Summoning The Watcher

 

“As I explained already, Mr. Langstaff, this is a no win situation for you. Any investment you choose to make toward this venture will result in hardship. Your hardship.”

The little man sitting across from me wore a mixture of uncertainty and worry, his brown beady eyes searching my face for signs of deceit. He wouldn’t find any, unless he chose to manufacture an illusion in his skeptical mind. “I still don’t understand how you could possibly know this,” he almost whined. “And what’s to stop you from telling me not to grab and then turning around and making a wad of cash at my expense?” His thick, iron gray eyebrows were furrowed as he peered at me closely, his eyes suspicious. “And 15%? From the way I see it, you make a sweet little profit from doing exactly nothing,” he concluded, a hint of menace now evident.

Enough was enough. “Mr. Langstaff, I take responsibility for only my actions but I stand behind my assessments fully. Should my evaluation prove correct, I charge a standard fee of 15%. That is not negotiable. Similarly, if it turns out to be a bad investment, I inform my clients and charge exactly nothing for my consultation,” I explained with patience that I certainly did not feel at this moment. “As for your assertion that I do nothing to earn that fee, I will tell my research involves considerably more than mere speculation. I possess certain abilities that have proven highly effective in the 5 years that I’ve been supplying my service. You have my honest opinion and the decision is now in your hands.”

He took an additional few moments to read my face again, and then, apparently satisfied, sighed heavily. “Damn, I really needed this,” he whispered, almost to himself. “It sounded so damn good when it was explained to me and the quick return they promised would have made a huge difference.”

I watched silently as he ran a nervous palm across mouth and stubbled chin, his eyes on the ceiling. From my research into him, I knew that his business was suffering and in need of additional capital just to stay afloat. While empathizing with him, I knew for a certainty that what business he did have would be destroyed if he were to disregard my advice.

His eyes were haunted as he brought them back to bear on me. “So, what the hell am I supposed to do now? God, I had so many hopes built on this and thanks to you, they’re now all dashed to shit,” he said, his voice turning hard and adversarial. “So it’s clear in my mind, are you telling me not to go through with this?”

Groaning inwardly, it took considerable effort on my part not to respond in kind. “Mr. Langstaff, I am doing nothing of the sort. You came to me with a concern, requesting my honest assessment and I have done so. Should you choose to disregard my warning, well, that is entirely your affair.” Further conversation was cut short by the chirping of my phone.

As I picked up the receiver, the sultry voice of my partner began to talk with no preamble. “Richard, sorry to bother you, but your 2:00 is here and has been waiting for the last 15 minutes.”

“Thanks, Shirrell, we’re almost finished here,” I replied calmly, looking directly at the little man sitting across the desk from me. “Please tell her we will be only a few more minutes.”

“Not a problem, boss, “ she concluded cheerily and then disconnected.

Replacing the phone to its cradle, I was relieved to see my client slowly get to his feet and I followed suit, pushing back the chair.

“I’m sorry that I can’t give you better news, Mr. Langstaff,” I said in a conciliatory tone, making my way to the door, with him following behind mutely.  As it drew open, I offered my hand, which was declined, and he hurried from my office without another word. My advice would go unheeded, I knew, and while at times wanting to physically shake some sense into some of these people who grace this room, it would prove a wasted effort. Long ago I’d given up expectations as far as human behavior, realizing that we are all responsible for the choices we make.

 

                    

 

With a slight shake of the head, I walked out to the reception area and allowed the negative energy from my confused visitor to dissipate, as if caught in a brisk breeze. Shirrell was making an attempt at small talk with a striking brunette, who was dressed fashionably in what looked to be an expensive silk pantsuit, a multi-colored Hermes scarf sitting regally around a slim throat. At my entrance, both looked in my direction but the tension I felt from them had an almost physical effect. Uneasiness began to stir in my stomach for reasons that I had no clear understanding of – yet. Suspicions yes, but no proof until now.

Arching a brow from above beautiful gray eyes, my partner stood and smiled. “Richard this is Mrs. Constance Verity,” and then glancing at the lady rising to her feet continued, “Mrs. Verity, my boss Richard Green.”

I noticed her eyes right away and a renewed sense of unease surfaced. Perhaps their unusual color – a deep violet – had been the source, but past experience had shown me that there is more to each person than outward appearance. The hand offered me was cool and dry on contact, and a sudden wave of vertigo almost staggered me and had me using every ounce of strength not to let it show. Something about Mrs. Verity had sparked a sense of dread within me that I have come to trust and be very wary of. Fortunately, recovering from these psychic impressions had become second nature and I was able to do so almost immediately.

“That is Ms. Verity,” she corrected firmly with a southern twang, blazing a disdainful look at my partner. I knew that this “consultation” would be anything but usual and one that would tax my patience to the breaking point, if not my life.

“Of course, Ms. Verity. I apologize for keeping you waiting. My office is this way, if you’re ready,” I said in my most placating tone. As she drew abreast, her fragrance hit me with a curious mixture of sensuality and longing, triggering a cell memory that I was having great difficulty in placing. For just a flash my mind seemed to wander.

As we turned, I cast a quick glance at Shirrell, who gave a furtive nod and inwardly I groaned. Damn, I sometimes wish I didn’t have the gift. Outwardly displaying no indication of her effect took a fair amount of effort on my part, as we walked stiffly to my office. Closing the door, I indicated that she take a seat. Instead of the client chair she walked over to the small love seat, looked around almost contemptuously, and then sat, placing a small Gucci handbag beside her.

“Can I offer you some refreshment?” I inquired, doing my best to ignore her attitude. “Perhaps a snifter of some very fine Napoleon brandy?”

Her eyes widened in surprise for only a moment before she nodded assent. As I poured, her scrutiny of me became very apparent behind my back but it  “felt” cold and clinical. “I see that your reputation is well deserved, “ she drawled, with an attempt at coyness that didn’t fool me for a second. This was one very dangerous lady and I would have to be exceptionally wary. I hoped to hell that we had made adequate preparations; if not, the consequences would be horrendous.

Handing her the snifter, our flesh made contact for the second time and a pulse of energy surged up my arm. The room turned black as pitch and then a vision swam in my mind’s eye of a ghastly image of emaciated flesh and bone that sent a wave of revulsion radiating throughout me that I can only describe as raw terror. Just as quickly, it was gone.

“Are you OK, Mr. Green?” my visitor was saying in a cold detached voice.

“Uh, yes, I’m fine,” I managed to stammer, sitting down in the accompanying chair and taking a small mouthful of the expensive brandy. What the hell was wrong with me? Crossing my legs in what I deemed was a professional manner and in the hope that could reassert control, I asked, “You mentioned my reputation as being well deserved?”

She was looking at me from above the rim of her glass, eyes boring into mine like hot knives. A minute smile played on her face, as if she were privy to a joke that I should have been aware of and my discomfort rose even more.

She sat back and crossed her legs, swirling her drink around the snifter with practiced ease. “By all accounts, you are very thorough in your research. I highly doubt that you just happened to have a 70-year-old bottle of brandy sitting around gathering dust. And you are no doubt well aware that I drink rarely but, when I do, I expect the best.”

Without displaying my inner anxiety, I replied smoothly, “I will take that as a compliment, Ms. Verity, although much of the credit goes to Shirrell. She does a very intensive screening of all prospective clients.”

“Hmmm,” she said absently, taking another small sip. The silence that ensued was not comfortable and I found myself becoming impatient suddenly, a definite anomaly that I could not understand. The chill that was inching slowly up my back was not natural and I had to repress a sudden urge to shudder.

“So, Ms. Verity, what is this problem that you think we could be of assistance with?” As we made eye contact, she seemed to shimmer with a sickly black outline. Sometimes I wished to hell I was wrong but I knew who she was, or rather what and its name sure as hell wasn’t Verity. I mean, come on. French for truth? Not likely, but there was no way that I was going to tip my hand this early in the game. We would need all the information possible to counter this new ploy.

Her eyes finally looked away, taking in the confines of a neat but modest office space, while a spiked pump made slow swirls in the air that had a distinctly sensual tone that was not lost on me. Without conscious thought, I began my preparatory breathing, part of my mind riveted to that damn shoe.

Concentrate, I berated myself and momentary control was restored. The stirrings of energy inside me felt as it always did when faced with impending battle, like walking in a pair of shoes three sizes too big.

It took barely twenty seconds to establish the necessary rhythm, as a portion of my mind visualized my crown chakra opening like a budding rose. So far so good. Drawing a line of energy down to the brow, my third eye opened slowly and, as it always did, a bright flash of indistinct images literally blotted out my vision for a brief moment.

 

 

That was when she decided to strike. Cold and harsh, I could feel it like a needle being driven into my mind and the pain was excruciating. I was losing control and yet barely through energizing my diaphragm center of activity.

“It won’t work,” a disembodied voice seemed to scream from all around me. “Your meddling was merely tiresome at one time but now you have tried our patience.” An imaginary vice seemed to clamp slowly around my head, and it took every bit of discipline I possessed to continue my balancing. A form began to take shape in front of me, crackling and brilliantly blue. What the hell was going on here? Instead of a young, fashionably dressed woman, my blurred vision regarded an impossible sight while my nostrils registered the nauseating stench of rotting flesh.

Imaginary but not imaginary fingers were probing my brain like small steel worms, the pain reaching past a tolerable limit. I could feel consciousness and etheric energy being drawn from me.

“No,” I screamed, uncertain if I had voiced it or not. The base chakra, on the bottom of my spine wavered and puckered, as if uncertain if it wanted to open. Then, with a harsh snap, it sprang apart and a wave of heat coursed through my body.

“No!” the creature before me screamed in rage. “You will not escape this time!” The husk of flesh that had once been a human being looked as though it had deflated and was melting on the couch, while its astral body morphed into the shape of a literal nightmare. It was huge with tattered flesh hung in grotesque patches and seemed to pulse with an inner power. Something very odd about it was itching my mind but refused to become conscious thought.

With renewed vigor, the beast reached forward and inside my physical shell, trying to grasp my very essence and tear it from me. By now, the tell tale signs of vibration rippled through me and with a mighty effort of will, I pictured a slim silver cord emerging from my diaphragm.

The creature renewed its frantic efforts, clawing at the chord with one astral hand, its rage palpable as hot energy burned my insides like acid. Eight feet away, the cord suddenly stopped and a fine bluish mist began to spray out, forming quickly into a figure that roughly resembled my human form.

My physical sight was now gone in a haze of agony but I continued somehow to exteriorize my astral matter. Consciousness was fading rapidly but with a mighty will and last dregs of strength, I cried out, “In the name of the Creator and the Guardians of Light, I grant you full consciousness!”

With nauseating speed that ripped through me, my very being surged forward and occupied the key figure. Immediately, my sight was restored as I viewed the slumped and comatose husk in the chair. That was going to be painful when I returned or rather if I returned.

A shrill scream erupted from the creature as it began to grow in size and I followed its lead, a huge sword materializing in my hand. I flitted away as it reached out a clawed and spiked hand, a surprisingly slow and awkward gesture that I did not immediately understand. As I did so, the blade sliced down with a blur of motion, severing the beast’s arm.

Suddenly, we were no longer alone as Shirrell materialized at my side, a glowing golden sphere that paused and then rocketed forward, hitting the demon squarely in the chest and I almost roared with bloodlust as it was flung back. Seeing the opening she had created, I willed myself forward, plunging my sword repeatedly into its body.

The effect was immediate. Dark sickly vapor appeared to ooze from each wound inflicted and was quickly replaced by golden shafts of energy like bolts of electricity from Shirrell’s form. The core of the creature began to coalesce, as the positive energy reacted with and overpowered the negative. The scream that came psychically as it tried to back away was muted and I willed my sword to slice straight down, opening the quivering form from top to bottom.

It began to thrash and then I understood – whoever had contracted this particular being had not bothered to ascertain it’s skill level. In terms of cosmic age and experience, this was merely a youngling. The thing made one last pitiful effort at escape but the crackling ring of energy that Shirrell had looped around it, made it impossible.

Shrinking rapidly in size, the blue hue turned ochre and then black. A dark cylinder appeared from thin air, the lid opening and like a cosmic vacuum cleaner, it was sucked inside and I could almost detect a harsh click as it snapped closed.

A sudden flurry of movement and my rear vision caught site of another form quickly materialize. “I’ll take that,” it projected and I almost smiled.

“You couldn’t have arrived just a bit earlier?” I replied in kind, and discerned a deep etheric chuckle.

No need to summon the Watcher. He was already here.