You’ve to follow proper etiquette, or demons won’t give you the time of day. It only takes six things to reach them, and number one is the book I had from my auntie, along with dire warnings not to use it.
Demons are surprisingly easy to reach; I wasn’t even trying properly, just having a run-through in readiness for when I meant to kill someone. If I meant to kill someone, I mean. Numbers two to five represent the elements. (I had a candle, pot-plant, balloon and a pint of orange-squash. Obviously, I wasn’t expecting it to work.) Demons are specialists – no Jacks-of-all-trades in their land. You respectfully greet every single one as you make your way to the demon you need. Everything’s purple or dirty-emerald coloured, with wonky pillars everywhere and a dark, gloopy river running backwards.
I wasn’t scared – so far as I was concerned, I was just reading. I was making piss-poor attempts at pig-Latin, trying to follow the book, then all of a sudden, I was in front of him. I forget his name. Most likely started with A, B or D, and had a couple of Zs and Us in it. That’s how names work in their culture, so far as I can tell. I remember the feel of him: big and intense, stinking-hot.
It all went to shit then. I’d gone and invited him in, see, and he was waiting to hear what I wanted so he could ‘do my bidding’. It’s their way. Took hours of apologising for wasting his time, praying to Jesus (which was a novelty, as my mouth hadn’t formed that guy’s name for quite a few years) and drawing triangles around myself as protection (that was in the book. Chapter Fourteen: ‘What to do if it all goes to shit’) before he left.
I was sixteen, if you’re wondering. I never did try death by demon-assassination again. So, there’s that I suppose.
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