Something was terribly wrong and none of the vampires around Merritt had the sense enough to realize it.  Tendrils of smoke arose from the summoning circle like someone had built a bonfire amid it. Certainly not normal.

Sylvester’s shifty eyes landed on their table, swirling hues of gold and copper that no lingered appeared human.  The fear in his expression remained, but a darker force of nature hid beyond them.  Focusing closer on the man, there were traces of lightly tinted gray to his flesh that Merritt hadn’t thought much of before.  

The old necromancer trembled where he stood, energy surging through his palms in bursts he’d likely never experienced before.  Smoke continued billowing through the courtroom floors, wisps tangling at Merritt’s feet as his familiar leaped up onto the table with a low growl.

“Son of a witch,” Merritt gasped.

Without second guessing it, he sliced through his index finger with a hellwind spell.  The coldness of it rushed through his veins with a familiar tingle as droplets of his blood puddled on the table.  He knew Bloodworth must’ve smelled the metallic tang of it as he chanted, “Petieree!”

His blood formed into the shape of a pentagram on the table, pulsing with potent magic he channeled into it.  He’d used such a protective barrier against wicked creatures before, but Goddesses, it had been so long ago.  The way it all came rushing back to him with ease, how it sent a thrilling pound through his very heart, he couldn’t deny how much he’d missed it.

What emerged from the haze was no ghost.  Certainly not the spirit of the bygone Alfred Fontain.  No, the creature that rose amid the circle resembled something out of a nightmarish horror story.  

It resembled both a demonic goat and vampiric man, one that burned too vividly in the back of Merritt’s mind.  He knew such a wicked entity took on the appearance of something they most feared, so it made the creature before him just a bit less frightening because he knew it wasn’t real. The stench that filled the courtroom was enough to make surrounding vampires gag, and many fled out the double doors at the mere sight of it.

Those that stayed behind had no choice.  With the magic ensnaring the creature, those closely seated to it chanced releasing it and harvesting their own bodies to move freely through their world.  That was why Merritt had the wits about him to draw that protective pentagram on their table. To ensure it possessed neither him, Bloodworth, or Bandit.

Unbeknownst to the creature and whatever hellspawn possessed the necromancer, Merritt’s magic had seeped into their circle the moment Sylvester had sliced his own index finger to provide blood.  Although Merritt’s magic would not hold up forever against a mid-level demon, it did keep the summoning circle contained so it could not escape and steal the body of some vampire.

Merritt cautiously rose from his chair as silvery embers of his own magic swept around their table.  He could not bring himself to glance at his boss.  Just the mere thought of explaining everything to Bloodworth had panic clawing at his heart.  Necromancers were feared by vampire-kind for their black magic, but more importantly, the danger they posed to them.

Magic pulsed through Merritt’s veins in potent waves, surging not just around him, but the entire courtroom itself.  He did not let his body tremble before the creature trapped in the summoning circle.  A simple hellwind spell flung Sylvester across the room, but Merritt cautioned with the poor old man’s frail body.  It wasn’t like he could fault the poor old man for allowing something wicked inside him.

“Free me.” The creature rasped.  

Devilish blood-red eyes penetrated his very soul as Merritt brought both hands together, magic flowing freely from each palm, as the embers darkened to a shade akin to the midnight sky.  He remembered to lock all his fears away.  One never revealed such frights to a demon that could weaponize them.  Merritt would not even acknowledge the thing staring him down like it wished to devour him.

“I’ll kill them all.” 

It was difficult not to laugh in the demon’s face at such a claim when it wore the skin of a vampire before him.  Such demons could feed on emotions, and with all the magic Merritt had poured into the summoning circle, he knew it could read into his most intimate memories like an open book.

The courtroom shook as if struck by thunder, the salt around the summoning circle glistening a deathly gray shade.  It would take more energy that Merritt had anticipated to banish it back to the underworld.

“You are not strong enough.”  The sinister rasp morphed into a more rugged tone.  A familiar voice that Merritt had ingrained in the back of his mind.  It was one that played on loop in his nightmares, belonging to the vampire whose face the wretched creature wore.

Nausea twisted painfully in the pit of Merritt’s stomach as more magic surged from his very being, until his veins literally burned beneath his skin.  He had faced far more wicked creatures of the underworld.  A damned metuerey demon would not defeat him.  

“You protect a beast who will kill you,” it spat, and Merritt knew the wretched thing meant Bloodworth.  “He’ll rip your throat out, drain you dry just like-”

“Enough!” Merritt’s voice cut through the air like a knife, sending a flurry of silvery sparks into the summoning circle.  Faint white lines appeared at the corners of the creature’s mouth, zipping it shut so Merritt no longer had to listen to it.

With the creature silenced, it made the banishment spell far easier to complete.  His body wavered where he stood.  More energy siphoned his strength, and Merritt feared when all was done, he would collapse back in his chair.  Or perhaps worse. He’d faint before every vampire in that courtroom.

Warm blood trickled from his nostril and down his chin.  He tasted the metallic on his lip as he reached a shaky hand into his robe’s pocket for his wand, needing a conductor to stabilize his magic enough to keep him from passing out.  The demon that stood before him had faded, but it held strong to the roots it planted in the very floorboard of the courtroom.

Thoughts of losing consciousness in a room full of bloodthirsty vampires sent Merritt’s nerves in a frenzy.  All he could do was grit his teeth and bear the pain coursing through his body.  His tired limbs ached for a rest.  The magic surging through him demanded he stop, but he refused.  

Instead, he channeled every ounce of magic left within his core, until a blood-curdling scream tore through his parched throat with a desperate, silent plea for the Goddesses to hear him.  And send that wicked creature back down into the underworld where it belonged.

A rumble of genuine thunder struck the sky, and the demon trapped amid the circle released the most heinous sound Merritt had ever heard.  He watched with bated breath as the remains of it dissolved, until nothing but his own magic twinkled in the air like shiny stars.  

He’d done it.  A breath of pure relief escaped him as he reeled against the table, bracing it for support. His heartbeat roared in his ears, the smell of metallic overwhelming as he blinked fiercely to reorient his focus on the spinning courtroom.

Black spots danced in his vision.  Merritt struggled to push away from the table, his legs resembling jelly when he dared to move.  He closed his eyes for a moment to stop the spinning, inhaling deep breaths in hopes of calming his body.  He was not prepared for the strong arms that grounded him in the moment, tightly wrapping around his waist with ease as he felt his feet float off the ground.

For a moment, Merritt had the strangest thought he was flying.  He could not help but outstretch his arms like a bird, remembering how as a child his father used to spin him around like so in the air.  Such a fond memory was enough to make him laugh, in spite of all the horror he’d just witnessed.

Merritt tried not to dwell on the morbid thoughts that perhaps he’d died and sprouted angel wings. What a shame that would be, considering he’d not even worked a full shift at his new job.  

He could already imagine how infuriated Bloodworth would be with him if he’d died.