Chapter two: Ghosts

Among the candles placed upon the floor, Jonathan sat, not at all as relaxed and calm as he should be. To make this ritual work, the old magic book he'd bought recently told him, you had to be totally relaxed and tranquil. That was certainly not the case with this magician.

Ghosts. He'd never experimented with ghosts before, not even spirits. It was quite normal, the book said, to feel a bit nervous when you make a first attempt to contact spirits for council or enhancing of power. The trick is to keep trying until you get it right.
This was not, however, Jonathan's first attempt.
More like his fifteenth or sixteenth.

He was getting frustrated, too. Why was this always the case? Why did magic have to be so damned complicated? What did current mood have to do with summoning spirits, anyway?
Jonathan knew. It had everything to do with summoning spirits. If you were in the wrong mood, you could easily attract powerful, malevolent spirits, who'd much rather suck all life out of you than help you obtain powers to take over the world. He knew this all too well, and still, it annoyed him greatly. He just couldn't come to peace with these conditions.

Jonathan exhaled slowly. Closing his eyes, he began to chant all over again. Strange, mystical words in a language so old even basic grammatical rules didn't apply. He often found himself pronouncing the words entirely wrong, and then, he had to start over again. Pronouncing ancient scroll language wrong could have dire consequences, beyond even Jonathan's vivid imagination.
This time, everything flowed quite nicely. He stopped the chant, a content smile on his face, and lit five of the candles in front of him, forming a pentagram.
"Appear." Just a whisper, a fragment of a sound. Then, he opened his eyes again.
Gasping of terror, he shrunk back, his head making brutal contact with the chair behind him.

He had certainly not expected this.
Positively.

The spectre that had appeared on his command was wearing white, skin-tight clothes, with lots of glitter and stars on them. His hairdo was pretty outdated, too, and had apparently been done using almost a year's supply of spray and gel.

"What are YOU doing here?" Jonathan asked, his voice trembling distinctly.
The dark-haired apparition in front of him stared blankly. "You didn't summon me?"
"No! Well, not on purpose, anyway..." Suddenly, Jonathan remembered that he was supposed to be an experienced (well, at least mildly experienced) magician, and here he was, stuttering like an insecure child. This was not the way to make spirits respect and obey you. He got a grip on himself. "Err, I mean, be gone, spirit from the past! You are not the one I'm looking for!"
"Oh." The ghost looked very disappointed. He probably didn't get summoned a lot. "Maybe I can help you, though! I could try and contact the spirit you're looking for... just tell me the name, and I'll..."
"Khan. The name is Khan." Jonathan looked at the glamorous ghost. He saw him shrink almost into nothingness.
"I... I... Khan, that's... I mean, wow. Wow. I didn't think you were that experienced! Uh, I mean, no offence, but aren't you a bit too... young to summon Khan?"
Jonathan sighed. "Don't tell me. It's the height, isn't it?"
"Uh... yeah."
"Figured as much. Well, I guess you don't have the guts to contact Khan for me, or am I wrong?"
The ghost scratched his head nervously. "I think I'd better stay out of this."
"Why am I not surprised." Jonathan was getting mighty irritated now. Not only had he summoned the wrong spirit, he's also managed to get the most cowardly one.
"But since I'm already here, you know, I could teach you a thing or two about moving your hips in a way that'll make girls swoon hopelessly over you..."
"Oh, shut up!"

Jonathan couldn't think of the right words in Babylonian to send the spectre back to wherever the hell he'd come from. Cursing obviously didn't help the least bit, 'cause it was still there, looking meekly at him.
Out of nowhere, his mind finally connected. Uttering the right words in a high-pitched, nervous voice, he threw a fistful of supposedly magical powder at the ghost, whom with a hurt look on his face started to fade slowly, becoming more and more transparent.

"Okay, I get the message. Just tell your friends, the King is still..."
And then, he was gone.

The King is still what? Alive? Shouldn't think so, Jonathan thought to himself. His relief was as great and overwhelming as a Japanese tsunami. Tiredly, he leaned back against the chair behind him, and made himself comfortable again.

That had been way too risky. He'd clearly made a big mistake with the pronunciation somewhere along the line, and it could've ended very badly, Jonathan realised.
What was he really sacrificing for the group here? He was damned lucky to have got Elvis, instead of some other ghost, maybe one turned cannibal over the years as a deceased. At the rate he was going, the next spectre could easily be Dahmer, the Ripper or some other psychopathic monster.

Anyway, his pulse had begun slowing down, thank good... err, evilness.
He was just going to have to be more careful, that was all. No need to stop, just... be more careful, more thorough.

He wasn't giving up that easily.