Chapter 8: Best Laid Plans

Ryan awoke alone in the ruined bed, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. The sweet ache and satisfaction from his romp with Nahash the previous night still lingered as he brushed away stray feathers, sliding out from beneath the sullied sheets. He made his way to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, glancing at his wall clock to see that it was already noon.

He didn’t like waking up without Nahash, but he understood that manifesting a physical body did not come without a cost. If his plan succeeded, then he might finally be able to wake up in his lover’s arms for once. Speaking of which, he needed to upload that video footage from the trail cam. Hopefully, some hikers or joggers would have come across his little occult art installation by now.

He walked over to the rucksack, which he had discarded by the door to his apartment, and rummaged inside for the camouflaged block. He brought it over to his computer, waiting a few moments for the device to boot up as he sipped at his steaming mug of coffee, then he connected a USB cable to the trail cam and began to play the video footage.

The night vision filter was suitably eerie, casting everything in a ghostly white glow, like an X-ray hanging on the wall of a doctor’s office. Some trail cams only took photographs when they sensed movement, but this model was configured to record video. As he squinted at the grainy image, a swirl of smoke activated its motion sensor. It began to record a view of the clearing, mist billowing across the ground, the trees casting their dark shadows on the summoning circle that had been etched into the soil. The salt stood out well against the dirt in the monochrome video, and as he watched, the swirling plumes of dark smoke started to take form.

He had never had an opportunity to see the process of summoning in such a clinical manner before. It was quite a lot harder to remain objective and pay attention to what was happening when the stench of sulfur was assaulting you and the temperature around you was plummeting.

The shadows were coalescing to form a humanoid shape, despite the fact that there was no light source that would have been able to cast them. It was as though the very darkness in the atmosphere was concentrating inside the bounds of the circle. Ryan felt a pang of disappointment as he considered the possibility that a camera might not be able to see Nahash at all. The demons seemed to appear as much in his mind as before his eyes, so what if all it captured was formless smoke?

His fears were quickly assuaged as he watched Nahash materialize from the billowing vapors, though she looked less solid on the trail cam than she did in person. He could see her distinct, white fur and her twisted horns, but she was ghostly and translucent. Not quite a phantom, but clearly not completely real either. This must be how she truly appeared before she made up the difference with her psychic abilities. It had been the same when Orobas had been summoned in his apartment. When Ryan looked at a demon, he got the distinct impression that they were as much a mental image as a physical one, photons bombarding his eyes and ideas bombarding his brain to combine into a complete picture.

Her body interacted with the mist, sending it swirling about her feet as she walked, her cloven hooves leaving footprints in the soil that filled in with water. She had mass, a physical presence. Of course, people would assume that this was fake – computer-generated images created for the purpose of a hoax. But even the skeptics would be helping to spread the footage as they argued with each other and analyzed it frame by frame.

Nahash looked around for a moment, confused by her surroundings, then stepped out of frame. Ryan transferred the video file to his computer, then spent the next hour uploading it to popular video-sharing websites, giving it an appropriately click-bait title. Ghost demon caught on camera, real or fake?! You won’t believe what this trail cam captured! He made sure to include information on where the footage had been shot, as his plan hinged on starting a myth centered around the geographical location itself. Once the forest gained a reputation for being haunted, that belief would empower Azazel and his Seirim, making it their new home. He posted links to the video on the summoning forum for good measure, wondering how many of the so-called occultists and self-professed demonologists would dismiss what might be the first concrete evidence of a real demon as fake.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, wondering what to do next. His new job didn’t start for another week, and Nahash wasn’t around to hang out with him. Might as well get some food cooking and see if he couldn’t make some progress in his videogame of choice.

The sun was getting low in the sky when Ryan was interrupted, a frigid cold falling over the room. He set his controller down, shutting off the TV, his heart swelling with excitement as he waited for Nahash to appear.

Something was different this time. It felt wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was, but the sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He leapt off the couch as it began to tremble, the wooden floorboards beneath his socks vibrating violently as though something was trying to shake the whole building apart. At this rate, his neighbors were going to call the cops.

As he watched, the furniture that was sitting on top of the chalk summoning circle began to move, like an unbalanced washing machine shaking its way across the floor. As the couch, the wooden coffee table, and a lamp cleared the circle, the stink of sulfur permeated the air. This did not feel like Nahash. Ryan darted across the room towards a table just below a nearby window where he had stored all of his summoning equipment. He picked up his improvised Solomonic Sexangle, still stapled to the bathrobe’s belt, tying the piece of card about his waist. He attached the sweatband that held the Ring of Solomon around his forehead, then picked up the Pentagonal Figure, the ward that he had fashioned to protect him from errant demons.

He rushed over to the summoning circle and stepped into his protective triangle, trying to steady his shaking hands as he held up the Pentagon, waiting for whatever was coming through the breach to show itself to him.

The temperature continued to drop, but fortunately, the Ring of Solomon was warding off the foul smell. He watched with wide eyes as a formless mass appeared in the center of the summoning circle. It was blurry and constantly shifting, a heap of writhing flesh seen through frosted glass, dark shadows playing across the walls as though cast by some unseen fire. The air was thick with black smoke that further obscured his vision, and as he tried to bat away the fumes, he called out a command.

“Take form, demon!” he shouted as he brandished the Sexangle that hung from his belt. “And none intended to offend or repulse!”

The dark fumes sped towards the poorly-defined blob like filthy water rushing down a drain, the mass warping and twisting as it took shape. As the smog cleared, Ryan saw a little horse sitting in the circle, roughly the size of a small dog.

“Orobas?” Ryan asked, recognizing the creature as it stared back at him with its watery eyes.

“Why art thou surprised?” it replied, its voice croaky and faint. “Thou hast given me license to appear before thee.”

“You startled me is all,” Ryan stammered, still shaken by the sudden house call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The contract is complete,” Orobas wheezed, its rasping voice almost uncomfortable to listen to. The miniature horse looked like it was on death’s door, sickly and unable to stand. Its expression conveyed some deep misery that made it unpleasant to look at for too long.

“Oh, the contract?” Ryan repeated. “That’s good news, but how did you determine that?”

“Vague as thy requests were,” Orobas began with palpable annoyance. “I have fulfilled the requirements of our agreement. Thy livelihood is secure, and thou art happy – the familiar has informed me of this.”

“The familiar?” he asked. “You mean Nahash? She told you that I was happy?”

Was he happy? Introspection was not one of his strong suits. It could be so hard to determine one’s own emotional state. But, the more he thought about it, the more correct the evaluation seemed. He no longer pined for Becky, his drought of intimacy had ended explosively, and for the first time since he had broken up with her, he no longer felt that sickening knot in his stomach. He must be over her. In fact, he hadn’t even thought about her in days. His breakup seemed so distant and trivial now. His burgeoning romance with Nahash had become his sole focus.

“Thy contract has been fulfilled as it was defined,” Orobas repeated, the hint of urgency in the creature’s voice making it sound like it was afraid of being stiffed. “Do not forget thy oath to me. Two score and ten more tin plates, my sigil engraved upon them, spread far and wide so that they will be seen by many.”

“Yes,” Ryan replied with a nod. “I remember the deal. But what about Nahash, the familiar? Will I see her again?”

“Not through my power,” the demon answered.

“What does that mean?” Ryan asked, furrowing his brow. “If you take Nahash away from me, then I won’t be happy anymore. Won’t that violate the terms of the contract?”

“Do not attempt to reinterpret the terms of a contract already agreed upon,” Orobas hissed, its voice menacing. “I have dealt with thee fairly, I have uttered no falsehoods, and I have made no attempts to deceive thee. Now, make good thy promise.”

“Not until you tell me what will happen to Nahash,” Ryan said, holding up the Sexangle. The little creature recoiled before the ward as if it was radiating a powerful heat that only the demon could feel. “Obey me, Orobas. Into the triangle with you.”

It didn’t move, and so he brandished the Sexangle again, pointing towards the containment triangle that was drawn on the floor in chalk. The demon finally gave in, rising unsteadily on spindly legs that looked wholly unfit to support its bulbous head, struggling over to the triangle like a dog that had just been chastised. It glanced back at him resentfully, the Sexangle compelling it to obey his commands, the Triangle of Solomon protecting him from anything that it might try to pull. It was a kind of cosmic naughty chair, and the creature seemed to loathe being confined to it.

“Now, tell me,” Ryan continued as he put on his most commanding voice. “What will become of Nahash?”

“Thy meddling will bear fruit,” Orobas spat. “Thou shalt rouse Azazel, and the Seirim will flock to him. Thou hast cost a great number of demons their valued minions. This course of action was ill-advised. Were I not bound to thee by contract, I would have intervened, but that which has not yet been decided cannot be foreseen.”

“I thought that the Seirim were a drain on your resources,” Ryan replied. “Aren’t you glad that I’m restoring them?”

“They art powerful spirits, primordial avatars of nature, valued for their unique talents. They will not be easy to replace.”

“So, what, I’m on Hell’s shitlist?”

“Thou shalt carry favor with Azazel,” Orobas continued as he glared at Ryan across the circle. “He may protect thee from reprisals ... or he may not. Thou didst not form a contract with him, and I cannot be sure how he will react.”

“Because it hasn’t been decided yet, right.”

The wretched little horse watched him for a moment with its glassy eyes, waiting for him to continue, but he was lost in thought. He might have accidentally pissed off the entire hierarchy of Hell, and although it seemed unlikely that they would waste valuable resources on reprisals, having a demon as powerful as some that were described in the Goetia even be aware of your existence was reason enough to be worried. But, if that was the price of Nahash’s freedom, then so be it.

“Whilst thou honor thy bargain?” Orobas prompted.

“Yes, of course,” Ryan replied as the question snapped him back to the present. “I’ll even do you one better. I’ve learned some stuff about sigils since the contract was made. You’ll get more than what was agreed upon. You did more for me than I could ever have imagined.”

“Then, I shall take my leave of thee,” the creature said.

Ryan tried to remember some of the incantations that he had printed out upon his first summoning, at least wanting to make an attempt at following proper procedure.

“Go now peaceably, with blessings and thanks.”

Orobas closed its large eyes and bowed its head, vanishing from the triangle and from Ryan’s mind as if a hand had reached down and plucked it out of reality. The air cleared of the stinking fumes, and Ryan felt safe enough to remove his headband, only a hint of sulfur lingering after the demon’s departure.

That was it, then. The contract had been completed, and it hadn’t even cost him his soul. All there was left to do was get those tin plates engraved with Orobas’ sigil and spread them around. Who knew, maybe it would tie into the myth that he was trying to start. He had something bigger planned for Orobas, and although his activities were starting to border on vandalism, he owed it to the demon. It had been true to its word, it had saved him from the brink of destitution, and it had even found a way to cure his depression.

Had Orobas known that Ryan would fall in love with Nahash? Had it all been part of the plan? The demons were playing a game of chess where Ryan couldn’t see all of the pieces on the board – he could only guess at their true intentions. Perhaps losing a valuable servant was worth the tradeoff in energy that Orobas would gain from the contract. It might even have been intentional sabotage. Who knew how these demons interacted with each other, what terms they were on, and how their society functioned.

Orobas could see the future. To what extent remained vague, and its powers definitely had their limitations, but Ryan was pretty sure that the demon could have prevented this scenario if it had really wanted to. Maybe this was all part of some larger game that was currently beyond his ability to grasp.

The big question now was when he would see Nahash again. Orobas was clearly unwilling to expend his own energy to manifest her now that the contract had been fulfilled, so he would have to rely on Azazel, an entity that he knew very little about. It stood to reason that he would be grateful towards Ryan for his efforts, but demons were unpredictable creatures, and Ryan would never have attempted to summon anything near as powerful as him under different circumstances.

Based on what little information he had been able to find, Azazel was a true devil. The entity wasn’t a pagan deity who had lost favor with its worshipers or a powerful spirit, but one of the Iyrin. Otherwise known as Watchers or Nephilim, they were the antediluvian angels of Biblical lore, one of around two hundred such entities that had joined a rebellion against the Abrahamic God and had been cast out.

The stories were steeped in metaphor and warped by time and translation, harkening back to what Nahash had told him about the loss of knowledge from the flood. If it had been a literal deluge or merely an allegory for something else, he couldn’t say. It was almost impossible to separate true accounts from myth and hearsay, but the common thread seemed to be that these Watchers had rebelled against the chief deity of the time, perhaps even the original deity. They had lost the war, and the fallen angels were cast out of paradise to walk the Earth amongst mankind, spreading forbidden knowledge as they went. There were conflicting reports about what they had actually done to deserve this fate, from tales of a militaristic coup, to them simply taking human wives and angering their God in the process.

The more Ryan learned about this secret lore, the more it interested him. Perhaps he would beg the question of Azazel himself if he ever met the creature in person. He almost hoped that he didn’t, however. The kid gloves were coming off now. This wasn’t a demon numbering fifty-fifth in some vague hierarchy, but a fallen angel. Who knew what dangers he might be exposing himself to and what sacred rules he might be breaking. Still, if this was what it took to see Nahash again, then he would accept the consequences.

Ryan climbed his way up the ladder, his shoes slipping on the damp metal rungs, wind and rain buffeting him as it blew the treetops far below. He adjusted his ski mask and pulled his hood tighter, trying to shield himself from the gale. As he looked up, he saw the round tank of the water tower, grey clouds swirling above it. The platform that ringed it was just a few more feet above him. This had been a terrible idea. He should have waited for a calmer night before attempting this stunt.

He struggled higher, his gloved fingers gripping the guard rails as he heaved himself up onto the circular walkway, pressing himself flush against the structure in an effort to avoid the howling wind. Part of him wanted to abandon the whole affair, but he was up here now – he might as well finish the job.

He produced a can of spray paint from the pocket of his hooded jacket, hearing its signature rattle over the sound of the storm as he shook it. Gripping the metal rail with a firm hand, he walked around towards the side of the tank that faced the city. He raised his arm, doing his best to replicate the design from memory despite the terrible conditions and his limited reach. At least the stormy weather would hide him from any prying eyes. Nobody in their right mind would be out for a jog in this.