“Seriously,” Maria whispered. “How did you get here?”
“I told you—by other means of transportation.”
“Magic?”
“No. A taxi cab. I had the driver drop me off several blocks from here and then I walked. I forgot my deodorant, so you might not want to get too close. How about you?”
“I parked a few blocks away, too. But I remembered to put on my deodorant.”
“Now you’re messing with me.”
“Hey, turnabout is fair play. And besides, we’re a team. Remember?”
“That we are. Are you ready?”
Maria shrugged. “I guess.”
Levi took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled.
“Before we go any farther,” he said, “I have to say something. Regardless of whether you believe or not, you must do as I say from this point on. If you question or falter, it could be very dangerous for us both. Okay?”
“We’re not going to kill a chicken or anything like that, are we?”
“Not for this ritual, no.”
“Okay, then we’re agreed.”
“Good. That’s a relief. We’re going to open a doorway tonight. Remember when I told you that there were ways to enter the Labyrinth and cross space and time, like Nelson LeHorn did?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this is something different. We don’t want to travel to another world or dimension. We want to transport someone from one point to another right here. On our Earth. To do that, we’re going to create a shortcut—a temporary hole in the Labyrinth’s fabric. That’s not really what it is, but it’s the easiest way to explain it. In any case, we must be quick and sure and cautious. And very, very careful.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t want anything else using the doorway. And because we don’t want it getting wider or becoming permanent. That would be very bad.”
Levi’s demeanor had changed. He seemed more solemn. Finished speaking, he reached behind a thorny bush and pulled out a wicker basket.
“Are we having a picnic?” Maria whispered.
Levi lifted a finger to his lips, silencing her. His eyes conveyed seriousness. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a compass. After consulting it, he nodded. Then he glanced upward.
“Good,” he said. “We’re facing north and there are no tree limbs hanging directly over our heads. We can begin.”
Maria watched as Levi opened the wicker basket and pulled out a container of salt. She recognized the brand; the same kind was in her kitchen cupboard. Levi poured the salt all around them in a circle, emptying the container. Then he sat down cross-legged in the center of the circle and indicated that she should do the same. Her joints popped as she followed.
“Whatever happens,” he told her, “do not go beyond this circle. This is important. Don’t reach beyond it. Don’t stretch beyond it, not even the tip of your toe. Don’t even spit beyond it. Nothing must break the circle. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Nodding, he reached into the wicker basket again and pulled out a red cloth. He spread the fabric out on the ground in front of them, smoothing the wrinkles with his palms. Then he pulled more items out of the basket: a small copper bowl, four red candles, a chrome cigarette lighter, a broken, collectible silver spoon with a sharp, jagged edge, and a small bottle of shampoo—the kind usually offered as an amenity at hotels. Maria started to make a joke, but then thought better of it. Levi lined up each of the items on the cloth, placing the candles at four different positions—north, south, east and west. He sat the copper bowl directly in front of him and then picked up the tiny shampoo bottle. When he unscrewed the lid, Maria smelled a pleasant, aromatic scent—some type of oil, rather than shampoo. She tried to place it, but couldn’t. It smelled a bit like sandalwood, but heavier, more musty. Levi poured the oil into the bowl, careful not to spill any. The bouquet grew stronger, filling the air around them. He screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it inside the basket. He retrieved one final item from the basket: a piece of white paper with strange symbols and a series of letters drawn on it. Maria tried to read the words, but they were nonsensical—strings of vowels with no consonants, and vice versa. He laid the paper directly above the bowl of oil. Then he lit each candle and bowed his head. Maria did the same. When he spoke again, in a strong, authoritative tone, she wasn’t sure he was talking to her.
“I have fasted according to the Nomos, which is the Law, and have eaten none which is unclean and have drank only water. I have avoided spilling my seed and have abstained from worshipping at the temples of Ishtar or Lilith. Thus, I have kept my essence and remained pure for thee.”
Maria almost giggled when Levi mentioned spilling his seed, but managed to remain quiet.
“My lanterns are of the appropriate and required color. With them I have cast light upon the four Gates of the Earth, and have done so with only the guidance of the moon. I face the Northern Gate. There is no roof or lamp above my head, save for the sky. I have done these things in accordance with the Nomos, which is the Law. And thus, I command thy attention.”
Pausing, Levi picked up the broken silver spoon and placed the sharp edge against the ball of his thumb. Maria shuddered, biting her lip to keep from crying out as he pressed the silver into his flesh, slicing his thumb. He didn’t flinch or moan, gave no indication that he’d felt it. He held the wound over the copper bowl and squeezed three drops of his blood into the oil. As each drop fell, he repeated the same phrase:
“Ia unay vobism Huitzilopochtli. Ia dom tergo Hathor.”
Maria tried to decipher the words. Some of them sounded Aztec or Mayan in origin. Others sounded Egyptian. And the rest seemed like total gibberish. She remembered what Levi had told her about the Daemonolateria. She’d commented that it sounded like Latin, and he’d corrected her, saying it was from a language that didn’t exist on Earth.
Humming, Levi held his thumb against his pants leg until the bleeding had stopped, and then he continued.
“I sit in the appropriate and required manner, safe inside a circle of protection. You may not molest me. I come here to open a gate. I come with awe and respect. I come seeking passage. I call upon the Gatekeeper, who gave to us the Nomos, which is the Law. I call upon the Doorman, who is the Burning Bush and the Hand That Writes and the Watchman and the Sleepwalker. I call upon he who is called Huitzilopochtli and Ahtu. He who is called Nephrit-ansa and Sopdu. He who is called Hathor and Nyarlathotep. I call upon he who’s real name is Amun. And thus, by naming thee and offering my blood thrice, I command an opening.”
Levi reached into the basket again and pulled out a worn paperback. The spine was cracked and a sales sticker from the used paperback store was affixed to the creased corner. The book was When the Rain Comes by Adam Senft. He held the book over the north-facing candle. It smoldered, then caught fire. He then placed the flaming paperback on top of the copper bowl. Smoke curled out from around its edges. The bowl’s contents must have been flammable because the fire quickly flared. The scent of burning oil became almost overpowering. Levi’s voice grew louder.
“This is the avatar of the one I seek. By following the Law and naming thee, I command you grant him safe passage to this place. He may not be harmed or molested by those who dwell between the walls or within the halls, or the denizens of Heaven nor Hell, or the realms between them, or the Thirteen, or the things that live in the wastes beyond the levels. Nor may he end up wandering and lost in that realm beyond the Labyrinth, in which there are no exits save death. I command thee, and so shall it be.”