An hour later Julia sat next to him with her own pile of books, passing the scotch back and forth, and peppering him with questions about every tome she picked up. Once the small talk had ceased, Isaac warmed to her a bit. There had been no further introductory conversation, no inquiries about personal lives or origins, no polite social exchange. She had simply joined him in drinking and reading, two of his favorite pastimes.

“The Malleus Maleficarum,” she read one of the titles, at the very least pronouncing it correctly. “Sounds sinister.”

“The title translates from Latin as The Hammer of the Witches,” he told her, and she seemed impressed by the ominous title. Isaac frowned like a failed tutor because he knew the book was rubbish. “A medieval tome written to help the Catholic Church catch witches and then...hammer them...I guess. It’s complete nonsense and only used to justify murder.”

“Ah,” she said and slid it back into its place. She pulled the one next to it. “This one I’ve heard of. The Necronomicon.”

Isaac shouted, “Holy Shit! Put that down!” She dropped it to the floor, eyes wide. When she saw Isaac turning red with restrained laughter she smiled. “It’s crap. Pure fiction but pretty entertaining. I’ve heard rumors there is a real Necronomicon but no one I know of has ever seen it. It’s kind of like Bigfoot. If Bigfoot were a book.”

“A Bigbook?” Julia giggled drunkenly as she picked up the next one. “Satan’s Secret Minions.”

“Now that one’s just stupid. It identifies Satan’s minions as rock music, drugs, sex, violence, blah blah blah. It doesn’t name a single actual servant or agent of Satan. Not one. Not even the popular ones. Or even the old lady who’s actually in charge.” He paused then, realizing he probably said a little too much, with a little too much conviction.

Julia looked disappointed and set the book aside. “I had a weird feeling when I picked it up. Thought maybe I found something real.” She stood up, wobbled a bit with a laugh, and smoothed out her skirt. “Well, Isaac, it was certainly fun hanging with you. I’ve had enough booze and research for one night.”

“Likewise.”

She paused in the doorway and asked over her shoulder, “I never bothered to ask why you’re here. I’m assuming you won’t tell me, and I’ll have to figure it out on my own anyway.”

“You assume right.” And he intended to leave it at that, but his damnable curiosity got the better of him. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Not entirely sure. But someone has to be teaching Peter all his little tricks.” She winked knowingly at him and left the room.

***

The next morning found Isaac dragged from his bearskin rug bed by Peter, who was as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. Uncaring about his significant hangover, Peter led him to the basement, excited to show the magician the renovations that had been made to transform what had been a bad-movie themed-hedonistic-Hollywood-playroom into a cult-themed-hedonistic-torture-dungeon-playroom.

Gone were the photos of Peter posing with B and C level celebrities, bench-warming professional athletes, disgraced politicians, and porn stars. Gone was the private theater where Isaac had once been treated to an advance screening of Peter’s Special-Ed Zombies, a film so awful Isaac had telekinetically fouled the movie reel to stop it.

Replacing these items was a plethora of replica torture devices, a rack of sadomasochistic sexual toys, and generic satanic paraphernalia (a stuffed rams head, crudely painted pentagrams, etc.). At one end of the room stood a raised platform, which had been a dance floor in Peter’s younger days. Now it formed the base of a large altar and Isaac assumed it was where Peter performed all his tricks, with his assembled followers lined up in front. The floors, walls, even the ceiling, had been covered with cheap tiles designed to mimic natural stone. Isaac supposed that superficially it did look pretty much like a dungeon, even though he knew if he stomped his foot hard the “stone” would probably crack.

“What do you think? Pretty cool huh?” Peter poured coffee at the bar, the only original structure he had left intact.

Isaac examined a fake guillotine with a blade as sharp as a dustpan. He moved on to the iron maiden, flicked one of the spikes, and snickered when it went sproooong like a kicked doorstopper. “Well, it’s probably good none of these are real. Don’t want anyone hurting themselves.”

“Exactly. If the maiden were real you know damn well someone would pass out drunk in it. Imagine when that hit the papers the next day.”

Isaac nearly said, “who would care?” but bit his tongue.

Ever the businessman Peter jumped straight to it. “So, where shall we be summoning my horned Hellspawn? I assumed the stage would be the best spot.”

“Yes, it would be. But it’s not going to be a Hellspawn. Nothing from Hell.”

“Aw come on,” Peter whined, a disappointed child. “I hoped I could ask it questions and it would reply in a deep, scary voice. Ladies love to be scared.” He gave Isaac a creepy wink.

“Whatever we summon won’t be able to talk. It’ll just stand there being incredibly enraged at you for pulling it through dimensions against its will.”

Either Peter completely ignored the part about the unearthly monster being mad at him or he just didn’t care. “It won’t even be able to talk?”

“This isn’t an interview Peter. You can’t call for questions from the audience. If we pull something through that is capable of speech that means it’s more intelligent. That severely increases the threat level. But don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll make noise. It’ll hiss or roar or scream. You’ll wish you never heard such sounds.”

“Excellent. Sound effects are good,” Peter rubbed his hands together, still planning this endeavor like a movie scene. “And it’ll look scary? Fearsome? Horrifying? But not be dangerous right?”

“Fearsomely horrifying but not dangerous,” Isaac repeated, hoping it would sound just as ridiculous the second time he said it out loud. Again, it did not affect the producer. “There’s no dimension full of teddy bears out there, Peter. If it looks dangerous it’ll be dangerous. Anything strong enough to survive being pulled between dimensions is going to be dangerous.” This did cause Peter to balk a bit. “But that’s what a protective circle is for. It’ll keep it contained as long as no one messes with it.”

“This is going to be fan-fucking-tastic,” Peter said and downed his coffee in one gulp. “So, we’re set? You’ll do it?”

Isaac sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll design the ritualistic circle on the stage. Only you will be allowed near it. I’ll write out the summoning spell for you. You’ll memorize it word for word. Syllable for syllable. You’ll summon in something, let everyone get a real good look, then you’ll read the banishment spell and send it back home. That’s it.”

Peter beamed, gripped Isaac by both shoulders, and shook him violently before embracing him in a surprisingly powerful bear hug. And in that genuinely happy moment, Isaac nearly changed his mind. He suddenly wanted very badly to tell Peter what a terrible idea this was—warn him again of the incredible cost any mistake could bring, no matter how minor. But in the end, Isaac kept his mouth shut. Peter was a grown man. They were occasional business acquaintances after all, not true friends. He couldn’t afford to develop a reputation as a magician who refuses magical work, not if he wanted to keep working when he eventually got out from under Arrangement.

“I want the money upfront. In case you get eaten.”

Disengaging his hug Peter nodded, still smiling, still fearless. In his world money and power allowed for anything. He had grown used to life without consequences. “Deal. And I’ll throw in a few weeks at my timeshare in Cabo.”

“Sounds fine,” Isaac said. “I’ll need a day to get everything done. And you’ll need time to memorize your lines.”

“Memorize my lines,” Peter said wistfully. “I’ve never been on the other end of that statement.” He started toward the door.

“One more thing,” Isaac called after him. “The girl I met last night, Julia. What’s her story?”

“Kind of an odd bird. She showed up at one of my parties a few weeks ago. I figured she was just another small-town girl looking for the ladder to Hollywood. She’s gorgeous in a gothic kind of way, but she’s got that thin, athletic body. She’d need some implants to make it in my films. But she’s never actually inquired about any roles now that I think of it. She just has an aura about her, something compelling. Honestly, she kind of reminds me of you when we first met. Except she’s pretty hot and you’re just kind of a Joe-Schmo. She knows this trick where she can change her eye and hair color. Glamour spells I think she called them. It’s pretty cool. She tells everyone at my parties that I taught her, even though I didn’t. So, she’s kind of become my faux apprentice, which plays well with this crowd.”

***

That afternoon found Isaac setting up the cultist playroom while Peter wandered around the house, memorizing his magical lines like an amateur actor. The stage proved surprisingly perfect for Isaac’s needs. Flat, smooth, and easy to paint. Any kind of imperfection, uneven lump or crack, could have created a fatal flaw in his magical design. He took this as a good omen as he started painting the summoning circle with the runes etched into his memory by the Voice. The magician opted to use plain red paint. Bold in color, it gave the design a theatrical nudge that would resemble blood to a crowd of amateur cultists. There were certainly more powerful options, such as rare inks, powdered bone, or real blood, but those required considerable time and cost to acquire.

All these considerations were deal breakers for Peter, an impatient frugalist. It was mostly inconsequential. Paint would suffice. The power came from the accuracy of the design. The rarer supplies would just reinforce it.

He had just finished the finer details when he realized he wasn’t alone. “You’re pretty sneaky,” he said to Julia, peering over his shoulder.

“I’ve always been light on my feet. You should see me dance. I can even make high heels silent.” Isaac wasn’t sure if she was kidding so he went with an awkward snort rather than a full laugh.

“So, Peter tells me you can do tricks.”

“Dancing in heels isn’t a trick?” she asked with a more obvious jokey smile. “You mean my glamour spells?”

“Yup.”

“Minor tricks I learned a while ago. Want to see?”

“Nope.”

His disinterest seemed to sting, and she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, repressing a caustic response. “I guess if you’re summoning some kind of demon, then a girl changing her hair color is kind of dull.”

Isaac started to play dumb but figured anyone who had ever seen a few horror movies would know exactly what the ritualistic circle was for. “I’m not summoning anything. This is for Peter and his Hollywood cult. He’s doing the dangerous work.”

“Seems like a bad idea.”

“Most likely. You going to attend?”

“Of course. I’m not passing up the chance to see a real-life demon from Hell.”

Her enthusiasm disappointed him. All these people lining up to see an other-dimensional spirit had no idea of the inherent risks. Of course, how could he judge? He was assisting with the ridiculous idea for money. “It’s not going to be from Hell. It’ll be from a different dimension called Pandemonium.” He pointed at a symbol—a curvy eye with a series of inverted triangles lining the iris, pointing inward like teeth. “A realm of complete and total chaos.”

“Sounds intense.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be monstrously inhuman, if not too bright. Is that why you’re here? Hoping to see demons? You don’t seem to fit with Peter’s crowd.”

“Oh, I can’t stand Peter’s crowd. Bunch of arrogant assholes. But I heard Peter was a sorcerer. Black magic. Spells. All that stuff. I’ve learned a few things and hoped he could teach me more or point me in a better direction.”

Isaac didn’t like the way she stressed the word and knew what followed.

“You are the one who taught Peter all his little tricks, aren’t you?”

He might have tried to deny this, but he currently stood above a painted magical diagram with the still wet brush in his hand. “Yeah. I did. Just little things. Safe things.” The red circle at his feet suddenly seemed so much more ominous.

“Care to teach me?”

“Nope.”

She stiffened. “Because I can’t pay like Peter does?”

“Right.” He sighed. “Peter paid for individual minor spells. Overpaid, I should say. I think you’re looking for an apprenticeship. I can’t have an apprentice.”

“Who says I want an apprenticeship? You could just teach me those little tricks and then go on your way. I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m sure you are. And that’s the problem. Peter has no real ability. Minor tricks are all he’ll ever achieve. I can already tell you have much more potential. You’d need someone a lot more stable than me to teach you.” The compliment seemed to take some of the burn off his rejection. She nodded and turned to leave. “Hey, some last-minute advice. If anything goes wrong tonight, anything at all, run for the hills and don’t look back.”