“Laqueus Diaboli is a very old trick,” he explained. “A sort of reverse exorcism that most scholars have forgotten. Instead of driving an evil spirit out of Rolf’s body, we’re going to try and snare it back in. When a spirit possesses a human, they’re like a parasite attaching their own life force to their victim’s. It takes time for that connection to fade entirely, and it’s likely that some remnant of that spirit’s essence is still bound to Rolf’s soul.”
“But hasn’t his soul already gone?” asked Max.
“I don’t think so,” David replied sadly, regarding the deceased. “A soul—particularly a young one—often stays with its body for some time. Some take hours or even days to realize that their body has died. My hope is that Rolf’s soul or some part of it is still inside. If a spirit did possess him, we might be able to reel it back. That will do, Mina.…”
Having finished her task, the girl took Mrs. Menlo’s hand and quietly led her into the guest bedroom and closed the door.
Once David heard its bolt slide into place, he continued. “Even before Astaroth’s edicts, most Mystics considered summoning taboo,” he said. “It’s often associated with necromancy and black magic of the worst sort. I know that none of you have much experience with calling spirits, much less the sort of demon that might come tonight. I need to prepare you for some things.”
At David’s direction, Max took a seat next to Ms. Richter and Miss Boon. Grendel was breathing heavily, growling low with each exhale.
“It may be that nothing happens,” David mused, leaning over the circle to sprinkle its interior with a fine talc. “There’s always the slim possibility that Rolf Luger was working with the Atropos of his own volition. There’s also the chance that his soul departed swiftly. In either case, no spirit will answer our summons. But if one does …” Setting down the powder, he placed white candles about the circle’s perimeter. At his command, they kindled into flame—seven golden lights that shone like stars about the circle’s ruddy glow. “The demon will try to conceal its presence,” continued the sorcerer. “Once discovered, it will lie; it will seek to deceive us until we discover its name.
The summoner normally has this information—it’s the usual way of calling upon a spirit. Since we’re using another means to summon it, we’ll have to extract its name. Until we do, it will seek to mislead and manipulate us. The demon cannot physically leave the circle, but you must ignore whatever it says. Its words will be designed to hurt us, to turn us against one another and play upon whatever fears it can divine. Do not listen or speak to it. Let me do the talking. The demon will give six false names before it reveals the true one.…”
Placing incense within an ancient-looking thurible, David began slowly walking counterclockwise around the circle. A thin yellow smoke trickled from the censer, filling the air with a sulfurous fug. The boy spoke evenly in Latin, saying each phrase forward and backward until he moved on to the next. Three times he walked around the corpse, never pausing or gazing at the body. David’s attention was rigidly fixed on the circle. It was growing brighter.
When he’d finished, David seated himself by the fireplace and calmly struck a silver church bell. Its pure note reverberated in the room before fading slowly, reluctantly to silence. Max watched the circle intently, but nothing happened. The minutes ticked by. Outside, Max heard Old Tom chime ten o’clock. There were calls and laughter from the paths below and the patter of footsteps as students raced to reach the Manse before curfew. When the final chime sounded, the campus grew quiet once more.
More minutes ticked by and Max began to grow restless. His gaze wandered about the room, taking in the maps and a small Rembrandt hanging above an armillary sphere. Max knew that Bram and the Dutch artist had been close friends. Astaroth’s very prison had been a Rembrandt. It seemed like ages ago that Max’s own blood had enabled Astaroth to escape its confines.
He would never forget the Demon’s prim smile, so ancient and knowing. Shifting his position, Max’s eyes wandered along the walls and nooks, skimming the books and rugs that had been moved aside to reveal the summoning circles. His gaze paused at the mirror hanging between Bram’s study and the bedroom. Max’s heart skipped a beat.
Rolf’s reflection shone in the mirror.
The dead boy was staring at them from its depths, his face as white as alabaster. Max bolted upright.
“What is it?” hissed Miss Boon.
“The mirror!” he gasped. “Rolf—”
Sitting forward, David gestured furiously for them to be silent. Glancing at Rolf’s corpse, Max saw that it was still lying on the table, its arms neatly folded. Sitting back, Max tried to calm himself. He was sweating now; the room’s silence and the mounting tension were nearly unbearable. Closing his eyes, Max counted to sixty. Opening them, he peered at the mirror. It showed nothing more than the reflections of Ms. Richter, Miss Boon, and himself sitting in a row beneath the moonlit windows.
Grendel began to growl. The Cheshirewulf bared its teeth in a jagged grimace as the animal’s ears pricked forward. One by one, the candles began to gutter, as though a breeze was eddying about Rolf’s body. From the corner of his eye, Max saw David point a finger at the circle.
A footprint had appeared upon the talc—a hideous, four-pronged print that might have belonged to a man-sized bird of prey. A second footprint appeared, slow and cautious, as though whatever was in the circle was creeping about its perimeter. David stood.
“We know you are here. Reveal yourself.”
Nothing happened.
“Tempus volat hora fugit—time flies, the hour flees,” David said testily, seizing the talc shaker and striding over to the circle. Throwing its remaining contents into the air, he stepped back as the cloud of particles plumed and settled around the invisible demon, revealing a glimpse of its silhouette. For an instant Max could perceive a tall and horned shape, hunched and gangling with arms that nearly reached the floor. There was a hiss as it realized what David had done. A second later it vanished.
Rolf’s body gave a spasm, as though receiving an electric jolt. To Max’s horror, the corpse sat up, the coppers falling from its eyes as it swung its legs off the table. Grimacing, the corpse eased onto unsteady legs and examined the circle’s inscriptions. It spoke in a chilling chorus of intertwining voices, young and old, male and female.
“Coddle, hobble, gobble the codding kiddie,” it muttered, stooping to peer at a sigil. “We’ll gorge upon his bell, book, and candlezzzz.…” Three times, the demon repeated the strange verse, ending each with a gurgling, flylike buzzing. When it appeared satisfied by the circle’s merits, it turned to David.
“What dost thou want, sickly spawn of moon and womb and mandrake?”
“Mortui vivos docent. The dead must teach the living,” remarked David with a wry smile. “But first, tell me your name.”
The demon laughed, its voices jingling like change from within Rolf’s bandaged throat.
“Flee to your grandsire’s shadow,” it tittered. “ ‘Cower all the moanday, tearsday, wailsday, thumpsday, frightday, shatterday till the fear of the Law!’ ”
Walking over to his table, David struck the silver bell again. Its note rang out in the dark room, clear and true. With a moan, the corpse clapped its hands over its ears and shuffled to the circle’s farthest point.
“Apparently, you know who I am,” said David. “So I’m going to forgo the niceties. I will have your name and you will answer my questions or I’ll have you bound within a pig of iron and cast to the bottom of the sea. Salt and iron for all eternity, demon. Most unpleasant. So tell me your name and answer my questions and perhaps we’ll let you make amends.”