The ritual required four people and so four sat together on the tiled floor of the Brakebills boiler room. At its center laid a single dusty full length mirror, slightly cracked but not beyond its purpose, and a small hourglass filled with white sand. The candles that lined its perimeter flickered although the air was still and a moment later they were snuffed one-by-one.
“It worked,” said Quentin Coldwater. “Alice! He’s coming! Go! Go now!”
Alice Quinn rose from sitting, gathered the summoning book beside her and rushed toward the nearest door in the room.
“Shit, Parker,” said Penny, “Move your ass.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.” said Parker.
They scrambled out as quickly as they could but their movements were like flies in molasses. The mirror’s surface warped like a silvery bubble ready to burst and from its center emerged a swarm of moths that spread like a living fog.
Alice slammed the door behind her and through its small window watched Penny’s bohemian scarf cross the threshold of the door opposite hers before he too closed it. Only three remained in the dark room: Quentin, standing petrified, the bespectacled Parker, running slowly toward his own door, and The Beast, wreathed in moths watching ominously.
From the shroud of moths The Beast spoke, velvety and dark.
“Summoning me again? I thought you students learned things here.”
He straightened his fingers like a blade, swiped at the air between he and Quentin and in an instant blood sprayed from a red seam that ran crown to loin and sent Quentin collapsing into halves.
Alice gasped, clutching the book in her grip, but she did not move. Parker hurried behind the door and pulled it shut but just before it closed, The Beast aimed his fingers and pulled an invisible trigger. A jet of heated air crossed the room entered the closing door and pierced Parker’s forehead.
Parker fell cold.
The Beast glanced down at the bifurcated body of Quentin Coldwater and laughed.
“Was this your plan?” asked The Beast.
Again he made his fingers ridged and slashed at the door that shielded Penny only unlike Quentin, neither Penny nor the door was rend in two.
The Beast cocked his head, “Powerful ward, but not powerful enough.”
He twisted his hands until they looked like the jaws of a terrible dragon and from its mouth came fiery sparks that rushed the door engulfing it in bright green flames. The fire ceased and the door remained undisturbed.
“That won’t work in here.” said a voice behind him.
He turned to find Quentin, reassembled and standing unharmed.
“Healing spell? Zombification curse?” mused The Beast.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” said Quentin feigning confidence.
The Beast grabbed Quentin by the chest, pulled from it his still beating heart and without a thought, crushed it in his grip.
The blood-choked Quentin collapsed to the floor.
A silence stilled the room. The Beast walked toward Alice’s door and touched the handle but powerful magic repelled him from its surface and scorched his hand with a purple scar. A familiar voice spoke again.
“You won’t be escaping either. Not this time.”
For the first time since arriving, The Beast took a closer look at his surroundings and noticed the faces peering through the windows. Alice to the north, Penny to the south, Eliot and Margo to the East and Quentin, whole again, standing beside him.
