I ground my teeth. I'd been doing a lot of that since I arrived in Paris. "It's a nice hotel in a very expensive area of Paris, and there are no fleas. Now, my first command is for you to lead me to where Drake Vireo, the green wyvern, lives. It's somewhere in the city, so it shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you."

Jim looked around the room. "I'm hungry. You got anything to eat here, or do you plan on starving me back to Abaddon?"

I rubbed my forehead. The headache was getting worse. "Then, after you find where Drake lives, you can help me acquire an object of mine that he has."

Jim stood up and shook itself. Long strands of slobber went flying everywhere. "Hoo, feel like my back teeth are floating. Shake your stumps, sister. I need to go out."

"After you have served me, I will return… youwhat?" I stared at it. Weren't demons supposed to follow orders rather than give them?

It walked over to the door and looked pointedly over its shoulder at me. "Do I have tospell it for to you? Fires of Abaddon, the sorts of Guardians they produce these days, it's a disgrace to the memory of the old times. When I think of the sort of quality Guardians who used to summon me up… Walkies! I need to go walkies!Comprendez?"

If there's one word I never expected to hear a demon utter, that word waswalkies. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, this doesnot make sense! Walkies? You're a demon who sayswalkies? No demon says walkies; that's undemon-like! And how come you know who Einstein is?"

The dog had a jaded look on its face. "Just how many demons have you met?"

"Well…" I thinned my lips again, refusing to admit that I had been a demon virgin before it had been sum-moned. "That's neither here nor there. Why don't you sound like a proper demon? Why don't you talk like something from one of those medieval texts? You've got to be, what, five hundred years old? A thousand?"

"Closer to three thousand, although I don't think I look a day over two thou."

"Three thousand years? You're three thousand years old?" My jaw just about hit the floor in amazement.

"AH quality demons are that age or older," Jim said smugly. "And just because I've seen a couple of millen-nia doesn't mean I don't keep up with the times. There's not a lot to do in Abaddon once you get past the 'doing your demon lord master's bidding' business. We go for long stretches of time with nothing to do but torment the lesser demons, and even that pales after a few centuries. That changed once you mortals came up with TV. Bril-liant idea, that."

I stared at the dog, my mind still having a hard time wrapping itself around the thought that Jim was as old as he was. "You watch TV? In Hell? Television?"

I couldn't believe it was possible, but the demon looked offended by the note of disbelief in my voice. "What, you think that just because we're demons, we don't like to stay current with world events? You think we don't like to be entertained? We're demons, not Nazis.1"

I sat in the middle of the room, stunned and trying to absorb the fact that I'd summoned up a TV-watching demon while it wandered into the bathroom. The crash of a large ceramic object hitting the floor brought me out of my daze.

"Well, that experiment was a failure," Jim said, emerg-ing from the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to one of its back paws. "You'll want to get the maid in before you go in there. Had a little trouble with my aim. There's more where that came from, too, so unless you want to explain to the hotel aboutle lac du peepee, I'd suggest you take me out and let me do this doggy-style."

My mind still reeling, I got to my feet.

"Whoa, would you look at my package!" Jim stopped next to the door, doubled over as it looked at its groin. "I'm a demon studmuffin! The babes are going to love me—oh yes they are! After you take me for walkies, I want some food. Raw meat sounds good. This is France, right? You think I can get some horsemeat? Used to love the stuff. Come on, come on. I don't have all day! Chop, chop!"

I opened the door and let the demon out, wondering as I followed after it what I had done to deserve this. 6

You're doing this on purpose." I bent and used a plas-tic shopping bag to retrieve yet another of Jim's offerings left on the velvety green of the Tuileries. "This is why they call you a demon, isn't it? You're tormenting me with poop."

Jim, ignoring me, lumbered over to a small shrub and watered it.

I disposed of the bag in a proper receptacle. "Can we go now? You've pooped four times—you can't possibly have anything left inside you."

"Oh, like I enjoy dropping a load out in the open where anyone can see?" Jim snarled. "What sort of a demon do you take me for?"

"One who is going to have a quick visit to the neuterer if you don't shape up and get with the program," I said through my teeth. "And lower your voice! I told you there is to be no talking out in public."

Jim essayed an injured sniff, but allowed itself to be escorted toward the path that led to the north side of the busy Paris park.

"Wait a minute," I said, looking down on its front. "Where's your drool bib?"

My little demon in fur pursed its lips and tried to look innocent. "What bib?"

I spun around and searched the wide open green area we'd just visited. "The one I bought at the pet store. Jim, so help me, if you deliberately lost it—"

"Excuse me, I'm a demon! I'm the dread servant of a demon lord! I bring fear and loathing to all mortal hearts! Demonsdon't wear drool cloths!"

"Demons who slobber all over themselves do. I do not have the time to stop every five minutes to mop you up." I rustled around in my bag, pulling out a second bib that I had wisely purchased at the same time I bought Jim a collar and leash. I tied it around the demon's neck. "Don't lose this one! Now, let's go find Drake's lair. Which di-rection should we go?"

"How should I know? I'm just a walking drool bib."

I stopped walking and grabbed Jim by the fuzzy black ear nearest me.– "Listen here, you horrible little minion of Hell—"

"Abaddon," Jim said.

"What?"

It gave me an impatient look. "Abaddon. Don't you know anything? We who serve the dark masters refer to home sweet home as Abaddon, not the other word."