Winter in August

Jonathon scratched his cat under the collar, reaching into his bag of potato chips. “Hey, Poliwocket,” he said, still scratching the cat. He was a skinny tom calico – extremely rare – with six toes on his front feet.

Poliwocket mewled at him, nudging his hand when he paused in his scratching. “Diva,” Jonathon accused, and resumed his caress, ignoring the dirty look Poliwocket was giving him.

Frank kicked the apartment door open, the mail stuffed into his mouth, balancing a sack of groceries on one arm. “Don’t put the mail in your mouth,” Jonathon groaned.

Frank bent over the coffee table, the groceries still precariously balanced, and spat the bills out. “I think we should give them a little of our soul along with our money. They’re already asking an arm and a leg.”

Jonathon sighed. “We need a job. That last one was much too dangerous for the amount of money we got-”

“-Because you had to be all noble to the lady who saved your goddess-blessed life-”

“-and we need something else,” Jonathon finished, ignoring the interruption.

“Send Poliwocket,” Frank said with a shrug. “He’s bound to find someone in need of supernatural help. If they’re the kind of person we want to deal with at all, they’ll call us and tell us they have our cat.”

Jonathon shrugged and picked his familiar up, looking it in the eye. “Go find a customer, Poliwocket. A nice customer, mind. And don’t get run over.”

The cat held very still while he received instruction, then almost clawed Jonathon in his haste to get away. Frank opened the door, and Poliwocket ran outside and down the steps.

“Well that takes care of that,” Jonathon said, stuffing another handful of potato chips in his mouth. “Expect a call within the hour.”

“Within the hour? How fast can that cat move, anyway?” Frank asked. He dug the lunchmeat he had bought and began making a sandwich.

For the seventh time, Jonathon thought, “Familiars exist at once in physical and astral space, but can flip completely over to one or the other when they feel like it. Poliwocket will flip to astral and move ten times faster than the physical. He’ll find someone.”

“I heard that,” Frank said mildly. “Never insult a telepath, even silently.”

“Get out of my head, nosy pants,” Jonathon said, mentally strengthening his shields. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t read me.”

Frank shrugged. “You’re loud. That’s like turning up the radio and saying ‘don’t listen.’”

“Well –” Jonathon paused, scowling. “Just – don’t listen.”

Frank snorted and sat down at the table with his sandwich, taking huge bites and practically inhaling his lunch.

As soon as the sandwich vanished, Jonathon’s gaze snapped up to the phone. “Three, two, one…”

The phone rang.

“You’re psychic with that cat,” Frank accused.

“Maybe a little,” Jonathon said, picking up the phone. “Paranormal Investigation Bureau, Jonathon speaking.”

Someone coughed on the other end. “Nice astral cat,” the other person said. “My name’s Rowan. He barged through my wards without as much as a knock. Teach him some manners, please.”

Jonathon sighed. “Put Poliwocket on the phone, please,” he said.

“Of course,” Rowan said. Jonathon heard a rustle and a meow.

“Poliwocket, that was rude of you,” Jonathon said. An irritated flash of emotion bled into his mind, and Poliwocket’s meows took on the cadence of speech. “No, I did not either tell you to break through wards. Apologize to the man.” There was a sulky meow, almost a growl.

“Cute familiar,” Rowan said, taking back the phone. “Now, more to the point, I need a little help. There’s a something in my basement that’s freezing the pipes. I can’t tell if it’s an ice pixie or a water elemental; I’m no summoner.”

“What do you do?” Jonathon asked.

“I see the future. Now how much would it cost for you to get rid of my sprite?”

Jonathon looked over at Frank, mouthing, ‘sprite.’

“Eh. Eighty? Sprites can get nasty.”

‘Elemental?’

“One hundred, easily. We’ll have to teach him how to Call and Banish properly, too, which’ll cost him extra.”

Jonathon relayed this information to Rowan, who laughed. “Well, then, I hope it’s an ice sprite,” he said, and gave Jonathon the address.

Rowan lived a little ways outside of Salem, so it wasn’t much of a drive from Frank and Jonathon’s apartment. Jonathon walked up to the door and knocked.

Rowan wasn’t at all what Jonathon expected. He was somewhat young, of average height. He had bright green eyes that seemed luminous and long auburn hair that reached past his waist. He carried Poliwocket in his arms, and the calico immediately jumped to Jonathon. “I assume you’re the cat’s person.”

“Jonathon, Paranormal Investigation Bureau,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you face-to-face.”

“Rowan,” Rowan answered, shaking his hand.

“I’m Frank, Jonathon’s partner,” Frank said, also shaking Rowan’s hand.

“Well, that’s introductions out of the way,” Rowan said. “Now, come on down to the basement, will you?” He turned, his hair swirling behind him as he did so, and led them into the homey little house. “I inherited this from my great-aunt, the same person who taught me everything I know about magic. She took good care of it in her time; there was never anything on the premises that she didn’t want here. I’m not near her caliber, I’m afraid.”

“It’s nice,” Frank said, admiring the hardwood floor and the silver-frosted wallpaper.

“I try,” Rowan said. “How much extra would it cost for you to teach me how to ward this house? I don’t want anything coming again once I’ve gotten rid of the oh-so-annoying pixie in my basement.”

“What makes you think it’s a pixie?” Jonathon asked. “It could be a water elemental.” Elementals were spirits that embodied their element – they watched over the magical use of it and appeared where there was a great deal of it naturally.

“Its behavior is more that of a pixie than an elemental. Undines are always pretty stoic and serious. This one likes to freeze the pipes right when I’m showering, so I get doused in cold water and the pipes almost break, besides.” Rowan pushed open the door to the basement, his breath fogging in the cold. “And that’s another sign. Water elementals don’t exclusively do cold.”

“It does sound – and look – like an ice sprite. Come on, Frank, I need you to see if you can find it,” Jonathon said. He dropped Poliwocket, who took a few tentative steps onto the ice-covered basement steps. The cat shook its paws where the ice melted under it, looking annoyed.

“Hold tight to the railing,” Rowan warned. “These steps are kind of steep, and I’d rather not have to rush you to the hospital because you fell and busted your head open. I don’t like blood.”

Jonathon gripped the railing, putting one cautious step in front of the other, Frank following close on his heels. It was extremely cold down in the basement, even though it was barely autumn in Massachusetts. “Nasty little thing,” he commented.

Frank’s foot slid out from under him and he cursed, hanging on to the rail until he got his feet back underneath him. “Tell me about it,” he said. “This had better not try to fight us.”

“Oh, it will,” Jonathon said. “I’m not even going to try and astral project for this one. This is looking less and less like a pixie and more like a malicious ice demon.”

A whoosh of wind passed in front of Jonathon’s nose, just as Frank pulled him back with a curse. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” he snapped, glaring around the room.

“Did you get a lock on its mind?”

Sure did, Frank said silently. It’s hiding up in the rafters, thinking it’s oh-so-clever. It’s about to- move!

Jonathon ducked as the demon swooped over his head and heard Poliwocket hiss and jump after it, his paw swiping empty air. “Rowan!” Jonathon called to where the man was waiting at the top of the stairs. “Shut that door and turn on the basement light!”

He heard the door slam just as the light clicked on, and blinked rapidly. Rowan’s entire basement, including the rather nice entertainment system, couch and comfortable chairs, was encased in ice. Now that the light was on, Jonathon and Frank could see the ice demon perched in the rafters. It looked like a little silver dragon, its eyes glowing a malevolent red.

“Joyous, it manifested,” Jonathon said, watching the demon flare its wings and hiss at him. Demons that could physically manifest were much more dangerous. “Poliwocket?”

The cat leapt onto one of the support beams, claws extended, but fell immediately back down to the floor. The ice was too thick for his claws to pierce. He flicked his tail and jumped onto the back of the couch, scrabbling for purchase.

“Watch it!” Frank called, yanking Jonathon down as the demon swooped over their heads. Its body radiated cold, and both men knew that even a single touch from it could mean terrible, instant frostbite.

“Jonathon, I think you’re going to have to Banish it,” Frank said. “It’s not going to leave willingly.”

“I’d have to do it longhand,” Jonathon warned, ducking another pass by the demon. He looked around for Poliwocket.

“Your cat disappeared,” Frank said. “I think it went Astral.”

Jonathon let out his breath in a sigh. “Just keep the thing off of me. I can’t concentrate when my hair is freezing.” He bowed his head, framed his hands around the opal hanging from his neck, and began to chant.

Frank pulled his sleeves down over the palms of his hands, grabbing a folding chair and wrenching it free of the ice that covered the wall. He brandished it at the demon, who hissed at him, swooping down toward Jonathon. Frank swung the folding chair, still eavesdropping on the demon’s thoughts, and the demon pulled back with a scream that sounded like a knife striking glass.

Jonathon lost himself in the words of the spell, his opal throwing off a faint glow. Aquamarine would be a better focus for banishing a demon of the Western quarter, relating to water, but opal had always been his particular focus stone.

Frank watched as a glowing blue circle materialized on the basement floor beneath the ice. The glow gave Jonathon an eerie appearance, making him look like he was barely manifested in the Real world.

Jonathon concentrated on half-projecting and bringing his Astral wings into the Real plane. The chant grew louder, the words sharper, the circle and the opal grew brighter, shining icy blue highlights in Jonathon’s black hair.

Jonathon broke off in the middle of the chant with a curse. “Get its name!”

Frank cursed as well, berating himself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course Jonathon needed the demon’s name to banish the thing. Frank dug deeper into the demon’s mind, glaring at it.

The demon writhed, its claws digging chips out of the ice. Frank met up with a wall of resistance in the thing’s mind, his power sliding ineffectually over it. The thing is shielded, he said to Jonathon in frustration.

“Well hurry it up,” Jonathon said, his voice strained. Frank glanced over at him to see that the opal was almost vibrating, and the rainbow lights in the stone danced quicker than his eye could follow. Jonathon was putting strain on himself and the stone by holding the spell in mid-cast; if he put too much strain, the stone would shatter and they would have no way to banish the demon.

Frank narrowed his eyes, tearing through the first layer of the thing’s psyche cruelly, feeling sick to his stomach. He never, ever wanted to do this to a person; this type of combative telepathy reflected the victim’s pain on him. It was only because the demon was not human in the remotest sense of the word that Frank wasn’t driving himself insane.

The thing fell from the rafters, shrieking, the shield in its mind wavering. Frank lanced his power at the weak point, shattering the shield, and plucked the demon’s name straight out of its mind. Canteris, Frank sent to Jonathon triumphantly.

Jonathon took a deep breath before letting the spell free, picking up the chant again. His body convulsed as the pent-up power surged through him, and the opal dimmed slightly. He wove the demon’s name through the words, each time he said it forcing a scream from the thing.

The words burned Jonathon’s throat, and the spell began to take hold of him, putting itself in the driver seat, with Jonathon as the tool. His fire-bright Astral wings manifested here, in the third stage of the spell, melting some of the ice around him.

The ninth time he said the demon’s name, it let loose a long, drawn-out wail. Frank clapped his hands over his ears, the sound seeming to drill straight into his brain, and threw himself out of the demon’s mind. It shuddered once more and then its physical body shattered into an infinite number of mirror-bright shards. Frank and Jonathon threw up their hands to protect their eyes from the razor-sharp missiles, the demon’s last act of defiance.

Finally, all was quiet. Jonathon swayed, his lips pressed together so hard they were ringed in white, shaking, his wings spread to their full span. The warmth they gave off melted the ice around them, leaving the men standing in ankle-deep water, looking around sheepishly at the mess they had made of Rowan’s basement.

Jonathon’s wings vanished abruptly, and he collapsed in the water with a splash.

“Rowan!” Frank called, and Rowan eased the door at the top of the basement open, peeking in nervously. Frank grabbed Jonathon by the forearm, feeling shaky himself, and hauled him to his feet. “We need some help getting up the stairs.”

Rowan slowly walked down the stairs, surveying the damage. “That thing was nasty,” he said. “What was it?”

“Ice demon,” Jonathon coughed, his hand locked around the opal. “Nasty little buggers.”

Rowan caught Jonathon’s other arm and helped them up the stairs. “I’ll go get towels,” he said, leaving them to lean up against the wall.

Poliwocket meowed, pawing Jonathon’s leg. “A lot of help you were,” Jonathon said. Poliwocket meowed indignantly, sinking his claws into Jonathon’s pants. Once he had the man’s attention, he proceeded into a long string of meows and yowls, broken by the occasional hiss, sounding for all the world like he was lecturing Jonathon. “Yes, yes, next time I’ll be prepared and bring more focus stones. No, I’m not going to praise you for your ‘bravery.’ You went Astral as soon as you possibly could.” A hiss. “Why you conceited little-”

Frank snorted, closing his eyes. “No discounts,” he croaked at Jonathon.

“Absolutely not,” Jonathon answered.