Lisa Smedman - The Lucifer desk

“Aziz asked me to bring this,” he said, reaching into the back seat and lifting out a portable trideo camera. “He wants to document this. I guess something rubbed off when he was living with Carla; there’s a little reporter in him, too.” He gave Pita a forced smile. She supposed he was trying to be funny.

Pita clambered out of the car and made her way into the boarded-up building. The convenience store looked much as it had during her astral visit to it. The counters and display racks were still covered with dust but the floor was swept clean. On it, a hermetic circle enclosing a pentagram was marked in faintly luminescent paint. Aziz knelt beside it, laying out earth, water, and a lighted candle in the angles of the pentagram. He looked up at Pita, then smiled as he saw the reporter.

“Thanks for coming, Masaki. Set your camera up over there, and then stay put. Whatever happens to us, don’t try to cross the hermetic circle. You’ll only make things worse if you do manage to break it-not to mention putting yourself in danger. And keep your camera rolling. If the spell fails, the trid may help me learn what did wrong.”

He waved Pita over. “You, Pita, will sit here, at the apex of the pentagram. Once you’re in position, it’s vital that you don’t interrupt the protective spell I’ll be casting or try to leave the circle. It’s best if you don’t try to move at all. Just close your eyes and concentrate on the spot on your aim where the spirit wrote its name. When you feel its presence, use the visualization techniques we talked about earlier, and form a clear image of Carla in your mind. Then picture the hell hound-a big black dog-and order the spirit to attack it. If it helps, you can speak the command out loud as well as in your mind. The spirit will be forced to obey you once it’s under your mental control.”

“What if I can’t control the spirit?” Pita chewed on her lip, feeling nervous. She was just starting to realize the danger she was placing herself in. Her earlier bravado and pride had evaporated, leaving her with second thoughts. She looked at Aziz’s heat-blistered skin, and scratched the itchy spot on her arm, remembering the sharp sting when the spirit had burned her.

“If you feel the spirit getting the better of you-if you find you can’t control it-then raise your arm and wave it away,” Aziz answered. “You’ve already banished it once. This time, you’ll be inside the hermetic circle. The simple act of raising your fist against it should be enough to drive the spirit away, as long as the force of your will is behind the action”

The force of her will. Now Pita was really nervous. Her magical powers weren’t, strictly speaking, under her direct control. She couldn’t be certain they would manifest themselves here tonight. She eyed the door, tempted to back out. As if sensing her fear, Aziz moved to close it, then secured the door with a chain and padlock. “We don’t need any interruptions,” he said.

He crossed to the hermetic circle and motioned impatiently for Pita to sit down. “Come on,” he said. “Carla’s life depends upon this. You don’t want the hell hound to kill her or the security guards to catch her, do you? We’re the only chance she’s got.”

Pita hesitated. She couldn’t tell if that was genuine concern for Carla in Aziz’s voice. From what Carla had said, she and the mage had been pretty close, once. But that had been years ago. Aziz’s story about Carla and the hell hound might be nothing more than an elaborate hoax, dreamed up by the mage to trick Pita into helping him to control the spirit. Carla might not be in any danger at all. But then Pita shook her head. That didn’t make sense. The spirit had nearly killed Aziz the last time he’d messed with it. He wouldn’t be willing to risk his own life again without a good reason. Would he?

If Carla’s life were really in danger, Pita was obligated to do what she could. The reporter might have lied about doing a story on how Lone Star killed Chen, but she’d saved Pita’s ass when the yakuza came gunning for her and Yao. Pita owed her one for that. Besides, Pita was curious. Could she really do it? Control a spirit that corp mages and other experts like Aziz couldn’t get a handle on? The thought of having so much power at her fingertips was tempting. Just let anyone try to call her “porkie” again with a spirit backing her up. She’d show them.

“Show me where to sit,” she told Aziz.

Masaki watched her from a corner of the room. “You don’t have to go through with this, Pita,” he said. The wheeze was back in his voice. “It’s not too late to call-”

“Keep quiet!” Aziz snapped. “If you call attention to yourself, the spirit might choose you as a target.”

Masaki swallowed, then moved so that a dusty counter was between himself and the hermetic circle. He adjusted his trideo camera nervously. A tiny red Eight came on. “We’re rolling,” he said.

Pita sat where Aziz told her to, cross-legged at the apex of the pentagram. She toyed with the laces of her sneakers as the mage positioned himself within the hermetic circle. He lay on his back, clutching a broken chunk of window glass and staring up at the store's grimy skylight, his head beside Pita’s feet. He cautioned Pita and Masaki once more about interruptions, then took a deep breath and began to chant.

Pita couldn’t understand a word Aziz said. She glanced at Masaki, moving only her eyes. Her arm itched, but she didn’t dare scratch it. Instead she worried the tip of her shoelace between blunt fingers, afraid to shift position.

Masaki gave her a nervous smile from the shadows. His face was seamed with worry lines, and his gray moustache was twitching as a tic tugged at his lip. Was it only Pita’s imagination, or could she see the reporter more clearly now? Something was shining in through the skylight.

Aziz just kept chanting, his voice droning a series of weird, harsh sounding words.

Panic began to claw at Pita’s gut as the interior of the Stuffer Shack grew steadily brighter. What was she doing here? Masaki was right. Despite any natural shamanic talents she might have, she was untrained. Just a kid, and way out of her depth. It took everything she had to fight back the urge to jump up and run.

Out of the corner of her eye, Pita saw movement. Not overhead, where the spirit would materialize any moment, but down low, in a corner by the floor. Was that moving shadow cat-shaped? Was the whirring of Masaki’s trideo camera really starting to sound like a purring cat? Or was Pita just going crazy?

Then she felt the brush of soft fur against her hand. Cat! The touch calmed her, gave her the courage she needed to resist getting up and running from the room. She flexed mental claws, preparing for what was to come.

Suddenly a bright spiral of light flashed overhead, throwing the room into stark relief. Masaki let out a horrified cry and threw up his arms, then ducked down below the counter, leaving his camera running. Aziz raised the jagged sheet of glass be held, chanting louder, stronger. He twisted his head away from the light, staring back at Pita and raising a finger to point at the ceiling. Then he squeezed his eyes shut.

The light that filled the room was painfully bright. Taking her cue from the mage, Pita closed her own eyes. She didn’t want to look up, to see the spirit looming above her. She could feel its heat on her body. At the same time, shivers ran through her, making the hair on her arms rise. Instinctively, she clutched at her forearm, squeezing the spot where the spirit had burned her, trying desperately to concentrate.

“Carla,” she croaked fearfully, visualizing the reporter’s face in her mind. She concentrated, adding the image of a huge black dog menacing the reporter. “Kill it,” she whispered fiercely. “Save her.”