Magician Goes Rogue
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Magician's MergerChapter 33 free porn video
At about 6:30 am, I heard Mom-type noises in the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came downstairs. I put down the book, made the quiet sign, and then pointed to Mary still asleep on the couch. Mom whispered to me, "Having trouble sleeping?"
"Something like that."
She smiled. "Excited over Christmas?"
"Something like that." I forced a smile of my own.
"I just wanted to see where Mary was. I need to get the turkey ready."
"Do you want help?"
"No, it's mostly a one-person job right now."
Mom went back upstairs, and I returned to reading. By seven, I heard other adult noises, and by 7:15, the rest of the kids were up. Shortly thereafter, I heard Mom yell, "You can goddamn well wait until I get the goddamn turkey in the goddamn oven." About fifteen minutes later, Rich was fetching Mary and me to come open presents.
I tried to act excited and happy, but I couldn't pull it off, so I aimed for neutral. All three minds in my head were concerned about the demon and his pet magician, and an orgy of materialism was no match for a living symbol of condensed evil. At least the coming of daylight should weaken the demon somewhat, as should the symbolism of the solstice and Christmas.
I snagged a kitchen chair as I passed--Mary followed my example--and we all gathered in the living room. The kids, including me, were still in their pajamas. I found a place mostly out of the way to put my chair down. Mom and Aunt Kate appointed themselves head present passers. In the chaos of tearing paper and excited children, it was hard to track what everyone else was doing.
Despite my Christmas letter, Mom and Dad gave me only one piece of clothing, a new coat to replace the one that had been torn when Donbo caused me to wipe out. The new parka was inoffensive beige, long enough to cover my butt, had a hood, and had lots of pockets. Whoever had picked it out, probably Mom, had taken into account my preference for functionality over appearance.
Aunt Kate gave me a hand-knitted tuque--she had made one for everyone in the family--and she and Andy gave me an electronic calculator with a memory key and a square-root function. I was touched that they had spent so much on me. Mom and Dad also got me all of the books, in paperback, that I had listed at the end of my Christmas letter. Mary gave me a heavy-duty rack, with spring clip, for the back of my bike.
I thought I had received a pretty good haul and was helping bag up the dead wrapping paper when Mom handed me another gift. It was a long package and weighed a few pounds. All eyes were upon me as I unwrapped it. It was a rectangular, hard-shell guitar case. It felt solid, had strong-looking hardware, and probably could take a beating. I opened it up. It was well padded and covered with a fuzzy material that would be gentle on a guitar's finish. It most likely was worth more than my guitar.
"Thank you. This is a really nice case." Unfortunately it was meant for an electric guitar and too thin to hold my acoustic. I didn't say anything about that, though. I could either tell Mom and Dad later in private, or say nothing and just hang on to it for when I eventually bought an electric.
"Look in the cubbyhole," Mom said.
I opened up the accessory compartment. Inside were a set of replacement strings, some finger picks, and some papers. "Thank you, I've been wanting to try some finger picks, and a spare set of strings is always handy."
"Read the note." Oh. I had figured it was just something declaring the wonderfulness of the case and explaining its care and feeding. I opened up the note--it was in Mom's writing--and began to read it to myself.
"Read it out loud."
Pushy, pushy. "Dear Arthur, Mary told us that Hank of Hank's Music Emporium treated you right when you bought your guitar from him, so we've put some money on account there for you to pick out an electric guitar to go with your acoustic. Love, Dad and Mom." Attached to the note was a due bill for forty pounds.
"Wow," I said. "You guys shouldn't have gone to such expense." The Arthur part of my brain was somewhat excited, but I was mostly too worried to feel much happiness, and part of me felt guilty that they had spent so much. I hoped they took my somberness as me being stunned by their gift.
"Bullshit," said Mom. "You've impressed the hell out of us with the amount of work you've been doing."
"If you keep practicing like you have been," added Dad, "we'll pay for two half-hour lessons per week, too--either at Hank's or wherever you think is better."
"Thank you so much," I said. Given Ursus's vast knowledge, I didn't need lessons, but I wasn't going to argue about it, then.
Fortunately, I was soon out of the spotlight. Mom handed Mary a package. It was a book, Easy Piano Songs, with a note attached to it. Mary didn't need prompting to read the note aloud. "Dear Mary, your actions have proved to us that you really want to learn how to play the piano, so a leased piano will be arriving Thursday. We'll pay for two piano lessons per week, and if you practice faithfully for a year, we'll buy a piano. Love, Dad and Mom." Mary started to bawl and gave them both hugs.
Trying not to let my worry show, I went back to picking up garbage. When the living room was just about as straightened up as it was going to get, at least until we all found places to store our new stuff, Mom said, "You can have the room in the basement, too, you little shit."
Thank Bog. I would finally have someplace private to do magic, and other things. Often. Maybe every day. Maybe twice per day. Rich heard and said, "That's not fair! Why should Artie have his own room when the rest of us can't?"
"He's the oldest, and life's not fair."
Rich complained some more. I ignored him and took my presents downstairs, except for my new winter hat and coat, which I hung in the coat closet after making sure it fit. I then took a shower and got dressed. With all the people wandering around the house, there wasn't any point in renewing the circle I had cast from the basement, but I could renew the one outside and put another one between it and the house.
I went back to the basement and played guitar long enough to fill myself with manna. Arthur and Ursus kept a hold on it while I went upstairs to pull on my winter gear. "Where the hell are you off to?" Mom asked when she noticed what I was doing.
"I'm just going to walk around the yard a bit. It'll test this coat for winter worthiness."
"I want you to keep your new coat nice and use your old one for play."
"Fine, but I'm not going to be playing." I went out and renewed the first circle with some manna and cast a second one inside it. I had spread the manna too thin, so I went downstairs and gathered some more.
When Mom again noticed me getting ready to go outside, she said, "In out, in out--what are you, a lunatic?"
"It's true that living in this place has pretty nearly driven me insane," I said.
"Smarta--" she caught herself. "You're right. This joint is an asylum."
I put on my old coat, went out, and poured the manna into the second circle. After that, I went back inside and retreated to the basement. I considered the information I had gathered from the old grimoire. The book described complex rituals employing several variations of the name of the Christian God and his assorted titles. Supposedly, they could force a demon to yield to a magician's will. In truth, much of the book seemed to be made-up nonsense.
To the extent that it wasn't, Ursus doubted that its techniques would work for us. I'm not a Christian, he said, and you two don't seem that religious.
I've never received much religious training, said Arthur. But how religious can someone who summons a demon be?
Being religious and being righteous are two different things, replied Ursus. A man who summons a demon to fetch him nubile girls can do so while at the same time believing his actions are a sin.
Why would God help him do something like that?
Religious fervor, the kind that becomes a type of trance, can attract and manipulate manna directly. No gods have to be necessarily involved. Of course, in some cases they are involved, but they don't have to be.
I put aside The Demon Prince and took up The Book of Hermes, the library book that had been written by a ceremonial magician, one Theodoros Raven. Ursus assumed control of our body and looked through the book until about ten o'clock, when we were called to come get something to eat. At least this Raven joker understands the importance of visualization and concentration, Ursus thought, but he is overly fond of obscurity. I don't believe his book will be of any practical use.
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