I was breathless in it’s completion. It was strange, alright. But in all technicality, my spell flopped. The lights in the room flickered at the ritual’s completion. The air smelled… different. No scent in the world that I’ve beheld was like it, but was not the most pleasant. I had no other way of understanding how well it worked, I did not feel like it had worked.
What I did feel however, was an overwhelming suspicion that my answer lied closer in studying a particular spell that I had only recently acquired: Obscurity
I could feel a new found strength in my proficiency with the spell, and I knew that it would be a helpful tool in the field, and a very promising ability to unravel and place into the logic of my master-pieces of spells, which will see a return to the drawing board.
I could feel that the pulsing in the earth had subsided. A side effect?
I extinguished the incense, and left the ritual space, pad locking it behind me. I turned the corner into the hallway, and came back to my room. Lark was laying on a couch cushion on my nightstand, possibly watching the TV that was still on.
“Hey,” I said to him.
The room hissed with a sound that vaguely resemble a shushing. “I’m watching this!” His voice intoned through the air.
“Sorry, man. What’s on?”
“Inside Auschwitz. I find the sheer creativity of Josef fascinating.”
“You’re not Nazi are you?”
“Don’t be silly. I am a Diabolist, not a fascist. I am far too intelligent to be a bigot, my friend. Josef just had good ideas.”
“A sane man would find so many things wrong with your statement.”
“I don’t see any sane men in this room, Hunter.”
“You might have a point there.” I concede. I pour a drink as I mulled over the idea that I was talking to a talking gun.
“What now?” I ask as the credits roll.
“We f*ck?” Lark quips.
“Ha. Ha. Really, though. What next?”
“I don’t care. Is Comedy Central any good now-a-days?”
“Only for South Park, really, and only once in a blue moon.”
“Well Luna-Luna-Blue-Moona,” he says in an obnoxious deadpan tone. He seems to have loosened up.
I flick the channel over, and sure enough, the hickish-funk sound of the South Park theme twanged into the air.
I finish my drink, make sure that the barrel of Lark is pointing completely away from my person, and I roll over to catch some sleep.