The Parisian Codex

20 - That Poor Rat

There's really no good place to conjure up a demon, and a public garden in the middle of the night in the rain did the trick just fine. Only one small detail prevented me from proceeding at once: the damned seal of Zagan, which I hadn't been able to see in its entirety in Sofia's grimoire. I found a bench devoid of lovers, dropped onto it, and resumed my rummaging through the mass of my memories. I was looking for an illustration of a winged buffalo. My mind presented me with wyverns, toads, dragons, legged snakes and pigs with women's heads. I gave a shout of victory when I saw a bull, but it was the Minotaur. I almost missed the right page, as the illustration looked more like a deformed dog than a buffalo. But there it was: Zagan and the drawing of his seal. I leaped to my feet.

In the middle of the night, the pigeons were sleeping the sleep of innocence, but the rats were having the time of their lives. I spotted a garbage can overflowing with greasy papers and positioned myself nearby, behind a bush. Totally motionless, silent as a shadow, I had to wait just a few minutes for my prey to arrive. A fat, plump grey rat approached the garbage can with small, determined steps. A yard from the first paper, the rat paused and raised its muzzle. His whiskers twitched as he inhaled the scent of garbage, then he resumed his advance. I grabbed him by the tail and, in the same gesture, slammed him to the floor. I brought the flaccid body close to my ear and nodded with satisfaction: I could still hear the little heart beating. The rodent was simply stunned. Good.

I took out my penknife and cut a few small branches of boxwood. Then I took my loot back to my magic circle and sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle. I began by carving thin spikes into the branches, barely larger than toothpicks. I made about ten of them, which I gathered into a small bundle just outside the circle. Then I moved on to the rat.

I laid the rodent's body on its back next to the pile of spikes. I picked up my penknife again, tested the blade and grumbled. It had been too long since I'd sharpened it. It would have to do.

I incised the rat's chest, from the throat to the middle of the belly, taking care to cut only the skin without damaging the organs. I stuck my penknife in the garden soil to clean the blade and put it in my pocket.

With my fingertips, I found the rat's ribcage, and underneath, nestled between the lungs, the little heart still beating. I tore it out and pushed the rat's corpse to one side.

Outside the circle, I traced the design I'd just found in the depths of my memory: the seal of Zagan. Then I placed the little heart in the center of the seal.

I grabbed the first spade and stuck it into the organ, chanting:

"Zagan, appear, I command you.

Actor; Actus; Exfeton; Canaba."

Second spade, same formula.

I performed the operation seven times in all.

I stepped back to sit in the center of my circle, taking great care that nothing, not even a corner of my coat, interrupted its protection. Then I waited.

To pass the time, I reviewed in my mind the formulas for dealing with a demon. There weren't that many, and they all invoked the various names of God and a whole host of angels. Ever since I'd become a vampire, I'd carefully avoided drawing the attention of the heavens to my humble self. Tackling a demon without divine protection was... Sofia would say "stupid." I opted for "courageous." Yes, I know. But to make Zagan pay, I was willing to take the risk.

A police car rolled down the avenue, siren blaring. Its flashing light threw colored flashes onto the bushes. Somewhere in the garden, a hobo turned around. His survival blanket rustled, and the sleeper began to snore. The lovers had finally yielded to the onslaught of the elements and left their bench.