Page 53 of Sacrifice

A demon trap? She turned it over in her hands.

There was a knock on the already open door and Eve looked up to see Tim come bowling in. He slithered the backpack of tools from his shoulder as he walked and went immediately over to the crates.

“These, I take it?” he said, briefly looking over to Eve and it took her a moment to focus on him and register his demeanor.

He wants recognition for coming so quickly. An ego boost for being so much better at this than Wesley.

Eve took on an expression of polite shock. “Here already? Brilliant, thanks Tim. You’re a bloody star.”

Tim nodded to himself, satisfied, then crouched to unpack his bag.

Marvelous.

Eve’s attention slipped back to the bowl. She couldn’t read Aramaic, but her eyes followed the script, the shape of it making a pattern in her mind. She ran her finger along behind the characters as she examined each one.

The power to trap a demon, held in something so small.

Her eyes drifted out of focus and suddenly the script seemed to stand proud of the fired clay surface, to float above it, revealing infinite depths to the spaces between. The unfamiliar shapes formed sounds in her mind. Words.

The evil Lilith,

who causes the hearts of men to go astray

and appears in the dream of the night

and in the vision of the day,

Who burns and casts down with nightmare,

attacks and kills children,

boys and girls.

Eve’s vision contracted to see only the words as they rose from the surface. They spun to keep pace with the motion of her finger as she traced them. All sound was replaced with the rushing of air.

She is conquered and sealed

away from the house

and from the threshold of Bahram-Gushnasp son of Ishtar-Nahid

by the talisman of Metatron,

the great prince

who is called the Great Healer of Mercy....

who vanquishes demons and devils.

A tendril of hair licked across Eve's face to sting her eye. She blinked it away and stared further into the bowl. Down into darkness. Down into the underworld. The surface area of the bowl altered its dimensions the more symbols she traced.

“Eve!”

Vanquished are the black arts and mighty spells.

Wind rushed in her ears, and the temperature dropped dramatically.

“Eve!” The voice; more insistent this time. She dragged her eyes up from the bowl to see Lucien standing in the doorway. He stood, feet splayed apart—one hand stretched out towardher, fingers spread wide. Between them, Tim lay on the floor, his breathing labored, as if he had a great weight on top of him. Shredded paper and packing peanuts rode the air in a cyclone that skimmed the edges of the room.

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