The boy strained to remember the scene himself. "Are you sure we know each other, Edgar?" he asked. His frown lessened, but he made no move to come toward him.
"I'm positive of it, Georgey. After you caught those fish, you ran straight up to your dad and couldn’t wait to show him. He even let you help clean one of them for dinner. Remember?"
This was enough to convince the poor child. “I'm sorry for disbelieving you,” he replied firmly. “If you say we know each other, then we must know each other, right?”
"Right-o, Georgey. You’ve always been such a smart boy.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Anyone ever tell you that?" George beamed at the compliment and started to talk but Edgar cut him off. "Now can we go play somewhere warmer, where there's more light for you to see your ball?"
George’s little eyes widened. “I don't know, I mean my mommy told me to stay here, Edgar.”
“Well you know what, Georgey? If you come with me, I’ll give you a free balloon!” As he spoke, he snapped his fingers and uttered the words for an airshape spell under his breath. A big, red balloon attached to a thin string appeared magically in his hands. The pain of the casting almost made him double over this time, and two more welts cropped up next to the first one. But it was worth it.
"I do?" George asked, eyes filled with wonder.
Edgar’s eyes gleamed. All boys loved balloons. They were rare creations and normally adults wouldn’t let kids anywhere near one. "Yeah, you’ll get this free balloon."
The doubt and worry were gone. "Well I guess I can go with you then, but only for a moment."
Edgar held out his free hand and George took it. Slowly, he walked them both towards the dark altar. When they got near enough to start to make out the details, Edgar cast one last spell to make it look more inviting. This time, the pain was too much, and he stumbled and fell to his knees for a moment as a row of blisters formed and popped on the bottom of his foot.
George gasped at the suddenness of it all, but Edgar waved him off, got back up and kept going.
Not much longer now.
“What’s that?” George asked, pointing at the dark altar.
“It’s a throne for good little boys.” Another lie, of course, though to George, at that moment, it did indeed look like a throne. “Do you want to sit on the throne, Georgey?”
"Ooh, can I, can I?" the boy asked, jumping up and down.
Edgar flashed him a playful grin. “I don't know, have you been a good boy?”
“I think so.”
“Well, are you nice to your mommy, Georgey?”
The boy frowned and gave the question as much thought as his little mind would let him. "Well, I did bring mud in the house after she told me not to that one time, Edgar. Does that make me a bad boy?"
Edgar laughed heartily. "Of course not. Everybody does something wrong every now and then, right, Georgey?” The statement made him smile as he thought about how much of an understatement that was for him. “Take a seat,” he insisted, patting on a clear spot on the altar above the Trebor-hide bowl.
George complied almost instantly, climbing up onto the altar. Edgar helped him up, making sure the boy’s brash movements didn’t disturb either the unseen stones or candles that decorated the edges. Once George was on top of the altar, Edgar gave him the balloon he’d promised him. George exclaimed his thanks and shifted his focus to the new toy.
As George sat there playing, Edgar picked up the black blade from the altar and raised it slowly to keep from making any noise. As he unsheathed the blade, he managed to brush against one of his fresh blisters and winced. This tiny motion was enough to momentarily break the illusion spell over the altar.
George caught a glimpse of the eerie green light of the altar candles out of the corner of his eye. It was only for a slight second, but it was enough to set him on edge. The boy looked up at his companion. His eyes were confused at first, and then, seeing the dagger, the look turned to horror.
Before George could run, Edgar made his move. With practiced ease, he swung the dagger, ending the boy’s life. Then he collected the boy’s blood in the Trebor-hide bowl and let it sit there as he caught his breath. Even that small exertion had proved taxing.
“That was too close,” he said.
Edgar took one last look at the boy he had once been so fond of. For a brief second, he felt something close to remorse.
He shrugged. No more time for mourning.
Then he returned his attention to the task at hand. He stirred the boy’s blood and the gemstone’s offal together few times with the dagger. The gem fizzled again and dissolved into the fresh, warm blood. He smiled once again. The pain at his side was dying down, and things were looking up.
The next step was perhaps the most important, so he took his time with it. Slowly, he painted a pentagram on the ground with the blood mixture, laying it over a few times to be safe. Then, he drank some of the remaining blood to regain his strength for the ritual. Lastly, he poured what was left over his head. There was no purpose to this last step, other than his own liking for the feel of fresh blood on his face.
He pulled out a few more black candles and placed them on the corners of the pentagram. These he lit without issue, the strength of the recent sacrifice having filled his
