Demons
The first rule of demon summoning is pretty simple, don’t. They’re tricky little fire eaters the whole mess of them. And before you go on some new-agey rant about stereotypes and nature versus nurture versus napalm you sit down and remember that old Shingle’s been doing this a lot longer than you have and has met at least twice as many of the blighters.
If you were even thinking about the rules though then you’d probably gone and ignored the first one already, or were planning to in the none too distant future. In that case rule two moseys on up to the stage. When you go to summon a demon make sure you get somewhere nice and secluded. That way if it gets loose and disembowels you the mess won’t get on nobody’s front lawn and the bloodcurdling screaming won’t disturb no sleep. Just basic politeness that is.
Half an hour past “oh god why am I awake,” in the morning in the middle of an abandoned grocery store parking lot was about the best I could manage on short notice. Short notice is better than no notice, but it isn’t much. Too often though it’s all the universe gives you before the cold sets in so you get used to thinking on your feet or getting knocked off of them. Sometimes both.
Now nothing gets you moving faster than a new project and I’d been rudely woke up about half an hour ago and informed that I was going to have to kill some fool. So there I was, rough faded jeans tucked into work boots, holding my old broken-zipper leather jacket shut against the wind with one hand trying to get my pile of tinder and old newspaper to catch with the other.
Fire is the ultimate contradiction in the universe. It exists only by destruction, but it gives heat and warmth, power and magic. Some folks think that magic is a way of breaking the rules. And it is, but mostly it’s just a way of looking at them sideways and seeing if they’ll comp you a drink or two. The one rule that can’t be broke is that nothing’s for free. The energy for anything you want to do has to come from somewhere, and that’s why basically all magic starts with fire.
My tiny two-fist fire ate up the tinder I’d sacrificed to breathe its first. It was a good morning for doing something stupid, all steel gray clouds with just enough light to remind me the stars were still up there. I sat there, drinking in the warmth, hiding my hands for a moment or three from the chill air. Then I rose, staring down into the flames, cracked my knuckles, and got to work.
Rule three of demon summoning is to be precise, or when you can’t, like on a cold September morning when you’re out of chalk and are drawing your symbols with rain water on cracked concrete, be confident. For all that they’d shiv their own gran for a pint of oil and a piece of wood, demons are people too, and people as a whole are pretty stupid. You act like you done something right, or nothing’s eating at you, or you definitely aren’t crashing this wedding, folks ‘ll be inclined to believe you.
So as I finished the symbols and shoved the heat of my tiny fire into them, I stood up straight and tall like my old dad taught me. Face of granite, eyes of ice, body of power, staring into the center of the circle as it started to dim. Then it flared, jumping into the air as the connection was made, and a booming hollow voice fog-horned out from inside my newly minted portal.
“Who dares summon the great and power Slimiantrithax?” it demanded. “I shall rend your flesh and dance in your bones. Your house will be my beginning and your fire my feast as the world trembles in awe at my terrible-”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Aw, can it Slim,” It cut in, smiling a bit despite myself. “I don’t got all day.”
A small red face revolved into view at the center of the blaze. It was plumper than you would expect from something promising such destruction, and wearing spectacles to boot. “Shingle?” It asked in a much more normal tone of voice. “Is that you? You swore we’d never hear from you again.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve sworn a lot of things this lifetime.” I spat over my shoulder, watching the mist curl up from the falling water. “Meant most of them too, but that don’t really count for much. Sometimes the boss lady has different ideas about what my priorities are than I do, you dig?”
“I dig,” Slim replied, wobbling his eyebrows at me like a pair of energetic brown caterpillars. “I vibe, I jive and I even cruise.” The full figure of Slim revolved into view, a little over three feet of it complete with 1920’s style purple zoot suit and wide brimmed hat. If you weren’t paying attention you might even miss the forked tail flicking out behind him. ‘Course not paying attention ‘round a demon is a real good way to get dead. “How can daddy Slim help out the wizard-man this fine morning?”
“I aint a wizard Slim,” I said. “I’ve just got to get somewhere faster than my burning feet will take me and you got the bad luck to be in my rolodex.”
Slim waved a long-fingered hand at that. We’d had that argument enough times it wasn’t really worth getting in to. I swear I’m not though. Wizards keep to themselves and sit and think for a decade before they get off their pasty asses and bring the matter to a committee. I’ll freeze before I count myself as one of those useless old men.
“Whatever you are,” Slim said, smiling down at me, “sounds like you need a ride.” He looked over me, muddy boots to patched up jacket to hatless head. “And unless I’m much mistaken you don’t look like you’ve got much left to trade for it either.” He flashed his teeth at me eagerly. “You finely ready to give old man Slim that raggedy soul you’ve been holding on to all these years?”
Another argument me and Slim have had about as long as we’ve known each other. I crooked a grin at him. “Souls are about as real honest politicians Slim, we both know that. I don’t got many lines left, but you should know me better than to think I’d freeze someone on a deal solidly struck.”
Slim rolled his eyes. “What then?” he asked. “You going to offer me your boots for one of my beauties? That doesn’t sound like a very good deal.” He shook his round, red, rotten head. “No sir it does not.”
“Ride for a ride Slim.” I said, spreading my arms. “I’ll give you forty days. You keep quiet. I give back the car at the end of it. We both go home happy.”
Slim stroked his chin with one hand. “Keeping quiet? What kind of fun is that? You can keep the car, but I get partial control. And to sweeten it even further let’s make it twenty days flat.” The pointed grin got wider. “Can’t say fairer than that can you?”
“Can and I will.” I retorted. “Make it sixty, I keep the car, and you get to advise only.”
“Done.” The little demon said, so quickly that I knew instantly this was what he was angling for in the first place. So viciously that I knew I’d been had from the start. I’d still be driving though, my will and my steel and fire. I’d be all right, probably.
“Done and done.” I replied, gritting my teeth and sticking my hand up into the fire.
There was a faint rushing roaring sound. As if a thousand folks all whispering at once didn’t quite understand how compound sound worked and thought they were being real stealthy like. The portal disappeared in a tongue of flame that wound its way down my arm and flickered over me from head to toe, the fire slowly disappearing as the last of its warmth was stolen to seal the bargain.
In front of me where my fire and circle had been was sleek old red town car. Looked like a Chevy without a nick or a scratch on it, and at least fifty years old or I was a frozen fool. A mite fancy for my taste, but it’d get me where I was going and that’s what counted.
Then a voice sounded in the back of my head where I don’t let nobody look. Freeze me but on good days I don’t look back there either. “Alright Shingle,” it said. “What kind of unreasonable suicidal nonsense are we going to get up to this time?”