Chapter 20: A Reason for Everything

“Billy, can I get an assist?”

I quickly got to him and took the top portion of the books, which were starting to slide.

He directed me to put them on the coffee table in front of the couch. I followed his request and sat back in my spot. After that, Gene placed his books on the floor between me and the armchair next to me.

Plopping into the armchair, he reached around to the side of it, picked up a lantern, and slid it onto the table. He then fumbled with the light setting until he’d adjusted it for his desired reading levels.

“Grab your grimoire. We need it to help validate some of my research.”

Gene paused and waited for me to get Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users. I was interested in seeing where his request led, so I retrieved my grimoire from my backpack and put it on my lap.

“Before I share my information, I want to do two things. First, let’s set up some evaluation markers. One: Your grimoire has authority over these other books if there is conflicting information. Two: If we find multiple accounts of the same entries in these books as your grimoire, we will consider them true. Three: If we find multiple cross-references in these books, not your grimoire, we will accept them as possible supplemental material. Are you cool with these markers?”

“Sure. So what’s the other thing?”

“Now, don’t get irritated. This next part is necessary to know. We need to determine if it’s you or someone—or something—else with the power.”

I sat quietly.

“Have you performed any other spells using the grimoire?”

Does he still doubt my casting abilities after everything he has seen?

“Billy, I don’t doubt your magical abilities. But as much as you don’t want to face it, you didn’t have this book two days ago and don’t know how you got it.”

I still sat quietly, irritated.

“All you know is that some cult members were willing to kill you to get it. I believe there is a high probability that someone stole the book from them and planted it on you. And that same thief could have cast the spell to summon Hellie to stop them from getting the book. Not to mention that someone was watching and likely is still watching you.”

“You’re reaching, Gene.”

“I know. Part of connecting dots is ruling things out, but you know what I’m driving at. Let’s be sure you cast the spell and that the power derives from you. There are too many stories where books, cursed or not, imbue their readers with powers. So it’s a possibility. Aren’t you curious to know? Don’t you want to cross it off the list?”

I wanted to disagree with Gene, but he was right. I was blinding myself intentionally, focusing on everything but the red flags. It was time I addressed them.

“Yeah. I am, and I do.”

“Awesome. Pick a simple spell to perform. As much as l would love to see one, you don’t have to summon a dragon.”

We both laughed.

After a quick search, I found a simple push spell complete with verbal commands and hand movement diagrams.

I was versed in both, using the verbal method to cast Nudged Synchronicity and my hand gestures to summon fire. But for this spell, I went with the hand ballet.

The instructions were as follows:

Fist out, with a flick of your wrist, extend your index and middle fingers, locked together, followed by touching the bottom of your thumb to the fingernail of the ring finger, using the arm to navigate the direction of the push.

It only took a few minutes to commit the flow to memory.

“Okay, I’ll give that book a little nudge off the coffee table.”

I looked over at Hellie.

I can push a book off a coffee table if I summoned a hellhound, right?

In a breath, I executed the action in one fluid movement. To my shock, the book blasted off the coffee table and careened into a stack of books, causing a massive collapse in the surrounding stacks.

“My bad.”

Gene gulped at the sight of magic but acted as if it had not fazed him.

“May I see the book? Let’s try non-contact.”

I handed the book over to Gene, and he walked to the farthest point in the living space.

“Do it again.”

I followed the same gesture, and a portion of the books that had fallen over slammed into the wall.

“Umm. I can help you restack those later.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gene returned to his seat. Placing my grimoire in his lap, he scratched some notes on a pad from the table. “Hmm. You don’t need the book to perform a spell or at least you don’t have to physically touch it. Now, I’ll act as an alt-tester to see if the book grants me powers.”

“Do it.”

Fumbling over the pages, Gene asked, “Which one should I use, the words or the hands method?”

“Go with your gut.”

Despite my sincere support, I was tense. If Gene could do what I could, did that mean I wasn’t special? Maybe he could. My grimoire said that everyone is an advanced user. Plus, I’ve been using hand gestures as part of my online and street magician acts for years, and I’d never pulled anything like this before. It had to be the book.

Looking over the spell, Gene had the enthusiasm of a kid with a new toy. Unfortunately, despite the effort he put into it, even with my coaching, Gene couldn’t do the spell.

“For now, I think it’s safe to say…”

“That I summoned Hellie.”

“Yeah. I’m like ninety-five percent sure now.”

“What? What are the odds someone else cast something I was reading?”

“My gut says five percent. Don’t forget that moth was watching you, and those cult members knew how to find you.”

Damn, I hadn’t thought of that. But he doesn’t know that Hellie is a mix of Nightshade and Shellie. So it’s one hundred percent.

“By chance, did anything strange happen before summoning Hellie?”

“Nothing besides stormy skies.”

Wait, the wind did flip the pages to the “Companion” section. But that was wind—nothing to note.

“Well, there’s no doubt to me that you’re Hellie’s master. And everything I read said hellhounds don’t serve two masters, but transfer to a different master is possible. We can’t prove that it didn’t happen yet. So we can’t rule it out.” Gene handed my grimoire back to me.

Then he picked up his notepad and mumbled a few more notes as he added to the page: “The book doesn’t grant any reader power. Only someone with magical abilities can use the grimoire.”

He meticulously pulled down the top book from the pile and placed it on the table. He then opened it to an inserted page with a list.

“I have twenty-five items that we need to research. Once I scan it into the app, I’ll email it. Sadly, this job is too big for one person. Let’s talk about the top three.”

“Let me guess; the mind-blowing stuff is at the end.”

Gene flashed a wicked smile.

“You’re a showman with magic, and I’m a showman with words. But honestly, I think each topic has its own wow factor. Okay. So, I found very little on hybrid hellhounds and even less on human hellhounds. However, I did find something interesting cited in several sources. Hybrids’ human form, like human hellhounds, can be either possessed humans or unlike their human counterparts, hybrids can be reconstituted—’resurrected’ from the dead.”

I took Hellie’s hand and held it momentarily. I wasn’t sure if she was a manifestation of my memories or if Shellie had returned. Hearing Gene’s information gave me hope that I would talk with Shellie again.

“So Hellie is either a possessed human or a person back from the frigging dead. What’s even crazier about that? It says, ‘The resurrected ones are those who sacrificed themselves to come back as a hellhound.’”

“No fucking way. That’s not true.” My internal dialogue spilled out unabated.

I released Hellie’s hand and reached for the book. Gene passed it over, and I read the passage.

“I’m not saying she killed herself, but she’s from our plane of existence either way. Maybe she’s tied to the cult. Sacrifices and cults typically seem to go hand-in-hand. And if she is, perhaps she’s someone local.”

I know who she is, and she wasn’t possessed or sacrificed. No. She died tragically in a car accident.

“Sorry for the outburst. I can’t imagine she is either. But yeah, it’s a good place to start.”

I’m still not ready to tell Gene about Shellie.

“This next one, I got from earlier. Can you read this part from your grimoire?”

Gene wrote on his notepad, ripped the portion off, and passed it to me. Based on his paraphrase, I knew what to read, so I did.

“In exchange for the hellhound’s obedience, loyalty, and protection, the users must sustain the hellhound’s existence, acting as a siphon that empowers and feeds. If users cannot fulfill the obligation, it can mean death for the hellhound and the users.”

I stalled, knowing what was coming next.

“Keep reading.”

“For that reason, it is recommended that only users bound by a Hellpact or of Daemon lineage manifest a hellhound.”

I immediately took the defense. I knew what Gene was thinking.

“No, Gene. I didn’t make a Hellpact, and it’s ludicrous to think I come from a daemon lineage. The keyword there is ‘recommended.'”

Gene side-eyed me as he opened another book.

“That’s not what I was focusing on, but it’s good to know. But the real keyword of the passage is ‘existence.’ Have you wondered why you received a hellhound as a companion?”

“Honestly, no. Man’s best friend and all.”

I smiled at Hellie, and she shared a lazy smile. I’m sure our discussion had utterly lost her.

“In all these books, it says hellhounds are only summoned to serve a primary function as a guard, an assassin, or a reaper. So that means Hellie exists to fill one of those roles. At first, I was thinking guard because she protected you against your attackers. But you said she only cut them up?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t eat them?”

“Ewww, no. Come on, man. The meat garden is bad enough to think about.”

“According to this source, hellhounds are sustained by feasting on the targets assigned by their master. They will not eat unassigned kills unless commanded. Since she didn’t eat them, that crosses guard off the list. So, our little Hellie is either an assassin or a reaper.”

Gene inhaled deeply, then exhaled. It took him a minute to speak. I could tell he was conflicted by what he was about to say. “Billy, you must send Hellie to kill or reap for food. If you don’t, you both will die.”

A cloud of darkness and squiggly lines symbolically hovered over my face, and I went stiff. I re-read the passage. Then I started nervously laughing.

“This is nuts. Yeah. I summoned Hellie. True. But I am not sending her on ‘kill’ missions. Everything in these books is not necessarily authentic.”

“That last tidbit was straight from your grimoire. Until we see some inaccuracies, we have to count them as true. Hellie has a purpose.”

“Yeah, to be my companion.”

“Agreed, but there’s more. Maybe you should ask Hellie what she is. You’re her master.”

Gene had gone to clown town. Sure, Hellie knew how to learn and follow commands, but there was no way she could understand what she was.

“This is plain silly. She can’t talk.”

“Then ask her in a way that she can understand.”

I adjusted on the couch, turning to Hellie. She was oblivious, looking up at the ceiling. I touched her shoulder, and she turned to look at me. I placed my left hand out and asked, “Hellie, if you are an assassin, hold my hand.”

Hellie did nothing but shift her eyes to the left and right. I expected no response.

“Hellie, if you are a reaper, hold my hand.” Without hesitation, she took my hand.

Gene was ecstatic, and my stomach churned.