Suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone was gently rapping, on the parlor window. I lifted back the curtain and was surprised to spy a raven on the windowsill, staring intently at me with a ruby-red eye, a piece of folded parchment held in its jet-black beak. Scratch arched his back, spreading his leathery wings to make himself even bigger and more imposing.
“That’s Esau’s familiar, Edgar!” he hissed. “I’d know that filthy feather duster anywhere!”
As Captain Horn opened the window, the raven flapped into the room, landing in the center of the floor. Scratch leapt from the mantelpiece, placing himself between the familiar and Hexe. The raven opened its beak and dropped the note it was carrying on the floor. Then, with an abrasive caw, it once more took wing, flapping its way out of the open window.
Hexe snatched up the parchment and unfolded it, reading it aloud for the benefit of the rest of us.
Greetings, Nephew:
Congratulations on you and your nump whore bringing forth an abomination whose very existence is an affront to our hallowed bloodline. It would please me beyond measure to rid the world of the ill-born freak you have spawned. However, seeing as we are family, I am prepared to be merciful. If you wish to ever see your brat again, you and your traitorous mother must formally abdicate as Heir Apparent and Witch Queen, respectively. If you do not agree to these terms, I will hand the infant over to the trolls living under the Brooklyn Bridge, to be raised—or feasted upon—as they deem fit. Write your answer, yea or nay, on the back of this parchment and set it afire, then await instructions.
Your loving uncle,
Esau
“He’s out of his mind!” Horn snorted.
“No, he’s far from insane,” Lady Syra sighed. “My brother knows me all too well.”
“You’re not going to agree to this madness, are you?” Horn asked.
“If it means saving my grandson—I will do whatever he wants,” she replied grimly. “My brother is more than capable of handing over a helpless infant to trolls.” She turned to look at Hexe. “What about you? Are you willing to surrender the throne in order to reclaim your son?”
“I’d do it in a heartbeat, if I thought that was all Esau was after,” Hexe replied. “But what good does our abdicating do him, if he’s still trapped in the Infernal Region? If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my uncle—nothing he does is as simple as it first seems. I’m certain he’s got something up his sleeve—but what?”
“I think I know someone who might have some insider information,” I suggested. “But it’s not going to be easy to get it out of him.”
“Are you sure you want to use that thing?” Hexe asked, eyeing the amulet. It was triangular in shape and fashioned from some unidentifiable metal and affixed to a golden chain. Both the front and back of the amulet were inscribed with symbols and words from a hodgepodge of languages, including Sanskrit, Greek, Kymeran, and Babel, the language of the Infernals.
“I’ll summon a hundred Demon Knights if it means getting our son back,” I replied—and I meant it. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to have my baby safe in my arms again. The ache of having him stolen from me was greater than any physical pain I had ever endured, and so unbearable it was all I could do to keep from screaming like a crazy woman.
“What is the demon’s name, by the way?” Syra asked. “You can’t summon an Infernal without first knowing its name—that’s how you gain control over it.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We never really got to know each other, beyond him breaking my arm.”
“Here it is, on the back of the amulet,” Hexe said, pointing to an inscription that looked like it had been written by a chicken with a calligrapher’s pen strapped to one foot. “He’s called Mephitis.”
“Well, it’s going to take two hands to prepare the wards for such an evocation,” Lady Syra said as she rolled back her sleeves. “Better leave this to me.”
Ten minutes later, the rug in Hexe’s office was rolled back and Lady Syra was putting the finishing touches on the pentagram she’d drawn on the bare floor with a piece of chalk the size of her fist.
“What do I do?” I asked as I slipped the amulet about my neck. “Do I just stand here and yell his name like I’m calling a dog?”
“As long as you wear that medallion, all you have to do is formally summon him—the amulet binds him to your will, just as it bound him to Esau,” Hexe explained. “The pentagram is to make sure he doesn’t escape or try to harm anyone.”
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. I told myself that the amulet and the pentagram would protect me, and that I had to be brave. I was doing this for my baby. As I thought about my child needing me, a resolute calmness came upon me, driving the fear and self-doubt from me. “Mephitis! Knight of the Infernal Court!” I shouted into the empty air. “I call you forth! Hear me, demon, and obey!”
Almost instantly the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, as if the light was being sucked inside them. Accompanying the rise of shadows was a sudden chill, and within seconds it was so cold I could see my breath hanging in the air. The flames of the candles anchoring the points of the pentagram began to gutter in unison, nearly snuffing themselves out, only to turn themselves into towers of roaring fire. The smell of brimstone abruptly filled the room, followed by the sound of a hog squealing in rage, as if being dragged by its trotters to the slaughter.
As the candle flames died back down, there stood revealed in the center of the pentagram a figure that put the hair on my head and arms on end, and not because the office was as cold as a meat locker. The demon Mephitis was humanoid in general shape, with the torso of a man and the legs and hooves of a goat. His face resembled that of a boar, complete with snout and tusks, save that there were three eyes instead of two, the third located in the middle of his forehead. Large batlike wings grew out of the demon’s back, and ram’s horns curled back from his temples. The very sight of the Infernal was enough to make my arm, long since healed, start to ache again.
The last time the Demon Knight had manifested in this world, he arrived bearing the wounds he won from battling Hexe’s Right Hand magic, not to mention the business end of my acetylene torch. But now he appeared recovered from his injuries—no doubt the result of the restorative wonders of the sulfur baths of the Infernal Court.
“Mephitis hears your call, milady, and doth appear,” the demon snarled, flexing his wings in an anxious manner.
“Do you remember me, Infernal?” I asked.
“Yes, milady,” the Demon Knight replied, with a bow of his hideous head. “You blinded me in one eye. But I harbor no ill will, for it has since grown back. For what purpose have you called Mephitis forth?”
“I require information that only you can give. What has Esau been doing since you took him to your world?”
Mephitis made a snorting noise, like that of a pig at a trough. “It did not take the sorcerer long to become influential in the Infernal Court. He has gained the favor of high-ranked courtiers—not mere knights, such as I, but princes and marquises—by promising them a fresh hell to make their own.”
“How can he make good on such a promise?” Hexe asked.
Mephitis snarled and shook his head, flashing his tusks in defiance. “I answer only to milady.”
“Answer the question, demon,” I said sternly.
“The sorcerer Esau is erecting a permanent portal in this dimension—one large enough to accommodate a legion of Infernals. Please, milady, I beg of you,” the Infernal Knight pleaded, “do not make me speak more of this. I shall be sorely punished should they learn I spoke of it to you.”