Further Language Problems.
by Doctor Mercurious
            Hidden Truths, whatever the bookstore’s old name once was, had burned its history away -- usually figuratively, but on occasion literally.  Over the past year a specialized book emporium had risen in place of the old and the only thing hole-in-the-wall about it was its apparent outward size.  Inside was another matter, but the customers didn’t go here expecting ‘normal’.   Judas Maleficent, formerly Jerry Franklin, certainly didn’t.  He’d changed his name because the one he’d gotten by accident of birth hadn’t sounded very occult.  After all, who would tremble in fear if he proclaimed, ‘grovel before the toes of the mighty Archmagus Franklin’?  Of course, the spare tire of a waist and pasty complexion probably didn’t help.  His outward appearance was the result of spending many hours inside perusing texts banned by almost every major religion involving harps or something metaphorically similar.  Now, after many years of study  -- with time off to play computer games --he felt himself ready to attempt a demon summoning.
Judas had not been expecting the interior to match the wood-and-brick exterior, but even so the sight drew him to a stop.  The ceiling rose a good three floors away from ground, and a set of stairways beckoned downward.  Here and there electric lamps – there was something wrong about technology in a for-real thaumaturgic bookshop, he thought – clung to the walls, lovely works of brass and glass.  The aisles between the heavy oaken bookshelves were wide, and it would be difficult to miss the wooden chairs pressed up against each side.  There was even a friendly if worried-looking man behind a desk with a computer of all things on it.  No security alarms were visibly present, but for a place like this they wouldn’t be.  Anyone stealing from this shop would find himself or herself having a long life full of agonizing incident.
Judas strolled up to the man behind the computer.  “Are you the owner?”
“I fear not, oh Corpulent Master of the Macabre,” the man said with a bow.  Now that he was close, Judas could tell the clerk was standing on a crate.  This meant he was rather short – five feet – in addition to being thinner than a pipe cleaner.  That plus his bulging eyes gave him a lizard-like appearance.  “The Most Esteemed Mistresses of the establishment are otherwise occupied.  If you wish to make an appointment, I will strive beyond the boundaries of human endurance to carry your wishes to their most perfect ears.”
Mistresses?  Judas didn’t know if he approved.  Most magical texts he’d perused had assumed their reader would be of the male persuasion.  Still, this was the Twenty-First century after all.  “I’m in the market for a book on summoning demons,” he told the clerk in his most impressive voice.
“Certainly, Oh Most Gifted-By-Halitosis.  Beginner, intermediate, or Without Hope?”
He’s a good bootlicker, Judas approved.  He wondered what ‘halitosis’ meant.  It sounded impressive.  “The third one, of course.”
The clerk bowed. “I should have guessed, Oh Most Obvious.  I stand dwarfed in front of your broad talents.”
He’s a very good bootlicker.  “Don’t let it happen again, Else your soul will roast in Hell for all eternity,” Judas warned, trying to sound both menacing and merciful.
“Oh no, Master of the Banal,” the clerk pleaded.  “Please!  I shall take care in the future, I promise!”
“See that you do.”  It always gave Judas a chubby to see someone grovel before him.  “Now, about that book?”
“Will all due haste!”  The clerk immediately scurried to the back of the store and returned almost as quickly with a huge, thick volume bound in suspicious-looking leather, cloth bookmarks fluttering from its pages here and there.  “Just the thing for one of your experience, Observer of the Edified.”  He leaned forward, hands clasped to chest.  “Written in twelfth-century Latin by the hand of a blind excommunicated illiterate monk.”
It was immediately obvious to Judas how such an unqualified person had penned such a manuscript; it had been dictated to him by a higher – or in this case, lower – power.  “Excellent.”  He took out a wad of stained crumpled bills.
The clerk looked at the handful of bills, then back to Judas.  “We take plastic,” he suggested.
The ‘clerk’ waited until the common, smelly and worst of all foolish example of a dark sorcerer left the shop before having himself a good laugh.  Merriment at the expense of a demon-summoner wasn't have been something he would have indulged in a year ago, but his Mistress had undergone a rather interesting and positive change.  She was now a lot more fun to work for these days especially since her better half, as he secretly called her, really knew how to deliver a threat.  They’ll want to see what happens to that quivering bag of suet, he mused.  With but a thought, the walls of the shop faded.  The familiar grayish stone of Mistress Zaviel’s keep, somewhere in the Fortieth Abyssal Plane, reasserted itself.  He took a deep breath and inhaled the stench of burning sulphur.  Still doesn’t get the smell of his breath out of my nostrils, the clerk groaned to himself.
The sales clerk, also the imp named Grovel, flinched by practiced reflex at hearing Mistress Zaviel’s voice in his head.  *Yes, Oh Most Voluminous One?* he sniveled.
*What by the Pits are you doing here?  I told you we were not to be disturbed!*
*Forgive me, Seeker of Solace,* he replied.  *An idiotic mortal has purchased one of our demon-summoning books.  I thought you and Violet might want to observe the results.*
*We’ll be right there as soon as we orgasm.  And have some decent snacks ready!*
*Yes, Oh Peckish Mistress.  Larvae or Fell Kine meat?*
*Bother that; I want chocolate!*
*At once,* Grovel thought before breaking contact.  Some of Zaviel’s personality changes he wasn’t sure he liked, but this craving for mortal confections wasn’t one of them.
A year ago, Zaviel’s bedchambers matched rest of her palace – grayish stone.  Her bed had been nothing more than a huge, overstuffed hay mattress kept from the floor by the merest slender of a wooden frame.  And the less said about the sheets, the better.  The gray stone was still there, but a fuzzy blue rug sprawled on the floor and a large, old-fashioned four-poster with a canopy and fluffy pillows replaced the former alleged bed.  The sheets still needed work, but they tended to be thrown on the floor anyways whenever the owners of said bed orgasmed.  Which was often
The casual observer would note that at first glace it was hard to make out if two women writhed together in pleasure or one, although from the hips up there were certainly two of them.  The woman on the bottom was human with straight, sandy-blonde hair.  She normally wore it in a ponytail but for bed-sports it hung loose; her glasses perched on a nightstand near the bed.  The woman on top, grinding her breasts into the woman beneath her, was more in keeping with the Abyss; dark red skin, straight black hair, long nails, yellow-gold eyes and small horns jutting from her forehead.  Her wings were only half-furled as she clung to her lover tightly; parted lips revealed slight fangs just before their mouths locked, stifling building moans of ecstacy.  From the waist down, the two women became one.  Both torsos sprung from a single pair of legs; the right one a human-normal skin tone called ‘Caucasian’ and the left matched the demoness’ silky skin.  A forked tail buried itself in the vagina, writhing in and out like a thick snake; had there been only the demoness’ torso, the legs would be facing 180 degrees in the wrong direction.  Such an arrangement had caused the two some problems at first – especially since the woman’s torso was shorter than the demoness – but trial and error had taught them how to walk as a conjoined entity.
The writhing tail sped up.  The demoness and woman both arched their backs as their moaning built to a fever pitch.  As they came, the woman screamed and the demoness roared like a tigress; they pressed against each other, enjoying a post-coital snuggle as their juices soaked the mattress.
The human, whose name was Violet, spoke first.  “Care for best out of twelve thousand, nine hundred and forty six out of twelve thousand nine hundred and forty seven?”
“I swear there’s succubus blood in you somewhere,” cooed the demoness Zaviel.
“Don’t you mean in us?” Violet teased, rubbing at the base of their torsos where they both flowed into a single set of legs.
“Whatever,” she shrugged.  “Come on; Grovel’s got something fun to show us in the Scrying Chamber.”
“But that means we’ll have to get out of bed,” Violet pouted.
Zaviel marveled to herself at the change in the formerly staid rare book-dealer’s personality.  “I guarantee you’ll like it.”  She put her arms around Violet and gave her conjoin-mate the most pitiful puppy-dog look she could manage.  “Please?”
“I can’t resist that pout of yours.”  Violet kissed Zaviel’s nose and mirrored the demoness’ action.  Carefully, the pair climbed out of bed, arms wrapped around each other for balance.  They didn’t bother to get dressed; Zaviel was unaffected by temperature and Violet’s sorceress training had advanced to the point where she could maintain a spell that did much the same.  “So what is it?”
“An utter moron came into the store wanting a book on summoning demons,” Zaviel giggled.  “I figured you might want to see him get what’s coming to him.”
“I see.”  Of all the things Violet had learned about summoning demons, two facts had been stressed over and over again.  First, the caster had to agree to whatever the demon did  – and said caster couldn’t be lied to -- tricked or fooled, but no falsehoods could be used.  The reason protective circles were used because most summoning spells were loaded with language that gave a demon carte blanche over its own actions once called.  Second:  souls cannot be taken – they must be given freely, with full and willing knowledge.  Once she realized those two facts, Violet decided if someone wanted to play with metaphysical dynamite, they had no right to complain about the spiritual craters in what used to be their souls.  “Does he have any chance of doing something we’ll regret?”
Zaviel laughed as the two walked from their bedchamber.  “Not hardly; none of the grimoires my summoning spell appears in are on sale anywhere.”  They continued to hold one another, since it made walking easier.  “Amazon.com is a marvel.”
“That it is.”  Violet nuzzled her conjoin-mate’s neck.  Buying them all had been expensive, but well worth it.  “I don’t fancy sharing you with anyone.  Besides, adding a third would be a little awkward, don’t you think?”
“You are so wicked,” the demoness approved.
The conjoined pair made their careful way to Zaviel’s scrying room.  A sunken pool of water dominated the center of the circular room with a Roman-style couch perched on one end and a wooden sideboard right next to it for placing snacks on.  Violet’s eyes lit up at the selection.  “Imported Swiss Dark fondue with dipping treats,” she murmured, turning to look at Grovel kneeling on the other side of the pool.  “And here I thought you had problems with merely thinking and speaking at the same time.”
Grovel bowed.  “I always strive to be better in your eyes, Oh Languid Lady.”
“Enough,” Zaviel told Grovel as she and her conjoin-mate lay down on the couch.  For variety’s sake, she was on the bottom this time.  “Is the pool primed?”
“Yes, Oh Impatient One”
“Whose book was it?” Violet inquired.
“Yexainne’s,” Grovel replied with a toothy grin.  “He did request Long Past Hope.”
“Oh, well done, Grovel,” Zaviel approved.
Violet remembered Grovel’s favorite reward.  “Now tell me who Yexainne is before I force-feed you confetti, dangle you from the rafters and invite over insane Mexicans with sticks.”
Grovel shivered with glee.  “Yexainne’s infernal rank is greater than Zaviel’s, Most Festive,” he told her.  “An Underduchess, to be precise – Zaviel is only a Dame.  She has powers and abilities Zaviel doesn’t have.”
“Most importantly,” Zaviel continued, “she can choose to respond to a summoning; that choice often hinges on what she observes of the summoner.  Based on what I’ve just seen in Grovel’s memories, that individual would be hard-pressed to outwit a Larva.  Even Grovel was more than a match for his intellect.”
“Indeed so, My Mensa-phobic Mistress,” Grovel replied.
“Maybe we should warn Yexainne,” Violet fretted.  “I’d hate to have her draw a connection between the book and us.”
The demoness skewered a marshmallow with one long nail and dipped it in the fondue pot.  “Even if she does, so what?”  Zaviel extracted the marshmallow, dripping in melted chocolate, and popped it into her mouth.  “Mm, uny dmin…”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Violet giggled, licking a spot of chocolate from her conjoin-mate’s cheek
Zaviel swallowed.  “As I was saying, any demon knows they take a risk by allowing their summoning spells to be circulated on the mortal plane.  Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“I have absolutely,” Violet replied dryly, “no idea.”
The waters of the pool glowed a dark blue and began to swirl.  “The scrying pool has found our target, Most Snacksomes,” Grovel announced.
“Showtime,” Zaviel told her conjoin-mate.  “Dip me another marshmallow, would you?”
Judas glared at the note on his apartment door left by his landlady.  “Miserable old hag,” he muttered.  “Here I am only three months late and she want to give me the boot.”  He jammed his key into the lock and shoved the door open.  “I’ll show her.  I’ll show them all.”
Judas’ apartment was in keeping with the injustice of his life; two rooms and a kitchenette, all of unsteady cleanliness.  His furniture was at best second-hand, although the computer in his bedroom was the equivalent of a Cadillac.  The windows had never been cleaned, at least for as long as he’d been living there, and the walls were paper-thin.  Fortunately the neighbors were disinterested in what their fellows were doing.  A good thing, considering the banging noise coming from his closet.
Judas grinned and tiptoed over to the closed and locked closet door.  Very carefully, so as not to alert the inhabitant, he stuck the key in the lock and turned it.  With one hand on the doorknob, he waited until between bangs and quickly jerked it open.  Immediately a rather pretty, scantily clad and bound woman tumbled out.
“And how is my little sacrifice doing?” he asked the prostitute pleasantly.  She lifted her head and glared at him, growling through her gag of duct tape.  “Splendid,” Judas chortled.  “I want you in top shape for the main event.”  He muttered a brief spell and ripped off her gag in one motion.
The woman screamed.  “Help! Anyone!  I’ve been kidnapped by a fat fuck with a micro-sized dick!”
“How would you know?”  Judas frowned.  “You never even saw it.”
“I can tell just by looking at you,” she snapped.  “And I’m not a whore!”
“Prostitute then,” he replied, waving his hand airily.
“I’m an exotic dancer, you piece of shit!”
Judas raised one eyebrow.  “Is that why you agreed to come to my apartment when I flashed you a fat roll of bills?”  She immediately launched into a tirade concerning his parentage, sexual prowess, and species.  “Be as loud as you like,” he offered.  “I just cast a spell ensuring your pleas for mercy will not be heard outside these four walls.”
“More like no one in this dump gives a rat’s shit,” the woman muttered.  “Great.  The one time I peddle it out ‘cause I’m desperate and I get kidnapped by a total psycho.”
“No, merely one who is your better,” he intoned.  “However, if you debase yourself before me, I may be inclined to mercy.”  He wouldn’t, of course, but he wanted to see her grovel.
“Go screw a termite mound,” she told him, squirming about in an attempt to kick him.
“Very well,” he sighed with real disappointment.  “I suppose we’ll just have to skip to the main event.”  Leveling his hand like the loaded weapon it was, Judas pointed at her stomach and snapped out a guttural phrase in the tongue of demons; a circle of intricately designed runes appeared on her stomach, circling her bellybutton.
The woman gaped.  “How did you do that?”
Judas drank in her shocked expression like fine wine.  “Magic, of course,” he grinned.  “Marvel while you can. In a little while longer, you won’t be able to enjoy anything ever again.”
“I don’t believe it,” Violet murmured around a dipped pineapple.
“Neither do I,” Zaviel scoffed.  “This ‘Judas’ can just call a summoning circle into being and where does he put it but on the sacrificial victim! He’s worse than stupid; he has real power but ignores the knowledge required to use it correctly.”
That hadn’t quite been what Violet meant, and she felt obligated to point this out. “Ignorant or not, the woman will still be killed.”
Zaviel tapped her nose.  “Even if she does die, by summoning a demon through her the worst it will be is a temporary death – the energies will just bring her back to life.”
Violet brightened.  “Really? That’s good to know.”
“And Yexainne will truly be most put out, Oh Soothed One.” Grovel told Violet.  “She prefers gold and jewels as sacrifices, not living beings.  Obviously he hasn’t even so much as skimmed that book.”
“Well judging from the spell he just cast, Judas may have worse problems,” Violet added.
Zaviel drew back.  “How so?”
Violet pinched her cheek.  “Somebody wasn’t listening.  His accent was all off and he kept putting the wrong inflections on certain words.”
The demoness’ jaw dropped.  “You don’t think…?”
“We’ll see now, won’t we?”
Meanwhile, somewhere else in the Abyss, someone’s attention has most definitely been seized and held.
In a room with a floor covered in reclining cushions, a regal figure lounged.  Her emerald skin glistened with power and health; her honeydew-sized breasts sat rock-hard on a muscular chest; a pair of rams’ horns framed her honey-gold hair, and flames burned in her eyes.
“Well, well, well,” Underduchess Yexainne purred, forked tail twitching.  “I do believe some mortal is trying to gain my attention.”  She stretched, sat up and stared at a point in the air.  A mirrored sphere appeared, showing a bound woman with an unfortunate tattoo on her belly.  “Rewind,” she told the orb.  It happily complied, showing her the last ten minutes.  She straightened.  “A foolish little summoner with delusions bigger than his ego,” she mused.  It would be easy to pretend servitude, deal with him when the time was right and then return to the Abyss with his soul.  However…her gaze strayed to the toothsome morsel being used as a sacrifice.  “Not a trace of fear on your face, is there my pretty?”  Yexainne mused.  It was obvious to one as perceptive as herself that the mortal female was scared – it was only natural – but she wasn’t about to let her captor to notice.  “Now there’s a will I could utilize.”  Yexainne rubbed her chin.  “Let’s see how the rest of the spell goes.  If I’m not too constrained, I may just make this mortal female an offer I’ll wager she won’t refuse…”
“And now for the main event,” Judas crowed, opening his newly purchased book.  “I’ll need a volunteer from the audience.  Anyone?”
“I hope cockroaches eat your prick,” the woman retorted.
“Why thank you very much.”   His aforementioned organ sprang to full erection as he quickly turned to the page countless hours of dreaming had led him to.  “You should feel flattered.  The demon I’m going to summon is royalty, and she’ll give me power beyond your wildest imaginations.”
“Like making you marginally attractive?” she snapped.
Judas didn’t get mad.  Why should he?  It’s not like she as going to be around much longer anyways. “The time for jokes is over.  Now I finally get what’s rightfully mine.”  He scanned the passage, committed it to memory, and closed the book.
As he said the words aloud, he made several key mistakes.
Yexainne burst out laughing.  “Marvelous! He’s just inviting me over to do my will!”  She rubbed her hands together.  “I think I’ll give him to his intended victim as a present.  She’ll be ever so grateful to me.”  Still giggling, she blew the image of the mortal female a kiss and promptly vanished.
Unfortunately, Yexainne hadn’t waited until the mangled incantation had been finished, so there were one or two facts she remained ignorant of…
“Well?” Zaviel demanded.
Violet pulled her head away from her conjoin-mate’s chocolate-smeared fingers.  She wore an innocent smile.  “Well what?”
“Did he or did he not make that mistake?”  Zaviel exploded.
“Isn’t this your language he’s speaking in?”
“It’s a different dialect!  So, did he?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Violet,” Zaviel growled.  Grovel turned around so she wouldn’t see him smile.
“Sorry,” she giggled.  “It certainly sounded like he made it.”
“Not quite, oh Linguistically Gifted,” Grovel corrected.  “That jiggling bag of suet isn’t as competent a translator as you, so there’s going to be some problems.”
“Like what?” Both Zaviel and Violet asked at once.
“Stability,” he replied.
Abruptly, the woman was suffused in a warm green mist.  If this was dying, it felt remarkably good.  So good in fact her nipples peaked and her pussy burned for attention.  The bonds parted but taking revenge on her captor was the furthest thing on her mind; all she wanted to do was stroke herself.
Judas, for his part, was slightly disappointed at the lack of fire and brimstone. His demon had to have possessed his sacrifice -- why else would the woman pleasure herself with wild abandon right in front of him?  Obviously, it wished to experience the pleasures of the flesh.  Well, far be it from him to interrupt such a performance.  Judas undid his fly and reached a hand inside – no sense her having all the orgasms.
Several things happened in rapid succession.
First, the green mist began to gain definition, thrusting into her waist so that half o it flowed upwards and behind, while the other half flowed down onto the floor in front.  For the woman’s part, it felt like being penetrated by the world’s biggest cock.  She reached down in front of her to the mist and wasn’t surprised when her hands cupped the cheeks of a warm ass; a woman’s ass if she was any judge.  The fog cleared to reveal a firm female derriere, shapely legs and a forked tail attached to her waist.  A corner of her brain screamed this was worrisome, but the rest of her body had other demands and she wanted to fill them by filling the new pussy within easy reach.
Yexainne popped into being in the…summoning circle?  Being so in tune with her body, she realized immediately what had happened.  Before she could act, a literal handful of fingers pushed their way into her vagina and teased around her inner labia and clit.  She arched her neck back and hissed. Her own hands, as if guiding themselves, descended upon the droolable second lower half jutting from her bellybutton.  She was about to do something to it, but a strangled noise reminded her of the room’s occupant.  “No free shows,” she snarled at the pathetic would-be demonologist.
Judas shook himself.  “You can’t talk to me like that!  I am your master!”
Yexainne didn’t even bother answering him.  Between one blink and the next, Judas the human ceased to exist.  In his place, Judas the amphibian – a frog the size of a golden retriever, squatted in the floor.  “Master this,” she snapped.  Or wanted snap; she never got the words out.  This mortal woman had very good fingers and was very firm in her thrusts and strokes. It had been so very long since a lover had caressed her so firmly that the orgasm built before she was even ready and exploded within her.  The demoness roared like a tigress and her knees buckled; since they were still attached, the mortal collapsed right along with her.
“That,” the woman said, “was good enough to be illegal.”
“Depending on the state we’re in, it just might be,” Yexainne purred.  “What’s your name?”
“Rose,” the mortal told her.
“Rose…I like it.  Rose, why aren’t you screaming your head off?”
“Because I’ve got to be hallucinating,” came the answer.  “I mean, this can’t be happening, right?”
“Needeep,” croaked Judas.
“Trust me, you’re perfectly sane,” Yexainne told her.  “And we’re also not stuck like this.  I can easily pull us apart.”  The demoness dematerialized and concentrated on putting herself back together correctly….except it didn’t work.  This time when she coalesced, her head was positioned inches above Rose’s pubic triangle, her arms jutted from Rose’s hips, and the rest of her body was bent double and taking the place of Rose’s ass.  “Still not right,” Yexainne complained.
“Feels right to me,” Rose moaned.  The reshaping had been quite pleasurable and the way they were joined now felt more stable.  Plus, the demoness’ head was at the right level to bend down and eat her pussy out.
Yexainne’s comment, in her own language, sounded like a cat getting raped by a vacuum cleaner.  “Let’s try this one more time –- and please relax, Rose.”
“Needeep.”  Judas the frog hopped over to the other side of the room, watching fearfully.
“I’ll try,” Rose purred.  “It just feels so good when you do whatever it is you’re doing.”
Yexainne gathered up every ounce of will she had and bent it to reconfiguring her body.  This time, she felt what the problem was – that idiot summoner had bound her essence to the mortal!  She couldn’t separate herself; in fact their joined form was inherently unstable.  Without vigilance, it would quickly degrade and reconfigure itself into a different conjoinment.  I’m going to have to be careful, she fumed.  Yexainne now had a significant point of vulnerability and she had to armor her Achilles heel quickly.  At least it’s not all bad – I can’t be banished, since mortals aren’t affected by summoning spells.  Yexainne carefully coalesced again; her own hips and legs now sprouted behind Rose’s, and her arms and breasts rested below that of her mortal host.  Her own head materialized next to Rose’s own, broadening the top slightly to make room.  “I’ve decided working on separating can wait for now,” Yexainne smiled sweetly.  “I’d rather work on what you want.”
“Well,” Rose said,  “I was thinking…if we are stuck like this, and I’m not saying we are, we’re going to need someone to do errands for us.  We can’t go out in public like this.”
Yexainne could see where this line of reasoning was going.  “True,” she smiled. Judas looked as worried as a warty amphibian can.
“In that case…we nee a sla – I mean helper,” Rose declared.  Judas made a break for the mail slot, hoping he could squeeze through it.
“That we do,” the demoness agreed.  She pointed at Judas and the former sorcerer floated off the floor.  She glared at him.  “I’m going to give you a choice.  You can either be our slave or our dinner.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Yexainne grinned.  “But I’ll tell you what; since I’m feeling magnanimous, I’ll give you the body of your dreams.”  Her smile stretched to a cruel gape as the frog vanished.  In its place appeared a mouth-wateringly beautiful woman with large breasts, swivel hips and cornsilk-blond hair going to her waist.
The new woman looked down at herself and gasped.  “I’m a…a…”
“I told you I’d give you the body of your dreams,” Yexainne tsked as Rose snickered.  “I just didn’t say which dreams I’d take it from.  Now here’s how your life is going to work from this point on; we command while you obey.  If you fail in a task due to negligence or stupidity you will be punished.  Direct disobedience gets you a punishment you’ll wish you couldn’t live through.  Please us and we’ll reward you.  Understood?”
Judas doubted he could do better without a driver’s license or identification for his – or her – new body.  “Yes, Mistress,” she replied.  Her voice was as smooth as carnal honey
“I think she understands the situation.” Rose stressed the word ‘she’, a malicious glint in her eyes.
“I think you’re right,” Yexainne agreed.  “Here’s your first task – Jezebel.  We need bank accounts established in our names.  Find out which bank will offer the best interest for thirty million American dollars.  As a reward, for every three percent interest we get you’ll receive ten grand.”
“I’ll get started right on it,” Judas – Jezebel – said eagerly.  She headed straight for her room and her computer so she could check out various banking web-sties.
“You seem to know a lot about finance,” Rose noted faintly.  The words thirty million were making her light-headed.  “But where will we get that kind of money?”
“From my treasury of course,” Yexainne assured her cojoin-mate.  “As for banking, where do you think banking laws come from?”
Rose decided quite firmly, regardless of any evidence, she was indeed insane – and had no desire for sanity. “I should have known, I suppose,” she laughed. 
“Indeed.  Let’s sit down, shall we?  There’s a lot we need to discuss.”
            “Like what to do about where that spell-book came from?”
“Exactly,” Yexainne smiled.  It wasn’t a nice smile.
Violet looked at Zaviel.  “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
“I don’t see why.” The demoness didn’t look sure.  “No demon’s ever held a grudge over selling grimoires before.”
“Might I suggest, Oh Hesitant Mistresses,” Grovel suggested, “that perhaps certain chances should not be taken?”
“Good point,” Zaviel agreed.  “I’m feeling the urge for a vacation -- the two-hundred and sixtieth plane of the Abyss is horrible this time of eternity.”
“Sounds like fun,” Violet groaned.