Scented candles warred for dominance in the little occultist’s room, each trying to spread, in turn, peach or lilac or whatever “Sea Breeze” was. Many other pleasant odors pilfered from the batty old woman upstairs rose and found no room in the cramped dwelling. The mishmash itself was not terrible, though the eyes burned slightly.
The occultists blinked through the slightly acrid atmosphere at the demon he’d summoned. The flickering light shining up under the red face hid the eyes in terrible shadows. After what seemed like hours, the hard expression moved, the jaw shifting, and words proceeded from the demon’s mouth.
The occultist nodded slightly, mumbling to himself as he worked through the arduous process of translation. He held up his finger, turned from his circle, and consulted a worn grammar at one point.
“Ah!” he said, gesturing toward his shrine. “I wantā” but his voice died as he turned back toward his spirit. The circle was broken, and the only sign of his visitor were the scorched hoof marks tracing the absconded demon’s path toward the open window.
Tale Told 