Page 80 of Roses Are Dead
“Fuck him.” I re-sketched the circle, finding three more of those damn caltrops as I did.
This time, I used his torture devices to reflect his poor attempt at spell work back upon him.
The nearly dried blood from the animals remained in the center of the circle, but their torn bodies, carefully collected and blessed, were far from this place. I wasn’t about to bind their spirits to this work.
The sunlight angled sharply through the treetops, and I lit black candles to place at the sources for each of the four winds.
I cut and burned an offering of my own hair to seal the circle. Its acrid odor tainted the air.
Only then did I release my rage.
It fused into the magic I worked. A mirror reflected the dark purple sky and a flicker of candlelight.
“Benedicta est vis venti et terrae.
Benedicta est vita et potentia ignis et aquae.
Benedicta est lamina metallica non calcata.
Vos invoco, o dii cordis mei.
Vos invoco, dii benedicti huius terrae.
Quercum et spinam invoco,
serras urticae et aculeos hederae invoco.
Hoc malum aggredimini.
Utinam vindicta naturae in intrusum percutiat.
Surgant dii et inimici mei dispergantur ut fumus.
Utinam vis eorum deficiat.
Utinam astutia eorum vacillet.
Utinam consilia eorum dissolvantur.
Ita sit sicut supra et infra,
in vita et terra spirituum.
Fiat.
Instetur.
Fiat.
Malum abeat.”
I moved the mirror thrice more, calling upon each wind to carry the curse back to Carl.
Finally, I knelt again, facing north. My blessings never came from any of the softer directions. Only the icy cold and harsh wind listened to my pleas. I called for resolve, justice, and let my will be the sacrifice for the spell. “Carl has no power here.”
I spoke the affirmation seven times. Each time, I turned slightly and swept my hands in front of me to blanket the view with magic.
Then I meditated until the light was gone and the candles sputtered out. I must have been kneeling for hours because I could barely walk from the pain.
