A Scripta

Grimaulkin slowly opened the door to the apartment and closed it quietly behind him. The studio was dim, lit by the moonlight filtered through the curtains, but he knew his way around. He took a sniff of the air – it smelled of incense and blood, and something underneath, something that smelled almost rancid.

He turned and faced the room. He could hear Dysio on the other side, moving around in bed. “Grim?”

“Yeah,” Grim replied, walking across the room. He casually stepped across the magic circle etched in the wood floor, and the rancid smell almost overpowered him. He stopped in the middle as his stomach rolled. He took a few deep breaths through his mouth to get rid of the smell.

“You okay?” He could see Dysio in the moonlight, sitting up in bed, the silver in his chains glistening.

“Yeah,” he said, and continued on through the circle. He stopped about five feet away from the bed, and was assaulted by another smell – a dead skunk.

“You reek,” Dysio said, getting up out of the bed. As usual, he was naked, and he moved with a gentle grace up to Grim. The smell grew stronger, and Grim couldn’t even look at him. “You can take off the glamour, it’s just us.”

“It’s not on,” Grim said, and finally looked up at him. “It’s me.”

“What happened to you?” Dysio lifted Grim’s head by the chin and looked closely at him. “Did you get laid by an angel?”

He started to smile. “Sort of.”

Dysio let him go and stepped back. “What the hell did you do?”

Grim held his arms open. “I’ve been redeemed.”

“Redeemed?” Dysio stepped back, backing up against the bed. “By who? By what?”

“A Mystic Shadow.” He gazed at Dysio. “I’ve been cleansed. I’m free, free of the demoness, free of the darkness.”

Dysio folded his arms across his chest. “Oh yeah? What about all the power you wanted?”

“I don’t need the demoness for that. It’s right here.” He pointed to his heart. “All the power that I need or want.”

“The wrong power,” Dysio said. “You’re a necromancer. You use blood magic and fetishes and bindings. You don’t do this…this…white magic.”

“I guess I’m not a necromancer any more.” He parted open his coat. “I got rid of all the fingers I had on me.”

“You still have some over there. C’mon, Grim, you’re acting all stupid. Let’s go to bed and I’ll make you forget all about it.”

“No,” Grim said. “Do you even know my real name, Dysio? It’s Michael. Nobody’s called me that for years until today. I almost forgot it.”

Dysio glowered at Grim. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. The demons won’t let you go after you die.”

“Then they’ll choke on my soul.”

“I won’t be able to protect you any more. You’re on your own.”

“No. No, I’m not. I have friends.”

“Friends,” spat Dysio. “A mage doesn’t need friends, you told me that.”

“I was wrong,” Grim said quietly. “So very, very wrong.”

Dysio whirled from him and grabbed a pair of pants that was hanging over a chair. “You’re being all kinds of stupid!” He yanked himself into the pants and then grabbed his boots. “Friends, redemption, what a crock of shit!” He pulled on his boots, and stood, his eyes on fire. “They’ll only drag you down, Grim. You’ll see.” Dysio started to walk past him, and stopped at his shoulder. “I’ll come back tomorrow after you’ve thought about things.”

“No, Dysio,” Grim said and looked sideways at the incubus. “Don’t come back.”

Dysio’s eyes flamed, and Grim saw the darkness gather around him, and the smell of decay was ten times worse. “Fuck you, Grim,” he snarled, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Kalius was out there, he thought, watching the door. He would have seen Dysio leave. Grim could go out and get him, bring him in, and maybe he would comfort him.

Grim shook his head, and pulled off his coat slowly. He suddenly felt exhausted, drained. But he reached inside himself and touched the power still there, just behind his heart. He smiled, reassured. He took off his pants and boots, and climbed into bed.

Sleep escaped him.