If you're not familiar with it, the premise of Transcendence AU can be found here: post/97756321227/ok-ok-i-have-to-get-this-out-while-my-arm-is-ok

This story takes place many, many years after the Transcendence. Mabel has been long gone, and word on the street is that there's a new Apocalypse a-brewing...

The world ended on a Saturday. On Friday evening, Newton Pulsifer and Anathema Device were sitting at her kitchen table preparing to summon a demon.

"I don't see why we can't try for an angel instead," Newt grumbled.

"They want the Apocalypse to happen just as badly as the other side," said Anathema dismissively. "All we'd get is another battle-hungry warrior type, with a great flaming sword, to boot. If you want something done, you summon a demon."

Newt peered over her shoulder. "At least this one doesn't sound so bad," he said, trying to extricate a ray of hope. "See, it says it was originally a human being."

"Ah, well, those are the worst kind," Anathema said darkly. "You don't just have a demon, you've got a demon with all the human trappings of hate and jealousy and revenge."

Newt turned the page hastily. "Perhaps we'd better choose another one, then."

Anathema placed her hand on the book. "No. This is the only one who's got any kind of history of helping people. And not stealing their souls while they're busy yacht shopping either, but actually letting people come out of a deal better off than when they walked in. He's also the most powerful entity ever known to mankind, or womankind for that matter, so he's the best hope we've got."

"Says here that he sneezes like a kitten," noted Newt.

"My great-grandmother saw Alcor boil a lake in two seconds flat. It wasn't your dinky duck pond, neither, it was a real Loch Ness-sized body. Do you have any idea of how much raw energy that takes?" She glared at him, daring him to suggest otherwise. Newt wisely decided to refrain from quoting some of the more questionable passages of the book.

In truth, Anathema wasn't exactly sure what they were doing, either.

It was widely agreed, among certain circles, that Alcor was the most potent and terrifying demon who ever laid claim to the unholy semblance of life. It was also agreed that someone needed to stop the general populace from summoning him up to do things like prove Euclid's First Postulate.

Consequently, occultish folk found that almost overnight, it had become fiendishly hard to get your hands on a copy of the Alcorean circle. Personal accounts of the demon grew rare. As time passed, they also became increasingly erratic.

For example: An entire conclave of mages vanished without a trace, leaving behind their intended human sacrifice. His furious lawsuit ended up bankrupting the sect.

Two young parents succeeded in getting their mortgage waived, but they tripped over the doorjamb. Every doorjamb. Every time.

A man became able to only see wavelengths of light that were between 573 and 580 nanometers. He refused to reveal what the demands of his contract had been.

The most recent reports were even more lacking in efficacy.

One summons resulted in nothing at all. Another produced a perfectly laid dinner set, except that the service consisted entirely of toothpicks. A Greensboro family also failed retrieve the demon. Five months later, they were vacationing at Disneyland when they discovered that the swimming pool was filled with mammalian teeth. Dental records failed to produce matches.

Anathema took these as signs of encouragement. Even if Alcor showed up late, you could assume there would still be an Earth left for him to be late to. As she had said, it was all or nothing.

Meanwhile, Newt had been reading over her shoulder, and was now privy to the source of her reckless uncertainty.

Simply put, "We have no idea what's going to happen, do we," he said.

He added in a hopeless tone, "Fuck. I haven't got any better ideas, either. Let's do this."

They didn't know what, if anything, would appear. They didn't know the price they would have to pay to save an entire planet. But by god(s), if there was a change, they were going to try, and if they died in the process, well, they would have gone anyway, right?

Anathema laid out butcher paper to protect the floorboards. She pulled out pencils and fat pink erasers and got down to business. Newton followed behind her, silently checking her work against the tea-stained note charts.

The circle spiralled outwards, skirted the legs of the futon, and kept going. Newt moved to shift the furniture, but Anathema said grimly, "No, don't. That's real Irish oak, that is. It's an excellent anchor, I've figured it in."

He mostly stayed out of her way after that, wordlessly pointing out places that could stand to be neater.

It was a little colder and a lot darker than when they started.

Finally, Anathema straightened up, wincing at the popcorn noise her back made. She put on a pot of tea. The kettle was whistling in five seconds flat, and she hadn't eevn lit the stove yet. She didn't mention it, nor did Newt. They didn't want to raise each other's hopes.

After they had finished their cups, Anathema stood and brushed herself off. She lit candles and placed them at strategic points around the circle. Then, before the wax had a chance to obliterate the runes, she said in businesslike tones, "I, Anathema Device -"

"- and I, Newton Pulsifer -"

"- summon Alcor on the terms of standard contract, because the world is ending and so if you've got a shred of humanity left inside your brick-lined skull, then you will help us, goddammit!"

The candles exploded.

Newt dove for cover. Too late, he realized that the commendable thing to do would have been to dive for Anathema first. However, she was picking herself up and seemed fine, and not in the least offended by his instinct for self-preservation. Newton hoisted himself to his feet, blinking away the colored spots in his eyes. They didn't go away.

Where the candles had been, five streaming tapers of blue flame hovered just above the floor. However, the circle itself was empty.

Or was it?

As their eyes adjusted, they saw that in the dead center lay a small heap of dense, black smoke. It eddied and fluttered until it had pulled itself into a vaguely child-sized shape.

The thing turned to look at them, and all they could see were two points of blue that might have been eyes, and might have been a distant pair of twin stars.

In a voice that sounded like tin, it said, "Where's my sister?"

They didn't move. Newt idly noticed that he could see right through the thing's hazily translucent form to the flames behind it. He thought he could make out faint flecks of light inside the smoke, like suspended bits of gold dust.

Beside him, Anathema drew a shallow breath. In. Out.

"Where's my sister?" It said again.

Then it began to cry.

In one swift movement, Anathema scuffed her foot across the circle. The paper tore with a great, crackling rent. The demon vanished like a candle being snuffed out, and an instant later, the blue flames followed, plunging them into darkness.

Anathema was breathing heavily. She and Newt stared at the spot where the thing had been. It didn't reappear.

Newt noticed that he was holding her hand very hard.

Neither of them minded.