My eyes went to the darting clatter of Jenks as he came to hover beside me. "It's Al!" the pixy whispered. "Rache, you said he was in demon prison!"

"Rachel Mariana Mo-o-o-o-orga-a-a-a-an," the demon sang, and I stiffened at the tap-thunk tap-thunk of his booted feet coming from behind a tall display of spelling books.

"Damn fool moss-wipe of a pixy," Jenks berated himself. "It's too cold to take my sword," he said in a mocking falsetto. "It'll freeze to my ass. It's a shopping trip, not a run." His voice shifted, becoming angry. "Tink save you, Rachel. Can't you even go shopping with your mom without calling up demons?"

"I didn't call him!" I protested, feeling my palms start to sweat.

"Yeah, well, he's here," the pixy said, and I swallowed when the demon peeked from behind the display. He had known exactly where I was.

Al was smiling with deep, taunting anger, his red eyes, their pupils horizontal slits like a goat's, peering over a pair of round smoked glasses. Dressed in his usual frock coat of crushed green velvet, he was a picture of old European grace, the image of a young lord on the verge of greatness. Lace showed at his cuffs and collar. His aristocratically chiseled features, with a strong nose and chin, were tightened in bad humor, and his thick teeth showed in an expression that anticipated dealing out pain.

I kept backing up, and he came out from behind the display. "Oh, I say. This is splendid!" he said in delight. "Two Morgans for the price of one."

Oh, God. My mother. Terror snapped me out of my shock. "You can't touch me or my family," I said while I tried to get the cellophane off the magnetic chalk. If I could make a circle, I might be able to trap him. "You promised!"