The Scarlet Hood

Catherine flew up the steps to grandmother's apartment. Not literally. Not in the this outfit, she thought. The delicate blouse, modest slacks, and short heels hindered her motion. But she rushed anyway. The scribbled phone message on her newsroom desk conveyed subtle urgency, and grandmother had not been well of late. A short taxi ride and ten flights of stairs were now behind her.

"Hi, Carlo," Catherine waved at the first door on the landing, propped slightly ajar. The eyes peering through the crack were bright and little fingers waved back at her. Moving along to grandmother's door, she tried the knob. It was unlocked, as usual.

"Grandmother, I've told you to keep your door locked. This isn't the same old neighborhood anymore." Catherine scolded loudly as she looked around. "Grandmother? Where are you?" She dodged around the floral-print couch and into the bedroom.

"Cathy!" Grandmother called out from the bed. "You came so quickly." She raised a hand to greet her granddaughter.

"Of course I did. The message sounded important," Catherine moved to the side of the bed, leaning in to take grandmother's hand. She stopped short before giving grandmother a kiss on the cheek. Something seemed wrong. Catherine's senses were telling her something. She paused and studied the old woman laying before her.

"Grandmother, your nails. They are so long. Perhaps we should visit your lady to," Catherine paused, scrutinizing the hand she held. It was warmer than it should be.

"All the better," the sweet woman's elderly voice began. She paused, as if gathering her strength. Her voice dropped to a fierce baritone, "All the better, to kill you with!" The sheets and blankets flew into the air, obscuring the old woman as she leapt from the bed and attacked.

Catherine threw up her arms, defending herself from the assailant's relentless blows. Through the blur of flailing arms, she saw the body before her changing. "You!" she shouted as the villain's telepathic illusion faltered. The bulging, hairy creature continued its assault.

The surprise attack had Catherine on the defensive. Her mind reeled. Her secret identity was blown! Grandmother was, where? And the sleeves of her favorite blouse were being shredded as her arms flew, deflecting the vicious claws. Her forearms, without their armored braces, were going to be sore in the morning.

Manwolf howled as he gained the advantage and threw Catherine across the apartment. "Not so happy to see grandmother now, are you?" Manwolf growled as she hit the wall. "The Scarlet Hood, we meet again, for the last time!" He chucked as she fell to the floor. "And this time, the city's beloved crimson crusader is helpless. What will you do, without your uniform and your clever little devices? Your true face is exposed, and you are helpless as I destroy you!" He leapt at her, his fangs bared, crossing the room in one powerful movement.

Catherine darted out of her foe's path in the blink of an eye, and with two swift kicks, launched her heels at supersonic velocity. She was still spinning in the air as one of the shoes connected, hitting him on the snout. It was his turn to be momentarily stunned.

Planting her feet, Catherine shouted at her arch-nemesis. "Where's my grandmother? What have you done with her?" Her hand flinched, reaching for her utility garter, but stopped as she realized how unprepared she was without her uniform and tools of the trade.

"She is safe," he growled. "For now," he added as they circled one another in the tiny space. The air was filled with a rain of lace doilies, thrown into the air by the combatants' inhuman speed. Grandmother's candy dish, the one from Catherine's earliest memories of grandmother, lay in pieces upon the floor, mingling with the dry, pink candies.

"How will the Daily Interloper ever print the story of your demise? Their precious hooded avenger, gone! And with her, their star reporter, mysteriously vanished as well? I wonder how long it will take them to put it all together." Manwolf taunted, sarcasm dripping between his fangs almost as fast as his saliva did.

He's right, Catherine thought. I'm completely exposed. Surviving this battle will be the easy part. The job, the quiet apartment, the generous, anonymous corporate funding, all of it gone in an instant. Not to mention that this outfit is a total loss, she thought, looking down at herself, seeing her clothing torn and dirtied.

She longed for her uniform. The skin-tight bodysuit covered her completely, yet at the same time, left nothing of her athletic, twenty-nine year-old body to the imagination. Late twenties body, she reminded herself. Never twenty-nine. But the durable, ceramolastic material could take a beating. The topcoat, complete with hood and cowl, did double duty, concealing her identity and hiding the embarrassment she felt when the men stared at her body.

Of course, they were usually also sobbing with fear and relief when she met them. Good men were hard to find when you spent your time plucking them from burning buildings or crumpled rail cars.

"I thought you would have red hair," Manwolf taunted, interrupting her introspection with dripping fangs. "I wasn't expecting a brunette." His tongue darted wetly around his mouth as he leered at the unmasked crimson crusader.

Is that beast going to stop hitting me and hit on me? Catherine wondered. "Unfortunately for me, I've been able to see you clearly in all of our previous encounters. Still not mastered the bathing skills have we?" Catherine threw back at the beast.

They renewed their battle. Grappling, they took turns attempting to throw each other, damaging the apartment beyond repair in their struggle. Manwolf won this round, throwing his lithe opponent through a window.

Catherine's body slammed into another apartment building down the block. A shower of smashed brick rained down upon the sidewalk below as she righted herself. Hovering high above the street, she willed her eyes to magnify her vision of grandmother's windows, seeking her opponent. She spied the barrel of a familiar device. "Shi-" she began, as Manwolf fired his Moltenizer.

He howled with victory as he pulled the trigger. Catherine wasn't there when the energy pulse slagged the crushed side of the building into molten goo.

Manwolf peered out, panting, eager to see the champion's helpless, broken body falling to earth. To his side, a rain of glass accompanied Catherine's body as she rocketed in through another window, lancing his body with her own at bullet speed.

The pair crashed through grandmother's apartment and through a wall into the next. They continued, their momentum smashing them through thin walls and sturdy appliances, stopping only when they hit the outside wall on the other side of the building. The building's brick face bulged outward, but held. Manwolf groaned and slipped into unconsciousness, beaten.

Wearily, Catherine stood. She looked around. "Hi, Carlo," she once more acknowledged the child that lived down the hall. Carlo and his mother were cringing in the corner. "Don't worry, Carlo. It's just me, Catherine. I'm really very sorry about this. I'm sure we can," Catherine was cut off by the screams of Carlo's mother, scooping him up to flee the scene.

Catherine sighed. The whole secret identity thing was definitely over.

She turned and ran back through the debris, sprinting through the ragged holes in the building's interior, her bare feet crunching on bits of drywall and cinderblock. Reaching grandmother's bedroom, she searched. She found grandmother, bound and gagged, in the closet. "Cathy! What happened to you? Are you hurt?" grandmother exclaimed as she was unbound.

"No, I'm fine, grandmother. Are you well?"

"Of course I am." Grandmother stated, straightening herself. She then blushed and waved her hands at Catherine. "Cover yourself, dear!"

Catherine looked down and saw her blouse and slacks, shredded, hanging from her in faint ribbons. The practical ensemble hadn't been made for close combat and wall crashing. Her undergarments were exposed and also in great distress. There were good reasons for armored uniforms in her business, she reminded herself. But they were just so difficult to conceal under casual businesswear.

Well, unless you're that tart Gretel, out there championing on the west coast, Catherine thought. No costume was too skimpy for that slut. And the way she and that brother of hers got on. Siblings shouldn't kiss like that, not in public, not ever. Catherine shivered at the memory of their behavior at the last Champions Gathering.

Grandmother gasped as she left the bedroom and saw the full scope of the damage to her modest apartment.

"Do you remember when I was little, and you gave me that little red riding coat with the hood?" Catherine asked, while fishing a spare robe out of grandmother's closet.

"Yes, of course. You loved that little coat." Grandmother toed a pile of debris with a slippered foot, sighing.

The sound of sirens announced the arrival of the authorities. Catherine would leave the trussing and transport of Manwolf to them this one time. She finished tying off the robe as she joined grandmother.

"And do you remember back when I was just starting with the paper, when I broke that story about the nuclear plant?"

"Yes, of course, dear. The award party was quite nice." Grandmother turned and smiled at Catherine. She reached up to tug at Catherine's hair, attempting to untangle the battle damage.

"Well, there was more to that story than was published. Something happened. I had to trade the old hood in for a new model. Come on, let's pop over to my place and get me some new clothes. Then maybe some coffee. This is going to take a while to explain." Catherine scooped up her surprised grandmother and flew her slowly out of the apartment.

Turkey Hunt

The boy relaxed on the grass under the clear, warm sky. The farmhouse behind him might have been a million miles away. The boy's turkey, safe in the wooden pen alongside him, strutted about, inspecting its domain.

Down the gently sloped field of grass, the boy saw a spark of light appear in midair. The spark grew. The boy cocked his head to one side and watched as the light grew into a tall, flat oval, floating above the grass. A body, clad in dark clothing and bristling with complex and lethal equipment, stepped out of the disc of light, as if through a doorway. The disc of light collapsed upon itself, vanishing.

"You there!" the body called out. The voice was muffled and mechanical. The body consulted a device upon its wrist. It then took off its helmet and breathing apparatus. It was a man. He had a thick, short beard and smudges of grease or dirt upon his face. "You there," he repeated, "is that your turkey?"

The boy nodded.

"I must have it!" The man approached confidently. He was about to explain why, when another something happened nearby.

A golden ring of light appeared, hovering low over the grass nearby. It was about a meter across. The ring rose, then fell. It rose and fell again. It continued this cycle, gaining speed as it cycled up and down. A dark shape began to form inside the ring. Slowly, the shape took form. It was another man. When he was complete the ring slowed, fell to the grass, and vanished.

This man was clad in long, colorful robes and had a pale, bald head. He saw the turkey and smiled as he approached. His movements were graceful, he seemed to float over the grass.

"I require this turkey." The new bald man stated calmly.

"I made first claim!" The earlier arrival declared.

The two men stared at each other, studying their unexpected competition.

"Why do you want my turkey?" The boy asked. The men turned to him.

"On my world, my Earth, the turkey is extinct." The first man stated. His voice was a growling, rough noise. "I come from a parallel universe, from an Earth like yours. I have come to fetch a turkey, which we no longer have, so that we might hunt it and cook it for our autumnal feast of thanks."

"How barbaric," The second man said. His voice sang hypnotically. "I too come from a parallel Earth. But I come to save the turkey. Many of the infinite parallel Earths have lost many species. My people believe in helping to restore the balance. We collect samples of lost species from one Earth so that all might gain them. With this one turkey, we might repopulate the turkeys of all the Earths." He bowed low at the boy.

"Fool! What does it matter of the others? I must have this turkey!" The first man ripped a weapon from his side, raised it, and sent a blast of energy at the second man. The turkey began to flutter its feathers, gobbling noisily as it danced in the tiny pen.

When the burst of orange fire died down the second man, impossibly, remained. He stood before the turkey pen calmly. A gentle blue glow about his person flickered with the last remnants of hostile energy. "You shall not harm me. I must collect this turkey." He licked his lips eagerly, eyes darting to check if anyone had noticed his hungry gesture.

The boy leaned in close to the wooden pen and spoke to the turkey. "Would you like to go with one of these men?" he asked.

The first man snorted. "Ha! He speaks to it. Fool."

"Perhaps you would like to play with them?" The boy reached around to unlatch the wooden pen's small door. The turkey gobbled excitedly, hopping up and down on its little claws.

"Do you understand what we are saying?" The second man asked in his sing-song voice.

The pen's latch opened and something changed. The turkey's anxious gobbles became deeper, angrier. The boy stood up and moved away, grinning. The turkey burst from the cage in a furious cloud of feathers. It emitted horrible screeching and growling noises as it changed. Its talons grew, its beak grew into a fearsome weapon. Its entire body expanded, becoming a horrible parody of a turkey. It was a beastly, bulging creature with glowing red eyes. It attacked.

The men stood their ground. The first man fought furiously, throwing blasts from his weapons at the turkey beast. They were ineffective. The ball of charred feathers and muscle took him down, tearing at his screaming throat.

The bald man waved his hands in curious patterns, wielding shiny crystals to strengthen the blue glow around him. The turkey was unimpressed. It closed the distance slowly, its glowing eyes sending forth beams of red light, burning the energy field. The blue glow faltered and failed, making way for horrible, jagged beak and talons to rip at the man's body.

The boy clapped happily as the turkey danced and growlingly gobbled a bloody victory cry.

The boy turned to the empty turkey pen and dug a fist beneath it. He extracted a small device. He began to adjust the controls to retune it. Excitedly, he talked to the turkey as he worked. "I can't believe our luck. Two at once! That never happens. Can we try again? I don't know how many infinite is, but I bet there are more out there!"

The noise of renewed violence made the boy look up from the transdimensional beacon. The giant turkey beast was shaking one of the corpse's legs angrily in its beak, tearing it from the body. Its deep, angry gobbling was muffled by the thigh.

The boy smiled. "Oh, all right. You just enjoy your drumsticks for a while. You earned them."

Contingent Upon Inspection

"I still think you should have gone with my guy," the realtor rasped as she turned away to inhale a smokey breath from her cigarette.

"The advice was to find our own inspector. Independent. He comes highly recommended. Right, dear?" The wife beamed as she hugged her husband.

"That's right, dearest," her husband agreed, snuggling closer to her in the cool autumn air. The couple eyed their intended new house with loving, but nervous eyes. The price was more than they had planned, but it was just what they had dreamed of.

The trio waited quietly, standing in the driveway of the house, waiting for their fourth. A cough erupted from the realtor as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. Down the street, another cloud of smoke approached. It too coughed, barking mechanically as it lumbered towards them.

The wife jumped as the truck hit the end of the driveway roughly and stopped short in a cloud of grey exhaust. The dingy old truck looked out of place in this upscale neighborhood, parked behind the realtor's Lexus. "Yes, that must be him," the wife concluded. They waited expectantly.

The door to the truck creaked open and squeaked against its hinges as heavily-booted feet hit the pavement. The driver, a short, grandfatherly type, waved a friendly hand and turned away before they could reply in kind. He clapped his palms on his dirty beige coveralls, presumably to cleanse them in some way, before reaching into the back of the truck. In short order a tall ladder was tossed out onto the lawn nearby. It was quickly joined by a smaller stepladder, a toolbox, and a heavy canvas sack. The sack settled into place on the lawn, but something inside continued to wriggle of its own accord.

Clipboard tucked under his arm, the inspector strode up and offered his hand. "This must be the place." He smiled as he took the husband's hand and shook. "I'm Grotty. I have those references I promised you over the phone."

"Richard," the husband stated as he shook the inspector's rough, weathered palm. "And this is my wife, Janet."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr, um, Grotty." Janet offered her hand.

Grotty nodded politely, declining her hand, before turning back to the papers. He tugged out his clipboard and whipped out matching sets of legal-sized papers for the couple and their realtor. "As you can see, I have quite a background in construction, contracting and safety inspection. As well as a range of spell detection and charm verification certifications."

The realtor, chewing on her cigarette, interrupted him, "But, no actual Talents? You aren't a mage or shaman?" Her cigarette dangled precariously on her lower lip as he looked at him, suspiciously.

"No, ma'am. A proper Talent wouldn't stoop to this sort of work." Grotty offered his hand for a quick, polite shake from the realtor. "I'm retired. I just put in a couple days a week by referral, mostly to keep out of the wife's way. You know how they get, right?" He winked knowingly at Richard. The newlywed man nodded nervously, earning a scowl and a swat on the arm from his young bride.

You'd better not screw up this deal, the realtor thought to herself as she smiled politely around her cigarette. My guy knows how to do it, she reassured herself. Give them lots of good news, a couple reports of minor, low-cost repairs. Show you know how to do the job, but nothing to spook the deal from closing. She took another long drag on her cigarette. Once they moved inside she wouldn't be able to smoke, and she wasn't leaving this inspector alone for a moment.

"Margie. Margie de Sales," the realtor finally introduced herself.

"I'll start on the outside, since we're here." He hung his clipboard on his toolbelt and proceeded to heft his ladder. After positioning it for a climb to the roof, he began to equip himself. Tools from his box and curious little artifacts from his sack began to decorate his toolbelt and vanish into the pockets on his coveralls. The old man moved with surprising speed for one of his years as he began to climb.

"His credentials do sound impressive, darling," Richard said, reading the papers. "He spent his whole career in home construction and serving on safety and standards boards. And look at this, he attended a seminar on Exorcism for the Layman at CalMage. That's a good school. You know, for that sort of thing."

"He's rude," his wife Janet declared, pouting.

At least he isn't a genuine mage, Margie thought to herself. The worst he can find is some dry rot.

"So far so good up here!" Grotty called down from the rooftop. His gray-haired head poked out over the edge of the roof, smiling down at them. "I think this is a fresh roof, and the charms like it," he shook a purple orb at them for a moment before moving back out of sight again.

"Yes, the listing said they put on a new roof just two years ago. You couldn't ask for a better one," the realtor reinforced, nodding at the couple.

Grotty's backside appeared overhead, followed by his boots, as he began to climb back down the ladder. When he hit the ground, he began jotting notes on his clipboard.

Margie leaned in, her cigarette pushed politely to the far side of her mouth, peeking at his extensive checklist. "What is that there about the downspouts?" she asked.

"Here, I'll show you," Grotty offered, dropping the clipboard to dangle from his toolbelt on a short tether. He thrust a hand into one of the many wide, deep pockets in his coveralls. It emerged with a cluster of feathers, held together by a wooden bead. He strode over to the nearest corner of the house, motioning Richard to come closely, and waved the feathers at the contoured metal downspout. The feathers flapped eagerly, as if blown by an unseen wind, and the bead atop glowed a pleasing orange hue.

"What does that mean?" Richard asked, fascinated.

"The anti-clogging charm is strong in these. I tested them, as well as the gutters, both are positive. The roof's anti-leak spell is fresh and the siding reads similarly. Somebody spent good money on this place recently. I'd say you have quite a few years before you have to be concerned about anything out here." He stuffed the orb back into his pocket and tugged his dangling clipboard back to his hands to complete his notes.

The realtor nodded happily. This guy might just work out.

"Now we see the inside, if you'll take care of the door for us?" Grotty asked the realtor. The happy couple, now well-chilled in the cool air, nodded enthusiastically. Grotty marched off to gather his toolbox and bag of tricks.

The realtor led the way to the front door. Reaching into her cavernous purse, she extracted her notebook and consulted the selling agent's notes. She tapped the appropriate code into the keybox latched around the doorknob and extracted the key to the front door. As she turned the key in the lock she recited the appropriate words from her notes to unlock the unseen security forces at the same time.

"That was quick," Janet declared, frowning at the ease by which the realtor gained access. "Are you sure the security charms are sufficient?"

"We always have sellers downgrade the incantations a bit for showings," Margie explained. "It helps to move things along and prevents any unpleasantness when one of us is a bit rushed. We wouldn't want a backlash spell coming after our potential buyers, would we?"

"Well, not after that incident in Des Moines last year," Grotty chuckled. "There are reasons why one needs a special license to bind a Spirit Troll to a security system." He led the group through the door, as Margie hung back to finish the last few precious drags of her cigarette.

As they entered the house, Janet burst with an excited word. "Pixies!"

"What? Where?" coughed the realtor from behind, unnerved by anything that might throw the deal.

"That's right!" Richard remembered. "We wanted to ask you to check the anti-pixie charms on the property." He wrapped his arms around his wife in a protective hug. "When she was growing up, her house in Cleveland was plagued by the little demons."

"Well, they're not demons, they're sprites. We can check, but we won't find any." Grotty withdrew a pen-shaped device from his coveralls and began waving it over nearby electrical outlets.

"Why not?" the couple exclaimed.

"City code," the realtor interrupted, taking charge of the conversation. "Pixies are a problem here, so the city has an abatement program. Twice-yearly sweeps keep the population in check, and every winter, on the solstice, they lay down a fresh grid of mojo lines. The pixies are at their weakest then, of course. The pixies can't cross them, so outbreaks are contained. If enough reports crop up in a particular grid segment, they send out a team to sweep the area. So, he's right. Most people don't bother with charming their property against them, you can just rely on the city. It comes out of your property taxes."

"Oh." Janet seemed disappointed.

"But, if you are worried, I have the name of a reliable warlock you can summon." The realtor hastily added. "I'll get you his scroll at the closing."

Grotty snorted at the suggestion and scratched some notes on his clipboard, tucking the pen-shaped device back into its pocket.

"What was that testing for? Spirits in the walls?" Janet asked.

"Spirits?" Grotty snorted. "No. Ungrounded outlets." Grotty explained to Richard, as men understood such things. "These are wired right. Which means they all probably are. But I'll check a few others as we go through, just in case." Grotty wandered away with his eyes on the walls and ceiling, checking for water damage, as he studied the layout of the house.

Janet scowled at Grotty's back, upset at being ignored again. She perked up when Richard politely turned her to the living room. "We should put the couch here, until we can get a nicer one!" She danced about in the living room, pointing to where their furniture would go.

Grotty entered the kitchen, turning to where he had concluded the steps to the basement must be, when she caught him. Margie de Sales' face appeared before him, her smokey breath hissed in his face. "You'd better not do anything to screw up this deal. These two have been a nightmare. Driving them around to all manner of houses, looking for that one perfect first home. The precious darlings love this one, and I won't have you botching it for me."

"Of course not, ma'am. But I do have to investigate and accurately report what I find." Grotty nodded. He had dealt with pushy realtors before. Just smile and nod.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of anything else," Margie agreed, with faint echoes of sweetness in her voice. She couldn't demand he change his report, but she could stay close, to minimize any damage he might do.

Grotty opened the basement door and yanked on the overhead cord that presented itself. A solitary bulb dangling just inside struggled to illuminate the thin wooden steps that led into the unfinished basement. The darkness below fought back, but relented as another light at the base of the stairs flickered to life. "Gods, what on earth is this?" he exclaimed into the dimly-lit doorway.

"What? Tell me it isn't serious!" gasped the realtor.

"This light fixture. I think it is held up here by duct tape. This isn't even near code." Grotty leaned in, reaching towards the offending installation and poked at it with his pen. "That will have to go." The solitary little light bulb jiggled but stayed lit. He pulled back his pen, unharmed, and scribbled another note on his clipboard.

"I thought you'd found something serious, don't do that!" The realtor's fingers twitched at her cheek, trying to insert an imaginary, calming cigarette into her mouth.

Grotty did not reply. He hefted his bag of tricks and his toolbox once more and entered the basement. The realtor followed, keeping a close eye on him.

By this time the happy couple had tired of placing imaginary furniture and children in their assigned places and came chasing down the stairs after the professionals.

Grotty busied himself with the furnace, unscrewing the cover to check on the age of the unit.

"Wow. Is that what I think it is?" Richard pointed at the concrete floor.

"I'm sure it is nothing. Did you notice the washer and dryer are new?" The realtor tried to redirect the couple to happier sights.

"I don't know. What is it? And why didn't we see it last time?" Janet, hanging on Richard's arm, poked a shoe at the edge of the dusty brownish ring on the floor.

"See, even the lint trap here on the dryer looks brand new!" Margie begged them to pay attention to her distraction.

"Mr Grotty, is this, you know, a real one?" Richard asked, pointing at the curious circle.

Grotty looked up from his clipboard, then snorted. "A summoning circle won't conjure up a sneeze if it is broken. That opening for the sump over there pretty much takes care of that." A dark hole off to the side did indeed create a gap in the circle. "And I doubt it is even drawn with real blood, much less inscribed under the proper moon. Probably just some kids playing. " Grotty returned to his paperwork, noting the age and state of the central air system.

"How do we get rid of it? Do we need some sort of magic?" Janet asked.

"Oh, there is a spell for that. One that you can cast." Grotty smiled as he worked.

"I can't do a spell!" The wife objected.

"Sure you can. The magic is between your wrist and your shoulder."

Janet puzzled over this, staring at her right arm. "What? You mean my elbow?" She furiously stamped a foot as she realized what he was saying. "Scrub it off? You mean clean it! Just because I am the woman I'm supposed to just get down here in this dusty basement and scrub the floor. Yes, of course, that would make sense to a sexist old coot like you!" Janet shouted.

"Honey, please, he was just joking, I'm sure," Richard stepped before his wife.

Margie jumped into the conversation, "Is this a new water heater? It sure looks enormous! You'll be able to take long hot showers in the morning with this baby!" She slapped the side of the heavy cylinder enthusiastically, her voice pleading for attention. The solid knocking sound was joined by the thump of something smaller behind it.

"What was that?" Grotty asked, hurrying over to investigate the anomaly. His flashlight appeared and darted around behind the water heater. "Ah. Shouldn't keep things propped up against this, you know." He lifted a boot and kicked the offending debris clear. The circle of plywood rolled out and traveled into the middle of the room before falling on the floor with a dusty clap. Grotty peered into the corner, his flashlight probing for the gas connection.

"Look at this Richard," Janet bent over to study the plywood. "It must be the cover for that sump thing. Let's see if it," she carefully picked it up by the edges, her delicate white fingers quickly dirtying from the contact, and dropped it into the proper spot. "Yes, that fits."

"I'm not sure you should do that, Janet," her husband began.

"It's harmless," Janet stated. "Look, this stripe doesn't even line up right. I mean, unless I twist it like this." Her fingers were further soiled as she picked up the cover and twisted it around. A dull brownish stain on it connected neatly with the ends of the circle and suddenly things began to change.

The dust on the unswept floor began to blow, as the brownish stain ring took on a deep red color around the couple. From outside the circle, Margie and Grotty looked on with alarm.

Grotty bent down and began rummaging through his bag. "I'd stand back from that, if I were you," he warned Margie.

The happy couple, now entranced by the colorful sparkles rising from the ring, oohed and aahed appreciatively as the summoning circle was activated, surrounding them.

Grotty frowned as he pulled a short wooden stick out of his bag, topped by a chicken's foot. The ornate carvings along the length of the stick indicated powerful magicks, while the hum it emitted announced them. He began to wave the proscribed pattern in the air.

"I thought you weren't a mage!" the realtor bellowed into Grotty's ear, shouting over the hum of the stick and the sizzling, crackling noises the summoning circle was creating as it encased the couple.

"I'm not! I didn't make it, I'm just using it!" He finished the activation incantation and tossed the stick in a gentle arc. He intended it to land on the edge of the circle, to interrupt it. Failing, the stick caught fire as it hit the field and was a mere cloud of ashes before it hit the floor.

"Too late!" Grotty shouted, and abandoned up his gear. "Get out!" The room was filled with a burst of blinding light. The screams of the now-unhappy couple were drowned out by strange, unearthly noises underneath the floor.

Edging his way around the room, avoiding the circle, Grotty shoved the realtor ahead of him.

"But, my commission!" The realtor objected as she was pushed up the stairs.

"Leave them!" Grotty shouted.

As the professionals sprinted through the kitchen and out the front door, the horrible screams of Richard and Janet were joined by a howling, screeching noise. Whatever demon or tormented soul that was erupting from beneath them was, understandably, hungry after its long journey from another plane. And rather annoyed at having to break through a solid concrete foundation before feeding.

Outside, seated on the lawn, the realtor extracted her cigarettes from her purse and lit up with shaky hands. Without speaking, she handed the pack to Grotty, who happily accepted one, and a light.

"Can it get out?" Margie asked. Flashes of angry light burst from the basement windows, obscured by the tasteful row of azaleas.

"No. Without something to break the circle, it will just storm around inside. The foundation will need some serious work. And the sump is a total loss."

I knew they should have gone with my guy, the realtor thought to herself.

The pair sat on the lawn, watching the flashes of unholy energy illuminate the bushes.

"Shouldn't they be here already?" Margie asked, her eyes scanning the sky for EMT carpets.

"They do seem to be taking their time today, don't they?" Grotty agreed. The city's Emergency Magic Technicians were usually rather prompt.

"Hopefully the hole in the foundation won't ruin the termite aura." Grotty inhaled deeply from his cigarette.

"There's an anti-termite charm?" The realtor was surprised.

"Oh, yes. There." Grotty pointed at the corner of the house. "See those runes? They'll be on all sides of the house. They aren't fresh, but they are still visible, so they should still be effective. Unless, of course, the damage downstairs disrupts their alignment."

The realtor ground her quickly-exhausted cigarette on the grass and reached for a fresh one. "I'll have to get the sellers to update their listing. It reassures buyers. Not having to worry about termites."