A Call for Help

Eliza moved swiftly, leaving the wood-burned room behind. She had taken the head with her, gripping the thin sheet sack in a fist against her shoulder with one hand, the other used to force tighter turns as she tore towards the elevators.

There! Service elevator, where maintenance crew and cleaning staff move about, performing their roles with their own branching paths, behind the scenes. Out of sight. A storage room would be a good place to hide, give herself a moment to think, and tools to use! Yes, be smart about this. Do not be that bitch that unleashes another Kindred into the general populace.

“And here we see Eliza, the third time a Kindred was summoned and contract voided. If you’re gonna die, just die!” She intoned in an increasingly angry, mocking tone towards herself, imagining the red face of some Elder teacher instructing future generations what not to do. She sat a moment, letting the motion-sensor lights time out and fade after a time, shrouding her in darkness at last.

Eliza closed her eyes and thought. “I need help.” She whispered softly, the stress of the situation washing over her. “I need help.” She said again, voice a little more firm. A realization. Setting her sheet sack aside, the light faded back on with her movement. Eyes scanning around, she found the ingredients she needed. Ice melt, ammonia, cat litter, lard, some oil, hard steel tools, brooms, mops, buckets; Eliza moved from storage to storage gathering what she could find. After cutting a piece off of the broom, she created a more usable brush.

Dipping it into the bucket of viscous fluid that she had crafted, she uttered the incantation while stirring in a never-ending mobius pattern. Her magic working its ... well, magic, the concoction melted into the luminous black ink. With the brush pulled out of the makeshift inkwell, Eliza dragged the brush along the dingy off-white tile and began to draw the spell circle.

This was going to take more than a little blood to do, something more powerful than a little brush in the air. As Eliza painted the runes and shapes, she found placement of furniture more and more in her way. Kicks and shoves roughly topple tables and counters aside, the completed circle now in an open, empty space surrounded by debris and clutter.

With the spell circle complete, Eliza tossed aside the brush into the pile against the wall, stepping into the circle. “Watchers above, let this work.” She whispered, praying for perhaps the first time in a long, long time. Kneeling in the center of the circle, Eliza dipped her finger into the inky circle below.

A string of blackness connected her fingertip to the floor, and with that tip, began to inscribe upon her palms. No blood this time, thankfully, this was not a spell for the Kindred. This was something far stronger. The True Gods. Once the circle on her palms was complete, the line of ink connected the center of that circle to the spell below.

At last, Eliza sat in the center of the circle, and brought her hands to the sides of her head, against her temples. Eyes closed, she allowed the spell to activate and flow through her.