“Thanks,” I replied dryly. “You’ve really put me at ease.” The whole reason we were tromping around the PD at night was because there’d been several attempts to summon me to the demon realm. Usually I was the one who did the summoning. I had the ability to summon to this world supernatural creatures known as demons from another plane of existence. Not hell—these weren’t the demons of any sort of religious mythos, and the reason they were even called thus was lost to history. There were twelve species—or levels—of demons, and the higher the level, the more powerful they tended to be, both physically and in their ability to use and shape arcane power. And above the twelve levels of demons were the demonic lords—beings more on the level of demi-gods—who ruled the demon realm. Generally speaking, one did not summon a demonic lord without extensive preparation, planning, and loads of arcane power, since the lords had an annoying tendency to slaughter anyone who dared do so.
But eight months ago, or so, I’d summoned Lord Rhyzkahl by accident and survived. Since then—through a variety of circumstances and favors owed—I’d become his sworn summoner, bound by oath to summon him to this world at least once a month.