Mort checked his watch; 9:00.
“Three hours to go,” he said as he finished painting the last sigils on the pentagram, and whipped the goat’s blood from his hands. He then checked on the candles and the incense, and made sure the ropes were tight. Murielle began to stir so he placed the chloroform over her nose a moment and she was still.
“Shhhh… Don’t want you freaking out when we’re so close. It is Samhain, after all.” The arrangements of his instruments were meticulous. Every angle of every blade was part of a larger design, the Great Masterwork.