Practical Demonkeeping by Christopher Moore Page A

giant stone outside the palace, then I created a huge bird of prey that swooped on the demon and tore at his liver, which grew back at once, for like the Djinn, the demon was immortal.
    â€œSolomon was pleased with my work. During my absence he had regained his senses somewhat, and thereby his will. I stood before the king awaiting my reward, feeling my powers wane as Solomon’s will returned.
    â€œâ€˜I have promised that you shall never be returned to the netherworld, and you shall not,’ he said. ‘But this demon has put me off of immortals more than somewhat, and I do not wish that you be allowed to roam free. You shall be imprisoned in a jar and cast into the sea. Should the time come when you are set free to walk the Earth again, you shall have no power over the realm of man except as is commanded by my will, which shall be from now to the end of time the goodwill of all men. By this you shall be bound.’
    â€œHe had a jar fashioned from lead and marked it on all sides with a silver seal. Before he imprisoned me, Solomon promised that Catch would remain chained to the rock until his screams burned into the king’s soul—so that Solomon might never lose his will or his wisdom again. He said he would then send the demon back to hell and destroy the tablets with the invocations, as well as the great seal. He swore these things to me, as if he believed the fate of the demon meant something to me. I didn’t give a camel’s fart about Catch. Then he gave me a last command and sealed the jar. His soldiers cast the jar into the Red Sea.
    â€œFor two thousand years I languished inside the jar, my only comfort a trickle of seawater that seeped in, which I drank with relish, for it tasted of freedom.
    â€œWhen the jar was finally pulled from the sea by a fisherman, and I was released, I cared nothing about Solomon or Catch, only about my freedom. I have lived as a man would live these lastthousand years, bound by Solomon’s will. Of this Solomon spoke truly, but about the demon, he lied.”
    The little man paused and refilled his cup in the ocean. Augustus Brine was at a loss. It couldn’t possibly be true. There was nothing to corroborate the story.
    â€œBegging your pardon, Gian Hen Gian, but why is none of this told in the Bible?”
    â€œEditing,” the Djinn said.
    â€œBut aren’t you confusing Greek myth with Christian myth? The birds eating the demon’s liver sounds an awful lot like the story of Prometheus.”
    â€œIt was my idea. The Greeks were thieves, no better than Solomon.”
    Brine considered this for a moment. He was seeing evidence of the supernatural, wasn’t he? Wasn’t this little Arab drinking seawater as he watched, with no apparent ill effects? And even if some of it could be explained by hallucination, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been the only one to see the strange blue swirls in the store this morning. What if for a moment—just a moment—he took the Arab’s outrageous story for the truth?…
    â€œIf this is true, then how do you know, after all this time, that Solomon lied to you? And why tell me about it?”
    â€œBecause, Augustus Brine, I knew you would believe. And I know Solomon lied because I can feel the presence of the demon, Catch. And I’m sure that he has come to Pine Cove.”
    â€œSwell,” Brine said.

7
ARRIVAL
    Virgil Long backed out from under the hood of the Impala, wiped his hands on his coveralls, and scratched at his four-day growth of beard. He reminded Travis of a fat weasel with the mange.
    â€œSo you’re thinking it’s the radiator?” Virgil asked.
    â€œIt’s the radiator,” Travis said.
    â€œIt might be the whole engine is gone. You were running pretty quiet when you drove in. Not a good sign. Do you have a charge card?”
    Virgil was unprecedented in his inability to diagnose specific engine problems. When he was