CENTRALIA, 2013
by May Dawney

Reading, Pennsylvania, felt a lot like home. Like Detroit, the city was big, impoverished, and still there were plenty of rich folk going about their business as if nothing was wrong. Rayha had been listening to their frustratingly benign banter in for the last twenty minutes or so as she sipped expensive coffee in the high-end bar she had agreed to meet her new client in. For once, the journey had been shorter than she had expected it to be; just an eight and a half hour drive instead of the nine she had envisioned. As such, she was early for her eleven a.m. appointment and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Because of the location, she had at least made an effort: her jeans were clean and she’d meticulously cleaned the blood off of her heavy leather jacket. She’d even done her dark hair up in a messy bun. Still, she was fresh off another case and she hadn’t slept for at least forty-eight hours. The sunglasses that she had scrambled to find when the sun had come up hadn’t come off and she was holding on to her tall black coffee—the second one—like a lifeline. She would have cursed Mrs. Williams for insisting on meeting as soon as possible but it wasn’t as if Rayha got a good night’s rest even on the best of days, anyway.

“Rayhana Kincaid?” Rayha was surprised to discover that Mrs. Williams was black, but not so much that she was obviously rich. If there was one thing Rayha had learned over the years, it was that all her clients picked meeting spots where they felt comfortable; they were about to let Rayha in on thoughts that—if spoken out loud to anyone other than someone who called herself an occultist—would brand them as nuts. They all needed to be somewhere they felt at home at, but far enough from their actual homes for these meetings to remain business interactions. Rayha had lost track of the number of bars, cafes, park benches and other assorted generic meeting spots she’d frequented over the last nine years.

“Rayha, please. Only my mother calls me Rayhana. Mrs. Williams?” She lifted herself up a little and offered the woman in her late forties a hand. With the other, she took off her sunglasses. She blinked against the glare and took in her client. Pencil skirt, blouse, and blazer. Jewellery that was expensive without being flashy: rich but not from rich upbringing.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Williams shook her hand before she undid her shawl and took a seat. Rayha lowered herself as well and wrapped her hands around the mug again. Before the woman could change her mind about this appointment, Rayha got to the point.

“So, your daughter? Aisha? Tell me more.”

Delilah Williams looked straight at her for a few moments, then leaned in over the table conspiratorially. “My Aisha…she’s a good girl; bright, spirited. She takes after her father—he grew up with nothing, but he made it through high school, then college, and now he works as a prosecutor for the city. Aisha has always wanted to follow in his footsteps—she’s always worked hard to be perfect for her father and myself.”

“Mrs. Williams… I am sure your daughter is a wonderful girl, but that’s not why I’m here, is it?”

Mrs. Williams hung her head and gathered her thoughts. It gave Rayha a moment to take in straightened hair, a slightly full figure, and hands that wrung together nervously. She only wore a wedding ring on her fingers.

“No, it is not. Five months ago, Aisha disappeared. We contacted the police that first evening and Darren, my husband, pulled some strings. They searched, but she just…vanished. I thought, we thought, that she was dead. It was—” Mrs. Williams faltered, but she didn’t break down like Rayha had feared she would. Instead, she sat up and moist eyes focussed on her with great intensity. Rayha weathered the older woman’s gaze stoically. Mrs. William’s voice gained in strength when she spoke again. Good on you, Rayha thought.

“We got lucky; someone recognised her twenty-nine days after she went missing. She had been living in Centralia. That’s a little—”

“I know what it is—a mining town to the north of here.” It was also demon territory and most hunters wouldn’t go near it for all the money in the world.

“Exactly. She must have lived there for weeks before she was caught stealing food from one of the few remaining residences. He called the police, who came to get her and took her to the nearest hospital—she was badly dehydrated and hadn’t eaten in weeks. They had to keep her sedated because she…she—she tried to hurt herself and others and she wouldn’t stop screaming. Four months ago, they moved her to the Spruce Pavilion here in Reading—it’s an inpatient mental health treatment facility. They told us that Aisha’s had a mental breakdown, that she’s psychotic. Her healthcare worker asked us if she used to do drugs! Aisha didn’t do drugs, not ever. She wouldn’t! And none of the medication is helping her get better either; they have her tied down to the bed almost all the time now. She…she’s getting worse. She used to at least acknowledge me when I came to visit but now—” Mrs. William’s voice was rising, getting sharper in her desperation. They were drawing attention, and Rayha didn’t like attention.

Quickly, she cut off the woman’s speech. “And your husband?”

As expected, the question deflated the woman who was clearly on the brink of a mental breakdown herself. “He doesn’t…he doesn’t visit her. Not anymore. He can’t see his little girl like that. He doesn’t even go with her for the dialysis treatments she needs now. It’s hard for me too, but I need to be there for her, you know?” Pleading eyes met hers.

Rayha nodded. She took another sip of her coffee. Clearly, this was a case of possession, but some things did not match up. Memory loss, dehydration, starvation—all normal. Lingering insanity? Far less common. Rare, even. “Yeah, I understand.” She took a deep breath. “So, why call me?”

“Aisha has therapy. When she has a good day, she…they make her draw. They tried to make her talk, but she just rambles. She used to love to draw, even as a little girl.” From the briefcase Mrs. Williams had placed on the floor, she pulled a stack of papers and handed them over. Rayha took a burning gulp of coffee before leafing through them. It seemed Aisha had a very limited repertoire no matter what colour the staff gave her: an arch, which seemed to hold double doors and a clearly demonic skull in the centre.

“There are hundreds more, all exactly the same. She keeps saying she has to open it, that it’s her destiny. The doctors think she is just…delusional—that she is insane—but a mother knows her daughter. I believe her. I googled demon possession and gates, and eventually I found you. You lived so close by I…I had to try.” Mrs. Williams was on the verge of tears. Her desperation was obvious. Sadly, most of the people who searched Rayha out were. They had tried everything science had to offer and had struck out. Well, this case seemed clear-cut enough: demon possession, some hell gate. Time to meet the patient and get to work. “I think I’m ready to see Aisha now.”

Mrs. Williams examined her. Obviously, she tried to divine what Rayha was thinking. “So…you think you can help her?”

Rayha refused to be read. Instead, she handed the drawings back. “I think I need to see and examine Aisha to confirm or disprove a few theories. After that, I’ll answer your question.”

Mrs. Williams pursed her perfectly painted lips and nodded slowly. Rayha guessed Mrs. Williams wasn’t used to being denied anything, and with her daughter’s life at stake, she found it hard to swallow. “Alright.”

Rayha drank the remainder of her coffee in one go, and winced as the heat ran down her throat. Mrs. Williams hurried to clear the drawings away and re-do her shawl as Rayha waited impatiently. She was relieved to pull the door of the bar closed behind her and disappear in the throng of nameless faces out today.

Reading Hospital was old, grand, and it stretched out for acres. Once more, she stood out like a sore thumb—rough around the edges and far too grim to feed into the fantasy of recovery. Rayha hated hospitals with a vengeance; even when she was fully closed off to the supernatural, the scent of antiseptics brought with it the feeling of death and despair. There were too many ghosts and demons in hospitals—especially in ones with as much history as this one. Shivers traversed her spine as she hurried along with Mrs. Williams, who guided her into the bowels of the building with the ease of someone who walks the same route day after day. Rayha kept her head down and one hand in her pocket. In the other, she carried her magic bag—a worn leather doctor’s case filled with all the tools of the trade she thought she would need, and a few extra ones.

She came to a dead halt when they stepped into Spruce Pavilion. Almost everyone was a little bit psychic and could feel when a place had a bad vibe to it. Subconsciously, people tried to counter the feeling by going overboard with the decor. This place was a pastel nightmare. The main lounge area was decked out in wooden panelling. Everything was decorated for comfort and quietness; soft couches, round shapes… There were no hospital gowns to be found anywhere; it was all sweatpants, t-shirts, and sweaters. Soft colours—nothing black, nothing too bright.

Anxiety clawed up Rayha’s spine and settled heavily at the base of her skull. She had seen the inside of plenty a mental ward as a teen and she only needed two seconds to know that if you went into this place with anything more than work stress or a mild depression, you weren’t getting out. Oh, the staff was competent and the finances good, but this place reeked of the supernatural. Whatever was using this place as their personal McDonalds, they were getting their order supersized.

“Whatever happens today, do me a favour and get your daughter out of this place as soon as possible. You look like a woman who can afford to hire a nurse or two and keep her comfortable at home. I guarantee you that she is never, ever, getting healthy in this place,” she told Mrs. Williams who had stopped a few paces off when Rayha had stopped walking. She set her jaw as she regarded her. Rayha met her eyes and shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

Mrs. Williams opted not to comment. “She’s this way. They had to sedate her again this morning, so I don’t know how available she will be.”

Rayha hummed in acknowledgment and slowed when Mrs. Williams did. Instead of opening the off-yellow door they had stopped in front, Mrs. Williams searched her face.

Rayha waited patiently for whatever was to come.

“The supernatural…you believe in that, right? You know it’s real…?”

“I do. I’ve dealt with far too much of it not to. Why?”

“Nothing I just…I need someone to believe me.” With trembling hands, Mrs. Williams opened the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so Rayha could enter.

The first thing Rayha noticed was that the lights were dimmed and the curtains closed. Everything in the room was tuned down, quiet. Aisha’s bed was placed against the east wall, in the darkest corner. The rest of the room was bare; a chair that was probably only used by Delilah Williams, a desk that no one used at all, and carpeting that showed vacuum marks, showing how often it had been traversed lately.

“Okay, no. No, no. This is not good at all.” She dropped her bag onto the desk and broke the lines left by the vacuum cleaner by waltzing over to the curtains and pulling them open with gusto.

“Wait! What are you doing? The doctors say she needs as little stimulation as possible; she could have another episode!” Mrs. Williams came up behind her and tried to pull the curtains shut again. Rayha turned and gripped the woman’s wrist, meeting her eyes dead on.

“Delilah, I need you to trust me today. If you need me to explain my methods, I will, but believe me, the last thing your daughter needs right now is to be locked inside her own mind. The only thing there for her after what I believe she has been through, is madness. Now please, wait outside if you can’t stand to watch this, but you have got to let me do my job.” It was a stalemate for long moments as Mrs. Williams weighed her need to adhere to the advice of the medical professionals and to believe in some woman whom she had only just met and who could be insane enough to be locked in here with her daughter. Slowly her grip lessened and she released the curtains.

“Alright, but I’m staying.”

“I am alright with that. If you want to help, turn on all the lamps and then help me get her bed in the centre of the room. We’re going to need some room to work.” Mrs. Williams nodded and strode through the room with renewed purpose. Rayha smiled as the African American woman closed the door and locked it from the inside. Appeased, Rayha pushed the curtains open again and fished her phone from her pocket. She unlocked it with a swift flick of her thumb and browsed to the music player. She searched her library and grinned. A second later, the first notes of The Who’s ‘Baba O’Riley’ filled the room. She sacrilegiously skipped the first minute, then turned the volume all the way up.

As she placed the device next to Aisha’s head, she took her first hard look at her real client. She was older than Rayha had expected her to be—roughly her own age. When Mrs. Williams had said on the phone that Aisha was still in college, Rayha had expected her to be in her early twenties. Aisha was at least twenty-eight, logical if Rayha accounted for law school. She was pale, skin over bones, and out cold. Her cheeks were concaved; she frowned despite being asleep, and twitched slightly. A half full bag of urine hung from the side of the bed, an IV dripped fluids into her arm, and she was being fed through a nasal tube. Rayha sighed and stroked the back of a bony hand for a moment. Aisha must have been beautiful before she had been taken—model beautiful. Now, she was a husk of herself—a husk like she had seen many others after being possessed for an extended period of time. Being locked in your own mind while someone else drove your body into the ground did that to you.

As the sounds of The Who’s runaway synthesizer overtook the room, Rayha and Mrs. Williams rolled the bed to its centre. Then Rayha took the desk chair and placed it under the fire alarm. She opened the device and pried the battery from it. Stepping down, she regarded the fancy carpet as she pushed the chair out of the way.

“I’m going to have to wreck that,” she announced. She scoffed at the salmon coloured monstrosity and Mrs. Williams followed her gaze down.

“The carpet? Why?”

“Right behind our plane of existence is TAX, part of the aetherial plane, a layer beyond this reality. This is where you go when you dream, and trained magi like me can enter it even while we are awake and take a look around. In the aetherial plane, it’s very easy to spot those possessed or channelled through. I need an Enochian circle—an angel circle—to enter TAX. If this floor was stone or wood, I’d use chalk but now—” Rayha pulled a can of spray paint out of her bag. “We’ll have to go with this.”

“Can’t we do this somewhere else? Somewhere with another type of flooring?”

“We can, but are you willing to tell the staff what we are doing and risk getting tossed out?”

Mrs. Williams looked at the door a moment. “No.”

“Thought so. Now, may I?”

After a moment, Mrs. Williams nodded and Rayha got to work. She drew two circles around the bed, added a variety of symbols to the space between them, and then marked the four main cardinal directions with seals. She hadn’t been exactly truthful with Mrs. Williams; yes, she needed a part of this ritual to open her eyes to the supernatural, but she didn’t need the circle. She wasn’t sure, however, what would come falling out if she started shaking this tree and she wasn’t about to risk the patients and staff of the hospital by setting some demon loose in here. The circle would keep contained whatever came forth once she started prodding.

“Okay, all done. Now, I need you to step out of the circle and whatever happens—and I mean it, whatever happens, I have no idea what’s going to take place here—you need to stay out of it. Stepping in without my permission will not only put Aisha’s life in danger, but yours and mine as well, and everyone in this hospital. I need your word, Delilah, and if you don’t think you can keep it, I need you to leave.” Once more, Mrs. Williams struggled, but the decision was easier this time. Maybe a half of The Who album had mellowed her out—maybe Mrs. Williams just figured ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’.

“I promise.”

“Alright then. Keep everyone out of this room, stay quiet, and I’ll get you some answers.” She fetched her bag and put it at Aisha’s feet, then leaned down and pulled a dagger from a hidden sheath in her boot. Mrs. Williams gasped. True to her word, though, she didn’t interfere.

Back before she had met her angelic patron and he had given her angel juice to power her magic, Rayha had been a fairly decent Enochian magus. She’d already put together the full magic kit, could vibrate the names of an assortment of angels, watchers, and kings, and could penetrate fairly deeply into the other spheres of existence. Harut had been very amused with her efforts. After her initial annoyance at his mocking had waned, Rayha had realized she couldn’t blame him; it took hours of ritual work for her to accomplish something he did with the snap of his fingers. ‘Trained monkeys still cannot pass for men,’ he had said. Harut’s Grace had made things infinitely easier—and shorter. Still, there was rarely a time when she didn’t feel like a tool when performing magic in front of the non-initiated. She raised her dagger to the north face of the circle.

“Nor-Molap-Sa-Lukal, oh mighty Taoagla, whose Word is Ambz. Come forth and take away my karma.” The words reverberated through the air, and she felt them rumble on into the higher planes of existence. There was something unique about performing magic; a familiarity that tugged at her consciousness instantly. Ritual was ninety percent mental, ten percent supernatural; most of it served to prepare the mind for the journey. With practiced ease, she drew the appropriate sigil for the Guardian of the North into the air and moved to the east of the circle, toes skirting the inner line, reciting similar evocations and carving similar sigils for Iaiadia-Sa-Raas and Kikele-Ath-Babage, angels of desire and innocence. She moved another quarter, now ignoring Mrs. Williams who was in her field of vision. With every step, with every word, she felt her soul pull at her body, longing to journey deeper into the Fugue. She carved the last sigil into the air and pointed the blade towards the centre of the circle. “I rise above the Forces of Karma. I rise above the Forces of Desire. I rise above the Forces of Ignorance. I rise above the Forces of Restriction. Through the four radiant regions of TEX, I regain full consciousness throughout. I rise up! I rise up! I have gained mastery over TEX!”

Something clicked in her head and her eyes fell shut. Entering the Fugue was like breathing water, like touching fear, like seeing a dying animal’s scream. It clawed at her spine, crawled up with razor sharp nails, and settled at the base of her skull. She opened her mind and was devoured by the darkness. She gasped and arched back. Her arms fell down and she leaned heavily on the footboard of the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Goosebumps crawled over her skin in waves. She pushed her face into the veil between the worlds and soaked in the rush. With a shudder, she linked with her aetherial body.

The world reknitted and became solid again. Swallowing heavily, Rayha opened her eyes. The angel sigils that had been invisible the physical plane hung before her in the air now, bright blue but fading quickly. Mrs. Williams was barely visible beyond the white veil that made up the circle and which burned like a magnesium fire. On each of the four cardinal corners she had called stood an angelic figure, wings spread out like a barrier, arms folded over their chests. They all had blue eyes, a strong nose and jaw, and a muscular body. As always, the sight of their bare forms unnerved Rayha a little. They were all carbon copies: created, not born. They didn’t have primary or secondary reproductive organs, no body hair at all, no nipples or a belly button. None of them—as far has Rayha had experienced—had any identifiable features save for their name. For all intents and purposes, they did not have free will, nor personal experiences; everything they were was part of their hive mind. Even with their deformities and beastly appearances, seeing demons unnerved Rayha a lot less than seeing the angels did; at least demons had genitals, breasts where applicable, and a will of their own. They represented the worst of mankind—many of the older ones being half angel, half human or transformed humans—but at least she understood them. She could identify with demons. The angels were different; other. She disliked seeing them in the Fugue.

With a sigh, Rayha sheathed the dagger and crossed to the side of the bed for a supernatural inspection of the patient. Unlike the regular light blue aura of human life, Aisha’s was a dull grey. It was weak and laced with streaks of red and black; demon colours. She reached out to open one of Aisha’s eyes for a closer look.

“Aisha…”

The word echoed within the circle and stretched out; distorted, alluring. Rayha’s head shot up.

“Just to verify, you didn’t just say ‘Aisha’, did you?”

“No, why?”

Rayha cursed under her breath. “I know what’s wrong with your daughter. Remember I told you about entering the aetherial plane? About how we do that in dreams? Well, when we do that, we don’t really travel to TAX, we just look at it through the veil between our planes. When we do travel to it, that’s what we call a nightmare. TAX is also where our soul goes when we get possessed because there is not enough room in the body for two souls. In Aisha’s case, the demon isn’t allowing her to leave TAX so she is caught in a continual nightmare, and she hasn’t had a distraction from it for months now.”

When Rayha turned to look at Mrs. Williams, her eyes were wide, and she had her hand in front of her mouth in shock. “How can we—can you help her? Can you get her back?”

“Yes, but I need something from her first—I need to know what happened to her. I’m going to summon an angel—my angel, you could say, although if you’d ask him, he’d tell you I’m his hunter.” Rayha grinned as Mrs. Williams’ eyes widened.

“You—you speak to angels? The Lord’s angels?” Mrs. Williams crossed herself.

Rayha resisted the urge to shift her vision back to the unmoving angels still guarding the circle. “They prefer the Aramaic term ‘Iyrin’ instead of ‘angel’ and ‘Elah’ instead of ‘Lord’, but yes, I work for one of God’s angels. His name is Harut and he’s going to get Aisha to talk. She’ll be safe, I promise. I want you to remember that it won’t be her—not really. It’ll be her voice you hear, but it won’t be Aisha. Remember, do not step into the circle under any circumstance.”

“I remember. Please, do it.” The reverence in dark eyes had Rayha sigh inwardly. For Mrs. Williams’ sake, she wished angels were even half as helpful as she was imagining them to be right now—and half as benevolent.

“Good. Okay, this is going to go quickly if Harut is willing to listen.” She raised her arms up. “Harut, Iyr of sorcery, teacher and trickster of mankind, I pray to thee.” A flash of lightning seen only in the Fugue, followed by the rustling of feathers. They surrounded Aisha’s body like a cocoon as the wings stretched, then folded in. Harut’s hands pressed against the side of Aisha’s head as he kneeled behind her—through the bed. Material objects didn’t transfer to the aetherial plane, or the other way around. Aisha’s eyes blinked open, revealing bright blue instead of her natural hazel as Harut pressed his forehead against the top of her skull. She shuddered and Harut shook himself out.

“I am here,” Aisha spoke in monotone. Again, Mrs. Williams gasped. She took a tentative step forward and reached out. Just in time, she remembered her promise and stopped. Her arm fell down, along with her tears. As if she was seeing Elah in person, Rayha thought bitterly. If only…

“Thank you for coming. I need your help. Go through her mind, tell me who took her body?”

“Agreed.” Harut fell silent and Aisha’s eyes stared up at the ceiling, motionlessly. She didn’t blink, nor did her body move at all. This wasn’t possession; Harut was channelling through her body. The only parts of her he could manipulate were her mouth and her eyes.

“I see fire and smoke. He took her here; he whispered until she opened to him. Now she is in the dark and she digs. She is not the first. He has taken others, worn them down until they fell. Many bones lie deep in the tunnels. She did not fall, she dug. She dug until she found the gate. He will not let her go. They call him ‘Paqach’; He Who Opens.”

The rolling of thunder resounded dully in the space as Harut disappeared. Aisha’s eyes fell shut again. Mrs. Williams gasped loud enough for Rayha to realize she had heard the bang too, which was not a good sign for the black woman’s sanity. She needed to hurry this along. Obviously Mrs. Williams had the same susceptibility to the supernatural as her daughter had. Her mobile phone cycled back to ‘Baba O’Riley’ and Rayha licked her lips. Rayha hated herself for the plan growing in the back of her mind.

“Delilah? Delilah? I need you inside of the circle now. Come here?” Mrs. Williams blinked and shook off the daze. She watched Rayha for a moment, hesitant, then circled the circle on high heels that dug deep into the carpet. Rayha was tired—bone tired. After this case, she was going to self-medicate until she passed out for a few hours.

With her dagger, Rayha cut a door counter-clockwise and sealed the opening once Mrs. Williams was inside. She sheathed the blade again. “New promise: whatever happens, you’ll stay in the circle.”

If any part of Delilah Williams’ mind had still doubted Rayha, hearing Harut speak through her daughter had cured her entirely. She nodded without question, “Rayha…? Thank you. For the first time in months, I have hope my daughter will be alright.”

Mrs. Williams’ watery smile reminded Rayha of all the other parents, children, friends and other assorted loved ones who had done the same over the years. She was proud—and infinitely relieved—to be able to say that her balance still tipped towards the side of success, but the dark pages in her ledger would haunt her forever. She vowed to herself that Aisha wouldn’t become one of those. Rayha was going to leave Reading behind with the knowledge that Aisha was home safe with her parents; that she would get the chance to become a brilliant prosecutor one day.

“It’s my job,” she answered. It was her standard answer when things became a little too personal.

As The Who filled every inch of the small space, Rayha shrugged off her heavy leather jacket to reveal a tattered The Clash-shirt and dark arms full of cutting scars and old burns. She felt Delilah’s eyes on the marks for long moments, but the older woman declined to comment. Good.

“Okay, Aisha, hey…we haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Rayha and I’m going to try to help you. By now, your mind should feel a little clearer, huh? I know that you are still very drowsy because the doctors gave you something to sleep, but people like us—who’ve gone through what we’ve been through—we don’t like to sleep, do we? I know you can hear me, and you feel you mom, too, don’t you?” She motioned for Delilah to take her daughter’s hand, which she did—tightly.

“Ash? Ma’s here, everything’s okay, angel girl. Everything will be okay now.”

Rayha smiled encouragingly and nodded. The dark skinned woman pressed her eye sockets against her shoulders to dry her tears; she obviously did not want to release the hand she had clasped in both of hers. The action left make-up stains on the expensive blouse, but Delilah didn’t notice.

“You know, there are many ways to reach the power of God, and He’s known by many names.” As she talked, she opened her bag. “My mother calls Him Allāh, or Al-raḥmān, ‘the Compassionate’. Harut calls Him Elah, which I have adopted because I talk about God more to Harut than to my mother. Elah’s no longer here to guard the Earth, but there are others who have taken His place. The Orisha are some of those guardians, as are the angels. They can be petitioned for help, and I’m going to ask Babalú Ayé to help you today. He’s the Orisha of healing, and he’s kind-hearted and strong.” Rayha took a statue of Babalú Ayé from her bag; a dark skinned man covered from head to ankles in a garb made of straw. She placed him near Aisha’s head, then lit a tea light and placed it at the statue’s feet in a copper bowl. She shook a hand full of coins from a small velvet pouch and placed it beside him.

Delilah watched her curiously, even more so when Rayha unwrapped a nice, thick Cuban cigar.

“Only the best for our special guest,” Rayha commented when Mrs. Williams frowned. With a smirk, she clipped off the top and bud, and bent down to light it with the tea light on the bed. She sucked hard, relished the burn, and straightened out when the cigar looked to stay lit. She exhaled blissfully and reached out to press her hand lightly on a balmy forehead and brushed up over curly dark hair. Aisha whimpered, and Rayha smiled at Delilah, who immediately looked at her for confirmation that this was a good sign. It was.

“I’m pretty good at Enochian magic, but I’m a hack at Santeria. Because Harut, the angel I told you about, has put a bit of his Grace inside of me, most of the Orisha like me enough to indulge me, though. It’s like a letter of recommendation from one holy species to another. Babalú Ayé will be willing to help.” She sucked hard, gathered smoke and blew it onto the statue. She repeated the action twice more, head bobbing up and down with the The Who’s ‘The Song Is Over’. She tried to loosen her body to the music, inhaled deeply and puffing the smoke over Aisha’s face, seeing her inhale sharply. Ashes fell onto the sheets.

“Okay, Delilah, I need you to get up on the bed and hold Aisha down. Keep her down no matter what. We’ll use the restraints if we have to, but I think she has too many bad memories of those to help. A human touch is better—especially if it’s her mom.” Delilah nodded and let go of her daughter with hesitation. She undid the strap of her heels and put them next to the bed, then hoisted up her skirt, completely unperturbed to wrinkle her expensive clothing or look foolish in front of a near-stranger. Well, Delilah had just seen her wave a dagger around and vibrate angel names after spray-painting a circle onto the expensive carpet; Rayha figured they were even.

The feeling of kinship increased when Delilah straddled her daughter’s legs and reached out to press her hands down on Aisha’s wrists, to keep her arms trapped next to her body and Rayha realized she didn’t think of Delilah as Mrs. Williams anymore. With a smile, she turned to Aisha.

“Aisha, I know you can still hear the demon who was inside of you. Well, Paqach has no business talking to you, so I’m going to ask Babalú Ayé to close your ears to him. That should make you feel a lot better. All you have to do is listen to the music. Can you hear it? Yeah, you can, can’t you?” Smoke filled the entire room now, and once more, Rayha puffed out smoke in the direction of the statue and Aisha’s head. “Hold her tightly, okay?”

Mrs. Williams nodded.

Rayna cleared her throat. “Oh blessed and Glorious Babalú Ayé, giver and taker of plagues, we call to you in prayer. We lay ourselves at your boiled feet and beg of you to grant us our heart’s desire.” Gently, she pressed Delilah’s head down onto her daughter’s chest. There was a spark in the air now, an electric charge that Rayha wondered if Delilah felt as well. Something powerful was listening, coming forward from the Fugue. She took another deep drag from the cigar and coughed the smoke into the air. Her lungs tightened, the smoke burned her throat and caused her eyes to water. Her feet moved rhythmically, her head and shoulders moved as she stomped on the spot, an instinctual call to dance rising up now the powerful Orisha drew closer.

“Show yourself to us, stomp the ground with us, and lay your hands upon this poor soul, tainted and broken. Take pity and come to us! We throw ourselves down at your feet. Close her ears, close her mind to the darkness, and once she hears only that which man is supposed to hear, wake her from the slumber she has been forced into. Give her back life!” Rayha was shouting now. The Who once more went crazy on the synthesizer. She groaned when the delicious flame of darkness that signalled the arrival of the Orisha traversed her spine.

A low vibration caused the floor to tremble, and in the smoke, a tall figure stepped forward into TAX. Just like the statue, Babalú Ayé was covered in straw, in a long cloak, bound together on top of his head, obscuring him from view. He had a staff in his hand. Every bit of skin Rayha could see was covered in boils. She shuddered with a respect she was never able to give to the angels. Unlike them, the Orisha were fully aware and fully in control of their own will. They were incredibly dangerous, and unlike with the angels, Rayha made sure not to put a single toe out of line when one of them was around. She bowed down.

Babalú Ayé hummed and reached out. The very air seemed to bend aside to allow him, and even without seeing the movement, Rayha knew what was happening. Aisha suddenly took a deep breath of air and strained up. Delilah attempted to keep her daughter contained. Rayha caught sight of wide-open eyes with blown out pupils and a gaping mouth with a lolling tongue; Aisha was being exorcized on the spot.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun. Aisha fell back and gasped, Delilah whimpered, and Babalú Ayé stepped back. Rayha didn’t watch him leave. Instead, she extinguished the cigar into the candlewax and put the small flame out with it. The hairs on the back of her arms settled slowly, and Delilah sat up, instinctively realizing—feeling?—that they were alone once more. Rayha grinned at the rush of the close encounter, feeling the high. “Whew!”

Before Delilah could reply, Aisha woke up, once more showing how God damn powerful the Orisha really were.

“Mom…?” Her voice was soft and rough with disuse, but made it over the music that still blasted from crappy speakers. It instantly drew two sets of eyes down. Light brown eyes, dazed but bright, looked up at them—at Delilah. Delilah sobbed. She released Aisha’s wrists and reached out to cup her daughter’s cheek.

“Aisha…? Baby, is that you?” Delilah was out of breath, and emotion squeezed her throat shut, pitching her voice up. Rayha looked away embarrassed as Aisha surged up with a sob, wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and pulled her down. She allowed them a few moments to reconcile before she cleared her throat. From over her mother’s shoulder, Aisha looked up.

“Rayha, right?”

Rayha nodded with a smile. “I knew you could hear me.”

“Yeah…your voice was the only thing louder than—” Aisha swallowed and glanced away a moment. Trembling slightly, Mrs. Williams slid off her daughter and the bed. She took a renewed hold on Aisha’s hand.

“Hey, no need to talk about that; just some questions about the now. Can you still hear the voice you’ve been hearing?”

Aisha shook her head.

“How badly do you want to go back to Centralia right now?”

“I don’t! Not at all.”

“How about open a hell gate and let loose some demon?”

Delilah regarded Rayha oddly, but seeing as her daughter was actually answering questions—and coherently so—she wasn’t about to interfere.

“No. That…I never wanted that. He made me!”

Rayha grinned. “I know. Good. Very good. All right, that’s step one. Aisha, wanna help destroy a hell gate?”

Before the young woman could reply, Delilah interfered. “A hell gate? No, she doesn’t—she is back now, she’s cured! She doesn’t need to go back there.”

Rayha sighed. It seemed Delilah’s hesitance to trust Rayha had been restored now Aisha was awake. “We’re half way to cured—at best. Paqach won’t give up without a fight, and unfortunately, your daughter did uncover a hall gate while she was possessed. We need to find it and destroy it, and seeing as the only person who has actually seen it is Aisha, I need her to come with me—preferably before Paqach realizes she is out of his reach forever and finds another host to set in motion the end of the world.”

Delilah stared at her with stubborn determination. Even with her hair dishevelled and her clothes a mess, she managed to exude an air of superiority. This time it was Aisha who interfered.

“Mom? It’s okay. Rayha is right. I’ve seen what Paqach wants to release. He was so happy to be so close—so hungry. He needs to be stopped and if that means that we go to Centralia, then we go to Centralia.” Aisha reached over herself to take her mother’s hand and met her gaze. There was nothing but determination in hazel eyes.

Delilah sagged just a little. She nodded. “Alright then, I’ll find a wheelchair and sign you out. And the carpet and the…the smoke; I’ll explain it—somehow.” She swallowed heavily and moved to step back.

“Delilah, stop. You’re still in the circle. Let me dismiss it first before you hurt yourself.” A note of fear touched Delilah’s eyes as she came to a dead halt. At least the proceedings had convinced her that magic was real. Muggles…

Rayha made short work of the circle. In reverse order, she thanked and dismissed all four of the guardians and she watched as they all dropped one arm, placed their other fist against their chests, then turned and walked away. They faded into the Fugue before they’d finished a single step. All the while, Rayha felt two sets of eyes heavily upon her. She got through the ritual stoically and refused to feel like a tool. Instead, she braced herself. The circle fell and with it, what appeared to be a hot blade pierced the back of Rayha’s skull. She hissed sharply and sagged forward, onto the headboard of the bed.

“Rayha!” Aisha called her name, but Rayha held up a trembling hand.

“I hate that part,” she muttered as her soul settled heavily back into her body. “You can go, Delilah. I’m going to have to take a moment.”

She kept her eyes closed as she sagged to the floor and cradled her forehead in her hands. Gravity she hadn’t been aware of while in the circle now pulled at her limbs like lead weights. Her head was throbbing and she was parched. Her mouth tasted like ash and death. Her lungs hurt. Rayha pulled her knees up and waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass.

“You okay?” she heard after a while.

Rayha nodded carefully and met worried eyes. She straightened carefully. “Think so. How are you feeling?” She mirrored Aisha’s smile and Aisha’s brightened.

“I think I’m feeling as well as can be expected—which is to say, terrible? It’s good to be awake, though…and lucid.”

Rayha nodded. “I know. It’s almost over.” She blinked her eyes open again, and took in the young woman before her. If only things were almost over. She really wasn’t looking forward to the next part. With a heavy heart, she glanced at the door. “Aisha, time to listen to me very carefully. I need to give you a few instructions before your mother comes back…”

An hour and a half later, Rayha pulled out of the hospital parking lot. Aisha lay flat on the backseat and Delilah Williams had taken a seat next to Rayha. Both looked worse for wear, and Rayha was avoiding her own reflection at all costs. Aisha nodded off on and off but shot up, fully awake, only minutes after. Rayha set her jaw, knowing full well that the other woman would most likely never sleep soundly again. For now, they had bigger worries: as Rayha had feared, Delilah started showing signs of possession about an hour into the oppressively silent drive. Small twitches of her hand and in her face, a mumbled word here or there, the sudden turning of her head. At least now Aisha wouldn’t have to get out of the car. Rayha met sad brown eyes in the rear view mirror.

Half an hour later, it was Delilah who opened the door first and got out of the car when Route 61 stopped existing; it had been closed off years ago to keep people out of Centralia.

“Don’t let her get hurt, please?” Aisha said softly as Rayha got out before Delilah could get too far.

She nodded. “I’ll do what I can.” She opened the trunk and got out her magic bag along with a length of rope and a flashlight. Even from here, she could feel the dark aura ahead—there were demons in Centralia, and she was carrying a bull’s eye on her back with Harut’s Grace in her veins. This trip might be the stupidest thing she had ever done—and she had done a good few stupid things in her life.

While non-initiated suspected that the cause of the fire that set ablaze the coal under the small town was a trash burning that hit a coal strip in a cave, Rayha knew better. In 1962, miners had dug their way to a door not unlike the one she was trying to keep closed—a portal into a prison for a demon that was too powerful to exorcize or kill. He had been locked away by Elah thousands of years ago, trapped and chained in the space between the material plane and the fugue to protect mankind. When he’d been set free, a battle for the survival of mankind had followed, and it had cost the lives of many good hunters and the retreat into the Heavens of many angels. During the battle, the demon had set the ground on fire with flames rising to over a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Centralia still burned—it would burn for hundreds of years more—but the demon was dead.

Route 61 had taken a hit from the fires still creeping below the surface; it was concaved and cracked, and smoke billowed up from deep crevices. Delilah guided Rayha off the road before they even reached the town, and into the new-growth forest that had come up over the past fifty years. She didn’t falter, didn’t question her direction, and she didn’t notice the woman a few paces behind her. What she did do, was mutter to her new best friend—the demon whispering into her ear. When they reached a well-hidden cave-like entrance into the rock face, Rayha followed Delilah down into the darkness and shone a flashlight ahead of them, even though the woman before her didn’t seem to need light at all. With her other hand, she marked the wall with chalk, making sure they would be able to get out later.

Within minutes, it became hot. Natural tunnelling turned into manmade mine shafts. As they walked, more and more rubble littered the floor. The fires hadn’t reached here yet—logical if there was a hell gate to repel them—but they were close, pressing against the edges of whatever kept them at bay. Rayha took off her jacket to better resist the heat and pulled her shirt over her nose and mouth against the wisps of potentially poisonous smoke.

They had to crawl through certain sections of collapsed or partly-dug tunnelling, and Delilah still had not looked back even once. They had to be close now. Rayha followed her patiently and reached into her bag for a set of heavy-duty leather cuffs, ordered straight off of a BDSM web shop: expensive, good quality, and meant to constrain without lasting damage. Pressing forward, she gently took a hold of Delilah’s wrist. The woman hissed, but didn’t resist when Rayha cuffed both wrists behind her back. The next time Delilah had to crawl, she slithered along the floor like an ineffective serpent and Rayha looked away, embarrassed.

The hell gate had been more impressive in Aisha’s drawings. Looking at it after a long and monotonous journey, Rayha couldn’t help think that the wood was old, and that the bright red of the doors had faded into a mute pastel. The demon seal was impressive, but Rayha had seen a few of them now and they just did not have the same impact that they used to have. The door cast a faint glow into the tunnel—strong enough not to have to use the flashlight anymore and too weak to show the details on the skeletons of former victims of the demon that lay scattered around. Delilah stepped right over the bones and headed for the door.

“Whoa, hey, none of that now,” Rayha called out, and Delilah turned. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her clothes torn. Any semblance of upper class had been stripped from her as she stood hunched over, panting, spitting saliva. Delilah was not fully possessed yet, but Paqach wouldn’t take long now they were at the gate. Down here, she could almost hear his whispers herself.

“I’m sorry I have to put you through this, Delilah. Aisha’s too weak and I can’t do it because I need to perform the exorcism. When I realized you were just as susceptible to demonic possession as your daughter, I knew Paqach would try to get you here instead. You are stronger, and Aisha gets fifty percent of her genes from you. She was chosen to open this gate, so there was a fifty-fifty shot you would do in a pinch.”

Delilah growled and hunched further. She pulled at the cuffs to no avail. Fuck. Well, time to bait the monster. “Paqach, He Who Opens, show yourself. As a Guardian of Humanity, I summon thee in the name of Elah and all his Iyrin.” The words vibrated off of the narrow tunnel walls.

Delilah spit and hissed. She stalked closer and Rayha backed off after setting down her bag.

She prepared the rope. “Come on, you pathetic waste of demon skin, come and get me. That’s right, you have a nice host right there, now just get inside your meat suit. Come on, you little shit, don’t just make her want to hurt me—hurt me yourself!”

It was enough. With an animalistic whine, Delilah threw her head back. Her arms rose to tension, but the cuffs held—for now. When pitch black eyes levelled on her, Rayha smirked.

“There you are, you half breed. Come and get me!”

Instantly, Delilah sagged through her knees and into a squat. Teeth showing, she leaped forward like a frog and crossed over fifteen feet in one, inhumanly far, standing jump. Her heavy body cannonballed into Rayha’s and all the air was forced from her lungs as she fell, Delilah on top of her. Her head hit the floor hard, but she managed to remain conscious.

Delilah pushed down with a strength that was nowhere near what her body could sustain. Rayha had to hurry before she tore some muscles—or managed to sink her teeth into Rayha’s neck. Grunting, she pushed the partly incapacitated woman off of her and struggled to straddle her. The demon whined and smacked Delilah’s head into the floor below, howling in rage as Rayha struggled to get a rope around the black woman’s legs. She was out of breath and rapidly losing her strength. She needed to hurry—if the demon got the upper hand even once, she was dead and so was everyone around.

With a boot firmly planted against the woman’s throat, she managed to wrap the rope around her legs and yanked them back. She turned the furious woman onto her front and secured the rope to the cuffs before she dropped her onto the cold rock and stood, then leaned against the hot wall as dizziness made the world tilt. Maybe that blow to the head had done some damage after all. From the ground, the demon’s bright, black eyes looked up at her and Delilah’s mouth opened wide to emit a piercing howl that was hell on Rayha’s painful brain. She resisted the urge to kick Delilah in the face—it wouldn’t shut up the demon, after all.

“Buddy, I am going to love exorcizing you,” she spat. The holy water from a vial in her kit caused smoke to rise up from Delilah’s skin, along with a loud howl of pain from the demon’s throat. He tried to squirm away in Delilah’s body, but Rayha stopped him with a booted foot.

“I exorcise thee, unclean spirit, in the name of Elah, the Father Almighty, and in the name of the power of the Holy Spirit, that thou depart from this creature of Elah, Delilah Williams, who our Lord hath designed to call unto His holy temple.” She waved a large wooden cross over Delilah’s howling body and tossed the last of the holy water onto her form. Again, she yowled loudly and smoke rose up. Both sunk into Rayha’s brain like a dull knife.

“Through Elah, who shall come to judge the living and the dead, and the world by fire, I exercise thee, Paqach, He Who Opens. Go back to whatever hell hole you crawled out of and stay the fuck there!” Rayha was shouting now, just to get over the screeching sounds of the demon. Delilah would probably have to do without her voice for a while. Her body strained against the tight bindings and her head arched back dangerously far. She stayed like that for long moments, not breathing, not moving, just contorted in pain. Then she sagged to the floor and gasped before she passed out.

Rayha ran her hand over her own sweaty face and leaned forward with her hands on her knees. Exorcisms: always so anti-climactic. She dropped the religious paraphernalia and took a deep breath. Immediately, she coughed at the smoke in her lungs—smoke that was getting thicker, she now realized. Maybe it wasn’t the door that had kept the fires at bay, but Paqach. That was both good news and bad; bad because that meant they were in immediate danger, but good because the problem of the door would solve itself soon enough.

“Delilah, hey. I need you to wake up now.” Rayha fell to her knees and started to undo the ropes with trembling fingers, then rushed to pack her bag. She called out the other woman’s name again, then rolled her onto her back and slapped her hard in the face. It worked—it usually did. Delilah blinked her bloodshot eyes open with a groan.

“Hey, welcome back,” Rayha fought to keep her panic at bay. The fire usually spread only inches every year under the surface, but the destructive force seemed to have forgotten that rule. It was overtaking what it had been denied for years now, and at a pace that was worrying. Already, Rayha was sweating heavily from the released heat, and the smoke would soon obscure their vision, which would make getting out impossible. “I will explain everything that has happened soon but right now, I need you to trust me and not ask questions. Get up and walk. I need you to do that now, okay?”

Delilah blinked and groaned, then reached out with an uncoordinated hand. Rayha grabbed it and stood. She pulled Delilah up and supported her as the other woman nearly sagged through her knees. Rayha yanked at the heavy woman pressed into her side and Delilah took a step, then another. With her bag clutched into her one hand and a flashlight in the other, Rayha let Delilah lean on her heavily as they headed back the way they came. She forced Delilah to move, either by pulling her onwards or by shouting at her. Delilah didn’t say a word; she was still completely out of it. Sweat dripped down her temples and down her neck. Her shredded clothes soaked through. Rayha searched the wall with her flashlight and followed the markings through the up sloping tunnels. The walls became hot to the touch.

Delilah grunted and put one bare foot in front of the other. Rayha didn’t remember her losing her shoes. It didn’t matter—nothing mattered but getting the fuck out of the tunnels. The first sign of daylight invigorated them both and it seemed to wake Delilah up a little. Rayha didn’t have to drag her anymore. Instead, she dragged herself along as fast as her abused body could manage.

A high-pitched whine echoed through the tunnels and Rayha was sure that it was only audible in the Fugue; the door had given way under the fire and whatever the portal had trapped, was now trapped forever—much to its dismay. Delilah shuddered and moved a little faster at the sound.

The tunnels collapsed maybe twenty seconds after they cleared the mouth of the cave. Hot sand and rocks landed onto their collapsed bodies, and Rayha shielded her face. Delilah just blinked. A manic laugh welled up in Rayha’s throat and refused to be contained. It shook her entire body as it tore from her throat. They were still alive. Fucking hell!

Delilah Williams was released from Reading Hospital two days later with a mild concussion and a torn rotator cuff. Her husband had meanwhile moved the care of his daughter to their home. Aisha was eating regularly and on her own again, and she was becoming more and more vibrant. Rayha knew, because despite prolonged and vehement protest, Aisha had managed to convince her to stay with them until her mother came back home—just in case something demonic took place. Rayha couldn’t blame her, and Darren—who turned out to be a proud and reserved man—had agreed to pay her for her time. To be honest, Rayha had not hated living in the land of luxury for a while, especially after she’d drank herself into a stupor and had passed out for nearly six hours that first day. The nightmares had been terrible—unsurprisingly after everything that had happened—but she had felt far more rested by the time the morning had rolled around.

She had spent the rest of her days with Aisha, talking and learning more about the intelligent and funny woman she had rescued, and Rayha had watched her throughout the nights because Aisha seemed to sleep in longer intervals when Rayha was there. Rayha held her hand for long hours and had wished that she didn’t know what the future would look like for the gentle woman in the bed whom she really started to like.

Fifty-six hours after Rayha had first met Delilah, she said goodbye to them on the porch of the modest but upscale Williams home. Darren and Delilah waved her off first. They expressed their gratitude and then stepped back to give the two young women some privacy as they said goodbye, well aware of the bond that had formed despite Rayha’s obliviousness to the fact she had already let the other woman in.

“I’m going to miss having you around,” Aisha confessed with a soft smile. “It was good to talk about everything that happened and well—”

“Don’t go there, Ash. Trust me, I’m only good for you in small doses. Anything more and I become quite lethal, let me assure you.” The words came out harsher than she had intended, and Aisha looked away as if stung. From a few paces away, Darren squinted at her, while Delilah pursed her lips. Rayha realized she didn’t need to alienate these people; they had gone through enough and she was leaving anyway. The Williams family was safe. She took a deep breath, then fished her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“Here, take this. Maximilian Payne is a psychiatrist—a good one. He knows all about demons and such. He’s a good friend of mine and you can trust him.” She handed Aisha the card and smiled, hoping to make amends. When Aisha smiled back at her and took the card, Rayha stuffed her wallet and hands into her pockets, and glanced back at her car. She was delaying the inevitable, and she wasn’t even sure why. There was just something in the way Aisha looked at her, and she remembered how Aisha slept more soundly when Rayha held her hand.

“Take care of yourself, okay? And each other. If you need me…well, your mom has my number.” Aisha nodded tearfully and rushed forward to hug her. She was still bone thin and even in three sweaters, she was shivering. But she was alive. Soft curly hair tickled Rayha’s face and she instinctively wrapped her hands around the young woman’s body, pulling her close for long moments. Her heartrate sped up.

“Bye…”

“Bye, Ash…”

When Aisha pulled back, they exchanged soft smiles. Rayha felt the familiar pang of longing—of letting someone in—but she fought it. No matter what, Aisha Williams couldn’t become another victim of her messed up life. She stuffed her hands into her pockets again and turned around. She willed herself not to look back at the family that was dangerously close to wiggling their way into her heart as she pulled out of the driveway. Still, as she settled in for the long drive back to Detroit, Rayha found herself checking to make sure she had her phone on her—just in case Aisha tried to contact her. Rayha sighed at her own foolishness, but of all the possible outcomes this case could have had, this was by far the best one.