“Damn it, Mother, I don't even know Tim's latest address.” Joanna clutched the phone as if she was strangling it. “Since he moved out of state, it could take months to find him, and even longer to get legal action against him. In the criminal code, deadbeat dads are just one notch below Girl Scout impersonators. So I think we should forget about child-support payments for a while.”
         Joanna shifted Heather on her lap. The kid was getting heavy these days. They grow fast at this age. That's what the baby book said.
         “Sure, she's all right. Most of the time.” Joanna moved the phone from one ear to the other. “But she can tell her daddy's gone. She's a bright kid.”
         And soon she'd be walking, sticking things into light sockets, and stumbling down stairs. And costing more to feed, clothe, and find daycare for. While Joanna's mother explained once again that she always knew Tim was bad news — “didn't I always say so?” — Joanna kissed Heather's forehead and combed her fingers through the child's soft blonde hair. “Don't you worry, kiddo,” she whispered. “You've still got me, at least.” Let's just hope that'll do.

         “You ever think about the old days?” the demon asked. The creature next to him shrugged and popped a screaming human head into her mouth. She crunched it between her jaws, then wiped her mouth with a scaly forearm.
         “What about 'em?” she said, belching. Screams rose up from her stomach on her fetid breath. She reached into the bowl of heads and pulled out one that laughed insanely. She put it back and looked for another.
         He wondered if she was taking all the good ones for herself. “In the old days, at least, we could get out once in a while. Get conjured up to some wizard's lair, or exchange hearts' desires for souls. Grant the occasional three wishes. We had more variety in our jobs then, when humans believed in so many of our aspects.
         “I remember once—” He noticed that she had found a particularly plump one that cursed in German. “—I remember once being a djinn for this shopkeeper in China. He'd gone to his local warlock and asked for help. Some kind of family curse, a real nasty one. Anyway, the warlock still had one of the old tomes — don't ask me how he got it — and found my name. Somehow he pronounced the whole thing correctly, so of course I had to appear, a slave to the warlock's wishes and desires.” His companion looked around for other refreshment, having picked out the best of the bowl. “He had me do the old avenging monster shtick, which convinced the witch who cast the curse to change her mind. Then I became the shopkeeper's djinn for the rest of his life. It was a pleasant change. He had a nice family.” He looked into the empty bowl and sighed. The cries of the damned seemed to swell around him.
         “But eventually he died, and the warlock invoked my name again, sending me back here—” He frowned and whipped his tail through a passing spirit. “—and I've been here ever since. That was, oh, four, five thousand years ago. No chance of that nowadays. They don't believe we exist, much less can pronounce our names. Did you know that none of the old tomes exist anymore? Not on Earth, anyway.”
         His companion flapped her wings and grinned as a steaming bowl of bigots materialized next to her. She upturned the bowl into her mouth and chomped noisily. She looked at the demon.
         “Whurfumsay?” she said, spraying bits of wet flesh into his face.