Drat it, I thought the last copy of that book was burned
and I was free. Your signal caught me in the middle of dinner."

* * * * *

Henry swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat trickle down his nose. The
book had warned against summoning the demon without the protective
devices! But the thing seemed peaceful enough for the moment. He
cleared his voice. "You mean--you mean magic works?"

"Magic--shmagic!" the creature snorted. He jerked his thumb toward the
television. "To old Ephriam--the crackpot who wrote the book before he
went completely crazy--that set would have been more magic than I am.
I thought this age knew about dimensions, planes of vibrations, and
simultaneous universes. You humans always were a backward race, but
you seemed to be learning the basic facts. Hell, I suppose that means
you'll lay a geas on me, after I was hoping it was just an
experimental summons!"

Henry puzzled it over, with some of the fright leaving him. The
scientific sounding terms somehow took some of the magic off the
appearance of the thing. "You mean those passes and words set up some
sort of vibrational pattern...."

The hairless fellow snorted again, and began attacking the grapes.
"Bunk, Henry! Oh, my name's Alfear, by the way. I mean I was a fool. I
should have gone to my psychiatrist and taken the fifty year course,
as he advised. But I thought the books were all burned and nobody knew
the summons. So here I am, stuck with the habit. Because that's all it
is--a conditioned reflex. Pure compulsory behavior. I'm sensitized to
receive the summons, and when it comes, I teleport into your plane
just the way you pull your hand off a hot stove. You read the whole
book, I suppose? Yeah, just my luck. Then you know I'm stuck with any
job you give me--practically your slave. I can't even get back without
dismissal or finishing your task! That's what comes of saving money
by not going to my psychiatrist."

He muttered unhappily, reaching for more grapes, while Henry began to
decide nothing was going to happen to him, at least physically. Souls
were things he wasn't quite sure of, but he couldn't see how just
talking to Alfear could endanger his.

"Still," the creature said thoughtfully, "it could be worse. No
pentagram. I never did get mixed up with some of the foul odors and
messes some of my friends had to take. And I've developed quite a
taste for sugar; tobacco, too." He reached out and plucked a