I trudged through the slushy back streets of New Haven, retracing our steps the night Rowan led us there to the underground club. It was creepy going downtown alone. I found the side street leading to the unmarked entrance, hoping I could at least catch a glimpse of him.
I walked down the dark stairway to the club and slunk in unnoticed. I watched in horror as I saw them. Demons, one with amber-yellow eyes, the others eyes were red like that of Satan. Their claw-like daggers ripped into each others flesh, devouring one another for power. After each attack they grew stronger, more animal-like. They did not devour to kill. Only to feed off one another's strengths. If a demon possessed a human, they would feed off something deeper, the human's emotional strength, a quality they could never fully control. I knew I could never be with Dantalion.
I crawled up the stairs, gasping for air, and made my way outside. This was the vision I had seen on Samhain. I knew the true nature of the demon I had come to love.
The cold added to the numbness I already felt, and as I walked through the streets, found myself outside a tattoo shop, the cold drawing me inside. I knew I should be somewhere else right now, not here. The pressure of the needle felt like my bond with Dantalion, a slow pain; and with each impression I felt a little more numb. I could have sat here forever, feeling nothing. Another way to stop the thought of missing him. I sat in the chair of the tattoo shop, watching as a circle was drawn on my forearm in black ink and each detail of the seal began to emerge, carefully embedded in my skin.
I learned from the Ars Goetia, that there were seventy-two demons, and each demon had their own specific seal assigned to them of rank and title. The demons must pay allegiance to these seals.
King Solomon, a young king, was presented before him a magnitude of demonic spirits. The seals of the seventy two demons were made in metals. These demons of the Goetia were under the power of the four Kings of Hell. When the demons would not oblige King Solomon to do his bidding, he then confined them to the bronze vessel sealed by the magick symbols. Only those of pure blood could seal the spirits along with their legions within the vessel.
My tattoo was the seal of my own personal demon, and I wondered if my blood would ever be immortal, let alone pure. After about an hour later, an elaborate seal of an 'Incubus' graced my forearm. I walked away into the emptiness of the night.