Practical Demonkeeping

want with you?” Brine asked. “She has the candlesticks and the invocations.”
    “They’re in Greek. They want me to translate the invocations or they’ll kill Jenny.”
    “Let them,” the Djinn said. “Perhaps you can bring Catch under control with the woman dead.”
    Travis exploded. “They thought of that, you little troll! If I don’t show up at four, they’ll kill Jenny and destroy the invocation. Then we’ll never be able to send Catch back.”
    Augustus Brine checked his watch. “We’ve got exactly an hour and a half to come up with a plan.”
    “Let us retire to the saloon and consider our options,” the Djinn said.

32
THE HEAD OF THE SLUG
    Augustus Brine led the way into the Head of the Slug. Travis followed, and Gian Hen Gian shuffled in last. The saloon was nearly empty: Robert was sitting at the bar, another man sat in the dark at a table in the back, and Mavis was behind the bar. Robert turned as they entered. When he saw Travis, he jumped off the stool.
    “ You fucking asshole!” Robert screamed. He stormed toward Travis with his fist cocked for a knockout blow. He got four steps before Augustus Brine threw out a massive forearm that caught him in the forehead. There was a flash of tennis shoes flailing in the air as Robert experienced the full dynamic range of the clothesline effect. A second later he lay on the floor unconscious.
    “Who is that?” Travis asked.
    “Jenny’s husband,” Brine answered, bending over and inspecting Robert’s neck for any jutting vertebrae. “He’ll be okay.”
    “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”
    “There isn’t time,” Brine said. “Besides, he might be able to help.”
    Mavis Sand was standing on a plastic milk box peering over the bar at Robert’s supine form. “Nice move, Asbestos,” she said. “I like a man that can handle himself.”
    Brine ignored the compliment. “Do you have any smelling salts?”
    Mavis climbed down from her milk box, rummaged under the bar for a moment, and came up with a gallon bottle of ammonia. “This should do it.” To Travis and the Djinn she said: “You boys want anything?”
    Gian Hen Gian stepped up to the bar. “Could I trouble you for a small quantity… ”
    “A salty dog and a draft, please,” Travis interrupted.
    Brine wrapped one arm under Robert’s armpits and dragged him to a table. He propped him up in a chair, retrieved the ammonia bottle from the bar, and waved it under Robert’s nose.
    Robert came to, gagging.
    “Bring this boy a beer, Mavis,” Brine said.
    “He ain’t drinking today. I’ve been pouring him Cokes since noon.”
    “A Coke, then.”
    Travis and the Djinn took their drinks and joined Brine and Robert at the table, where Robert sat looking around as if he were experiencing reality for the first time. A nasty bump was rising on his forehead. He rubbed it and winced.
    “What hit me?”
    “I did,” Brine said. “Robert, I know you’re angry at Travis, but you have to put it aside. Jenny’s in trouble.”
    Robert started to protest, but Brine raised a hand and he fell silent.
    “For once in your life, Robert, do the right thing and listen.”
    It took fifteen minutes for Brine to relate the condensed version of the demon’s story, during which time the only interruption was the screeching feedback of Mavis Sand’s hearing aid, which she had cranked up to maximum so she could eavesdrop. When Brine finished, he drained his beer and ordered a pitcher. “Well?” he said.
    Robert said, “Gus, you’re the sanest man I know, and I believe that you believe Jenny is in trouble, but I don’t believe this little man is a genie and I don’t believe in demons.”
    “I have seen the demon,” came a voice from the dark end of the bar. The figure who had been sitting quietly when they came in stood and walked toward them.
    They all turned to see a rumpled and wrinkled Howard Phillips staggering out of the dark, obviously drunk.
    “I saw it outside of my house last night. I thought it was one of the slave creatures kept by the Old Ones.”
    “What in the hell are you talking about, Howard?” Robert asked.
    “It doesn’t matter any longer. What matters is that these men are telling you the truth.”
    “So now what?” Robert said. “What do we do now?”
    Howard pulled a pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. “You have one hour to plan a course of action. If I can be of any assistance…”
    “Sit down, Howard, before you fall down,” Brine