The acid sizzled and spat little electric blue sparks on its skin, but it didn't seem to harm the demon.
It did, however, dissolve the trench coat to shreds in less time than it takes to draw a breath and wreaked havoc on my rugs and furniture.
The demon shook its head, gathering its wits. I turned to the far corner, near the door, and extended my hand, trumpeting, "Vento servitas!"
The pale, smooth wood of my wizard's staff all but glowed in the darkness as it flew toward me, driven by a gentler, finer blast of the same wind.
I caught it in my hand and spun it toward the demon, calling on the lines of power and force deep within the long, unbroken grains of wood in the staff. I extended the staff toward it, horizontally like a bar, and shouted, "Out! Out!
Out! You are not welcome here!"
A touch dramatic in any other circumstance, maybe—but when you've got a demon in your living room, nothing seems too extreme.
