I gaze suspiciously at the vague form of the demon in the Circle as the unexpected rain continues to pound on my roof. In the murky darkness of my attic, its shape is vague at best, and the faint amber light of the Circle’s ward is too dim to do more than highlight a curve here or a line there. I watch as it inquisitively pokes at the walls of the Circle with something resembling an arm. Gentle waves of visible magic ripple out from its touch, and its eyes widen as it watches the patterns of energy wash over the glyphs.
“This is really advanced magic!” the demon says, its voice tinged by a hint of what seems, impossibly, to be delight. “I’ve never seen an ethereal matrix built this way before, at least not without an active source of power. How are you keeping the glyphs engaged in the protective structure? Wait, are you actually using variations in the transreality membrane potential for this? Starswirl theorized you could activate and power a matrix via the interference waveforms that result from the interaction of potential energy differentials between two tightly bound realities, but he never got farther than theory. This is incredible!”
I squint, trying to get a better look at the creature despite the darkness of the attic. I suppose the banter could just be a way to put me off my guard, but the thing in the Circle just isn’t acting very… well… demonic. And it’s definitely not sounding demonic. If it sounds like anything, it’s a college girl going on about her favorite subject.
Maybe I’d better try the ritual approach one more time.
“Magoth,” I say, peering at it dubiously. “You know who I am. I command you to name me.”
“Okay, this is a little… weird,” the maybe-demon replies hesitantly. “Are you talking to me? Because if you are, well, one, my name isn’t Magoth. And two, I’m sorry, but I have no idea who you are, other than some humanish-looking person I don’t think I recognize. We... didn’t meet at Canterlot High, did we?”
I frown. This can’t happen. If that was Magoth in there, the demon would have been compelled to speak my name. What in the hell have I summoned into my Circle?
More accurately, what not in hell have I summoned?
The probably-not-a-demon appears to tilt its sparkling eyes diagonally, and they narrow slightly. “I mean, can’t tell for sure in the dark -- honestly, I’m not even completely sure if you’re a human or a centaur! Oh, oh wait, no, you’re not Tirek’s brother are you?” it gasps. “I mean you couldn’t be, right? And besides he helped us the last time, but did Tirek have another brother? I don’t think that’s in the book anywhere but maybe I skimmed the part about the brothers and -- I mean it was kind of an emergency and all, and -- uh, look, mister centaur, I can totally explain. I, uh, I mean...”
The almost-certainly-not-a-demon chatters on as I watch with growing bemusement, and eventually it dissolves into not much more than fragmentary sentences and nervous laughter. “All a big misunderstanding. Ha! Big misunderstanding, right? VERY big. Boom! misunderstanding. Huge, and tall, extra tall. Giant. Wow! Oh, look at the time. I should go. Thanks!”
From out of the darkness at the center of the circle, a fizzle of purple sparks, emanating from a spiralled horn in what looks to be the center of the demon’s head, briefly illuminates its face. It looks…
Fuzzy. Its face looks fuzzy. Fuzzy and oddly... equine. But it’s not ‘equine’ in a flaming horse-demon from hell sort of way, which I could have reasonably expected, considering I was supposed to have summoned up the infernal princess of books, magic and shapeshifting. No, this is ‘equine’ in a cute cuddly fuzzy pony sort of way.
The definitely-not-a-demon giggles nervously. “Well! That’s different. Maybe I’ll stay here instead,” it rambles manically, poking the Circle’s wall nervously with an unseen appendage. “Yep! I think I’ll stay. Right here. Me over here, and you over there. Sounds good? Sounds good. Great!”
Something has definitely jumped a track somewhere.
“Hold on a second,” I say in a carefully neutral tone. Getting to my feet, I feel my way to a nearby shelf and locate one of the storm candles, its three wicks still smoking. I fish a lighter out of my pocket and light all three wicks, then pick the candle up and lug it back over to the Circle. Sitting down, I place the glowing candle between myself and the demon.
Tentatively, it shuffles forward, closer to the light, and the two of us take a good look at each other. Sure enough, it’s fuzzy, and though I’d doubted myself, I’d been right: it looks unusually like a horse, though her face has a less elongated quality that makes it more… familiar, I guess. So, in sum, sitting in my Circle is a small pony with a purple coat, unusually large eyes and a deep purple mane with… uh… are those highlights?
Yeah, those are highlights. Pink ones.
And that, in the middle of its forehead? That’s a horn. And though I can’t be entirely sure in the candlelight, I’m pretty sure I can make out a pair of wings folded up against its sides.
So it’s a unisus. A pegacorn. Some kind of weird mythic equine hybrid. That talks. And probably dyes its mane.
Well.
During the last eighteen months I’ve seen some outlandish things struggling to get out of that Circle of mine, and I’ve seen at least a dozen medieval illuminations of Magoth to prepare myself for some crazy manifestations, but this is definitely not what this particular demon princess is supposed to look like.
“So you’re not a centaur, and I don’t have to hyperventilate anymore,” the pegacorn erstwhile-demon says, looking at me with relief. “That’s good! And you’re definitely a human! That’s even better. So we’re on Earth! I am so relieved. Phew!”
“...no,” I venture, “I’m definitely not a centaur. And yes, I’m a human. And yes, we’re on Earth. And I’m not sure what you are yet, but I’m pretty sure you’re not Magoth.”
“That, we can definitely agree on,” it replies cheerfully. “So since I’m not, uh, Magoth, can we maybe get me out of this thing?” it asks, tapping on the Circle’s wards again with a han-- oh. With a hoof. It has hooves, apparently. Of course it does. It’d look pretty silly running around on all fours with hands at the end of its legs.
“It’s a little stuffy in here, you know,” it says, pulling me back from the hands tangent.
“Not so fast,” I say, clearing my head. “Just because you’re not Magoth doesn’t mean you’re not a demon. I need to figure out where this summons went wrong before we can make any decisions about you and that Circle.”
“You think I’m a what now? A demon?” it repeats, trying to stifle a giggle. “Silly, there’s no such thing as demons. Demons are fictional constructs created to embody and vilify antisocial, undesirable or corruptive influ--”
“Look, Purple, until five minutes ago I’d have said there was no such thing as a whatever you are, either,” I say, interrupting it. “So until I have some definitive proof that you’re not a demon, you’re not going anywhere.”
“But why would you think I’m a demon?”
“Because that’s what I was summoning when you showed up.”
“Oh,” it replies, frowning. “That would seem like a logical conclusion, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought so,” I deadpan.
“Well, list some qualities of demons then!” it says, coming quickly to a sensible solution. “I’m sure we can find at least one that I don’t have.”
I nod at the pegacorn gratefully. ”Good call. So, for one, you’d smell like sulphur,” I say, and its ears fold back along the top of its head.
“I’m gonna kill Spike. I swear I don’t usually smell like this.”
“I can’t smell anything through the Circle,” I reply, “but we’ll just take that one as failed.”
“Fine,” it grumbles. “What’s next?”
“You’d probably have a horn or two,” I say, glancing meaningfully at the horn in the middle of its forehead.
She glances upwards and crosses her eyes, and I nearly chuckle at the display. “Oh come on! I’m a uni- ehr, an alicorn! I was born with this thing! It’s how I focus my magic!”
Alicorn. Okay, fine. Sounds better than pegacorn anyway.
“Failed, sorry. But you can use magic, you say?”
The purple alicorn smiles demurely, warming to the topic. “You… could say that.”
“If you’re a demon, you probably can’t use magic from inside that Circle,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Great! I’m sure I can do magic. Hold on,” it says, narrowing its eyes. When nothing immediately happens, it blinks, peers up at its forehead, grits its teeth and furrows its brow, as though it’s thinking angry thoughts, or maybe it just needs some prune juice. At one point, it glances over at me, laughs awkwardly, and focuses harder.
Eventually, its focus is rewarded, and a fizzle of purple sparks launch into the air as a result of its concentration. I think the glyphs floating around the Circle dim a little, too, but nothing else happens.
“That’s not real impressive,” I say, lying a bit. The sparks are cute, but a demon probably couldn’t affect the Circle’s glyphs like that. Magoth is supposed to be the demon of magic, though. I need to dig a little deeper.
“You didn’t say it had to be impressive,” it replies, scowling a bit. “I’ll admit my powers are dampened in here, but come on, that’s got to count for something.”
“We’ll say inconclusive for now,” I say. “Hooves, right?”
It sighs, its face flattening in frustration as it lifts a hoof. “Right.”
I peer at the hoof more closely and nod. “Not cloven though, so inconclusive. Tail?”
“Seriously?” it huffs, maneuvering to the side and switching its long, straight tail in irritation. Its tail, I notice, also has highlights, but as it swishes its tail I notice with some embarrassment that there are more recognizable parts at that end of its anatomy than its tail.
Her tail, I should say, given the evidence.
I catch myself wondering if she does lipstick with the highlights, and then I stop myself and take a closer look, keeping my eyes on her tail, and not what’s under it.
“It’s, uh, definitely a tail, but neither hairless nor barbed, that’s good. Tongue?”
She glares at me and sticks out her tongue. “Hoo duthent hath a thun?”
“Not forked. That’s good, you can put that back,” I say, and she gives me the raspberry before she pulls her tongue back in. I snicker despite myself, and she grins, relaxing a little.
“So we’re kind of borderline here,” I say, running through a checklist of demon attributes in my head, “but I think we’re casting enough doubt on the demon theory to try one last test.”
Her expression brightens hopefully. “I’m all ears!”
“They’re not THAT big,” I say, wondering if dry humor translates to her culture.
“What aren’t that big?”
“Your ears.”
“What about my ears?” she asks, genuinely confused.
I blink, sigh, and shake my head. “Never mind. It wasn’t a very good joke anyway.”
“Oh!” she cries. “It was a joke! I get it now. You’re right.”
“I’m right?”
“It wasn’t a very good joke,” she says, her expression deadpan.
Stifling a snort, I reach behind me, digging through to the bottom of my overstuffed duffel bag, and pull out a flat iron bar curved into a long arc, about six inches wide and three feet long. This is rash, I know it’s rash, I know better than to do this. I’ve spent the last eighteen months doing everything in my power to protect myself from the corruption of demons, learning how to purify myself from their influence, learning how to evade their traps. This goes against absolutely everything I’ve learned.
But my gut tells me I’m right. Whatever this alicorn thing is, I just don’t think it’s demonic. And if that’s the case, I can’t justify keeping it a prisoner. Purification isn’t just a series of spells and rituals, it’s a philosophy. Meaning well, doing well, being well. If I’m going to get what I lost back, I have to really be pure, sincerely pure, across the board. Not just play it on TV.
I lay the arc of iron across an edge of the Circle, and the glyphs that were hovering over the Circle in that arc wink out of existence, leaving behind tiny multicolored starbursts for a brief moment before disappearing entirely. A rush of wind outside buffets the house, and I feel a strange tightening in my chest, but the sensation quickly passes. I’d never broken the Circle prematurely before, so I suppose that’s just what happens when you do. I’ll look it up later.
“That bar’s made of forged iron,” I say, pointing to the curved bar lying on the tiles.
“That’s… nice?” the alicorn says, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Forged iron nullifies ritual magic,” I say, gesturing to the gap in the Circle. “But it also physically constrains demons. Basically, if you’re not a demon, you should be able to just… leave. But if you are a demon, you’ll still be stuck inside.”
She frowns and wrinkles her nose. “How do we know forged iron won’t constrain me, too? I mean, it doesn’t at home, but that doesn’t mean it won’t here. You don’t seem like you’ve dealt with ponies before.”
“I haven’t, and I don’t really know for sure,” I reply. “Nothing I’ve read gets into the ‘why’ on the iron thing, they just say that it works in a pinch. So, yeah, it might still affect you. If it does, we’ll have to do more tests. But if it doesn’t, you’re definitely not a demon, and we’re done here.”
The alicorn returns my gaze curiously. “Okay, that’s… so what you’re saying is, if I’m not a demon, I’m free to go? Just like that?”
I shrug at her. “Look, I didn’t want to take prisoners in the first place,” I say, standing up, moving back several paces and gesturing to the break in the Circle’s magic. “Care to give it a try?”
She locks her gaze with mine and smiles appreciatively, and then slowly, carefully, she begins to walk forward. She’s graceful as she moves, exerting fine muscular control as she steps lightly and effortlessly over the iron bar, and as she moves out of the Circle I realize she’s actually a bit intimidating, physically speaking. One doesn’t tend to think of something the size of a small pony as dangerous, but in close quarters like these, with four powerful legs, wings, a big horn in the middle of her head, at least human-level intelligence and possibly even magic at her command, she could probably overpower me without much effort if she wanted to.
As her last hoof clears the iron bar, I start to wonder again if this was the smartest thing I could have done.
Her hopeful expression once she’s cleared the Circle, though, quickly assuages my fears. “Soo… not a demon?” she asks, a smirk on her face.
“Definitely not a demon,” I reply, grinning down at her.
“Well that’s --” she starts, and then her eyes roll back in her head.