"He's beautiful!" said Kira. "But . . . he won't break or anything, will he?"

"He's beautiful!" said Kira. "But . . . he won't break or anything, will he?"

"Having a spotter from the air would help," said Merlin.

"All right," said Kira. "Come along, Ramses."

"Oh, thank you!" the gleaming creature said. "You won't regret this, you'll see!"

"Okay," said Gomez, "I'll hold down the fort here, in case any of my troops out there spot anything and

report in. Good luck. Be careful out there."

"Thanks, Gomez," Kira said. "Okay, Tony, let's go. We'll check out the downtown area, first."

"Hang on," the unicorn said as Ramses bounded up into the air and started circling above them, climbing

higher and higher. As the sun slowly started to set, they galloped off into the twilight.

Wulfgar sat cross-legged on the floor near the center of the room. His long, fiery red hair cascaded

down his shoulders and his coppery-gold skin seemed to gleam in the candlelight. In the center of the

dimly illuminated room, there was a pentagram painted on the floor.

In the old days, Wulfgar remembered, the evocation of demons was a solemn ceremony, carried off with

elaborate ritual. There was, however, no real need for ritual, or such props as a human skull, a grimoire,

or a "hand of glory" the amputated and mummified hand of a dead man. The old rituals had served a

purpose in their day, to maintain tradition and to help create an atmosphere conducive to the proper

frame of mind and focused concentration. However, Wulfgar was an advanced adept, even among his

own kind, and he had no need of such trappings. He had done this many times before and he had

reduced the spell to bare simplicity. The most important thing about the evocation of the demon was for

the adept to maintain discipline and concentration. Some spells grew easier with practice. The evocation

of a demon, however, was always dangerous, even to an Old One, for there was nothing in the world

that was as dangerous as the dark side of one's own subconscious. The stronger the necromancer grew,

the strongerit grew, for it was a part of him. Mastering the spell itself, while difficult, was nevertheless the

easiest part. The hardest part was maintaining control over the demonic entity.

As the candles guttered in their holders on the floor, around Wulfgar and at each corner of the

pentagram, Wulfgar closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply and regularly, gathering his

concentration. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, then let the air out in a deep and resonant

"Ohhhhhh," like the baritone chanting of a Russian Orthodox Church deacon. Gradually, he induced a

state of calm and inner-directed strength within himself, then he began to intone the words of the

evocation spell in a language that had not been heard on earth since before the dawn of history.

The glow of the candles seemed to wane, even though their flames did not diminish. The atmosphere

within the room seemed to grow thicker. The darkness in the corners of the room intensified. As Wulfgar

intoned the words of the ancient spell, the candles started strobing and there seemed to be a pressure

building up inside the darkened room. Something began to coalesce in the air above the pentagram. At

first, it resembled the swirling of tiny motes of dust, then it gathered into a mist that spun like a whirlpool

and gave off a blue glow of thaumaturgic energy. Faster, it spun, faster and faster and faster, building up a

force of wind that threatened to suck the air out of the room. Wulfgar remained motionless, with his eyes