The door whined like a hungry feline as he pushed it open and proceeded inside. His demons attempted to follow, but Simeon did not believe they would be necessary.
“Wait for me here,” he told them, turning to climb the creaking wooden steps up to the top floor of the ancient tenement. The air was thick with the residue of the many Romanian meals that had been cooked there through the centuries the structure had stood. Simeon could just imagine the lives lived here.
The lives, and the deaths.
It hadn’t been all that difficult to locate the one Simeon sought, no matter how hard he tried to hide himself. Purchases of baubles to ward off evil from a local Romani clan, thefts of holy relics from churches close by, reports of a strange man who openly wept when a story about an environmental calamity on a deserted Japanese island was reported on a news broadcast at the village tavern.
All were like a map to one such as the forever man; a map that pointed to the location of one who could be beneficial to his work.
Simeon could feel the presence of something unnatural—preternatural—as he reached the heavy, wooden door at the top of the stairs. It was obvious to him that he had come to the right place.
“Who’s . . . who’s there?” asked a weak voice from inside.
“I’ve come with a proposition,” Simeon said to the closed door, listening for sounds of movement on the other side. “May I come in?”
There came a chilling laugh behind the door. “Oh yes, please do,” said a voice unlike the one he’d first heard. This one sounded strong, confident. “We would truly enjoy hearing what you have to propose to us.”
Simeon took hold of the metal knob and turned it, pushing open the door. The atmosphere inside was immediately oppressive, as if there was a storm about to rage within the tiny confines.
Closing the door behind him, Simeon took in the appearance of the place: the walls covered with pages of religious texts, strange symbols painted in blood upon any surface that had remained untouched, magickal talismans hanging from the ceiling, candles burning before makeshift shrines to gods and saints known, and long forgotten.
And in the center of the room, sitting in the middle of a circle of protection drawn upon the rough wood floor, sat the shadow of a man.
Simeon was surprised at how bad he looked, the incident on Gunkanjima having far more of a devastating effect on him than the forever man would have imagined.
“Do I know you?” the man asked, his voice soft with weakness.
“We met briefly,” Simeon said. “On the island.”
The man’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears, before his expression changed and the evil spirit that resided within him reared its ugliness.
“Oh to be there again,” the evil spoke in a voice horrible and rough. “To be part of all that death—glorious; but I do not remember you.”
The man turned his body in the circle to face him.
“Come closer,” the spirit said, motioning with a finger that had become like a claw. “Maybe if I was to taste you . . .”
Simeon crossed his arms, unfazed by the evil entity’s teasing.
“You do not remember, for I chose that you not,” Simeon said. He showed the entity possessing the man the rings adorning his hands.
The spirit gasped at the sight of the two rings.
“But I know you, Constantin Malatesta,” Simeon said. “As well as the ancient thing that resides inside of you.”
Malatesta closed his eyes, his face lined from incredible strain.
“Please,” he begged. “You must leave at once; you’re not safe. Even with all this protection . . .” His eyes darted about the room. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it contained.”
Simeon smiled.
“Contained?” he asked. “And why would you want to do that?”
Malatesta looked horrified. “Why have you sought me out?”
“I come with an offer,” Simeon said, picking up a piece of religious statuary from a nearby table. “I require someone with your skills.”
“Skills?” Malatesta repeated with a shiver, still attempting to keep the entity inside him from regaining control.
“A sorcerer,” Simeon said. “I have need of a sorcerer.”