Joel woke up to sun streaming in through the window.  Damn, he’d overslept.  Why hadn’t his alarm gone off?
 
“Sedit, what time is it?”
 
Nothing.  So if she was dead, then everything was dead.  Damnit all.  He swung his legs over the bed and tested the floor with his feet.  The sudden cold helped wake him.  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and glanced at the charm on the window sill, then the one over the door.  They were intact, at least.  He rose and staggered to the bathroom.  He gave the door a tentative shove.  In the bathroom mirror his reflection looked back at him.  He looked awful, but no worse than an evening with a bottle of scotch warranted.  The charm on the bathroom window was also good, so he stepped into the room and performed his morning ablutions.
 
Showered and dressed he made his way to the kitchen, dropped a capsule into the coffee machine and switched it on.  Nothing happened.
 
Because everything was dead, dammit. Why?  The T.V.?  Probably.  It was on at some point in the evening.  Had he left it on when he went to bed?  He must have done.  Dammit all to hell.
 
Joel opened the french windows and stepped onto the balcony.  He willed himself calm with deep breaths, then commenced the Sun Salutation.
 
He’d lived with a girl once for a whole four weeks.  He couldn’t remember her name now, but he could never forget her body.  She was into yoga, and her forehead would touch her knees as she effortlessly saluted the sun.  Joel’s hands barely reached half-way down his shins.  Joel believed, though, it wasn’t how well you could do it, but how much effort it cost you, and he felt the tendons in the back of his knees stretch to breaking point.  At least, he hoped it was true, because getting his fingers near his toes was never going to happen.
 
Sun Salutation complete he returned to the kitchen, poured out a small glass of cheap white wine and, returning to the balcony, he anointed the solar panels with the libation.
 
“No power?” 
 
Joel glanced across the balcony.  His next-door neighbour but one was there, smoke rising from a sacrifice on his hibachi. 
 
“Must have left the T.V. on,” he explained.
 
“You should try Typhon.  My heating costs are next to nothing.”
 
Joel smiled and nodded, switched on the panel and returned to his apartment.  The guy was okay, but he would try and evangelise.  Helios was good enough for solar, and some gods could be really petty if you dumped them.
 
He tried the coffee machine again, and sighed with relief as it kicked in.
 
“Sedit, what time is it?”

“Ra has lifted the sun in the east twelve degrees.”
 
Jesus, he needed to get a modern demon.  No wonder Sedit was so cheap.
 
“Sedit, what hour of the day is it?”
 
“Ten hours.”
 
Oh gods.  Ten o’clock already.  Joel collected his cup and switched on his screen.  He stuffed his hand in the Perspex tank next to it and chased the mice until he grabbed one in the corner.  Only two left after this.  He’d have to stop off at the offering shop at some time.  He placed the knife at its neck, closed his eyes and sliced.  He wasn’t the gentlest of men.  He’d beaten many a man in a fair fight, and even more in an unfair one, but sacrificing the mice turned his stomach.  He’d heard of some vegan guy sacrificing tomatoes.  How did that even work?  The little offering cup filled, he dropped the ex-mouse into the bin and called Saul’s number.  Saul looked surprised to see him, then made a show of looking at his watch.
 
“Yeah, yeah, I overslept.  I’ll say a Hail Mary later.  Have you got anything for me?”
 
Saul shook his head, like a headmaster about to tell a pupil how he’d let the school down.
 
“Five prayers to Jude the obscure.  Two lost car keys, a brooch – “
 
“Expensive?”
 
“Sentimental value.”
 
“Anything above minimum rates?”
 
“Sure.  I refused to give all the plum jobs to the people who logged in on time.”
 
“Come on, Saul, don’t give me a hard time.  It won’t cover my costs looking for lost items at minimum.  Haven’t you got anything?”
 
“Well, just one.  It’s a misper, but you won’t like it.”
 
“A missing person?  Come on, you know I’m the best you got at finding people.  Well, maybe not the best, but pretty good.  How much is it paying?”
 
“Five hundred on successful completion, plus expenses.”
 
“You’re a beautiful human being, Saul.  Send me the details.”
 
“Okay, but when I say misper, it’s not exactly a person.”
 
“A dog?”
 
“A demon.”
 
Joel laughed.  “A demon?  How is that even possible?”
 
“You want it or not?  Because the good stuff is here when I open, and I open at eight.”
 
Joel sighed.  “Yeah, yeah, go on then.  Send me the details.”
 
“And Joel?  For all that’s profane, smarten yourself up before you call on the client, okay?”  

---

Joel dropped into the driver’s seat of his car, kissed the Saint Christopher hanging from the mirror, rubbed the belly of the Buddha on the dash, and turned the key.  The engine coughed.
 
“Nergal!” he screamed.  “I will exorcise your arse, I swear to all the gods I will, you ungrateful little gremlin.  What ever you did, put it back.  Now!  I mean it.  I got a mister full of holy water in my bag, you know I have.  Fix it now or I will spray you like I would a wasp!”
 
He counted to ten, kissed and rubbed the talismans again, then turned the key.  The engine purred into life.  As he pulled out into the road he shouted, “I let you live in the car, let you tinker, on the clear understanding you keep my car running.  Nobody else would let a gremlin loose in their car.  You keep your end of the deal, okay?”
 
The client lived in a select neighbourhood, one for which Joel would never be selected.  He parked the car outside the house, not bothering activating the protection spell, or even locking the door.  In this post code his would be the last car on any thief’s shopping list.
 
When the front door opened, Joel was greeted by what used to be called a woman of a certain age.  She was dressed casually in slacks and jumper, no makeup and no obvious augmentation or youth spells but carried it off with casual aplomb.  That was the difference between buying style and having it, Joel guessed.
 
“Yes?”
 
Joel held up the contract.  ”Ms Anderton?  You reported a missing… demon?”
 
“Oh, yes.  Could you…?”  She spun her finger.
 
“Sure.”  Joel turned his back.
 
A moment later she said, “Thank you.”
 
Joel turned back.
 
“I’m sorry.  My husband always insisted on a door spell, you understand?”
 
‘Insisted.’  Past tense.  So she was divorced or widowed.  Widowed, he guessed.  She had the air of a woman no man would dare divorce.  “Of course.  Very wise.  Though can I make a suggestion?  When you revoke the spell, step to one side so your hand gestures can’t be seen from the street.  I could have an accomplice.” 
 
She glanced at the street.  “Do you?”
 
Joel grinned.  “No, but that’s exactly what someone with an accomplice would say.”
 
“Is it?  Oh.”  She gave a small laugh out of politeness.  “A joke.”
 
“May I?”
 
“Oh, of course.  How rude of me.  Please, come in.”
 
Joel looked around the hallway as Ms Anderton closed the door.  Nothing gaudy, just a couple of reproduction paintings on the wall and a plain sideboard.  Good quality, though, and tasteful.  Old money, Joel thought.
 
“This way.”  She led him down the hall and into a sitting room.  “Tea?”
 
“No, thank you.”
 
Ms Anderton indicated an armchair and sat in one opposite.  Joel pulled out his notebook.
 
“So can you tell me about the missing… demon?”  It still didn’t sound right when he said it out loud.  But she obviously had money, and rich people were never bonkers, just a little eccentric.  He could at least go through the motions, given the money on offer.
 
“What do you want to know?”
 
“Well, his name, for a start.”
 
“Frank.”
 
Joel had already drawn the downstroke of the F before he could stop himself.
 
“Frank?”
 
She nodded.
 
“Miss Anderton, I’m sorry, but Frank?  No demon in any Pantheon has ever been called Frank.  Is it possible you could have misheard?”
 
“Oh, I know that’s not his real name, but that’s what he liked me to call him.”
 
“Frank.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Okay.”  Joel wrote ‘Frank’ in his notebook.  It was going to be a total waste of time, he could tell that already, but it might at least make a good story for the guys at the bar.
 
“And what’s your connection with him?”
 
“He’s – “  She coughed and straightened her back.  “He’s a friend, that’s all.”  She glared at Joel, defying him to make a comment.  “He visits me, and we chat.”
 
“Chat?”
 
“Yes.  We talk.  He gets stressed out and he likes to talk about it.  Or we talk about the weather, or art.  He’s very passionate about art.  We could talk for a couple of hours, sometimes.  Or not talk at all, just sit here, enjoying each other’s company.”
 
Joel put his pen down and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Ms Anderton, everything we say here is in the strictest confidence, and it’s vital that you’re totally honest with me.”
 
“Yes?”
 
“Did you summon him to perform any services for you?”
 
“No.  What do you mean?”
 
Joel sighed, mentally kissed the contract goodbye and asked, “Did you summon him to perform carnal services for you?”
 
“What?”  Her exclamation was so loud and high he was convinced dogs around the block would be barking. 
 
He held up his hands.  “I’m sorry, but it happens, more often than you’d think.  I have to ask.”
 
She clenched her jaw and stared at Joel.  When she spoke, her voice was low and as cold as ice.  “No, I did not screw Frank.  We are friends.  Platonic friends.  Nothing improper whatsoever happened.  Satisfied?”
 
“I’m so sorry, honestly I am, but I’d be failing in my job if I did not ask.”  He picked up his pen again.  “Where was he from?”
 
“Here.”
 
“No, I mean, originally.”
 
“Oh.  Assyria, I think, but that was a long time ago.”
 
“What does he look like.”

She shrugged.  “I have no idea.”
 
Joel raised his eyebrows in query.
 
“He never actually manifested.  He would just be here.  I’d feel his presence, and then we’d chat.”
 
Joel silently cursed Saul for landing this one on him.  Okay, so he’d asked Saul for the contract, but Saul had tricked him into wanting it in the first place.  He placed the pen down again, sat back and wished Ms Anderton had offered him something stronger than tea.
 
“Well, if you didn’t like the question about sex, you’re going to hate the question I’m about to ask.”
 
“Ask away, young man.”  She stared him down, challenging him to be as rude as he could.  Had her husband died, or had he simply withered under that stare?
 
“Are you under any prescribed or recreational drugs, or are you or have you ever been under psychiatric treatment.”
 
She stared at him for long seconds.  Eventually she said, “You think I imagined him?”
 
Joel shrugged.  “Look at it from my perspective.  A demon called Frank only you can see who wants to be your best buddy?”
 
She nodded.  “I see.  Yes, I can see how someone like you might think that.  You think I’m a lonely old woman with more money than marbles, inventing imaginary friends.  Let me assure you, I am completely compos mentis.  I am on the board of three companies, I have a full and active social life, and I have half a dozen widower gentlemen who are only too delighted to offer me their arm if I need a partner at an engagement.  Frank is real, as real as you.  And he’s a lot less offensive.”
 
Joel made a show of studying his notebook.  So he had to find an invisible Assyrian demon called Frank.  Piece of cake.
 
“Fair enough, Ms Anderton.  What makes you think he’s missing?”
 
“He’s not visited in two weeks.”
 
“How often did he used to visit?"
 
She shrugged.  “We didn’t have a regular timetable, but every two or three days.  Never more than five at the outside.”
 
“And what happens when you summon him now?”
 
“Summon him?”  She looked shocked.  “Oh, I’ve never summoned him.  He’s not trade.  He’s a friend.”
 
“You’ve never summoned him?   Not even for the first time?”
 
Ms Anderton shook her head.
 
Joel closed his notebook and put it away in his jacket.
 
“I have to be honest, Ms. Anderton.  The chances of locating Frank are not good.  We don’t have his real name, we don’t have a description, we can’t invoke him.  All I have is that you think he might be in the Assyrian Pantheon.”
 
“So you won’t take the case?”

“I… I’ve been given the contract, so yes, I will do what I can.”  Damn that Saul and his insistence contracts were signed in blood.  “Wait, you said he’d talk about being stressed out?  What stressed him?”
 
“His work.”
 
“Which was?”
 
“He never actually said, but I gather people made him do unpleasant things.  Hurtful things.  Violent, maybe.”
 
Joel nodded.  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.  You realise you’ll be liable for expenses until the contract is fulfilled?”
 
“Of course.”  She rose from the chair and held her arm out towards the door.  “But I will require receipts.  Compos mentis, remember?”  And she treated Joel to an icy smile.