“Gaspar,” he said in a low voice. “Get beside me.”
Before entering into the focused state, which he was capable of attaining in seconds—“gnosis” was the term, but he just called it concentration—he rested his hands on Gaspar’s shoulders.
“I want you to hold on to me and don’t let go, no matter what you hear. If you let go, I can’t protect you. Understand?”
Gaspar said yes, and Juan sensed that he did understand. The portal called to him painfully, to the point that the pressure in his chest had turned into a sharp pang. He wasn’t worried though—it would pass when he made the invocation.
He knelt down in the circle, and beside him, Gaspar tried to encircle his waist with his arms. The boy clutched hold of Juan’s pants as if both of them were about to fall. It was, again, a correct intuition. Invocations could indeed feel like falling.
Juan called, in silence, and waited. The formula of the invocation, which he always made silently, was long, and he thought about shortening it. But Gaspar’s hands on his waist told him to be careful, the whole ritual was already very messy. For the boy. Because he had to protect him.
The footsteps of the Fifth were soundless, but Juan sensed them. It was using a human form this time. Now he needed to be fast and concrete. The longer the demon was there, the harder it would be to close the door.
Gaspar raised his head and looked straight at the demon. Then he looked at Juan.
“Who’s that, Dad?” he asked in a calm voice. Now it was Juan who was scared. Gaspar could see the demon, he was capable of seeing it utterly naturally, though he wasn’t even remotely trained for that vision. Juan made Gaspar bury his face in his chest. Don’t look anymore, he said. Hold me tight.
The bare feet inside the triangle didn’t touch the ground but rather floated on point, like those of a ballerina or a hanged man who’d stayed flexible. They were gray, as was the rest of the naked body, which seemed to be covered in dry mud. Juan couldn’t see its face: the light from the candles didn’t reach that high. He didn’t need to see it to feel its displeasure: the demon was used to being summoned with all the necessary requirements, and was vaguely irritated when called by someone who omitted them.
Juan and The Fifth had met several times before. The Fifth, if it so desired, gave and cured illnesses. It had never wanted to grant health to Juan, though. It also responded truthfully about what was secret and hidden, and it was obligated to do that: it didn’t know how to lie.
Without moving his lips, Juan ordered obedience. Something was falling on to the triangle. Drops of blood. The demon must be carrying something Juan couldn’t see. He asked for rational replies to his questions. He heard the demon’s voice resound throughout his body. In a language he couldn’t translate, one he didn’t know but did understand, it asked “why?” Why had it been called? it wanted to know. Why was he inflicting the horror of obedience on it? Juan felt Gaspar’s breathing against his chest, and also how his own body trembled, pushed to its limits: his arms shone as if they’d been submerged in water, and his forehead was dripping. He spoke to the demon in the way it was capable of understanding. He asked about Rosario. Where she was. If he could see her. If he could find her.
The demon rose a little higher. It didn’t get closer: they always tried to get near and never could. It wanted the blood of whatever it was carrying to touch Juan. When it couldn’t make that happen the demon grew infuriated; the gray feet stirred. The reply came quick and clear.
She belongs to those who speak to you, it said.
And then it asked to leave.
Juan lowered his head, thanked it for its answer, thanked it for coming, and placated it by reciting the formula of release aloud and in full. His voice didn’t shake, though every muscle in his body was tensed to the point of pain. He heard the crackle of the candles and the slow dripping of blood on to the triangle.
The demon disappeared in silence, but as it went it unleashed a gust of wind that extinguished all the candles. Something had angered it, and it wasn’t just the slipshod summons. It might have been Gaspar’s presence. Juan wanted to thank it for not venting its anger on him, but it was too late. Maybe it would vent on the caretaker, if he was still alive.
She is with those who speak to you.
The shudder that ran through his body was so violent he was afraid at first that he was having a seizure, but it was only weakness. An invocation had left him this debilitated? Was he so far gone? He lay down in a fetal position without leaving the circle, holding Gaspar as tightly as he could. With the candles out he couldn’t tell his son to stay inside the circle, that it was too soon to leave it. He couldn’t even see the circle now, with no candlelight and a cloud blocking the moon. In any case, Gaspar didn’t move from his side, didn’t move from under his arm, didn’t leave him alone, didn’t talk to him. He waited. He cried and waited. Juan heard him whimper and couldn’t console him; he could hardly breathe. As he went in and out of consciousness, he tried to understand the demon’s words.
With those who speak to you.
Rosario was in the Darkness.
He understood. So many times she had promised that she would follow him, that she would do anything for him. Hadn’t Tali said the same thing to him a few days ago? There are things I wouldn’t do for you. Together forever, swore Rosario. She knew that Juan belonged to the Darkness. That he would go there after death. And she had decided to get a head start, to share that fate with him. But my love, stupid girl, we won’t be you and I, there is nothing in that place but shadow and hunger and bones, that world is dead. When had she made the pact? When he was in the hospital, surely. You thought I was going to die, idiot. But she surely hadn’t believed the Darkness would claim her so soon. She didn’t know the Darkness’s voracity even though he’d tried to explain it to her so many times, even though she herself had seen it eat. He would never find her there. There was no one there. The Darkness was a bone collector. You didn’t talk to it. You didn’t negotiate.
During the hours he was curled up at the back of the cemetery, on top of the seal and with Gaspar beside him, Juan dreamed. Where had Rosario seen the possibility of making a pact with the Darkness? In her chalk circles? In her cards? Her death had nothing to do with the Order, then? Rosario’s death was his fault?
When the sun was just peeking out and illuminating the white crosses, Juan turned over and lay flat across the circle, his legs outside it. Gaspar was still beside him, pale and serious. He had waited, unmoving, and had never let go of his father’s arm. He must be stiff. Juan wanted to say something, but the boy spoke first.
“We have to go, Dad.”
Juan sat up. Standing took an incredible effort: that hot morning, his body weighed hundreds of pounds. He looked at Gaspar. The boy seemed distant and worried, but determined. He let go of Juan’s arm and took his hand.
“Let’s go.” And he tugged on Juan and Juan let himself be led. He knew he could connect intimately and delicately with his son, so it felt natural to walk like that. Before leaving the cemetery, they both drank water from the tap people used to water flowers. Juan wet his hair and soaked Gaspar’s head. The boy was wearing his backpack and his hands were covered in wax. He’d been so still all night long, thought Juan, that he couldn’t even bring himself to pull off the wax. Those gray-coated fingers reminded him of the demon. Surely they reminded Gaspar of it, too? He took his son’s hands and started pulling off the wax. The skin wasn’t burned underneath, or even very irritated. Gaspar was going to reveal himself as a medium very soon, Juan could feel it as he was cleaning his hands. Plus, people without abilities couldn’t see the Fifth. They could sense its presence, could feel unease, terror, they could even die, but seeing it was only possible by training one’s gaze. If the vision came naturally, it meant the person had a true gift. Was it possible to hide something like that? If Gaspar was a medium, his life would be short and brutal. Mediums didn’t last long. The contact with ancient gods destroyed them physically and mentally. Some died in the first contact, or very soon after. Most of them went irrevocably mad very quickly. There was no magic or ritual or science that could relieve them. Magic and science could help keep them alive longer than their bodies and minds could otherwise hold up, but not much longer. The mediums who survived, like him, were exceptional.