Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
“Nadine, you’re being foolish, you know.”
Such were the words of the familiar witch, Morgan Delyons, when she’d come into his home seeking knowledge he couldn’t give her.
“I can’t help you. I don’t know it all myself.”
That had been one year ago, and now the silver-haired vampire had finally found what Morgan had guessed might exist, that being the keys of Solomon. At least, they seemed like the keys of Solomon, and she was borrowing them from one of the elder vampires who claimed to be older than Jesus. He kept lots of trinkets and relics from the old days, and he had an eye for real antiquities over fake ones.
Of course, he could be lying as a joke, as well.
Such a thought didn’t worry the nightgown clad woman as she went about lighting the candles. If this didn’t work, there would be no demon. It was as simple as that to her. If it did work…well, that was the scary part, if the demon didn’t feel like assisting her. Then she’d have to hope the exorcism spell would work to send it right back to hell. ‘Well, if Azazel even goes to hell.’ After reading Enoch, she wasn’t sure if Azazel was the right demon to try and call.
Any of the other Grigori might be better, and all the Grigori had seemed helpful to humanity. Why not help a vampire, as well?
With the room set up, she gave it a once over, then sat down on the bed and let her pale fingers turn the pages until she was to the one with the incantation on it. Hebrew, rather than Latin. That made it feel more authentic. She chuckled and read over the Hebrew once in her head. With it memorized, Nadine Garnett tilted her chin up and began to speak it aloud.
~***~
“I’ll pray for you.”
Morgan Delyons walked into his usual café with a dejected look on his face, and the barista behind the bar recognized it immediately. “Shot down, Morgan?”
“I hate your dating website,” he informed the barista as he came to the counter, “This is the third girl who didn’t check to see my faith, and left after saying she’d pray for me.” It was better than being told to do a fireball on the spot, though, or called Harry Potter, but it still didn’t feel good. There wasn’t much of a Wiccan community out here, despite how liberal the town was. “Can I get a mint mocha, please?”
“Sure,” the barista rung him up, and cash was exchanged before the barista went to work on the drink. “You just gotta keep trying, Morgan. One of these days it’ll pay off.”
“I know,” that was a rule of life. He pulled his fingers back through his dark brown hair, what some people thought was far too long. He didn’t. Then, he smiled, “You should have seen the look on her face when I mentioned Isis.” With the news all chatting about the terrorist group ISIS, it made communication amusing, sometimes. When he wasn’t feeling upset.
“Yeah? Think you were an Islamic witch?”
Morgan touched the ankh around his neck, “Yes,” he started to laugh immediately at the mere thought of it.
“Gods above,” the barista shook his head and soon passed the drink over to him, “This is the problem with that World Religion class they offer here. They don’t teach anything about Wicca.”
“And all the mythology classes teach about these things as if they’re dead.”
“You really should start a class out at the community center. I bet a lot of people would go.”
Morgan shook his head, “I don’t have the time on top of school,” he said, took a sip of his drink and then cast his green eyes out into the night outside, where girls in uggs stumbled by the café on their way to bars, “maybe in the summer.”
Such were the words of the familiar witch, Morgan Delyons, when she’d come into his home seeking knowledge he couldn’t give her.
“I can’t help you. I don’t know it all myself.”
That had been one year ago, and now the silver-haired vampire had finally found what Morgan had guessed might exist, that being the keys of Solomon. At least, they seemed like the keys of Solomon, and she was borrowing them from one of the elder vampires who claimed to be older than Jesus. He kept lots of trinkets and relics from the old days, and he had an eye for real antiquities over fake ones.
Of course, he could be lying as a joke, as well.
Such a thought didn’t worry the nightgown clad woman as she went about lighting the candles. If this didn’t work, there would be no demon. It was as simple as that to her. If it did work…well, that was the scary part, if the demon didn’t feel like assisting her. Then she’d have to hope the exorcism spell would work to send it right back to hell. ‘Well, if Azazel even goes to hell.’ After reading Enoch, she wasn’t sure if Azazel was the right demon to try and call.
Any of the other Grigori might be better, and all the Grigori had seemed helpful to humanity. Why not help a vampire, as well?
With the room set up, she gave it a once over, then sat down on the bed and let her pale fingers turn the pages until she was to the one with the incantation on it. Hebrew, rather than Latin. That made it feel more authentic. She chuckled and read over the Hebrew once in her head. With it memorized, Nadine Garnett tilted her chin up and began to speak it aloud.
~***~
“I’ll pray for you.”
Morgan Delyons walked into his usual café with a dejected look on his face, and the barista behind the bar recognized it immediately. “Shot down, Morgan?”
“I hate your dating website,” he informed the barista as he came to the counter, “This is the third girl who didn’t check to see my faith, and left after saying she’d pray for me.” It was better than being told to do a fireball on the spot, though, or called Harry Potter, but it still didn’t feel good. There wasn’t much of a Wiccan community out here, despite how liberal the town was. “Can I get a mint mocha, please?”
“Sure,” the barista rung him up, and cash was exchanged before the barista went to work on the drink. “You just gotta keep trying, Morgan. One of these days it’ll pay off.”
“I know,” that was a rule of life. He pulled his fingers back through his dark brown hair, what some people thought was far too long. He didn’t. Then, he smiled, “You should have seen the look on her face when I mentioned Isis.” With the news all chatting about the terrorist group ISIS, it made communication amusing, sometimes. When he wasn’t feeling upset.
“Yeah? Think you were an Islamic witch?”
Morgan touched the ankh around his neck, “Yes,” he started to laugh immediately at the mere thought of it.
“Gods above,” the barista shook his head and soon passed the drink over to him, “This is the problem with that World Religion class they offer here. They don’t teach anything about Wicca.”
“And all the mythology classes teach about these things as if they’re dead.”
“You really should start a class out at the community center. I bet a lot of people would go.”
Morgan shook his head, “I don’t have the time on top of school,” he said, took a sip of his drink and then cast his green eyes out into the night outside, where girls in uggs stumbled by the café on their way to bars, “maybe in the summer.”
