Curtain haircut

Got a shag haircut this last weekend (which i’m loving, and my friend who has newly started her career as a hairstylist did it and she’s amazing) but i’m having a hard time getting my bangs to look right with my wavy routine. i know how to style curtain bangs the way people with straight hair style them, like with a round brush or straightener, but i want mine to still look like they mesh with my hair if that makes sense? i don’t want my bangs to be too straight and then the rest of my hair is a curly shag, but when i look up youtube tutorials and stuff like that i don’t really see any wavy or curly girls styling their curtain bangs naturally.
if i just dry them or diffuse them like i do the rest of my hair they kind of stick out from my forehead funny instead of sitting cute like they did when i left the salon lol

I am newer to the area and in desperate need of a great haircut. I’m looking for recommendations for excellent stylists, instagram tags are extremely appreciated since I prefer to see a portfolio before making my decision on who to visit. I’m a little picky in that I like to see a variety of different cuts and styles represented in a portfolio, not just a sea of ramen noodles. Stylists who are well versed in things like shags, curtain bangs, and French bobs would be an added bonus! Thanks so much!

The owner of the restaurant I'm serving at asked me to get a haircut, which I am not going to do, and instead I'm going to try to get away with just keeping it slicked/held back . I've always just put my hair up in a bun when I served, but recently I've been keeping it very medium length, which means it isn't long enough for that. It's like curtain bangs-ish, around ear length. I tried using styling fiber but it didn't really hold at all. I think it's be my hair is so thick. Any suggestions? I just really don't want to turn it into cement with gel lol

Turning 50 later this year and I feel like I need a new haircut. My hair is just over shoulder length, with very long layers, it's parted in the middle and hangs like curtains. I don't have a fringe but would really like one (but it tends to kink up once i start to get warm) My hair is only slightly wavy but i don't really know what sort of cut to ask for to help the waves. I don't really like using any heated appliances and just let my hair air dry, i also need to be able to tie my hair up-even if it is just a small ponytail.

im 18 yrs old and my hairline is absolutely fucked. I have pretty long hair rn and roll with the "curtain" haircut where i divide my hair onto the side of my head. Bcs im anxious of my hairline, i keep making a fringe to hide it.
ok this is going to be a pretty embarrassing story but I have no idea who to ask irl so this is my only choice. a few years back i decided to get a buzz cut where i shaved 95% of my hair. I used to have pretty long hair, and one summer i had enough and decided to cut it all off. However, a few weeks after the cut i realized that my hairline was asymmetrical. not only did i have a widows peak, but one side of the peak goes higher than the other side. this made it look like, and yes im not joking, like i had the arrow from avatar the last Airbender.
the thing is i dont want to be insecure about it, but i really cant stand it. i dont want to have the middle part anymore, i want to get a buzzcut.
is anyone in a similar situation? how do i even fix this. are there things that i can do to improve it? Can i buy any products? im completely serious btw and it would mean the world to me if someone gave genuine advice.
ty in advance <3

I recently got a haircut and got curtain bangs I did not want. Now I'm stuck with it till it grows out and am having trouble styling them. I really don't want to use heat but need ways to style them so they stay how curtain bangs are meant to be so they are not in my face. But I have stubborn hair and one side just keeps pointing back towards my face even when I use a roller in my wet hair let it dry and take it out. Please if you have any tips or product suggestions comment them, thank you.

I recently got a haircut and got curtain bangs I did not want. Now I'm stuck with it till it grows out and am having trouble styling them. I really don't want to use heat but need ways to style them so they stay how curtain bangs are meant to be so they are not in my face. But I have stubborn hair and one side just keeps pointing back towards my face even when I use a roller in my wet hair let it dry and take it out. Please if you have any tips or product suggestions comment them, thank you.

Does anyone know a good hair salon place here? I have long straight hair and I want to get long curtain bangs and layers. I just don't want to go someplace and then they mess it up horribly, so if anyone has gotten a similar haircut and liked it here, I'd appreciate a recommendation.

I just got a haircut and the hairdresser gave me curtain bangs that I did not ask for and now I'm stuck with them and am having trouble styling them. I would like to not use heat and keep them the way curtain bangs are meant to be but my hair is stubborn. I have a curly/wavy hair type and my hair wants to curl in on one side even when I use a roller. Please if you have any tips I would greatly appreciate if you comment them. Thank you

Hans The Fearless
Hanson Van Buskirk, called Hans by his friends, owned a little pawn shop on the seedy side of town. The worn wooden sign was flaking bits of cheap white paint from the backboard which bore the name Gold Reposit Pawn & Loan, spelled out in flickering red neon. The Van Buskirk family name was spread thickly throughout the county, along with the Hancock's, Davis', Peyton's, Campbell's, and the others who could be found in the town's original 1818 charter, but Hans was not in the good books of his more well to do relations. He had many connections, but they were not the sort to be invited to parties by the last inheritors of old money. Hans lived on the outskirts of society, and that's the way he liked it.
One of his frequent clients was a young man named Douglass Whitemore. Despite an aversion to honest labor, Douglass had been employed in the security industry, by various companies, for many years, and frequently brought in items to sell or pawn which were of questionable provenance. On one day in particular, he brought a booty of items that would change Hans Van Buskirk's understanding of reality, and that was no mean feat. Douglass displayed a marked nervousness as he entered the shop, mopping his brow as he repeatedly looked behind him, biting his lips as he peered out into the street through the closed glass door. Hans watched the performance with some amusement from his counter. He did not fail to notice the sunken cheeks, and dark circles beneath the bloodshot eyes. It was obvious to Hans that Douglass was not well.
At length Douglass approached the counter, where he spread out the items that he wished to sell. The first was a thin, antique, gold coin, of Spanish origin, bearing a distinctive bow and arrows design. It was not a terribly rare piece, and might have mates in any local numismatist's collection, and bore no individual marks which might distinguish it from any other of it's kind. Hans had sold a few like it for as much as two thousand dollars. He offered Douglass six hundred for it, and Douglass agreed without haggling. The next item was an unusual rock. It was a large chunk of pink chert, possibly local, that had been knapped and flecked into a particular sharp edged shape, but it was broken off at one end. Hans guessed it may once have been part of an ancient native plow, or hoe type gardening tool. Such things were always being dug up in fields or found in creekbeds of the surrounding area. It had a little value, but wasn't the sort of thing that Hans liked to deal in. He passed on it. The third item was something very unusual. At first thinking it was a common chess piece, Hans picked the object up to see if there was anything special about it that would make it worth buying, only to discover that it was in fact a clay figurine, just the length of his own middle finger, of unique workmanship, light gray on one side, streaked with dark gray on the other, and with a considerable amount of surface wear. It may have been a native fetish, or an idol of some sort, but it was from no culture with which Hans was familiar. It appeared to depict some sort of bird like entity, with a long beak pointed downward to it's taloned feet, feathered wings folded along it's back, with a snake like tail coiled up behind it. A pair of taloned hands folded up along either side of the beak where it crossed the breast of the creature. Hans had never seen anything so bizaare, and he was intrigued. While the piece may have been some modern toy, the fact that it was made of baked clay, and had been so peculiarly carved, with straight slices and precisely curved incisions, made him feel as though it were something even more ancient than the pink chert tool. Shrewdly, he offered Douglass ten dollars for it. Again Douglass agreed without haggling. He took the cash from Hans, and hurriedly fled into the street. He didn't even take the chunk of rock with him. Hans put away the coin and the rock, but slipped the figurine into his pocket with the idea of researching it later in the evening.
Shortly after six o'clock, a trio of strange looking visitors arrived. Three women, each over six feet tall in identical high heeled shoes which were made of some scaley hide, with segmented points at the sharp toes and a pointed barb jutting backwards from the bottom of the narrow heels. Their faces were all the same pale grayish complexion, with identical large, round, green eyes, and startlingly thick black eyebrows contrasting their thin red lips. Their noses were long and thin. Only their hair seemed appreciably different from one to the next. The first woman to enter the door had dark gray hair streaked with black, done up in a tight bun that sat on the top of her head, making her seem even taller. The second had blood red hair, worn down around her shoulders, with shocks of white at the temples. The third was platinum blonde, styled in an asymmetrical bob cut. They wore identical black fur shrugs over black capes and matching black midi length gowns. The total effect of their appearance caused an uncanny valley reaction in Hans, though he merely noted it without fear.
"What can I do for you fine ladies this evening?" he asked in a jovial tone, as he met each of their gazes in turn with his most charming smile. The blonde and the redhead turned their faces to the dark haired one. Hans guessed that made her the leader of the group.
"Weee haff comm forrr what is oursss," said the dark haired woman in a breathy, rasping voice.
"Ooh, that is one doozy of a beautiful accent you've got there. Where are you ladies from, if you don't mind my asking?" replied Hans.
"Dooo nnot bee impudent, younggg sssirrr," said the woman sternly, as her sisters hissed at Hans. "Weee knnnowww that you hafff ourrr prrroperrrty! Weee demmmannnd that you rrreturrrn it to usss!"
Unperturbed, Hans demured. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I just don't know what you're referring to. Do you have a claim ticket for this property? I run an honest business here and I'm sure that I would remember if you had been in to hock anything, but I just don't."
"Weee hafff trrravelled far to rrretrrriefff the ammmulet, annnd weee will nnnot rrreturrrnnn without it!"
"Amulet, you say?" Hans was a bit startled now, though he never let his smile falter. Was the strange woman talking about the figurine in his pocket? "Ma'am, could you possibly describe this amulet?"
"The immmage offf god, innn the ffforrrmmm offf a ssstorrrk. You knnnowww it! You hafff it! Give it back to usss!"
"Ma'am, I'm going to remind you that this is a business. If I come across this stork amulet of yours, I will be happy to sell it to you at a reasonable price. What do you reckon it's worth to you?"
The woman's face reddened as she thrust it over the counter at Hans. "You want a prrriccce offf hummmannn mmmonnney, forrr ourrr herrritage? The insssolenccce!"
Hans didn't miss the use of that word, "human", in her description of money. This was getting very interesting. She was being very insistent, even a bit haughty, but he could smell desperation. It was his bread and butter. "Oh, I don't guess it would need to be cash. I'm willing to consider an interesting trade. What else have you got to offer?" As he spoke those words, he winked with his right eye, and gave an extra bit of a grin to that side of his face. It was an old gesture he had unconsciously picked up from his paternal grandfather, and one he used constantly whenever trying to defuse a tense situation. It had never seemed any more special than that, but this time, as he did it, he felt a strange puissance arise. He was normally a confident man, but in that moment he felt truly powerful.
The woman drew back, surprised. She looked to her sisters, and they literally hopped closer to her. Their heads bobbed together as they discussed something in a babbling foreign tongue. After a few minutes of this, all three of them placed their long nailed hands on the counter, leaning in close and peering directly into Hans' face.
"A boon," said the dark haired one.
"A favor, you mean? Just the one? Seems like it might be worth more than that. What could you really do for me anyway?" He winked again, and he felt the puissance again.
"Onnne. Frrrommm each."
"So three individual favors, total. Well now, that is certainly an interesting offer, if a little unorthodox. I'm going to have to mull it over. Come back tomorrow morning, and I'll let you know."
"No. Nnnot mmmorrrnnning. Eeffennning. Afffterrr sssix."
"That is acceptable. I'll look for you here after six."
The women left. Hans patted the pocket which contained the figurine which he was now very confident was the amulet sought by them, whatever they were. It's possible that they were female, he reasoned, but he was quite certain that they were not human. He wanted to go do some research on the internet, but suddenly his shop was very busy. He wound up making a week's worth of sales before closing time. He wondered if that was merely coincidence. His drive home was interrupted by a large package of beef, at least half a side, falling out of the back of a delivery truck directly in front of him. The truck kept going, so Hans took the beef and put it in the back seat of his car. He stopped at a gas station near his house to buy a few bags of ice to keep the meat frozen for a while. While exiting the car, he stepped on a lottery scratcher that stuck to his shoe. While pulling it off, he noticed that it was a winning ticket, for the amount of six hundred dollars. He cashed it inside and used some of the money to buy all of the ice that was in the gas station's coolers. When he arrived home, he checked his mail first thing. There was a special delivery letter from his great aunt, Maureen, stating that he had been named in her will, and asking him to come for a visit as soon as he could. He spent the next couple of hours fitting the meat into his bathtub, covered in forty pounds of ice, since he didn't have a freezer. He would have to forego showering for a few days, until he could figure out another situation, but he would be eating beef for dinner for the next six weeks. After all of that he was too exhausted to do any reading, so he just went to bed.
Hans slept late, not rising until eight thirty nine in the morning. The sun shone brightly through his windows. The pawn shop was supposed to open at ten, so he skipped breakfast and arrived ten minutes early, despite the late start. He had his first customer in the first ten minutes after opening, a man wanting to sell a deep freezer. Normally that would be something he would pass by, but since he happened to need a freezer, he happily acquired this one for fifty dollars. After getting it moved to the back of the store, he discovered that it contained a single frozen breakfast burrito, covered in frost. He took it and heated it in one of his microwave ovens in the shop. As he finished his breakfast, he got his second customer, a woman wanting to buy a specific rare baseball card, which he happened to have in mint condition. She was so pleased with her purchase that she gave Hans a voucher for a free cup of coffee from the diner where she worked. She also informed him of some local news that she had heard that morning. It seemed that a young man named Douglass Whitemore had been found dead in a park, and looked like he had been torn to shreds by some wild animals. Hans was not overly surprised to hear of Douglass' fate. That fellow was a ne'er do well that had made a lot of enemies over the years. However, the gruesome manner of his dispatch was somewhat concerning. Who would go to so much trouble? Hans would sort of miss seeing the weasely young man bringing in his suspicious looking trinkets, but whatever had happened to him was none of Hans' business.
The rest of the day went much the same way as the previous evening, busy and profitable. Business was steady until around five thirty, when Hans was finally able to relax a little. He took the amulet out of his pocket and set it on the counter. Was it really possible, he wondered, that this strange little figurine was responsible for the way everything had been going his way for the past twenty four hours? He slipped into reverie while gazing at the thing, and began to have a peculiar daydream. He saw the figurine enlarged to the size of man, plated with gold, decked with jewels, clouds of burning incense swirling all around it, all set within a strange hut with a high peaked roof. Suddenly the door swung open and the trio of women entered, dressed exactly as before. The clock displayed the time as six minutes after six o'clock.
The women instantly focused on the amulet, exclaiming excitedly in their own language. Hans scooped it up just as they reached for it.
"So, this is the thing that you wanted. I'm glad that we've established that. Now, ladies, I've got to know. You aren't human, are you?"
They gasped, recoiling, almost in unison.
"Now now, no need to get all excited. I'm not going to expose you. What you are doesn't scare me. I just need to know what I'm dealing with here. You see, I think I know why you want this little doodad. I seem to have gotten a little taste of what it can do. And that sheds some light on what you must be able to do, in regards to our agreement."
The women looked at each other warily, confused.
"I promised to sell this amulet to you for a reasonable price, you offered me three boons as payment, and I told you I'd think about until this evening. Now here we are, and I have a better understanding of the value of what is, currently, my legal property. Honestly I'm inclined to go through with the trade, because I'd like to see you lovely ladies get back what once was yours, but here's the sticking place, I need to be sure I'm getting that reasonable price. So please, can you just confirm what I already suspect?"
"It iss as you haf ssaid."
"Excellent. And that means the boons you're going to owe me can be for anything I want, doesn't it? The sky's the limit?"
"Not quite. We are not sso powerful, efen with the amulet. We musst use it's giftss for our own kind. But, thrree timess we may do ssomething wondrouss on yourr behalf. You haff only to call for uss, but only in the eefening."
"Fair enough. Ladies, we have a bargain. You may take your amulet, in exchange for one boon from each of you." Hans pressed the amulet firmly and gently into the outstretched hand of the dark haired lady. She clutched it to her chest with a crow of triumph, and the trio made their way toward the door making joyful cooing sounds. Hans stopped them.
"Ladies, one thing before you go. I'm going to need some time to consider what boons I'll be asking. In the meantime, would you all do me the honor of coming to my house for Sunday dinner?"
They stared at him blankly, not responding.
"Uh, I'll be serving steaks. Am I right in thinking you'll want your meat served rare? Shall we say, half past six?"
Then the ladies seemed to comprehend that he was offering them food, and good meat at that. They bobbed their heads together for a minute, discussing the opportunity. When they had decided, the dark haired one nodded affirmation to Hans, and the ladies finally exited. Hans felt almost giddy with excitement. This was proving to be a most promising venture, with unparalleled potential for profit, not to mention all of the valuable information that he was learning in the process. A whole dimension of reality of which he had not been previously aware was now opened up to him like virgin territory, ripe for the taking. And he owed it all to that last transaction with poor dead Douglass.
There were no more customers that evening, and the next three days yielded no more than the usual traffic. Hans had expected that might be the case, now that he no longer possessed the amulet, and he was fine with it. What he had already gleaned was a great boost to his business numbers, and what he expected to gain in the future could well allow him to retire in the splendor of his forbears.
He didn't bother opening the shop on Saturday, instead spending the day thawing, slicing, and brining the steaks for Sunday dinner. He cut them nice and thick, leaving all the fat clinging to the sides. Each cut of meat was around three pounds, and the freezer, now installed on his back porch, was still mostly full. He started grilling after five o'clock on Sunday. He needed his small round grill, his large box grill, and his oven to get the job done, but he was skilled at grilling meat, and managed to produce three very large, hot, juicy, rare, steaks for his guests, and one broiled yet very nice medium rare cut for himself.
The ladies arrived promptly, entering through the front door, which Hans had opened for them. They were dressed in the same clothes they had before. Hans seated them at the table by pulling out their chairs for them one at a time, but didn't indicate which one of them should be seated in each chair. He watched carefully as first the dark haired one sat, then the red haired one, and finally the blonde, the same order in which they had entered both the pawn shop, and his home. Clearly, they had some sort of hierarchy.
Once they were all seated, Hans removed the lid of a large chafing dish, revealing the food dramatically. The ladies inhaled deeply, and gibbered their appreciation, reaching out with their hands as if to take the meat. Hans used a barbecue fork to serve each of them by lifting the large steaks onto earthenware dinner plates, which he carefully placed before them on the table in the same order in which they were seated. He watched as the dark haired lady at first excitedly grabbed the meat with her fingernails, but then glanced at the others, and sheepishly picked up a knife and fork from the table instead. She had no trouble with the utensils, despite her long nails. They all began cutting the steaks with single powerful strokes, shoving large bites into their mouths. Hans noticed for the first time, that they had sharp pointed teeth, needle like and slightly curved. The blonde haired lady noticed him noticing her teeth, and bared the full set at him menacingly, pulling the edges of her mouth back almost to the ears. Small bits of bloody meat stuck in between the narrow, crowded teeth, quivering with her breath. Hans looked around the table, and all three ladies were baring their teeth in the same way. Hans chuckled.
"You ladies have such beautiful smiles. I'm sorry I haven't seen them before. But, I am glad that you're enjoying the food. Very glad." He winked at the blonde lady, who stared at him for the space of three heartbeats, and then blushed, returning shyly to her meal.
"You know, ladies," Hans continued, charmingly, "It occurs to me that we've spent all this time together, and I don't even know your names. I apologize for being so inconsiderate as not to ask."
The ladies stopped chewing their meat, and stared at him apprehensively.
"Oh, it's fine if you don't want to give me your family surname. I just need something to call you individually, you understand. I feel a bit silly just repeating the word ladies all the time. Your first names will be just fine."
The blonde lady snickered. "Ourr firrsst namess? You wouldn't efen be able to pronounce them. No one speakss that language anymorre." Her voice was similar to that of the dark haired lady, though somewhat higher pitched. It was the first time Hans had heard her speak in English. The dark haired lady was glaring angrily across the table at her, Hans noticed.
"Well, now ladies, there's nothing to be upset about. What is said at this table shall stay at this table, on my honor" Hans said solemnly.
The dark haired lady snorted, and a small puff of orange flames flew from her nostrils, but she nodded in agreement, and the others followed her lead.
"Megarakore," said the dark haired lady.
"Alektakore," said the red haired lady.
"Tsisiphankore," said the blonde lady.
Hans smiled warmly. "There now, we're all good friends at last. It's a genuine pleasure to properly meet you all finally, Megarakore, Alektakore, Tsisiphankore. Those are all lovely names, but I promise not to use them publicly. Instead, I will call you Megan, Alexa, and Sissy. That should be safe enough."
They passed the rest of the meal in cordial conversation. Hans told them stories about his upbringing, and about the pawn business, while he probed them for harmless personal details every so often, while complementing them on anything he could think of. He learned a few things, but the ladies were fairly tight lipped. They did not reveal their origins to him, as he had hoped. At the end of the evening, Megarakore demanded to know what boons Hans had decided to ask for. Hans deflected, said that he wasn't sure yet, but invited them all back for another Sunday dinner. Next time, he promised, there would be wine to wash down the beef. At the mention of wine, they readily agreed.
This happened every Sunday over the next six weeks. Eating meat, drinking wine, talking together of many things, postponing the boons. Each time, Hans learned just a tiny bit more about them. He had actually made up his mind about the first thing that he wanted, weeks ago, and was just seeing how long he could drag things out, to satisfy his own curiosity. By the seventh Sunday, he had exhausted his supply of beef, and fed the ladies with two mutton legs and a whole roasted pig. He would never forget the sight of Sissy gnawing on the head, before Megan tore it away, broke it open, and slurped out the brain. Alexa had snatched the tongue out before Sissy got to it, and quietly chewed on that while the other two tussled. Hans smiled and chuckled at these little informal moments. It showed him that they were getting more familiar, grown comfortable in his home, in his presence. He decided it was finally time for that first boon.
At the end of their evening, he addressed himself formally to Megan, as he had learned was the proper order of things, Megan being the leader of the trio. He asked for the most obvious of things, enough wealth on which to retire in the rich manner of his ancestors, if they had also had every modern convenience, of course. But, less obviously, he asked for all that to come in a way that would seem completely legitimate to anyone who might be concerned, and without the specter of death attached to it. He felt that this stipulation would guarantee him the least amount of the type of trouble that seemed to always accompany such wealth.
"Sso sshall it be!" Megan exclaimed with an extravagant flourish.
The very next day, the boon was accomplished. Just like that. A man with an expensive haircut, and much more expensive shoes, clumsily lugged a heavy object into the pawn shop. It looked like an old cooking pot, big enough for a twenty pound turkey, but the man was straining so hard to carry it that it could have been made of pure iron. It had a dark gray patina that obscured some sort of decorative work covering the surface. When the man hefted it up onto the counter, however, the impact made a sound that Hans was very familiar with. That was not iron. Hans did not let his excitement show, but asked the man what could be done for him. He replied that he wanted to pawn this fine antique pot, from the Rococo period, for five thousand dollars. Hans, as shrewd as ever, scoffed, and refused outright. The man insisted. Hans countered that he might consider buying something like that for three thousand. The man swore that it was worth at least six thousand, not even noticing that he had gone from pawning to selling. Hans offered three and a quarter thousand. They settled on four thousand, which Hans payed in cash, and made the man sign a receipt. Hans walked him out, and then locked the door, turning over the We're Open sign to the We're Closed sign. He got some soapy water and shop towels, and started wiping away the grimy patina of the pot. He barely breathed as the dirt of centuries washed away, confirming his suspicion. In the clean spot he saw the unmistakable glint of gold. As he wiped off more and more of the dirt, he looked over the decorative figures, and while he didn't know everything about art history, he could tell that this object was not made in the Rococo period. It was surely much older than that, oh so very much older. It wasn't precisely a pot, either. This thing would be more accurately termed a cauldron. He cleaned it as much as he could without special tools, and stood back to examine the tableau displayed on it's sides. Pictured there were figures of people and creatures like giant preying mantises, as well as some sort of bestial characters with beards of short tentacles, all walking toward a free standing arch or doorway. He found it incredibly odd.
Hans didn't think that he could sell the golden cauldron on his own, but he knew some people who knew some other people that probably could. So, he made some phone calls, and before the day was over, a representative for a buyer came to the shop to examine the cauldron. They struck a deal immediately, and transferred funds into Hans' bank account right there in the shop. The cauldron was hauled out, wrapped in protective blankets, by two men that the representative had brought along, and Hans was five million dollars richer.
The next Sunday's dinner was lavish. Hans served beef, monkfish, mutton chops, and roast goose, with a dozen bottles of different expensive wines, including champagne, and desserts featuring german chocolate layer cake and five flavors of ice cream. The ladies devoured the meat, ignoring the roast goose, sampled each of the desserts, and guzzled down the champagne. It was a glorious, gluttonous, bacchanal. Hans declared that his good fortune was his friends' good fortune, and earned himself a slap to the face by drunkenly trying to kiss Sissy on the cheek. He realized that she could have knocked his head off, but chose to withhold her full strength, and burst out laughing for a full minute. By the end of that minute, they were all laughing, and the ladies' laughter was a bone chilling cacophony of raptors' shrieks. In the afterglow of that moment, Hans decided to ask for his second boon. This one went to Alexa. He requested the ability to know the secrets of others, gleaned from their minds without their awareness.
"Sso sshall it be," declared Alexa, softly.
The following evening, Alexa appeared in the pawn shop, alone. She presented Hans with a leather bag filled with black lumps of an unidentifiable vegetal substance that reeked of mushrooms and rotting chrysanthemums.
"Forr tea," she explained. "Only a pinch. It will giff a window into otherr mindss, forr a timme, to ssee theirr secretss."
Hans accepted gladly. As Alexa left the shop, she looked back at him over her shoulder for several seconds, studying him coolly. He could not read her expression. And then she swept out the door, into the street.
Hans began to use the tea the next morning. All day long he heard the secret thoughts of his customers, the mundane, the obscene, and the terrible. It was as if those thoughts which they held most tightly, down in the depths of their minds, flew out like moths drawn to the flame that was the extraordinary power of Hans' ability. It gave him such an edge in negotiating prices that he tripled his usual daily earnings, not that money was of much concern to him anymore. He had more than enough now to satisfy his earthly desires, and had already begun planning the best ways to spend it. This, however, was about more than mere wealth. He was using the pawn shop as a testing ground for his ability, but he had a much grander design in mind, and one which would elevate his station beyond anything ever dreamed of by any of his relations. But that would all come in due time. For the moment, he found it useful to maintain the low profile that had served him well all of his life. There was no sense in drawing attention by putting on airs.
There was a building in town that had once been a freemasons lodge. They had built themselves a larger and grander temple in a different part of town some years ago, and the old building had held various short lived enterprises since then. Hans bought the building, charmed by the architectural resemblance to ancient places of worship. Considering it's estimated value, he was able to negotiate a price that was incredibly low, due to being able to manipulate the previous owner through hints at his secret sins.
The building was clean and in good repair. It just needed a few small renovations to restore it to it's original layout. He ordered good solid furniture and expensive silk cushions, velvet curtains, and a large, ornate, solid oak table. All that took only three weeks, and then Hans moved his Sunday dinner with the ladies into the lodge. It was the thirteenth dinner they had had together. They had their feast on silver platters, with real silverware utensils that they hardly even used, and drank champagne from fine crystal goblets. On this occasion, Hans gave gifts to the ladies. Matching gold necklaces with emerald pendants delighted them. It was as though no one had ever given them jewelry of their own before, and they were not immune to the female fascination with glittery baubles. Secretly, out of sight of the others, Hans also gave Sissy a ruby ring.
Hans had decided on his third and final boon, this one going to Sissy for fulfillment. He was not a romantically inclined man, having been disappointed by love several times in his younger years. When he got the urge to indulge himself in carnal lust, he did so without attachment, or promises of a deeper relationship that would, he knew, eventually wither and die. He did not hope for emotional fulfillment, having resigned himself to a solitary life without such ephemeral luxury, but he had always wished for more prowess in the physical act of passion. He sometimes found his stamina diminishing, his interest and focus waning, just when he wanted them to increase. So, the boon that he asked from Sissy was to have that prowess increased to the point where he was better at sex than any other mortal that had ever lived.
"Sso it sshall be," Sissy purred, with a little sigh of pleasure. She took his hand, and gently lifted it to her lips, whereupon she flung open her jaw and bit deeply into the flesh. Hans felt some sort of acidic liquid enter the veins of his hand, and begin to spread through his body. He swooned and fell back into the silk cushions. When he awakened, the ladies were gone, and the wound on his hand had closed up, although it did bear a scar.
Hans closed the pawn shop, and spent the week settling all of the old business associated with it. During that time, he intentionally flirted with every attractive woman with whom he had any interaction, with astounding success. The ones he deemed worthy were taken to the lodge, where he bedded them, and gave them the most pleasurable experience of their lives, making sure to push himself to ever greater heights of ecstasy. Whatever energy he reached for, in pursuit of any sensation, was always there at his grasp. He felt like a god.
Sunday evening came, and Megan, Alexa, and Sissy, came to the lodge for dinner, which was as lavish as before. Sissy inquired if Hans was satisfied with his boon. He joyfully replied in the affirmative. She seemed pleased, as did they all. Megan announced that this would be their last Sunday dinner. The boons, she explained were now fulfilled, and the ladies had been away from their proper home for much too long. They were expected. They were late. Hans had somehow forgotten that the end of his boons would mean their leaving. Now that the moment had come, it made him feel sad. True, the strange creatures he had called his ladies were perhaps never truly his friends, having been beholden to him, but he had treated them as though they were, and had even begun to feel a certain unaccustomed attachment to them. He felt, quite strongly, that he could not abide letting them go so summarily. He needed something, yet, something to comfort him on the closing of their association. An idea occurred to him, an idea so strangely familiar, as though it were fated. It was a mad idea, totally improper, an unnatural obscenity. He could not resist it.
"My ladies," he said, "Megarakore, Alektakore, Tsisiphankore, if this is to be our last evening together, would you, in honor of the kindness I have shown you over the past months, join me in a different sort of celebration?"
They fell still and silently stared at him more intently than he had ever been looked at before, as though they gazed into his very soul, waiting on his explanation.
"I mean that, if it pleases you, I should very much like to show you my sincere affection, with the physical act of love." As that final word fell from his lips for the first time in years, he felt the unfamiliar weight of it.
"Loff?" asked Megan. "You sspeak of loff, to uss? You wish to -make loff, with uss?"
"Yes, if you have any affection for me, as I have for you. Sissy? Surely you feel something for me?"
"Yess," agreed Sissy. "I do. Shall we, sistersss?"
The ladies nodded to each other, smiling wide, revealing all of their teeth. They pulled off their black capes and gowns. The strange black shoes which they always wore split apart into sections, not shoes at all but scaley claws with talons. Their serpentine tails unwound from their nether regions, whipping about their black scaley legs. The soft, black down that coated their bodies from thigh to shoulder, was parted on their chests, revealing black veined dugs which hung like over ripe fruit. They closed on Hans, embracing him with strong, feathered arms, gripping his limbs with the talons of their hands, pulling him down into a pile of cushions. They tore his clothes off in rags. They slid their tails down and around his legs, tightening just enough to make him gasp. They lapped at his neck and face with their long wet tongues, making him shiver. Each of them had their way in turn, taking advantage of his unnatural prowess. At the moment of his climax, his mind was filled with a rapture, a bliss which he had never known. He felt no pain as his ladies pierced his flesh with their talons, noticed no discomfort as they pulled his shoulders and hip joints apart. As his body was rent asunder and his own blood splashed back down upon him, the warmth of it only added to his pleasure. He experienced no agony, until the very moment that his manhood was separated from his loins. The scream that tore out of his throat was drowned out by the ecstatic raptor screeching of his ladies. His vision faded to the blackness of the void.
Megarakore, Alektakore,and Tsisiphankore, donned their ancient garb once more, departing the lodge in silence. They climbed the service stairs to the roof, where they lifted their arms, and at last allowed the wind to carry them homeward.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
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"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

Doctor Winters Forgetfulness Clinic-My Uncle Trapped a Demon
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
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So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
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"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
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"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
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I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
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He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
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"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
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I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
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Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
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I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
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"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
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I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
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"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
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That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
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"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
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I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
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I would learn in time.
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Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
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It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
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This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
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I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
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"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
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"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
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"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
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That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
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"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
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"A demon," he said, almost casually.
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He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
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I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
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"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
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All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
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"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
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Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
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Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
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Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
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Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
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I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
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The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
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"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
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"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
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"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
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Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
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As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
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"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
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A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
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As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
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I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
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The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
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That was when my uncle obliged him.
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The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
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"Malisphul Rihn!"
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Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
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As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
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"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
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The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
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I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
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"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
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The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
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"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
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Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
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As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
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"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
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Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
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Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
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As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
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I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
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I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
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"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
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"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
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"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
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The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
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I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
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Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
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"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
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He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
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"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
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His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
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The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
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That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
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Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
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Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
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"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
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The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
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"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
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"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
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The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
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"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
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"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
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The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
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I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
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He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
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They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
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With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
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He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
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No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
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He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
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Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
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They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
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What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
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Immediately the questions came.
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How had he done it?
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Where have you gotten the knowledge?
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How had he constructed his circle?
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They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
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All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
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My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
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The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
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"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
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As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
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"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
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He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
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"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
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He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
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The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
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I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
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My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
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I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
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When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
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As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
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I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
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It smelled like hell itself.
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"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
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"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
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He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
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"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
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I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
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I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
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* * * * *
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The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
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"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
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She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
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"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
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Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
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"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

Hi!
I'm trying to find a video about 1hour long where a band is playing something like indie or r&B or soul. I know it got recommend to me on youtube when I was watching "Black Pumas- colors. The singer was white and had sort of curtains haircut and played a D'angelico guitar in the beginning. The video has a lot of brown and a warm vibe if I recall correctly. I can't really remember the name or the sounds just that it was very chill and looked professionaly filmed and that I really liked hearing it at the time.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
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"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
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"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
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"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
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"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
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My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
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"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
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"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
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"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
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I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
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"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
​
"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
​
"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
​
"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
​
"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
​
The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
​
I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
​
"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
​
He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
​
"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
​
Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
​
"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
​
The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
​
"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
​
"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
​
The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
​
"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
​
"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
​
The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
​
He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
​
No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
​
Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
​
They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
​
How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
​
"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
​
My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
​
When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
​
As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
​
I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
​
It smelled like hell itself.
​
"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
​
"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
​
"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
​
"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
​
Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
​
"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
​
She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
​
"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
​
He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
​
"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
​
Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
​
Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
​
She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.

​
"Mr. Pate, how are you today?"
​
The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly.
​
Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming.
​
Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was.
​
"I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me.
​
Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known only to her created a heady brew in her nose as she filled the cup. When she handed it to him, some of his despair melted away. He took a careful sip, wincing as it burned him a little, but smacked his lips appreciatively.
​
"You'll have to tell me where you get this when we're done. I think this is the best tea I've ever had."
​
"It's a special blend," she said, picking up her notebook as she took up her own cup of tea and had a sip, "Now, why don't you start with what you'd like to forget?"
​
"I guess it all started about seven years ago when I lived with my uncle on his estates."
* * * * *
​
My uncle was kind of a weird guy.
​
I lived with him for two years after CPS took me away from my parents. My parents were not what you would call reliable caregivers. They were way more interested in pushing dope into their veins than caring for a child, so I was bounced around between family members after the state finally took action. Thankfully, I've got a pretty big family, and most of them are pretty reliable. My aunt is a photographer for a magazine and took me in for two years. I was four and still young enough to accompany her when she left town for business, but she feared I wouldn't get a consistent education living with her. So, I went to stay with my grandparents for a while. My grandma was a loving woman with plenty of time for a growing boy and a curious child. My grandfather, however, was a grouchy old man who didn't want some young kid running around and making a lot of noise. I stayed with them for a few years until Gramps had enough of it one day and asked my uncle if he would take me.
​
He agreed, so I packed my things and went to stay with Uncle Mark.
​
One thing you should know about Uncle Mark is that he was loaded. I don't know exactly how much he was worth, but he had purchased a small estate outside our hometown with ten acres and a "manor home." I have no idea how he made his money, but that led right to the second important thing about Uncle Mark.
​
Uncle Mark was nuts. Everybody knew it, and everybody accepted it. He wasn't nuts in the traditional way, the kind that will get you put away forever. Uncle Mark just believed in some rather outlandish things. He believed heavily in the occult, especially their connection to important figures in the government. He’d talk for hours about the Illuminati or the Skull and Bones controversy and would tell anyone who would listen that demons and Hell are as real as you and I.
​
So when a big black sedan pulled up to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and a guy with greasy black hair and a neat suit stepped out to open the door for me, I assumed he was just a fancy cab driver. The man identified himself as Cassius, and it turned out he was Uncle Mark's right-hand man. The drive wasn't long, but it seemed to last longer since Cassius said nothing. We turned off the road, and I could see Uncle Mark's mansion as it rose above the trees. It had once belonged to a general in the Civil War, my uncle told me multiple times, and he had spent a fortune restoring it to its glory days. People were milling about when we pulled up, and I pressed my nose against the glass as I counted about ten men and women in sand-colored robes, going about different tasks.
​
"Who are they?" I asked, nose still pressed against the glass.
​
"They are your uncle's disciples. He's gotten quite a following in our community, and some people like to live close so they can receive his wisdom."
​
I had about a thousand questions, but Cassius was around the car and opening the door before I noticed he'd stopped the car.
​
He showed me inside, and the house looked like a museum more than a home. The more I saw, the more excited I became. It looked like a house from an old movie, everything being lacquered wood and old soft furniture. A fire was burning in the grate, and I could see more of the robed people as they cleaned. I had thought maybe there were a few families here, five or ten people at the most, but the more I saw, the more I realized there were more people here than I had imagined. We went upstairs, Uncle Mark wanting to have a look at me, and when Cassius pushed open the doors to my Uncle's library, I got my first look at Uncle Mark as he sat in his element. He smiled and welcomed me warmly to my new home.
​
"It's good to see you, my boy. I'm glad we can finally speak candidly."
​
I had only met uncle Mark a handful of times, but I knew my Dad was a little bit scared of him. He said Uncle Mark was always into weird stuff while they were growing up, and if a smack addict is afraid of you, there's got to be a pretty good reason. The few times I'd met him, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Uncle Mark always asked weird questions, like if I could read or if I could see strange things, but I always figured he was just having the same problems my parents were. Dad said all kinds of weird stuff when he was high, so I assumed these interactions were normal.
​
Living with Uncle Mark showed me that these things were only normal for Uncle Mark.
​
I tried to pay attention as my uncle told me about his home, but I couldn't stop looking around at the mountain of books that surrounded us. I had taught myself to read, though my mother had helped a little. It gave me something to do while my parents lived in a warm haze. I loved books, and I was a voracious reader. I wanted to explore this place filled with new experiences, but I had begun to notice that many of them looked strange. Quite a few were written in languages I couldn't read, but that made me want to learn all the more.
​
"You like books, do you?" he said, and his laugh was rich and genuine, "Seems you and I share a similar desire for knowledge."
​
I turned back to him, afraid of the coming slap or the yell that would ring through my head, but he just smiled at me, no clouds darkening his mood. I think I truly saw him for the first time then. He was dressed like a sultan, his white robes covered in strange symbols and his pointy shoes up on an autumn. He was drinking something from a real glass and being attended to by a few of the people I'd seen in the brown robes. He told me he had been looking forward to meeting me for years, and it was the first time I think someone other than my Aunt had been genuinely happy to have me around. I told him we had met a few times before, but Uncle Mark said he had been waiting to meet me properly.
​
"Your father and I never really got along, but I could tell that you were a little brighter than your parents. They kept you from me because they feared I would tell you the truth. I'm glad that you finally found your way to listen."
​
That was the start of my education. Uncle Mark and I talked a lot that day, and he explained what he wanted for me. Uncle Mark had created a paradise for himself here, but it had come at a price. He could not have children and would have no one to carry on his legacy when he was no more. He wanted to teach me his ways, to teach me the things that had brought him success, and in exchange, I would inherit his legacy when he passed on.
​
"But only if you learn the things I have to teach you. I can make you better than where you have come from, but you must be willing to learn."
​
I told him I wanted to learn, not knowing what that terrible knowledge would be.
​
I would learn in time.
​
Uncle Mark took me out of school, deciding to homeschool me instead. I had been a good student. I'd mostly received A's and B's, but Uncle Mark's lessons were a little different. He still taught me Math and English, but the History lessons were more of an arcane variety. He taught me about witch trials, the beginning of secret societies, practitioners of actual Magic, as he called them, and many other things I had never even heard of. He taught me to read many of the books he kept in his library too, and seemed happy when I took to languages like a sponge. They say the kids will do that, but I look back now and see that some of these languages were so archaic that it should be impossible that anyone could read them. I never had to take any of the tests that I had to take back in school, and I think now that Uncle Mark must've been bribing someone to keep them from having a closer look at his curriculum.
​
It wasn’t like going to Hogwarts, or anything. Uncle Mark told me that real capital M Magic takes years to cultivate, and I needed to build a foundation before I was ready to do spell work. He believed I would be ready in a few years, and my days were spent pouring over old books and learning runes and sigils in languages I came to be very familiar with.
​
This went on for a few years and culminated one night when he called me to the basement.
​
I came down at moonrise, not an uncommon time for Uncle Mark to teach me lessons. I found a bunch of his disciples making symbols on the ground with chalk as others used crowbars and chisels to open canals in the stone. Some of them I understood, but many were things I'd never seen before. Uncle Mark held court over it all, nodding here and telling some of them to fix little things there. When he saw me, he put a hand on my shoulder and cast his other hand out at the space like a game show host showing off prizes. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I wasn't sure what he wanted. I was twelve, after all, and all this was a little new to me.
​
"Well?" he finally asked, looking a little perturbed.
​
"It's, uh, pretty cool, Uncle Mark."
​
"Pretty cool?" he asked skeptically, "It's a little more than pretty cool, my boy. As my apprentice, I would've expected you to recognize a greater circle of binding."
​
That got my attention. Uncle Mark had taught me about circles. Some of them were used for protection, some of them were used to channel things, and some of them were used to hold things if you could get them inside. This one, it appeared, was of the latter variety. I didn't know what Uncle Mark was going to try to catch in his circle, but everything I had read made me think it might be a bad idea.
​
"What are you going to try to catch?" I asked, unable to help myself.
​
"A demon," he said, almost casually.
​
He must have heard me suck in my breath because I pretended to cough when I felt him looking at me.
​
I had been learning about all these things, but I wasn't really sure I believed any of them. I had watched my uncle do some pretty cool tricks, but I'd never actually seen him do Magic. Parlor tricks, things you could've seen on any Vegas show stage, sure, but nothing like on the Lord of the Rings anything. He was a good enough manipulator to convince people he could do Magic, but I always figured that was about as far as it went.
​
"Is this safe?" I asked, and for good reason.
​
All the books Uncle Mark had in the library about demons made them sound dangerous and temperamental. Priests sometimes banished demons back to their plane of existence, and warlocks sometimes pressed them into service, but demons were strong and usually best left alone. The idea that my uncle wanted to trap one made me very uneasy.
​
"You're with me, boy. There's nowhere that could be safer." but when he said it, his hand tightened a little on my shoulders, almost painfully.
​
Uncle Mark had never been cruel to me, but I knew he could turn mean if the mood took him. I had seen him yelling at some of his followers, even seen him hit a few of them, and I knew enough to know I didn't want that anger turned onto me. I shut my mouth, nodding along as I agreed with him. Uncle Mark had always been careful up till this point, but this sudden desire to show his power in some grand gesture was not what I was used to.
​
Most of this probably had to do with Samuel.
​
Samuel had been one of Uncle Mark's oldest followers besides Cassius. He acted as the representative between my uncle and his disciples, but lately, something had changed. He had begun telling people Uncle Mark was a charlatan, and they should follow him instead since he had the real Magic. Uncle Mark could have thrown him out, but that might lend some credence to Samuel's lies. My uncle lived comfortably here with his servants, and losing them might cut into some of that comfort.
​
Thus, Uncle Mark would have to prove his powers.
​
I watched as his disciples worked, observing in silence as Uncle Mark corrected their labors. The circle was made of different items, each ring a collection of something unique. The inside ring was silver, his followers heating the metal as they set it into the floor. The middle layer was gold, and they poured the molten liquid right into the stone ring. It was crisscrossed with veins of silver once it cooled, and gems were set into the hardening ooze at key points. The outer ring was the oddest of all, a circle of frozen water that seemed ever on the verge of sweating back into a liquid state.
​
The combination of elements was impressive, but I couldn't begin to understand how they all came together.
​
"When do you think you'll trap it?" I asked, watching the rings come together.
​
"Tonight, I should think." He said, smirking at me like he'd just told the most outrageous joke.
​
"So soon?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
​
Uncle Mark's face grew stern as he watched them at their work, "It's time I put Samuel in his place."
​
As the hours ticked closer to midnight, Uncle Mark assembled his disciples. Samuel was amongst them, looking smug as he watched my uncle open his battered old grimoire, and begin chanting. Uncle Mark never said where he had found that old grimoire, but I had seen it many times. As he spoke, the rings began to hum, and the stones in them seemed to twinkle with eldritch light. He turned to look at his followers, seeing the circle flare to life, and his smile was confident as his eyes fell on Samuel.
​
"My students, I'd like to thank you for joining me tonight. I know there have been some amongst you recently who have come to doubt my power but doubt no longer. Tonight I will demonstrate my abilities for you by catching and caging one of the strongest entities of the nine hells, a demon."
​
A thrum came up through the crowd, but Samuel pretended to yawn as he grinned at his teacher. Samuel clearly thought my uncle would do no more than put on a light show for us, but he was wrong. Uncle Mark had clearly brought his A game and meant to show us all who the real Wizard was that night. He drew five others to the points of the star, Cassius opposite him in the order, and they began to chant and call out to something whose name could not be known to mortals. Demon names are strange. They sound furry on the tongue, they have too many consonants, and their vowels are not in ordinary places. The members of the circle began to chant the name, and the circle danced with fairy light.
​
As they chanted, the inside began to pulsate with a strange light.
​
I trusted my uncle, even revered him, but I agreed with Samuel that night. My uncle was a man of means, and clearly, this was some show meant to cow the spectators. He would call something from a secret compartment in the floor, I had no doubt, but I doubted it would be some demon from the pit. Most likely it would be someone in a costume. Some convincing bit of prosthesis that, in the dancing firelight and the moody shadows of the basement, would seem very real and very devilish.
​
The chanting and light show went on for the better part of a half hour, and many of his disciples had begun to fidget nervously. They were becoming slightly bored by it, and some of them might've been starting to think that Samuel was right. My uncle had meant for this to prove his power, but all it was doing was cementing in their minds that he was a fake. Samuel seemed unbothered by any of this. He stood with his arms across his chest, smirking at my uncle as he dared him to do something besides stand there and embarrass himself.
​
That was when my uncle obliged him.
​
The chanting stopped suddenly, and my uncle raised his head and uttered a single guttural word that the rest had been chanting constantly. It fell confidently from his mouth, and there was no slur or hiccup in his pronunciation. He spoke it with a practiced tongue, and it seemed to vibrate the entire room as he uttered it.
​
"Malisphul Rihn!"
​
Suddenly, and without warning, an unearthly scream echoed across the chamber. In the center of the circle, a creature that defied logic had appeared. It was man-shaped but bestial formed. Its head appeared to be that of a bulldog, but there was no happy, lapping face on this one. Its body was something like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, set onto the torso of a silverback gorilla. It had four massive arms, three huge legs, and a set of wings that seemed to crackle against an invisible dome as they attempted to unfurl. It was the color of molten cheese baked into a cheap pan, and its skin seemed to undulate like a living sore. That's the closest I can come to describing it. Its dimensions and form we're not of this world, and to try would be to do it a disservice.
​
As the creature loosed another of those unearthly screams, the disciples fell to their knees and began to pray to my uncle to save them from this abomination.
​
"Worry not," he said smugly, "He cannot hurt you. I have trapped him inside a greater circle, and he is mine to command."
​
The demon flexed its arms, ready to test this, but as I watched, its eyes seemed to dart around the room as if it were counting. The demon relaxed when it saw how many were assembled, glaring at my uncle as if he were the most audacious thing he had ever seen. I didn't trust its sudden helplessness and wanted nothing so much as to tell my uncle to release it before something terrible happened.
​
I wish now that I had, despite the beating it likely would have earned me.
​
"Are you he who is known as Marcus Pate?"
​
The demon's voice was deep and dark, and my uncle had to steel himself to avoid the shutter that tried to ripple up him.
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"Do you see that?" he asked his disciples, "even the demons of hell know of me."
​
Whether the creature agreed with this statement or not, it remained quiet. It sat in the circle, folding its legs as it hunkered in the circle's confines, glowering at my uncle. Its dog's face was filled with rage, but I sensed a quiet patient in it. The demon was a being of the burning hells, an immortal creature of another plane. It could wait for my uncle to die if it needed to, and I think it knew that.
​
As I turned to ask my uncle something, I was suddenly aware that a small throng of disciples were around him. Samuel was amongst them, confessing his sins to Uncle Mark and telling him how sorry he was that he had ever doubted him. My uncle played the magnanimous guru, but I could tell how much he ate this up. Uncle Mark was wise but also had a deep reservoir of ego that enjoyed being placated. He generously forgave them, telling them how they knew better now, and sent them off to their assigned tasks.
​
"Cassius, you may take the next watch of this one," he said, indicating the demon, "My young ward and I will take the first. Come by sunrise and bring your witts. He may try to trick you and gain his freedom."
​
Cassius said he would be there at dawn, and as they left, my uncle and I found ourselves alone with the creature.
​
Uncle Mark said nothing the whole night. He walked around the circle, observing the demon from every angle. He seemed in awe of his own daring, not quite believing it had worked. The demon studied him as well, its piggy eyes glaring at him with hatred. The creature's intentions were clear, and I feared what it would do to Uncle Mark if it ever got loose. I was still young enough that the thought of my own death was laughable, but Uncle Mark had been so kind to me and given me so much that the thought of something happening to him was truly upsetting.
​
As the three of us kept our vigils, the creature turned its attention from my uncle to me.
​
I was looking at the demon as it followed Uncle Mark when its head suddenly shifted on its thick neck to regard me. Its eyes bore into me, the doggish face holding a pair of suddenly captivating orbs. Those eyes seemed to promise me things. They told me of great prizes that could be mine, and when my uncle stepped in front of me, I growled as I tried to lunge around him.
​
I shook myself when he slapped my face, unsure of what had happened.
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"Don't let him hook you, son. He's a terrible beast, and lies are like mana to him."
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"I wish you'd turn him loose." I whispered, unable to stop myself from peeking under his arm at it, "I don't think I'll sleep a wink as long as it's in the house."
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"Don't be foolish," he spat, suddenly angry, "this creature is my legacy, and I'll let all the naysayers and doubters have a look."
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The idea of letting people down here to see it filled me with a new sort of dread.
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I didn't know what my uncle was planning, but I suddenly felt sure that it would go poorly.
​
Uncle Mark began sending out invitations. Not emails, not phone calls, but actual invitations. They were these little cream-colored things with black traces around the edges, proclaiming that the holder was invited to a miraculous show. It honestly made him sound more like a Las Vegas showman than a master of the universe, but he assured me that it was how things were done in his circle.
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"They will expect a little showmanship for what I have in store for them."
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He sent them to everyone, it seemed. Rivals and friends alike, especially those who had doubted him. Uncle Mark had been running in the circles since his late teens and seemed to have accumulated more doubters and rivals than actual friends. Like Samuel, many looked at him as a charlatan, but he assured me he would end all that a week from now.
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"When they see what I have in store, no one will doubt my power ever again."
​
His disciples set about making the house ready for guests. The rooms were cleaned, new furniture was brought in, and many little display cases were set up around the house so Uncle Mark could show off his collection. There were wands, daggers, books, and even items my uncle claimed were enchanted. These were all things he had found in his journeys, and he hoped they would lend credence to his claims.
​
The demons stayed inside the circle, but I had come to mistrust that placid beast whenever I had reason to be in the cellar. He never moved, never ate, never drank, and seemed only to watch those who were with him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't busy as well. In that week, three disciples killed themselves while on watch, one of them by tearing his own eyes and tongue out. By Wednesday, Uncle Mark had taken to guarding him himself. The two of us sat down there for hours with the creature, and if Uncle Mark wasn't guarding him, then Cassius and Samuel had the task. Samuel was like a changed man after witnessing Uncle Mark's summoning. He apologized daily for doubting him, and there has been no more talk of leaving amongst the disciples. He and Cassius seem to be the only two Uncle Mark felt he could trust to watch the creature, other than himself and I, of course.
​
That is how I came to be in the cellar with him the night before the gathering and had a moment to speak with the demon.
​
Uncle Mark had been awake for two days, and I was unsurprised to find him asleep in his chair around two in the morning. The demon had noticed him, too, and our gazes found each other yet again. I approached the circle, careful not to cross it. That would've been a very big mistake and one I would likely not have survived.
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Instead, I stood at the edge as the two of us observed each other.
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"Why do you let my uncle think he has trapped you?"
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The demon's laugh was like a stone falling to the bottom of a very deep well.
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"What makes you believe he hasn't?"
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"I've been studying the circle for five days. I'm not as scholarly as my uncle, but I know it has imperfections. I think you could leave if you wanted to, so why don't you?"
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The otherworldly creature blinked at me, and I got the feeling it was really seeing me for the first time.
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"You might be smarter than that old man gives you credit for."
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"Smart enough to know it's not a good idea to trap things you can't control."
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The demon sat back, grinning toothily at me, "Make sure that's a lesson you remember when you grow as old as fat as that one." it said, indicating my sleeping uncle.
​
I let my uncle sleep, and the demon and I continued our silent vigil over the others.
​
He would need his strength for tomorrow's show and for what I suspected might be the biggest and brightest show of his life.
​
They begin arriving before sunset the next day. They all came whether they wanted to or not, enticed by the curiosity of his invitation. Some wore suits, and some wore cloaks, but they all possessed the sort of fantastical assurance that my uncle did. It was in the way their faces pinched or their eyebrows raised when you said something they disagreed with. It was the kind of assurance that says, "yes, yes, I know more than you, I've seen more than you, and the things you think are amazing are the things I see as I butter my toast every morning." They arrived in old cars and limousines, one even came in a horse-drawn carriage, but as night set upon the house, they all arrived.
​
With the spectators in attendance, my uncle came down the grand staircase of his manor house like the belle of the ball.
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He was dressed in a long white cloak, stars and swirls emblazoned upon it, in a new crushed velvet suit that must have cost him more than some of the cars in front of the house. He shook hands, greeting all of them by name, and as his disciples walked around with drinks and food, he told some of them about the wonders he had under glass. Some of them were impressed. Most of them simply nodded and smiled politely, treating the items on display like you might a stack of knick knacks at a garage sale. They undoubtedly had their own collection of strange antiquities, and his were nothing to write home about.
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No, what they had come for was nothing less than the show he had promised them.
​
He let them mingle until the grandfather clock struck midnight.
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Then he ushered everyone down to the basement for what he promised would be the event of a lifetime.
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They all clamored into the confined space, crowding around the curtain that Uncle Mark had hung around the circle. Some of the disciples stood around it, politely advising the crowd that they not touch. When everyone was downstairs, my uncle stood before the opening and rolled his sleeves with a practiced flip. Like a magician at a children's birthday party, he pulled the curtain to reveal his grand finale. They all gasped appreciatively, a few of them even screaming in fear, but they all looked at my uncle a little differently when they saw the demon he had trapped in that circle. I would later realize that even the people he called friends had considered him a faker. They all thought he was charismatic, a real Jim Jones type or maybe even another Herschel Applewhite, but when it came to Magic, he was a little more than a convincing performer.
​
What they saw now convinced them they had been wrong, and my Uncle Marcus was the real deal.
​
Immediately the questions came.
​
How had he done it?
​
Where have you gotten the knowledge?
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How had he constructed his circle?
​
They gathered around him like a flock of birds, their incessant questions increasing as my uncle told them all would be explained. They wanted to see his grimoire, where he had found the name of this creature. They wanted to inspect the circle so they might duplicate it in their own environment. They wanted to inspect the demon so that they might have a better idea of his makeup. Could my uncle contain him so that they could get closer? Could he destroy it while maintaining the body so they might inspect it closer?
​
All of their questions inflated my uncle's ego, but that ego died as quickly as their questions, when the lights suddenly went out.
​
My uncle turned, trying to see if someone had bumped the lights, but when a glow rose up in the room, he knew it had been no accident. The glow came from the creature as he hunkered in the circle, and when he stood and unfurled his wings, the barrier did not repel him. Many in the crowd took a cautionary step back, but they were trapped in the basement, and all the space allotted would not save them.
​
The demon's voice sounded huge in the small space, and every word he said will forever be indelibly etched into my memory.
​
"Perhaps I can answer some of your burning questions," it said as it stepped over the first ring of the circle, "This man has constructed no circle that will hold me. This man has constructed nothing that would hold the likes of me. This man is a charlatan, just like the rest of you. You all play at Magic. That's why you call it practice. None of you can grasp an iota of the divine that is stored in my smallest finger, let alone muster the power to travel from your pitiful little dimension into mine."
​
As he spoke, he attempted to step across the middle ring. To my surprise, and my uncle's credit, his foot stopped in the air for a count of four. It was a minute thing, no more than an eye blink, but the ring had stopped him momentarily. As his foot came down on the other side, however, I knew that it had been only a piddling thing.
​
"The only thing he did correctly was to call me by name, and I will give him credit where credit is due. His pronunciation of that abyssal tone was precise and enlightening. Truly, it gives me hope for your species, though not a lot."
​
He stood between the middle and final rings for what felt like an eternity, and I imagined that everyone in the basement was holding their breath.
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"And why did I stay inside the circle of an underwhelming wizard for so long? Well, it's quite simple. Every one, above and below, knows of the deep insecurities and deeper pride of Marcus Pate. I can assure you, you fumbling pretender, I wanted nothing more than to rip you apart and drink the squirt of mana you and your little flock have. But I realized that if I stayed and made you think I was powerless, you would draw bigger fish for my dinner. Fish with more than a splash of mana. You are all pretenders, all bumbling apprentices before the power I was weaned to, but you are also, all of you, churning with stolen power, and I will feast well tonight."
​
He stepped over the final circle, shattering whatever protection may have existed within it.
​
The rest is, thankfully, a blur. I was nearly trampled by the crowd as it surged around me, and as they shoved me down, I felt one of the columns in the basement bang hard against my back. I ducked down, curling into a ball as the sea of people parted around me. I was pulled and pushed, but I did not get taken by that tide. I was content to sit on my rock as the river was cut by a pike much too large to hold it.
​
I remember the first warm splatter as it hit me.
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My hair was suddenly damp, and as a loud roar cut through the cacophony, I put my hands against my ears and felt my skull vibrate dully.
​
I cowered through almost all the carnage. People fell around me, their blood making my hair and skin tacky, and there always seemed to be more. The demon moved amongst them like a shadow, cutting and slicing as he came, turning them into a slurry. I felt his claws slice inches from my head more times than I could count, and when the hair wafted down around my ears, I realized how close he had actually come. The fifty or so people in the basement took forever to be shredded, though I remember it seeming to end just as quickly as it began.
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When the screaming and moaning had finally come to a low death, I opened my eyes and looked up to find the impossibly large demon standing over me.
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As I looked up into the urine-colored eyes, I saw my short life pass before my eyes and was not impressed with my journey.
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I could feel his acrid exhalations on my face as he knelt to my level.
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It smelled like hell itself.
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"I have decided not to kill you, little one. I want you to remember two things as you go about your long and eventful life. The first is that your spark of mana is greater than your uncle could have ever dreamed, though you will need to tend it to grow it to its full potential. The second," and as his wet, squashed nose bumped mine, I almost shrieked in fear.
​
"The second is that demons are not the playthings of the magically stunted. Tell them that my kind are not to be trifled with, and the next time one of you apes feels like you can stand on even footing with a demon, I will do much worse than this."
​
He touched the column I was cowering against, and as the flames licked down it, I glanced up and saw them sprouting to the ceiling as well.
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"This house will be ashes in less than an hour. If you want to live, I suggest you not be in it.
​
I found myself rising, little as I wanted to, and climbing the stairs as I walked from my uncle’s house. They told me later that I had burns on my feet, similar to walking through a bed of cooling ashes, but I didn't feel them while they were happening. I walked out of the house like someone in a dream, standing in the courtyard of Uncle Mark's palatial house as the flames consumed it. I stood there until the twinkling lights of the fire trucks came into view, and the men in the fire coats led me to the ambulance. My uncle's closest neighbor was two miles away, but they had apparently smelled the smoke and seen the blaze from their bedroom windows.
​
I went to live with my Aunt again after that. She worked mostly from home now, her job more relaxed than it had been. My Aunt moved us here, to Cashmere, for a job with the local paper, and that's how I came to be sitting on your couch, Mrs. Winter. Some parts of my childhood are foggy, I've forgotten a lot of the things my Uncle taught me, but many of the more practical things have wormed their way into my daily life. My teachers are trying to push me into a career in Anthropology or Antiquities, like my Uncle. They think my knowledge of languages and certain old-world customs could be beneficial to me in those fields, but I don't know if I want to invite those kinds of feelings in again. What if I become as bad as my uncle was? What if I fall into the same trap that snared him? What if next time, I'm the one looking at a rabbit cage and thinking it will hold a tiger.
​
* * * * *
​
The young man looked on the verge of pushing the lump from his throat, and Winter hoped he wouldn't choke when she suddenly brought his teeth back together with a gentle hand. He gagged, his throat bulging as he swallowed his memories again. The cup spilled from his hand, and he looked at her in bewilderment as she stared back at him evenly.
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"What did you do that for?" he asked, tears leaking from his eyes.
​
She could tell that he wanted to be rid of this memory, had been rid of it for a wonderful moment, only to find out that it would be with him forever.
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"I won't take this memory. I'll tell Juliet to tear up your paperwork. Don't come here again, Mr. Pate. I won't take this memory from you."
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Winter turned, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned back to give him the full brunt of her stare.
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"Why not? I need this gone! I don't want this terrible knowledge to," but he stopped when he looked into her eyes.
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She wondered what he saw there?
​
She wondered if it seemed familiar?
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"Touch me again, and I will teach you a lesson that cannot be forgotten. Go, take your knowledge, and serve your purpose. Study old bones and other people's leavings who were much wiser than you, and spread your truth to those who have decided they are wise."
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He tried to let her go, and when she grabbed his arm and pulled him close, she saw the cowering boy he had once been.
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"Demons are not your playthings, and you would do well to remember it."
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Dameon nodded, his head flopping a little as he wobbled his acceptance, and when she let him go, he knocked his chair over as he scuttled from the room.
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Pamela could have used the money from that session, but the lesson was one that needed to be taught.
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She knew creatures that would thank her for not scrubbing one, such as him, even if he wouldn't.