Though the moon was not full—the rituals did not call for a full moon—there was a good-sized crescent peeking through the thick clouds to light his activity. The ashes were now only warm; there was but a faint glow in the very middle. With a trowel he stirred the center of the pile, and after he had a substantial heap of what he was sure was the mixture of powder he wanted, he carried a shovelful over to what was roughly the center of the apple orchard and began to design a pattern on the ground. It was a complicated and jagged pattern, a combination of the European Circle of Power and an American Indian figure he thought to be Hopi. After eleven trips with the trowel he was sure the design was complete. The breezes were strong, but his intensity was such that he barely noticed. Finally, he sat in the center of the design—careful not to step on the ashes—and once again he lit the candle, blocking the wind with his body.

It was after twelve, he was sure. The time when demons walked the earth most freely. He tried to clear his mind of all except for the name of the High Demon confronted by the good monk, in the story, who forced the demon to do his bidding­—­the great and fierce demon who would ordinarily crush this puny child. But he was ready, armed not with the armor of righteousness and the shield of truth, but with the arcane knowledge that he firmly believed was the more powerful. It had chained the demon once and he would be damned if he did not chain the demon again.

The breeze turned to gusts, which he took for a sign that his mojo was working. Some of the ashes blew in his face, but he was concentrating, concentrating, concentrating on the name of the name. Kneeling, he began to repeat the dread name aloud, his chest pounding as if his heart would jump out and run away. When the clouds covered what moon there was, he took it for His sinister presence. As he continued to chant the name of the demon, his eyes wide with fright, he wondered in part of his mind what the demon would look like. Tall, perhaps taller than the apple trees, the pine trees even. Red and fierce, with huge yellow teeth and foul breath. But no, this was a great demon, a member of Satan’s High Court, the Inner Cabal. Maybe it would take the form of a centaur, of a gigantic fiery bird; mayhap it would come as a snake or a wooly beast. Or even in the form of a man, a devil like the one Reverend Hezekiah preached about, not with horns and a pitchfork, but in a white suit, with a handsome face and white teeth, smiling, as the devil is known to do.