Holly Warren1

''Case File for Holly Warren, based on observation and numea. Confirming that ms. Warren is, in fact, an authentic student of the occult and acting magician. Recommend to Nicole that she remain under observation and is a prime candidate for Recruitment.''

Maggie Urquidez Templar Paradigm City Cabal

Case File
Holly turned her face up into the scalding spray of the showerhead's hot water and felt glad of it. She could feel the stress and the tension of the day draining away, fleeing out of her muscles like a cluster of homeless fleeing the seeking beams of flashlights. She picked up the soft pink bar of lavender soap and began scrubbing, her naturally dark skin tone turned the hue of hot cocoa by the furious heat of the shower.

Once she had completed cleaning herself she toweled off with the thick white terrycloth towel she only used for the special ocassion, as she called it, that was to take place only just a few minutes from now. Sccrubbed and dried, she slipped an ankle-length white silk robe, complete with hood, down over her body. She paused a moment to shake out two pills of vicodin into her hand and swallowed them dry, then chased them down with a second pill, this one bright yellow; Zoloft for her anxiety.

She left the bathroom, crossed the length of the find Ranch home that was now hers alone, her inhereitence, and went downstairs into the basement. Unlike many people Holly had a naturally soft walk, her bare feet making no sound as she descended the concrete steps into the basement. Here the air was heavy and still, but not unpleasant owing to the aroma of sandalwood that had for years permeated the walls, which were now perfumed with the aroma.

She had everything she needed. To one side of the basement was a large workbench, the top of which was laid out with all the tools and implements she might need. These items were all hand-crafted, the product of intense practice under the watchful eye of her father. There were two swords, an athame knife, a hook and crook, a silver plated goblet and round piece of wood painted with a pentagram. There was a box of white candles, again hand-crafted, and a box of matches. Underneath the workbench were the raw materials: screwdrivers and awls, lengths of wire and sword blades, small cans of paint, a wood burning and metal burning kit.

She selected four of the white candles, the athame, and the box of matches and turned. Painted onto the floor of the basement was a circle withing a circle. The inner circle was empty, but the outer circle was lined, painstakingly painted by hand, mystic ideograms, sigils, and Latin phrases. To the east of the magic circle was painted a square, wide enough for a morbidly obese man to fit into comfortably.

Stepping with her cat-like step she placed a candle at each cardinal point, speaking a phrase as she went. She started with the East and worked her way clockwise. At the east she whispered "En Unum." She lit the South candle. "Latni vermas." Then, to the candle at the West. "Plas Illumi." Then, to the candle at the North. "Et vasimile."

Once each candle was buring cheerfully, they being the only light to cast shadowns and pumpkin colored light together where they danced strange dances on the walls Holy touched the blade of her athame to her forehead and they pointed it at the square. She made a large oval in the air and spoke a litany in perfect Latin, which for sake of reading has been translated:

"I conjure and invoke you to this my door, to pass to Materia in fair shape, prevented  from doing harm to any. Come and discourse with me oh Keeper of the Ways, He whom knows all directions and knows the fate of those who pass through the Howling. Come, come to me Scariot, that we can talk."

And in an instant she was no longer on her own. The square was occupied. The entity that resonded was like an old man with sallow and sagging skin, so much so that his face was like a bulldog. Its water eyes were small and yellow, and it was clad in a black robe.

"What ho, magician?" It said.

Holly set the knife down and looked at the figure, then touched her forehead.

"Thanks for coming so quickly, Scariot."

The entity waved a hand.

"No time for pleasantries, unless you have some ginger-ale for me. It's great with those sweet little cherries."

"I don't, I'm sorry. I'll be sure to have some next time. What happened to my dad?"

Te entity regarded her, pursing its lips slightly. It didn't say anything.

Holly squinted at Scariot for a moment, then held out her right hand, her fingers splayed. One by one, starting with the index finger, she lined up each finger side by side along her thumb. With each finger that came in for a landing these was an audible cracking noise, and with each of those Scariot doubled over and howled with pain. Finally it gasped out. "You're a bitch."

Holly lifted her left eyebrow and kept her fingers in place, causing Scariot to his and growl with pain. "I don't mean to be, and I can do a lot worse. How would you like to spend the next century trapped in a stuffed rabbit? Now what happened in that tomb?"

Scariot hissed and spat. "It's true. Your father's dead. Give a guy a break, willya?"

Holly relaxed her hand and looked down at the ground. Scariot made a sound of relief and stood up straight. He regarded Holly with a look that might have been compassion.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you. Frank was a good guy, he did right by me. I don't have the details, Holly. I just know he crossed over. Broke my heart to see him go so young."

Holly shook her hair out and smiled tightly at the entity. "It's better I hear it from you then nnot know. Thank you, Scariot. You have my permission to go, unrestrained, with harm to none."

The entity winked at her. "I'll be watching."

Then it was gona, and Holly was alone again. She made the oval shape in the air, in reverse, with her athame again and then pinched out the light of each candle, working counter-clockwise. Not bothering to clean up she went back upstairs and shut the basement light off, leaving the room in darkness with only the aroma of sandalwood seeping out of the walls and the acris smell of blackened candle wicks.