Hexed

remember .
    › Well, Leif told you Mr. Semerdjian didn’t smell like demon, but he kind of did. He still does, actually. Shape-shift into a hound if you don’t believe me; that lame human nose isn’t doing you any favors. ‹
    Wait. Hold up , I said, stopping in the middle of the street. Oberon pulled up after a few steps and looked back at me, tongue lolling out. We were still on 11th Street, just over a block away from my house; streetlamps periodically cast cones of light like yellow party hats in the darkness. You still smell demon even though we’re all the way down the street?
    › Yeah. And it’s getting worse. ‹
    Oh, no, that’s not good, Oberon , I said, putting my cell phone back in my pocket. We need to go back to the house. I need to get my sword . A block ahead of us, something shifted in the shadows. It moved unnaturally above the ground, the size of a small Volkswagen, and then I discerned what was moving it: grotesquely long insectile legs, supporting a bulk that vaguely resembled a grasshopper. Insect size is supposed to be restricted to six inches or so, due to the limits of their tracheal systems, but apparently this demon didn’t get the memo.
    Run home, Oberon! Now! I pivoted and sprinted at top speed for my front yard and immediately heard the demon leap into pursuit, its legs drumming out a chitinous clacking on the black asphalt. We weren’t leaving it behind; if anything, it was gaining on us. There would be no time for me to get my sword.

Chapter 3
    Demons smell like ass—nasty ass that slithers down your throat, finds your gag reflex, and sits on it with authority. I got an overdose when Aenghus Óg unleashed a horde of them on this plane with the command to kill me, and now I finally caught a whiff of this one. It wasn’t a fragrance that Gold Canyon candles would be offering anytime soon.
    Some of the demons had been strong enough to resist Aenghus Óg’s binding at first and run for the hills to work their own mischief. Though Flidais—the Celtic goddess of the hunt—had tracked most of them down, I knew a few must still be out there and they’d eventually come looking for me. Despite Aenghus’s demise, his binding was the sole reason they were on this plane, and until they obeyed its commands they’d never be truly free; the binding would just keep tugging at them until they lost the will to resist. I had killed most of the horde with Cold Fire, but this one must have gotten out of range pretty fast, and only now had it tracked me down in obeisance to the binding.
    Run around to the back, Oberon , I said. My friend was already ahead of me. There’s no way you can fight this thing .
    › I’m not going to argue, ‹ he said. › I wouldn’t want to take a bite of something that smells that bad, anyway. ‹
    I was coming up hard on my lawn, with the demon close behind; I could hear the whistling of its spiracles in addition to the skittering of its six legs. Once I hit the earth, I could draw power and slap the thing with Cold Fire, but there were drawbacks to that plan: One, Cold Fire took some time to work, and, two, using it weakened me so much that I’d be completely vulnerable after casting it.
    With no sword to penetrate its chitin and no safety cushion for Cold Fire, I’d have to depend on my magical wards to take care of the demon before it took care of me. That, too, would take some time, but perhaps I could dodge behind my mesquite tree and stay out of the range of its serrated front legs long enough for my Druidic juju to do its work.
    The earth is all too willing to help out with getting rid of demons: They don’t belong on the earth, are in fact anathema to it, and thus it takes very little coaxing to set up a demonic ward around one’s house. Teach the earth to detect a demon’s presence upon it and encourage it to tidy up the soiled area, and you’re done—sort of.
    The problem is that the earth isn’t renowned for its reaction times. Every ten years I like to meditate for a week and commune with its spirit, which people like to call Gaia nowadays, and she chats fondly about the Cretaceous period as if it were something that happened just last month. A security-conscious Druid cannot afford to take the long view on intruders, however, so I set up my mesquite tree as a first line of defense and as an alarm bell for the elemental of the Sonoran Desert. The elemental would get the earth’s attention much quicker than I could—and perhaps make