I studied the doors with my magical senses, running my hands (two of them, at least) over the doors and trying to figure out what was keeping them closed. From what I could feel, whatever magic was holding them was locked to the ritual. Figures. With a final look at Conner, I turned and headed up the stairs.

  As I walked up the stairs, I almost admired how sinister the change in lighting had made the room. Before it had a faux Greek feel, like an arena in a video game where you’d fight the final boss. Now everything was bathed in red, the ceiling and the crevices behind the pillars were hidden in shadow. As my head rose above the top of the stairs the sinister aspect of the room deepened with the many piles of bodies, some made by me. Curiously, the ring of cultists were still chanting.

  I was on a time crunch. The first and most minor concern was that Walt and crew were about to leave and get reinforcements. The biggest concern was that Conner was barely holding on. I needed to get him to one of the medics ASAP, but I was stuck in a big-ass, evil-looking room with something being formed out of the blood of the leader.

  I walked into the ritual circle, studying the energies of the grand work with my magical senses. The cultists were still supplying… something, to the ritual. Going by the leader’s actions, I figured they weren’t long for this world if it was allowed to continue. I figured I’d start there and hopefully, I could abort whatever monster was about to make an entrance.

  I didn’t want to work under the growing blood thing so I chose a section of the floor next to it that was relatively free of blood and wiped it clean with my tentacles acting as a fucked-up brush. Creating another circle off-center in the middle of the bigger circle would make the math a pain in the ass, plus it would make the magic much less efficient. The former I could deal with and the latter shouldn’t matter that much. I was trying to upset the bigger spell, not create a new one. I squatted and began to draw out a five-foot diameter circle.

  Normally all you’d need to do to ruin a spell like this would be to mar it, but with how much energy was being thrown around in here I didn’t want to attempt it. These guys didn’t bother to key the spell to themselves so I wasn’t worried about them booby-trapping it against tampering, but marring a thaumographic spell (going to have to thank Greg for teaching me that word. I can’t believe none of the books I’ve read bothered to categorize the various methods of spell work.) was akin to sticking your hand in electronics to try and short it. If something was powered by a couple of batteries, very little danger. If it was the switch box of a city substation, you would likely die... I assume. I’m not an electrician. But you'd definitely be in for a bigger shock, that's for sure.

  Technically, what I’m doing is even more dangerous than just taking the proverbial hammer to it. To continue with the electricity metaphor, instead of hitting the transformer from the outside with a hammer, I’m sitting in the middle of it and rearranging its insides while it's in operation. That’s where the metaphor falls apart.

  Magic doesn’t have a lot of hard rules like science does. What makes magic, magic is that it depends a lot on the individual. Certain people have certain ideas about what magic can do. Kristy is a good example. Before meeting her, never in a million years would I have thought of or conceived of making a spell that ate bullets and turned them into angry bullet ghosts that went after their previous owners. That was some crazy rad bullshit and I wish I had had the chance to talk shop with her.

  The reason my thaumography used math was largely because of me. Math was something I was familiar with and gave my thoughts structure. One of the fellas who wrote the journal I had originally learned magic from, used a custom form of astral (astral as in space, not the astral plane) navigation to plot his spells. I assumed he did this because he had been a sailor and that’s just what came naturally. Some people use the cardinal directions, others use significant symbols, omens, or fetishes—it depends on the individual.

  Which was why I could kind of eyeball this giant ritual and get a feel for it. Even though it was written in a language I didn’t understand, I could feel the intent behind it. My magic was different than the magic in it, but it was still magic.

  As the seconds became minutes, however, I had to stop and cross over to the edge of the circle and actually study it. My progress with my circle had come to a halt because I just didn’t know what they were doing with all this energy. The growing ring of blood ten feet in the air was gathering some of it, but at the rate it was drawing it’d take a week to drain all the gathered magic.

  I ignored the terrified looks the cultists gave me as I stalked by them, comparing each symbol on the ground to the ones that came before.

  Colm?

  I started, my whole body jumping as a familiar voice suddenly spoke in my mind. The nearest cultist was also startled by my sudden movement but gamely kept chanting.

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  Albright? I asked.

  Walt informs me you found your brother, but there are complications, Albright said. His mental voice was hazy, indistinct as if coming from a great distance.

  Putting it mildly, I replied. I got him away from immediate danger, but he’s severely malnourished, wounded, and on his last legs. I’d be getting him back to Beats but this room locked us in as soon as the leader here sacrificed himself in this giant ritual. I paused, thinking back over the day. Wait, Kristy had sensed a ritual before we ever entered this place. With how much time was accelerated in the domain, they’ve been at this for a long, long time. I glanced over at the pile of human bodies and thought back to all the cages.

  Jesus Christ.

  He did?! Are you able to see the ritual? Albright asked, his mental voice suddenly tense.

  Standing in it, I replied sardonically. Trying to figure out what they’re doing so I can throw a wrench into it without blowing myself up.

  Can you show me what it’s currently doing? Albright asked. There was a note of fear in his voice I hadn’t heard before.

  Normally I’d balk at giving a telepath more access to my mind, but I needed help if I was to get out of here. Lucky for me, Alice was a good teacher and I was reasonably sure I was successful in projecting what I wanted without giving him anything else.

  You have to get out of there, Albright said with a note of finality.

  Yeah, no shit, I said with heat. You mind telling me what you know so I can get to work on that?

  How long has it been since it started? Albright asked.

  Maybe ten minutes? Or more? I thought about it. I don’t have anything to tell time down here except my internal clock.

  I got the impression Albright was sighing with relief. Then it sounds like it was started early. Remember when I said that the boss was putting out fires? Those fires are other cells of this cult. They enacted their versions of this ritual, which required his direct intervention.

  I made a “let's get on with it” motion with one of my hands as I nodded impatiently. You realize I have no frame of reference, right? I met the dude twice. Just tell me what the fuck this is.

  It’s an avatar ritual.

  I frowned and looked around. Some of the ritual made more sense from the new context, but I needed more. I’ve never heard of an avatar ritual.

  I’m not surprised, he replied. I hadn’t either until a few weeks ago. But from what I understand, it is used to gather as much energy as possible, usually via sacrifice—and then creates an avatar for the being targeted by the ritual.

  And of course, I could guess who this targeted.

  This thing is making a mini Distiller?! I asked.

  In essence, Albright said. However, there appears to be much lost in translation. They are still strong enough to require the most powerful man I have ever met to take the field against them.

  I growled out my frustration and began to study the ritual with this new information in mind. I could see the gathering components, the targeting symbols (strangely, the symbol they used for the Distiller looked a lot like the hydrogen atom Dr. Manhattan uses), but there was a bunch that was evading me until I cottoned on that they were meant to use “unfit” sacrifices to summon the monsters I had killed.

  The avatars appear linked to the Distiller but are also distinct, Albright continued, and I listened with half an ear (mind?). They seem to share the desire of their “parent” to reduce structure to its base elements, but they go about it in erratically different ways. Their differences are why Elysium has been pressured as it has been, as no set strategy can be implemented once they are created. This is the first base of theirs we’ve found before the ritual has been completed—we were hoping to take the base before they could complete the ritual but didn't anticipate such heavy resistance.

  How the fuck is that possible? I snarled. They’ve kidnapped hundreds of people! You should—

  We aren’t a policing force, Albright interrupted with a note of tired resignation. We do what we can but there are only so many agents to call upon.

  Wait. Avatars are linked to the target but are distinct. They share the Distiller's traits. I know the Doorman is related in some way to the Distiller—I'd phrased it in my explanation to Alice and crew that they were familial but that was just my interpretation of the vague information I had been given. But does the Doorman further the Distiller’s goals?

  Well, he’s as close to the classic boogeyman as he can be without also having the power to be under people's beds. An unstoppable, faceless monster that is behind every door would certainly destroy facets of civilization if he were ever turned loose on this planet. How would society change without doors? How the fuck would you keep your house warm? Are tent flaps doors?

  It would logically create a fear of buildings. Buildings would equal monster. You’d no longer have a safe place to sleep. Secure locations would be abandoned because the Doorman would be there. Holy shit, the Doorman is the first step in a road paved for the Distiller. Humanity may eventually figure out how to live without something as basic as doors, but the interim would be in-fucking-sane.

  Are you telling me that this thing is birthing another Doorman? I asked.

  The question seemed to catch Albright off guard. I… I think that may be the case. My God, I didn’t even think of that.

  I looked at the floating ring made of blood. While I had been conversing with Albright, the flow of energy of the ritual had changed, ramping up. My initial estimate of this thing taking a week was shrinking quickly.

  “Fuu-uu-uuck me,” I said, padding across the room back to my circle. Now that I have a general idea of what the ritual was, I don’t know if I can stop it. I’m going to try, of course, but I didn’t get to where I am today without hedging my bets.

  I started altering my circle into a summoning circle. I was targeting an old friend—a friend I technically still owed a big favor to, but I’m sure she’d be amenable.

  She loves a good deal.