Divine Descent

Chapter Thirty-Three

"What do the sigils do?"

"They're conduits of energy. It's all about the energy, and how you plan to use it. You visualize your goal, the color of said goal, meditate on it. They are mere tools in the actual ritual."

"And the spell?"

She smiles at my persistence. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I'd like to know what you intended to summon me as."

Her blue eyes deepen in hue. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"It didn't matter what you came back as. As long as you came back."

That daring confession should petrify me, anger me to no end. She was experimenting with my immortal soul after all. I fix on her steadily, waiting to get hot, but I never do. Mostly because I understand her desperation. I'm the only other person on this planet that understands it.

"There's power in this," she says, grabbing a handful of runes, gazing at this new world she'd submerged herself into. "I know it. I was close."

"Now you don't need them."

She tucks away the magical stones into a pouch, shaking her head.

"No, I suppose I don't." Her sudden smile stuns me. "You're here."

Pulling myself from the vivid past, the remembrance of her blinding smile slumps my shoulders. I redirect myself to her studies with renewed intent, planning to take such reckless measures with her own soul. I scour the pages, the books, the drawings until sunlight seeps in through the curtains. The night is gone. Paris and Damien will wake to discover me gone. It's recently become an everyday occurrence, searching for their mad master.

Digging to the bottom of the drawer, I heave out a book lined with red pages. At first glance, unease hits me, a reaction from remnants of my Catholic upbringing quivering within me. That quickly passes, and the sight of the Satanic Bible becomes nothing more than binding pages.

I've looked the devil in the face. I fear not the man, nor the words within this book.

If anything, the very presence of this shows me the depth of Cassandra's despair, what she turned to when there was nothing else. I flip through the pages, reading the passages with intrigue. She took much from her captor's teachings. It's no wonder he wormed his way so easily into her mind.

The symbol of Ankh finds it origin in Ancient Egypt. I've seen it many times before, carrying the meaning of eternal life. She has this circled. I pass that page, knowing I'm unable to conjure her here to me. That is not my intention.

I've tried all I can, spent years searching for answer as I promised her I would.

Our future looks bleak, but our past... our past can be rewritten.

By force, by ritual, perhaps I can summon her to me before our time, before Russia. The events could alter, but with it, the very memories I possess. I know not of what I'm dealing with, but then neither did she.

Her descent is mine. That's damn right.

Setting down the book, I bend down, rolling up the carpet covering the dusty wood floorboards. With the book and a stick of chalk, I begin to draw the circle, growing more passionate with each stroke. I've never been one for recklessness, but the thought of her imprisoned unravels me to no end.

Three years without her. Plus the time we'd already spent apart.

It's been so long.

I'll do anything to change what's been done.