I Conjure Thee (2 page)

She looked directly into his black eyes.
He’s not going to help. Oh-my-god
. She quickly came to the realization that her final hope was crumbling around her. She knew she couldn’t let him see she doubted herself, but she did.
Stay in control, Clarissa
.

He motioned to the ring on the floor. “By all means, bind me.” He made himself a little more comfortable in the chair, draping a leg over one of the armrests. “Not the greatest of accommodations, but it’ll do for now, I suppose.”
He’s bluffing. Cast the spell again. It’ll work with him here
.

Ignoring him, she took a deep breath, sat back down on the floor in the center of the circle and began the spell to bind him to the ring. As she cast the spell she heard a commotion from over where he was sitting. He groaned, screamed and thrashed about.

She ignored him, unsure if it was actually working or if he was simply just having fun at her expense, she feared it was the latter.

As she chanted she could feel the energy rising in the room. The candles rose as they did before, the flames rising to a couple of feet in height. Just as she felt perhaps she had him, perhaps it was actually going to work, the atmosphere went flat. The energy dropped in the room as quickly as it arose.

She could hear him chuckling behind her.

Despite not wanting to show weakness, she couldn’t fight the need to drop her head in defeat; her long blonde hair veiling her face. Not only had she failed, but she had a big problem sitting in her favourite armchair. She didn’t have to look at him to know that despite his laughter subsiding, he still had that amused look on his face.

“It’s not going to work,” he taunted. He was on the move again; by the time she stood up he was over by the fireplace looking at the photographs she had framed and sitting on the black marble ledge.

“Get away from those!” She demanded. She’d planned for months upon months for this and it had all backfired. Now she had a cocky and no doubt dangerous being wandering her apartment, looking over her things and had no idea how to stop him.

He took another look at the gold-framed photo of a young boy with dark, curly hair, roughly the age of eight sitting on a swing, before returning it to the mantle. He didn’t hurry; it was plainly evident he had no fear of her.

“Who
are
you?” She demanded as he set the picture back down. "
What
are you?"

He wagged a finger at her and then began to further explore the small room. “My real name is your job to find out. If, of course, you want my help, Clarissa. For our purposes you can call me...” He noticed a magazine with Tony Blair adorning the cover as he walked by an end table, paused then said, “Tony.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you know my name?” She demanded, her courage increasing. “And what did you mean by if you want me to help? Does that mean you
will
help?”

All she received from him was a sarcastic grin in response.

He might not be human man but he sure was as infuriating as one. She’d been avoiding dating for quite some time now because she’d had enough of men and their smug attitudes, their self-involvement. This one seemed to have all the infuriating qualities of a human man, only amplified. And why in the hell did he have to be so damned sexy?

She looked him over once more, tall, dark and devilishly handsome - a very dangerous combination. He was now standing by the entryway thumbing through her mail. That explains how he knows my name. How
dare
he? Anger crashed over her once more. He had a nerve going through her home like he owned the place!

"Get away from those," Clarissa ordered.

He ignored her request.

You did bring him here and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on leaving
, a voice in the back of her head nagged.

Presumably bored with her mail, he stopped his exploration to make his way back to her in the circle. He looked her over from head to toe stopping to openly appreciate her round, unrestricted breasts, nipples taunt under the thin satin robe before meeting her eye to eye once more.

“I meant that it is possible to get my help. But unlike the Djinns my kind aren’t as inclined to help humans.” He paused for a moment as if considering his next words.

“What do you have to offer me, witch?”

His eyes wandered back to her exposed cleavage

“It’s Clarissa.” She corrected curtly. She was tempted to pull the robe tighter around herself, but knew that would only serve to amuse him.

He merely shrugged before heading back to 'his' chair. “Make an offer, don’t make an offer, makes no difference to me.” He leaned forward on the edge of his chair once more, a savage, cold look crossing over his face again. “How long do you suppose a human can go without food or water?”

She felt her face pale and she didn't answer; her mouth becoming suddenly dry. She then became very aware of her grave situation. The whole plan had backfired on her. This Djinn, or demon or whatever
it
was, had full run of her house while she was trapped!

Trapped in a circle roughly six feet in diameter, with no food, no water and she was starting to realize that it wouldn’t be long before the use of a washroom would be an urgent priority.

“Oh-my-god!” It was said softly, more or less to herself, but of course he heard.

“No, He’s not going to be here to help you today, or tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. Just you and me, witch.”

She lost her determination to appear strong. He was right. She was at his mercy. Tears threatened to escape. She needed out! What was she going to do? What
was
he? There were so many questions racing through her head, it began to throb. She finally asked,

“What
are
you?”

He laughed again. “Well
Clarissa
it’s about time you asked that. Personally, I would have wanted to know who my captor was straight away, but I suppose you humans tend to take a little longer to process situations than my kind would.”

“Bastard!” He was infuriatingly cocky; this
thing
. Her fear was once again overtaken by her anger. Anger at him. Anger at the situation. Anger at herself for thinking she could have pulled this off.

She glanced over at the photograph of the little boy on the swing ‘Tony’ had been looking at earlier. Jeffrey. Her Jeffrey, currently lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. Desperate times; desperate measures.

He followed her gaze to the picture. A look of realization came over his face. Damn, he knows why I need him. It wasn’t money, fame or power all of which people can do without. What she needed was a miracle, ‘Tony’ was supposed to be her miracle, but it wasn’t looking like he was interested in granting miracles today, or anytime soon for that matter.

For a brief moment she could have sworn she saw a slight shadow of sadness, perhaps pity, cross over his handsome features, but that disappeared quickly and was replaced with... nothingness. She couldn’t read his features one way or another, now.

He was silent for a few moments settling into the armchair. His attitude became gravely serious. “You were very stupid to try and summon me. To summon one of us.”

“I didn’t have any other options.” She settled herself back down cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

“By all means come over and sit with me.” The devilish grin that she was beginning to really hate crossed his face again, as he patted his knee.

She tossed him an unimpressed smirk. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here if you don’t mind.”

“Suit Yourself.” With a shrug he continued, “The grimoire you have there,” he nodded to the book beside her, “was originally written centuries ago. When it was first written, it was accurate enough and if the procedure was followed correctly then you should have been able to summon and possibly been able to bind a Djinn to the stone. Like I presume you intended.”

He stood up then and began pacing in front of her, carefully choosing his words as he spoke. “Like every book ever written by humans, the details become distorted or changed each time it was rewritten. The grimoire you have, I can only assume its contents are thousands of years old but it has been rewritten, revised if you will, dozens of times over.

Each revision, each rewriting has made it less accurate.” He stopped pacing and looked her straight in the eye. “Those few inaccuracies can change the result of the spell enough that instead of summoning a Djinn you instead call upon anything ranging from an Infrit to a high ranking demon.”

“So I have summoned a...” She waited for him to fill in the blank for her.

“Seriously, do I look like a demon to you?”

She shrugged. How would she know, the whole thing had backfired on her and now she was at the mercy of some entity she knew nothing about.

He made a snorting sound as he gave her a disgusted look. “I am
not
a demon.

Demons are distasteful beings, I can assure you of that. They live for the death and destruction of not only humankind but all other entities for that matter.” He lifted his chin, pulling himself up to his full height, "I witch, am an Infrit."

An Infrit. She had heard many not-so-pleasant stories which involved Infrits. They were considered the worst kind of Djinn. Stronger and more ruthless then a normal Djinn, as legend had it, they had turned their backs on God and now stood only to serve themselves, indulging in their every desire without fear of consequence.

If she could find a way to get out of this alive, how could she possibly ever convince such a creature to help her?

Tony watched the witch as she sat silently in the middle of the protective circle. It was clear to see she was terrified. Terrified of him; though he guessed what was even more frightening to her was the consequence if she failed in convincing him to help her. He took another glance at the framed photo of the little boy on her mantle. The child looked like her, except with dark hair and eyes.

He hadn’t noticed anyone resembling a father-type in the photos. When he’d browsed through her mail everything was addressed to her only. It would be reasonable to assume it was just her and the child living there.

It was apparent the child must either be in trouble or ill. And it was evident that she was concerned with neither power nor money; those types of humans were always arrogant and cocky. He enjoyed humbling them, breaking them. Arrogant sorcerers who demanded his submission were dealt with swiftly and without mercy.

This woman intrigued him. She was both brave and foolish. Her actions came from desperation. As he watched her, he knew she was on the verge of breaking down, but somehow she kept managing to regain her composure and attempting to fight back.

She was a feisty little thing; he liked that.

He also found her quite attractive, for a human. She had the scent of humanity on her that tended to turn his stomach but for some inexplicable reason he found himself intoxicated by her. He was drawn to her in a way that he hadn’t been to any female human, Djinn or Infrit; in a way he had never felt before. She had stood proud and confident as his dark eyes drank in every inch of her.

The black robe she wore hung loosely over her body. He was certain she was naked under it; witches generally went naked under their ceremonial robes. He wished the robe would part so he could get a full view of every inch of her fair skin. He could feel himself harden at the thought of touching her. He closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to consider what it would be like to taste those warm, lush lips and kiss her long swanlike neck. The desire for her surged through him once more, causing a low growl to escape his lips.

He sat back down in the armchair. The chair he had claimed to be his for the duration of his stay with her in this little apartment. He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, awkwardly attempting to cover his erection. He didn’t want her realizing the effect she had on him, didn't want to lose the upper hand to her. He had to remain aloof and indifferent to her until he decided what he wanted from her. That is, of course, if he was going to help her... that little detail was still undecided in his mind.

However, for some unknown reason he
wanted
to help her. “What do you need?” He finally asked.

As she looked up at him, he noted a glimmer of hope flash in her brilliant blue eyes when she met his gaze. “It’s my son; he’s dying. He's been given a month to live.” He felt a stab of pity, watching as her eyes filled with tears. He heaved a heavy sigh; he had figured as much. “Take me to the child.”

She laughed, though tears still hung in her eyes. “Just like that, you’re going to help me?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Nice try. How can I trust that as soon as I leave this circle you won’t kill me?”

Damn humans; always suspicious. She should be grateful I’m even considering
assisting her
.

“You can’t,” he replied, with a nonchalant shrug.

He stood up and walked to the outer parameters of the circle. She rose to her feet as he approached and took a step back from him, then another, increasing the distance separating them. He reached out and trailed his fingertips along the perimeter of the invisible magical barrier; bright white sparks sprayed outwards where his fingers connected.

He stopped circling her and put his left hand out, palm up waiting for her to accept it.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but you were the one that summoned me, not the other way around, witch.”

She continued to eye him suspiciously, but made no move to accept his truce. “What do you want in return?”

“Does it matter?”

****

She sighed; it was a mixture of relief and defeat. “No it doesn’t.” She really had no choice. She now realized that not having the proper summoning and binding spell also meant she didn't have the proper banishing spell either. The gravity of the situation had fully hit home. He had been right earlier; she couldn't remain in the circle forever. She'd need to eat, drink, and the need to urinate was beginning to reach urgent status.

He extended his hand to her once again. “Well then?”