When Genevieve's auguries point to the imminent end of the world, she does what any modern young necromancer would do, and places an ad in the online personals.
"So, were you serious about the ad, or are you just here to yank my chain?"
She was chewing and couldn't answer, but she held up a hand and dug through her purse for a printout folded neatly into thirds, which she then unfolded.
"Single White Necromancer," she read, "seeks aid in acquiring animal companion. Serious offers only, please.
Mortui vivos docent."
I nodded. That was it.
She met my eyes, "Are you insane?" she asked. "You put an ad for a familiar on Craigslist?!"
I felt a flush creeping up my face.
"With the motto of possibly the world's most renowned tutor of the necromantic arts at the end?!" She didn't seem angry, just amazed.
"Well, yeah," I said, "I thought it would get results." She started to speak, but I went on, "Listen. Nobody's stepping up for the big day. I'll do it, but I can't do it alone. So I put out the ad. The other side might be mystical maelstroms, but they have trouble wrapping their medieval brains around the telegraph. I just don't see them checking the online personals."
She chuckled, "Maybe the lonely hearts section."
"Or missed connections," I added.
If you only read one Lovecraftian Horror/screwball comedy this year, make it this one!