Blushing slightly, I punched the ignition code into the Demon’s keypad, and the Mustang rolled out into the night. In the back of my mind, the Old One urged me to invoke him, but I refused. I hate driving jazzed because the Old One’s grasp of technology doesn’t extend much past inventions from the late Stone Age. He tends to see a car as a large bullet, which can create its own set of problems.