Ptolemy materialized in the pentacle opposite a very flustered magician. His hair, once without a strand out of place, now stood up in sweat-slicked spikes.

"Well demon?" he spat as his face twisted into unpleasant shapes. There was still fear in his eyes, in the way his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white, but it was masked by anger now. And that did not bode well for him. "What news have you for me?"

Ptolemy began carefully. "I searched the magician's house, just as you requested. But I found nothing of interest."

The magician blinked. "What do you mean, 'nothing of interest?'"

"He keeps no records of his activities, or if he does, he keeps them very carefully hidden." The urge to say something sarcastic bit at his tongue. "I followed him to Trafalgar Square and watched him. I saw him do nothing."

The magician shifted in his pentacle and crept up as close to the outer edge as he dared. "Did you see him talk to anyone?" he demanded. "Demon or human. And tell the truth. If you dare lie to me..." He trailed off. The threat hung like a damp blanket over his head.

"I saw nobody."

"Dammit! I know he-" He cut the sentence short. "Either you're hiding something from me, or you're just incompetent."

Ptolemy's curiosity got the better of him. "You obviously suspect him of something," he said as gently as possible. He settled down cross-legged on the floor and did his best to ignore the stench of rosemary. "And it's hardly my fault that you gave me next to nothing to go on. You didn't even give me his name. "

It was absurd. Were they all like this? His cousin's paranoia dimmed before that of this boy.

He saw his hands move, heard him speak a few words. Ptolemy doubled over and curled up into a ball as he was struck with red-hot pain. Then he sat back up, a hand on his stomach but doing his best to look calm.

"You will do what I tell you to, and not question it. Is that understood?"

Ptolemy refused to be afraid of him. Instead, he turned his chin up asked, "What are you afraid of?"

"You're a demon," he said. Always that word, spat at him like curse. But there was a waver in his voice and Ptolemy was reminded that this magician was just a boy. He was repeating what he's been taught, like a parrot. "You can't trick me."

"I'm not trying to trick you. I just want to get off of this planet as soon as possible. You want information about your magician. We'll both get what we want a lot faster if you," he searched for the right word. He had a feeling 'would trust me' wouldn't go over very well with the magician. "Cooperate with me."

The magician scoffed. He'd slicked back his hair at some point, but it still stood up in stiff peaks. "Cooperate with you? Why would you want to cooperate with me? You're a demon! All you want to do is to hurt us."

Ptolemy snapped. "And why do you think that is?" He stood up and the candles around his pentacle guttered as the light seemed to drain from the room. "You drag us here into this world against our will. You rip us from our home and then expect us to do your bidding." The candlelight cast rippling shadows across his face, even though the room was perfectly well-lit. "Every single step we take on this planet is pain. We obey you under threat of more pain, you treat us like the dirt beneath your boots, and yet it surprises you when we rebel?" Ptolemy was surprised by how easily he was adjusting to thinking of himself as a spirit. And then on second thought, he really wasn't. "You are blind." The howling of the wind punctuated every word. It rose to a crescendo, the magician's knees buckled and he clapped his hands to his ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the noise. And then- silence. The wind in the room died down to a mere breeze and the flames on the candles grew long once again.

The boy staggered to his feet, face drained of all blood. He bit down on his lower lip to stop it from shaking. "And what would you know of this world? This is your first summoning. This is your first summoning," he repeated. His voice was shaking too much for him to be able to tell if it was a question.

Ptolemy remained silent.

"Have you been on Earth before?" he spat. Evidently that had been a question, and one that he expected an answer to. "And before you think to lie to me, remember that there will be consequences." He spoke slowly, each syllable rolling off his tongue with a deliberation that Ptolemy found insulting.

He had a feeling he knew what he was really being asked, but he would play this game. He was being petulant, he knew it, but by now he liked to think that he'd earned the right to be. "This is the first time that I have been summoned, as I suspect you already know. Otherwise you would have found my name in one of your books, and your question would be irrelevant. Unless you meant to summon somebody else and mispronounced the name?" He ended the question with an overly-sweet smile. He was playing to the boy's pride now; something all magicians had in common from his (admittedly limited) experience.

The magician pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously struggling with the urge to use another punishment. "No," he scowled. "I was merely curious." He said it in a tone that made it clear he wished to speak no more on the subject.

But Ptolemy wasn't willing to let it go so easily. "Then how did you know my name?"

He squinted at Ptolemy. "What do you mean, 'know'? I summoned you. It was I who gave you your name." He spoke the words slowly and with purpose, but the question mark on the end of the sentence practically hung over their heads, like a sword suspended by a thread. The magician leaned forward. His nose came dangerously close to the edge of the pentacle.

"Was it?" Ptolemy asked. He was growing tired of these games, of dancing around the magician while he (not quite skillfully, but with a certain grace found only in politicians) evaded every question. He too leaned forward and came as near to the edge of his pentacle as he dared. "Or is there something else going on here?"

This was quickly devolving into a staring contest. The magician's mouth hung slightly open. He made a noise that was somewhere in between a stutter and a squeak.

"That is none of your concern." The magician fell back on the same old defense. "You are to do a I tell you an-"

"And no more. I understand." He backed away from the edge of the pentacle and took up a casual stance in the center. "We do not have to be enemies here. It would be mutually beneficial if we were to work together. Now tell me what is going on." A casual observer might have taken this as a friendly suggestion. But a casual observer would have missed the glint of steel determination in his eyes and the way his shadow stretched out unnaturally long behind him.

If the magician's eyes narrowed any farther they would have been completely closed. Ptolemy could see his muscles tense as his body went rigid. He could see, in perfect detail, the way his pupils dilated and the way he took the smallest step backwards. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and then he spoke. "You are Ptolemaeus of Alexandria." It was half question and half statement, still delicately tiptoeing around the issue.

He found himself taking a small breath in, despite that he no longer needed to. "Yes. I am."

The magician also took a deep breath in. "So, you remember being human?" Then, almost as if he had to remind himself. "But you're still-"

He'd had just about enough of this. "A demon? Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I don't see what difference that should make."

"You are a demon," he echoed. "But you're different from the rest of them, aren't you? You remember what it's like being human. You're willing to work with me. You remember-" Ptolemy tuned him out. He was just listing facts off the top of his head. The sudden realisation that a demon could feel, of all things, must have been too much for him.

"No." Ptolemy said.

"No?" The magician's face twisted into a look of utter confusion. He'd lost his footing on comfortable ground long ago, and now he was utterly lost. "But you said that you'd-"

"I'm still willing to cooperate. But I am no different from the other spirits. The only difference here," Ptolomy found it impossible to continue his calm facade. Shadows settled around his face and the air crackled with energy. "The only difference is that I, unlike the others, have not been enslaved for thousands of years. What do you think that does to a person?" Instead of yelling, his voice grew deathly calm.

"I don't-" he shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"But not sorry enough to let me go."

"No. I still have things that have to be done. Besides, I suspect you would be no happier if I were to release you and summon another spirit in your place."

With some reluctance, he allowed him that point. "So," he said as he put on his best fake smile, "Tell me about this magician of yours."

There was a second's hesitation on the magician's part. "I've been working on a project-"

"I project which involves attempting to summon dead people?"

He nodded. "Don't interrupt me." But there was less of an edge to it now. "I suspect that he is trying to spy on me and steal my work. He suspects the same. Several of my notes went missing from my desk today. Nothing important, luckily. Just some documents I was supposed to sign. But you noticed him do nothing unusual? Did he talk to anyone, or leave any notes, or anything else suspicious?" His voice had a growing edge of desperation to it.

"I already told you, I noticed nothing. His library was protected too well," he admitted. "I could not get into it. He left a note for his apprentice, but that was it. Nothing suspicious."

"I see..." He trailed off, looking at the ground. After an awkward pause, he spoke again. "My name's Lucien, by the way." His hand twitched upward and out toward Ptolemy. He pulled it back sharply. "Obviously not my actual name," he added, chewing on his lower lip.

"Obviously."

There was a pause.

"You already know my name."

Lucien nodded. "That library. How well-guarded is it?"

"Enough."

"Well then, he's obviously hiding something in there. You need to get in there and find out what it is. Do not reveal yourself to anyone in any way."

"Or it could just be paranoia. If he suspects that you're spying on him, it would be only natural for him to-"

"I don't care," he snapped. "You will get in that library and find whatever it is he's hiding. You are free to return whenever you want on the condition that you first enter and investigate the library. If you do not return within a week, I will summon you. Now go. You have wasted enough of my time already."

Ptolemy went, not waiting around for further dismissal. That could have gone better. But it could have also gone a lot worse. As he dissipated into a cloud of smoke, he got the feeling that he'd managed to get himself tangled up in something far larger than he'd first imagined.

Oh look. It's an update. Happy holidays and stuff. I planned to have this out a bit earlier, but then life happened. Life and NaNoWriMo.

And as always, a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed.