The Amulet of Samarkand
So I floated and waited, hoping he wasn’t going to take too long to get round to the dismissing spell.
To keep myself occupied, I made blue flames lick up around the inner edges of the pentacle, as if they were seeking a way to get out and nab him.
That’s usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.
He knew, and I knew that he knew, my name already; otherwise how could he have summoned me in the first place?
You need the right words, the right actions, and most of all the right name.
I mean, it’s not like hailing a cab—you don’t get just anybody when you call.
I chose a rich, deep, dark chocolaty sort of voice, the kind that resounds from everywhere and nowhere and makes the hairs stand up on the back of inexperienced necks.
“Bartimaeus.”
