and before long, the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

“Here’s my number.” Ian slipped a scrap of paper into my tote and went for the door.

Allison was on his heels in moments. I watched as she shoved her way passed a few people just to get to him and then proceeded to paw at his arms. The look on his face remained benign in spite of the effort she was making, so I couldn’t tell if he was interested in her or not. 

My heart fluttered when he looked me in the eyes. And it just as quickly deflated when he nodded to Allison and let her lead him away.

“So, Miss Pope, are you ready for your first lesson?” I turned to Mr. Flynn’s voice, who had taken Ian’s place beside me. The class had quickly emptied out.

“Yes, I am.”
At least I hope so
.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

The so-called book club was noticeably lacking membership. Mr. Flynn and I were the only ones who stayed after class and my apprehension was evident.

“No worries. I can’t be teaching you the secrets of the universe with an audience. I postponed it due to a scheduling conflict.” He added air quotes.

“So, these secrets. How do you know about them?”

“You can consider me an expert of sorts.” He stiffened his spine, unbuttoned his blazer to reveal his retro batman t-shirt and took on a boyish appearance with his goofy smile.

“Let’s have it then.” I was in the mood for a challenge.

“First things first. Let me allay your fears and tell you that the things you’ve seen lurking about are not a figment of your imagination.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

“Yes, because you want to know that all your faculties are intact when I tell you the rest.”

“I’m listening.”

“Brilliant! Let’s begin.” He got up and closed the door. When he sat back down, I understood why.

“That,” he pointed to the black splotch on the wall, “is one of the Dybbuk.”

“Of course,” I singsonged.

“Cheeky, aren’t you? Go ahead, go on and touch it.”

“I don’t think so.” I scrunched my nose up in distaste.

“Miss Pope, let me explain to you how this is going to work. We are forming a relationship wherein you and I,” he motioned his hand in a give and take gesture, “are working to a mutually beneficial goal.” His eyebrows did a little dance as he said those words.

“And?”

“And in order for you to understand what this goal is in the scope of things, you need to do as I say.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a partnership.”

“It isn’t. I’m the one holding most of the cards.”

“Well, I may not know much,” I replied, “but if my hand didn’t trump yours, you wouldn’t have me sitting here.” 

“Touché.” He stood up and walked back towards the Dybbuk, placing his hand over what I could imagine as its head. “See,” he continued. “Nothing. And this is why: the Dybbuk is a collective, a group of lost souls denied entrance to the Otherworld. Unable to find peace, they roam the Earth in search of a living thing, of their choosing, to attach themselves to. Once they have taken possession of this human, animal, or plant, they begin to alter that being’s behavior to suit their needs.”

“So why am I seeing them?” I asked.

“Usually, a trip to the Otherworld can make you a bit screwy. Crossing the veil can open your eyes just a bit wider.”

“My accident.” I rubbed the back of neck.

“Correct. But there is something else, which I can’t figure out, and that’s where you come in.” He went over to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and lifted out the  gray leather- bound tome I had glimpsed the day before. He set the book in front of me, keeping it closed with his hands clenched on either side of the worn cover. 

“I need to know you’re with me.” His eyes pleaded with me and I couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful lips while I thought of what to say next.
How could I say no?

“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?”