Losing Charity

Losing Charity - 18

"Peter wasn't a sorcerer," I say. "He was a banker. Investments. Money guy."

"Six of one, half dozen of the other," says the imp.

"What does that mean?"

"Sorcery is magic. Magic is making something from nothing, right? Say the spell, wave your hands — Presto! It appears!"

"What appears?" I'm thoroughly confused.

"Rabbit from a hat. Love from a bottle. Falling piano on your enemy. Doesn't matter. Something from nothing."

"He was a banker, not David Blaine."

"He made money from nothing," says the little red guy. "Plug in the algorithm, mumble something about derivatives, wave your hands — Presto! You're rich! High finance, high sorcery — same stuff." He shakes his head. "I mean, come on. How do you think they do it?"

"You're saying bankers are sorcerers? That's ridiculous!"

"How so?"

"There must be thousands of them! They can't all be sorcerers."

"They're not all sorcerers. Some are merely asshats."

I think about this. "Fair enough."

The imp nods. "But the real heavyweights? The guys who move markets with a twitch of the keyboard? The ones who always just happen to be on the right side of the latest flash crash, go short at the right time, long at the right time, leveraged out the wazoo without breaking a sweat? Yeah, they're into some deep voodoo. Real old school incantations, with roots back to Babylon and Nineveh."

"You're ... that can't be ... you're joking."

"Do I look a kidder, kiddo?"

"You look like a little devil."

"A handsome little devil, I hope."

"What I meant to say. Yes."

The imp grins. "I like you, Charity. You're hanging in there. You're playing along, even though you're not quite convinced this is on the up and up, as opposed to some lingering effects of whatever Bonfire Boy there dosed you with. Am I right?"

I nod.

"Yeah. I know this is a lot to take in, like I told you it would be. So I want to get right to the most important thing, so you know where you stand."

I say nothing. I think it is about time for me to snap out of this hallucination, and apparently so does the hallucination.

"Peter here was greedy. There is no other way to put it. He was rich beyond anything you could imagine. He had powers and abilities most people would think only exist in movies or fairy tales or such. But he wanted more. Always more. And it is for that reason that tonight he performed a ritual, a very old ritual, that he ought to have left alone. He opened a gate that he should have left unopened. He prepared a living sacrifice — you — as payment for what he wanted."

"What ... what did he want?" I ask.

"He wanted to bind a demon to his service. Not merely a favor for a favor. He wanted to call up a demon, a pretty heavy hitter, and make said demon his servant. His slave. At his beck and call."

"I saw ... I thought I saw ... eyes," I say. I shudder at the memory of those glowing purple eyes staring out of the smoke.

The imp nods solemnly. "You saw the gate being opened. The ritual was performed. The sacrifice was offered. The price was paid. And — Presto! A demon appeared."

"But ... Peter didn't sacrifice me."

"No. No, he didn't. You sacrificed Peter instead."

"I did what? That's crazy!"

"The ritual was performed. The gate was opened. The sacrifice was offered. You paid for a demon, and a demon you got — yours truly!"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm your personal demon, Charity. Your guardian devil. Summoned and bound to your service until further notice. Your wish is my command, more or less. I'm here to help with ... well, with whatever you need help with."

"But I don't want a demon!"

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Doesn't matter. You've got one."

"Those eyes ... you're not ..."

The imp waves his hands in frantic denial. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Make no mistake. I'm not the demon Extra Crispy here paged. Be thankful for that. Way above your level of ability, that one. I'm more of a starter demon."

"But I'm not a sorcerer."

"My point exactly. Trust me, I'm all the demon you can handle."

"I believe you," I say. "But, I don't want to believe any of this. It's too horrible. It's a nightmare. I want it all to go away. I want to wake up in my own bed and forget this horrible night ever happened!"

The imp's grin is wide as a church door. "That, I can arrange."

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Losing Charity © Dan McGirt 2019. All rights reserved.

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