"You're doing this on purpose." Harry bent and used a plastic shopping bag to retrieve yet another of Jim's offerings left on the velvety green of the Tuileries. "This is why they call you a demon, isn't it? You're tormenting me with poop."

Jim, ignoring him, lumbered over to a small shrub and watered it.

Harry disposed of the bag in a proper receptacle. "Can we go now? You've pooped four times, you can't possibly have anything left inside of you."

"Oh, like I enjoy dropping a load out in the open where anyone can see?" Jim snarled. "What sort of demon do you take me for."

"One who is going to have a quick visit to the neutered if you don't shape up and get with the program," Harry said through his teeth. "And lower your voice! I told you there is no talking out in public."

Jim essayed an injured sniff but allowed itself to be escorted toward the path that led to the north side of the busy Paris park.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, looking down at its front. "Where's your drool bib?"

Harry's little demon in fur pursed its lip and tried to look innocent when it just looked awkward on a dog's face. "What bib?"

Harry spun around and searched the wide-open green area they'd just visited. "The one I bought at the pet store. Jim, so help me, if you deliberately lost it-"

"Excuse me, I'm a demon! I'm the dread servant of a demon lord! I bring fear and loathing to all mortal hearts! Demons don't wear drool cloths!"

"Demons who slobber all over themselves do. I do not have the time to stop every five minutes to mop you up." Harry rustled around in his bag, pulling out a second bib he had wisely purchased at the same time he had bought Jim a collar and leash. Harry tied it around the demon's neck. "Don't lose this one! Now let's go find Drake's lair. Which direction should we go?"

"How should I know? I'm just a walking drool bib." Harry stopped walking and grabbed Jim by the fuzzy black ear nearest to him.

"Listen here, you horrible little minion of Hell-"

"Abaddon," Jim said.

"What?"

It gave Harry an impatient look. "Abaddon. Don't you know anything? We who serve the dark masters refer to home sweet home as Abaddon, not the other word."

Harry glanced around quickly to make sure no one saw him talking to his dog and then made squinty eyes. "Why?"

He swore Jim shrugged. "Names have power. The one you keep tossing around had more power than most. I would have thought that as a Guardian you knew that, but I forgot that I've been bound to the Forrest Gump of Guardians. Lucky, lucky me."

"Right… it's Voldemort all over again." Harry sighed, losing the remainder of his patience. "You have made me waste two whole hours while I ran around finding food that you would accept, not to mention undergoing a detailed tour of the Tuileries while you peed on every available shrub-"

"I like to pee. It's fun. We don't get to do anything like this back home."

Harry ignored the interruption, keeping a wary eye out for eavesdroppers. "-as well as dropped demon shite everywhere, which I had to clean up, so now it's time for you to do the job I summoned you to do, find Drake's lair. Which direction is it?"

A mother and her two children strolled by, the woman pausing to say something something harsh to him. He had no idea what her problem was until he looked down to find Jim writhing in apparent agony, making the most tortured face a Newfie could possibly make.

He released Jim's ear and patted it on the head as he told her, "Don't pay any attention to it, it's trying to drive me insane."

"Sounds like a short trip," Jim muttered just loud enough for Harry to hear as the woman snarled something in what Harry was willing to bet was gutter French before she stormed off.

"Oh, thank you so very much. Just make me look like the type of person who beats up on dogs!"

"You held my ear hard," Jim accused.

"You're a demon!" Harry all but shouted, wanting to rip his hair out in frustration. "You're used to eternal torment, not that I was holding your ear hard. So stop complaining, stop stalling, stop creating distractions, and do the job I brought you here to do !"

"I don't suppose you'd care to swing by another brocherie for a morsel more of that prime-aged beef you bought me this morning?"

Harry let the demon see in his eyes its fate if it didn't do what he wanted.

Jim sighed and plopped down in an unhappy slump. "I can't."

Another group of children were approaching. Harry tugged on the leash, heading to a quiet area next to some trees. "You can't what?" Harry asked when they were far enough away to not be heard by anyone else.

"I can't find the wyvern's lair."

Harry counted to ten like Hermione had once taught him to do so he wouldn't strangle Jim. Not that Harry was entirely sure he could since it (a) wasn't technically a living being and (b) was approximately the size of a small pony, and thus strangling with his bare hands would be difficult. But let it never be said that Harry wasn't motivated when the need calls for it.

Through still-clenched teeth, Harry said, "But not completely out of the question. Why can't you find Drake's lair?"

Jim rolled its eyes. "Because I don't know where it is! Do I look like I have the phone book memorized?"

"You're a demon. You have demonic powers. I may not be the savviest Guardian around, but I do know that demons have all sorts of abilities, and surely one of them must be to find someone who is being sought."

"In a normal situation, yes," Jim said, looking longingly at the bank of rhododendrons. Harry jerked on the leash to remind it that Harry was waiting. "But my case is a little different. I don't have any powers."

The last sentence was spoken so softly, that Harry thought he'd misheard it. "You what?"

It glared at him. "I don't have any powers, okay? Amaymon stripped me of them when he cast me out of his legions. You want to rub a little salt into the wound? Go right ahead. I'm just a demon; I don't have any feelings."

"You don't," Harry agreed. Jim sniffed and turned away as if the tears were imminent. Harry reminded himself that demons might take the form of a human, or in this deranged instance a dog, but they weren't human. They didn't have feelings that could be hurt with mere words. "You can stop pretending you're crying because I'm not buying it. Will you stop it? You're making me feel like the biggest bully on the face of the earth."

Harry reluctantly pulled a tissue out of his bag and wiped up the doggy tears that Jim had somehow managed to manufacture.

"You yelled at me."

Harry tried to take a deep calming breath, but it got caught in his throat for a moment. "If anyone ever told me that a demon would make me feel guilty about asking it to do the job it was summoned to do, I would say that person had gone round the twist."

Jim gave him an accusatory look.

Harry raised his hands in surrender and staggered over to a bench to collapse in defeat. "I give up. I just absolutely give up. I asked Drake nicely to give me back my dragon, and he refused. I asked him a few questions, and he gave me the runaround for answers. I summoned up a demon, and I got a demon that's been kicked out of Abaddon. Why am I trying anymore?"

Jim sat next to his feet. "You want me to find some balloons for this pity party you're having?"

"Go away," Harry mumbled. "Just go back to wherever it is you came from, and just leave me alone."

"I can't leave. You're my master, remember?"

"I'm freeing you."

"Doesn't work that way."

Harry looked up at the demon. "Oh right, I have to conduct the release ritual. I can't do it here. You'll just have to wait until I get back to the hotel."

"Whatever. No hurry. I'm enjoying being out. As you can imagine, we demons don't get around much. Last time I was in Paris they were beheading everyone. Ah, how I miss the good old days."

Harry sighed heavily and gave up on feeling sorry for himself. He could never do it well. "Well, poop. And no, I don't mean that as a command."

Jim made a husky sound that Harry took as laughter. He shook his finger at it. "Don't even think of trying to be nice to me, I can't take it right now."

"Nice? Moi ? Never."

The expression of astonishment on Jim's furry face was so amusing Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Right. Let's get down to business then. If you can't help me find Drake, I'll just have to manage it myself, although how I'm supposed to do that is beyond me at the moment."

"You could look in the phone book," Jim suggested, lifting a paw to examine it.

"Dragons don't list themselves in phone books," Harry said dismissively, an idea blossoming as he spoke. He thought about it for a while, gave it a long, hard look, and decided it was a good one. "Drake told me the answer I sought was in the circle, so I'm going to take him at his word. Come on Demon Jim. We're going back to the scene of the crime."

"Give me a couple of minutes. You're not going to believe what I found I can do," Jim said, its voice muffled as it engaged in a bit of groinal hygiene.

"You're bloody disgusting. The ew factor on that is borderline vomit territory," Harry said, tugging on its leash until the great furry black head emerged from the depths of its crotch. He ignored the glazed look in Jim's eyes and got to his feet, heading out of the park and toward the nearest Metro stop.

"Come on, you'll like the Metro. As a dog, you've got carte blanche to smell strangers' crotches."

"Really? That's something, although not nearly as good as licking my own-"

"When we get to Mme. Deauxcille's house," Harry interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. Hell, he hadn't wanted to hear the beginning of that sentence either. "I want you to look around and see if anything strikes you as odd. Drake was convinced that a demon was summoned by the circle. Maybe you can tell me who it was."

A half-hour later, they crossed the five-arched stone Pont Marie bridge from the right bank to the Ile Saint-Louis and turned onto the Rue Sang des Innocents. The street was back to normal, he was pleased to note, no longer in the grip of whatever it was that had left it so lifeless and quiet.

"Remember, you're a dog whenever people are around," he said a bit nervously as they approached Mme. Deauxville's building.

"The words demon and stupid aren't interchangeable," Jim said, in a bit of a pout because of a woman on the Metro that objected to having her butt snuffled.

"Just remember that," Harry warned, and taking a deep breath, making sure no one was looking at them, he waved his hand to wandlessly and silently unlock the door. He hustled Jim up on the carpeted stairs in case anyone came out to see who had entered the building unannounced. He stopped just long enough to tap on Mme. Deauxville's door, making sure no one was inside before hurrying down the tiny hall to the back door.

"Bet it's locked," Jim said.

"Hush. Of course, it's locked, but I am more than a one-trick pony. I am more than a B-Class Guardian and reject Wyvern's mate," Harry said with a mischievous grin, waving his hand once more and the door swept open with the push of his magic.

"You've got to be kidding," Jim said, disbelief rampant in its eyes. "You're a Magi."

"If you mean a wizard, then yes I am. Quite good at it too in comparison to being a Guardian."

"Better not let the Otherworld denizens learn what you are. They are not very tolerant of your kind mingling with them" Jim warned.

"So I've gathered. But I'm suspected of murdering a woman I don't even know," Harry hissed, waving the demon into the dark, musty room, and checking the hallway before closing the door. "Being unwanted by a population of people is the least of my worries and not something that is new to me. This must be the laundry room. The living room is to the left. Don't touch anything!"

The delicate tinkle of glass hitting linoleum was the answer to his command.

"Jim!"

"Sorry. Thought it was something to eat. When's lunch?"

"So help me, if I live through this…" He crept on tippy toes through a tall-ceilinged bedroom with a four-poster bed swathed in white and gold gauze, a color scheme that was carried throughout the room. An antique gold fainting couch sat along one wall, a huge ebony armoire opposite. Bouquets of near-dead lilies were scattered around the room, making the air mustier with their heavy decaying scent. The curtains were drawn, but the closed apartment retained the heat of the day.

"Antiques, very nice. This is what I call proper living, not at all like the pit of hotel you've been staying in."

"Shut. Up." Harry opened the door to the living room cautiously, his nose wrinkling with the stale smell of the room. "Okay, no one's here. That's the circle. Drake wanted to know if it was open or closed. What do you think?"

"You're the Guardian, you should know."

Harry crossed the room and squatted down next to the circle, Jim beside him. "I'm kind of new to the Guardian business." Jim snorted. He ignored the snort and held his hand above the circle. The air around it tingled slightly. Harry examined the ash circle, noting that the salt had sunk deep into the fibers of the carpet while the ash remained on top. "I think it's closed. It feels…active. Unfinished. Almost as if it's waiting for something."

Jim nosed around the couch, pausing to sniff the black mark on the carpet that Drake had pointed out.

"Was that made by a demon?"

"Not any demon I know," Jim said, moving over to look out the tall windows.

Harry sat back, more than a little surprised by the answer. "It wasn't a demon? Are you sure?"

The look Jim shot him spoke volumes. "I may be powerless, but I'm not totally inept. That mark wasn't made by a demon. Take a look at it yourself. It's just charcoal, not demon smoke."

Harry crawled over to it, swearing to himself. If a demon hadn't actually been summoned by whoever had killed Mme. Deauxville, then someone wanted it to look like one had been called. But that didn't make sense, because he had felt that something was wrong even before he entered the apartment, so a demon must have been here. He looked at the black mark on the carpet feeling quite confused. Why had he thought it was such a good idea to tackle this strange new world when he was almost completely clueless?

Pride, probably. Or Gryffindor stupidity, either way.

"Brazen be damned, I'm going to ask for some help," Harry swore, kneeling by the circle to make a sketch of the exact arrangement of the symbols in the small notebook that he'd borrowed from Amelie. Once that was done, he stared down at the circle, unsure of what else he was supposed to see in it. Drake sounded so positive when he said he'd find the answers in it.

"Can a Guardian tell who drew a circle?" Harry wondered as he considered the ashy markings.

"An experienced Guardian, possibly. A neophyte like you?" Jim stopped looking out the window long enough to shake its head. "Unlikely."

"Oi! Rude." Harry gnawed on his lower lip for a few seconds. "Could a Guardian tell what specific demon was summoned by the circle?" Harry couldn't think of a reason why knowing what demon was summoned would help him solve the murder, but it was the only other thing he could think of.

Jim didn't even bother looking his way. "If they couldn't, they aren't much of a Guardian."

"Really? How, exactly?"

Jim sat and started licking at its belly. Harry quickly averted his eyes in case it decided to give its personal equipment another spit bath. "You summoned a demon, and you don't know how you did it?"

Harry gave a mental sigh, this is why Hermione was usually in charge. "I really hate it when everyone answers my questions with more questions."

The demon glanced at Harry before returning to washing its belly. "We're just trying to swing the scale from clueless to merely incompetent."

Harry ignored the comment and studied the circle, thinking back to the circle he drew to summon Jim. "The demon's six symbols! That's how I can tell which demon was summoned."

"Give the kid a cigar."

"But this circle doesn't have anything but the twelve symbols of Ashtaroth." Harry chewed his lip again, searching for signs that the six demon symbols had been rubbed out. There were none.

Jim gave a huge martyred sigh. "If you're any sort of a Guardian, you should be able to feel which demon was summoned by opening yourself to the possibilities."

"The possibilities?" Harry said skeptically. "How do I do that?"

"What am I, the headmaster at Guardian school? I've got better things to do than hold your hand." Jim got up and started down the tiny hall toward the bedroom.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"To drink out of the toilet, since you seem to have forgotten that this magnificent form I have needs both feeding and watering."

"Don't touch anything else!" Harry warned, then looked back at the circle. "Open myself to the possibilities. How hard could that be? Am I even supposed to know what that means?"

He remembered the door in his mind that had opened when Drake gave him the dragon's fire and decided to see if he could do the same without being lip-locked with the sexiest dragon in Western Europe. "Guess it's worth a try. I can't do anything worse than fail."

He closed his eyes, his hands outstretched toward the circle. After a few moments of clearing out the everyday hustle and bustle of his mind, something he had gotten better at years after his failed occlumency lessons, he settled down to open himself to the possibilities and the rest of the room.

Slowly the muffled noises of Paris outside the apartment, the sounds of Jim drinking at the toilet, and the musty closed smell of the apartment faded into the background.

As he swung the mental door open, he was amazed, all he had felt before was a slight tingle around the circle. The power contained within it was enough to make the hairs on his arms stand on end. He could see it, even with his eyes closed, he saw it much clearer in his mind than when he viewed the scene with mere eyes. It was as if a switch had been flipped on that gave him tremendous clarity of vision.

He looked down at the circle and clearly saw the six demon symbols that were drawn in salt, not ash, and like the salt circle itself, the symbols had sunk down into the depths of the carpet.

"Bafamal," he said, the name coming to his mind with a surety that made even him believe it even though he didn't consciously recognize the symbols. "This circle was drawn to summon Bafamel, but he didn't answer the summons."

"Why?"

The voice was Jim's. Harry turned blindly toward the windows around which Jim had been sniffing. He could feel echoes of the demon as if its presence had violated the room. "Because it was already here. It left by window."

As the words sank into his brain, the door in his mind closed with a soft snick. Harry opened his eyes, almost disappointed with what he saw. The colors of reality were dull in comparison to what he'd just seen, the edges and contours not quite so defined. Just as he was mourning the loss of his super brain-vision, he realized what had just happened. "The demon Bafamel left by the window, but why?"

Harry got to his feet and went over to the window to look out. "There's a fire escape here."

"No!" Jim said in mock surprise.

"My best friend taught me a castration spell last year, don't tempt me demon," Harry said, but without any heat as he examined the window. There were black splotches of powder all over it where the police had fingerprinted the woodwork. Harry unlatched the window, pushing it open. "One has to assume that a demon must have a reason for escaping through a window rather than just disappearing in a puff of nasty-smelling smoke. Come on, Jim. Let's see where this leads."

Harry waited until Jim left the apartment, using his magic to close and latch the window once more. The end of the fire escape nearest to them led to a ladder that went up, not down. He turned and walked the length of the building to where a metal ladder could be dropped down halfway to the ground.

He examined the ladder, noting that the police had fingerprinted it as well. Point one for Inspector Proust. "Interesting. So the demon escapes out the window rather than going back to He-...Abaddon. Maybe whoever summoned the demon still had things for it to do? Unless Drake showed up in the apartment at the point and it needed to make an escape without drawing any attention. Wonder if Drake came inside by the window as well?"

"Why would he?" Jim asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but then, I don't know why Drake was here in the first place if he isn't the murderer. And I've not been sufficiently convinced that he isn't involved somehow."

"Are you going to stand there and debate the issue all day, or can we get down?"

Jim was peering over the edge of the fire escape. There was definitely a look of unease on its doggy face.

"Scared of heights?" Harry asked.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm a demon. The only thing we're scared of are the demon princes and the dark master of them all."

"That sneer doesn't quite convince me." Harry grinned but took pity on Jim as he slid the ladder into place, quickly climbing down it. "Last step's a doozy, be careful," Harry said, rubbing his knees that had protested the four-foot drop. He needed to get back into exercise again, his body was protesting moving around so much on this trip.

"I don't suppose you could just wave your magic around to get me down?" Jim asked from the top of the ladder.

"You're a demon, you can't feel pain. Jump."

"Doesn't mean I want to ruin this nice form by breaking my legs," Jim grumbled, but it managed to head down most of the steps and Harry did cast a wandless cushioning charm before Jim jumped to land beside him.

"Any idea which way the demon would have gone?" He asked, looking down the shady alley that ran the width of the building. He peered into the shadows, trying to determine whether a demon would have been likely to run in that direction.

Jim didn't answer him.

"Look, I'm not asking you to be actually helpful or anything, but you could offer me a bit of advice once in a while. I don't think that would kill you."

Harry turned around to glare at Jim and came face-to-face with the mild brown eyes of Inspector Proust. "Gah!"

"And bonjour to you too," Inspector Proust said. His eyebrows raised a fraction as his warm eyes considered him. "You'll forgive my impertinent curiosity, M. Potter-Black, but I am unable to keep from asking if you often find yourself receiving advice from dogs?"

Harry looked down at Jim, who was sitting with an unusually smug look on its face. Harry wasn't sure how long Inspector Proust had been there and what he might have seen or heard or not. Harry sighed, there he stood next to the fire escape that led up to the apartment of a murdered woman.

One whose death he was suspected of causing.

"Ah, Hell," Harry said and meant it.