Mahoun shrugged, an easy, casual gesture.
Mann spoke, “I have to wonder… how?”
“That answer is more complicated,” the demon said. “Greater agendas.”
“When I hear responses like that, I can’t help but think of the choir of unrest.”
Mahoun smiled.
“We make a practice of keeping tabs on active diabolists. A number of new clients have been in possession of texts written by individuals who we don’t have tabs on.”
“I’m not of the choir of unrest, Mr. Mann,” the demon said.
“But you turn men, women and children into monsters, savage spree killers. You work over days, weeks, months, and years to prey on diabolists and turn them into crazed killers with a bloodthirst. Ones that are liberal in using their knowledge to do their deeds. Or, failing that, you find practitioners, and make them into the sort of depraved individual that wouldn’t hesitate to practice diabolism.”
Mahoun’s expression didn’t change.
Mann continued, “It’s a similar pattern to members of the Choir of Unrest, writing tomes themselves, under the guise of being diabolists. A hard thing to ignore, when new diabolists crop up every other month. Or when we’re being asked to distribute books.”
“You’d almost think you had me in the wrong choir,” Mahoun said.
“Almost,” Mr. Mann replied.
The demon took another long pull on the cigarette. The entire kitchen reacted, as if an invisible beast was within, pushing against every surface. The shadows were darker than before.
“Don’t concern yourself with what I do,” Mahoun said, staring at Mann with pale eyes. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”
The words had weight. Even if the demon noble wasn’t bound, there was a certainty to the words that gave them power.
“None of my business,” Mann said. If he was scared or intimidated, he didn’t betray it. “He is. Will this be a problem?”
Mahoun gave him a dismissive wave. “The end result is the same.”
“I have your permission?”
“Yes.”
Mann turned, saw a long rug in the hallway, and stepped aside, gesturing. It moved, sliding into the kitchen. A bridge over blood and maggots.
A simple trick, but not an easy one. To simply order spirits about required a longstanding relationship with those spirits, or something similar. One could do it readily in a demesne they owned, building a familiarity with the spirits there, but to do it anywhere meant that one had to be recognizable anywhere. The equivalent of being a household name or brand among humans.
He crossed until he stood over the limp body. He grabbed the man’s jacket and forced him over onto his back. He slapped the man in the face.
The practitioner stirred.
“You’re not dead. Barring extraordinary luck on your part, you won’t get to die for a long, long time. Either I get you, or Mahoun does. The best thing you can do here is force yourself to pay attention.”
The name seemed to force a surge of adrenaline. The man’s eyes opened wider, alarm touching every aspect of his features.
“There we go,” Mann said. “Now. You called me. You only have my attention for thirty minutes total, and you spent several minutes wallowing in your suffering. Do you have a request, or did you summon me for another purpose?”
The man looked at the demon, then the lawyer. “Save me.”
“You are well beyond saving,” Mann told the practitioner.
“Get me away from him. I’ve seen what he does. My brother, my mother, my kid cousin… he used them.”
“That’s the least of what he does,” Mann said. He glanced up at the demon. “He was going easy on you. Likely aiming to gradually step up what he did, keep it up long enough that you’d eventually realize, it was always going to get worse. Break you with terror of everything your future held in store for you.”
“No,” the practitioner said. He shook his head. “He went after them, he made them wrong, let them find my books. They let other demons inside. Accepted them. Other people stopped being able to even see them.”
Mann sighed. The demon noble only watched.
“You want away?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll join my firm. You’ll assist other diabolists, in large part.”
“Okay. Please.”
“You’ll do this for, if I had to guess, somewhere between five and six hundred years. We’d hash out the specific numbers at a later point.”
“Five-”
“As I said, you won’t get to die for a long, long time.”
The practitioner screwed his eyes closed, bracing himself against a fresh wave of the pain, but adrenaline still kept him conscious enough. It wouldn’t last forever.
“Before you answer,” Mann warned, “There’s another cost. That which is yours is forfeit.”
“Have… nothing.”
“You have a familiar.”
The practitioner’s eyes went wide.
“It would become ours, to use or give away as we saw fit.”
Fisher creeped out of the practitioner’s pocket, no longer caring about blood or maggots. In the body of a toad, he hopped forward. He spoke, however, with a more cultured accent. “No. We have a partnership, I have a say. No.”
“You have a say, but you do not have the final word.”
Fisher turned to the practitioner. “No. Just say no.”
“Yes,” the practitioner said. “I agree. Whatever the time involved.”
Fisher froze. “No, please-”
“I agree,” the practitioner said, again.
“I’ll draft up the papers,” Mann said. “For now, let’s get out of here.”
He seized the practitioner, one arm around the man’s armpits, and lifted him easily.
The familiar stared.
“Another time, then, Mahoun.”
“As you say, Mr. Mann,” the demon said.
The familiar gave chase, if only to escape the presence of the demon.
Mahoun was still sitting at the table when the front door closed behind the lawyer and his new employee.
■
“There is a difference,” Mann said, “Between the various tiers of demon. Imps, least, lesser, moderate, all the way up the hierarchy. The simplest way to mark the distinction is capability.”
The new employee nodded. He was dressed in a fine suit, now, and he had legs again.
“Speech is one such thing. It’s an inverse of men. We’re speechless at birth, we gain the ability, with increasing faculties, then if we live long enough, the ability to speak gradually leaves us. Imps can speak because they borrow from men, they sup from the collective unconscious, and they sup from victims. Demons of the noble tier can speak because they are… broad. If they’re neither and they can still communicate, they may well have something of man. A token.”
The new employee nodded. He was trying to listen. He had a new lease on life, now. They walked down the street, and despite the fact that they wore nicer clothes than the people they passed, nobody paid them a second mind.
“Keep these things in mind. We can’t have you making a mistake while you work for us. Certainly not a mistake like the summoning of Mahoun.”