The Standard Disclaimer: Jim Butcher owns The Dresden Files and all situations and characters thereof. I'm not making one red cent from this story.

Author's note: This story was inspired by a post on the Jim Butcher website forum discussing Toot-toot and Harry's power (or lack thereof) as the 'Za Lord. Something about what an interesting experience Harry would have if anyone ever tried summoning the Zalord.

THE SUMMONING

By De Engi

Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

Take today, for example. There I was, taking a shower - just a lousy shower, for cryin' out loud - when suddenly, just as I was rinsing off a faceful of soap, the water stops. Just cuts right out.

'Great,' I'm thinkin'. 'Did I forget to pay the water bill?' But then, I open my eyes, and meet with one of the worse nightmares a Warden can face. A nightmare guaranteed to send the most battle-hardened of our lot running for the nearest exit.

A suburban living room.

With four bored housewives.

One of whom, a petite redhead with a pixie haircut, utters a squeak and jumps, knocking a plastic tupperware bowl of what is probably supposed to be blood, but looks suspiciously like ketchup, right across the circle.

Amateurs.

I sigh, and close my eyes, which are starting to sting from soap, and rub gently.

"Well," A bored voice utters. "He doesn't look all that impressive."

"Yeah," Another chimes in, tittering nervously. "Isn't he supposed to have a really big--."

"Enough!" I snap, opening my eyes again, wishing, not for the first time, that hot showers were an option. At least the stinging is gone. "What...who...where am I?"

"Um," The blonde, who is the second voice, answers. "Mexico."

"Mexico?" I say, just for clarification, and not because there's soap in my ears.

"Mexico, Ohio." The first voice, belonging to a tall, willowy brunette, tells me.

"And exactly what did you think you were doing?"

"Ah, summoning the demon Zalord." The other brunette, shorter and stockier, answers.

I frown, and snatch the old-looking, leather-bound book out of the redhead's arms. She squeaks and jumps again. I take a look in the book. Yeah, sure looks like an old, black-magic grimoire to me. Except there's a coffee ring obscuring the name of the demon. I think it's supposed to be Zalurdiel, or something.

I sigh, and step out of the circle.

"You may not realize, this." I tell the women. "But today's your lucky day. You wanna know why?" I glower, and the blonde, beginning to look intimidated (not easy, considering I'm still nekkid and full of soap), shakes her head. "Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway. You're lucky you misread the demon's name and got me, instead. Because if you'd gotten a real demon, he would've escaped your circle, ripped your heads off, and then probably headed off to the nearest elementary school to do the same things to the kids. Now, do you really want the deaths of a bunch of innocent, little kids on your hands?" All four women shake their heads fearfully. Good. Not that I think a demon would really go after the nearest school when there are better things between here and there, but best to use the worst threat most people can think of. Saves grief later on. Then I sigh again.

"Anybody got some clothes I can borrow?"

The End