A Piece of History: Holding Up Your End

        A drop of sweat fell on the careful etchings, and the death mage wiped it off the linoleum with a muttered curse. He sat back on his heels, ignoring the impatient sigh from the couch, and examined the pentagram carved into the floor.

        Good thing I never had a security deposit.

        Shifting his weight, Jonas Foster compared the markings on his apartment floor to the diagram displayed in the open tome. He scowled, peering at a remarkably intricate symbol, and reached for a black-handled dagger.

        "Really, Mr. Foster," Richard complained, eyeing the mage as he squinted through the haze of cigarillo and dragon’s blood incense smoke, "these are delicate procedures, but they’ve rarely taken this long before."

        Jonas raised an eyebrow as he added another pinch of grey powder to the small black iron cauldron before him. "You want this done right or not?"

        Richard glanced at the small altar and rose. Strolling languidly over, he adjusted the angle of two crimson candles. "I would hope, that with nearly a year of study, you would know by know what you were doing."

        "I do," the mage snapped, sharpening a plain short sword. "But knowledge used improperly is worse than worthless."

        Richard smirked, as if well pleased, and strolled through the connecting doorway. From the kitchen table he lifted an exceptionally large black bag. Though he handled it easily, the thump it made when he lowered it to the herb-strewn floor made one wonder just how heavy the contents were. Such a question easily answered when Jonas rose from his kneeling position to help Richard slip the sheet-wrapped form out of the bag. The mage grimaced as Richard drew a sharp blade and began slicing away the shroud.
        "Was a corpse really necessary?"

        Richard tossed both bag and bloody sheet into a far corner of the room and folded his knife. "He’ll need a physical form to remain on this plane, and I wouldn’t condemn him to something like a housecat." He smiled, and something of his charm glowed in his eyes winningly at Jonas. "I thought to make things easier on you by providing the form."

        The mage made a non-commital sound as he lit a white candle. Richard, with perhaps a bit of haste, stepped out of the salt circle and lit a cigarillo, diverting his gaze to the curtain-draped window. Jonas glanced towards him once, and then attempted to focus himself, mind, body and will. With each candle lit, however, his attempts to clear his mind were made more futile. The sheer theatrics this required was enough to discomfit him, and Jonas found himself eyeing the corpse, then Richard, watching with profound satisfaction in his gaze.
   
        Morality now, now reared its’ ugly head and Jonas found himself hesitating, the lit taper paused over a black candle. He looked at the demon, smirking in the corner, and frowned. Was this right? What was he doing, summoning another thing like that into this already lacerated world? How could anything good come of it?
        The death mage faltered in the low chant he had been intoning, drawing Richard’s gaze sharply back to him. The demon’s mouth twitched, and although the sweat broke out on his perfectly tanned skin to do so, he focused intently on the incense smoke.

        Would this always be? How long could the vague shape of an unfurling wing, the whispery sound of feathers hold such power? One day, perhaps, the shape of a delicate profile might give no sting, but this was not that day. Dark eyes trailed the indistinct shapes made by trailing smoke, and Jonas swallowed. His jaw set as he lowered his hand, lighting the last candle, and his low voice rumbled as he drew the cauldron closer.

        Water ran in the kitchen sink, drowning out the wet coughing and Richard’s softly spoken words. Jonas leaned his hot forehead against the overhead cabinets and let the lime-scented suds rinse off of his palms. Reddened from heat and scrubbing, his hands shook as he held them under the water, and his joints ached sharply. Despite the lingering heat in the apartment, and the steaming water flowing over his wrists, the death mage shivered. Some part of him wondered silently: if the infernal heat of hellfire couldn’t warm him, what ever could?
        Shaking his head, Jonas splashed handfuls of water into his face, rubbing at his hair, sticky with sweat. He groped about, shutting off the taps, and let his fingers feel for something to dry his face with. It was a measure of how taut his nerves were strung that he positively squeaked when his hand encountered the dish towel, clutched in unfamiliar fingers.

         The dirty blonde man blinked, then smiled sweetly, his stone-grey eyes wide and oddly innocent. He offered the dish towel again, mutely, while Richard laughed behind him.
         "He did wish to see you, Mr. Foster." The demon smiled and lit another cigarillo, puffing lightly on it as he watched the death mage delicately extract the towel from the new-borne demon’s grasp. Jonas dried his hands and face roughly, then threw the towel onto the counter.
    "You got what you wanted. Take him and go," Jonas said harshly. He looked at the new demon, and frowned, turning away quickly. Something in the man’s…the demon’s… -its’- eyes bothered him.
        Richard laughed, adjusting his weight against the door frame. "Once you know where we should settle, I’ll be happy to take him with me."
    Jonas frowned, turning a black look to Richard. "…we? Why am I responsible for knowing where you two go? This was my part of the bargain, I did it, you go now!"
         The blonde demon looked terribly upset at Jonas’s tone of voice and walked towards him, hands outstretched. Jonas frowned and batted the demon’s hands away, glaring at Richard. "Tell him to sit down or something, would you?"
         Richard shrugged. "Tell him yourself. He’s not likely to listen to me anymore."
         Jonas stopped cold, and when his gaze shifted, even the demon found reason to glance at the flooring. "Just what do you mean by that?"
        "You know the rules of a summoning."

         It took a moment before Jonas fully comprehended what Richard was saying, and when it came home, all of the blood left his face and he wobbled on his feet. "….that wasn’t part of the deal," he gasped.
         "You said you’d done the research, Mr. Foster. Every summoning has consequences. You should be grateful that this is the least of your problems," Richard said. He looked at the blonde demon and smiled fondly. "His name, by the way, is Ax. Don’t worry. He’ll be more communicative after he’s adjusted a bit."
         Ax smiled, as if he knew he was the topic of conversation, and turned to Jonas. There it was…. That look was in his soft grey eyes again, and it made Jonas cringe away.
         "What the hell am I supposed to do with him?" The death mage’s scowl darkened when Richard laughed.
         "He’ll be your devoted servant. What do you expect you should do with him?" The demon smiled and walked forward, beckoning Ax to him. The blonde demon hesitated, glancing longingly at Jonas, and then walked to Richard’s side. He put a gentle hand on Ax’s shoulder and murmured, nudging him into the living room. Jonas watched in silent despair as Richard took a deep puff of his cigarillo and smiled once more.
         "You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Foster," he said softly. "Let me reassure you in this way: we will not harm nor hinder you. Ax will obey your every wish, and you and I still have a long road to walk together." He smiled again, and something more…kindly than he had before. Taking a heavy puff from his cigarillo, he walked towards the door. There was a pause as he reached the living room, and Richard turned back to look at the death mage standing limply by the sink. "The name you might feel more comfortable calling me now is Betre, Mr. Jonas Foster." He turned with lithe elegance and strolled out of the room.

         Jonas listened to the footsteps, then the closing of the front door. There was a moment of silent gratitude that no one was there to see him collapse bonelessly onto the floor. The death mage’s soundless mourning for something intangible now lost to his grasp was done as it should be: without witnesses and entirely within.