The Personal Recipe

            As Richard Airbright walked into his house, he scanned through the various bills, letters and magazines that had been stuffed in the postbox. He’d asked Isabelle to check it daily while he was away, but she had clearly neglected to do what she had been asked. He could never be sure if these oversights were merely teenage indolence or some sort of passive-aggressive retribution for some obscure perceived slight.

            It had been easy when Isabelle was younger. She had always had moments in which she felt the need to act out, but as she entered her teenage years, the moments of conflict between them grew more frequent and the pleasant times grew rarer. He hoped dearly that this was only a phase.

            Isabelle’s mother had left when she was only four years old. Georgia had been fiery and passionate, which had drawn him to her in the first place, but he discovered over the years that she had a tendency toward the melodramatic. That and a passionate, unconditional love for alcohol. They had now been separated longer than they had ever been married. It would have been a clean divorce if he were ever able to track her down and keep her in one place long enough to sign the papers.

            He had attempted to time it so that he would arrive while Isabelle was at school, but there had been an accident on the track at Shadowbury Station – some poor sod, likely a suicide – that delayed him for nearly two hours.

            Whispering Jim hovered behind him. The demon was still in a state of shock. It was to be expected. Jim was no Dark Lord, but he was not a mere imp either. He would serve as a useful familiar. The binding ritual had taken a great deal of planning, not to mention expense – the rented house, the forged family history planted in the hall of records - but it was a powerful one. For Isabelle’s sake, Richard would keep the demon inside the Vault most of the time. He doubted it was necessary, but keeping the foul creature away from her seemed the wisest course of action.

            Now, he only hoped he could make it into Vault without arousing Isabelle’s attention.

            “Hello, Dad.” Isabelle was in the kitchen, slicing a green apple. She was making him his favorite snack, green apple and sharp Chesonbury cheese with crackers. Despite his panic at being caught, he felt a certain warmth at the gesture. “What is that thing?”

            She pointed the knife at Whispering Jim. Jim swirled around in a manner analogous to turning his head. “She can see me? Why can she see me?”

            “Shit,” said Richard. He put the post on the kitchen table and rubbed his eyes. “Isabelle, this is Whispering Jim.” Isabelle put the knife down on the counter and brought the plate over to him. “Careful now! He is a demon.”

            “Really?” she said, a mischievous smile forming. “Cool!” Isabelle reached out a hand to try to touch Jim, but Richard pulled the demon back.

            “No, not cool. Very dangerous. Now, he’s going down into the vault.”

            “What kind of tricks can you do?” she asked Jim.

            Jim laughed, an evil, cackling sort of laugh. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, pretty little thing?”

            “Right, this is the sort of thing I’d prefer to avoid,” said Richard. He pulled Jim along with him toward a door inside the pantry. The door was coated with rime – it was made of Cold Iron – and creaked loudly as he pulled it open.

            The Vault was a larger space than one would expect in such a modest-yet-comfortable suburban house. Tapestries and banners speckled with myriad glyphs and sigils covered every wall that did not have a bookcase. There were four different tables, each loaded with several stacks of books. A desk facing the wall was the only clear surface apart from the floor (which had its own clutter.)

            The desk had a computer, a leather writing pad, and a small alchemistry lab. This was only the first room, as corridors opened outward from three of the walls.

            “Your daughter is extremely beautiful,” said Jim. “Is she still a virgin?”

            Richard snorted. Whispering Jim was playing it by the book, it seemed, and clearly did not appreciate his own situation. “Demon, you are already defeated. Your tricks won’t work on me. I can see them for what they are.”

            Richard led the demon down an arched stone corridor to another room. There was a large cage here, and it was electrified. Jim smirked. “Putting me in the cage? I’m not just some animal, you know?”

            “I do know that, demon. And the cage is not for you. This is:” Richard picked up a small metal ball on a chain. It was only a few centimeters across, but it was clearly quite heavy. While the ball seemed to be solid, the metal appeared to swirl and flow, as if it were liquid just below the surface. The ball was attached by a fine chain to something that was little more than a handcuff. “Now, Jim, hold out your hand.”

            Jim did so involuntarily. The Cold Iron shackles seemed to be pumping some kind of energy that forced Jim to comply. Richard slapped the cuff onto Jim’s already-burdened wrist, and when he let go, the demon plummeted, arm-first to the ground.

            “What is this thing?” asked the demon. He strained to rise, but could not under the weight of the strange little ball.

            “Oh, a little bit of this and a little bit of that. A personal recipe.” Richard yawned. It had been a long day of travel, even without leaving the city. “You will remain here until I have a use for you. If you sleep, do try to get some rest.”

            Whispering Jim strained his arm once more against the weight, but it was useless. “Wait… mortal!” But Richard was already on his way out. “Hold, please…” He could hear the sound of the warlock’s footsteps fading. “Master, wait!”

            The steps stopped, and then they grew louder as Richard returned. “What is it?”

            “Are you just going to leave me here? All night?”

            Richard laughed. “Surely you cannot be afraid of the dark?”

            Whispering Jim attempted to drag himself toward the warlock, but the manacle bound him to where he had fallen. “What do you want with me? How long do you intend to keep me here?”

            “You claim to be older than the universe. Surely you can wait in here for a day or two.”

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)