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The senior demon elegantly curled his grey fingers around the cup – decorated with bright pink polka dots, a cartoon picture of a girl in flares and the text 'groovy chick' beside flowers and a rainbow. He was sure Ember had chosen this vessel deliberately. "I only know some of our family's story," he said with a shrug, "and a story it most certainly is. A tale supposedly penned in another language within faded pages of some book back in..."

"The Book of Warlock!" Crispin cried, excitedly, spilling coffee onto the floor as he whipped his hand away from his face to speak.

The kitchen darkened; the air vibrated. Ember suddenly felt very... claustrophobic.

Peregrin's face turned to a snarl, "how do you know about that rotten book?!" he demanded, teeth gnashing. His wings rattled. He was clearly upset.

Stupid though Crispin was, he was with it enough to take a mental moment and assess how to reply. "Anar might have mentioned it once," he squeaked.

With an audible growl, the Director sipped his coffee, "I see. Well, he wouldn't have been able to tell you much. It's a work of pure fantasy. Whimsy. One of our ancestors probably thought himself a novelist back in the Dark Ages. The only truth there is - and it's a small truth at that, is we have some dormant natural magic in our lineage. A smidge. A drop. But enough to have the Council watching us."

Crispin's eyes darted, furtively. This wasn't what he had gleaned from the single page of the book he had translated; dead languages were a speciality of his, The Book of Warlock was written in Draconish: the lost language of dragons. It was written from a dragon's perspective. The Warlock's had past dealings with dragons and if that didn't get you on some sort of list then Crispin didn't know what would.

Ember could see that there was some difference in opinion between Mr. Warlock and Crispin. She also knew about the natural magic that was in Anar's blood.

The young demon aardvark had been keen to boast his hidden magnified power. Being a Warlock descendant had, he claimed, given him the ability to magnify his magic and the demonic magic he had was already potent stuff. He could also, again so he claimed, use this mix of Powers to be able to perform spells down in the Underworld; a feat usually impossible due to Hell's rigid security measures.

"So… not only has your son escaped from a Hell contract, which is unheard of, he is also wanted by The Council. Is that what you're saying?" Ember made direct eye contact.

"Possibly."

She threw back her head in frustration, "possibly? He either is, or he isn't! Bloody demons, never giving you a straight answer. How do you know he's got out of Hell? Is there any proof that Anar is here?"

"His car has been returned."

"Ok. Right. And? No-one's seen him, no-one's heard from him? Just his car. That's all you've seen." The tiredness was really kicking in now. She was feeling bad-tempered. "Maybe it was booked in a garage for a service or something?" she waved a hand, irritably, "whatever. As for the Council, we haven't got Anar on our Hotlist, I'd have known about it if we did, so I don't think he's being hunted down by our N.E.S's."

"Your N.E.S's?" Crispin asked, curious.

Ember gave him a frown, "everything at the Council has a flipping acronym. Natural Elimination Specialist's."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all." Crispin thought it sounded like the kind of job position Hell would have.

"Quite. So... what next? Crispin says he's at Warlock Court, but you," she nodded to Peregrin, "aren't welcome there. Have you tried giving them a ring? You could just ask if he's ok. It would save you a lot of bother."

"I don't have Mortimer's number," Peregrin sniffed, finishing his drink out of the ridiculous mug. He knew fully well that if he rang, Mortimer would put the phone down on him. Not only that, he would be expecting Peregrin to sweep in on his domain. Instead, he wanted his arrival at Warlock Court to be a complete surprise. That way he could have his best shot at taking Anar down to Hell again, and keeping him there for good this time.

Ember's phone rang. A tinny rendition of Boyzone's latest hit played and the screen lit up on the kitchen counter. "My supervisor will be checking in with me," she warned. "I'm not sure what you want me to say. I can only blow him off so many times..." she picked up her mobile and clicked the green phone icon; "hey, Philip."

"Em! Heyyyyy, just checking in with you, mate. All good, yeah? You get home ok? Nothing unfortunate happen? You're alright, aren't you?"

Ember held her breath. Philip sounded... manic. "I'm.. fine," she replied slowly.

"Great! That's great! You know I always worry about you.” Philip’s voice faded out as though he was being interrupted by something or someone. “Ok, Ok, I'm getting there... is that uhhhhhh... is that grey demon still with you, by any chance? Or, or, did he say where he was going?"

Peregrin gripped her shoulder, making her jump. "Your phone signal is rubbish," he hissed.

"What? I mean, yeah, it is a bit. I was gonna go with Carphone Warehouse next time. Oh!" realisation hit her like a brick, "my phone signal is really rubbish," she apologised down the handset, loudly, "I can't... I can't hear you..." she looked quizzically at the Director, wondering if that was what he wanted her to do.

He nodded, the handset feeling very hot in her hands, almost fuzzy like it was charged with energy as she carried on apologising for the break-up in the conversation.

"Don't... move..." Peregrin snarled as his fingers twisted and his sharp claws clacked. A faint glow of blue light emitted out the handset body.

On the other end of the phone, Philip's panic-edged voice was seemingly playing along with this act of miscommunication and, very faintly, Ember detected sloppy gurgling noises that became interspersed with coughs and splutters until some very wet, slick sounds indeed hit her pointed ears.

Philip broke off momentarily, then came back. He sounded like he wanted to cry, "I hate demons," he snivelled. "I don't know how you did that, but... thank you."

Ember had no clue what had just occurred. "No problem," she replied, dumbly. "Happy to help."

"One minute I'm getting an egg and cress sandwich at Pret, the next I've got this bunch of imp hooligans trying to get my amulet off me and biting me! Bossing me about! Asking about the demon you went off with! What are they doing here, on the mortal realm, Ember? I need to report this! YOU need to report this, you're our resident demonologist! They've left a right mess on the high street, too. Blood everywhere. Are imp bites dangerous? Do I need antibiotics? Will I get rabies?"

Peregrin, still in the kitchen, waved his hand in a wide sweep. The phone lit up again. The Director was sending magic down the line through a phone call.

"Did you do that, Em? All the blood's suddenly gone now," Philip asked, his voice getting quiet and growing louder as was spinning in place, perplexed. "How can you even see me? Are you wasting all your magic on clean-up? You should call the ASU."

Ember blinked. He meant the Aftermath Sanitising Unit. Sounded like a sneeze if you said it fast enough.

"Philip, listen, ok... I'll report everything. I'll sort it out. You get home, wash your wounds, get some rest. They're just rogue demons. It happens sometimes. They're... attracted to magic. To our magic. You'll be fine," she assured him in soothing tones. In truth, she wasn't so certain; Philip may need some magical first aid but she didn't want to panic him, he was already unsettled by today's events. Demons bribing governments and buying up petroleum stocks was one thing, having their dirty imps bite you in broad daylight was another, entirely.

Philip reluctantly ended the call, muttering about Savlon antiseptic cream.

Ember took a deep breath and shook her head at Peregrin.

Crispin drained his coffee and looked from one to the other, out of the loop. He'd seen the senior Director doing something magical and had heard Ember struggling with her phone signal. It was no better down in the Underworld, suited business demons waving handsets around, shouting "can you hear me now?" was commonplace.

"Someone is watching us," Peregrin warned, grimly, knowing full well who it was. "Not foolish enough to mess with us directly, they're trying to rough up those we are in contact with."

Rubbing her eyes, Ember blew air out from her nose, flaring them, "well, you soon sorted them out, at least. Sounded messy. Sounded very... final."

"Imps are a dime a dozen. There will be more."

"Why?" she whined. "Why is what we are doing so interesting?" she blinked. "We're not even doing anything! We're having coffee. Had. Had coffee. Talking about Anar. No-one was bothered about him while he was in Hell!"

"I know, right?" Crispin laughed. "But with his dramatic exit and all..."

"Dramatic exit? You said it was a contract dragon. Could be dramatic, I suppose, flying out of Hell on a dragon." It sounded a very Anar thing to do.

"Nah, nah, Anar and his pals went out via the Abyssal Gate, same as everyone visiting does."

"So… what was this so-called dramatic exit, then?" she demanded.

Crispin shifted. He eyed Peregrin.

Peregrin nobly kept his poise; this was a high status demon who rarely lost his cool; rarely got his hands dirty, rarely got directly involved in any activity that wasn't boardroom centred. His son, however, had got him running, snapping, thumping tables, murdering imps and banishing krakens.

"It is not important," he sniffed, tightly, "we will drive to Warlock Court and you will speak to my son."

Ember’s jaw dropped, "oh, we will, will we? I'm not driving to Stonehenge, I've had barely four hours sleep, are you kidding me?"

"I could drive us," Crispin smiled, toothily. "Anar's going to be so happy to see us."

"Is he though?" Ember asked.

"He'll be happy to see you, for sure! He loved you, by all accounts," Crispin said with a hint of jealousy. His face suddenly lit up, "that's why we wanted to find you!" he gasped with a rush of realisation.

"I'm a lure?" she growled.

Crispin coughed. He tried to speak but wheezed instead. His hand touched his throat.

"You said you feared you would never see him again, would never know if he achieved his dream," Peregrin purred, stepping forwards, brushing her pink cheek tenderly, stroking her soft skin, his voice sounding sweet in her delicate pointed ears.

The air in the room crackled. The kitchen appliances suddenly seemed loud. There were strange flashes outside of her vision.

"He left you so suddenly... you didn't have chance to say goodbye. What if it didn't have to be goodbye, Ember?"

"That's... right." She tilted her head up, her lips parting. His father looked so much like him; the handsome long face, the cute snuffly snout. "I really want to see him again, we left so much unsaid." Out of her field of view, there was a soft thump as Crispin slumped to the floor. "I loved him," she whispered softly with an ache in her heart.

"You are so incredibly beautiful, Ember, I can see why he wanted you and only you. Any man would…" the demon’s bottom lip brushed against her own seductively and she was lost in a fog of enchantment.

Crispin scrambled to conjure defensive sigils, to hurl a hex - anything. Being here in the mortal realm meant you had your magic, true, but it also meant you could be killed. The Director had power beyond any he could hope to wield to defend himself with, and his airway had been closed off for over a minute now. Bright spots flickered in his vision. He'd always been a wimp. Anar had been his muscle when he'd needed it most. Now, he was going to have to either save his own hide or hope the Director was merciful and was only teaching him a temporary lesson for being a loud-mouth.