The creature stood perhaps five feet tall but was so badly crouched over, like a hunchback, that its hands almost touched the floor. Completely hairless, with skin the color and texture of aged parchment, the being wore a dark blue tunic and wood sandals. A large hook nose and pointed chin gave the creature a vulturelike appearance. Not until it turned and stared at him across the circle did Roger know he had not made a mistake.

Monstrous eyes burned with an inner yellow fire, harsh and unblinking, in the light. Seen directly, the being’s face faintly resembled that of a monstrous jungle cat. “Where am I?” the demon whispered, looking around the room. It even sounded human. “When am I?”

Roger saw no harm in answering the question. “1997,” he said, “just outside San Francisco, California.”

Then, remembering the correct procedure, he named the demon and demanded its service.

The creature laughed. “You know my earthly name, mortal. Few dare pronounce it. No matter. Such puny binding spells mean nothing to me. Nations quail at my fury. I am not yours to command.”

Roger grimaced in annoyance. He should have realized that someday he would run into this problem. Many demonic titles in the Bible originated in other sources. They were corruptions of names drawn from older civilizations’ religions. Instead of raising a devil from the pits of Hell, by using the correct pronunciation of its name he had summoned forth a demigod from ancient history.

All of Roger’s magic depended on Christian tradition. None of it meant anything to his captive. It came from a time before Christ walked the Earth. The creature was not subject to the rules of sorcery Roger practiced. Only the magic circle and pentagram, whose origins were lost in ancient prehistory, kept the creature imprisoned.

“Release me,” said the crouching man, as if sensing his captor’s plight. “Or suffer my wrath. The Lord of the Lions is not yours to command.”