Amber sat back. Her insides were in knots. “What do you think Imelda will do when she finds out I actually met the Shining Demon?”
“That all depends on whether this plan works.”
“How do you know her, anyway?” she asked.
“How does anyone know anyone?”
“I don’t know. They meet?”
“There you go,” said Milo. “We met.”
Edgar came back in. Amber didn’t know quite what she had been expecting – maybe a robe, or a ceremonial dagger, or a box full of candles with pentagrams moulded on to their sides. She wasn’t expecting a large leather pouch, shaped like a deflated balloon.
“It’s a gunpowder flask,” Edgar said proudly, handing it over with something approaching reverence. It was heavy, filled to its leather stopper with what felt like sand. “Persian, nineteenth century, made from a camel crotch.”
“Ew.”
Edgar chuckled. “Don’t worry, the camel’s long dead.”
“Still ew.”
“See those engravings on the hide? Those intricate little engravings? I don’t know what they are. Pretty, though, aren’t they?”
“There’s gunpowder in here?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Something far more powerful. Far more valuable, too. The only reason I’m letting you use it is because I couldn’t get it to work myself.”
Milo frowned. “You tried summoning the Shining Demon?”
“Everyone wants something,” Edgar said, a little sadly, “but I just wasn’t interesting enough for him to bother with. Story of my life, huh? But, if this will work for anyone, it’ll work for Amber, and then I can finally find out if it was worth the money I paid for it, or if I was scammed. Y’know, again.”
“How do I use it?” she asked, handing the flask back.
Edgar cleared a space on the coffee table and laid it down, then sat. “You pour the powder in a circle around you, making sure there are no gaps. You put a match to it. It catches fire. That’s it.”
“It’s that easy? And then the Shining Demon will appear?”
Edgar hesitated.
“What?” Milo asked, suspicion in his voice.
“The Shining Demon doesn’t do that anymore,” Edgar said. “Appearing, I mean. You can’t make him come to you. Instead, you go to him.”
Amber went cold. “I what?”
Milo frowned. “She what?”
“I couldn’t get it to work, so I just have to go by what the guy who sold it to me said, all right? You put a match to the circle, and when it’s lit you … arrive.”
“Where?” said Milo.
“Wherever the Shining Demon is,” said Edgar.
“Hell?” Amber asked, her voice small.
“Maybe. But don’t look so scared. It’s absolutely fine. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“It doesn’t sound perfectly safe,” Milo said.
“It is, though. She’ll be in no danger whatsoever. As long as she doesn’t step outside the circle.”
“I don’t like this,” Amber murmured. “Will you both be with me, at least?”
Edgar made a face. “We’ll have to stay here, I’m afraid. Them’s the rules. But you don’t have to worry about a thing. You’ll meet the Shining Demon. You’ll explain your situation. You’ll offer him the guy who welched on the deal in exchange for a way to protect you from your parents and their friends.”
“And only that,” said Milo. “Do not deviate from the script.”
“That’s a good point,” said Edgar. “The Shining Demon likes to talk, by all accounts, and he might try to get you to agree to something you really shouldn’t be agreeing to. Keep it simple. If he likes the terms, he’ll accept them. If he doesn’t, douse the flames and you’ll come straight back. Do not step out of the circle. I cannot stress that enough.”
“What if he pulls me out?”
“He won’t be able to touch you so long as you stay where you are. Also, for your own wellbeing, it’s probably advisable not to look directly at him.” Edgar got to his feet. “There. I think that’s everything.”
Amber looked up at him. “I still have, like, a billion questions.”
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” said Edgar. “You’ll be fine. Come on, you can do it in the backyard.”
He took the powder flask and walked out to the kitchen. Milo got up, helped Amber stand. Her legs felt weak.
“Am I actually going to do this?” she asked.
“You can change your mind at any time.”
She expelled a long breath. “I can’t believe I’m going to actually do this …”
They went out back. The dark yard was modest, with a small pool that needed a serious skimming. Whether the sweat on Amber’s face was from the humidity or the trepidation, she couldn’t be sure. The rain had stopped, which allowed the cicadas to start singing again. Edgar led Amber to a patch of crabgrass and handed her the powder flask and a battered matchbook with a picture of a staircase on the front.
“All set,” he said.
She looked to Milo for instruction, but he just stood there, cool in the heat. Expecting either of them to correct her at any moment, she undid the stopper on the flask, crouched down, and began to pour.
The opening was small, and the fine black powder came out in a thin, steady stream. The warm breeze made the grasses ripple, but the powder flowed straight down like it was a perfectly still night. Amber turned 360 degrees, making sure not to leave any gaps, and when she finished she stood in the small circle and plugged the flask with the stopper. She held it out to Edgar, but he waved it away.
“Hang on to it until you’re done,” he said, and she hung the strap over her shoulder so that it dropped diagonally across her chest.
She took a match from the matchbook and crouched again. Her mouth was dry. Her hands were shaking. She needed to pee. She looked up at Milo.
“See you when you get back,” he said.
Amber ran the head of the match across the sandpaper strip. The match flared, and with shaking hands she put the flame to the powder. It lit instantly, expelling a stench so violent it made her head turn. The fire spread from the point of contact in both directions,
