Angel of Death

My boots scuffed against the gravel road as I walked toward my destination: a cross-roads. My backpack thumped heavily between my shoulderblades, the contents inside: my great-grandmother’s grimoire, black candles, and a rib bone from my beloved. 

Digging up that had been the really tricky part. Nevermind digging the grave up. Honestly that had been the easier part. Katia had only been buried a few days ago. The soil had still been loose, and it was still too early in the winter season for the ground to be frozen. No, the hard part had been actually extracting the bone. Bile rose in my throat yet again as I tried to shove the memory down. I hoped that PTSD would make me forget that, or something. The things we did for love, right? 

I knelt at the cross-roads, sliding the pack to the ground in front of me. For the record, I don’t really believe in this kind of stuff. Atheist, or whatever, from the day I was born. My girlfriend is a witch, though. Was a witch. She had taken an interest in me in college, when I did a family history project on the long line of witches in my family, which had seemingly ended when one of them, I think her name was Gertrude, was burned in the Salem Trials. That is, until my great-grandmother picked it back up. Grandpap’s death had always sounded suspicious to me. 

Anyway, I had some interest in it back in school because I had found the old grimoire while cleaning out her old apartment. Katia had asked me out immediately after my presentation, and a week later we moved in together. Say what you will about lesbian’s U-hauling, but I was in love with her from the second she introduced herself and demanded I take her for a coffee date. I had obviously obliged, because she was drop dead gorgeous and I wasn’t stupid, but the entire date all I could think about was that her dark brown eyes felt like home and her voice sounded like honey tasted. I guess she liked me back, because three dates in five days later, she brought a duffle bag and her orange cat, Cinnamon, over to my studio apartment in the middle of the city and announced she was never leaving. 

I smiled at the memory as I fingered through the pages of the old spellbook. I let out a sigh of relief when I found the page I was looking for. I was going to summon a demon, and I was going to get Katia back. For me, there wasn’t anything in this world worth experiencing without her. These past two weeks had been a hell I never believed in, or imagined. Life before Katie was this dull gray, it wasn’t horrible, but it was like watching a movie in black an white, when you’d been born, like, anytime after the middle ages. Then, life with Katia was all sunshine. All day, every day. There was nothing I did with her that didn’t make my soul feel like it was on fire. 

I thought about her before I was even awake in the mornings, when her light, feathery curls would kiss my face a second before she would. I thought about her in the last dregs of drowsiness before sleep would claim me, her soft, warm body curled in my arms. Now, she only visited me in my dreams. We had been out celebrating Pride in New York City when it happened. One minute I had been twirling her around me at the parade, and the next I was on the ground, her body over me. She held me so tightly I could not move, as the sounds of screams and gunshots rang out around us. By the time I struggled out of her grip it was too late. 

Hot tears ran down my face as I drew a five pointed star in the dirt below me. I placed a black candle at every point, then connected the points into a circle. I might not believe in this stuff, but she had. And I had to believe I could get her back. I gently set her bone in the middle of the circle and lit the candles. You didn’t always need bones for summoning, but it had to be something important to you. The greater the offering, the more likely a powerful demon would show. Go big, or go home, I guess. I had chosen the rib closest to her heart. I really couldn’t stomach more than that. 

I walked away for a second, again fighting the urge to throw up. Sorry, dealing with my dead girlfriend’s remains was a bit difficult for me, sue me. I walked back to the dimly lit pentagram, the black candles swallowing almost as much light as they put out. This was beginning to get spooky. I shook my head and roughly wiped the tears from my face. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the grimoire and began to stumble through the latin inside. Of course the book was in latin. I’d used google to translate the book, and settled on this spell. A girl could only do so much though, I didn’t have the time to authentically learn latin, but I was worried reading it in english wouldn’t be enough. 

“Oh my god, just stop already. Listening to you stumble through that should be used as a form of torture!” A nasally male voice said, and I halted. No. Fucking. Way. Slowly, I lifted my eyes from the book to find a man standing in front of me. His skin was a deep chestnut, with ivory horns curling from his close cut hair, fingers ending in long black talons, and yellow glowing eyes that were slit like goats. Now, I really did vomit. 

“Oh, dear. Well don’t flatter yourself, you’re not my type either, babe.” The demon said sourly. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t really expect you to show up,” I replied as casually as I could. 

“You went to all that trouble of digging her up, but you didn’t even believe the spell would work?” The demon mused. 

“Tell me your name, demon,” I said, with more muster than I felt. The book noted to not even bother dealing with demons who would not give up their name. If they did not have a name to give, they did not have enough power to grant you a deal. They would just coax you into their pentagram and force you to set them free. Or eat you. The demon rolled his eyes, but said, “Samael.” 

I sucked in a breath. I had not expected the demon to be a notable one, much less the demon king, and angel of death. 

“What? Having second thoughts?” Samael sneered. 

“No, I just figured I would be below your pay grade,” I replied. Samael chuckled, pacing inside the spell-ring. The candles flickered. 

“I most definitely am, but your little girlfriend happens to be one of my best soldiers, so I answered as a favor to her,” Samael said, gazing at me. It took a few moments for his words to sink in, but when they did, I crinkled my brows in confusion. 

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded. I had known she called herself a witch, but beyond admiring her alters, and laughing at her rituals, I never thought anything of it. 

“Katia pledged herself to me as a young girl, if I killed her abusive father. I had no idea how a six year old could have figured out how to summon me, and out of intrigue, I obliged her. On the condition that she hunt down abusers for me once she came of age, of course. You have no idea how many evil souls she has delivered to me over the years. She has been quite the resource for me,” The demon explained. I gaped at him. I didn’t believe it. My girlfriend, who was gentle with bugs, helped the elderly cross the street, and giggled at small children, was a murderer. Not just any murderer, but one renowned in the pits of hell. 

“Give her back,” was all I could manage. Samael barked out a laugh.

“Trying to command a king of hell? Good try. What will you give me?” He asked.

“My soul,” I blurted. I had nothing else to give him. He considered for a moment, seeming to know this already. 

“And why do I want your soul? What would that give me?” Samael turned in a circle, so his back was to me. 

“I would be in service to whatever you need. Anything you asked, I would do.” I pledged. Just give her back to me, I silently pleaded. I don’t care what she has done. I can’t live without her. 

“Ah, Ah. Not so fast. You don’t want to be hasty now,” The demon turned to me, grinning, his eyes lit like fire now, rather than the pale yellow gold of before. I knew then that I had the bastard. And he had me. I would do anything for this demon of demons, if it gave me back Katia. 

“Allow me to be with Katia, for now and eternity, and I am at your disposal. My soul and my services,” I said lowly, making sure my phrasing was more precise this time. No need to make a deal with a demon and not even get what I wanted. That would just be dumb. The demon bared his teeth, sharp canines gleaming in the flickering light.

“Say it. Say it, and it is yours,” he taunted. I stepped up to the edge of the circle, and Samael did too. The only thing separating us, the line in the dirt.

“I, Clara Allbright, give myself into your servitude, Soul and Service, for now until the stars give out, to be with Katia Halliwell until I am no more,” I swore, making sure I worded it exactly as I read it. Samael smirked, and a second later, his fangs collided with my mouth.