Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 89
the circle. Within it was a little table containing a small white
triangle of paper propped up behind a censer.
“Ain’t no question what this guy was doing here.” Dylan
said, walking around the circle, still in awe.
“No, and he wasn’t taking the easy way, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, most magicians who know what they’re doing use
the Heptameron grimoire—it’s the simplest and most foolproof
method. But this isn’t the circle described in the
Heptameron. This is the one from the Clavicula Salomonis,
which is outrageously complex. Most people who use it are
dabblers, and of course it always backfires on them because
they’re just after kicks. They don’t want to do five years of
preparation for a simple ritual, and so they cut corners, and
end up frying their livers when their evocation only results in
a partial manifestation of the demon.”
Using a handkerchief, Richard picked up a wand from the
floor and studied it. “This is almond wood. This guy did the
prep, all right. He knew exactly what he was doing. And he
was definitely raising demons, but to what end? What was
he up to?”
Dylan wandered to the bookcase, and whistled. “Quite a
library, here, dude.” There were new, critical editions of all
the major grimoires, and some ancient-looking leatherbound
volumes he did not recognize.
Richard continued to study the circle, noting that just
inside the circle was a table, and beside it on the floor, a
crumpled tablecloth. In his mind’s eye Richard reconstructed
the scene—the evocation, the magician passing out, catching
the tablecloth on his way down, pulling it all to the floor.
Gently, he parted the folds in the tablecloth. A boat containing
the Perfume of Art—otherwise known as incense, and a
metal censor. “He’s lucky the house didn’t catch fire when
this shit fell,” Richard said aloud.