"I'll get there on my own," Azzie said. "Let me just see that address again. Okay, I got it.

"See you later, Tom," he said to the blank-eyed man.

And so Thomas Scrivener was returned to his home. Luckily the medical demon had been able to get him back before irreparable damage had been done to his body. The doctor who had bought it had been about to start an incision in the neck to trace out the arterial system for his students. Before he could begin, Scrivener opened his eyes. "Good morning, Dr. Moreau," he said, and then fainted.

Moreau proclaimed him alive and demanded a refund from his widow.

She paid it grudgingly. Her marriage to Scrivener hadn't been particularly successful.

Azzie had traveled to Earth by his own means, not wanting to go with Scrivener in the Vehicle of the Undead, whose rotting smells were a trial even for supernatural beings. He arrived just after Scrivener's resuscitation. No one could see him since he wore the Amulet of Invisibility.

Invisibly, except to those with the second sight, Azzie followed the procession that carried Scrivener back to his home. The good people of the village, rustics all, proclaimed it a mir­acle. But Scrivener's wife, Milaud, kept on muttering, "I knew he was faking it, the wretch!"

Shielded by his invisibility, Azzie drifted around Scrivener's house, where he would live until Scrivener was past the claims period. Probably a matter of a few days. It was a fair-sized house, several rooms on each floor, and a nice dank base­ment.

Azzie took up his abode in the basement. It was just the sort of a place for a demon. He had brought along several scrolls to read and a sack of rotted cats' heads for snacks. He was looking forward to a quiet time. But no sooner had he settled in than the interruptions began.

First it was Scrivener's wife, a tall wench with coarse brown hair, wide shoulders, and a big bottom, coming down to the cellar for provisions. Then it was the oldest son, Hans, a weedy lout who looked just like his father, searching for the honey pot. Then Lotte the maidservant, down to pick out some potatoes from last year's harvest.

What with one thing and another, Azzie got little rest. In the morning he looked in on Scrivener. The resuscitated man seemed to be on the mend. He was sitting up and taking herb tea, arguing with his wife and scolding the children. One more day, Azzie decided, and he'd be all right and it would be time to move on to more interesting matters.

The two dogs of the household knew he was there, and slunk away whenever he came by. That was to be expected. But what happened next was not in his plans.

That night he went to sleep in the moldy part of the cellar where some turnips had rotted and he'd made a noisome little nest for himself. But he awoke abruptly when he sensed the presence of light. It was a candle's glow. Someone was standing there looking at him. A child. How insufferable! Azzie tried to bound to his feet and fell back. Someone had tied a piece of string around his ankle!

Sheer reaction made him rear up. A child. A little fat-faced flaxen-haired girl of seven or so. Somehow she must be able to see him: in fact, she had trapped him.

Azzie swelled himself up to his full height, deciding he'd better impress this child at once. He tried to loom menacingly over her, but the strangely glowing string, one end of which she had tied to a beam, pulled him up short and he fell again. The little girl laughed and Azzie shuddered: nothing sets a demon's teeth on edge quite so much as innocent young laughter.

"Hi, little girl," he said. "Can you see me?"

"Yes, I can," she said. "You look like a nasty old fox!"

Azzie looked at the tiny dial set in his Amulet of Invisibility. As he had feared, it showed that the power was down close to zero. Those fools at Supply! But of course he should have checked it himself.

He seemed in a bit of a fix. But nothing he couldn't talk his way out of.

"A nice fox, though, eh, snubkin?" Azzie said, using a term of endearment common among demon parents. "How nice to see you! Please undo this bit of string and I'll give you a whole bag of sweets."

"I don't like you," the child said. "You're bad. I'm going to keep you tied up and call the priest."

She stared at him accusingly. Azzie could see he was going to have to employ some cunning to get out of this one.

"Tell me, little girl," he said, "where did you come by this bit of string? "

"I found it in one of the storerooms of the church," she told him. "It was on a table with a lot of bits of bone."

Relics of the holy saints! That meant that the string had to be a spirit-catcher! The best spirit-catchers were made from the rope that girdled the robes of saints. It was going to be difficult getting out of it.

"Little girl, I'm just here to look after your father. He hasn't been well, you know, what with dying and coming back to life and all. Now be a dear and undo the cord, that's a sweet good girl."

"No," the little girl said, in that adamantine way little girls have, and some big ones, too.

"Well, curse and blast," Azzie said. He struggled but couldn't get his foot out of the spirit-catcher, which had the annoying property of tightening each time he tried to loosen it. "Come on, little girl, fun's fun but now it's time to let me go."

"Don't call me 'little girl,' " the little girl said. "My name is Brigitte, and I know all about you and your kind. The priest told us. You are an evil spirit, aren't you?"

"Not at all," said Azzie. "I am actually a good spirit, or at least a neutral spirit. I was sent here to make sure your father gets well. I must look after him now, then go away and help others."

"Oh, I see," said Brigitte. She thought for a while. "You look awfully like a demon."

"Looks can be deceiving," Azzie said. "Let me go! I must see to your father!"

"What'll you give me?" Brigitte asked.

"Toys," Azzie said. "More than you've ever seen before."

"Good," the little girl said. "I need new clothes, too."

"I'll give you a new wardrobe. Now let me go!"

Brigitte came close and picked at the knot with a grubby forefinger. Then she stopped. "If I let you go, will you come back and play with me whenever I call for you?"

"No, that's going too far. I have other things to do. I can't be at the beck and call of a little village girl with a dirty face."

"Well then, promise you'll grant me three wishes whenever I ask for them."

Azzie hesitated. Granting wishes could get you into trou­ble. A demon's promise in this regard had to be kept. But granting human wishes could take you into some difficulties. Humans were so extravagant!

"I'll grant one wish," he said. "As long as it's reasonable."

"Well, all right," Brigitte said. "But not too reasonable, all right?"

"All right! Untie me!"

Brigitte did so. Azzie rubbed his ankle, then searching through his pouch, found a spare charge for his Amulet of Invisibility. He plugged it in and vanished.

"Don't forget, you promised!" she cried.

Azzie knew he couldn't forget even if he wanted to. Prom­ises made by supernatural creatures to humans are registered with the Office of Equilibrium, operating under the rule of Ananke. If a demon tried to forget a promise, the forces of Necessity quickly and painfully reminded him.

Scrivener was all right, eating a bowl of cereal, giving orders to his hired hands and to his wife. Azzie exited. It was time to get on with his life.