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would collapse into a pile of smoldering rubble, the evil souls within sucked into Hell, to be tormented by demons for eternity.” She laughed. “A pleasant thought, but no, my departure would merely hamper their efforts. Significantly hamper, though—putting an end to their most ambitious projects.”
    Release the demon under promise that I’d be repaid handsomely, my enemies destroyed? Hmm, where had I seen this before? Oh, right. Every demon horror movie ever made. And the horror part started right after the releasing part.
    “I don’t think so,” I said.
    “Ah, yes. Set me free and I shall take my revenge on the world. Start wars and famines, hurl thunderbolts, raise the very dead from their graves…Perhaps you could help with that?”
    The voice slid to my ear again. “You are still such a child, aren’t you? Believing in bogeymen. Of all the wars and massacres in the last century, demons are responsible for perhaps a tenth; and that, some would say, gives us too much credit. Unlike humans, we are wise enough to know that destroying the world that sustains us is hardly in our best interests. Free me and, yes, I will have my fun, but I’m no more dangerous out there than I am in here.”
    I considered it…and imagined the audience screaming. “You stupid twit! It’s a
demon
!”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Her sigh ruffled my shirt. “There is no sight sadder than a desperate demi-demon. After decades alone in this place, beating the bars of my cage, howling to deaf ears, I’m reduced to begging favors from a child. Ask me your questions, and I shall play schoolteacher, answering them at no cost. I
was
a schoolteacher once, you know, when a foolish witch summoned me and invited possession, which is never wise, even if you’re trying to destroy the dreadful little Puritan village that accused you of—”
    “I don’t have any questions.”
    “None?”
    “None.”
    Her voice snaked around me. “Speaking of witches, I could tell you a secret about the dark-haired one you visited. Her mother—too ambitious by far—heard of another witch bearing a sorcerer’s child, so she had to do the same. Now she’s paying the price. A mixed-blood spellcaster is always dangerous.”
    “Tori’s dad is a sorcerer?” I said in spite of myself.
    “The man she calls Daddy? No. Her real father? Yes.”
    “So that is why—” I stopped. “No, I don’t want to know.”
    “Of course you do. How about the wolf boy? I heard them talking to you about him. I remember the pups. They lived here, you know.”
    “They?”
    “Four pups, cute as could be. Perfect little predators, flashing fangs and claws even before they could change forms—all but the biggest of the litter. The lone wolf. The smart wolf. When his Pack brothers flashed those fangs and claws one time too many, those who’d opposed the inclusion of the beasties got their way.”
    “What happened?”
    “What happens to pups that bite their owner’s hand? They were killed, of course. All but the clever one who didn’t play their wolfie games. He got to go away and be a real boy.” Her voice tickled my ear again. “What else can I tell you…?”
    “Nothing. I want you to leave.”
    She laughed. “Which is why you’re lapping up my every word like sweet mead.”
    Fighting my curiosity, I found my iPod, stuck in my ear-buds, and cranked up the volume.

Seven
    L ATER THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Davidoff knocked at my door again. Time for a history lesson, apparently. He led me to his office and entered the code to a closet-sized vault lined with bookshelves.
    “We have more reference books than this, naturally. The rest are in the library, which you’ll visit soon. However, this”—he waved at the closet—“is what a public library would call its special collection, containing the rarest and most prized volumes.”
    He slid a red leather-bound one from the shelf. Silver letters spelled out
Nekromantia
.
    “The early history of the necromancer race.