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Detective Sparks didn’t know how Los Angeles had instantly gone from a human hellhole to an actual, honest-to-god magical hellhole, but he was not equipped for this shit. He lay in his own blood, a hole burned through his coat and still aflame. The Gray Man stood over Sparks, keeping his shoes out of the blood. “Detective!” the Gray Man shouted into Sparks’ face. Over the roar of the fires and the hissing laughter of the fire demon, the Gray Man was almost inaudible. “I can stop it! I need you to sacrifice your blood!” Sparks numbly lifted one hand off his chest and flopped it into his growing pool of blood. He didn’t have the breath to speak, but his lips moved to say, “Do it.” “This is a terrible thing! I am sorry!” the Gray Man shouted, pulling a long, thin knife from his coat. Too late, Sparks realized he didn’t know shit about magic and had no idea what he had just done. “The contract is signed!” The knife plunged into the burning hole in Sparks’ chest. Sparks jackknifed in agony.