“Honestly, Rupert, you could do this yourself, you know.”
Rupert, though, was in a distracted tizzy already, darting around his office like a trapped sparrow, shuffling books and candles about.
“Not now, Ethan, please.”
“It’s a simple binding ritual.”
This paranoia about magic of Rupert’s was growing to the point of obnoxious. If he was going to come crying to Ethan every time he needed a minor glamour cast...
But then there was a knock on the door and Ethan looked up to find an attractive dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. Rupert ceased his fluttering.
The woman looked a bit confused.
“Hi. I got your message. What’s so urgent? And, uh, who’s this?”
Ah, so this must be the infamous Ms. Calendar. Funny, Rupert hadn’t mentioned how lovely she was.
“Um. Yes, thank you for coming,” Rupert was saying, “This is, er, a a friend of mine, Ethan Rayne.”
Ethan resisted the urge to scowl at that word.
“We need your help,” Rupert continued, “But, before that, I need you to believe something that, um, that you may not want to. Uh, there’s, uh... something’s got into, um, inside--”
Ethan rolled his eyes, and then said, “There’s a demon in the internet.”
“I know,” she said.
Oh, then. Wasn’t that interesting. Ethan crossed his arms, and heard Rupert take a step closer.
“You already know?” he said, and the suspicion that was clear in his voice put Ethan a bit more on edge. “How is that, exactly?”
Ms. Calendar launched into a spiel about online shutdowns and bone-casting.
“I knew this would happen sooner or later,” she said, “I mean, it’s probably a mischief demon, y’know, like Kelkor, or--”
“It’s Moloch,” Ethan said, cutting again to the chase, his hackles going down. So, she didn’t know what was going on. Not exactly, anyway.
“The Corruptor? Oh boy,” she said.
“So, what are you?” Ethan said. He wasn’t sensing any particular power from her. “One of those techno-pagans?”
She smiled. “Got it in one. And you?”
“Sorcerer,” he said. “Nominally.”
“A what?” Rupert said.
***
Well, as the insufferable “they” said, the good ones were always either gay or married. Giles and his “friend” appeared to be both, if their rings and the way they moved around each other like intimates was any indication. Pity. The dark-eyed sorcerer seemed like he could have been quite the catch. Mr. Technophobe, however, was probably no great loss.
Jenny was already at the computer, working on calling up as many members of her coven as she could find. Fortunately, Linda, Diana and Grace had already responded, which was enough for a circle. Still, the more the better.
The sorcerer, Ethan, leaned over her shoulder to light a candle, and then said, “Have you ever participated in a casting like this before?”
She glanced back to find he was disconcertingly close, peering at the screen.
“Um, not really.”
He glanced down and smiled a tight smile.
“Don’t worry, this is relatively simple. Might be a bit intense, though,” he paused. Then, with a cheerfully wicked grin, he added, “Should be fun.”
“Ethan,” Giles said, and Ethan vanished off to answer his call.
She had to fight off her smile and concentrate once the casting began.
***
She greeted him in her typical fashion, amused yet condescending, “Well, look who's here! Welcome to my world. You scared?”
He spent another moment wishing he could actually say no to Ethan on occasion.
“I'm remaining calm, thank you,” he said, then steeled himself and said, “I, uh, actually came to extend an invitation. If you’d be, um, interested, Ethan and I would, would like to have you over for dinner sometime.”
She raised a brow.
“I’ll, uh, see if I’ve got an evening free.”
Oh, thank god, that sounded like a brush-off. He nearly turned to go, then remembered.
“Oh,” he said, “And I just wanted to, uh, return this.” He held up the earring. “I found it among the new books, and naturally I thought of you.”
“Cool. Thanks,” she said, taking it.
That was that, then.
“Uh, well, I'll, I'll see you anon.”
He turned to escape.
“Can't get outta here fast enough, can you?”
Damn. He stopped.
“Truthfully, I'm even less anxious to be around computers than I used to be,” he said.
“Well, it was your book that started all the trouble, not a computer.”
This was, unfortunately, true, and he couldn’t really counter it.
“Honestly,” she said, “what is it about them that bothers you so much?”
He thought for a moment, and then, suddenly feeling a burst of energy to fight yet another round of this battle, he said, “The smell.”
“Computers don't smell, Rupert.”
“I know!” he said, and he was onto something now, “Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower or a, a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences... long forgotten. Books smell. Musty and, and, and, and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer, is, uh, it... it has no, no texture, no, no context. It's, it's there and then it's gone. If it's to last, then, then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible, it should be, um... smelly,” he concluded, realizing he’d gone on perhaps a bit too long.
But now Ms. Calendar had a slightly different look in her eye.
“Well! You really are an old-fashioned boy, aren't you?”
“Well,” he said, “I-- I don't dangle a corkscrew from my ear.”
She grinned dangerously.
“That's not where I dangle it.” She began to walk off, then paused, and looked back, “I think I’m free Thursday, if that works for you. Seven o’ clock?”
He blinked as she left the room. Then he decided that he was going to go home and kill Ethan. Slowly. And painfully.
The End
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