The rules are simple for part 4 of Chuck Wendig’s ongoing Flash Challenge:

Look through the 600-word entries from last week.  Pick one. Add another 200 words to the story.

Here’s my contribution to Dangerdean‘s continuation.  I pick up after the third break.

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“Yes, this penthouse view is quite breathtaking,” I turned to the luscious blonde before me, “but not nearly as lovely as—”
A thunder clap, and then I was standing in a small, glowing circle, surrounded by a gaggle of chanting fools in robes.
“Oh great Sorasel im Palat, lord of fire and darkness, fell devourer of the innocent, conqueror of—” Arcane symbols covered the speaker’s robes, nearly obscuring the heavy crimson fabric.
“Yes, yes, get on with it.” I gestured with my gin martini.
He paused, then finished in a post-pubescent squeak, “We invoke thy true name and bid thee do our will.”
“Oh you do, do you? Well I want you to send me back. I was having a smashing time, and that girl may not have two brain cells to rub together, but she looked quite likely to do some rubbing together. If you know what I mean.”
The robe-wearers shuffled, and whispered amongst themselves. The leader piped up again.
“O great Sorasel im—“
“Stop that, stop that,” I interrupted. “Only my dad calls me that. I prefer my middle name. If you must speak, call me Stewart.”
More shuffling and whispering from my summoners.

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“Oh great and mighty…Stewart….” the leader—whose pasty face was mostly spots—began again. “We bind thee to our will.”
I took a sip of my martini—extra dirty, extra olives—and raised an eyebrow at the little prat. Summoners used to know what they were doing. I looked at the floor where their demon trap was sloppily drawn with what smelled unmistakably like fresh, store-bought spray paint. I sighed. What happened to the blood of a virgin? Or even the vital fluids of an unwilling Christian priest?
I noticed their silence; I could practically smell their fear—a mixture of piss and that foul deodorant that promised them flocks of women. I took another gulp of the martini—it was perfect. Almost as flawless as my blonde client who was no doubt currently working her minimal intelligence into a sweat in an effort to find me.
“Well? Get on with it.”
“We bound you, oh great Sora—er—Stewart.”
“I heard that part. So,” I made sure to smile with all of my teeth. “You’ve bound me. Congratulations. Now, what do you plan to do?”
“Jaime, this was your idea.” One of the other robed figures poked the leader.

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“Yes…Jaime? You masterminded this escapade?” I drained the martini, and stared directly at Jaime.

“Oh great Stewart, we summoned you because…um…” Jamie looked sheepish. “We want to get laid, like, a lot.” The chuckleheads voiced their agreement with grunts and high fives.

“You seriously summoned me because you want sex? Personal hygiene and asking a girl on a date didn’t work, so you decided ‘Meh. Let’s just summon a demon’?” A couple of them laughed, but were quickly silent.

“Well, you’ve taken the trouble to bring me here, and I’m bound to your will, but just because I’m feeling generous, I’m going to give you a short primer on demon invocation.” They looked at each other warily.

“There are five elements of a proper invocation. Three you have managed admirably. You have consecrated the space. I personally would have used something a little more visceral, but there’s no accounting for taste. I’m here, so obviously you have successfully invoked me, and of course, you have bound me to your will.” I looked down my nose at Jaime.

“The fourth element, however, is constraint. You must constrain the actions of the demon. That, my young friends, you have not done.”

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I twirled the martini glass in my fingers, and held it up to the light as though looking for spots on the glass.  Then I hurled it directly at Master Jaime’s face.  Jaime and his entire cloaked entourage cringed backward.  Of course, the glass exploded against the inside barrier emanating up from the spray-painted demon trap.  I chuckled as shards of glass rained down on my custom tailored suit.

“Fortunately your pubescent sexual fervor fueled the construction of an adequate constraint, were I made of glass.  Which I am not.”  I carefully brushed the glass dust from my jacket and stepped to the inside edge of the circle. “The fifth element of a proper invocation,” I said, stepping outside the circle, “is negotiation.”

I stood nose-to-forehead with young Jaime.  I could hear his heart pounding in his chest.  Small beads of sweat bubbled up through the fuzz above his lip.  I could smell the fear on his breath.  He stood motionless, staring at my throat, never looking up to meet my gaze.  But to his credit, the boy did not run.  Master Jaime showed commitment to purpose.  That could become a problem.

“Tell me Master Jaime,” I hissed, “How well do you negotiate?”

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