Succubus Summoning 207

Yes... Yes... The patterns... If only he could read the patterns in the lines of energy. His brain throbbed and swelled, as if it was a sponge soaking up knowledge from the water around him.

"Do you wish to see more?" Ab'ĝalga asked.

Ye—Wait!

He sensed the fishhook in her words. The waters were darkening. A shadow was moving up beneath him, vast and immeasurably ancient. Countless gossamer tendrils filled the space between Ab'ĝalga and him. It was getting harder to tell where Ab'ĝalga ended and he began, where his thoughts ended and hers began. Was his mind expanding or diffusing? Dissolving? He felt the pull all around him—to be everywhere and everything.

Everything and nothing.

"I do..." he started, "...but not right now. I'm sorry. This is too fast. I'm not ready. I need time to think over what I've learnt."

"Sorry? Apologising...to me?" she laughed at his words as if she found them ridiculous. "You know, you might turn out to be interesting after all."

Her lips curled up in amusement as her feelers began to retreat from his skull. He felt them detach and the planes overlaying his perception faded until he was once again seeing the world in only three dimensions. His brain contracted back to a compact knot of nerve tissue contained within the bony case of his skull. It felt reassuring, solid.

"Still too much of a humble mumble," Ab'ĝalga said.

Her face disappeared from view as the calm seas suddenly churned into life and Phil was wrenched upwards as if caught in a waterspout.

* * * *

Cέrμləa was drawing a picture on the blackboard, her face scrunched up in concentration. Her drawing depicted a cartoon family enjoying a picnic, or at least they would be if they weren't currently being torn apart by grotesquely deformed woodland creatures. Cέrμləa put the most detail into the youngest daughter. The girl was screaming in open-eyed terror as mutated and savage squirrels tore open her belly and engaged in a tug-of-war over her viscera. The girl had similar spiky hair to Cέrμləa.

The wooden lid of the desk bounced open as Phil crashed through. He lay half in, half out of the desk with his cheek resting against the wooden seat of his chair. He was naked and covered in glistening mucus.

Cέrμləa's intense, melancholic expression changed to a wide, girlish smile. "You're back," she said, bouncing with excitement. "Do you understand it now?"

Phil smiled weakly and held up a thumb.

* * * *

Four cowled figures sat around a large circle chalked on the stone floor and embellished with occult symbols. The room was dim—illuminated only by the wan, flickering light of a multitude of black candles. In the centre of the circle sat a large basin filled with water.

The four figures intoned words in an arcane language.

"Occulora nida Occum."

The leader held an upside down goat's skull in cupped palms as if it was an offering.

"Occulora nida Occum."

The lead figure tilted the skull and red liquid poured into the bowl. The blood, if that's what it was, billowed out until the whole contents were stained. While the other three continued the chant the leader tipped a finger into the bowl.

"Occulora nida Occum Infinitum vaarsta Ænma ov Homnus."

Ripples spread across the bowl and pictures rendered in shades of red appeared just beneath the surface—locations, schematics, maps. The lead warlock manipulated the images with his finger with the same ease as if it was one of the modern touch screen tablet computers. He found the image he was after, zoomed in.

"He's alive," Darvill said. "I've got a fix on his soul."

to be continued...