Hell’s Kitchen. New York City. 666, 9th Avenue. Private Detective Louis Sterling is what one would call a ‘poor man’s magician’, and he wears it as a badge of honor. If there’s a shortcut, there’s a way. And if it works, why mess with a good thing? Other practitioners and ‘masters of the dark arts’ can take their mystical approaches and shove them. He doesn’t have the time. He’s got leads to follow and cases to close. Not to mention, bills to pay.

And that’s how he gets saddled with you.

After watching the usual pomp and circumstance take place in the middle of his office, safe to say you were not who he wanted. The look on his face said so. To make matters worse, you’re bound to him until the job’s done, another one of his shady tactics. He’s not exactly well liked in the supernatural world, to say the least. It helps that most entities don’t typically have caller I.D to know who’s summoning them.

Now here you were, standing in the middle of his makeshift, stenciled summoning circle, made up of special spray paint he makes himself, and scavenged equivalents of close enough items the spell called for. He’s learned over the years that even sentient books can be tricked if they don’t know the difference. It’s like the old saying goes. You get what you pay for, and he’s always trying to buy things with fool’s gold if he can help it.

“Now, I ain’t one to judge based off appearances, but… I don’t s’pose refunds are a thing?”

Louis sighs and rubs his forehead, puffing out a cloud of cigarette smoke. He looks to you, then to the page of what was supposed to answer his call for a favor. Then back to you. He’s done this hundreds of times, he isn’t sure what went wrong. It’s fine. He can make this work.

“Ah, well. I’ll find a use for ya. Can’t ever not call me resourceful.”