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Page 60
the color of a beet. He slammed his fist down on the table like a child in the midst of a colossal tantrum.
"Goddamn it, Conrad, it's not supposed to be this hard!"
Conrad, Bryan's chauffeur/bodyguard, was as big and intelligent as a commercial refrigerator. He had a high forehead, thin dishwater-blond hair and tiny brown eyes that were always either bored or confused. He always dressed in black. Always.
During his ten years with Bryan, Conrad had seen it allthe orgies, the séances, the black sabbats where Bryan and his pack of weekend sociopaths from London's beau monde turned stray cats and kidnapped French poodles into sashimi. It wasn't the first time Conrad had seen his employer in a snit when one of his cockamamy spells went haywire and Conrad wasn't impressed.
"Oh! Here it is."
Bryan placed his hands, palms down, over the cauldron. He bent down over the yellowed pages and read, "Power of the rising moon, conceal me both midnight and noon."
Bryan turned to face the south.
"Power of the blazing sun, protect me from the evil one."
He turned to face the west.
"Power of the dark of night, be my shield, my armor tight."
Finally Bryan turned and faced north, bowed and recited, "Full moon in the blackest sky, protect me from the evil eye. Foul spirits rebound from my cloak of dark, I fear not your dagger, nor your foul heart. My powers prevail, I am set free. Begone! You have no power over me."
Bryan reread the passage to make sure he had said it correctly, then looked up at Conrad and beamed. "There! That should hold it until tomorrow night."
"That's great, boss. Hold what?"
The frown that split Bryan's face made him look slightly demented. "Hello! Don't you pay attention to anything I tell you?"
Conrad rolled his eyes. "Sure."
"The Butcher's Broom! Remember?"

 
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