Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

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When the demon appeared Randall Webber nearly jumped
out of his skin. He was an experienced magician, but the
appearance of an infernal dignitary is never a commonplace
event, and it shook him every time. He knew that if he
stepped even momentarily outside the circle he had painstakingly
burned onto his hardwood floor the demon would be
at his throat, in an instant would separate his soul from his
body, and devour it—or worse.
Webber mustered his courage, and put on his best poker
face. He was in control here, he told himself. He was the
magician. He called the shots. He commanded the hosts of
Hell. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and upper lip
and then put his hand in his back pocket to stop it from
shaking.
The demon did not speak, but appeared in its fiery aspect
in the form of a dragon. It hovered as an image cast upon a
small paper triangle about the size of Webber’s fist, set safely
outside the circle on an end table. The dragon uncoiled its
tail in slow motion, gold-flecked pupils staring straight into
Webber’s own. Webber gulped and willed his voice not to
waver as he spoke.
“Greetings, noble Articiphus, commander of many mighty
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