Chapter 8: The Summoning

14 September 1974, morning, Minneapolis

THE DEMON AWOKE. Anger, lust, and hunger pulsed through his veins. Not his veins, but the body of the one he had occupied.

Last night he had felt the power once again. Felt it building near the lake he haunted, like a spirit dragging a useless body behind him. He sought the power as if it had summoned him to feed. But then the piercing tones of the flute had penetrated his awareness. Like a deadly cobra before a charmer, he was held captive in their tones. Lulled to sleep, he found the morning light a torment to his hunger.

The body, too, is weak. A requirement in this physical world, the demon is encumbered with it. But he does not care for it. Yet, if it weakens sufficiently, he will be unable to use it. Faced with this possibility, the demon wakens the man within.

Ryan McGuire, The Blade, looks out from his own eyes at last. Food. Clothing. Shelter. He sets about acquiring the fundamental necessities of life.

Once the body is fed, he will consider what it takes to feed the demon.

14 September 1974, afternoon, Minneapolis

Paris arrived at the two-story duplex promptly at one o’clock. He had directed the cab to a florist just out on Hennepin Avenue and then walked the remaining blocks to Serepte’s house. He rang the upper bell and Serepte met him at the door carrying a basket.

“We’re going on a picnic,” she announced. “The lake is just a few blocks that way and it is a beautiful bright fall day.” The daylight caught her hair and showed it redder than it had appeared in the club and restaurants the evening they met. She wore a pale green sundress that highlighted the deep green of her eyes. The spaghetti straps held the bodice firmly to her bust and the skirt stopped delightfully above her knees. The strappy sandals indicated that it was not likely to be a very long walk. Paul presented her with the flower and she pushed it easily into the thick hair above her right ear. He felt a little overdressed in his polished loafers, pressed slacks, and short-sleeved button-down shirt.

“I hope you like it,” she continued as they walked away from the house. He took the basket from her and she slipped her hand into his. He caught his breath when she touched him. “I like the freedom of eating where there are no walls and no ceiling. I’d picnic more often, but it’s not nearly as much fun when you are alone. Usually. There are times that I would give anything to be alone, but not on a picnic. I want to be with you.”

“I love picnics.” Paul answered the shimmer in her voice more than the talk of picnics. Anyplace he would be with her and hold her hand was a place he’d love. “I would have dressed more casually, except I don’t have many choices that aren’t my bathrobe or my tux. My jeans are pretty ragged. I only wear them when I am in setup or teardown for a show.”

“There are more blue jeans here in the city than down on the farm. I should have asked if you’d like to picnic.”

“I wasn’t thinking about what we would do,” Paris said. “I was just glad that we agreed to see each other. I like talking to you.” And holding your hand.

“I like it, too.” Perhaps she was responding to his unspoken thoughts. She squeezed his hand. They walked quietly for a few steps, just getting in tune with each other before continuing the conversation. Birds broke the stillness of the afternoon with a variety of songs and calls, but gradually the hum of activity around the lake increased. The trees nearly touched over the avenue.

“There are some really nice houses here,” he said with more reverence than the words implied. It struck Serepte as funny.

“Wouldn’t you just love to have lived in one of these in the thirties when there were parties and dancing till dawn every night?” She spun away from him and he raised their joined hands so she could twirl beneath them and then back against his side. They leaned closer together as they walked and Paris felt her arm brushing against his with a kind of pleasure that he seldom felt in his life.

Near the lake, there were crowds of people. Along one shore, a couple dozen people were focused on an instructor as they did Yoga. A few had swimsuits on and sunbathed on hastily spread towels. The bicycle paths and pedestrian walks occasionally crossed and the roller skaters dominated both. Leisurely walkers like the young couple stayed on the grass beside the paved walkways.

“People are frantically enjoying what could be the last nice day until May,” Serepte laughed.

“This skating craze has hit everywhere, hasn’t it?” Paris nodded. “I thought it was limited to the shore and the boardwalks. Next thing you know they’ll have rollerblades in Maine.”

“They have them in Indiana,” Serepte answered. “We’re very up-to-date there. This, though, has a different ... cosmopolitan feel. Lots of theater. That’s one of the reasons I chose to come here: so my housemates would have something to do. And, of course, there are clubs like where you’re performing, concerts, public radio, parks, and the skyways. If you haven’t explored downtown yet, we must do that before you ... um ... before you have to leave town.” She hesitated, her hand clinging slightly tighter to his. Shaking off the sudden cloud, she continued, “All the things you could ever ask for, if you want to get lost in a crowd.”

He considered her statement. So far, he had found everything he could ask for here, but he chose to focus on the last part of the sentence. “Is that what you like most? Being lost in a crowd?”

“Oh, crowds can be treacherous, but anonymous. I’m very particular about who I’m alone with. She did not seem inclined to continue along those lines, so Paris took the opportunity to change subjects.

“How long have you lived here in Minneapolis?”

“Just a few months. We moved up here right after I graduated from high school in June so we could all get settled into our routines before school started this month. I like it here. There is a kind of comfort that I missed in Indiana all my life. The quietude of this city lulls me away into my own little world. It is nice to be out from under the scrutiny of mother and the college. She’s a professor and says her life is almost as much a fishbowl as that of preachers. I wouldn’t know. I’ve always felt I was under a magnifying glass.”

“Do you miss home?” Paris could not get over the feeling of having met her someplace before. His notebooks had given no clue, however, and certainly he would have remembered a name as unusual as hers.

“Haven’t really been here long enough to miss it. I’m sure I will. But right now, Mom is on sabbatical and someone else is living in our house for a while. So, it wasn’t that difficult for us to all pick up and move to Minnesota.”

“You ... um ... Did your roommates live with you in Indiana?” Paul asked.

“Uh ... Oh, Paul. I’ve ... I don’t know how to describe my family,” she sighed. He laughed.

“I’m hardly better. I don’t even know who my real family is. You don’t have to tell me about them if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, but I do. I’ve just never done this before. Do you know that this is my first date? Second, I guess, since we went out after the show a couple of nights ago.”

“I had no idea. Why, Serepte? I thought you would have been very popular in school.”

“I was ... am ... a little on the strange side. My classmates didn’t know what to do with that. You see, Paul, I’m a witch.” To his credit, Paul did not react, but waited for her to continue. He’d met some new age wiccans in college and it didn’t bother him. He didn’t really see the difference between them and any other religion. “You aren’t shocked,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “At least that means we can spread out our blanket and have our picnic while I tell you my sad story.”

“I’m not concerned. Is this a good place?” They stopped in an area that was grassy and far enough from the congregation of geese they’d passed to feel that they would not be attacked by the marauding fowls. They worked together to put down their picnic blanket and Serepte began laying out food from the basket and a thermos of tea. Paris laughed because the cups were tiny. The sandwiches were open-faced triangles with bits of cheese, ham, olives, and various spreads. There were tiny cakes and cookies as well. As she pulled each item from the basket, Serepte, too, began to giggle. When the had everything arranged in front of them, both looked at the perfect little tea party spread on the blanket and laughed.

“I ... slept in and was only up an hour before you arrived,” Serepte said. “I didn’t have time to pack a picnic, but Elizabeth already had it prepared and simply handed it to me.”

“I take it that Elizabeth is one of the members of your circle?” Paul asked through his laughter. “She has quite a sense of humor.” Serepte noticed he changed from referring to her roommates to referring to her circle. How astute.

“She’s like a second mother. But all the women are from England. I think she fixed us tea.”

“It’s truly delightful. I don’t dare eat too much before a show and this looks delicious.”

“Well, please, try this one,” Serepte said, picking up one of the wedges and feeding it to Paul.

“Oh, cucumber and cream cheese. Delicious. This looks colorful. Try it,” Paul said, getting into the idea that they would choose sandwiches and feed them to each other. “What do you think?”

“Salmon. Quite nice. Oh, I’ve had these before. I think you’ll like it.” Serepte offered Paul egg salad.

“So, your circle cooks for you?” he asked.

“We share the responsibilities of the household,” Serepte said, not realizing that Paul had returned the conversation to her housemates while they ate. “Elizabeth is the oldest and is always taking care of someone. If I’m in a rebellious state and acting all independent, she takes care of one or more of the others. Their real responsibility has been to educate and train me. You don’t seem to have a problem with this.”

“I ... uh ... guess I’ve always liked stories of magic,” Paul said. “I loved reading The Lord of the Rings, for example. There are all forms of magical beings in that series.”

“Is that how you chose the name Paris on stage?”

“No. I got that from Homer.”

“A friend?”

“Eventually. One of my English teachers in high school discovered that I was into Tolkien and told me that I should read The Iliad and The Odyssey. They held the same basic archetypes on which Tolkien based his work. Of course, I was also interested in magic and sleight of hand. The origins of the Trojan War had to do with Paris stealing the wife of Menelaus.”

“Tell me you aren’t into that!” she exclaimed, shoving another triangle into his mouth.”

“Oh, no! You see, the gods had a big party of some sort and everyone got invited but this one goddess, Discord was not invited because Zeus thought she would spoil the party. Which she did. She got a golden apple from some mythic garden and tossed it into the midst of the party with the inscription that it was for the fairest of the goddesses,” Paris said as Serepte poured him two swallows of tea in one of the child-size teacups.

“I think I know her. We call her Lissa,” Serepte laughed.

“Eris was the Greek name, if I remember correctly. I have it written down in my notes. My ... uh ... memory isn’t always dependable. And, of course, the apple at the feast had exactly the effect Discord intended. Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena all laid claim to the apple and demanded that Zeus settle the argument. Well, Hera was his wife, Athena his daughter, and Aphrodite was just ... um ... sexy. He wasn’t going to make this judgment, so he quickly reached down and grabbed a mortal from Troy named Paris and made him the judge. There’s no question that Paris would have chosen Aphrodite because ... um ... sexy ... but she was also vain and couldn’t stand the thought of either of the other two goddesses getting the apple, so she bribed Paris. She promised him the most beautiful woman in the world if he chose her. Of course, he did. Unfortunately, the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen, was married, so Paris had to steal her away from her husband and the offense was so great that all the nations of Greece went to war against Troy.”

“So, you chose ... um ... sexy ... as your goddess?”

“No. If I were to choose a goddess, it would be the one I’m sitting with.” Paris snagged a slice of apple from the fruit plate and placed it at Serepte’s lips. She looked at him as she delicately took it between her lips. “I decided to incorporate the story into my show and I have a levitation act in which I float an apple and then plop it down in front of a woman in the audience and say it’s the judgment of Paris.”

“You didn’t do that at the show I attended,” she said.

“Haven’t done the trick in ages, but I kept the name. Now, what about you? What did you read as a child that influenced your life?”

“Oh, it’s so silly,” Serepte giggled.

“Besides Dr. Seuss.”