Cary loathed that wall. It was identical to the sections of wall to its right and left, and she hated those too. But the panels to the other side had never mocked her, had not stood across from her over centuries and teased her with the promises of freedom.
Few creatures passed through this hall. In truth, Cary did not even know where she stood with her arms outstretched above her head. This was not the Infernim, she would have known if it was. But still, demonic children occasionally raced by with their dirty little faces and equally dirty little permanent pens.
In a thousand years, Cary had learned to hate many things. Time spent away from Elelele had turned her fear of her master into pure, unmitigated hatred. Holding up a ceiling that did not require her efforts either way had led her to hate that ceiling almost as much as the opposite wall. But more than the wall or roof overhead, she hated those permanent pens.
A dozen different mustaches and variations on phallic forms adorned her beautiful stone flesh. At a word from her master, she could shift out of this bothersome shape and would be free of the foul-stinking ink, from the grease of a dozen dozen filthy little fingers. But as she was, Cary had to wait on the call of inattentive janitors to clean off her body and free her from the despoiling marks. If her skin could crawl, it would have been writhing with the force of an earthquake.
Her master, or more likely, his agents, had chosen her hallway well. Deserted as it was, conspiracies flourished here like a garden fertilized toward that purpose. Almost as many conspiracies found their roots here as dirty little children with their pens. If not for the intermittent troop of crotch fruit, the hall might have been almost pleasant and Cary could devote the entirety of her hatred for the wall opposite her.
A trio of horned ministers chose this particular moment to gather and whisper together, each sucking down clouds of fragrant smoke as they leaned in and lowered their voices. Cary did not care about the topics of conversation, beyond a strictly professional interest. But if she’d been allowed to move, she would have assailed them with gratitude for blocking the bulk of that obnoxious wall.
Noting each name and the exact words spoken, Cary recorded the conversation mentally as one of the ministers cast a counter observation spell. Funny how they never considered warding against her, though blocking her notice would have required blocking the others with whom they conspired.
Precisely ten seconds after the ministers had agreed to execute someone named Zuriael the Brazen One, Cary felt a tug against her consciousness. There was no way this was her master. He’d never been so gauche or foolish as to summon her while she was being observed. Examining the summons, Cary would have shouted in glee if she were capable of it. This wasn’t her master, but some junior witch attempting a summon far beyond her capabilities.
And she’d whispered syllables that matched Cary’s summoning name just closely enough. Over the millennia, Cary had heard stories from passing demons about such events, but they were the whisperings of madness, like winning the lottery atop the Himalayas while having sex with a queen.
And yet.
Before the opportunity passed and another higher-ranked demon accepted the wayward summon, Cary sunk her mental claws into the magic and let it pull her away.
Goodbye wall, and fuck you!
The swirling might have made her dizzy if her innards had been made of something other than stone. After almost a minute of flailing through the Void Between, Cary landed in a shabby little room lit by a single anemic overhead light.
She stood in an irregular circle with twisted, curving runes around it. Noting the runes as she did, Cary recognized all of them immediately, as well as something delightfully fascinating about them. Saving that surprise for later, she turned her powers of observation upon the rest of the room, holding off on the lone occupant until last.
A long bookshelf took up the left side of the room and made the largest single feature, even larger than the bed. That bed… Cary clucked mentally at the size. When Eelele had broken her, she’d had a larger pad for respite. Admittedly, her own bed had not been quite so tidily made, nor had it been quite so fluffy or lush. And the swarms of color that spread over the bed, those piqued Cary’s interests. Rather than the usual demonic scenes of debauchery or pain, they bore little stylish horses with wings and marks on their hindquarters.
Hmm, maybe a kind of totem spirit?
Back to the bookshelf, Cary noted the titles of the books, many of which she recognized as false bindings. Those titles were unfamiliar to her; the last time Cary had been sent to a library, it had contained a mass of scrolls and papyri. But the fact the bindings failed to line up with the contents intrigued Cary at once.
Drawers beneath the books sealed some interesting secret behind them, a secret Cary intended to plumb once she decided to free herself from this circle. Shiny bits of paper or perhaps modern tapestries hung from the walls around the room. Though Cary had no idea what they were meant to represent, perhaps an record of the owner’s conquests, Cary could duplicate them at a glance.
Done with the room’s contents in a few seconds, and able to list the purported title and author of each book in the bookshelf, Cary turned her attention back to the room’s only occupant, save herself.
Thin, greasy strands of hair hung down over the girl’s eyes, as if those locks could shield the woman from Cary’s gaze. The girl’s body was as thin as her hair, as if she’d been deprived of food for too much of her life. It was the first bit of emotion Cary felt, and she found herself irritated with this slave-girl’s keepers. Didn’t they know the mortals functioned more effectively when properly fueled? The girl wore a black robe at least two sizes too large for her, she’d had to bind up the sleeves so they didn’t flop off of her hands as she completed her chant.
It sounded like a benediction of some kind, intended to protect the summoner from the object of their summoning. Cary would have dismissed the girl as inconsequential if not for her eyes. Beneath the matted hair, the borrowed robe, and the frail body stared the fierce gaze of a woman who hated as deeply and totally as Cary did. Such rare passion caught Cary’s interests even before the girl spoke.
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“I order you to slay my Godmother, Cynthia Greybill, right this instant!”
Cary hated taking orders from anyone, especially Eelele, but the novelty of this tiny thing shouting an order at her made Cary snicker. The strange girl blinked at Cary. Her voice and composure cracked as she tried to instill a sense of depth to herself. “I said I order you to slay my Godmother Cynthia Greybill right this instant!”
At the volume of her voice, the girl hopped and turned to look over her own shoulder. The door she examined didn’t move and, as far as Cary could tell, nothing stirred beyond. Cary continued to study this fascinating creature, who’s courage and fury wilted before that examination.
“I said slay my…”
Cary cut the girl off by raising her hand, palm outward. “I heard you the first time, little…” Cary almost said, ‘fly.’ But something about this creature turned the word in Cary’s mouth, the girl’s bravery deserved more than that. The girl’s hair shaped Cary’s name for her “…little mouse. Tell me, Mouse, why are you so intent on the death of your Godmother?”
“She is a monstrous beast! If she finds out I stole the authentic summoning incense and her good robe, she’ll kill me first.” Looking over her shoulder again, the girl’s face took on an aspect of desperation when she turned back. “Please kill her soon?”
Sighing, Cary looked over the runes of the circle a second time. She clicked her tongue and said, “And why should I kill this “Cynthia” for you? What is in it for me?”
“I will give you anything you want!” The little Mouse thought better of her offer and amended, “that’s within my power to give.” Still, that was far too broad an offer for someone wise.
“What if I have everything I want?” Cary purred. She’d never been the subject of a summoning ritual before, but she’d heard enough about them. This was the bargaining phase, though Mouse didn’t seem to know that. “Do you have anything unique that might interest me?”
The girl bit her lip and jumped at a sound from outside the room. Cary perked her ears up and turned her head to face the noise. There was no way the Mouse could know just how much she’d already given Cary, just how pleased Cary was with the little Mouse’s mistake. Turning her head this way, speaking of her own accord was a privilege Cary had not enjoyed in thousands of years. Hells, if she wanted to, Cary would be able to transform freely. The thought sent tingles of pleasure through her stone body.
“Well?” Pointing to the door with one hand, she gestured at the little Mouse with the other. “It sounds like your window of opportunity is closing. Don’t you have something you can give me in exchange for summoning me?”
Wording mattered here. Cary had no intention of killing this “Cynthia,” not unless the Godmother happened to know how to summon Cary’s master, or to bind Formless Demons with a word. So she demanded payment for the mere act of being summoned.
“I have power.” The little Mouse raised her chin.
“Of course you do, you summoned me.”
“No, I have real power. If you agree to our deal, I can show you.”
Cary tapped her chin. The girl had to agree, that was almost as important as the wording. She’d try another track and simply voice her demands. “I desire your service. If you possess such great magic, perhaps we may be of use to each other. But as you’ve summoned me here, I must have something in exchange.”
“If I serve you, you’ll kill my Godmother?”
“Why not? If it suits me, I would kill a seraphim.” There was a bluff and an evasion. Cary quirked an eyebrow up as the girl nodded.
“I guess service to a demon would be better than my Godmother. Deal.”
Cary felt the wave of power approach her body. The girl must have possessed magic because as she gave voice to the words, she staggered forward, but stopped before she broke the boundary of her circle. “Very well, then in exchange for the offense of summoning, I Cary Alaszin will accept your service, little Mouse.”
The power poured into Cary’s form, filling her like the day she’d absorbed her master’s experimental potion and changed her fate forever. Now the girl’s flavor and essence flowed over and through Cary, invigorating her and severing the last tenuous connection between Cary and her former master. “Free! At long last I am free!”
Cary stretched her arms and legs and prepared to leave this little hovel, but the girl — her name was Emilia Olren — stepped up to the edge of the circle. “You have to kill my…”
“Yes, yes, you have a grudge. I’ve heard it every time you’ve spoken.” Cary pointed to the circle. “There are a few problems though, Ms Olren.”
“Problems?” Her voice squeaked like the mouse that Cary still thought of her as.
“Indeed. The first being that you made your bargain for the wrong terms. Words matter my dear. Your service, date unset, in exchange for summoning me. That was mistake number one.” Cary bent her back and listened for the satisfying snaps as her stone flesh moved. “Now, if you’d constructed your circle properly, you could have banished me and severed the connection, undoing the magic as it were.” Emilia’s eyes opened and hope blossomed within. Cary almost hated quashing that hope. “Unfortunately for you, that is your second mistake. This circle is incredibly poorly made.” The borders of the circle barely resisted Cary’s steps. “The weakest Imp could breach this thing with its pecker. You’re lucky you didn’t accidentally summon one of them.”
Emilia burbled in fear as Cary stepped out of the circle and into her personal space. “Wha… what are you going to do?”
Cary smiled. “Well, you serve me, but I don’t find myself in need of an untrained apprentice as much as a solid vacation. So perhaps, I will only take what you can spare.” Leaning over the short girl, Cary grabbed her roughly and kissed her. The contact wasn’t harsh or cruel, Cary didn’t see a need. But she did need to gather a proper sample of mortal essence so she could improvise a convincing disguise. She broke away with the savor of light red fruit and fragrant smoke upon her lips. Cary could suddenly see a good deal of kissing in her future. “I suppose I could use some clothing too, servant. If you’d tell me where you keep it…”
With those words, Cary let her stone form fade. Like taking off leathers that had sealed themselves to her skin, Cary ached and even burned as she took the stone of her body within and shifted into a human form. She did not wish to imitate the exact form of her servant, that hair had to go, so she chose blond curls and a bit more curves in the front and back. Like a very short succubus. Rubbing her arms and back, Cary writhed for a moment while Emilia skirted around her and dug through the drawers beneath the bookshelf.
Emilia returned with several waded up sets of clothing, her eyes glued to Cary’s nude form as the door opened.
“Emilia Cain Olren! What in tarnation is hap…” The old doughy crone who stood at the door wore small cylinders in her hair, about which she’d wrapped strands of her hair. She had too-thick glasses and a porcine nose that jutted into the air as if to fix those glasses to the bridge of her nose. “Who are you!?” The old woman charged into the room as if she owned the place and, dipping into Emilia’s memories, Cary identified the hag as Cynthia Olren, the Godmother.
Tilting her head to the right, Cary considered slaying the old woman for the simple crime of her imperious tone. But in truth, no one had spoken to Cary like that in millennia. If nothing else, she owed Cynthia for the novel experience. Then she poked Cary in the chest.
The Formless One’s now human hand shot out like a piston from a crushing trap. Cynthia Olren flew back into the bed and smacked her head into the wall, leaving a dent in the weak substance and knocking the woman senseless.
Emilia screamed, but Cary spun on her and shushed her. “Quiet now, I didn’t kill her, but she will probably wake up at some point in the night. By then I will be gone, so perhaps you should return the things you stole and concoct a convincing explanation for the evening?”
With those words, Cary snatched the clothing away from the still burbling Emilia and dipped back into the girl’s memories for how to properly wear them. They slipped on over the head and legs, in a far more efficient manner than the ancient style of ties and bindings.
Cary felt as though she could learn to enjoy this place.