Isolde had the most ridiculous thought run through her head that she should not have worn such a frumpy outfit to call Malachai. One hand crushed the gray serge fabric of her nurse’s dress, something straight out of the late 1800s circa Florence Nightingale, and the other reached up to smooth the wayward red locks that had escaped from the chignon that she wore for work. She didn’t have to look down to know that blood and feces marred the white cotton bib apron. All this she did as the man stepped from the fog, changed into a handsome blond man with eyes as frozen as the glaciers they resembled. Her brain was taken by her stupidity at conjuring someone other than Malachai that for the second it took the man to penetrate the salt circle, she didn’t not react defensively.<br/><br/>“What power do I possess?” she repeated as the man encroached on her space. “Well, evidently a very rusty one. “ Then more to herself she said, “I knew I should have added Rosemary to the herbs and should have inserted his father’s name. Just saying Demon was too general.” Raising her chin, Isolde recovered her poise and said,<br/><br/>“I seem to have brought forth a demon. Have I disturbed your business? You need not be bound by the spell. I can release you.” Her voice was even and brisk as that of a charge nurse<br/>.<br/>Isolde consorted with demons and vampires. What others called evil, she called colleagues. She had walked in the halls of Hell and knew the power of the otherworld. These experiences had given her a respect for darkness but not a mortal fear.<br/><br/>“I was calling Malachai, my lover, for he and I together have fought many battles , but in several lifetimes I have not found him and “ her voice took on a wistful tone, “I miss him.” She did not go on to say she felt alone in this gray world that was growing increasingly dark, where men were more evil than the demons she knew.<br/><br/>“Now, sir, would you go back? Or will you stay?”