“The fourth time’s a charm,” you whisper, sweat dripping off your body. But the saying is the third time. And it isn’t.
Balthazar really doesn’t want to speak to you. The minor demons, the ones that catch the easy ride and slip in through the cracks are beginning to get annoying. You’ve made examples out of the last few but they keep coming.
It’ll be worth it, you think as you pull out a set of chisels and start carving up the wooden floor. A priest would have made this easier. Although they would have asked more questions. Threatening a priest isn’t the best thing to do, but summoning demons also isn’t great. Your immortal soul is starting to look like Jack’s body right now. And that is NOT a compliment.
The symbols you carve are surprisingly precise. Woodworking class paying off. The small errors are ignored, the bigger areas that would result in you being dragged to hell are fixed with superglue. It’s probably fine. It’s maybe fine.
It’s definitely fine.
You finish, a circle set in the floorboards that is the equivalent of a personalized invitation and welcome mat. The string of latin that comes out of your mouth is no longer stuttering. Practice has walked the line from uncertain, to confident, now to bored.
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Jack convulses once more, back arching to the ceiling. His eyes when they open are a fiery red, the sign of a prince of hell. You grin, more baring your teeth than expressing joy.
“Ahh Balthazar, nice to see you”
It’s eyes bug out, but it remains silent, it’s tongue bound. You have had a rant building in your mind for the last two hours. It’s your time to talk.
“I’ve been calling for hours and you’ve been declining, you literal spawn of Satan,” You growl, through a clenched jaw, “I don’t appreciate being ghosted on Tinder, what makes you think this is any different?”
It’s eyes bulge farther and you wince. It can’t answer you, bound as it is. You snap your fingers then cross your arms, waiting. It coughs several times.
“Who are you?” It asks, voice deep like two continents colliding. Even your speakers don’t have that much bass and you drive a car previously owned by a drug dealer. “Why do you want to summon me?
“Well I really don’t,” You smile, more cheerful now as you remember the next step. “but now Satan owes me a favor”
A man in a black tuxedo steps out from behind the corner. “Hello son,” he says, fangs visible against ruby lips, “It’s been a while”