Stopping the Ritual

UNFINISHED WORK IN PROGRESS

Everything was ready for the ritual. It would soon be time.

The child watched her mother crying against her father’s chest with growing unease. Momma’s shoulders shook with sorrow, but she didn’t make any audible sounds. Only the expanding tear stains on Daddy’s shirt betrayed the depth of her emotion.

“You weren’t supposed to get attached, Beatrice.” Daddy’s voice was hard and cold. He sounded annoyed. Momma didn’t respond, but her shoulders trembled in another silent sob.

The child wanted to go to her Momma and hug her and tell her that everything was going to be OK. Momma always did that for the girl when she was hurt or sad and it always made her feel better. Daddy just wasn’t doing it right. His hands might have been on Momma’s shoulders, but he looked like he was pushing his wife away, not holding her. Besides, he was frowning when he should be smiling. Trying to comfort someone with a frown just didn’t look right.

The room was getting darker as the sun set, but the child could see well enough by the light of the five flickering candles Momma had placed around her. She gave the circle she stood in a skeptical look. Daddy had told her not to leave it. He had said that if she behaved and did exactly as they told her, they would get her ice cream later. Two whole scoops of chocolate chip ice cream. He even said she could have sprinkles on top.

The child wanted to make Momma feel better, but she had promised to stay put. She knew that if she left the circle now, the carefully lain designs would be ruined and Momma would have to start all over. That would make Momma angry and then there would be no ice cream.

The child sat down on the hard marble floor with a little sigh. She couldn’t even tell Momma how much she loved her or explain to Daddy why he shouldn’t be so mean. She wasn’t allowed to talk while Momma and Daddy were working magic. Bad things could happen if the wrong words were said and the spell got confused.

“You weren’t supposed to get attached.” Her father repeated in a flat voice. He didn’t have to push Momma away anymore, because she had already taken a step back. Momma poked her husband in the chest with one long, lacquered nail and glared up at him.

“You can’t tell me that you feel nothing for her, Edmund. She’s your daughter for crying out loud.” Her mother’s face softened briefly as she cast a somber glance back over her shoulder. “Our daughter.”

The child grinned at her mother, stretching her smile as broadly as she could manage. It made her lips hurt, but if she couldn’t talk to Momma or hug her, then maybe she could show her how much she loved her. Momma often said her smile was like a ray of sunshine in the darkness. Surely, seeing it now would make her feel better.

But instead of smiling back, Momma just grimaced and quickly looked away. Daddy carefully removed his wife’s talon from his chest and began smoothing out the wrinkles from his shirt. “That is the entire point of this sacrifice. That we offer the one thing that we should never be willing to part with.”

“Then perhaps I, not you, show the greater dedication here!” Momma’s voice dripped with venom and her already dark eyes turned black with rage. The ebony pigment leached out from her pupil until it filled her entire gaze.

The child winced at the transformation, but tried to hide her distress as she continued to watch her parents. Momma’s moods often changed drastically from one minute to the next and she could be very scary when she was angry, but at least that meant she was no longer sad.

The child’s father gave his wife a level look and ignored the calculated insult. His own irises expanded until the white around them could no longer be seen. “Then you are still capable of carrying out your duties tonight?”

“Of course.” Momma snapped at him and unexpectedly spun away. She stalked to the other side of the room and began lighting the many votive candles set into little alcoves in the wall. The smell of sulfur and wood smoke floated through the room each time she struck a new match.

The child took a deep breath. She liked that smell. There was something soothing about its tingling burn in her nostrils, mixing with the heavy, sweet scent of melted beeswax. The dry tangy traces of yesterday’s burnt herbs and incense ash were also just barely perceptible, stirred by the night breeze that came in from the open windows. The scents were comforting in their familiarity. Home had always smelled of these things.

Daddy continued to brush at his rapidly drying shirt with a disgusted look on his face. Feeling her watching him, the child’s father pointedly turned his attention on her. His wide, black eyes stared unblinkingly with a frightening intensity.

The girl quickly looked down at her hands. Her parents’ eyes, more than their words, scared her. Momma and Daddy often yelled at each other about things she didn’t understand, but when their eyes turned all black like that bad things usually happened. Like the time Momma flung an entire cabinet’s worth of plates at her husband without ever even touching them.

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken so softly, the child couldn’t be sure she heard them. She glanced back up, but Daddy had already turned away and was heading toward the dais at the front of the room. Why was Daddy apologizing? Maybe he felt bad for making Momma cry? But then why hadn’t he spoken loud enough for her to hear him too?

Daddy took the glass cover off the top of the lectern and began carefully turning the pages of the large, leather bound book it protected. Her parents had a lot of old books but this one was extra special. She wasn’t allowed to touch the big book on the stand, or even look at the pages when it was open.

Momma finished lighting the candles and joined Daddy on the stage. The light in the room no longer flickered and the shadows retreated to the far corners of the vaulted ceiling. Momma had lit at least three dozen additional candles and their combined flames bathed the large room in a steady golden glow.

A dozen meant twelve. The child smiled. Daddy would be proud to know that she remembered the new word he had taught her. Her father always marveled at how smart she was. The child liked the way he would look at her in amazement and then call her mother over whenever she said or did something ‘beyond her age’. Each new discovery was usually followed by another set of rules, but all the restrictions were well worth it for the precious few moments of Daddy’s attention and approval.

The child watched as her father moved away from the book to arrange a bowl and some other items on the wide alter that rested by the lectern. Momma took his place at the book and gave him a string of clipped instructions. They both moved about the dais, grabbing glass vials and other supplies from the shelves at their back.

The child always wondered at their ability to work so well together. The platform was small, but they never once bumped into each other. Momma would set something down just in time for Daddy to pick it up. Daddy would start a task and without a word, Momma would know just want needed to be done to finish it.

When they fought it was chaotic and violent, but when they worked together it was with a practiced ease. Like they were two halves of the same person. Momma said it was because she and Daddy had known each other for a very long time.

The child sighed again and pulled at a loose thread on her dress. She was bored. She wondered how long she was going to have to wait for the ritual to get to the part where she got her birthday present. She was turning five tonight and her parents had promised her a name. After tonight she would no longer just be the girl, or the child, or even Sugar, which was what her governess used to call her.

Tonight she would get a real name. Actually, she was going to get three. The child didn’t know what her first two names would be yet, but the last one would be Martin just like Momma and Daddy’s.

Momma got the distant look on her face she always got when summoning her demons. A second later, seven burly warriors with red skin and ivory colored horns winked into existence and fanned out around the room. Tonight must be very important for them to called away from their posts guarding the mansion.

Momma began to chant in demonic. The child did not like this language. It always sounded angry. It wasn’t pretty like the one that angels spoke. Her father joined in a moment later, his voice a growling baritone, as he read from the book in front of him.

The air inside the circle suddenly became heavier and a barrier shimmered to life around the girl. An iridescent pool encircled the child’s feet and began to grow outwards towards the barrier. The child watched the black ooze with rapt fascination. The marble floor beneath her bare feet began to grow chilly and goose flesh covered her legs.

Tiny black flames brushed against the edges of the circle, and finding the translucent boundary impassible, slowly began to creep back inward. The flames grew several inches in height as they neared the warm body they found at its center. Fascination turned to fear as the flames began to lick at the child’s feet. She tried to stretch up and stand on the tips of her toes to evade them, but they just began to crawl up her feet and lap at her ankles.

The child bit back a whimper. They were icy cold, painfully cold, and they smelled strongly of sulfur. The fumes burned her nose and throat. Surely something had gone wrong. This wasn’t how children got names was it? And what was that sound? Whispers seemed to be coming from all around her and a soft rumble began to shake the ground directly beneath her.

Several loud crashes, in quick succession, caused the child to snap her attention back up from the floor. The room was suddenly ablaze in light, quite literally, as multiple large fires were now burning. Demons she didn’t recognize were attacking her mother’s warriors. Her parents were no longer at the dais.

The barrier around her muffled the sounds of combat and the heat from the fires. The black flames that were not flames oozed off her skin and began to retreat back into the floor. Terrified, the child dropped into a crouch and curled up into a tiny ball on the stained marble.

She didn’t know how much time passed that way, but eventually the sounds of fighting died down, as did the light. She heard a boot scuffing against the floor near her and tiny grains of sand prickled her leg as the design that encircled her was destroyed. Her ears popped in the sudden pressure change, but she continued to hide her face.

Gentle calloused hands deftly scooped up the tiny ball of child and pulled her against a warm, hard chest. She cried out and tried to make herself even smaller.

“Do not be afraid, little one. I will not harm you.” The gentle, accented voice lured her into taking a peek at the man who held her. Vivid teal eyes gazed fondly down at her from a handsome face with a warm smile.

The man’s hair was much longer than her Daddy’s and the copper red strands were bound in a multitude of neat little braids. The tops of two massive wings poked over each shoulder. His feathers were the same coppery red as his hair. Their mottled pattern reminded her of the hawks that had nested outside her window last summer.

The sword at the man’s hip swung in time with his step as he took sure, swift strides towards the door leading to the balcony.

Demons were everywhere. Their eyes glittered in the remaining fire light. Red, black, and even purple eyes turned to lock onto hers. The scent of sulfur and smoke was pungent and burned her nostrils. Everything smelled like burned matches. Everything except the man carrying her. The child whimpered and tried to burrow into the angel’s chest.

“Hush, little one. You are safe now.” He unfurled his wings and wrapped them around her, shielding her from the demons’ gazes. She looked up again when his wings abruptly snapped back as he jumped over the railing. For one second she felt completely weightless as they glided down to the lawn. The angel’s wings pumped in one powerful stroke as they landed, then folded quietly behind his back.

She took a deep gulp of the cool night air, coughing and clearing her lungs of the smoke.

The angel brought her to the treeline where an older man laid a gentle hand on her cheek. The child felt the familiar tingle of magic that told her he was a sorcerer like her parents. The angel tried to set her down in front of him but she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.