Harold smiled at the two women, both of whom were significantly older than he. Legion was at least two thousand years old though he suspected she was at least twice that and his mother...well, he'd never discussed his mother's age with her but it had to be at least twice his. She was, after all, Fea royalty in exile.
"In this script it refers to 'the gateway of voice' or ' sigils of the voice'. What's that referring to?"
"It's the mark of the possessed." Legion scratched into the surface of the table with a fingernail, a mark surprisingly reminiscent of a Voudoun veve.
Harold stared at it. "You could have just asked for a piece of paper, you know. This table is an antique. You've just reduced it's value by about half."
"What rubbish, Harold." Ada stood and crossed to the kettle. "I know you. You'll spin some tale about it being used for voodoo rituals and sacrifice and sell it for four times its value. It wouldn't surprise me if you rubbed some blood into that mark for added authenticity."
Harold raised an eyebrow. It would have occurred to him at some point. "I could say it was possessed, too." He looked at Legion. "No offence."
"None taken." She tugged at her wrist, detaching a dark form like a tapeworm from her arm and she pulled her hand away. It writhed in the brightly lit kitchen and Harold shied away , shuffling his chair backwards on the tiled floor. Legion held it over the mark she'd scratched into the wood and let go. The demon slithered inside the wood and vanished, but dark fungal blooms appeared and disappeared beneath the varnish to mark its movements. Harold lifted his cup away from the table.
"There." Legion smiled the sort of smile Harold never wanted to see twice. "Now you'd be telling the truth."