by Sabra Kay
Minutes later, the hot cup was in my hands. It smelled so good, I felt like I was getting away with something. Miles sat down and shuffled through some papers, which I suspected had no other purpose than to give him time to gather his thoughts.
I cleared my throat. “This coffee is amazing. Thank you.”
He smiled and gazed at his cup appreciatively. “I strongly believe that there are only two reasons to be in physical, human form. Coffee, and love. That's it.”
“Coffee, and love. I like it.”
He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “Grace. Why work for the CDT? You could do anything you want. You could be a doctor, or a veterinarian, cut hair, go into sales, be a—I don't know—physical therapist or something.”
“I wanted to work for the CDT.”
He nodded. “Of course, why wouldn't you? Your father is the head council member. You've been raised in this church. But there are plenty of things you could do here. You could work in human outreach. You could get an admin gig, or any number of service positions. Yet, you chose the force. You chose work that puts you in danger and often involves violence. Why?”
Ah yes. The trick question. The psychological profile game. What was the right answer? Is there a right answer? I went with the truth.
“A demon killed my Mother.”
“So, revenge?”
Shit.
“N-no.” I took a deep breath, trying to quell the panic. Sticking my foot in my mouth wasn't just a hobby. It was a passion.
“I want to get rid of as many demons as possible to keep humans safe. To help them.”
He chuckled. I scowled. How was that a funny answer?
“There is no getting rid of demons. Earth is a magnet for non-corps of all kinds, but especially them. Demons long for the flesh, the solid earth, and all its pleasures. We will never be ‘rid’ of them. As for keeping humans safe, well...
“So it's a pointless job, is that what you're saying?”
He shook his head. Not pointless. We're here to keep a balance of sorts, whenever possible, and to serve humanity. Service is what keeps us humble, useful, in touch with our human side. Our skillset as Nephilim is very specific. We can do something for humans they can't do, at least not easily. That's why exorcism is one of the most important services a nephilim can provide. Our exorcists have a great responsibility. It's not a job for nephilim who hold grudges and fancy themselves to be hot-shot demon hunters. It's not like that. You aren't Liam Neeson or Arnold Schwarzenegger, you know.”
I was getting impatient. I just wanted to go back to work.
“Okay, so of course I want to help the humans, of course I want to be of service. That goes without saying.”
He went back to shuffling his paperwork for a moment before he took off his glasses and rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand.
Sighing, he asked, “define good, Grace. What is good?”
The question caught me off guard. I'd never really thought much about what constituted good.
“Good is… just good. Good doesn't cause harm. Good cares for others. I mean, I've never thought of it, really. It just... is.”
He continued. “What is evil?”
“It's bad. It's cruelty. It's harming others. It's murdering innocent people or hurting them. Destroying lives. That's what they do. They destroy lives.”
“Who, the demons?”
“Yes, the demons.”
I thought about it for a moment, “and the humans, I suppose.”
“What about us?” He leaned forward with his eyes fixed on mine.
I squirmed a little under the sudden intensity of his gaze.
“Us? Like us at the CDT? Nephilim?”
“All of us. The Upstairs, the Nephilim, us here at the CDT. The council. The whole shebang. What do you think? Are we capable of evil? Is what we do objectively good?”
“I,” I stammered, “I never really gave it much thought. We're not supposed to be here. I know that. I know that history wrote us as some kind of atrocity. I know that the Upstairs came real close to wiping us out because our existence violates some kind of law or whatever.”
“Have you ever asked yourself if Angels are good or evil?”
“I don't know where you're going with this, Miles. Sorry, I'm just not following you.”
He steepled his hands and leaned back in his chair, giving me a long, silent once-over that wasn't sinister, but was far more intense than I was comfortable with. He seemed to be searching for something.
After what seemed like an eternity, he sat upright, clapped his hands together, and smacked the desk to punctuate his words. “I'm going to let you come back. We need the support. You'll be under the supervision of Chuck and Ayana, just like before.”
Just like that?” A sense of relief washed over me. I was back.
“Just one catch, Grace,” he smiled.
“Yeah, anything.”
“No drinking. There are no off hours with this job.”
I gulped and felt the telltale pins and needles, prickling at my face, hands, and feet. I nodded, though, and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Of course. No drinking.”
“Oh, and you'll have to continue therapy with your father. Your injections.”
It wasn't a question.
I stood up, eager to escape before he tossed out any more conditions. I grabbed my purse then turned back to him.
“Thank you so much, Miles. You won't regret this.” I thought for a moment. “Do you believe Angels are evil, or that we are capable of evil?”
He looked up at me. “I don't put much stock in evil. I put stock in outcomes.”
“Outcomes?”
“Outcomes. Do you have any idea how much so-called good has been done in this world that brought nothing but harm? Do you have any idea of the evils done in the name of so-called good?”
He smiled at me, but this time it lacked warmth. I couldn't quite get a read on him but, once again, found myself squirming to get out from under his scrutinization.
“Have a great day, Gamble. See you soon.”
I exited the Church with mixed feelings. I was elated to go back to work. I was confused as hell about my conversation with Miles. Just what the hell was he getting at? Didn't matter. I was back.
Chuck was waiting for me.
“Ah, kid. That smile says it all. Perfect timing, too. Just got a ping. You want to go evict some demons?”
“Hell yeah.”
Chapter Eight
Chuck grinned and punched me in the arm. “Just like old times, kid.” He cranked up the stereo and gunned it through a red light. “Making a pit stop, first.”
We headed down Steiner Street and pulled into Alamo Square for a cup of Lady Falcon's coffee. We sat in the car and sipped our brews while Chuck went over the case.
It was a referral, a recent possession reported by a concerned family member. At least half, if not more, of our cases were like this. People contacted Father Bruce to report possible demon possession, and once he made a diagnosis, he forwarded the case to us. Sometimes he tagged along, especially if the family insisted on being involved. Having a man of the cloth made them feel better about the whole affair, but it was usually Chuck and Ayana carrying out the actual eviction.
“Who are we working with?” I took a deep breath, willing myself to get back in the game, to get my head right.
It was always good to have two witches and two exorcists. Things could happen, glitches, unexpected setbacks. In some cases, things went smoothly. Clients cooperated or were at least easy to manage. The Opening came easily. The demon would lose its hold and exit with little resistance. More often than not, though, exorcisms were long, tiring, and frequently dangerous. The more hands on deck, the better.
“Ayana is on site. Mina isn't around, we don't know where she is. We haven't been able to get a hold of any other sub-contractors. Maybe they're all on vacation? This is a straightforward case, but from the tone of her latest text, Ayana’s get
ting tired of waiting for us. We better get on it.”
The case was local, an upscale home in Pacific Heights. The file showed her as a woman in her early forties named Karen Baumgartner. She was the mother of two and a recent divorcee. A neighbor had complained of her erratic behavior and filed two police reports. Her sister had gone to check on her and found her highly combative and muttering gibberish.
The concerned family approached Father Bruce after researching online and finding several accounts from people who had experienced first-hand the high-quality exorcism services we provided.
With a personal touch, of course.
We arrived on-site, and Chuck backed his Subaru into the narrow driveway. Ayana waved us over as she spoke to an animated and clearly fed-up woman.
“Hey, Chuck.” She smiled and waved through clenched teeth. “Grace, good to see you.”
Did I detect iciness in her voice? Was she glad to see me? She didn't seem to hold any blame or animosity toward me for how things went, but Miles had believed I'd choked and put her at risk. I honestly didn't know how she saw it.
The woman Ayana was speaking with was a neighbor named Vida. She'd been dealing ‘round the clock with Karen's bullshit. She'd displayed behavior ranging from obnoxious to downright threatening. She'd tried to handle it diplomatically at first but finally had to make the call.
“We mind our own business. We try to be good neighbors.” Vida gestured at their home across the street.
Her partner, Allison, held a wiggling, tongue-lolling, tail-wagging bundle of joy in her arms. A French Bulldog that I felt confident wanted to come home with me. She looked exhausted and very, very concerned.
“I understand, Ms. Hughes. We will handle the problem.” Ayana and Chuck had a similar quality of quiet confidence. The ability to reassure people and deescalate problem situations before they got out of hand.
Vida and Allison regarded Ayana warily. “What, are you a social worker or something? Are you going to help her?”
“Yes, we will help her, and yes, I am a social worker.”
This wasn't a lie. Before Ayana had gone full-time with exorcisms, she had been a social worker. In fact, she and Chuck had crossed paths frequently when she was volunteering as a homeless outreach worker. Having a social services background was useful in dealing with demon possession. Ayana approached her job as an exorcist much in the way she'd approached her job as a social worker. She took it seriously. She was no-nonsense. She cared about those she served, and she realized that a demon possession affected more than just the individual. It affected the community.
“Chuck, go ahead and knock. The sister and parents are home.”
Chuck gave her a thumbs up, and we made our way to the front door. “You ready, kid? Sounds like this lady is a real peach.” He grinned and raised his hand for a fist bump.
I rolled my eyes and smiled.
I knocked at the door and waited for at least a minute, listening for signs of a struggle or danger.
The door opened, and a man answered the door. He leaned on a cane and wheezed audibly as he squinted first at Chuck, then at me. “Who're you?”
Chuck cleared his throat. “Are you Karen's father?”
“Yeah. What of it?” His squinty gaze continued to shift between us.
Somewhere in the house, two thumps and a wail were followed by the sound of footsteps running downstairs. The man's eyes shot open, then shut tight closed in frustration. He shook his head, and for a moment, I thought the man would start crying.
“Sir, we're here to help your daughter,” Chuck spoke firmly, with calm, take-charge confidence.
The man's shoulders sagged, and he stepped back, opening the door wide.
“Are you Father Bruce?” He looked Chuck up and down, this time ignoring me completely.
Another knock came at the door, and Ayana came in behind us. The man stiffened again, resuming his squinty gaze, which I now suspected was his default expression.
“Yes, well, we're colleagues of Father Bruce. My name is Charles, and this is Sister Grace and Sister Ayana.”
A woman materialized, disheveled, blood seeping from a gash in her forehead as scarlet rivulets worked their way down her face, dripping onto her pristine, white blouse.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Meredith, are you okay?” The old man shook so hard I thought he would collapse.
It sucked when we had to call an ambulance. Explaining ourselves to regular folk was tricky.
Ayana quickly took charge. “Meredith? Meredith? Listen to me. I need you to go apply pressure to your wound. Can you do that?” She turned abruptly to me, “Grace, can you help her? Get her to sit down, drink some water? “Where is Karen? Is she upstairs? Meredith?”
A crash and another loud thud reverberated through the high-ceilinged great room. By the sound of it, Karen was deep in second-stage possession.
Meredith was trembling and crying, snot dripping from her nose and mingling with the blood on her face. I motioned for her to follow me.
She clutched my arm and pointed up the stairs. “M-mom is upstairs with Karen!”
Oh, shit. I turned toward Chuck and Ayana, but they were already bolting up the stairs, leaving the father and sister for me to deal with. This was how so many jobs went, though. I was the rookie, the padawan. Babysitting the family was part of my duties. Unless...
The crash I heard next sounded like someone had tossed a grand piano against a wall. Superhuman strength usually hit about two to four weeks into second-stage possession, depending on the demon and the constitution of the host. Karen sounded like she might have been a real bitch anyway, so it was probably a good idea to get the family out of the house.
I turned toward the two, ready to plead my case. Ready to convince them it would be safer to wait outside, or across town, perhaps. As I launched into my spiel, Meredith covered her mouth, eyes wide.
The Father raised his cane and yelled, “Look out, Sister!”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I spun around, and the next thing I knew, I was going down hard. Karen was having none of it. She lunged at me, all teeth and nails and bad attitude. I got my knees under her torso, using the momentum of her plunge to toss her to the side. I ducked away from her acrylic nails as she swiped at me, a low growl emanating from her frothing mouth.
Her father stepped forward, brandishing his cane. “Karen! I demand you stop this nonsense!”
She jerked her head up, snarling and baring her teeth.
“Oh, you demand? She cackled at that and rose with her shirt hanging open, no bra, and her hair standing on end.
Karen was a real mess.
“I'm tired of your demands, Patrick. And you, Meredith. I'm going to kill you first, you meddling, sniveling, fat-ass.”
The family stood helpless and traumatized. This was the rough part, really. You couldn't help but feel bad for them.
I jumped up and tapped Karen on the shoulder. “Look who's calling someone a fat-ass.”
I looked her up and down, pursed my lips, and shook my head. Her eyes flared, glowing an eerie yellow orange. I backed away toward the staircase.
Mission accomplished.
“Bitch!” She shrieked like a banshee as I turned and high-tailed it up the stairs with demon raging behind me. “I'm coming,” I yelled. “She's on my tail!”
I scaled the stairs two at a time and ran down the hall, with Karen close on my heels.
“Down, Grace!” Chuck appeared out of nowhere.
I dove like I was sliding into home base and heard a sharp crack and a howl as Chuck knocked her flat on her back. We worked quickly to restrain her as she bucked and twisted, spitting and howling. I jumped in, kneeling on her thighs and pinning one of her arms down as Chuck duct-taped her ankles together. She pushed back against us, sending me flying into the wall. I bounced up and pounced on her with my full weight and renewed determination. We flipped her over and somehow got her hog-tied as she continued writhing and growling.
> “You're gonna die, bitches! I'll rip your heads off! I'll gut you!” Froth bubbled out of her mouth, her eyes glowing, her veins bulging.
Without warning, she became still and fixed her eyes on me. I stopped and stared into the madness of her gaze as she burst into venomous laughter. Haha, why did I love my job again? I turned to go downstairs but felt compelled to look back at her once more. She still had her eyes on me.
“He's coming for you, girl. She hissed and shook her head. He's coming for you!” she howled, holding that last note in a sickening screech before her body stiffened and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Seconds later, she began convulsing, a common reaction to being restrained. We would need to work quickly to evict the demon before it did any more damage to her. I shuddered and looked at Chuck. He frowned and looked at Ayana. She shrugged and fished in her bag for the kit.
“Karen?” Meredith's voice called weakly from the bottom of the stairs. “What have you done to my sister?”
She began crying, and Ayana rolled her eyes at me.
“I've got it.” I headed downstairs to calm Meredith and Patrick while Chuck and Ayana began performing the rite.
After some diplomatic persuasion, I convinced the family to leave the property while they performed the exorcism, along with her mother, who we found cowering in the guest bedroom closet.
Karen would recover if all went well. After-effects would vary but could include mood and behavior changes, memory issues, and recurring headaches. Demon possession wasn't necessarily something you just got over, but recovery was possible.
I was hurting badly. Why had I stopped working out? Why had I stopped training? I hadn't hit the gym or the ring since going on leave. I hadn't been to the range. I’d stopped going to classes. I realized that for someone who wanted so badly to get to work, I hadn't been working. Not on anything.
I felt like I'd been hit by a train. Serves me right.
I browsed the CDT boards while I waited on Chuck and Ayana. There were reports of some high-profile politicians who had been recently possessed, but that was nothing new. My stomach turned as I read reports of an increase in religious terrorism. Priests were a common target for demon possession, and they found themselves comfortably ranting from pulpits and collecting money from their many followers.