I felt the familiar tugging, all too soon it seemed, and fought it for as long as I could. I always fight it. I never prevail, so I don't know why I do, but I really really really don't want to go back to the tangible world. I guess that my resistance is just a manifestation of this disliking.¹
Feeling a strong urge to scare some foolish wizard out of his pentacle, I took the form of a Minotaur.² I reared up with my hooves above my head and let out a ferocious roar, coming down an inch from the wizard's face, snorting dangerously.
When the Minotaur actually saw the wizard, however, it stumbled back. This was not what I had expected. This had happened twice before, and both times I had very nearly been shocked out of my pentacle. And now it was happening again. A boy had summoned me. A boy! Dare to summon the great Bartimaeus, Sakhr al Jinni! Servant to Solomon, Ptolemy, and Mandrake! A boy!
Ah, well. Life goes on.
A minotaur's rather limited facial movement was not quite sufficient to portray my emotions, so I settled into a more comfortable form. It was that of a boy.
The boy was slightly odd. He had large, almond-shaped eyes and a darker complexion, like an Egyptian, but slender hands, almost like a girl's. And his dark brown hair was cropped short, almost like a soldier's cut. He wore no more than a loincloth. It was a sort of replica of the three people in all of the world's history that I admired most.
"So, kid," I asked in a dangerously casual voice, "where's your master? Hiding behind some door, I presume?"
"You shouldn't be presumptuous," he said, in a very annoying voice. It was the voice of someone who knows everything, including the fact that they know anything. The best word to describe it would be "smug."
"I summoned you all on my own."
"Big deal," I sneered. "That's only happened about fifty times to me." Okay, so it was a bit of an exaggeration.
He blanched. "Liar. I'm only twelve."
"Well, guess what? The last kid to summon me was ten." Not entirely true. Nathaniel had been eleven. But barely.
"I don't care. Now, demon, my name is Gregory Hoffman-"
I waggled a finger. "Mistake number one. You just told me your name. Even if it's not your birth name, it gives me some power."
His mouth fell open, and he turned several shades of red in quick succession. When he finally managed to speak, he stuttered, "You have no power over me."
"Oh, really?" I said dryly. "Anything you send at me, I can just reflect back to you." Another lie, honestly.
"Alright, djinni, have it your way. The quicker we get on with this, the quicker you get back to heal your essence."
I decided to listen.
"There's a magician in the Internal Affairs department who publicly humiliated me. He has in his possession an object of some importance."
"And you want me to steal it. Always make the demons do your dirty work."
"Yes."
"Well, then, I'll be off," I said hopefully. If I could leave before he gave any further details, I could steal a sock and pretend it was "an object of some importance."
"Stay, djinni. The object you must steal is the Amulet of Samarkand."
Talk about déjà vu.
I shook my head. "Nope, not gonna do it. My last run-in with the Amulet of Samarkand didn't end too well for any of us."
He smiled nastily. "I'm afraid, demon, that you don't have a choice."
"Quite the contrary," I smirked.
I had found a mistake in the lines of the pentacle. I stepped out lightly. "I'm afraid that summoning me was a very grave mistake on your part."
The kid screamed and stumbled backward. I advanced on him. "You dared to summon Bartimaeus, Sakhr al Jinni, servant and advisor to such notable wizards as Solomon, Ptolemy, and John Mandrake. Breathe your last, human."
John Mandrake. Nathaniel. Humans don't think that demons feel pain, but we do. This particular pain was a melancholy sort of sadness. Nathaniel, Kitty, and Ptolemy were the only three people who had ever lived that I respected. Each had given something for me, had understood that djinni feel emotion and pain as much as they did. Ptolemy had followed me to the Other Place, as had Kitty. They were willing to come to me. Despite the years of slavery Nathaniel had forced me through, he had, in the end, given his life for me. Well, kind of. At least, he used the final seconds of his life to let me go, even though he could have forced me to die with him.
Would there ever be other magicians like them? One could only hope.
Feeling generous, I didn't eat the kid. Instead I towered over him in the form of a dragon for a moment, and then I vanished.
Back to the Other Place.
¹ Okay, so "disliking" is the understatement of the century.
² With a forked tongue. I could never resist that addition.