“Kyra!” Adeline snapped. “Hurry up!”
Kyra kept her eyes closed until she felt Bane step out of her circle, and as soon as he was gone she allowed a single drop of her blood to fall into the flame of her candle.
The connection was immediate, stronger than she had ever felt when the dome enclosed around them all. Within a few beats a second dome materialised, surrounding the inner pentagram.
Frederick laughed, but everyone else remained eerily quiet as each flame began to flicker in turn. Kyra knew she would have collapsed, her body unable to process so much black magic in such a short time, but somehow she stood, her legs anchored in place.
“Can anyone else not move?” Cassandra asked, voice slightly raised.
Saul grunted, shaking his head.
“Don’t panic,” Adeline said, “It’s perfectly normal.” They would have believed her if her gaze hadn’t flicked over to Frederick with concern.
His returning smile was anything but comforting. “Do it.”
Adeline started the spell, and as before the words flowed through Kyra’s head like water. Pain radiated inside her skull, the agony enough to cause black spots across her vision. Copper coated her tongue, and Kyra knew if she cut herself then, her blood would be black.
She didn’t actually know what would happen after so much exposure. Normal black witches took the resulting effluence, whether it was dispersed inside their aura, or taken out in their body by way of blood and flesh. Many sacrificed their fingers, eyesight or worse. All until their bodies could no longer deal with the dark force ravaging their very soul, and at that point their minds were devastated beyond repair.
Every spell required a sacrifice to various levels of severity, black witches gambled with the greatest sacrifice of all.
“Ah, so what he said was true,” a voice laughed. A flash of white light, a large man appearing inside the inner dome. Armour covered parts of his dark skin, the edges harsh and sharp. Wings tried to snap to their full length, but they caught on the circle with a spark and a hiss.
“I’m sorry,” Frederick said with his calmest voice, “who said it was true?”
The Daemon turned, his teeth sharp and pointy when he smiled. “Clever, but you know I would never share his name.” It gave Kyra the view of his profile, his wings slowly sliding themselves away into slits parallel to his spine. It left his back bare, the armour not covering the tattooed swirls that seemed to decorate his powerful shoulders.
“What would you like me to call you?” Frederick asked, “and I’m not asking for your real name.”
Names held power. You could cast a death curse with just a name. With Daemons it was more, their true names anchored to their magic. Knowing their name gave the summoner control, which was why Daemons protected them by any means necessary.
The Daemon laughed, the movement exaggerated. “You can call me Dirk.”
Frederick bowed. “I am Councilman Frederick Gallagher, voice to the witches and Supreme of The Magicka.”
“That’s a lot of pretty titles, Fred,” Dirk grunted, slowly turning to check out each witch. He stopped at Kyra, his red gaze unwavering. “You,” he said, stepping forward until the inner circle burst into sparkles. He pressed his hand forward, the dome shaping around his palm, but not breaking. “You’re not afraid, and yet this room stinks of fear and shit.”
“What happened to our witch?” Kyra asked, the question just appearing on her tongue. “Is she safe?” She felt everyone’s eyes turn to her, but she refused to drop the contact with the Daemon. It was true, she wasn’t afraid.
She should be, anyone sane would, but it seemed the overwhelming murk coating her aura like a bad taste was affecting her judgement.
“Safe?” Dirk laughed, the sound a bark that echoed. “She’s gone, dead. A fitting gift, don’t you think?”
Kyra recoiled at the word ‘dead,’ rage burning through her veins. “She was only a kid.”
“Now you’re just making me laugh. Just because she was young doesn’t make her innocent. You should all understand that better than most.”
Frederick cleared his throat. “It was I who called you, not Kyra or any of the coven.”
“Fred of the many useless titles, tell me why I’ve been called?” Dirk turned, giving Kyra his back once again. “I was surprised when I was told of a coven of black witches being able to summon us without a name, and even more surprised once I felt the power of this circle.”
“I am the strongest amongst my Breed, and it is I who wishes to make a deal with you.”
“We both know that is a lie, you are not the strongest of your Breed.” Dirk licked his lips, his tongue grey. “I can taste your chi, and I doubt you would ever be able to control death magic without shitting yourself.”
The coven looked between one another, but remained silent.
Frederick’s smile tightened, the curve of his lips shaped to be professional, trustworthy. That same smile had sentenced many people to death.
