http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/san-francisco-salt-marsh/

Valefar the demon blinked into existence.

The crossroads was typical of its type with long stretches of weathered asphalt shooting off into the distance toward the cardinal directions. He couldn’t confirm that, of course, as any compass in the area would have gone haywire at his appearance. But generally speaking, when they pulled him from the comforts of Hell to parlay on Earth, they choose their crossroads with care.

Valefar hadn’t been summoned to the living world in quite some time. His command, ten legions of demons, was not particularly large, but they were an enthusiastic group. When a summons came, it was generally easy to find a volunteer to take his place. A summoning powerful enough to whisk him up without so much as a polite cough to announce itself was, he admitted to himself, an intriguing rarity.

Tradition was something to which demons were very much tied, and in most instances Valefar appreciated the predictability of it. But he had found in his early days that the expected physical appearance of a demon was not at all to his tastes. Hopping around on any number of mismatched limbs, tongues lolling from numerous mouths, was all very unseemly. For his money, simple was always best. He ignored the many grimoire accounts of his unsettling half-lion, half-man, half-donkey appearance.

Instead, he appeared as a man, unremarkable in height or beauty. He was doffed in an impeccable Saville Row suit of lightweight cotton in the purest shade of black. The fabric was spun from fiber produced by a long-extinct carnivorous plant. Understanding some pageantry was necessary, he allowed for golden irises in his striking eyes and a jet black lion’s tail protruding from an expertly hidden fold in the suit.

He faced who’d called him. The human stood on the empty road in a well-tailored suit. He was, Valefar thought, as unremarkable as his own guise. Maybe a bit more physically fit than most who summoned him and maybe a touch older. The hazards involved in a mortal life that included demon-summoning were legion. Few made it past 40. This guy was otherwise entirely regular. Not old, not young, not particularly attractive, hair a muddy shade of brown and trimmed short in no discernible haircut. He was just a man. (It was almost always a man. Hell was not a great place for humans, that was sure, but the demon felt a certain pride in the egalitarian torments he and his kind provided. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been summoned by a woman.)

The man looked calm and said nothing. For a moment that dragged on, demon and human looked at each other with purposeful dispassion. Eventually, the demon took the initiative.

“You have called upon a Great and Necessary Evil, and I have come. Don your power of earth, your wave of water, your… hang on.” The demon gave the human a once-over. “You don’t appear to have your power of earth.”

“Yes… no,” the human shrugged. “No, I don’t.”

“Or anything remotely resembling a wave of water.”

“Something like 60% of the average adult male is water,” the man offered in reply.

“But that’s not what the summoning instructions call for, is it?”

“Probably not.”

Valefar saw a very slight muscle twitch in the man’s face, and he was certain it was a repressed smile.

The demon sighed theatrically. Valefar was liberal in his appearance, but something of stickler when it came to the basic rules. As the patron demon of thieves, rules were incredibly important. How could a crook possibly succeed unless he knew what rules existed so he could properly break them?

“So it would be a waste of breath to ask about your gust of wind and lick of flame?” he asked the man.

“Maybe not.”

“But you don’t have them?”

“Nope.”

“Christ…” the demon put his head in his hand. Behind him, his lion’s tail swished in distress. As it moved, a quiet song rang out, an affectation of his angel roots that he found did wonders to unsettle living humans. “I know I’m going to regret asking this but,” and here he lifted his head and pointed to the man’s jacket. “Is that a flannel suit?”

“It is.”

“In June?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Is that a…” the demon was aghast, and for a moment he was unable to form more words. “It’s 82 degrees out here! He comes to me in a flannel suit in the summer. How’d you get here? Rode in with your sled dog team while singing Christmas carols??” He was shouting now and waving his hands, nails angled to a point so sharp they were very nearly claws, with inspired verve.

“I drove,” the man said and motioned behind him. The demon looked and saw an old Duesenberg Town Car, long and lean and regal.

“Oh,” the demon said upon seeing the gorgeous vehicle. “Well that’ll do it.”

The man lifted tented his fingers and exhaled a deep breath. “Can we get on with it?”

“If we must.” Valefar tried to bring his temperature back down. “Why did you call me?”

“I want access to the 4 classical elements,” the man said.

The demon stuck a finger in his ear and wriggled it. “I’m sorry, there was a noise just then. It sounded like you said you wanted access to the 4 classical elements. Earth, Wind, Water, Fire?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t ask for a nice linen suit, soft grey with a just-off-white shirt and navy blue tie and pocket square?”

The man scrunched his face in distaste. “Linen doesn’t really have the structure I like in-”

“How am I even here?” Valefar interrupted, patience worn thin. “Your attire is wrong, you lack the pieces of the elements, and your manners are in tatters.”

“I had to wing it,” the man answered with a chuckle. A chuckle! “This isn’t even a true crossroads.”

Having been distracted thus far by the human’s shortcomings, Velfar hadn’t scrutinized his surroundings. Once he did, he saw the point at once. There was a single road on which they both stood, a straight line through a marsh running to the horizon in both directions. To the east and west, there were two separate roads that met at almost the same spot on the main road, but not quite. They were just off, like a slant rhyme of “murder” and “martyr” or a pretty girl with one wandering eye. Or a guy in a winter suit in June.

“Well it’s one humiliation after another,” the demon said and again shook his head. His faced screwed up in annoyance when his tail sang with the motion, a choral song low and elegiac.

“I was lead to believe the King of Thieves could help me,” the man prompted.

“Could,” Valefar said. “Won’t.”

“Well not for free, I wouldn’t think,” the man said. He dug a hand into his jacket’s inner pocket and extracted a rolled-up scroll.

“A scroll!” Valefar clapped with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

The next moment, the scroll was in the demon’s hand. He began to unroll it, and it just kept on going. With a sigh, the demon put his concentration to bear and speed read in twenty seconds what would have taken any human twenty minutes.

“Most of this is fine,” he said when he finished. “But I can’t help but noticed it’s missing something important.”

“Oh?”

“The traditional payment.”

“Right.”

“You come to make a deal with a demon, and you don’t have the payment as your soul.”

“I’m not really interested in parting with it,” the man answered.

“This isn’t going to work,” Valefar said dismissively. He started the laborious process of rolling up the scroll.

The human tilted his head quizzically. For a moment, Valefar thought he looked just like a dog who couldn’t understand it’s master’s instructions.

“Did you even read it?” the finally asked.

“You watched me read it.”

“Took you twenty seconds.”

“Demon,” Valefar said, tapping the side of his head. “We’re quick readers.”

“Too quick, I guess.” The man shook his head, disappointed. “Look again, four inches from the bottom.”

Valefar sent a baleful look the human’s way, but his curiosity was fully piqued. Interactions with humans were generally more awkward and full of sneering and pleading and, oftentimes, dying. He didn’t think this one was likely to end that way. He ran his eyes over the paragraphs four inches from the scroll’s crisp bottom edge.

And then he saw it. He didn’t know how he’d missed it the first time.

“You can’t deliver that,” the demon whispered.

“I believe I can.”

Valefar nodded. “You know the penalty if you fail.”

The man shrugged. He seemed, for all the world, like someone entirely unconcerned with the prospect of failure. Normally, Velafar found that very encouraging. Arrogant humans were often stupid humans, and he had entire counties in Hell full of arrogant and stupid humans. But this man didn’t seem arrogant or stupid, and that gave Velafar just the faintest hint of concern.

But tradition was the rule of law with demons. The deal was sound and comprehensive, written by a lawyer who’d obviously had prior experience in engaging contract talks with demons. It was all on the up and up… if this guy could deliver the payment.

“In your car, you’ll find four treasure maps. Each leads you to, well, let’s call it a talisman. One for each of the classical elements. When you have collected all four, and if you remain miraculously un-killed from the attempt, call me again.” Velafar flipped the scroll closed and tucked it under his arm.

“Fair enough.”

Velafar was about to vanish, but paused. “This stuff you’re going after, the power of the four elements… that’s old magic. Old magic is, among a variety of dangers, unpredictable. There’s good odds you won’t make it.”

“What do you care? You’re a demon,” the man answered.

“No, I’m saying,” Velafar said with some enthusiasm. “There’s good odds you won’t make it. Then you’ll walk into Hell in that or some other equally ridiculous suit, and our next conversation will be, for me at least, very satisfying.”

The man laughed, the kind of genuine, torso-shaking laugh that only comes from being truly surprised. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Right.” The demon stretched his arms over his head and nodded in finality. “We’re done then. Break a leg.” He vanished in a puff of smoke and cloud of brimstone.

“Ugh. Way too on the nose,” the human shot back to the spot previously occupied by the lion-tailed demon.

“Shut up,” the demon’s voice shot back. Still, the smoke and brimstone sucked back into a small dot, then popped out of existence.