A nervous hush descends. I have heard of demonic calling being practiced, but have never seen it done, let alone done it myself. What my father told me, what my studies informed me, was that it is dangerous, unpredictable, and difficult to summon a creature of the Darkness. If a witch succeeded, they might not be able to control it, let alone return it to its rightful place again.

From somewhere deep within myself, some reserve of strength I did not know I possess, I muster a smile and a semblance of calmness. I will face the challenge. I will select a task. I will perform it to the best of my ability, and I will, once and for all, banish all doubts anyone might have about my worthiness.

“Master of the Chalice,” I say, “I will answer my challenger. I will demonstrate Proof of Worth. I will summon a demon.”

A new aroma now permeates the chamber, faint at first, but growing stronger and unmistakable: the smell of fear. There is a fidgeting of feet, and one or two witches make as if to quit the room. Another witch speaks out.

“Let no one leave! The doors must remain barred for the duration of the task. Whatever happens, we are a coven, we support a nominee in her bid for leadership. She is doing only what is required of her. We will not abandon her to suffer the consequences of a law we have all ourselves sworn oaths to. We are a part of this madness. Let us remain.”

There are generally noises of agreement, and a subtle rearranging of the positions held in the room. Those doubting my ability to successfully execute such a dangerous task melt farther into the background. My supporters come to the fore to stand firm and stalwart on the edge of the circle. I am heartened to see so many of them are willing to aid me. Or do they think they will be required to save us all from whatever dreadful being I call from the Darkness? Are they, too, convinced I will fail?

I become aware of a figure standing in the shadows to the right of the door. It is Papa! Whether or not others can see him I am unable to tell. It does not matter. What matters is that he has come. He is here, lending me the strength of his spirit presence.

“I believe I am permitted someone to assist me,” I say.

“That is correct,” the Master of the Chalice agrees. “Will a volunteer step forward?”

For a few dreadful seconds it seems no one would offer to help, but then I see Violet threading her way through the company until she stands at the edge of the circle. I smile at my dear maid, immensely grateful for her courage and loyalty.

“Are you certain you wish to do this? You know I cannot guarantee your safety.”