Chapter Six
Theophrastus
“You can stay long enough to fix up Mephisto. Then, you go,” my brother Theophrastus announced.
We had driven out to Theo’s house, which stood in an apple orchard in the wilds of Vermont. The road to the house led through acre upon acre of apple trees: Red Delicious, Rome, Macintosh. The apples had all been harvested, save for those that had fallen to the ground. The leafless trees stood like gnarled ghosts in the swirling flurries.
Theo lived in an old white farmhouse. Behind the main building was a large red barn. Near the barn, black-and-white cows roamed through a snowy paddock enclosed by an old split-rail fence.
Before leaving the gas station, Theo had shot the bear through the braincase, then fired repeatedly into the creature’s chest. He and his driver had tried to lift the carcass into Theo’s truck. They failed the first time, but with my help, we were able to heave the thing into the open back. Upon arriving, Theo had called to two farmhands, who were maneuvering a tractor between the open doors of the barn, and asked them to come help build a bonfire and burn the carcass. Twice, he seemed to think better of this plan and started off toward the farmhouse. Both times, however, he restrained himself.
He left them and strode purposefully to our car, his buff coat whipping in the wind. Mephisto lay stretched across the back seat. During the short ride from the gas station to the house, Mephisto had been writhing and twisting, muttering about starfish and his staff. Now, he lay silent and still. It was as Theo leaned over Mephisto and drew his limp body onto his shoulder that Theo had uttered his pronouncement.
This was not the greeting I had expected. Whoops of joy and a warm embrace were the more usual greeting from my favorite brother. Something was terribly wrong with the Theophrastus Prospero I had known.
Theo began carrying Mephisto toward the house. After only a few paces, his face became pale, and he began staggering. Mab got out of the car and hurried toward him. He was back in his body again, which I had restored with a drop of Water of Life—the damage was not as bad as it first looked—though he still twisted and twitched, striving to get properly situated within it.
“Let me give you a hand.” He approached Theo.
“You’ll stay here,” Theo replied sharply. His words came in breathy spurts. “I’ll have no spirits contaminating my house.” Mab grasped the brim of his hat, which the brisk winds threatened to tug from his head. He raised an eyebrow and examined the staggering and puffing Theo.
“What of Miss Miranda’s dress and the Water of Life she put on Mephisto’s lips in the car? Can they enter your hallowed house?”
Theo glanced back and forth between the house and where I stood near the car, drawing closed the belt of my tattered coat. He was panting now, and his face was flushed entirely red beneath his gray beard.
“Take his feet then,” he gasped. “We’ll take him to the barn.”
The barn contained no bed or couch; however, there was a kitchen in the back. Entering it, Theo and Mab ducked under hanging brass pans and stretched Mephisto out on the long butcher-block table. I went immediately to the sink and began to fill a brass teakettle.
“I’ll need hot water, a cup, and a mortar and pestle,” I said.
“There’s mugs in the first cabinet, but I don’t keep mortars and pestles on my property.” Theo leaned on the table regaining his breath. “Will an ordinary hammer do?”
“It will have to.”
* * *
Once the kettle was heating, I examined Mephisto. His face was pale and damp, his breathing shallow. The wrist where the snake had bitten him was swollen and blue. As Theo came back with the hammer, I saw him look at Mephisto. His throat constricted, and he turned away.
I laid the hammer on the counter next to a blue Garfield mug I had taken from the cabinet. From under my coat, I drew forth a heart-shaped locket I wore around my neck on a velvet ribbon. It was fashioned of silver and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Of all my antique and aged belongings, it was the oldest, having been passed from my grandmother to my mother to me, half a millennium ago. My mother wears it in the portrait of her that hangs in the Great Hall. My father had often described to me how Lady Portia pressed it into his hand as she died, and how he, in turn, pressed it into my infant hand the first time he held me. Within it, I kept a thin twist of white ivory, a tiny sliver of the horn so eagerly sought by knights of old for its ability to cure poison.
With the hammer, I crushed a tiny chip of ivory no longer than the nail of my pinky finger. Grinding it into powder, I brushed the result into the cup and poured in hot water. The pulverized white ivory swirled in the water, giving the liquid a pearly gleam. Carrying the mug to where Mephisto lay, I carefully dribbled the concoction down his throat, swabbing the last bit onto his swollen wrist with a paper towel from a rack over the sink. From the small, pear-shaped crystal vial I carried in my pocket, I gave him a drop of Water of Life. In addition to mending his current wounds, the Water would also help heal his infected toe and any other lingering damage that neglect or malnutrition had caused. While I did this, Mab sat on a stool on the far side of the table, where he held Mephisto’s other hand, carefully working the porcupine quills out of the flesh.
I leaned against the counter and prayed to my Lady. Curing poisons was one of the prerogatives of the Unicorn, and one of the six Gifts She granted to Her Sibyls. Were I a Sibyl, I could have cured my brother in an instant. I prayed to my Lady for Mephisto’s health and asked, for the hundred millionth time, that She might reveal to me what I needed to know to be granted entrance into the ranks of Her most cherished servants.
As I prayed silently to my Lady for Mephisto’s deliverance, a morning long ago on the windy moors of Scotland rose from my memory. I had been standing atop Grantham Tor watching for my brothers—a runner from the village, a youth paid by Father to bring his mail, brought the news that they had been spotted returning from the war. Which war, I do not recall, but it must have been an English war since we were in Scotland at the time. It might have been King James’s war against Spain, or, perhaps, it was the English Civil War, where we fought with the Cavaliers against the Roundheads and lost—though probably not that war, as, after that defeat, we fled Scotland for the Netherlands in a hurry.
The six of them came riding along the old dirt track: Mephistopheles, Theophrastus, Erasmus, Cornelius, Titus, and Gregor. They rode tired, gaunt mounts, and their once-fine garments were encrusted with mud. However, the horses had new ribbons of green and yellow woven into their manes and tails, probably put there by Theo for my benefit.
I waved and waved from atop the tor. The wind blew my plaid skirts through the heather. It blew my hair, too, which was still as black as a raven’s wing then, whipping it across my face and out behind my head like streamers on a Maypole. My brothers waved back as they rode by on their way toward the manor, Mephisto and Titus rising in their seats to wave more enthusiastically. Theo, however, broke away from them and galloped his charger up the tor.
Reaching me, he dismounted. He wore a heavy coat that had once been red, scuffed black boots, and a pair of patched breeches. In his hand, he carried a posy of irises and primroses. He must have just picked them, for the blossoms were fresh and sweet. Theo handed them to me, bowing stiffly, and blushed when I kissed his cheek.
Taking my hands in his, he spoke to me in the overly stern manner he assumed when he was serious, which I always found pompous yet endearing.
“I thought of you often while we were separated and was troubled on your behalf. Without a husband, you have only your family to protect you. I want you to be assured that if you should ever have need, you may call upon me. Whatever I am about, I will put it aside to come protect you or avenge your honor. I give you my solemn and eternal vow.”
At the time, I laughed gaily and kissed him again, then leapt upon his horse, allowing him to lead me back through the heather to the manor. But I never forgot his words. When times were darkest, the memory of Theo’s vow always brought me comfort. Yet now, Theo was an old man, weaker than Father, and no longer immortal.
Where was my champion now?
* * *
“How long is this going to take?” Theo drew up an armchair next to the door and sat down heavily. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, his breathing labored.
“Theo, be patient. Your brother may be dying,” I said.
“I have no brother. I left your family over fifty years ago,” Theophrastus replied.
His words shocked me. I did not know what to say.
Theo may have intended to continue talking, but a coughing fit seized him. His hacking grew stronger until his body shook with wracking spasms. From the pocket of his buff coat, he pulled a medicine bottle, shook out two pills into his hand, and swallowed them, washing them down with water from a mug resting on the counter. Then, he placed both elbows on the counter and leaned forward, waiting for his coughing to subside. I stepped up next to him and placed my hand on his arm. Drawing out the crystal vial from my pocket, I offered it to him.
Theo’s reaction was quick and violent. He slapped the vial from my hand so that it flew across the kitchen. Quick as the wind, Mab leapt from his stool and snatched the vial from the air. Mab shoved the crystal vial into the pocket of his trench coat and resumed his work on Mephisto’s hand.
I turned on Theo.
“Darn it, Theo! You don’t have to take it, but don’t waste it! Don’t you know how difficult it is to get Water of Life? You can’t take a bus or a plane to the end of the world, you know!”
“I don’t think you want to spill that stuff, Mr. Theophrastus,” Mab drawled sardonically. “Every spirit in a thousand miles would be swarming into your barn, eager to lap it up.”
“I don’t know why you came to Vermont, but I want you to leave, now,” said Theo. “You’ve done enough damage already.”
“Damage?” I asked, taken aback. “What damage?”
“First, you led that wretched Osae the Red practically to my doorstep. Now, you’re contaminating the place with the unnatural. Isn’t that enough?” Theo asked bitterly.
Theophrastus had recognized our shapechanger. The name Osae the Red was familiar, but it floated in the haze of my memory, just out of reach. This was hardly a time for questions, so I filed the information away for later.
Theo growled. “It has taken me decades to cleanse myself of the filth of the supernatural. I have no intention of losing my chance at salvation now, after all I’ve sacrificed.”
“You’re willing to prolong your life with those little pills. How is the Water any different? If you fear Hell, one would think that you would wish to avoid death at all costs,” I replied, annoyed.
What was making Theo so antagonistic? To find out what was wrong with my brother, I would need an opportunity to speak with him at length.
“A man never knows when his day of reckoning will come. Gregor’s death showed us that. I just want to make sure that when I die, my soul is clean of the stink of the dark arts.” Theo paused. “I would like you to leave now.”
“We came here to warn you,” I said wearily. “The Three Shadowed Ones are after our staffs. I’ve given you the warning; now we’ll go away … but not until Mephisto is well enough to move. If you don’t like it, you can leave, or you can shoot us.”
“He won’t be shooting anybody,” Mab growled. “Not while I’m here. Though I must say, for a mortal, his aim was excellent. Nice shot back there with the bear.”
“Thank you,” Theo replied brusquely.
Mab continued. “Now, I hate to break up this touching family reunion, but there’s a chameleon cloak in the car out there. And as stinking of the dark arts goes, it ranks up there with the Necronomicon. So, perhaps one of you could bind up the kid’s hand while I go out and put a ward of protection around the accursed thing.”
“A chameleon cloak?” Theo whispered, aghast. “Miranda? Have you lost your wits? You, most of all, should know the depth of the villainy of those garments. Just the presence of such an object acts as consent to allow demons to devour your soul!”
“I am aware of that,” I replied flatly.
Theo gazed at us, torn with the agony of indecision. Then, he stood and extended his hand stiffly. “Bring it. I will buy it from you.”
“What use do you have for it?” Mab’s voice was gruff with confusion.
“I’ll destroy it. Obliterate it from the face of the earth.”
“You don’t understand, we were about to …” Mab started to object, but I caught his eye and shook my head. Mab shut up. This was the opportunity for which I had been waiting.
“It’s a very powerful talisman, Theo. There are few objects so accursed upon the face of the earth. A person might not wish to relinquish such an object lightly,” I murmured.
Mab was staring at me from under the brim of his hat as if I had suddenly sprouted horns. Whether he was appalled or amused, I could not tell. For myself, I felt sullied even mouthing such words, but I needed a chance to sit down with my brother, give him Father’s message, and see if I could not change his mind about growing old. If Theo would not grant this graciously, I would have to wrestle it from him.
“I will offer whatever it takes,” Theo replied.
“Very well. I’ll let you destroy the cloak. In return, you let us stay here until Mephisto is well enough to travel, and you have to answer Mab’s questions.”
“Questions? About what?”
“Whatever he decides to ask.”
Theo did not answer immediately. He clenched his teeth, and a muscle in the side of his jaw jerked spasmodically beneath his beard. He looked from me to Mab to Mephisto, who lay stretched out and pale upon the table.
“Very well, you have a deal. But, as soon as he’s able …” He jerked his thumb at Mephisto. “You all go.”
“Great,” Mab sprang for the kitchen door. “Let’s destroy the accursed thing!”
* * *
Theo poured a circle of rock salt around the bonfire where the farmhands were burning the bear, and then led the way across the hillside. Twilight was falling. We walked through gnarled trees and swirling snow. The air was crisp and cold. In the distance, a cow lowed. A stone wall loomed into view, and Theo guided us through a rickety gate. Beyond lay rolling hills and row after row of leafless trees.
As we walked, Mab came up beside me and muttered, “Shouldn’t we be hurrying on to your next sibling, ma’am? And what are these questions I’m supposed to ask Mr. Theo?”
“Anything you can think of!” I whispered back.
“I need something to work with, ma’am,” Mab hissed. “He’ll get mighty suspicious if I start asking him about his favorite baseball team.”
“Did you notice he recognized our shapechanger? Called him by name,” I whispered back. “Ask him about that. Maybe it had some connection to the Three Shadowed Ones … and take as long a time about asking him as possible.”
“Right,” Mab drawled reluctantly. “Bet he’ll love that.…”
* * *
At the first clearing, Theo stopped. He was puffing from the weight of the shotgun and the bag of rock salt he carried. He threw down the bag and wiped his brow.
“I guess this is as good a place as anywhere.” He leaned on his shotgun while he caught his breath.
Mab turned up the collar of his coat and approached Theo, who eyed him warily.
“If you don’t want to get your hands dirty, I’ll do the ritual,” Mab offered gruffly.
“You?” Theo asked. He cocked a bushy white eyebrow. “I thought, as a spirit, you would object to a disenchanting.”
“Can’t help what you are,” Mab spat back. “Doesn’t mean it has to color your opinions. Mortals weren’t meant for magic. Anything I can do to separate the two is good by me. Oh, and just for the record—I haven’t come out of my body but two times in the last sixty-five years. Don’t take to that sort of thing myself. It’s just a rhino had landed on my chest and Miss Miranda was in trouble. So, you don’t have to worry about me summoning spirits from the vasty deep or contaminating your petunias with fairies.”
“Very well,” Theo replied slowly. He was clearly uncertain what to make of Mab. “You do the ritual, then. I don’t know anything about magic, anyway.”
He shot me an accusing look, but I feigned innocence. This issue, whether or not Theo was a magician, had been a common theme in family arguments for centuries. Years of fighting warlocks, necromancers, and sorcerers had taught him a great deal about the arcane; however, he refused to admit any knowledge of this kind and reacted with anger when reminded of it.
“This sort of business could stir up trouble,” Theo finished. “I’ll take the gun and keep a lookout.”
He filled a pocket with rock salt, hefted his shotgun, and began pacing out a wide circle around the clearing, peering off into the snowy countryside as he went. Meanwhile, Mab broke off a straight length from a fallen branch and began tracing a series of triangles and circles on the ground.
“Wish I hadn’t left my chalk at the thrift shop, but I was a bit distracted by the killer grizzly. You sure this stuff will work?” he muttered aloud, stopping to kick the bag of rock salt.
Theo stood at the far side of the clearing with his foot on a low stone wall, staring off down the hill. He spoke without turning around.
“It works better than chalk or sea salt. Kills any spirit who tries to cross it the same way it kills water: absorbs the life right out of them. The only substances that make stronger wards are certain herbicides.”
Mab adjusted his hat and gave Theo’s back a long look. Turning to me, he said in a low voice, “Thought he said he didn’t know anything about magic?”
I just smiled.
* * *
Mab surveyed the hillside. “Where are you planning to stand, Miss Miranda? I want to put you in a protective circle before I start anything else.”
I found a rock to sit on near the edge of the clearing. Mab traced a circle around me, filling it in with the crystalline rock salt. Then, dropping the bag of salt beside the newly drawn circle, he began tracing out the rest of his wards, scratching the dirt with his stick.
When he had traced all the wards, Mab hefted the bag of rock salt and began pouring its contents into the grooves he had prepared in the dirt. First, he filled the two larger circles Theo had paced out around the entire clearing. Then, he continued inward, filling in his designs. Meanwhile, Theo continued to patrol the clearing, walking always between the concentric white lines.
I sat on my rock patiently, waiting. The wind rustled the few dead leaves still hanging from the denuded apple trees. Snow continued to fall, though more lightly. The crisp fresh scent of newly fallen snow hung in the air. Seated there, watching my brother pace and Mab draw circles in the snowy leaves with his boot, I was reminded of the day we lost Milan—not so much of the actual loss as of the morning before the battle, when we still harbored delusions of victory.
That morning, we had cast a spell laid out much like this one. Funny to recall Mephisto carefully drawing wards while Erasmus lounged lazily against one of the walls of brown stone, eating an apple. It was such a reverse of the way things were now.
Nowadays, Erasmus was the studious magician in the family. Back then, he had been a gangly seventeen-year-old with no more interest in sorcery than he had in what we then called the womanly arts. Enamored of the scintillating court of my Uncle Ludovico, my father’s youngest brother, Erasmus hoped to follow in the footsteps of Uncle’s favorite artist, Leonardo da Vinci. He spent his time painting or designing ridiculous contraptions that never functioned as predicted—even though Mephisto’s paintings were always more attractive and his contraptions always worked. Nonetheless, Erasmus continued undaunted.
Eventually, he did improve. His portraits of such worthies as Queen Elizabeth and Sir Francis Drake, painted nearly a century later, hang today in museums around the world. I searched the haze of my memory but could not recall what had prompted Erasmus to abandon art for sorcery.
Theo at twenty-two, on the other hand, had already developed a dislike of magic. Being a good second son, he expected to be a soldier or perhaps to join the church. Soldiers did not care for sorcery, as it interfered with their work, and the churchmen thought it unholy. On that fateful day, he had stood to one side, his arms crossed, glowering his disapproval, much as he was doing now.
* * *
Mab straightened and brushed the snow off his fedora. “I’m about to begin, so no one had better say anything until we’re done, or all Hell could break loose—perhaps literally. Remember, wards only protect you from uninvited spirits. You invite ’em in, or just speak to ’em, and the ward goes down. At that point, you’re on your own. Everybody ready?” Theo and I nodded. “Okay, here goes.”
Onto the large rock at the center of Theo’s circle, Mab placed a pocketknife, a stick of applewood, a penny, and the blue Garfield mug in which I had mixed the unicorn horn. Next, he took out my tiny crystal vial from his trench coat and let a drop of the liquid within fall onto the rock. I wanted to cry out and stop him—replenishing my supply of Water of Life requires a journey of a year and a day, not to mention the other dangers that might be attracted by the exposed Water—but I bit my tongue. Once, I had seen a man carried off screaming into the air after he spoke out of turn during a magic ritual. That was the last I—or anyone—ever saw of that man.
Each of the four objects Mab touched to the place on the rock where the drop of the Water of Life had fallen. He then placed each item within pre-drawn triangles and poured crystalline salt into the lines, careful never to step across a line of salt himself.
Next, Mab pulled the chameleon cloak out of the bag and dropped it into a previously prepared triangle within the central circle. The material shimmered. It turned gray and snow-flecked, then brown as the earth with touches of dead grass. He poured rock salt into the lines of the triangle, sealing the chameleon cloak within.
Lastly, he poured the salt into the center circle in which he himself stood. By now, he was sweating. He took off his hat and laid it on top of the bag from which the salt came.
“Spirits of the world attend me!” he called. “Behold my works and obey my commands. I am one of your number and know all your tricks. Don’t try ’em.”
Mab took two steps and stood at the edge of his central circle facing the northward circle and the triangle within which contained the knife.
He spoke again, “The heavens of men are orderly heavens. To enforce this order, I call upon the spirit of Copernicus.”
Moving around to the east, where the mug lay, he chanted, “The waters of man are orderly waters. To enforce this order, I call upon the spirit of Lavoisier.”
To the south, where the penny sat, he said, “The earth of man is an orderly earth. To enforce this order, I call upon the spirit of Newton.”
To the west, where the sun sets, he said over the apple twig, “The fire of man is an all-consuming fire. To enforce this, I call upon the spirit of Oppenheimer.
“Here before me, I have a cloak. It dwells in the world of men. Let it be bound by the laws of the world of men. Let its air be an orderly air. Let its water be an orderly water. Let its earth be an orderly earth. Copernicus, Lavoisier, Newton: I summon and compel you. Let any spirit who disobeys be burned in the fires of Oppenheimer and let its name and nature be consumed forever.”
As Mab spoke, Theo squinted at him in stark disbelief, clearly expecting Mab’s unorthodox methods to fail. Having watched Mab work before, I knew better. Mab held that if human wizards called upon spirits, it only followed that spirits who performed magic should call upon humans. To the best of my knowledge, the shades of dead men did not rise to perform tasks at Mab’s bidding, yet he achieved his desired results. Erasmus, the true magician in the family, could probably have explained the phenomenon, but I was hardly about to ask him and voluntarily give my arrogant, obnoxious brother yet another opportunity to insult me.
Mab stood silently now, head cocked. A wind blew through the orchard, swaying the leafless branches. Leaves rustled and skirled across the ground. In the center circle, the chameleon cloak shivered under the caress of the passing wind. Its weave was a putty gray now, like the sky. Oddly, not a single scurrying leaf crossed one of Mab’s white salt wards.
In the west triangle, the apple twig suddenly burst into flames.
Out of the air above the burning twig, a voice of inhuman beauty spoke. “Foolish fayling, by what authority do you challenge my lord, a Prince of Hell?”
When the stick burst into flames, Mab had gone entirely still. The hair on the nape of his neck had risen like that on the neck of a wolf. His hand had shot to his coat, and his fingers had curled about the haft of his trusty lead pipe. Now he bent, took up a handful of the crystalline salt and held it ready in his closed fist.
“By the authority of the magician Prospero, in whose house I dwell,” Mab growled back.
“Prospero’s blood has already condoned our work. He is our prisoner now, a living man held captive in the fiery bowels of Hell. His wards and charms will not stand before the might of my lord. By what authority?”
Above, on the hill, Theo tensed, alarmed, but then he scowled and turned away. He clearly did not believe the dark angel—such spirits often lie—but then he did not know about Father’s message and the Three Shadowed Ones.
A terrible chill touched my heart. Could this infernal spirit be speaking the truth? Had the Three Shadowed Ones captured Father? It would explain how the incubus had passed through the wards protecting Father’s mansion.
Suddenly, I feared for my Father. Demons were tremendously cunning when it came to torture. Could any man survive such an experience without losing his immortal soul? I hugged my knees to my chest and sat silently on my rock, trembling.
Mab had drawn back in distress at the dark angel’s words, but he knew better than to let a denizen of Hell distract him from his goal. He stood now, scratching his stubble and glancing around. In the outer circle, Theo’s gaze was focused above the west circle. His weapon stood ready in his hand.
Mab turned back to the fiery twig. “By the Lady Miranda, whom I serve, I compel you go, and by her Lady, the Holy Eurynome!”
When Mab spoke my Lady’s name, lightning snaked across the snowy sky. The branches of the surrounding apple trees trembled. And the knife in the north triangle spun in a circle, then lay rattling on the stony earth. In the west triangle, the flame from the apple twig sputtered and died down. Then, it leapt back, brighter than before.
“Twice wrong, spiritling. Of all powers and places, she-whom-we-dare-not-name is weakest when brought near that over which you wish dominion. Thrice we ask, but thrice only. Three times unanswered, and, by ancient law, we may exact what price we please.”
Mab gazed warily about him, weighing his options. I wondered if he would call upon one of his deities, perhaps Setebos or Titania. If he chose a power with insufficient authority, something dreadful would happen.
That the authority of the Unicorn was insufficient to drive off the guardian of the chameleon cloak did not surprise me. It had been created to confound Her.
Over by the stone wall, Theo drew a handful of rock salt from his pocket and loaded it into his gun as if it were buckshot. Kneeling, he aimed directly over the top of the burning twig.
Mab stood indecisively. The flame of the apple twig burned brighter.
The inhuman voice spoke, “Speak, little spirit. Time grows short.”
Mab looked toward me, a helpless plea in his eyes. I stared back at him, unable to offer him any advice. Silently, I prayed to my Lady.
Mab’s eyes suddenly focused on something beyond me. As if galvanized, he faced the west circle and called:
“In the name of Theophrastus the Demonslayer, whose fire is hotter than Hell itself, I bid thee go.”
At that same moment, Theo fired.
The thunder of his report shook the countryside. An unearthly scream rent the air. A dozen small fountains of golden ichor sprayed onto the cold earth, the ichor gleaming and burning like liquid fire. Not a drop of it, however, fell outside the charmed wards of the western circle.
There was a rustle, then a silence. The apple twig sputtered and burned low.
“Thou hast mastered us, we concede.” The inhuman voice was almost inaudible.
Mab grinned and sprang forward to the edge of the center circle. With sweat running down his brow, he brought the tips of all five fingers together and pointed the beak his hand made toward the western triangle. Speaking rapidly, before the fire of the burning twig could die entirely away, Mab called:
“Thou has questioned when I commanded. Now, I exact your punishment as I please. I banish thee, I banish thee, I banish thee. Go to the ends of the earth and do not come back until you have counted every grain on every beach on every world that flies about a sun.”
When the fire had entirely died away, and Mab had performed the Sigil of Ultimate Closing in the four directions, he added, “That should keep the surly sucker busy for a while!”
“Huzzah!” I shouted, giddy with relief. I leapt up and threw my white fedora into the air. Theo lowered his gun and stared down at Mab, an unreadable expression on his face. Mab, for his part, leaned over and looked at the chameleon cloak. It was gray now, and of ordinary cloth. He wiped his brow and waved at us.
“All done,” he called.
“Good work,” Theo growled back. “Let’s get back to the barn and check on Mephisto. I’ll send my men out here later to take up the salt and bury the dark angel’s blood.”
Mab picked up his hat, along with the leftover road salt. He walked to the edge of his circle of salt and stopped, scowling down at his spirit-stopping ward.
“Hey,” he called to us. “Could one of you come down and let me out of here?”