“You can’t be,” Miriam replied with a shrug. “I don’t even know what time it is.”

Naomi giggled. Was that funny? Miriam thought, suddenly embarrassed. She quickly took a step back and waved Naomi inside. “Come on up—we’re just finishing supper.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything,” Naomi said as she followed Miriam back up the stairs. “I was so focused on getting ready for the scrying, I didn’t even think about supper.”

“Neither did I,” Miriam admitted. “We have Odelia to thank—my roommate.”

She let them into the apartment and made introductions. Odelia greeted Naomi warmly and with no  small measure of curiosity. “Miriam’s never brought a friend home,” she said as they sat down for dinner. “Have you known each other long?”

“Since yesterday,” said Naomi brightly. “We met at Quigley’s.”

“We’re going to do a ritual,” added Miriam. “So please don’t come into my room once we’re finished eating.”

Odelia smiled with a mother’s patience. “Oh, of course. I’ll leave you be.”

After supper and the cleanup that followed—which Naomi offered to help with—Miriam led her guest into her bedroom. She remembered then the comment Odelia had made about cleaning, but Naomi took in the clutter without missing a beat. 

“You have quite a collection,” said Naomi, crouching down to read the spines of the books. She smiled at the box of tarot cards on the top of the stack and drew her fingertips over the Seal of Solomon carved into the surface. “You must have been at it for a long time.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Miriam fidgeted; she’d never had much opportunity to share her occult passions with anyone, and she suddenly didn’t know where to start or how much was even appropriate. “Some of it belonged to my grandmother. My father didn’t approve much; I had to keep most of it hidden when he was still around.” She straightened out the comforter on her bed while Naomi was busy admiring the small collection of crystals on the vanity. 

Naomi glanced over at her. “Still around?”

“He died a long time ago,” Miriam explained, though when she realized how cold her easy answer might have sounded to an outsider, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, let’s get started. What do you need?”

“Oh! Right.” Naomi set her bag on the bed and began pulling out items: candles first, which she handed to Miriam. “Would you mind lighting these?”

“Sure!” It took a little tidying after all to find places for the candles to sit, but Miriam buzzed excitedly as she lit the wicks. They burned with a warmer, darker flame than she expected. Real magic, she thought, almost giddy as she drew the only curtains in the room. Will I be able to see it? Feel it?

She turned back and found Naomi seated on the bed, spreading a map out in front of her. “I haven’t done this with an audience before,” Naomi admitted, somewhat sheepish, as Miriam sat cross-legged opposite her.

“I haven’t seen magic before,” Miriam replied, watching closely as Naomi removed a round, obsidian stone from the bag. “Can I help?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Naomi took Miriam’s hand and placed the stone in the center of her palm, then closed her fingers over it. As before, her skin was uncommonly soft and warm, and Miriam felt her cheeks go rosey. “The book is intended for you, after all. I’m sure your energy will attract it.”

“Really?” Miriam cleared her throat. Focus, Miriam! This is important. She stayed very still as Naomi took out a pen as the final object, then positioned Miriam’s closed fist to just over the back of her palm. “What should I do?”

“Concentrate,” Naomi said quietly. She drew their touching hands over the map, pen held down a few inches overtop. “Repeat the name Sefer Poyel over in your mind, and imagine a book: a leather-bound book with the sigil of the angel Poiel on the cover.” She frowned. “Should I draw…?”

“I know the sigil for Poiel,” Miriam reassured her quickly. “Let’s do it.”

Naomi smiled, surprised but very pleased. “Okay. Here we go.”

Naomi closed her eyes, but Miriam kept hers wide open. Sefer Poyel, she thought, staring hard at their touching hands as Naomi’s waved just slightly back and forth. Sefel Poyel, you’re meant for me. Please let me find you.

The candles gave off a sweet, earthy smell, not unlike warm cinnamon. Miriam breathed it in, and just as she was beginning to recite another round, Naomi’s hand darted across the map and then fell, marking it with her pen.

Miriam kept her hand in place, squeezing the obsidian. “Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Naomi drew her hand back, and Miriam frowned as she did the same. She had expected that the spell would take longer, or that she might genuinely feel something when it worked. “Corner of Chestnut and River St. That can’t be his home, though…”

“Maybe he’s out shopping or having dinner?” Miriam suggested, rubbing her thumb back and forth across the stone. “Damn, if it’s sitting in his car now’s the perfect chance to nab it!”

Miriam leapt to her feet, full of renewed energy as she blew out the candles. “Let’s go! If we’re quick maybe we can catch him!”

Naomi hastily folded the map up and tucked it in her bag. “Now? Right now?”

“Of course right now, or we’ll have to do it again later!” Miriam snatched up her purse, only to then realize she was still holding the obsidian. She started to return it to Naomi, who after only a moment’s pause urged Miriam to keep it.

“In case we do have to do it again later,” she said, and the two of them hurried out.

“Leaving so soon?” Odelia called from her easy chair as the pair rushed through the apartment.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Miriam replied, and then they were out the door.

They managed to catch a cab right away, and Miriam resisted the urge to tell the driver to step on it as they made their way south. Besider her, Naomi couldn’t stop fidgeting.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” Naomi admitted in a whisper. “It’s exciting! But if it’s in his car, how will we get it?”

“That’ll be easy—just smash a window and grab it,” Miriam replied. When she saw the cab driver glance at them in his rear-view mirror, she cleared her throat. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like he paid for it anyway. It was never supposed to be his.”

“No, that’s very true,” Naomi said, with an unexpected conviction behind the words. “Someone like that doesn’t deserve it.” 

They arrived just as the sun was setting, and the city night life yawned to life. The old building on the corner of Chestnut and River St was still open, a few patrons inside, but it was not where Miriam would have expected of a known gangster to spend his evening: River St. Upholstery, specializing in imported curtains, carpets, and rugs. Miriam and Naomi stood in front of the main show window, squinting in at the occupants.

“Do you know what Mr. Tripepi looks like?” Naomi asked.

“Nope. But I’m sure they call him ‘The Brick’ for a reason.”  Miriam looked between the skinny store clerk to the various middle-aged patrons, unconvinced that any of them fit the moniker. None of the cars parked outside looked particularly gangster-esque, either. “Maybe we already missed him, or it’s one of the shops nearby…”

Miriam turned to look across the street, but Naomi didn’t budge. “It’s this building,” Naomi said, again with that startling confidence. “And it’s still here, in the building.” She abruptly sagged and started chewing her thumbnail. “But I was expecting a restaurant, or a lounge…”

“You could see that during the scry?” Miriam took a step back, peering up at the building’s higher windows, but they looked to be normal apartments. “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend stowed up there or something…”

“Miriam, look.”

Miriam turned toward where Naomi was nodding: a well-dressed man and woman had opened what appeared to be the shop’s side entrance and disappeared inside. A quick glance through the shop window confirmed they hadn’t entered. “Of course!” Miriam cried, only to shake herself and lower her voice immediately after. “A speakeasy! There must be a bar in the basement. Come on!”

She grabbed Naomi by the wrist and drew her down the sidewalk, despite Naomi’s sudden trepidation. “Miriam, wait,” Naomi said, though she didn’t resist the tugging. “I don’t think we can just go in there.”

“Why not? They did.” Miriam stopped in front of the door for a good hard look: there were no markings,  no shop sign, nothing to indicate it was anything more than an employee entrance for the shop next door. There wasn’t even so much as a peep hole for a mafia goon to keep lookout through. She reached for the door knob, heart pounding, and jumped when Naomi snatched her wrist away from it.

“Don’t,” Naomi said, her face stricken. She pointed to the knob.

There was an engraving just barely visible in the brass, worn down from patron after patron: a cross at the center, a half circle below with curled edges, and across the top a line of pointed triangles like a crown. Miriam shook Naomi’s hand off so she could run her thumb over the symbol. Another demon’s sigil, she thought, flipping through the pages of her memory. When it came to her, she couldn’t help but speak the name aloud. “Gremory.”

Naomi took a step back. They barely knew each other, but Miriam was still struck by how uneasy she looked then. “You shouldn’t go down there.”

“That’s the second sigil in two days! This could be important somehow.” Miriam glanced up and down the street; a group of young men on the opposite sidewalk had taken notice of them and were passing curious looks their way. “We can’t just stand out here. We came for the book and it’s inside—we have to at least take a look.”

“I-I can’t,” said Naomi, shaking her head.

“You can,” Miriam insisted. “We’ll just take a look and—”

“No—I mean, I can’t.” Naomi rubbed her hands anxiously together. “I’m blessed—I can’t pass through a doorway marked by a demon.”

Miriam’s eyes grew wide. “Really?” She glanced to the branded knob and back again. “It really works that way?”

“Yes! Please Miriam.” Naomi motioned for her to step away from the door. “We’ll wait for a while and then do the scrying again, after he’s gone somewhere else.”

Miriam hemmed as she shifted from foot to foot. As much as Naomi made sense, her eyes continued to wander back to the sigil on the doorknob. How many times had she seen those curved lines and triangles in her books, symbols of ancient histories she’d never expected to see out in the real world? Not to mention branded on the door of what might have been a gangster’s secret lounge, just like the rumored witches of New York. She didn’t stand a chance against curiosity that strong, and she squared her shoulders to the door. Remember the chariot, she thought, taking a deep breath.

“I’m just going to take a peek,” she said. “And then I’ll be back. If there’s a password or something they’ll just turn me away. You can wait for me in the rug shop—I won’t be long.”

Naomi remained convinced; if Miriam had been any less determined, she might have relented to keep her from looking so pained. “I don’t think you should, but...I’ll wait for you inside. Be careful.”

“It’ll be fine,” Miriam reassured her, and to prove it, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open.

Part of her was convinced the door was locked, and all her courage would go to waste—the door opened without any resistance. It led to a narrow stairway leading down, and a hallway beyond. The worst thing that’ll happen is they turn you away, Miriam told herself, and she marched down the steps.

The walls were thick concrete; as soon as the door shut behind Miriam, all sound from the street above was drowned out. Goose bumps prickled her neck as she continued down anyway, coming out into a short hall that led to another unmarked door. This door did have a guard: a tall, barrel-chested man, looking every inch like a secret bar bouncer. He raised an eyebrow as Miriam approached but he didn’t even bother uncrossing his arms.

“Are you a cop?” he asked doubtfully.

“Of course not,” Miriam retorted. “I’m here to see Mr. Tripepi. Is he in?”

The guard gave a quiet huff, and though Miriam feared she’d already overplayed her hand, he nodded. “Go on in, then,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Miriam, and determined not to falter in front of him, she let herself through the second door.