She took the tip of the silver sword between thumb and forefinger. “I give my solemn vow,” she said, “that the demon named Phoenix presents no threat to anyone or anything in the mundane world; that all my skill and all my power are at work in maintaining this state of affairs; and that if I fail, I submit myself at once to the judgement of the Order of Marshals and especially to the Chief Marshal Laura Kenning. By this oath I lay my fate in her hands. If the Phoenix wakes, she shall know of it, and she shall be granted all power to act.” Magic curled around Walden’s fingers and the sword as she spoke. She was being intentionally vague with the wording—too vague, if she’d been dealing with a demon. But Laura was human and Walden was not afraid of her. The whole thing was just a formality really. The Phoenix had been living quietly on Walden’s arm for so long that most of the time even Walden forgot it was there. But for Laura’s peace of mind, she finished, “And I seal this oath with my own blood.”

She turned her fingers over and nicked them on the sword’s sharp edge. Then she offered them to Laura.

Laura let the sword fall and took her hand in an abrupt motion. She brought Walden’s bloody fingers to her face, hesitated, and then kissed them awkwardly. Then she let go at once. Walden breathed out, feeling the pact take hold. She’d never made any kind of binding magical contract with a human being before. The underlying principle was the same as in any invocation, but the sensation was very peculiar. Laura’s magical essence was so much smaller and stranger and more complicated than the glowing presence of a demon.

“That’s that. And now please let’s go,” she said. She carefully didn’t glance down at Charlie’s shrivelled corpse by her feet. Now was not a good time to burst into tears. “I don’t think I can bear to be here another moment.”

The purplish shimmer of wild magic grew thinner and brighter, reinforced by the remnants of Old Faithful, as they walked together towards the broken front door of School House. The fog of the incursion was starting to lift. Laura tripped over the child’s bicycle in the hallway and swore.

In the absence of the great lurking threat, smaller demons were already creeping back. More will come, said some part of Walden that was forever a professional. We are going to have a problem soon. But then she forgot again, because a pair of apparitions, imps latched onto memories of emotion, were kissing by the coat hooks. She held up a hand, Wait.

Laura said, “But it’s dead.”

“That’s not Old Faithful,” said Walden.