Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Book 2) by Golden Czermak Page B

extended silence, so long that the flames seemed to quiet. Astaroth was left to wonder if Dajjal was contemplating an answer, or had simply left, offended by the outrageous notion of his question.
    The stillness subsided and the flames roared, spitting up showers of sparks. “Yes, I know of a way,” Dajjal finally replied. “Lucifer himself made mention of it during the War of Heaven as a possible means for us to assail some of the holiest of places. It is potent magic. Fundamental.”
    “Will it work?” asked Astaroth, relieved by what he was hearing.
    “Yes…”
    “Then tell me what to do!” Astaroth implored.
    Dajjal wasn't stupid. “All in due time, as I get to understand your true motives.”
    “But -”
    “Enough!” Dajjal shouted, having had his fill. The flames surged uncontrollably. “I do not wish to be used, Astaroth, and then placed back in a little box like some spent rune stone! I have been there once before and shall not make the same mistake again. Once you've proven to me that your promises have value, I will tell you the entirety of the spell.”
    Astaroth was left with no choice but to agree.
    Dajjal had again become eerily calm, yet managed to uphold an ever-present sense of dread. “So, I see that you have come here for my help, but what of the other free Knights? Baal and Paimon?”
    “Baal is dead,” Astaroth answered, dejected.
    “How?”
    Astaroth was painfully embarrassed to mention Onoskelis again. “The ineptitude of our leader, my Lord. She has been placing too much authority with and not enough control on the monsters. The werewolves unleashed the infernal jinn, Ifrit, and it decimated a great swath of a human city, along with Baal. So much for secrecy and whispers in the dark.”
    “Disgraceful… Insolent… Foolish.”
    “As for Paimon?” Astaroth continued. “He is nothing more than a yes-demon, consistently siding with Onoskelis on all matters, whether they favor our kind or not.”
    Dajjal had absolutely no patience for such things. “Then he must be dealt with.”
    Astaroth raised his head, wide-eyed. “My Lord?”
    The fires lapped at the remnants of the curtains, as if searching for more to consume. “Going back to your need to gain access to Gage Crosse’s property, I will tell you this: the spell requires an essence – a powerful one – to act as the kindling. I believe that we can take care of Gage and a wayward Hell Knight in one fell swoop.”
    Anxiety overflowed in Astaroth. “Are you suggesting that we…”
    “Certainly,” said Dajjal without pity. “So there it is; we have our plan. When you have a way to return me to Earth, summon me at a place of your choosing. I will help you complete the spell. Do not fail me. Vale, Astaroth.”
    A final explosion took the form of a horned skull and the great fires extinguished themselves. Astaroth’s shield vanished and he fell to the floor in a sweating heap as the wailing of sirens rose in the distance.

 
     
     
     
    HENRY FELT EXCESSIVELY groggy, a likely side effect from the oxycodone and whatever concoction was in the drip bag, coupled with his bitter mood du jour. It probably didn't help that he had been intermittently waking up since half-past two that morning.
    Ordinary medical procedures were far from his favorite go to, always leaving him feeling a bit too stretched or otherwise violated from the downright medieval practices of sticking things, hacking things, and sawing things. The mere thought of such sent tremors down the length of both his arms. Yet despite his woes, ordering up what he believed were far more effective potions or tinctures was impossible here. After all, he was in a regular hospital with regular doctors, not some Journeyman base with herbalists or rune stones – a realization made weeks ago which only added to his particularly sour temperament.
    He looked to the left and wiggled his fingers, eyeing the drip bag and its clear fluid dangling from a nearby stand. Groaning, he