The Empress (The Tarot Club 1) - Page 32

“I mean you no harm at present and simply wish to watch.”

More images flashed through my mind. A bronzed man with a razor cut hair style and dark eyes. Sensual lips teased the image, and I couldn’t tell if this is what he once looked like or if it was how he currently looked. He was dressed in robes - either from a time of long ago or a different land and place entirely.

“Who are you?” I asked aloud.

I might have felt ridiculous talking to an empty room, but the practice of Magick and Witchcraft had long ago taught me that there was no room for self consciousness or self doubt.

The entity still hadn’t shown himself fully - not even a wisp of shadow - something to point at and say there, that’s him. Perhaps he wasn’t as strong as I had initially thought?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chuckled in response to my mental musings, his voice brushing up against my mind, “I’m choosing not to show myself because I am enjoying this too much.”

That was definitely spoken into my mind. Shit. This was bad. This was very bad. I was in over my head and needed to phone Charl. I had an entity in my room that had broken through all my protection barriers and was conversing with me in the cavernous space of my mind. I wasn’t sure you could get much worse than that.

No, you could get worse - possession was definitely worse.

His chuckle skittered along my brow at that thought.

Shit - why did I even have to think about possession, now I may have given him ideas.

Goosebumps scattered along my legs and arms, raising every single small fibre of hair from my body. Everything within me was screaming at me to run, to flee.

I exhaled my panic. Attempting to still my shaking hands. Panic would do me no good in this situation, if anything, it would make me sloppy and prone to more mistakes, and mistakes could result in possession.

Shit. There, I thought about it again. What was wrong with me?

I struggled to clear my mind of all thoughts and plans, simultaneously reminding myself to breathe as yet another chuckle reverberated down my spine.

“What is your name?” I demanded aloud.

If I knew its name, perhaps my commands would work - perhaps I could get him to leave. Some spirits - the spiteful ones that were powerful enough - only followed commands and obeyed orders if you used their name. And therein lay the problem, because what spirit would willingly give up that information.

Silence stretched between us, taunting me in a different way to his chuckles. It was akin to waiting for a leopard to pounce - you knew they were there, you knew it was coming, you just didn’t know when.

It waited for a long time before replying. In fact, sitting on the bed, remembering to breathe, I almost didn’t think he would reply. I hoped he wouldn’t. In fact, I hoped that he would just leave.

Eventually he spoke, his name whispered in my ear, his hot breath leaving its mark on the back of my neck, “Solomon.”

I figured that that was all I was going to get.

“Please leave?” I decided to try a different avenue, asking the entity instead of demanding it.

Charl would have laughed at me, he would have told me that the very notion of asking would portray me as weak, but still, I tried.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Solomon’s voice sounded flat, bored even.

You have got to be kidding me. He wouldn’t leave, but he was bored in my presence. Spirits were infuriating beasts that were governed by their emotions, impetulant with need. It was as if their ability to reason and empathise had been broken in death, leaving only the cartilage of their person that seemed to beat with the incessant drum of me, me, me.

I balled my hands into fists and threw them down, “I command you to leave.”

I yelled. A knee jerk reaction - a slip of my control - a rare occurrence for me.

I blamed Dimitri for how on edge I was.

The entity did not respond. The silence stretched between us, pulling taut under the strain. If I didn’t still feel his presence, I would’ve assumed that he had left. But my performance didn’t work. And although he wasn’t causing me any harm, I didn’t want him in my space. My emotions were too close to the surface for me to control myself in a careful manner around a spirit. I needed him gone.

I didn’t want him here. Him being here defied my teachings. He had broken through protective barriers that he shouldn’t have been able to breach, he was hanging around without being summoned, and when being asked or commanded to leave and return to wherever the hell it was that he resided, he simply refused.

But then, nothing about this night was making sense.

Tags: Erin Mc Luckie Moya The Tarot Club Fantasy
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