The Circle (Hammer) - By Elfgren, Sara B.,Strandberg, Mats Page 0,132
of pure ectoplasm and sinks to her knees. Slowly she starts to draw the outer circle.
Her fingers leave an unnaturally even trail of ectoplasm on the light parquet floor. It’s as if the meringue-like paste has a will of its own and adjusts itself correctly of its own accord. Vanessa knows that it’s impossible to draw a perfectly round circle just by touch, yet that’s exactly what Linnéa is doing.
When the circle closes around Linnéa, Vanessa feels a tingling sensation run through her body. The silence in the room becomes more compact. All they can hear is Linnéa’s breathing. She stands up and wipes the sweat from her brow. She doesn’t see them any longer. She’s withdrawn into herself.
‘The circle that gives power,’ Ida says.
Linnéa goes to the middle. She dips her hand into the ectoplasm again and starts drawing the inner circle in the same manner. Her white camisole is damp. Sweat is trickling down her neck, between her shoulder blades, and dripping from her hairline. The drops appear to evaporate as soon as they hit the floor.
When the inner circle is closed, Vanessa feels the same tingling, but more intensely now. It vibrates through her whole skeleton to her teeth. Linnéa straightens and teeters.
‘The power sign,’ Ida whispers.
Linnéa takes the mixing bowl, dips her hand into the reddish-brown paste and draws the symbols of the water and earth elements so that they form a single unit.
Vanessa gets goose bumps all over her body. A low drone, almost beyond what is audible to the human ear, fills the room. Her eardrums are aching. And there’s something wrong with the shadows. There are more.
Vanessa’s hands seek Minoo’s and Ida’s. Or is it their hands that seek out hers? She isn’t sure. But somehow she knows it’s helping Linnéa.
Linnéa places the empty jar on the power symbol and presses her hand over the opening. Her rapid breathing can be heard above the drone. The muscles in her arm tense and her back arches, like a cat’s. The drone vibrates in Vanessa’s blood, rising and falling as the shadows pulse across the walls. Voices whisper ancient forgotten languages. The air tastes of salt. Linnéa’s chest heaves faster and faster and faster.
Suddenly Linnéa pulls away her hand from the jar and collapses in a heap.
The candle flames flicker and nearly go out. Once they’re burning steadily again, the strange shadows are gone. The low drone is gone, too, and the sounds from outside seep back into the room. Vanessa can hear the TV in the apartment above, a child running around. She lets go of the others’ hands.
‘Linnéa?’
Linnéa doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.
‘Is it over?’ Minoo asks.
‘Wait a minute,’ Ida says.
Vanessa tries to see if Linnéa’s breathing. It’s impossible to tell. She starts to panic.
‘Don’t break the circle!’ Ida shouts.
But it’s too late. Vanessa is already beside Linnéa. She drops to her knees and bends forward, lays her face next to Linnéa’s. Relief washes over her when she sees Linnéa’s lips move, as if she’s trying to say something.
‘I’m here,’ Vanessa whispers, and takes Linnéa’s sticky hand.
‘Shit,’ she hears Ida say. ‘We’ve been at it for two hours.’
‘Did it work?’ Linnéa asks faintly.
Vanessa looks at the glass jar Minoo lifts. There is an inch of turgid liquid at the bottom. It doesn’t look at all like Vanessa imagined a magic potion to be. On the other hand, she doesn’t know what she imagined. Something that glows in the dark, perhaps. Swirling wisps of smoke rising off it. Mysterious glitter. This looks as if someone dived into the muddy depths of Dammsjön Lake and brought back a water sample.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Minoo says.
Linnéa is sitting at Nicolaus’s kitchen table, guzzling orange juice between mouthfuls of macaroni wolfed straight from the pot. She looks incredibly tired, but at least she’s no longer half-dead. Vanessa is relieved. The ritual is over and Linnéa is fine. Whether the potion works or not seems far less important.
‘I’m not going to do this,’ Ida says, and pops another painkiller. ‘I’m sick. And I’ve been taking paracetamol. I might get side effects.’
‘Come on,’ Linnéa says, through another spoonful of macaroni. ‘We have to test it before we can use it on Gustaf.’
‘Easy for you to say when you don’t have to—’
‘Excuse me, but don’t you think I’ve done enough for one night?’ Linnéa asks.
Ida shuts up.
Three small coffee cups full of juice stand on the table. Linnéa has poured a drop of the truth serum into one.