“Okay, let’s go through the accusations one by one,” Jabber’s wyer, Mitchel Phew, Esq. told him. They were in Mr. Phew’s austere office, which was furnished with an ebony bck desk, white bone chairs for clients, an empty firepce, and a rug of a great-white bear, spyed out across half the polished bck marble floor. In the corner was an open door leading to a septically clean private bathroom.

  Jabber had retained Mr. Phew as his wyer after the Commission on Celestial Retions sent him a summons informing the magician that Angelica had pressed charges for celestial harassment, discrimination, and breach of the peace.

  “Before we do that, can I ask you a professional question?” Jabber asked.

  “Please, go ahead.”

  “What is it with legal people and wigs?”

  “How do you mean?” Mitchel Phew, Esq. frowned.

  “Commissioner Gorgon showed up at my boratory in her commissioner wig, and you’re wearing your wig right here in this meeting? Do you folk wear them wherever you go?”

  “Well,” Mr. Phew said, giving a formal chuckle, “wigs are the mark of our profession and so whenever we perform our official duties we make sure to wear them. It’s tradition. But as for me wearing a wig right now, you are incorrect. These are my very own locks.”

  “That’s your real hair?!” Jabber asked, incredulous. “I don’t know what to say except that I’m jealous.”

  “Indeed!” the angelic barrister smiled, flicking one of his tight brown curls away from his forehead. The curls shone thick and silky under the light of his halo. “I’m very blessed . . . now can we get to the business at hand?” He waggled the legal documents he was reading from for emphasis.

  Jabber signaled for him to continue and folded his arms across his chest.

  “In the first instance Angelica cims that you tried to sniff her.”

  “That’s a lie!” Jabber excimed. “I merely leaned towards her to read a letter with the light from her halo.”

  Mitchel Phew, Esq. held up a hand to stop him. “One accusation at a time. So you didn’t sniff her?”

  “No! Why would I do that?”

  “I’m not saying you did, sir, I’m merely trying to understand the case.” Mr. Phew gnced through the papers a moment before saying, “Secondly, Angelica cims discrimination.”

  “How? In what way?”

  “She says that you used her as a reading mp and only gave her menial tasks like colting files even though you knew she had a PhD in Human Studies from Infernal Technical University.”

  “Oh this is beyond absurd!” Jabber said with animation. “Yes, I used the light from her halo–which by the way she didn’t have when I hired her–and yes, I had her do secretarial work because she was a SECRETARY!”

  “Even though she had a PhD?” Mitchel Phew, Esq. leaned back in his chair and watched Master Jabber.

  “That was her job!” Jabber said, fbbergasted. “So what if she had a PhD? I mean it was in the humanities for God’s missing sake. Does that even count?”

  “Just trying to ascertain the facts, sir,” Mr. Phew said, and then set the papers he had been holding onto his desk. “Well, based on everything I’ve read and heard, I want to assure you that we should be able to get this cleared up at minimal cost to yourself.”

  “Cost?”

  “Yes, I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some sort of mutually agreeable settlement. That’s generally how these types of cases are handled.” The barrister formed a triangle in front of his chin with his hands as he spoke.

  “Settlement?” Master Jabber was on the edge of his chair, his eyes wide with indignation. “But I didn’t do anything. I’d rather lose all I have defending my honor than give one red cent to pcate her lies!”

  “That may be the case but–”

  “We don’t negotiate with demonesses!” Jabber excimed. “Isn’t that the saying? I heard that somewhere. Who said that?”

  “Andreas Tatius,” Mitchel Phew, Esq. said in a ft dispassionate tone, one of his eyebrows raising.

  “Oh, truly?” Jabber sat back in his chair, somewhat defted.

  “If there’s nothing else of note you have to add, then I think we’re done here for the moment. My people will reach out to you if we need anything else. In the meantime, if something occurs to you that we should know about, please don’t hesitate to drop by.” The angelic wyer stood and offered his hand to Jabber.

  “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Jabber said as he took Mr. Phew’s hand.

  “Of course,” the angelic wyer said. “We have wonderful facilities out in the lobby.”

  Jabber narrowed his eyes. “The lobby? What about that one?” He pointed towards the pristine office bathroom tucked away in the corner.

  “That vatory is not to be used,” Michel Phew, Esq. said smoothly. “But you’ll love our public facilities. Completely refurbished and with a demon attendant who offers the most delightful mints.”

  “I really don’t like having bathroom attendants listen to me relieve myself. Are you sure I can’t just slip in there? I’m like a ghost. I won’t leave a trace, I swear.”

  “Overruled,” Mr. Phew said, chuckling as he took the replica gavel on his desk and hit lightly against its wooden soundblock. “Just a little barrister humor.”

  Jabber blinked at him. “So, the other bathroom, you said it’s around the corner?” he asked in a disappointed voice.

  “Indeed,” the barrister said, showing him out of his office. “And be sure to grab yourself a mint!”

  ***

  “Could you have the valet bring my gig around to the front?” Master Jabber asked Mr. Phew’s secretary, a woman with a bob of light golden brown hair.

  She gave him a look of surprise.

  “What? Is there an issue?”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” the woman said. “Aren’t you a magician? Can’t you just use magic to teleport or fly on a broomstick or something?”

  Jabber rolled his eyes. “First of all, witches fly on broomsticks, not magicians. Second of all, why does everyone expect me to use magic all the time? I’m not some sort of dancing magical monkey you know. Do people expect secretaries to bring coffee when they’re outside the office? Why the double standard?”

  “I see,” she said, pursing her lips. “One moment.” She called the valet and asked him to bring Jabber’s gig around the front of the building.

  Jabber thanked her. “I do appreciate it. I’ll likely be coming to these offices a lot, you know.”

  She gave him a stiff smile. “That will be lovely. We’re gd to have you as a client.”

  A few moments ter the valet pulled up with Jabber’s gig.

  ***

  “Master Jabber!”

  Jabber turned to see his doctor walking up to his carriage. It was noon and besides the man, the street in front of the w offices of Mitchel Phew, Esq. was empty.

  “Doctor Turnbull!” Jabber excimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  The doctor pced his walking stick on the ground and leaned on it. He was a dapper older gentleman in a brown suit, a felt brown bowler cap, and a pocket watch with a golden chain. His white mustache was trimmed thin and when he spoke or smiled, he somehow managed to fsh all his pearly white teeth.

  “Your golem said I could find you here, sir,” the good doctor said.

  “How can I be at your service?”

  “Well, I wanted to inform you that you were correct to come in and have those slight discolorations on your hand checked. I ran preliminary tests on the samples I took and, well . . . ”

  “Yes?!” Jabber’s eyes were now fully on his doctor, nervously awaiting the diagnosis.

  “Well, there are indications that it may be daemonopsmosis.”

  Jabber’s eyes widened in shock. “Is that some sort of cancer or consumption?”

  The doctor ughed softly with a sound like warm afternoon sunshine. “No, no, no . . . this could be much worse.”

  Jabber felt a strong pressure of despair rise from his now racing heart up into his head. “So, what is it? What do I need to do?”

  “For now? Nothing . . . we need to run more tests. If it’s not malignant, it will go away in a couple of weeks. On the other hand . . .”

  “Yes?! Tell me! On the other hand what?” Jabber interrupted frantically.

  “The infection will slowly spread as many malignant demonic influences do. Little by little your skin will turn charcoal bck, your eyes will begin to glow, and you’ll become the thrall of whatever demonic entity infected you . . . what did you say you had come in contact with again?”

  “A hellhound!” Jabber said through gritted teeth. “Her spit was on my wand when I used it.”

  “Ah yes! That would expin the rare infection. Human magic plus demon spittle is quite the dangerous combination. Must have been what opened your spirit up to possession.”

  “Oh Dear God Missing Above,” Jabber groaned in despair.

  “Oh, my dear man, my apologies,” the doctor said, frowning. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Nothing is clear yet. I need to run some more tests but merely wanted to keep you informed. I’ll send a note when I get the final results.”

  “Thank you doctor,” Jabber said, slumping back in his gig.

  “You’re entirely welcome!” Dr. Turnbull replied with a fshy grin. “I’ll be in touch. But in the meantime, you have a wonderful day!” With that the good doctor sauntered down the empty street, whistling a show tune to himself.

  Jabber softly pounded a fist into his forehead, took a few deep breaths, and then, giving his reins a light tug, headed for home.