Hell To Pay Read online

  “Dammit, there has to be a way! How do you do magic? Are there magic words? How does it work?” He was panicking even more now. Thoughts of explaining her dead, bloodied body to the Prague policie flickered through his head.

  “There are books of spells in a box under the bed. It is locked with magic but if you blow across it and say patefacio in salutis while holding it in your right hand, it will open. All the spells I know are in the box.” Her voice was little more than a whisper now.

  He pushed himself off the bed and rooted under the bed until he came up with a dark wooden box which felt dry and old. He shook it but it wouldn’t open. This is nuts. Simon took a quick breath and let it out over the box.

  “Patefacio in salutis!”

  The top of the box fell open without a sound.

  Simon didn’t even pause to wonder at this new impossibility. He found three small books bound in old, stiff leather in the box. Frantically, he opened one to see crabbed handwriting in some form of Latin. It was unreadable in the flickering candlelight.

  “Irena, which book has the spell? How do I use it?”

  There was no reply. He looked over to her body in uncertain fear and saw her eyes glazed and staring into eternity. Her mouth was slightly open and her chest was still.

  “Irena! Answer me!”

  Silence.

  #

  Simon was never sure how long he sprawled on the floor, clutching the books and staring at Irena’s corpse. It had to have been hours, but here was no clock in the room and he wasn’t in the most linear frame of mind. But he never forgot what snapped him out of it. If what had happened before might have been explained away, what happened next couldn’t be. He never again doubted that magic was real.

  The bedroom’s curtains were drawn, but after some unknown interval, he became aware that light was starting to filter through them. The sun was rising. He crept over to the window and tweaked the curtain a bit, just enough to let a sunbeam through. It flashed low across the floor and touched Irena’s body. He looked back with renewed dread. They’ll never believe me, they’ll never...

  His train of thought was derailed by the fact that Irena’s body was fading.

  It was dissipating like a mist, becoming less and less solid every second after the sunlight hit it. Transfixed, he knelt there holding the curtain until it was entirely gone. Even the bloodstains on the floor and the bedclothes were no longer visible. It was as if she had never been.

  More magic. This must be part of her routine, how she killed people and stole their souls and nobody was the wiser. A small burst of relief ran through Simon. They couldn’t prove he’d killed her if there was no body. He wasn’t out of the woods, but he’d rather explain breaking and entering than murder.

  Letting the curtain drop again, he shakily climbed up to the bed. The candles had burned low, but there was a lamp by the bed on one of the tables. He turned it on and looked at the books. They were handwritten, and hand-sewn. The covers were crudely finished leather, but looked like any other leather. He’d been afraid they might be human skin or something equally creepy. The ink was a brownish black, faded in places but readable.

  They had no titles or author pages: they resembled journals with the entries starting on the very first page. His Latin was years rusty, but he could make out the words for magic and power and souls on every page. The books did seem to describe various rituals for using supernatural power to make things happen, just as Irena had claimed. Until yesterday he would have thought they were really well-made props but now they almost seemed to drip evil and menace.

  Maybe I should just burn them. She seemed nice enough but she was going to steal my soul and kill me and scatter my corpse to the four winds. Is that what magic does to a person? He was staring at the box of matches next to the last guttering candle. But while Simon had never been the most devoted student, he had an almost insatiable curiosity. With a shudder he threw them down on the bed, retrieved his clothes, and tried to figure out what to do next.

  In the end, he wiped down every surface he might have touched, took the books and the box (but nothing else,) and slipped out of the building quietly in the early morning sunlight. People were about but no one seemed to pay him any special mind and there were more than a few others in rumpled evening clothes doing the Walk of Shame in the trendy neighborhood. Once he was several blocks away he managed to find a taxi and had it drop him off a short walk from his apartment.

  He walked the wrong way until the taxi was out of sight, then doubled back and was soon locked behind his own door. Since no one could know - Could they? - that anything had happened to Irena, the police would have no reason to investigate for days or weeks. By that time the trail should be quite cold. He had a shower and made himself some breakfast, forcing the food down along with lots of strong coffee. Then he sat at his breakfast table and stared at the box.

  Simon got out his laptop and opened a Latin translation page. After a few minutes of fumbling he discovered that blowing on the box and telling it to close would seal it just as the reverse made it open. He opened and closed it several times just for the weird feeling of seeing it work. Then he opened the books and dug in.

  “Digging in” was an apt metaphor. After a few hours, he felt mentally exhausted. The books were written in at least five different dialects and hands, none of which resembled “modern classical” Latin as taught in brightly-lit private schools and all of which were hard to read. None of it seemed to be enciphered, but he suspected there were parts missing or metaphors which hid key elements of the work.

  The gist of it seemed to be that what magic could accomplish was primarily dependent on the power and determination of the spell-caster. The Latin phrases Irena had used were mostly just means to focus the magician’s will. When he told the box to open and close in English, the first time it didn’t work, but when he tried to draw his mind to focus as he had to to smoothly pronounce the Latin, it popped open soundlessly.

  He found what he thought were the spells that Irena must have used after several hours of squinting, swearing, and very cautious translating of some of the phrases. They provided a mental sequence which the caster had to go through to lay a sort of magical trap, which was then sprung by saying the key phrase under the right conditions. There was nothing about another magician being able to turn the spell on its caster, so either whoever had written the book hadn’t known that could happen, or for whatever reason hadn’t trusted it to print. Probably thought that it would be a useful surprise if anyone ever tried to use it on them. It could do all kinds of things, from temporarily enslaving the victim to Irena’s more permanent solution of allowing their soul to be drawn forth and used for the caster’s own purposes. He shuddered anew at the thought of the fate he had so narrowly escaped.

  One of the books contained a few spells for healing or otherwise doing generally helpful, or at least harmless, things. There were also several passages on how to hide from enemies, alter one’s appearance, and so forth. But about half of the writing was about how to accomplish thoroughly nasty aims, such as giving an enemy a painful and fatal wasting sickness, making a tract of land incapable of supporting crops, and so forth. No wonder people burned witches. At least some of them completely had it coming, assuming they got any real ones. All of the spells required various levels of preparation, meditation, and so forth. It seemed unlikely that magicians were much good when confronted with a spontaneous angry mob. Keeping well hidden is definitely the path of wisdom.

  Near the end of what seemed like the oldest book, Simon encountered a sketch of a lovely and very naked woman. His frazzled mind perked up a bit, although he had to repress yet another shudder of fear as Irena’s beautiful but murderous expression flashed through his mind’s eye.

  Incantamentum de Daemonium Libidum, read the caption. “Incantation of Demon Lust.” Simon’s eyes grew wide as he realized that the spell would actually summon a magical being, a demon whose purpose was the fulfillment of lusty desires. A suc
cubus.

  The idea of summoning - of speaking to - a supernatural being set Simon’s heart to racing. What secrets could they reveal? What could be learned from them? The book claimed that summoning the demon was dangerous but could be done with proper precautions. To get it to do anything, though, it would have to be paid. Paid in souls.

  What IS it with magicians and souls? he thought with disgust. Can’t anybody do something without going to Hell, or sending somebody else to Hell, or killing them, or something? He didn’t know what Irena had been going to do with his soul - they could be used for all sorts of hideous things, none of which Simon had any inclination to try. Or they could be “stored” in a proper container for later use. Or for trading with demons. Yet another shiver of dread ran up his spine. She might have given my soul to a demon to eat. Any remaining trace of regret Simon might have felt for Irena’s fate was now gone.

  His eyes wandered back to the sketch. It was actually quite fine, minimalist but with details in just the right places to inflame a man’s mind with desire. A thought came unbidden to his mind.

  This I have to see.

  CHAPTER TWO

  An Unbearable Temptation

  A Month Later...

  Simon looked over the room carefully... for about the fiftieth time. He had removed all the furniture from the apartment’s second bedroom, and brought in a small but very sturdy table with shelves underneath to hold various objects called for by the books’ rituals.

  He hadn’t used it much. Most of the spells were things he had no interest in doing, and most of the rest were things he didn’t need to do. He’d used one spell to alter his appearance, just to see if it worked. It had, and it had creeped him out something terrible. He’d used one of the healing spells on a small purposefully-inflicted cut, and it had sealed, well, magically. There was no question that the books really held magical secrets. But only one really interested him. The summoning spell.

  After very carefully reviewing it, and all the surrounding material, he had created a circle of containment on the floor of the empty room. It was very carefully constructed and there was nothing that could fall or otherwise disrupt it. The spell contained no promises or offers of fealty, only a command of attendance. Without making a further bargain, just summoning the demon shouldn’t do anything irrevocable. And he had to know. Had to see.

  So there he stood, carefully inked summoning spell in hand, ritual candles backed up by electric lights (and a battery lantern.) While he had streamlined and strengthened the internal logic of the spell it had seemed prudent to use the phrasing in the book: Simon’s Latin had come back quite well with a month of forced study. He shouted the final phrase.

  “Prodio et oboedio!”

  There was no puff of smoke, no flash of lightning, no clap of thunder. There should have been, but there wasn’t.

  She just was.

  Simon’s jaw dropped as he took her in. Standing in the middle of the circle, looking around with interest, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The most beautiful woman he had ever imagined. Long red hair fell to her bare shoulders, glowing like a flame over pale skin. Brilliant green eyes flared as she locked her stare onto his face. Her tongue slowly slid over her lips and she smiled lazily. He couldn’t speak.

  She put her hands on hips covered by a painted-on skirt. Despite all logic and reason she was dressed for a night in a modern dance club, with a leather corset framing a devastatingly curved body. Breasts just the perfect size threatened to slip out of her top, gently shaking as she moved. In her high-heeled boots she matched Simon’s six-foot height exactly and he could almost feel her pressed to his body. His cock stiffened painfully.

  Finally, she spoke. “You’ll catch flies doing that, you know.”

  This was not what Simon had expected. “Do... doing what?”

  “Standing there with your mouth open like that. Do that Downstairs, and you’ll be sorry. You don’t know from flies until you’ve been Down Below.”

  She’s teasing me. He shook his head slowly. She looks like a club girl and she sounds like one. The perfect club girl, but just a club girl. But she has to be...

  “Who are you?”

  She looked impatient. “I’m the demon you summoned, dummy. And before you ask, I’m not speaking your language. You’re hearing it, and you’ll hear it in your own manner of speaking. It’s magic. It’s how it works.”

  “But you look... human.”

  “Well, what did you think I would look like? I try to appear in a form the summoner will find... tempting. I do have a certain image to maintain. I must say, I like your taste in clothes. These feel absolutely wicked. Of course if you asked nicely, I’d take them off.” She leered at him, but there were actual hints of humor in the smile. Simon knew that if she did that, he’d be lost. He didn’t dare.

  “I... I don’t know. I knew you’d be beautiful but I didn’t really think...” She preened at the word “beautiful” and the smile made it even harder to think.

  “What a sweet boy you are. What do you want me to look like?”

  He still couldn’t speak coherently. “What you look like now is amazing.” Another charming smile at this. “What... what do you look like usually?”

  This time she actually laughed. “Careful! Aren’t you afraid I’m really some hideous monster? With leathery wings...” She leaned toward him, not quite crossing the border but close, so close. Her voice lowered.

  “... and terrible claws...” She waggled exquisite black-painted fingernails at him. He leaned in, captivated.

  “... and razor-sharp fangs... the better to EAT YOU WITH!” He jumped back with a cry as she screamed out these last words, mouth open wide. Then she laughed again, harder. The sound still came from between impossibly perfect lips. “You should have seen your face.” She smacked her ass as she laughed and the slap of her skin on the ridiculously tight skirt went right down his spine with a shudder.

  “Don’t do that.” She nodded with a Cheshire grin. She had to do what he said within the limits, but trying to get her to stop scaring him was probably a lost cause. He tried to regain some authority. “Whatever you look like, it can’t pass the circle. Show me.”

  She disappeared.

  His jaw dropped again. No she can’t I can’t lose her I’ll never have the nerve again... He got his mouth working.

  “No! Don’t go! Come back!” She reappeared, still smiling wickedly. “Where did you go? How did you get out of the circle?”

  “I didn’t go anywhere. I can’t get out, you know that... don’t you?”

  “I thi... I mean, of course I do. But what just happened? Tell me the truth.”

  “I did what you said.” She almost managed an innocent look. She’d never been innocent but she’d had a lot of time to practice.

  “I told you to show me what you look like. You vanished. Explain.”

  She pouted. “You’re no fun. I showed you what I look like, just like you wanted. I don’t have a physical body. Not a real one. Although if you’d reach in and touch me, you’d never know the diiiif-errrr-ence...” She said this last in a singsong tone and reached to him. His hand started to come up without conscious thought, but he stopped it with an effort.

  “So you vanished because you don’t look like anything?” That almost made sense. She nodded.

  “If I’m not projecting an image, I don’t have a form your senses can detect. You humans are practically blind and deaf. Pathetic.” The sneer was back. She couldn’t keep her contempt hidden all the time.

  “Anyway, here I am. What would you have of me, mortal? Some woman you love just can’t stand you? One of your enemies to be brought low by a scandalous affair?” She sniffed and the look of contempt intensified. “Or can you just not get a girl and want me to take your virginity for you? That one never gets old.” The succubus had had a long time to develop her sarcastic voice. It was a work of dark art.

  Despite himself Simon laughed. He stopped at a withering glare from the de
mon. “I can get my own girls, thank you. Mostly I just wanted to have a look at you. To talk to you.”

  This got a full-blown snort of derision. “Sure you did. You damned your soul to peek at a succubus. Brilliant.” She looked at him hungrily. “Easiest soul I ever took.”

  Inside, Simon felt a bolt of terror hit his stomach. No! Not just for summoning! I have to give it to her! That’s what the book says! But he swallowed and managed to hold his voice steady. “I haven’t damned my soul for anything. You haven’t got any claim on it unless I give you one.”

  She laughed viciously. “You sure?”

  Fighting for control, he said, “You are bound to obey me by the spell of summoning until I release you or the circle is broken. Tell me the truth: can you claim my soul just for summoning you?”

  A look of utter disgust crossed her face. “I hate the smart ones. No, I can’t. Upstairs doesn’t like people doing anything with demons but just this won’t get you sent Down Below.”

  “Upstairs? You mean... God?” Even seeing her standing in the middle of the circle, it was hard to reconcile that what looked like a beautiful woman was a supernatural and immortal being who had knowledge of Things Beyond.

  She winced and glared at him. “Yes. Don’t say that name.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like it.” Her mouth clamped shut in anger.

  “Does it hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why don’t you want me to say it?”

  “I said I don’t like it, moron.”

  “Tell me the truth. Why does that word bother you so much?”

  Somehow, it felt like the force of her glare made the circle ripple a little bit and he winced himself, but it held. “Because drawing too much attention from the Other Side is fatal for a demon. If I say the name, I’ll be struck down.”