Page 9 of The Witching Hours

“Amon what?”

“Just Amon.”

“You said you know something about a life insurance policy on my husband?”

‘Yes. How much would you like it to be?”

“What’s with the double speak? Insurance policy amounts are established when purchased. They’re not flexible. If the document exists, where is it? I’ll find out how much it is when I read it.”

“Well. The thing is it hasn’t exactly been created yet.”

She stood up. “Okay. Time to go. Get your coat and get out or I’ll call the police. You can take your wine with you.”

He chuckled. “Good thing you got your phone reinstated. That’s about the only thing in your life with breathing room right now. Right?”

“Look. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but…”

“Let’s make it simple, shall we? You conjured a demon. You got a demon.”

Brigid’s lips parted as she began to realize what a serious mistake it had been to let this man into her house. She stood up. “I’d really like you to go now.”

“Why?”

Thinking she needed to appease this person long enough to get him out, she said, “I don’t need or want a demon.” He put his head back and laughed. She looked toward where her phone was lying on top of the desk. “It’s very strange that you would summon me and then try to get rid of me.”

“I didn’t summon you.”

His brow furrowed. “You did.”

“Okay. Let’s say I did. I changed my mind. Will you go now?”

“If you insist,” he said. When he snapped his fingers, the fire went out and the wine disappeared.

Brigid gasped and took a step back. “Oh my God.”

“Wrong directory.” He paused. “I’m sensing that you may be changing your mind about hearing me out.” When he snapped his fingers, the fire lit, and the wine reappeared.

She looked him over. “You’re a demon? You’re…”

“What? Beautiful? Humankind is so easily deceived by beauty. That’s why it’s one of our staple tools.” She didn’t look convinced. “Is this the potato po-tah-to thing? If you recoil at the word demon, perhaps you’d prefer fallen angel. Both are true. Pick your poison.” He chuckled. “I like that one. Pick your poison,” he repeated.

“Your senses are wrong. I want you gone.” She stepped to the desk, picked up her phone and noted that his demeanor changed.

“Wait. Are you seriously saying my summoning was an accident? I thought you were just mucking around and was kind of admiring you for it. Not many have the nerve to trifle with, ah, fallen angels.” He glanced at the phone in her hand. “Make the call for help and I will be as good as gone, but I’m like the Cadbury bunny. When I’m gone, I’m gone for good.”

“Cadbury bunny?”

Ignoring that, he continued. “And what a waste would that be. You know summoning is all but a lost art. Very few know how to do it anymore and I have the impression lightning won’t strike twice in your case. I mean, you might’ve called me without intention… somehow.” He looked briefly troubled by that. “But here I am. No reason to waste a well-executed summoning. Let’s be practical. You might as well benefit.”

She glanced at the phone, hesitating. “Amon. You’ve barged into my home, said a whole bunch of truly crazy things, like that my husband has a life insurance policy, but it hasn’t been written yet. I feel like every minute I let you stay is endangering my kids.”

“I pose no danger to your offspring. For the time being, you might say I’m actually your servant. Harming you and yours is forbidden. Definitely against code.”

“There’s a code?”

“Of course. What do you think?” He set his wine glass down and stood. “Very well. Let’s do a dog and pony show as they say. What would prove to you that I’m telling the truth about who and what I am?”

Her fingers were practically getting numb from clutching the phone so tightly. The doorbell rang. They both looked in the direction of the front door.

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