The bell without a handle chimes, a very tentative tinkling that nevertheless cuts through all the doors and floors and walls of the villa. It rings again, clear and certain, and you realize today will not be the day of lazy nothing you had planned: your demon trap has snared a victim. Two, perhaps, if the second chime was not some magical echo, nor some flaw in your spells.
You sit for a moment to compose yourself, then rise to your feet. You momentarily toy with the idea of changing into some fine garment, or adorning yourself with precious jewelry, but there is no point—demons are not misled by appearances, and either your wards will hold or they won’t.
You descend the steps to the cellar, the ornately patterned tiles cold under your feet, and come to the room without a door. You make a few specific gestures at the lock without a key, and it obediently lets you through. You can tell from the manner of its response that none have tested it, nothing has passed through, since you set it to its task.