Familiar Spirit

“Is that important? I don’t know. I don’t believe in demons, but what I believe isn’t important. Magic works whether you believe in it or not. People do die of curses, even today. People are possessed by demons, or think they are, which amounts to the same thing. The results are the same, whether demons exist or not. I’ve read plenty of case histories, and I don’t think there’s any question but that these experiences are real.”

Sarah frowned. “But you’re talking about religious people, or primitives. I’ve read studies of witches and sorcerers in believing societies, too. But why should that affect me? Valerie, okay, she wanted to believe. She called up her demon. But I just stumbled onto this; I was her random choice for victim. I wasn’t expecting anything like this; I wasn’t raised to believe in demons.”

“Not consciously,” Pete said. He reached for his tea cup and found it empty.

“I’ll make some more tea,” Beverly said softly, leaping up. “Go on.”

Pete nodded. “Subconsciously is another story. The clues were all there for you. You noticed Valerie’s strangeness, how eager she was that you rent the house. She impressed you in a strongly negative way. Then, when you found the pentacle on the bedroom floor and a dead cat in the cellar, a picture formed in your mind of Valerie as a witch. You imagined her performing violent, magical rituals. Expectations were planted.”

“So you’re saying that my subconscious took a few clues and wove me this whole fantasy experience?”

“No, not at all. I’m just pointing out that if magic works because of shared expectations, because of small clues not immediately obvious to the outsider, then you had those clues to prepare you—and that perhaps on a subconscious level you do believe, despite all your intellectual rationalizations.”

Sarah thought of things she had read: an Australian abori­gine dying because a bone was pointed at him; a woman feeling pains because her enemy poked pins in an image; Aleister Crowley making people respond to him by an act of will; high school covens claiming credit for accidents and illnesses. She thought of all the books she had read, all the movies she had seen. Her mind was well-stocked with detail. Whether or not she wanted to believe in them, the images were there in her mind, and perhaps that very fact made her susceptible. She looked at Pete. “But what does it mean? Is there a real demon, or is it just my imagination?”

Pete shook his head. “It won’t go away because you decide it’s imaginary. Whatever it is, it’s serious, and you have to deal with it seriously.”

Beverly came back into the room with a pot of tea and refilled the cups on the coffee table. She sat down next to Sarah again and looked at her husband.

Pete stared into his steaming cup and then looked up at Sarah, a tentative expression on his face.

“What if I . . . why not let me stay a night in the house and see what happens?”

Beverly let out a small cry.

Sarah tensed. “Pete, no!” She bit her lip. “Don’t you see? That’s what it wants. That’s what it asked me for—a new victim.”

“You don’t think I could fight it off as you did?”

Sarah shrugged, then shook her head. “Look, don’t get offended. Maybe you could, maybe you couldn’t. I don’t know. Maybe being warned would help you, or it might make you more vulnerable. But even if you survived—Pete, you don’t know what it’s like, or you’d never suggest such a thing. It’s horrible, feeling that thing inside . . . feeling it clawing at your mind . . . I’ve never been so sick, so terrified, in so much pain . . . Believe me, you don’t want to go through that.”

“It wouldn’t prove anything, you know,” Pete said, in a too-casual voice. “Even if nothing happened to me. That wouldn’t mean that you were wrong, or crazy.”

Sarah expelled her breath in a sharp burst. “Do you think I’m afraid of that? Do you think it’s selfishness? Pete, I’d love for you to prove me wrong. I’d be happy to know I was hallucinating. But that’s not what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that something would happen to you. I’m afraid . . .”

“He’s not going,” Beverly said flatly. “I won’t let him.”

Pete shrugged, the corners of his mouth twisting slightly down.

In a moment he’ll be pouting, Sarah thought, half amused and half dismayed. “Pete,” she said gently. “What good would it do?”

She saw him relax; the moment of childishness past, he looked at her openly and said, “None, I guess. I’m just jealous of your experience. After reading about these things, I’d love to have an experience of my own. I’d like to talk to your demon myself. But I don’t suppose I could. I’m too interested, and for the wrong reasons. I’m too skeptical.”

Sarah looked at her watch and winced at the time. Four a.m., and she’d had hardly any sleep. No wonder she was exhausted, and ready to snap at Pete for his selfishness.

“It’s not a game, Peter,” Beverly said low-voiced. “Sarah needs help.”