¤¤¤¤¤ But nothing good could last. One day, two, three, with Lyn upright, smiling, laughing; and on the fourth, back to the wheelchair, listless, head bowed. Zabbie was crushed. What was the point of the bargain if it didn’t last? On the other hand, the spells had worked. They did bring Lyn relief. Once more into the breach, then. She had to wait two weeks for Melani to obtain the body of a two-headed chick that had died shortly after it was hatched. It cost her fifteen hundred dollars, money intended for her living expenses when school started again. But she needed it. Lyn needed it. “Come to me, Baalephin,” she chanted. “I offer you gifts, I offer you unusual flavors, I offer you sustenance.” But at first Baalephin wouldn’t come. Two hours she sat there, making magical gestures, lighting incense in different arrangements. Not until she burned several feathers from the chick did she feel her temples tighten — and tighten, and tighten. The demon’s claws were cutting into her face, its teeth sinking into her forehead. A small cry of surprise escaped her, but she fought it, tried to calm her mind, tried to relax her features against the pain, still keeping her eyes tightly shut. When she finally saw the visage of Baalephin, it was neither cat nor human, but a verdigris crocodile, its grin all teeth, its eyes red and greedy. What have you brought me? Zabbie bit off one head of the chick. The feathers were more difficult to swallow than she’d expected, small as they were. What do you desire? “I want my sister to be healed. Permanently.” The crocodile Baalephin made a croaking sound that eventually she realized was laughter. For this tiny bird? Waste my time and I will not answer your call again. “Can you do it, though?” There is little outside my power. But the offering must be commensurate. “What, then?” Baalephin shifted its gaze, and she knew what the demon regarded: Little Bit, the family dog, down in his donut-shaped dog bed in the living room. The crocodile’s smile widened. Zabbie was aghast, but slowly she stood and went downstairs. The chihuahua licked her face when she picked him up — he was a notorious face-licker — and in her bedroom was content to sit facing her, his outsized eyes reflecting the candlelight. Zabbie picked up her ceremonial knife, a crystal set in the hilt. She bowed her head, praying, but the only face that came to her was Baalephin’s, avid and reptilian. Give me the dog! But she couldn’t do it. Crying, she let the knife fall from her fingers and hugged the dog to her chest. ¤¤¤¤¤¤ The next day Lyn looked her sister over. “You look better,” she said. “You’ve been looking pretty ragged the last couple weeks. Thought I might have to do something drastic to cheer you up.” Zabbie laughed until she cried. No. 122
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