Practical Demonkeeping

going?”
    “To see an old friend.”
    “You say that everywhere we go.”
    “This is the last one.”
    “Sure.”
    “Be quiet. People are looking.”
    “You’re trying to be tricky. What’s morality?”
    “It’s the difference between what is right and what you can rationalize.”
    “Must be a human thing.”
    “Exactly.”

10
AUGUSTUS BRINE
    Augustus Brine sat in one of his high-backed leather chairs massaging his temples, trying to formulate a plan of action. Rather than answers, the question, Why me? repeated in his mind like a perplexing mantra. Despite his size, strength, and a lifetime of learning, Augustus Brine felt small, weak, and stupid. Why me ?
    A few minutes before, Gian Hen Gian had rushed into the house babbling in Arabic like a madman. When Brine finally calmed him down, the genie had told him he had found the demon.
    “You must find the dark one. He must have the Seal of Solomon. You must find him!”
    Now the genie was sitting in the chair across from Brine, munching potato chips and watching a videotape of a Marx Brothers movie.
    The genie insisted that Brine take some sort of action, but he had no suggestions on how to proceed. Brine examined the options and found them wanting. He could call the police, tell them that a genie had told him that an invisible man-eating demon had invaded Pine Cove, and spend the rest of his life under sedation: not good. Or, he could find the dark one, insist that he send the demon back to hell, and be eaten by the demon: not good. Or he could find the dark one, sneak around hoping that he wasn’t noticed by an invisible demon that could be anywhere, steal the seal, and send the demon back to hell himself, but probably get eaten in the process: also, not good. Of course he could deny that he believed the story, deny that he had seen Gian Hen Gian drink enough saltwater to kill a battalion, deny the existence of the supernatural altogether, open an impudent little bottle of merlot, and sit by his fireplace drinking wine while a demon from hell ate his neighbors. But he did believe it, and that option, too, was not good. For now he decided to rub his temples and think, Why me?
    The genie would be no help at all. Without a master he was as powerless as Brine himself. Without the seal and invocation, he could have no master. Brine had run through the more obvious courses of action with Gian Hen Gian to have each doomed in succession. No, he could not kill the demon: he was immortal. No, he could not kill the dark one: he was under the protection of the demon, and killing him, if it were possible, might release the demon to his own will. To attempt an exorcism would be silly, the genie reasoned; would some mingy prelate be able to override the power of Solomon?
    Perhaps they could separate the demon from his keeper—somehow force the dark one to send the demon back. Brine started to ask Gian Hen Gian if it was feasible but stopped himself. Tears were coursing down the genie’s face.
    “What’s the matter?” Brine asked.
    Gian Hen Gian kept his eyes trained on the television screen, where Harpo Marx was pulling a collection of objects from his coat, objects obviously too large to be stored there.
    “It has been so long since I have seen one of my own kind . This one who does not speak, I do not recognize him, but he is Djinn . What magic!”
    Brine considered for a moment the possibility that Harpo Marx might have been one of the Djinn , then berated himself for even thinking about it. Too much had happened today that was outside the frame of his experience and it had opened him up to thinking that anything was possible. If he weren’t careful, he would lose his sense of judgment completely.
    “You’ve been here a thousand years and you’ve never seen a movie before?” Brine asked.
    “What is a movie?”
    Slowly and gently, Augustus Brine explained to the king of the Djinn about the illusion created by motion pictures. When he finished, he felt like he had just raped the tooth fairy in front of a class of kindergartners.
    “Then I am alone still?” the genie said.
    “Not completely.”
    “Yes,” the genie said, eager to leave the moment behind, “but what are you going to do about Catch, Augustus Brine?”

11
EFFROM
    Effrom Elliot awoke that morning eagerly anticipating his nap. He’d been dreaming about women, about a time when he had hair and choices. He hadn’t slept well. Some barking dogs had awakened him during the night, and he