Ethereal fire, reds, purples and greens danced along the circumference of the circle, casting dissonant shadows that slithered up walls and around corners in complete violation of natural laws. Physics hasn't so much taken a backseat, as it was being waterboarded with enthusiasm by a short man named Lewis, the Torturer.

When a strange spike shot through the crust, Sarah took a step back. The spike withdrew and a long fingered hand, knobbled with age and labour, pushed the crust aside. It pointed at the woman and a voice muttered, in a high-pitched whine somewhere between a piglet and petulant child, "This was not the agreement." A demon crawled out of the pie. It left pear encrusted footsteps behind.

The lights dimmed all around and the shadows began talking amongst themselves, wonky smiles flapping soundlessly on the floral wallpaper.

"I told you no bloody pears. It's the acidity, ya know." The demon, six inches tall and a sickly green, tossed aside a bit of soggy fruit, "It burns horribly."

Sarah groaned and put her summoning mug down hard, cracking the enamel. "Don't be such a baby, P'ter. You're a hellspawn, it must be worse below."

"It still hurts." muttered P'ter, giving her a sullen look.

She handed him a small piece. "No, it doesn't."

"OK, it doesn't, but it could 'ave." He held the miniature plate with something akin to reverence. They ate in peace for a while. Part of the ritual. Or the rules of hospitality, Sarah supposed. When P'ter was done, he asked, "How may I serve, oh Lady of Kitchen, maker of the sacred tarts?" Under his breath he added. "Bitch with too many pears."

"What was that?"

"Nuttin."

"Better not." Sarah adjusted her apron, making sure the rolling pin holster was visible, a piece of hardwood referred to as a baking implement, but bludgeon would be just as accurate.

"I need another", she said.

P'ter was studying her cookbook collection, "Another what?"

"Another go around, just a little more time…"

P'ter scoffed, interrupting her. "That's what they all say, more time, more time, bah…" He kicked at a bag of flour ineffectually, and raised a curious eye, "Can you pay?"

"Can you do it?"

"Can I do it, can I do it?" He raised his chin, "Well, of course I can. Gimme the sacrifice and we can get on with it. And… Um… Another piece of pie?"

Sarah handed him a sickly smelling sack labelled 'Offal' and he stiffened in expectation. She placed the rest of the pie next to it. The shadows were half paying attention now, though most of them still didn't really care. They were the audience, the social backdrop to P'ter's side hustle.

"Deal!", confirmed P'ter, not taking his eye off the pie, "Gimme ten minutes to get ready."

Sarah's smile, a brittled scar across a landscape of crinkles, stretched, "Take you time, P'ter."

P'ter tossed the sack over his shoulder in a perfect arch, landing it in the middle of the summoning circle. He was elbows deep in pie even before the sack landed.

To Sarah, this was a familiar routine now. Summon P'ter, get rejuvenated, wait fifty years and repeat. Thank god for pear pies.