“You do.”
Then I got into my car and got moving again.
Alone.
16
I was tired and sick, which isn’t the best frame of mind to be in when you’re doing detail-oriented work, but I wasn’t sure how else to proceed.
Screw it. If I had to do this alone, I would.
I started planning ahead.
So after eating some fast food, I stopped at the trucker station at the highway and bought a shower. I rinsed off meticulously and at length, until I was sure that Ramirez’s tracking spell had lost its hold on me. I also scrubbed off the ink spot, along with a couple of layers of skin so that he wouldn’t be able to get it to lock on again. Once that was done, I made some purchases and headed back out.
I needed some isolation, so I picked a random direction away from the crowds and started following my instincts, doing so until I was damned sure I wasn’t being physically followed. I wound up at the Illinois Beach State Park as the sky in the east was just turning deep blue after several hours of black. It’s about seven miles of the shoreline of Lake Michigan, mostly pebbles and dunes and marshes with low scrub brush and the occasional larger stand of trees. I found parking in a church lot not too far from the park, took my stuff, and headed in. The park wasn’t due to open until well after sunrise, so I’d have to keep an eye out for rangers and other amateur meddlers. The professionals were at work here.
Which was just as well—when you summon a powerful extradimensional being, you’re taking on a lot of responsibility.
First of all, you’re bringing something powerful and dangerous into the world. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to call down an angel or whistle up one of the Fallen; you’ve got to take that into account. Even benevolent beings, if they’re big enough, can kill you without even realizing it’s happening until it’s too late. Malicious creatures are going to want to kill you as a matter of course. So location is pretty important, so you can maybe have a chance to run for it, first of all. If you can get a location that somehow parallels the nature of the creature you’re summoning, it gives you an edge against them, costs less energy to bring them in.
Next, containment. In keeping with the theme of part one, you need some way to make sure that the thing you’re calling can’t just get out and do as it pleases. Most things will simply leave, rendering all that travel to the middle of nowhere a waste of time.
Finally, you need some motivation. Beings from beyond the mortal world don’t generally work for free. After you talk them out of either leaving or murdering you outright, you’ll need something to sweeten the pot.
I found the perfect spot after I’d hiked all the way in and reached the lakeshore, with the light changing, announcing the approach of dawn without actually getting any brighter. I wound up at the base of a spit of sandy, pebbly beach that met harshly with a stand of thick trees. At the base of the largest tree were the crumbled remains of a clearly illegal tree house someone had built a decade or two in the past. I could still find what was left of slats that had been nailed into the tree trunk to provide an improvised ladder up.
Perfect.
I set my bag of things down and began laying them out in a circle I drew in the sandy soil with my staff. At the top of the circle went a storm candle and a magazine featuring an image of the weirdest female pop singer operating at the time—she was wearing an outfit made mostly out of old tires and did not look any too warm. The next candle featured a can of cold Dr Pepper. I popped it open and listened to it hiss out the pressure, then crackle in the quiet of predawn, bubbles bubbling enthusiastically. Beside the next candle, I placed a watermelon Ring Pop in its plastic wrapper. I opened the wrapper, leaving the jewel-like candy atop it, and the smell of its sweetness and the tangy scent of artificial watermelon filled the air.
The next candle featured a sheet of coarse sandpaper, rough side up. I laid my hand on it and moved my palm slowly over the grit and adhesive, feeling it tear gently at my