Alright everyone, sorry this is going to be such a short chapter. My next one is insane long though, so! Thanks everyone keeping up with my story.

Also, a thanks to SP-CrazyKitty, who drew some fanart for the Coon and Friends II. Since ffn won't let me post links, you can find it at their deviantart: angelaaaa777

End of note, and happy reading!

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The boys walked around to the side of the house and leaned up against the wall, the sky fading into shades similar to cat vomit. The trees shook snow from their branches in the wind, and if you looked closely, you could catch animal tracks pressed into the snow. Kenny held an ice cream cone in his hand, taking bites out of it with a loud crunch every few minutes.

"Hey, I—what are you eating?"

"Ice cream," Kenny said between bites.

"You got ice cream for dinner?" he asked incredulously, looking around at the murky snow under their feet.

"No, just the cone."

Kyle stretched his arms up over his head and tried to disguise a yawn as a drawn out exhale. The sound of the cone crunching and the drone of a car passing filled the air inside their comfortable silence.

"Cartman wants to summon Damien," Kyle said, "and it doesn't look like there's a chance of changing his mind about it. Stan said not to pay attention to their plans. He thinks there's no way they could pull that off, but Cartman—I know he's not going to let improbability stop him. We've gotta do something!"

"Damn."

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Swallow.

"I'm putting fires out all over this week."

"What?"

Kenny shrugged, dismissing him. He didn't want to tell Kyle about his encounter with Stan earlier. That shit was classified. Totally private. He wouldn't tell anyone until advised otherwise.

"I'll take care of it," he said instead, and he held up one covered hand, his pinky lifted up into the air.

Kyle stared at him. "I'm not making a pinky promise with you."

Kenny's eyebrows arched upward. His hand remained unmoving.

"What are you, five?"

The only reaction he received was a confident smirk. Kyle wrapped his pinky around Kenny's firmly. They broke apart when Kenny pulled back and finished the remains of the cone. He pulled on the strings of his parka, bringing it back up over his mouth.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

When Kyle had turned off the corner and left his street, he felt his excuse for a dinner catch in his throat. His vision darkened and he was choked to another death.

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The dirt flew up around him, and he burned his way through the underground. He paused to light up another cigarette and bring it to his mouth. He sent a spiral of ashes down onto his boots and continued to dig. He met up with another one of his tunnels, his dark brown eyes scanning through the darkness. He'd found the right one. The Mole reached for the communication device strapped to his belt. He untangled the wire and held the can up.

"Reporting in," he said, smoke flooding up around him. He waited a few seconds, then held it up to his ear.

No one answered.

"Gregory, do you copy? Is the chicken noodle receiving well?"

"I'm not replying until you use the code names we assigned at the base." Gregory's voice came back to the Mole's ears sounding tinny and far away, because Gregory was speaking into aluminum and was, quite frankly, far away.

Christophe spat, "I'm not going to call you Monsieur Darcy."

"Don't tell me you're getting uppity because you're Resetti."

Christophe scowled and dropped the tomato soup can where he stood. He felt the ground slowly inclining as he walked forward. When he saw pale light flooding in near the top, it took his eyes mere seconds to adjust to the oncoming brightness. His fingers dug into the earth and he climbed up.

Cartman was standing at a blackboard he'd dragged into the basement, scribbling out a poor rendition of what he had in mind for the demon summoning. It included where the demons would specifically attack—he made a point of them taking the school under siege—and where the portal could and could not be opened. The Mole clapped once, loudly.

"Fuck!" Cartman whirled around. "Don't British people have manners programmed in them or something? Stop barging in here without telling anyone."

"I'm French, you fat fuck," Mole frowned. He crossed his legs and sat on the ground, watching the hole. He silently counted back from ten, and as soon as he'd mouthed the word 'zero,' Gregory climbed out beside him.

He had a leather bound book tucked under his arm, the pages a sun bleached yellow. The cover had a symbol etched into it. He set the book heavily down on the table. It seemed to sigh as he set it down, and a coat of dirt and dust fluffed into the air around it.

"We've found the right book," he said.

"Yeah, sweet, totally," Cartman replied, his voice trailing up in pitch. "Where the fuck's my demon?"

Gregory turned to a seemingly random page in the book, and he pointed his index finger to the top of the page. Incantations of a language Cartman couldn't read nor identify were inscribed in faded ink. "It says here the ritual's to be done on a new moon, due to his status in the underworld. Fortunately for us, the new moon's this Monday. We've already made a list of ingredients and procedures based on the instructions here."

"It requires a personal sacrifice."

Cartman looked over to the boy sitting beside the hole.

"Like what?"

"Something that is of value to you or Wendy," he shrugged.

"I trust you can sort out what that'll be. I'll also need you to get a silver ring and a whisker from a cat," Gregory said. "Those should be fairly easy to acquire. We'll be here on Monday at nine o'clock sharp. Be here or our arrangement is off."

They dropped back into the tunnel, arguing quietly as they headed back the way they came. Cartman looked at the book on the table, squinting his eyes at the strange text.

"Zomezing zat eez of value," he said, mimicking Christophe's accent. He rolled his eyes and returned to drawing out his plans. "Like I'm gonna to give something up."