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the experiments he’d done in his youth, the laughing half-drunk nights he’d spent with Alex, the purpose of this ritual was in no way to excite the senses. Remembering that, and the consequences should he fail, helped a bit. When he donned his silk tunic, he could at least feel the motion of the fabric against his arousal without losing control.
    After the tunic came a shorter red-and-gold robe girdled with a gold sash and a crown of gold and silk. With these, Simon found himself mostly able to ignore his body’s urges. Part of it was the ritual—donning the ceremonial garments and putting himself into another state of mind—but much of it was because he knew he looked thoroughly foolish.
    Nonetheless, he couldn’t completely banish sensual awareness. As the power increased, Simon felt it like a gentle hand tracing up his spine, and when he went to retrieve ink and paper from the chest, he was very aware of the weight between his thighs. He thanked God for his training. The sessions he’d had to hastily abandon in his youth had been numerous. And best not thought of.
    Repeating any of the incidents would be damn embarrassing, after all. Even if no history tutor was around to catch him this time.
    Instead, Simon focused on the paper as he spread it out on the floor before him and pictured the symbols in his head. This ritual would be one of protection, invoking Mars and Apollo. He took a deep breath, dipped his first quill into the vial of vermilion ink, and began.
    Practice let him draw the outer circle in one smooth motion timed with his exhaled breath and the ensuing rush of power. The ink bled onto the parchment, looking startlingly bright. He’d prepared it years ago as part of his initiation, but Mars had been an infrequent influence on his life, and Simon had never felt the need to use the ink until now. It looked remarkably like blood. The civilized man in him wanted to turn away, but the magician relished the sight. Found it exciting.
    This was going to be unlike anything he’d done before. He should have had the good sense to be afraid. Had he been outside the room and dressed as an ordinary gentleman, he might have been. Here and now, fear was only heightened anticipation.
    Simon began the second, inner circle with golden ink, invoking the sun. This power was more familiar, less preferentially violent but no less capable of destruction. Like that force that had roared out of the stone circle and over Simon’s head, it was too large for mercy.
    As he drew the innermost shapes in red and gold, he felt his breathing, his movement, even his heartbeat take on a slow, steady rhythm. The power flowed around him, rising and falling with every breath but always increasing a little. The tide was coming in. He felt it in the warmth at his temples and around his hands, below his feet and at his groin.
    Calm. Center. Control.
    Simon’s name came first with the request itself: protection against the Powers of Darkness and all their servants. Then there was his name again and the characters that extended the protection to all of his blood or under his guardianship.
    Then the other names. Michael and Gabriel, the warriors of the angelic host. Minerva and Apollo, for wisdom and protection. Bes, a relatively obscure Egyptian god who supposedly fought demons bare-handed, and Sekhmet, before whom evil trembles. Phaleg and Och, Tyr and Freya—a whole circle of names in red and gold with Gevurah, for justice, crowning it.
    A space at the bottom provided room for one more entity. With his hand almost shaking with power and dread—even now, there were a few things he feared—Simon drew a final few characters invoking Kali.
    The power in the room was almost tangible. Simon could feel its heat as he breathed. It no longer brushed lightly against him but pressed itself close. The power was not as purely sexual as it had been, though his cock was as hard as ever. Rather, it was overwhelming in all ways to all senses, hot and