My friends,
Well, as I am reporting here, you can probably tell that I'm not dead, or at least not incorporeally so. So something went right today, obviously. You'll have to forgive me relating my story linearly. Yes, I could tell you the results now, but where would be the fun in that? I'm afraid this will be somewhat long. So, without further ado...
I faked illness, as I told you I would. Lilah was unsympathetic, probably as Murrow is due back tomorrow, and she didn't want to spend her last 'safe' day at work alone. Once she had gone, I used my checklist to ensure I had forgotten none of the things that I needed, as everything was vital.
Having reached the empty warehouse, I set about warding the place from observation and intrusion using some expensive devices borrowed from Lilah's apartment. After a nice cup of Irish coffee from my thermos as a late breakfast, I began the lengthy laying out of the 'circle' in the centre of the floor. This involved complex large-scale geometry as well as pedantic exactitude. Well, I'm talented at the second, at least.
Then, following a hunch based on Imogen's latest prophecy, and a reference I found in an obscure Hungarian folktale called 'Hocka Pocka', I marked out my best approximation of the infamous Jarlan Labyrinth in black chalk, with the circle as its centre.
Finally, I placed the required ritual ingredients at the mathematically ordained nodes, and added several extra large candles, carefully placing them so that whatever I summoned would be clearly illuminated.
After a combined elevenses/lunch, which was very similar to breakfast in content, I began the ritual proper. My voice had grown quite hoarse by the time I completed the chant, as I was using the original Anglo-Saxon and that is such a guttural language. All I could do after uttering the last few syllables, was sit and wait. The wait was just long enough for me to begin seriously considering that I had gone wrong somewhere.
And then, without any crashing cymbals or puffs of smoke, a short, dumpy woman appeared within my circle. Maezr-t-l, apparently, or at least a form she was choosing to take upon this plane. She looked at me and laughed, and all I can say about her voice is imagine the sound of a swarm of aggressive flying insects, and then add a background beat of a million screaming souls. Yes, I'm being uncharacteristically dramatic in my words, but that really is a good description. I can't think of better.
She asked what my name was, and I ignored her, saying that I didn't mean to be rude, but she had to realise who was in charge here before we continued. She looked down at the circle, laughed again, and stepped one foot outside its parameters, declaring that my 'pathetic solomaic diagram' could no more hold her person than her attention. With a great deal more confidence than I felt, I told her to look more carefully at the floor.
She saw the maze.
She released a very unpleasant sound, one which will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life, and retreated back within the circle. My hunch had been right. Had she stepped outside the cycle into the maze, she would have been compelled to walk the path to its end, like the demon in Hocka Pocka. But the Jarlan Labyrinth has no end, being a cross between a Celtic knot and a moebius strip. Clearly a perceptive creature, she recognised the trap and withdrew, much to my great relief as I had only Imogen's prophecy to persuade me that the labyrinth trap would be effective on this kind of demon.
Now that I had her attention, I began to quickly inform her of the situation at W&H. It was hard to see if what I was relating was news or what her reaction to it was, as by this point, I was outside the maze and therefore far from the circle. Once I was done, she asked me why she should care. I told her if I were part of a balanced triumvirate, I'd be very interested to know if the young, dangerous upstart of the three was engaged in secret power stealing exercises.
She countered that what happened on this small insignificant sphere was of little concern to her, and I, er, told her she was both a fool and a liar. I could have perhaps been a little more tactful, but I should explain that being in her presence was an intensely uncomfortable experience. She may have chosen an unassuming form to appear in, but it seems my senses and instincts saw the huge monstrous creature of power that she really was.
To put it simply, I was terrified and had self control issues. I wanted to flee.
My words enraged her and she attacked. Not physically, as that would have involved the labyrinth, but aurally, using a silent scream that had, I think, parasonic qualities. I didn't even realise what she was doing, glaring at me with her mouth open, until my ears began to bleed and dizziness knocked me to my knees.
Trying not to panic, I unsheathed my blessed silver dagger, and hurled it like a dart into the silhouette of the female form cast onto the warehouse wall by the candles. It hit, where I meant it to, in the centre of the shadow's head. The demon's scream became suddenly audible, and I clasped my hands over my ears while I tried to clear my mind.
I staggered up, and into the labyrinth. I knew I needed to dismiss Maezr-t-l quickly, as I was out of failsafes should she find a method to escape the immobilising sting of the blessed silver. I began the dismissal chant, struggling at times to remember the correct Anglo-Saxon while my brain was so befuddled. I found that rotating Melisande's gift upon my finger helped bring clarity.
I was reaching the end of the chant when disaster struck. My dagger, which I had had to throw from some distance, had been only loosely impaled within the wall, and now it fell.
Maezr-t-l and I looked at each other in mutual recognition of the fact that I was, well, buggered, and she smiled. I lost control of my body and found myself walking stiffly towards her. I was just within arms reach when she suddenly screamed again. This close up, the sound was enough to start the blood running from my ears once more. I was free to move as I wished again, and the demon fell to her knees. Confused, I looked around.
Lilah was standing by the wall, grinding the silver dagger into the heart region of the silhouette, which was now of a different and definitely demonic shape, despite the huddled human form of the originator. I stuttered an enquiry as to why she was here, and she, very sensibly told me to finish the dismissal now and chat later.
I did.
Once Maezr-t-l was gone, I more or less collapsed. Lilah had to tidy up and get me home, and she made the most of my weakness to list my many faults in full and witty detail. I think I would rather have listened to the demon scream again.
And well, it's several hours later now, and I'm largely recovered. The ritual worked and the information was passed on. Thanks to Lilah, I'm not a sex slave in Hell, and so won't be requiring your, er, comradeship there, Spike. Whether there will actually be some beneficial result from all this remains to be seen. Presumably when Murrow returns tomorrow.
Wes.
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weird
drained
sad
determined
accomplished
hopeful
worried
happy