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Extrication

(01/14/2018)

Table of Contents…

Page 1. Affliction

Page 8. Studiousness

Page 15. The Visitor

Page 27. Pain & Sacrifice

Page 33. Ritual & Liberation

Chapter 1: Affliction

Sheila sits at the edge of her bed, holding a razor blade firmly between her fingers, the edge tickling her wrist. She aims the blade along her forearm, prepared to draw it down the length of her veins. She hears the screaming in the other room. The 16-year-old redheaded human girl silently cries as her father, Bradley, a cruel and vicious man, mercilessly beats her younger brother. Joshua, the naïve and innocent 9-year-old boy lies on the floor in the other room. He whimpers and cries, his hair stained with thin streaks of blood, as Bradley assaults the defenseless youth.

Sheila holds the razor and takes a deep breath. As she contemplates its use, her mind races. She cannot understand why her mother, Margaret, has never stepped in to save them from the abuse of her father. Why would a loving mother allow her son to be so savagely beaten for little or no offense? Why would she sit by and allow her father to use his own daughter, knowing her in ways that he should only know his wife? Why would she allow him to steal something from her at the age of fourteen; something that was meant for her first love?

The sorrow turns to anger and a fire burns within the dainty human girl. She pulls the blade from her wrist and stands, marching towards the door. She throws it open, the razor clenched tightly between her thumb and index finger. On the floor lies her little brother, crying and trembling as he curls into a little ball. Bradley turns to his daughter, grinning sinisterly at her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you sick son of a bitch?!” She yells at her father.

“The fuck did you say to me, you little tramp?!” He barks.

“You heard me, you piece of shit!” She screams.

He cackles, as though amused by her sudden assertiveness. He stomps up to her, grabbing her by her arm. She instinctively reaches over, slashing a large gash through his flesh. He screams in pain, releasing her from his grasp. He places a hand over the gash, applying firm pressure to the wound. He looks at Sheila, stunned that she would actually stand up for herself. She had never done this before. The look in his eyes snaps the girl from her trance, and the fear washes over her. The sheer terror sweeps her away, like flood waters rushing through a broken levy.

“Oh, you are going to pay now...” Bradley growls.

She swings the blade, causing him to stumble backwards and fall. She turns and runs to her room, quickly slamming the door shut. She drops the bloody razor on the floor and opens her bedroom window, slipping out and falling onto the cold ground below. A strong breeze chills her to the bone. The October wind is as unrelenting as her father, who quickly enters the room, looking for his daughter. She bolts into the nearby woods, too afraid to look back. Her father leans out of the window, staining the sill with blood.

“You better run!” He yells at her.

She sprints deeper into the woods, determined to wait him out. She knows that by the morning, the sorry excuse for a man will have since forgotten her transgressions. The only thing more prominent than his rage and perversion is his horrible short-term memory. The gash will only serve to pain and confuse him come the morrow. She runs until she finds a clearing, a place that she had visited often in the daylight. She knows this location well enough to find it using only the light of the moon and the stars. She had committed to memory all of the steps necessary to reach this location, should the need arise. She is thankful that she took this precaution.

Sheila sits down in the clearing, drawing her knees to her chest as she wraps her arms around them. The quiet, anti-social girl has few friends at school, and no one to confide in. If not for Margaret’s skills as a make-up artist, having often worked on local productions, her father would have likely been imprisoned for child abuse years ago. When Joshua’s wounds are too extensive to cover, they simply pull him from school for a week, claiming illness. He returns to school once they can be thoroughly hidden. Unfortunately, Sheila’s pain cannot be painted over with a soft brush. Ever since her father took an interest in her, he has seen her more often than he has seen his own wife.

The girl shivers, as much from the cold as from her own fear. She rests her forehead on her knees, crying into her pantlegs. The tears moisten her clothes, making those patches of flesh turn icy cold. She calms herself down and begins to build a small tipi of sticks. Taking a bundle of leaves, she places them within an opening in the pile, before lighting them with the black Bic lighter within her pants pocket. She now regrets not grabbing a jacket before fleeing out of her window, though that might have cost her precious seconds, a chance she simply could not have taken, given the circumstances.

A noise suddenly startles the girl. She gasps and turns. Has her father actually followed her into those woods? If so, it might be many weeks before her body is found, and by then, he would have had more than enough time to flee. Her heart pounds in her chest, as though trying to burst forth and present itself; the fear is palpable. Suddenly, two glowing eyes emerge from a bush, quite low to the ground. The girl breathes a sigh of relief as a stray cat emerges. The black housecat looks the girl over, more curious than frightened.

“You scared me.” She says with a smile. “What are you doing out here, little kitty? Are these your woods? I’m sorry if I’m intruding. I just need to stay here for a little while.”

“Meow.” The cat replies.

It walks over to her, brushing her leg as it demands attention from the girl.

“Alright. I suppose I need to pay the toll.” She jests.

She reaches a hand down and strokes the glossy black fur of the cat. She looks the feline over as it brushes her leg. She can’t help but think that it looks very similar to a witch’s familiar; the cat depicted in nearly every Halloween decoration sold across the country.

“So, what is your name?” She asks.

“Meow.”

“Now if only I knew what that meant... Or even what gender you are.” She thinks aloud.

She gently grabs the cat, lifting it up by the armpits. It stares at her with it’s brilliant orange eyes. She looks the cat over, her eyes scanning its body.

“Okay. So you’re a guy. That’s good to know.” She says as she sets the cat down.

“Meow.”

“Is that your name?” She asks.

“Meow?” The cat tilts his head to the side.

“Hm... Well, if I do see you again, I think I’ll call you... Mark. That’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Meow!”

Sheila sits near the fire, adding a few logs. Mark’s tail swishes as he sits beside her, looking toward the fire. The cat seems remarkably unafraid, watching her as she adds a few large logs. The fire grows and the girl lies down, looking up at the stars. Mark climbs atop her chest, walking in circles before lying atop her. The fire quickly warms her, and her shivering ceases. She rests her hands on his body, gently stroking him with her fingers. Mark purrs softly. He is such a comforting presence, that even in her state, she quickly falls asleep.

She dreams peacefully, wandering through the warm field in her mind; it is where she retreats whenever her father desires her. Walking beside her in the field is her new friend, Mark. The cat seems quite loyal to her in her dreams, and it brings her peace. She looks down at the cat, and he opens his mouth. Instead of the typical feline sounds, he speaks in a warm but deep voice.

“Wake up, Sheila.”

She slowly opens her eyes to see Mark sitting on her chest, looking down at her. His tail sways gently and a breeze flutters his shiny black fur. The sun is starting to rise, and the fire has long since died out. There isn’t a single warm coal left in the pile of greyish-white ash. Sheila picks up Mark and cradles him as she stands. She takes a few steps when the cat begins to shift. She sets him down on the ground, and looks at her friend.

“Well, aren’t you my little Sandman. I haven’t slept so well in a while.” She begins.

“Meow!”

“Well... I guess this is goodbye. I have to get home now.” She says to him.

Mark blinks his eyes and stands there. She takes a few steps, when she hears faint rustling behind her. She stops and turns, looking back at the sound. To her surprise, Mark is exactly the same distance away from her. She takes a step forward, and Mark takes one in kind. She takes two, and he follows. She smiles, walking back to her home. Mark stays with her every step of the way, never falling behind or turning away from her. She soon exits the woods, looking at the windowsill, the sunlight bearing down on her.

“Well... I guess I can hide you at home for a while.” She says to Mark.

“Meow.” He replies.

She lifts the cat by his armpits and places him into her room, before quickly climbing back inside of her home and closing the window behind her. Just as she expected, she hears her father inside, speaking to her mother.

“Ow. How the fuck did I cut my arm this bad at work?” Bradley asks Margaret.

“I don’t know... Now hold still while I change this bandage, and don’t scratch it, or you’ll pull out the stitches.”

“At least she’d do that much for me.” Sheila murmurs.

Chapter 2: Studiousness

The days pass by uneventfully for the next week. Her father leaves her in peace, and doesn’t even raise a hand to Joshua or Margaret. Mark lives clandestinely within Sheila’s bedroom. She feeds him scraps of leftover dinner, or food that no one would miss from the refrigerator. He hops out of the window, which she leaves cracked for him, and returns when he has relieved himself. He never strays far from the girl, always within arm’s reach to comfort her. The cat is also unusually intelligent, seemingly able to understand her commands and sentences.

One day, while at the school library, the quiet girl sees an old textbook that documents the history of witchcraft in New England. Though she is quite a distance from New England, she is curious enough to check-out the book. The book speaks of witchcraft in a rather bland and textbook fashion, which is unsurprising, as it technically is one; it focuses solely on the historical aspects. Nonetheless, it intrigues the girl, especially when she reads about the familiars often associated with witches in seventeen-hundreds New England. The similarities to Mark and herself are uncanny.

She digests the book in one day, promptly returning it to the school library the following afternoon. Though the book now sits on the shelf, she is possessed with the concept. She spends hours scouring the internet for more details on witchcraft. Spells and hexes, binding familiars, and summoning demons to bargain for favors are all fair game at this point. She prints off several sheets of spells and incantations, practicing them in her basement, or alone in the woods. She tries many spells, and attempts to summon several familiars, but nothing works. She begins to wonder if magic is all just a figment of mortal’s imaginations.

After nearly two solid weeks of blissful peace, her father returns to her room and the girl retreats into the special place in her mind. When she awakens sore the next day, she knows that she cannot endure his abuse much longer. She is determined to find a spell that works. One of them must be real, it’s just a matter of finding it. She starts searching for shortcuts in her experiments, and finds a nearby occult bookstore and headshop that seems to fit the bill. The store, simply called “Minerva’s”, is within walking distance of the house, and between her home and her high school.

The next day after school, Sheila stops at home to let Mark out of her room. When he returns to her from the nearby woods, she slips him into her little black backpack and walks towards the store, heading back towards her school. Entering Minerva’s, her senses are overwhelmed by the sweet smell of incense. The odor is quite powerful, and although it is not unpleasant, it floods her sinus cavities and she develops a slight headache. She runs her fingers over her brow, wincing as she struggles to adjust to the potent incense.

“May I help you, miss?” A male voice calls out to her.

Sheila turns, looking at the Voeldahn who stands behind a small counter near the corner. He is a tall, well-built but older man, with a long snout tipped with a black nose. His fur is a consistent shade of grey, matching his grey eyes. Salt and pepper hair is pulled into a ponytail that reaches his shoulder blades. His bushy tail sways as he looks to the girl, a pleasant grin across his face. Purple haze rises from two golden incense bowls on either side of the man. He notices her pained expression and quickly blows out the incense.

“I’m sorry!” He quickly apologizes. “I can often become carried away with my own products.” He jests.

“That’s alright.” She says, taking off her backpack.

She approaches the counter and sets down the pack. Mark emerges from the backpack, quickly stretching out his body.

“I’m sorry, miss. We don’t allow pets in the store.” He says sternly

“He’s not my pet.” She replies.

“Then how did a cat find its way into your backpack?” He raises a brow.

She takes up the cat, holding it close as though she were a small child with a teddy bear.

“Mark is my best friend. He’s my morphine, and I need him. Please let him stay.” She pleads.

The man sighs, running his clawed fingers through his hair.

“Alright, fine... But just for now.”

“Oh, thank you!” She exclaims.

“So, what is it you want? Anything in particular you are looking for?” He asks, walking around the counter.

“I need help. I... I’m looking to...” She hesitates.

She pauses, as though afraid to even speak the words. The man’s curiosity is peaked. He tilts his head, arms crossed as he waits for her request.

“I need to summon a familiar, or a demon.” She blurts out.

“Excuse me?!” He asks in shock.

“It’s a long story...” She murmurs.

“Do you know what it is you are actually asking me? This isn’t some game, and a black cat doesn’t make you a witch.” He scolds her.

“I don’t need a lecture... Can you help me, or not?” She barks back at him.

“I can... But I don’t believe I should. I don’t think you understand the gravity of your request, miss.”

“What do you know about it? Aren’t you just a salesman?” Sheila scoffs.

“I’m also a Wiccan, and a white witch. What you are asking for is incredibly dangerous. It would be downright unethical for me to help you. I mean, what are you even planning to do if you summon a demon?” He asks.

“I just need their help...”

“Help? From a demon?” He raises his brow, perplexed.

Sheila becomes unhinged. She feels as though her one chance is slipping through her fingers. She begins to weep, holding the cat tightly, though he doesn’t seem to complain. The man takes a step back, unsure of what to make of the situation. He looks the girl over, and that’s when he notices it; a large bruise on her upper arm peaks out from her shirt sleeve. As she turns from him, her shirt rides up slightly, and another bruise at her waist becomes partially visible. It appears like a partial hand print.

“Those bruises... Who did that to you?” He asks with genuine concern.

He reaches out, gently touching her shoulder. Sheila spins around, stepping back from the man.

“Don’t you touch me!” She screams.

He raises his hands in surrender.

“Don’t ever touch me.”

“I’m sorry. I just want to know what happened to you.” He says in a soft voice.

Sheila looks to the man, tears streaming down her face. The man looks at the pitiful redheaded human. She rests her back against the front counter and sits down, rubbing Mark’s head with her face as she cries like an injured child. He walks towards the front door and turns off the ‘open’ sign, quickly locking the door. Returning to the girl, he sits on the floor in front of her.

“It’s alright. You can tell me what’s going on, and it’ll never leave this room.” The man speaks softly to her.

Sheila looks at the man, who’s concern seems sincere. Perhaps it’s his voice, or his visible worry, or the growing tension within her. Sheila herself doesn’t understand. She begins to speak, letting out every graphic and horrid detail about her family life. The man sits flabbergasted by her revelations. His stomach churns at her description of her father’s abuse. How can a man do such things to his own flesh and blood? There certainly must be a special place in Hell for people like him, but he isn’t dead yet, and she is still suffering. He offers to call the police and be a witness for her, but Sheila refuses.

“No. Prison is far too good for him... That’s why I need to summon a demon.” Sheila explains.

The man sits on the floor, his heart breaking both from her story, and the depressing sight that sits before him. He rises to his feet and places a finger underneath his bottom lip, taking a moment to consider his options. The white witch walks back around the front counter. He takes out a set of keys from a small golden box. Leaning over the counter, Sheila turns her head up to him.

“You’ll want to follow me.” He says.

Sheila rises to her feet, gently stroking Mark’s back with her fingers. The cat purrs as she follows the Voeldahn man into a back room. Using the keys, he opens a locked chest, held shut with three separate padlocks. Within the box are dozens of various powerful articles. He retrieves an item wrapped in a purple velvet cloth. He turns to her and peals away the cloth, revealing a rather old looking leather-bound book.

“This is the very book I learned from when I became a white witch. The first half is all positive spells and incantations. Many of them might help you... The second half... Well... I never used the second half. I never dared too.” He begins.

He hands her the old book. She sets down Mark, who stands beside her feet as she takes the book from the man. She is surprised by its weight.

“What should I look for?” She asks.

“The back half of the book is dark witchcraft. Among the spells and incantations is a ritual. This world is ruled by 72 princes, each who have a sizeable chunk of earth to themselves. If you perform this ritual, you can summon the prince of this area, whomever that may be, and bargain with him for... Whatever it is you want...” The old Wiccan explains.

“And they can help?” She looks to the book.

“Each prince has complete sovereignty. I’m certain they can. Keep the book, at no charge. Just promise me one thing...”

“What’s that?” She looks back to the man.

“If you do use it... Be mindful of who it is you are bargaining with. You might lose quite a bit more than you asked for...” He explains.

She isn’t entirely sure what to make of the request. His words seem rather contradictory to her. Regardless, she thanks the man with a warm smile, before darting for the front door. The man stands there for a moment, wondering if he has done the right thing. He seals up the chest with the three padlocks as Sheila packs the book and Mark back into her backpack before unlocking and exiting the store.

Chapter 3: The Visitor

Sheila doesn’t waste any time. She is eager to read the book and put it to good use. She returns home around six in the afternoon, just in time to for dinner; she was beginning to worry that her absence would be noticed. She releases Mark from the backpack and hides the book in a dark corner of her bedroom closet before joining the family at the table. Dinner is uneventful, and Bradley doesn’t even speak to his family. He seems unusually despondent. As soon as he departs the room, Sheila quickly collects her plate and returns to her own, eager to begin her studies.

Once safely behind closed doors, she sets the plate of leftovers on the floor for Mark, and retrieves the hidden tome. She sits on her bed, resting the heavy book atop her legs, fervently digesting the books information. She is somewhat intrigued by the positive spells within the first half. The pages are well worn. The old Wiccan man was not lying about his interest in white magic. Her fingers creep ever further, and soon, she turns to pages that are crisp and unblemished. Contrary to the first half, the last half of the book appears to have never been read.

She finds several curses and summoning spells, each one more interesting to her than the last. Soon, she reaches the last few pages of the book. They describe the ritual for summoning one of the seventy-two princes of the earth. Her heart races at the mere thought of speaking with one of these powerful entities. She commits to memory the list of supplies she will need, reading and rereading the ritual again and again. Soon, the sun sets, and her family grows quiet. She waits until they have all returned to their bedrooms before she begins her work.

She opens the door very slowly and quietly. She tiptoes down the hall towards the kitchen, where she retrieves the items she will need for the ritual. Emergency candles will have to suffice, as will table salt from a shaker. She cannot find the large bottle to refill it, and hopes that a very thin circle will be adequate. A book of matches, a bottle of olive oil, and several other components are gathered into a small pile near the kitchen sink. Mark seems to lead the way to the basement as she cradles her supplies, leaving the book upstairs in her room. She is positive that she can reenact the ritual without it.

Inside the darkened cellar, she finds a large spot in the floor and builds a protective circle with the table salt, struggling to make it large enough to stand in with the small quantity she has. She places the candles around her, dabbing the olive oil around the circle and between the candles. She lights each candle, reciting the incantations that she had read from the book. After each recitation, she lights a candle and requests an audience with the deity who rules the land. She repeats the incantation, lights another candle, and makes the request. This continues until every candle is lit.

After saying a different, final incantation, she calls out to the nameless entity, as she does not know which one belongs here. The temperature begins to drop, and the candles flutter. She grins wide; it actually seems to be working. She calls out again, quietly pleading with the being to show itself to her. After waiting for a moment, nothing happens. The room slowly grows warmer, and she stands in the circle of salt feeling rather foolish.

“I can’t believe I thought this would work...” She mutters to herself.

Suddenly, a breeze blows through the cellar from the stairwell door. It blows out her candles, leaving her in pitch dark. A can falls over, and Sheila jumps, turning toward the sound. She sighs in relief when she sees that it is merely Mark, standing atop the washing machine and bumping cleaning products. She wonders if she could have done something wrong, and relights a candle for light. She cleans up the circle, collects the supplies, and walks back upstairs as Mark follows close behind. She returns everything to its rightful place in the kitchen, and heads back to her room, determined to read her book and see if she had misspoken or forgotten a step.

Sheila steps inside of her room and quietly closes the door. She moves toward her bed to retrieve the book, stopping when she hears a strange noise. It sounds like a tree branch tapping against her bedroom window, but she doesn’t have any trees near her window. The sound draws her closer, as though beckoning to her like a siren. She opens the blinds and screams at the sight of a face staring back at her through the window. Mark hisses at the face, but turns toward the bedroom door, before hiding underneath Sheila’s bed. Her father suddenly storms in, further startling the girl.

“What the hell is going on in here?!” He demands.

“I saw someone looking at me through my window!” Sheila cries out.

“The fuck?! Go in the living room. I’ll check it out.” He demands.

Terrified of the intruder, Sheila obeys. Bradley ushers Joshua and Margaret into the living room, and patrols the house and exterior with a small handgun. The old Walther PP .32 ACP pistol is a weapon that Bradley had stolen years earlier from a friend as disreputable as himself. With his sidearm in hand, the serial number scratched beyond recognition, he searches every possible corner outside of the home. He checks all of the windows and doors, but finds only a single set of footprints in the soft earth, just outside of Sheila’s bedroom window. They appear to be Voeldahn, with four toes capped with sharp claws.

“There’s no one out there now, but there was.” Bradley says as he enters the front door.

He locks the door behind him, slipping the handgun in the waistband of his faded blue jeans.

“Someone was looking at me.” Sheila reiterates.

“I know. I saw their footprints outside. They must have been watching you, probably waiting for you to change clothes or something. They’re gone now. Keep your window shut and locked, and leaves the blinds drawn. If they come back, I’ll blow their fucking brains out.” Bradley assures her.

With that, he shoos them out of the living room and back to their beds. Sheila returns to her room and changes into her nightgown, looking around nervously. She didn’t get a good look at whoever was outside, but she recalls their eyes, which glowed a fiery orange. She climbs into her bed, still looking apprehensively around the room. She turns off the lights and closes her eyes. She is not sure how long she is asleep, but she suddenly awakens to a terrible feeling of being watched. It is at though a pair of eyes are about to touch the back of her head.

She sits up and turns on her desk lamp that sits on the nightstand beside her bed. She looks around the room, the feeling of dread so intense that she begins to shiver as though she were struck by a cool breeze. Though nothing is out of place, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. She turns to Mark, who sits on the bed beside her. He doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and looks to her. She smiles at her friend, and reaches for the cat.

“Stay up here with me, my little Sandman.” She coos.

She picks up Mark and brings him to her chest, turning off her lamp with her free hand. She turns off the light and lies down, cuddling with her cat. She soon feels comforted. As she begins to fall back asleep, Mark stirs. He hisses, and the feeling of dread returns in full force. She reaches for the table lamp, but is stopped in her tracks by a faint scratching sound. It soon morphs into a long, drawn out squeaking. She turns on the lights again, sitting upright in her bed as she looks to the closet door. It opens slightly on its own. She wonders if she simply didn’t shut it completely before retiring to her bed.

As she moves the covers away from her legs to climb out of bed, a red hand with four long and skinny fingers, and tipped with silver claws reaches out from the darkness of the closet. They coil around the edge of the door, scratching the wood slightly. Sheila can’t believe her eyes. She is utterly paralyzed by fear. She closes them tightly, hoping that she is dreaming. The squeaking grows louder, and she lies back down, drawing the covers up over her head like a little child. She keeps them closed as she hears a faint clicking on the hardwood floor.

Though petrified by fear, she musters the strength to remove the covers. Her eyes still closed, she faces the closet door. After taking a moment to gather her strength, she opens her eyes again to see that the door is now wide open, but nothing is there besides her clothes, which gently sway back and forth. She looks around the room, and opens her mouth to scream when she sees a being standing by her nightstand. A red hand reaches out and presses over her mouth, lying here back down on her bed.

She looks up at the being that leans over her; a Voeldahn looking woman with the features of a dragon or lizard, which no Voeldahn type has. She wears a grey hooded robe that is partially open, revealing the front of her nude body underneath. The robe appears to be made of velvet. Her red skin is not scaly, but smooth, shiny, and dense. Her snout is long and rectangular, with sharp angles at her jawline and chin. Two slit nostrils sit at the upper corners of her snout, while burning orange eyes seem to gaze at the young girl. They are the same eyes that she had seen peering in through her window.

Long, wavy white hair reaches down past her exceptionally large bust. Her thin lips curl up into a sinister smile, revealing pearly white, razor sharp canines; they line her maw like gently curved needles. She has two long and pointy ears that seem almost rabbit-like, but are far too thin. They are pierced, adorned with several golden bands and a few thin hoops. Her long tail sways. It is very thick at the base, nearly one-third the size of her waistline, but tapers into a thin point. Her legs are slender while still remaining toned.

The dragoness sits on the bed, her buttocks firm and perfectly proportioned to her body. She has very sleek curves, with an hourglass figure; she is the picture of feminine beauty. She rests a leg on the bed as she sits beside the frightened girl, her foot hanging off the end. The girl can see the shape of her foot, which is digitigrade, with four large toes capped with inch-long white claws that curve forward like a set of Karambit knives.

“Why have you summoned me?” The red dragoness asks.

She takes her hand away from Sheila’s mouth, stroking her cheek with the backs of her sharp claws.

“I-I... I uh...” She stammers.

“Yes?” The woman chuckles.

“I didn’t think it worked. I was expecting you to show up sooner.” Sheila replies somewhat angrily.

“I would have, but you fled the basement too quickly.” The dragoness replies with a twisted grin.

“So it did work...” Sheila smiles. “What is your name, anyway?”

“I am Kethasha. I rule this land, along with my seventy-one associates.” The dragoness replies.

“I thought all of the deities were male? The book called you all princes...” Sheila remarks.

“A mortal book, drafted by a mortal man would say that, but twenty of us are female.” Kethasha explains.

“I see... Well, it’s just as well you didn’t show up downstairs. This is a more comfortable place, anyway.” Sheila says, sitting up in bed.

Kethasha looks Sheila over and then chuckles.

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks the teenager.

“What? No!” Sheila blushes.

“Hm. Maybe some other time, then.” Kethasha coos, running a claw underneath Sheila’s chin.

Her face flushes, turning redder as she looks away.

“Actually, I want something...”

The dragon rests her hands on her bare leg.

“And what is it that you want, Sheila?” Kethasha asks.

“You know my name?” Sheila seems surprised.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be much of a princess of earth if I did not at least know that much.” Kethasha chuckles.

“I suppose...”

Sheila looks into Kethasha’s eyes, marveling at her orange irises, which swirl as though a fire is burning within them.

“Sheila...” Kethasha speaks, snapping the girl out of her trance.

“Right... I want power...” Sheila answers the demoness.

“Ah... How unimaginative.” Kethasha begins.

She stands from the bed and turns to the girl.

“Well, there are many forms of power. Which do you prefer? Physical beauty? Perhaps you would like a set of breasts like mine?”

Kethasha presser her hands against the underside of her large bust, pushing them up as though presenting them to Sheila.

“Or would you like to be the first female president? I don’t think that wish has been granted yet. Men are often brave enough to summon me, but women are not, especially younger women, such as yourself. Or how about monetary power? Several hundred million dollars is always nice, and who says money cannot buy happiness? Poor people; that’s who. I could allow you to win the lottery, and then prosper in the stock market shortly after.” Kethasha continues.

“No... I need metaphysical power... Magical power...” Sheila begins.

“I see... That’s not necessarily a very imaginative request either. Did you have anything in mind?” Kethasha interjects.

Sheila looks around, finding Mark sitting on the bed beside her. She picks up the cat, gently stroking his back.

“I would like the power to turn him into a true minion; a being worthy of my untapped greatness. But more than that, I want telekinesis, the power of the elements, the power to sway hearts, and the power to change my very destiny.” Sheila continues.

“I stand corrected.” Kethasha says with a toothy smile. “I haven’t heard that one yet, in over two thousand years. Most mortals, both human and Voeldahn, are too physical to care of such matters. However, if you’d like to be a powerful sorceress, it will be so. This will take more than the usual bargain, though.” The demoness explains.

“What is the usual bargain?” Sheila asks.

“Your soul, of course. I need it. As I said, though, this is not a typical request. I will explain how, but you must shed blood for me, and I don’t mean a prick of the finger. In order to power your own magic, I’ll need a second soul as a sacrifice.” Kethasha continues.

“I must kill someone?!” Sheila exclaims in shock.

“Yes. I don’t care who, but I need their life blood and their soul to power your magic. I cannot permanently claim a soul that is not willingly surrendered to me, so we are really only borrowing it. Once you inevitably die, their soul will be released, but then I will claim yours as payment.”

“I see...” Sheila murmurs.

Now the words that the white witch had spoken are beginning to make sense to her.

“Oh, it isn’t so bad. You’ll spend an eternity with me, and I like making new friends.” Kethasha coos.

“Yeah, I bet.” Sheila mutters.

Kethasha slips her hands down, pulling open her grey robe and resting her hands on her curvy hips. Her large bust peeks out from the robe. Sheila sees her figure and can’t help but be slightly jealous of the beautiful princess.

“So, when do I need to perform the sacrifice?” She asks.

“Right now, or in fifty years. Whenever you are ready, honestly. I will always be near, and now that you know my name, you can always summon me. Call my name and I will hear it when you do, no matter where I am.” Kethasha explains.

“Alright. Tell me how...”

Kethasha holds out a clawed hand. She focuses her thoughts and materializes an ancient looking scroll from thin air. It rests gently on the palm of her hand as she presents it to the girl. Sheila takes the scroll, looking it over and marveling at it. Though it looks and feels hundreds of years old, she is surprised that it is written in perfect, modern English.

“This scroll looks very old...” Sheila begins.

“It is.” Kethasha nods. “It contains the ancient rites necessary to grant your request.”

“Didn’t they spell S’s as F’s back in the seventeen-hundreds?” Sheila raises an eyebrow.

“... Alright, you caught me. I made the scroll look old for effect... Smart ass...”

Kethasha smirks, shaking her head. Sheila can’t help but giggle at the anecdote. The demoness looks quite amused by Sheila’s discovery of her trickery. Kethasha raise another hand, quickly manifesting a red Micro-SD card instead. The levitating card is quickly swiped by the teenaged girl. The red card has an orange ‘K’ painted on the front, outlined in white.

“That’s more like it.” Sheila grins.

“Don’t worry about returning it. I can make more.” Kethasha remarks.

She then pulls the hood over her head, leaving only her snout sticking out. Her glowing eyes gaze at Sheila from the shadow of the hood.

“Call me when you are ready. I need to be there before you take their life.” The demoness explains.

Sheila nods her head, looking at the scroll and the Micro-SD card. Kethasha snatches back the scroll, and brings her hands before face. She closes her eyes and her body fades away, as though being dissolved by the air. In moments, she is gone. Sheila looks at the Micro-SD card for a moment. She can’t contain her excitement and rises from the bed. She collects a card adapter and her laptop from her desk, quickly activating the device. The loading screen seems to last for an eternity as she anxious waits to look at the contents of the card. Her laptop boots up, she types in her password, and quickly inserts the card into the port.

Autoplay asks to use the device, but Sheila is already opening explorer to look at it herself. She chuckles at the card’s capacity of six-hundred and sixty-six megabytes. It contains a single .docx file, which she promptly copies onto her computer. She opens MS Word and looks over the file containing the ritual. She studies it all night, reading and rereading it until she can recite and reenact the entire ritual by heart. This is everything that she has wanted since she began her little quest, though she is unsure if she can kill for this power.

Chapter 4: Pain & Sacrifice

Having forgone sleep in order to thoroughly study the ritual, Sheila struggles through a typical day of high school. Though occasionally catching micro-naps atop her desk, the day seems to drag on forever. Every click of the bland and cheap clock mounted on the wall, scratches at the back of her skull. When the final bell rings, she bolts from her chair. Her backpack already in hand, she shoves other students out of the way, weaving through the crowds and sprinting outside of the complex. Her eyelids feel as though they are made of lead, but she finds the strength to sprint, as if Bradley were chasing her into the dark forest.

She quickly returns to her home, rushing past her father and mother who sit in the living room, watching television. She enters her bedroom, dropping her backpack near the door. Mark sits atop her bed, waiting for her to return. She closes her bedroom door and sits on her bed. Mark meows and climbs atop her lap, demanding her attention. She lifts the cat and lies back, stroking Mark as she sets him down over her modest bust. Mark jumps down, resting between her side and her arm, cuddling up to her. She looks to her laptop, contemplating her options as she strokes the cats head with her fingertips. She struggles to keep her eyes open, but her exhaustion is a weight that she can no longer bear.

She is suddenly startled awake by a loud crashing in another room. Mark lies in a little ball beside her body, his head looking to her closed bedroom door. Sheila bolts upright, looking to the door. She turns her head to the window, seeing that it is now twilight. She looks back to the door, listening to the familiar sound of her father beating her little brother mercilessly. Her hands tremble as she hears her brother crying out in pain as Bradley kicks, punches, slaps, and screams at him. His rage is as potent as his depravity. Sheila can only hope that her father won’t be in an excited mood after he finishes with her brother, as he sometimes is.

Soon, however, the yelling, crashing and stomping noises cease. Her body tremors in sheer terror as she stares at the door. She hears a shuffling outside and climbs out of her bed. Mark jumps down onto the floor, walking slowly toward the footboard. She stands near her desk by the door, trying to listen to whatever is taking place outside of her room. After several moments of silence, her father bursts into her room, startling the teenaged girl. He takes off his belt, grabbing her violently by her arm.

“No, please... I’m begging you.” She whimpers.

Margaret holds little Joshua, cradling the bloodied child in the hallway. Sheila struggles with Bradley, but is unable to fight off her father, who soon overpowers her, dragging her toward her bed. She knows what to expect, and has prepared herself. As she had often done before, she loses herself in her thoughts; she enters a trancelike state, blanking out every subsequent image and sensation. By the time Bradley’s pants drop to his ankles, she has already left her own body, retreating into a world all her own.

She walks through a warm and sunny field, imagining a life free of the torment and pain. In this world she is finally free of being used like the personal property of a sick and twisted man who is supposed to care for her. As she sits beneath a willow tree with vibrant green vines, Mark approaches. He sits atop his mistress’ lap, gazing up at her with his large orange eyes. She strokes his silky black fur, but her calm feelings begin to wane. Though she tries not to, she can’t help but think of her brother and how much he suffers at the hands of their monstrous father. She struggles to maintain focus, using all of her strength to hide within her mind. She lies motionless on her bed, staring blankly at the wall, while her father uses her.

When Sheila finally comes too, Bradley has finished, having long since left the room. She stares out of the window; the sun has already set, leaving a bright and full moon in its place. It’s perfectly round, glowing like a lightbulb. She sits up and covers her nude body with her blanket. After taking a few moments to recover, she slowly crawls out of her bed. She dresses herself, throwing away the torn shirt and panties that lie on the floor. This will be the last time, for both her and her brother. She is no longer going to accept this fate, now that she has the power to change it. Furthermore, Sheila has chosen who it is she will sacrifice.

Her parents have already retired to bed, so she creeps into the hallway and slips into the kitchen to gather the supplies she needs for the ritual. She slowly and quietly enters the basement. There, she places the candles, builds the salt circle, and lays out several sheets and the large kitchen knife that she had taken moments earlier. Confident that she is ready, she takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, calming here frazzled nerves. She creeps up the stairs and into her brother’s bedroom. She is prepared to wake her brother, but to her surprise, Joshua is already awake. The boy softly sobs, his eye blackened, his lip split, and many bruises over his face and arms.

“Hey, Sheila...” Joshua says quietly and with a sniffle.

“Hi. He got you good today, didn’t he?” She asks.

“Yeah... Did he hurt you again?” The boy asks his sister.

“Nothing I haven’t handled before... ... Hey... I have something for you.” Sheila says sweetly to her little brother.

“Yeah?” He sits up in his bed.

“Come downstairs with me. I’ve hidden it in the basement.” She adds.

The boy seems quite scared of the darkened cellar. He hesitates to follow his sister, but Sheila rests a hand tenderly on his shoulder.

“Nothing and no one will hurt you anymore. I promise.” She assures him. “Please, Joshua... Follow me.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Joshua climbs up from the bed. He reaches out, taking Sheila by the hand. She leads the boy into the hallway, down the steps and into the basement. The boy seems quite frightened by the darkness, the tightened grip of his hand a silent complaint. He reaches out to find a light switch, but Sheila stops him, reaching out and swatting his hand. She knows that if he were to turn on the lights, he will see what truly awaits him; she cannot allow that. Instead, she uses a matchbook to light the way, leading Joshua toward the salt circle. She kneels down and lights the emergency candles, their faint glow illuminating only a few feet around them.

Conveniently, the knife and sheets are placed just outside of the circle of light made by the ring of candles. As the boy stands in the dimly lit basement, he rather nervously looks around. Sheila steps into the darkness for a moment, taking an old metal pipe from a shelf mounted above the washing machine. She clutches it tightly in her hand, holding it behind her back as she turns back to her little brother.

“S-so, w-what’s this thing y-you have for me?” Joshua nervously asks.

He turns, his back facing to his sister, looking around for any clues as to the nature of this phantom gift that she is offering. She brings the pipe from behind her back, holding it high above her head. Her hand tremors as she hesitates, but as he begins to turn back to her, she swings. She strikes him hard in the back of the head. He falls over and groans, but is not unconscious. She strikes him again and again, clubbing little Joshua with the old pipe until he is no longer moving. She looks over his limp body for a moment, dropping the bloody pipe onto the floor. She can’t believe she had done it. She grabs her brother’s neck and feels for a pulse. He is still alive and is a viable sacrifice.

“I’m so sorry, but he’ll never hurt you again. I promise.” Sheila whispers.

She stands and calls out to Kethasha as she begins tying up her brother’s hands and feet with the sheets. She struggles to carry the boy into the circle, trying not to damage the salt ring, or knock over any of the candles. She calls out to Kethasha again as she jams a washcloth into Joshua’s mouth, holding it in place with a piece of white duct tape. She calls out to Kethasha yet again, putting more force into her voice.

“Alright, alright. I’m here, Sheila... Geez...” Kethasha grumbles.

She steps out of a darkened corner, the hood pulled over her head. Sheila can see her snout, her lips curling up into a sinister grin as she looks down at the boy.

“Was I interrupting you or something?” Sheila growls.

“No. You just brought me the sacrifice much sooner than I had expected. I was about to visit another who is calling to me as we speak, though I believe he is merely lonely. I will enjoy him as soon as we are done here.” Kethasha bluntly admits.

She looks over the body, bringing a claw to her chin.

“Is... Is this your own brother, Joshua?” Kethasha giggles.

“Yes. If I use him, he’ll always be with me, and never have to suffer the aftermath of what is going to happen next.” Sheila replies.

“My... What an interesting train of thought you have, my dear girl.” Kethasha chuckles. “Carry on.”

Kethasha waves her clawed hand, watching as Sheila takes the knife from the concrete floor. Sheila chants as she kneels over the unconscious body of her brother. She raises the knife, the blade gleaming a faint orange in the candlelight. The knife shivers in her hands as Sheila struggles to find the strength to continue. She looks up, gazing into the swirling orange irises of Kethasha’s eyes. Her heart hardening, Sheila suddenly plunges the knife into Joshua’s chest. As his life quickly fades, Kethasha steps into the circle.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Sheila. I’m glad to see that I was mistaken.” Kethasha says with a smirk.

Kethasha kneels down and rests her clawed hands on the boy, placing one atop his head and one near the knife that juts from his chest. She leans in and opens her toothy maw, clamping down hard on the boy’s throat. Her eyes glow like incandescent bulbs as she drains the energy and the blood from his body. Joshua’s body becomes desiccated, shriveling and turning dark as she drinks the crimson life force from his corpse. Sheila’s eyes grow wide in horror as she watches the spectacle.

Kethasha soon finishes and rises to her feet, casually wiping her mouth with the unused end of the sheet that binds the boy’s wrists. She holds up her hands to the ceiling and exhales a light blue mist that flows around Sheila. The redheaded teenager stands, looking at the swirling mist. In the blue smoke she can see the screaming face of her little brother. He looks like he is terrified, or suffering a great pain. Her heart aches as she realizes what she has done to her own brother. The demoness swings her hands towards Sheila. The mist suddenly rushes toward her, flooding the girl’s mouth and nostrils.

It forcefully enters her body, though she doesn’t feel the urge to cough. From Kethasha’s palms emerge two beams of orange light. They strike the human girl with great force, causing her to stumble. She can feel a pain in her chest that rises up through her throat. A faint blue mist emerges from Sheila’s nose and mouth. It is pulled across the circle and enters Kethasha’s mouth and nostrils. Sheila can feel a burning in her veins, and her flesh becomes warm across her entire body as her chest feels completely hollow. What is this sensation she is feeling?

Kethasha closes her fingers over her palms, stopping the orange beams of light which turn off like a light switch. Sheila falls to her knees. She feels as though she will lose consciousness at any moment, but suddenly experiences a burst of energy; an indescribable power courses through her veins and makes her heart beat faster. She looks over her own hands, which glow faintly.

Chapter 5: Ritual & Liberation

“Is... Is it over?” She asks the demoness.

“Yes. His soul powers your magic, which is merely a copy of my own. Try it on your cat. See if the results please you.” Kethasha answers.

Sheila stands, her knees weak. She begins to stumble towards the stairs, but Kethasha speaks up.

“No, girl. He is already here. I brought him for you.”

Kethasha raises a hand, revealing the cat lying across it on his belly.

“It’s one of the many powers you now possess. It’s quite fun to trick people with. I’ve spent hours moving people’s things and watching them from the shadows.” Kethasha laughs.

Sheila takes Mark by the armpits, looking at him. She envisions an attractive Voeldahn male with the cat’s features; his eyes, fur, and even the voice that she dreamt the cat having. She rests her forehead against Mark, who purrs at her touch. A light emerges from Sheila’s eyes; the red streams beam like lasers into Mark’s. He hisses and writhes, as though in pain. Sheila is startled, dropping him to the floor. Mark lies down on his side, twitching as his body begins to morph.

He groans as his voice becomes deeper. The cat’s body grows larger, his arms and legs elongating. His paws turn to clawed Voeldahn hands, his feet turning into the four-toed digitigrade feet of every Voeldahn she had ever seen. His tail grows unusually long, and his chest expands. The transformation appears quite painful. Within a matter of moments, the housecat has completely morphed into the form of a teenaged feline Voeldahn boy. He opens his orange eyes, looking around the room. He sees Sheila, and immediately rises to his feet. The naked boy stands before his mistress, bowing his head in reverence.

“Oh, most gracious of beings, my queen. I’m yours to command.” Mark speaks to her.

Kethasha silently chuckles at Mark’s amusing pledge. Sheila grins, stepping up to her minion. He is somehow even more beautiful than she had envisioned, and what’s more, he is entirely hers. She strokes his snout and cheek with the back of her fingers, leaning close to Mark’s face. Kethasha looks over the nude body of the Voeldahn cat boy. His slender but toned frame is actually quite appealing. Her eyes glance down as she scans his body, stopping when she sees his impressive package hanging visibly between his legs.

“Oh my... Is that how you envisioned him?” Kethasha grins.

“Yes, it is.” Sheila blatantly admits, her face flushing red.

“I didn’t know that about you. That’s something else we have in common.” Kethasha chuckles. “Well, I’m sure you have work to do, as do I. Call me if you need me, but try to take your time. I may be indisposed for a little while.” The demoness winks.

She raises her hands in front of her face and quickly vanishes again. Sheila stands with her cat boy, silently gazing at his body illuminated entirely by candlelight. She looks around the room and finds the light switch. Turning on the lights, the incandescent glow floods the basement. She turns back to Mark, gazing down at his pelvis, as though it were magnetically drawing her eyes to it. She shakes her head as she comes to her sense. She looks toward the washer and dryer, where a basket of clean and unsorted clothes sits. Digging through the basket, she finds a pair of her father’s boxer-briefs and blue jeans.

“Here...” She says as she tosses him the clothes. “Dress yourself. Your... Equipment is a real distraction.”

“My apologies, my queen.” Mark replies.

“Please... You’re my best friend... My only friend... Call me Sheila.”

“Of course, Shiela.” Mark nods.

He smiles as he zips up and buttons the blue jeans, his tail swaying slowly as it sits just over the waistband of both the underwear and pants. Sheila turns back to her brother’s drained and withered corpse, but finds it hard to feel entirely bad for him when she knows that his soul resides within her. She blows out the candles and covers Joshua’s body with a sheet. She moves over to an old couch that sits against the basement wall. The couch had once resided in the living room; Bradley had been too cheap and lazy to buy the twenty-five-dollar trash sticker to place on it, so it has resided in the basement for two years.

She sits down and taps the couch cushion beside her. Mark quickly approaches and sits with his mistress. They sit quietly for a moment. Sheila can’t help but stare at her new minion, already so infatuated with her cat boy. She cannot contain her emotions any longer, expressing her feelings, her desires, and admiring his form. She tells him that she has wanted someone like him for many years; someone that will protect her from her monstrous father, and someone that she can love and will love her back. She latches onto Mark as though he were a teddy bear. He assures her that he will do anything for her. Sheila then sheepishly asks him to cuddle with her, as if he might refuse.

He shifts, lying down on the couch as he gently pulls at his mistress. Sheila lies down in front of Mark, who spoons with her, his arms and tail draping over her. She feels the warmth of his body and his soft fur on her skin; it makes her feel comforted and safe. As she presses herself against his body, she can feel something else; a large bulge within his blue jeans against her buttocks. Her face flushes as her mind wanders, her thoughts quickly becoming lustful. She contains herself only because the two teenagers lie mere feet from her brothers dried out corpse. For now, she is content to simply be held. As Mark snuggles with Sheila, she soon falls asleep in his arms.

She awakens, sitting up quickly as though startled. She looks to a window near the top of the basement walls. Though it is still dark, she isn’t sure how long she has been asleep. She turns and quietly asks Mark, who is still awake. He can only shrug, as he is not wearing a watch. She quietly and nervously takes her cat boy upstairs, leading him by the hand. Though she intends to kill both of her parents, she is startled by the sudden appearance of her father in the archway of the hall, his back facing the kitchen. He glares at her.

“What the fuck are you doing up, you little whore?!” He yells.

She pulls her hand toward her body, bringing Mark out of the basement doorway. The half-naked boy emerges from the basement, his hand holding Sheila’s.

“Oh... I fucking knew it! ... Are... Are those MY pants?!” He roars.

He quickly stomps toward Sheila. The girl panics at the sight of her furious father.

“Get him!” Sheila demands.

Mark’s eyes burn a fiery orange as he bears razor sharp claws. He hisses, revealing his menacing canines. The father stops, a look of genuine fear on his face. He quickly pushes it aside, raising up his hands in time to catch the Voeldahn, who leaps upon him. Mark claws at Bradley’s back, tearing open his shirt and cutting half-inch deep gashes into his flesh. Bradley screams in pain as he shoves the boy off of him, blood running down his back and dripping onto the floor.

“You little fucking bitch! I’m going to kill your little boyfriend, then I’m going to kill you too for cheating on me!” Her father rages.

He rushes the boy, who dives out of the way. Mark swings a leg, tripping Bradley, who falls onto the coffee table just inside of the living room. Mark yanks a curtain down from the nearby window, ripping a large piece off. He pounces on her father’s bloodied back, holding the torn curtain between his hands. He jams the claws of his toes into Bradley’s spine as he garrotes him with the curtain. Her father struggles to breath as the Voeldahn quickly strangles him into unconsciousness.

Margaret screams, watching the horrors unfold from the hallway. Sheila quickly attacks her mother, punching and smacking the frightened woman before heaving her into the living room. She begins to strangle the life out of her with her bare hands.

“This is for never protecting us! For never saving my brother from him, or guarding my innocence! This is for every time he raped me and you never called the police! Die, you weak bitch!” Sheila screams, unleashing her rage.

As her mother’s face turns a bluish-purple, Sheila suddenly has an idea. She stops as her mother slips into unconsciousness. She rises from her body and turns to her minion, demanding Mark cease. He does not hesitate, taking the curtain away from her father’s throat. They tie up her parents and sit them on the couch of the living room, placing rags in their mouths and holding them in with white duct tape. Sheila searches her parent’s bedroom, quickly discovering the stolen Walther PP that her father had kept in a box inside their closet.

She returns to the living room and hands the pistol to her minion, whispering into his ear. He grins, nodding at his mistress. He takes a thick pillow, holding it in his opposite hand. Her parents soon come too, their eyes slowly opening. Sheila stands before her terrified mother and defiant father. They look back and forth between their daughter and the strange Voeldahn.

“Do I have your attention?” Sheila begins.

Her parents merely mumble through their makeshift gags.

“What was that? Where’s Joshua?” Sheila holds a hand to her ear mockingly. “Oh, I killed him. You can never hurt him again. Do I have your attention now?” She grins.

Her mother screams into the cloth gag and begins to cry. Her father, however, glares at her with fiery eyes. Sheila sighs, realizing that she may not receive the response she had hoped for. She motions to Mark, her approaches her parents. He places the pillow against Margaret’s chest, sticking the gun against the other end of the pillow.

“Mmm! Mm-hm!” Margaret cries out.

“Hold on, Mark.” Sheila says.

Mark pulls the gun and pillow away from her mother’s chest, stepping back to Sheila’s side.

“Do you both swear to give me what I want?” Sheila asks.

Her parents both nod.

“Anything?” Sheila grins.

“Mhm!” They both reply with a nod.

“Good... Do it.” She says to Mark.

Quickly returning to Margaret, Mark slams the pillow against her chest as Sheila covers her ears. He kills her mother first, placing the barrel of the Walther PP against the pillow and shooting through it twice. It helps muffle the sound of the little .32 ACP pistol. Mark quickly bites Margaret’s throat, before he sidesteps and repeats this with her father. He fires once, then again, but the gun jams after the second shot. Her father isn’t dead, but groans in pain, so the boy drops the pillow and pistol and grabs his shoulders. He leans in and violently bites the man’s throat, tearing into his arteries. Her father quickly expires.

Sheila wipes the blood from their throats and tastes it, before raising her hands and drawing out the familiar blue mist from their bodies. The mist swirls around Sheila as their spirits enter her body, enhancing her powers. Sheila sighs in relief and calls out to Kethasha. After a moment of waiting, she calls out again.

“Yes?” Kethasha asks.

The red skinned demoness appears from the kitchen, looking rather peaceful. A little smile is spread across her face, and she moves rather gracefully.

“How long has it been since the ritual?” Sheila asks.

“It’s been about two hours.” Kethasha answers.

“So how was your other appointment?”

“He was... Much bigger than I was expecting. I do so love pleasant surprises.” Kethasha giggles. “Plenty of stamina too! It made for a wonderful hour and a half. I’m actually still recovering.”

Sheila’s face turns red as she blushes.

“I see... So, what did you do with him? ... Besides that.” Sheila asks.

“Oh, nothing. He rivals your own cat boy.” Kethasha remarks, pointing a finger at Mark’s pelvis. “I didn’t even take his soul. In fact, he did me a favor.” She giggles. “Though I do believe he wanted something. I’ll return to him and wait for him to wake up on his own, then see what it is.”

“Right...”

“So what do you require, girl?” Kethasha asks.

“I’d like to make a trade.” Sheila begins.

“What kind of trade?” Kethasha raises a brow.

“You had to claim my soul to grant my request, right?”

“That is the standard arrangement.” Kethasha nods.

“What if I were to trade you two souls for my own?” Sheila asks.

Kethasha giggles, then laughs, and soon cackles rather maniacally.

“How cute. And who’s souls are you trading?” The demoness asks.

“Theirs.” Sheila points to her parent’s corpses.

Kethasha looks over their bodies, turning her head back to the teenaged girl.

“I hate to tell you this, but they have to surrender their souls to you willingly. I didn’t actually steal your brother’s, but ‘borrowed’ it. It’ll return to the hereafter once you inevitably expire.” Kethasha explains.

“Oh, I understand that... I asked them to give me anything I wanted, but never offered terms. Once they died, I absorbed their souls. They are now mine, to do with as I wish. If you return my soul to me, you can have both of theirs.” Sheila grins wide.

Kethasha laughs loudly, placing her clawed hands on her bare hips.

“I underestimated you, girl.” The demoness begins. “If you truly own their souls, I’ll gladly trade.”

They stand, facing each other as their hands both glow orange. The beams strike each other as Sheila releases the spirits of her mother and father from her body. They spiral around each other like a tiny hurricane between the two women. Kethasha releases Sheila’s spirit from her body, and the two swirls glide past each other. Sheila inhales the blue mist of her own soul, while Kethasha breathes in Margaret’s and Bradley’s. The orange beams cease as Sheila stumbles back. She still feels powerful, but the emptiness that was there before is now gone.

“That was quite a trick, especially for such a young girl. I would have expected that from one of my own kin.” Kethasha begins.

“Thank you.” Sheila sheepishly interjects.

“But don’t think you’re off the hook quite so easily. You have the rest of your life to try and repent. If you can’t, I’ll just have to visit you in Hell, rather than keep you with me... A shame too... I’d have rather had you as my pet.”

Her words sink deeply into Sheila’s mind. Is she not free and clear? She doesn’t quite understand.

“Until then, I’ll gladly visit you whenever you call me; you’re both a business partner, and a friend... Maybe we can see a movie sometime?!” Kethasha asks giddily.

She brings her hands to her face and quickly disappears one more time, never giving Sheila the chance to answer. Sheila looks back at the bodies of her parents, and then to Mark, her loyal and loving minion. He turns back to her.

“What now, Sheila?” He asks.

She looks him over and grins a sinister grin, stepping up to him. Sheila rests her wrists on his shoulders, her hands gently gripping the back of his neck. She kisses her minion’s bloody lips and leads him down the hall and into her bedroom; she feels rather excited. Mark obeys without hesitation.