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Magick in the graveyard - dark arts sorcery to get money - unknown tongues language of the spirits...
We needed graveyard dirt from the head of his grave - if it’s money you want, that's where you get the dirt...
As the sun sank low in the western sky we made our way to the graveyard. It was old and disused and had a sorrowful air. The game was afoot. We were doing a job for a client. He needed money. Big money. Investment for a startup. Banks wouldn’t stump up the cash. Nor would his family. He couldn’t get a bean anywhere.
So he turned to the dark arts.
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That’s why we were in the graveyard. Buried there was a man who had been a very successful merchant in his life. We needed graveyard dirt from the head of his grave. If it’s money you want, that's where you get the dirt. If it’s love, the heart. Hexing, the feet.
As the shadows got longer, I said to Dark Angel, “You ready for this?”
Graveyard work is no easy task for Dark Angel. She usually connects with the spirit buried there. She’s more the medium. Whereas I’m no-nonsense when it comes to the spirit world. If a spirit messes with me, I stomp it. But for DA it’s tricky. It’s not possession. But it comes close.
So that night she knelt before the grave of the merchant, held out her arms and started the process of connecting. Her body began to shake and her eyes filled with tears.
It’s not easy for me to watch. But this is what we do. It’s a key part of our trade.
Nevertheless, I growled:
“He pulls a fast one, tell him I’ll smash his grave apart and send him not to hell, but to oblivion, non-existence.”.
DA didn’t hear me. She started talking in “unknown tongues”, the language of the spirits. She was making a deal with the dead man in spirit tongue. We needed him to willingly let us take dirt from the head of his grave and to charge our artifacts so our client would have a powerful money job that would bring him the investment he needed.
I scanned around the graveyard. All was quiet, except for the hoot of an owl. With graveyard work you have to keep an eye out for the police. They don’t take kindly to this kind of thing even if it’s done respectfully and in a totally disused cemetery. That said, we’ve got a few clients in police departments all over the country. So I wasn’t unduly worried.
Next thing Dark Angel was sprawled on the ground, sobbing:
“He’s got so much sadness...he didn’t want to leave the earthly plane... but he says he’ll help us.”
Once we were done, I dropped some silver coins at the head of the grave and spilled half a bottle of brandy over it, then got to getting some dirt, which I put in a jar.
I helped DA up to her feet. She gave thanks to the spirit.
I don’t thank dead men. I gave him coins and brandy. What more did he want?
We walked backwards from the grave and to the cemetery gates. Wise to do that otherwise spirits might follow you home. Hell of a job to deal with if they do that. Amateurs who try their hand at graveyard work often end up in the nuthouse, plagued by spirits. Nothing you can do for those sorry souls.
It’s a crazy life we lead compared to somebody in a management job. But it’s what we do.