ONE

HOLLOWED BE THY BRAIN

Dora Carridine rested her Doc Martens on the wooden church pew in front of her and idly cleaned her nails with a combat knife. She watched the small film crew set up around the podium at the front of the church while her father, the Reverend Theodore Carridine, had his hair fluffed into angelic white fuzz by a stylist.

She yawned.

Another bible bashing show coming soon to a TV near you!

She didn’t ask for much in life, but she’d greatly appreciate it if the studio would cancel her father’s embarrassing television show. She didn’t pray to deities. Surely if there were such things as Gods, they’d have listened when she begged them to burn her mother alive for making her wear a cardigan in the eighth grade.

Dora had been a curious child, so when growing up in such a strict religious home, she’d tested out as many sins as she could. Lightning had never struck her down, she hadn’t incurred the wrath of God and to be honest, if there was anyone up there watching, they didn’t give a crap what she did.

“Now let us pray,” her father said into the microphone when he stood at the podium, his face solemn.

Dora lowered her head and read the spell book in her lap. Images of demons and the blackest of magic filled the grimoire. She could barely read it.

I so wish I’d taken Latin now.

“Our father, who art …” Her father recited. The large congregation chanted with him.

“… Who art embarrassing whenst he is on television,” Dora mumbled out of habit. Two devout parishioners spun around and glowered at her. “Hollowed be thy brain,” she added for their benefit and chuckled when they turned away from her in disgust.

It was going to be a long show today, and she was already bored—beyond death. She glanced around the large church. People around her were praying with their eyes closed. Even her producer mother had her eyes shut and wasn’t watching the show.

Time to get outta here.

Dora shoved her spell book down the waistband of her red miniskirt and carefully lowered her feet off the pew. She slid the knife into the scabbard inside her boot before silently sinking down in her seat. She slipped onto the hard stone floor, rolling on all fours before she crawled through the narrow space between the pews. She sped up when she left the benches behind and was out in the open, scurrying toward the confessional boxes.

She rested behind the dark mahogany box before peering back at the room. No one was watching her. They were all standing and preparing to sing a hymn. She stood up and walked into the alcove ahead, then climbed the stone staircase toward her room.

She brushed the dust off the knees of her red and black striped pantyhose on her way up.

Lazy ass cleaners should be crucified for the mess they left the place in.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she turned left at the large organ pipes, heading up the narrow stone passage of a second staircase which led to her attic room.

Dora’s room was pretty cool. It was inside the spire of the old church, offering her privacy from the rest of the world. She pushed open the ancient oak door. It made a loud, ominous creak—just how she liked it. The room was not decorated to her liking with baby pink walls and a matching carpet. The little princess room was her parents’ doing. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d spray painted blood-red pentagrams or black demon art on the walls of this room. Every time she came back from school, it was back to princess pink with decorative voile hanging over the bed and pink fluffy throw cushions on the furniture.

Bile rose in her throat when she glanced down at the pink floral-print duvet. She swallowed and knelt on the floor at the end of her bed before pulling out the large white plastic sheet from beneath it. The sheet was actually the back of a Twister mat, but it worked just as well for a dark arts summoning circle. She had painted a black and red pentagram on it to put it to a darker use than it was intended for, meaning she had to ensure it was well hidden from her parents at all times.

She shivered with excitement. Today was going to be her day. After years of trying and failing, she was finally going to cast a spell that would work. Despite years of failure, her inability to summon a demon hadn’t dimmed her enthusiasm. The Wicca group at the local magical supply store would be laughing at her on the other side of their white-light Earth-mother faces if she pulled this off.

Dora was going to summon a demon, and not just a normal demon. No, she was going for a high-level demon that would be under her control.

The first thing he’s going to do for me is make this room red.

She placed six black candles around her makeshift summoning circle and lit them one by one. She put an ornate pottery bowl at the center of the circle and threw a mixture of herbs into it. Next, she pulled the knife out of her boot and made a small cut on her thumb with it. She watched her blood slowly drip into the bowl until there were six drops. Then she pressed her thumb against her leg. Once the cut had stopped bleeding, she dropped the knife and dragged her schoolbag over to her. She reached inside it, feeling for the small box in the bottom of the bag.

The secret ingredient was a Karabashi bloodstone. She carefully opened the small black box and stared at the red shiny stone in awe. It looked like a glass ball filled with blood. She’d searched high and low for one when she’d found the spell in her book. None of the usual haunts had one; not the antiques shop or even the specialist magic supply store. She had tried everywhere and had nearly given up altogether. One stormy night when she’d been staring at the dark skies, she’d had a moment of clarity. After some tough negotiation, she’d got it on Ebay.

Dora put the bloodstone in the bowl and picked up the grimoire. Her heart thundered in her chest. It was going to work, it was. She could feel it. She carefully read the spell and closed her eyes, chanting with a faith she’d never felt before. Six times, she repeated the spell, and she waited.

She held her breath. A demon was going to appear—he was! Her clock ticked loudly as she sat cross-legged in front of her summoning circle, waiting. After a few silent moments, she let out her breath in an exhausted sigh.

Nothing again. Nothing ever works!

She abruptly stood up and kicked over the bowl, shattering the bloodstone inside it. The thick, gloopy liquid slithered across the broken glass and mingled inside the bowl. She didn’t bother to glance at it. She stormed out of her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

Nothing ever bloody works!

Once Dora had left the room, a fire ignited in the center of the circle, and the Twister mat curled up as it became inflamed in the fires of hell.