It begins wit a candle.
A quick flare. A touch. A flame. A glow.
Twelve more just like it, all guttering on shiny black wax.
Hands are raised. An invocation. A magician calls out to the dark.
“Hail to thee, O’ Running Twilight.
“Hail to thee, and to thy brood
“Hail to the Sun now fallen, to the Moon ascendant
“To the lion’s whisper and the dormouse cry.
“Hail Cernnunnos; Hail Mannannan; Hail Brigit; Hail Arianhod!
“Fire Haven you!
“Fire Take you!
“Fire Free you!
Suitably freed, one candle falls, spattering the carpet with black wax.
“Shit!!!”
The magician falls, grabs the candle, snuffs it and thrusts his fingers into the spill. Gooey beneath his fingers, the black stuff clings to fiber.
A click, A creak. Sudden light from above.
“Charles, have you done the laundry like I asked?”
“Geeze, mom!” cries the magician. “I’m busy!”
James Estes Looking Eagle - Sorcerer