Jupe clung to me in fear, repeating “Oh shit, oh shit” several times before asking, “Is it dead, Dad?”

Lon took a step forward. Dark, brackish blood began pooling around the demon’s torso; it groaned and attempted to get up. “Not yet.” Lon’s face was composed and focused as he racked the shotgun.

“No!” I yelled, breaking away from Jupe. “Don’t kill it!”

Lon spun around with a snarl on his face. “What?”

“I can bind it—force it to talk.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“It killed my guardian! I have no protection in the Æthyr anymore—if I can’t get a lead on who did this, I’m a sitting duck.”

Lon’s initial angry expression momentarily changed to an alarmed one, then settled on emotionless deadpan. With his shotgun still aimed, he looked at the dying beast on the ground, then turned back to me, lowering his gun.

“What do you need?”

“I need something to draw a binding triangle.” My eyes darted around the mountainous landscape. This was going to be nearly impossible. The rain was beginning to let up a little, but it wasn’t as if I could use a pen to draw on the wet pavement—it would run and dissolve before I could even charge it. I needed something more permanent. “Oh! Do you have a pocketknife?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Pocketknife?”

“Don’t men your age always have pocketknives?” I asked in a high-pitched voice.

“My age? I’m not a fucking grandfather,” he snapped.

“There’s a knife in the SUV!” Jupe yelled as he ran around the door to lean inside. He returned with a gardening knife, serrated on one side and slightly curved to double as a trowel. Twine was wrapped around the blue plastic handle.

“Perfect.”

I snatched the knife and approached the demon; it lay facedown on its stomach. Keeping a wary distance, I leaned down and began scratching a rough triangle into the asphalt. The knife made a repulsive grating sound as it scraped the pavement. Jupe covered his ears with his hands.

The light gray trail that I made on the road dulled as the rain fell, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t have to see it gleaming in neon; the indentation I made was sufficient.

I finished drawing one side, then started on the next. Lon followed me as I went, training his gun on the dying demon. Second side done. When I started the third, my hand spasmed, weary from the scratching vibration, so I double-fisted the knife and pressed on until I’d closed the triangle. It was rough but workable.

“Hurry up,” Lon demanded when the demon twitched.

“Hold on. I’ve got to do the symbols.” I could draw them in my sleep … interconnecting circles and winding sigils with overlapping lines. The trapping magick is ancient and straightforward.

Before I could finish, however, the demon became cognizant of what was happening. He groaned and turned his head, eyes struggling to focus on his surroundings. As I scratched the last sigil outside the triangle’s apex, the demon’s eyes went wide in fear. He pushed himself up with a growl, fell down, then frantically reached out for the triangle’s border in desperation.

“Arcadia!” Lon yelled.

I closed my eyes and sought out the nearest energy source, cursing the fact that the lightning from the storm was gone. Lightning is hard to control and certainly wasn’t my first choice for electrical energy—I pity medieval magicians who were forced to use it out of necessity. However, I had to work with something; it took a good bit of Heka to close a binding.

The lightning may have passed us by, but Lon’s SUV was there, and it was running, the engine generating a steady flow of energy. Good enough. Without a caduceus, the release was going to have to be raw again—twice in two days, and this needed more energy than the piddly imp portal.

The demon was using his webbed fingers to pull himself along the asphalt. He was inches away from escaping my crude trap.

I concentrated and pulled from the car engine. Hard. No time for it to accumulate. The headlights dimmed as the engine struggled and resisted, playing tug-of-war with me. I barked the binding words, whacked my palm on the triangle, and released the kindled energy. My stomach lurched: the demon gave one last push and touched the edge of the triangle …

The air crackled near his fingertips. He jerked his arm back and wailed.

Too late. I had him.

I stood up and wiped my hands on my wet jeans, then I spoke to him in a dry, cracking voice. “You are bound by me now, and must answer honestly. Who sent you to find me?”

The demon made a gargled sound.

“Answer me,” I commanded. My stomach roiled from the raw magick; I hoped I wasn’t going to throw up.

“Kill me,” he replied in a rough voice.

Lon lifted his shotgun. “Gladly.”

“Not yet.” I put my hand on Lon’s arm, then stared down at the dying creature. “Demon, answer me. You are bound, those are the rules.”

He sputtered out a cough, then a low laugh. “Yes, those are the rules. All right, Mother of Ahriman.” A backhanded slur that meant demon queen; I’d been called that before by other summoned Æthyric demons. “The name you seek is Riley Cooper. She looks a lot tougher and meaner than you, Mother. I doubt that she will accept my failure and move on. She’s prepared to bring you to her people.”

Lon shot me an inquisitive glance. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” I asked the demon.