âLike a good neighbor, State Farm is there,â and another one appears. And dodges the downward sweep of claws, darting to the side, bouncing off the pentagramâs barriers, and tripping over the demonâs tail. âIn the Vatican!â she cries out as she moves, using the State Farm Agent summoning charm to modify the situation as she was taught, and mentally thanking her trainer for expecting her to be fast enough to do it on the first incantation.
Most State Farm agents, when they run into trouble, have to get the customer to do the jingle a second time. That guy with the buffalo was lucky.
The magic takes hold, and she materializes in the aisle of St. Peterâs Basilica, still holding the demon by the tail, in the middle of Sunday morning Mass. The music clatters unprofessionally to a halt as laypeople, deacons, priests, monks, nuns, and the Pope all turn their attention to the surprised demon whose fifth course of dinner has turned, unaccountably, into a visit to one of his least favorite places on Earth.
There is chanting in Latin, and vaguely cross-shaped gestures, and clouds of incense, and the demon vanishes in a puff of smoke, whether from the efforts of the clergy or of his own volition no one can say. The Agent doesnât wait, fleeing towards the doors and escaping in the confusion.
She gains the exit and walks, purposefully, toward Rome proper; there, she ducks into the nearest alley. A burner cell phone comes out of one of the less-used pockets of her purse, and she dials a number from memory.
âAllstate,â says a smooth masculine voice after three rings.
âState Farm,â she answers. âIâm calling in a favor.â
âYeah?â Interest. âWhat sort?â
As she talks sheâs pulling out her smartphone, keying an app that was activated by the summoning, and pulling up the policyholder data that enabled the incantation to work.
âInsurance fraud,â she said, and can almost hear teeth sharpening on the other end of the line. She gives him the name, the address, the policy number. âSomeone needs some mayhem.â
âThatâs my name,â the man says.
She smiles. âSomeone needs all the mayhem.â
He chuckles. Slow. Evil. Even with the echoes of demonic laughter ringing in her ears, sheâs impressed. âDonât worry,â he says, almost purring.
âYouâre in good hands.â
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