Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  “Or that,” the man replied with a shrug and a smile. “But, what I am telling you now is that this is your one and only chance to charge that sputtering thing you’re barely holding on to.”

  “What thing?”

  “I think you know. Are you going to take me up on my offer, or remain forever in wonder and ignorance?”

  Cyrus looked long and hard into the old man’s shrewd eyes.

  The stranger smiled and bounced an eyebrow. “So, nu? What’s it going to be?”

  “I do not want to sin against God or His commandments.”

  “Chas v’chalila!” the man exclaimed. God forbid. “Do you think that I would want to be an accomplice in any wrongdoing?”

  “You belted a cop.”

  The man laughed and dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. “Pshaw, he’s fine. Better than ever, trust me.”

  Seeing the longing in Cyrus’s expression, the man took off his tallis and placed the prayer shawl around Cyrus’s shoulders. Cyrus ran his hand down the front of the tallis, and let the tzitzit, the fringes or tassels, that hung from each of the four corners of the tallis stream between his fingers. Soon he began to feel a warm, tingling sensation circulate through his body from head to toe.

  “Nice, huh?” the man said, seeing Cyrus’s smiling face. “Think of yourself as standing within the Mishkan, the holy Tabernacle.” The man held up the tefillin. “This is a very old pair, by the way. A family heirloom, you might say.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be,” the man rejoined. He proceeded to put the tefillin on Cyrus’s left arm, having Cyrus repeat after him the proper blessings. Next, he instructed Cyrus to wrap the leather strap seven times around his arm, put on the head tefillin, and then complete the ritual with the wrapping of his hand. Each step along the way the stranger had Cyrus repeat after him the appropriate blessings.

  The warm, tingling sensation gathered in strength and intensity. The energy didn’t just circulate through his body anymore; it coursed, growing hotter and hotter. Cyrus felt he was being electrocuted from the inside out. His eyes bulging, he looked at the man, but was unable to utter a word. His body began to shake, and his arms and legs straightened and stiffened like tree limbs.

  “Good,” the old man said. “Hang on…” He then laid both hands on Cyrus’s head as he pronounced a holy blessing, “Yivarechecha Adonai viyishmirecha…” Cyrus’s head flung back and his body went into convulsions.

  All the while that Cyrus and his visitor had been talking, they did not go unnoticed by the other inmates. Far from it. The inmates huddled around the bizarre characters and questioned and mocked them, but Cyrus and the old man ignored them. It was as if they were isolated from the inmates like fish in a bowl.

  A few of the inmates tried to penetrate the bowl, but they couldn’t. They were separated from Cyrus and the man by an invisible force field. The inmates hollered and screamed, but to Cyrus and the stranger, their voices were small and distant, as if drifting from across a rushing river.

  Never had Cyrus known such searing pain. Not even his battle injuries with the yetzers over the centuries could compare. He thought that he was going to die. His mind raced as he stared in agony at the complacent old man. Who are you? Why are you doing this…?

  The inmates scampered as far away from them as they could get, hugging and banging on the bars of the cell.

  “Guard! Guard!” yelled an inmate.

  “The hell!”

  “Who the—?”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Get me out of here!”

  “Guard…!”

  Cyrus gasped. The pain and the convulsions stopped. He felt as if an infusion of healing light was pouring into his body. His head still pounded, but the hammering began to gradually diminish. And then everything went black.

  Three officers rushed shouting into the cell, Monadnock PR-24 side-handle batons in their hands. “Move! Out of the way!”

  They cleared a path to the corner of the cell, where the officers found Cyrus unconscious on the floor, his baseball cap over his face. One of the cops checked Cyrus’s pulse and did a quick scan for signs of injury or brutality. He found none. He removed the cap from Cyrus’s face and slapped him a few times in an attempt to arouse him. There was no response.

  “What’s going on here?” a cop demanded.

  The inmates answered in a cacophony of agitated, unintelligible, and expletive-laced squawking. They were all pointing and jabbing excitedly towards…the wall.

  “He was right there!”

  “Where the hell did he go?” cried another inmate.

  “Some old man. He was right there!”

  “We saw him!”

  “Yeah, yeah! We did, we did!”

  The cops looked at one another in bewilderment.

  Outside the cell, an old, bearded janitor dressed in blue overalls wheeled a bucket of brown water to the front of the holding tank and slapped a dripping mop onto the floor. He chuckled as he lackadaisically swabbed at the linoleum, delighting in the confusion.

  His grin turned to solemnity when he saw the water on the floor take on an awesome shimmer. The janitor immediately knelt down and pulled his cap low over his eyes.

  “Ribbono Shel Olam,” Master of the Universe, the janitor said reverentially in thought mode. “…Yes, I know,” he replied to the voice only he could hear. “I heard the malachim talking, and had to see such a rarity for myself.“ He listened and answered, “Shall it not be done for him what is done for all who enter this world? If it be Your will that he be a man, shall he not be a whole man?”

  32

  Grace Period

  “Send him in,” Grace said into the intercom.

  She flipped back her hair, undid two buttons on her silver, silk blouse and gave it a little tug. She chuckled at how her visitor might respond to the extra, teasing inch of cleavage between her voluptuous breasts.

  “Hello, Grace,” Volk said, closing the door behind him. His eyes dropped momentarily to the obvious, but he ignored the lure. He scanned the office and whistled approvingly. “Moving up in the world, I see.”

  Volk strolled along the edges of the spacious office, stopping briefly to peer through the round windows along the walls at the lush countryside below.

  “Nice little patch of Eden you got here,” he said.

  Grace smiled as she observed the handsome warrior. She didn’t know why, but she preferred Volk’s rugged, unsophisticated appearance to that of the gorgeous—and more effete to her mind—Apollonian good looks of most of the other cupids. Captain Volk, she thought, carried about him the scent of earthy highlands, of grass and trees. She almost expected leaves to trail behind him when he walked.

  Grace had grown fond of his serious manner. Though never sour, the captain was quiet, reserved, and self-confident, yet without a trace of arrogance. He was unlike any of the other cupids, and that fascinated her.

  Many outstanding cupids had hit on her over the years, but she found their charm smarmy and pretentious. They expected her to be dazzled by their tales of heroism; that their exploits should act upon her as an aphrodisiac, as they did for so many of her fellow celestials. To Grace, however, these cupids lacked that, in her own words, ‘je ne sais quoi’ that Captain Volk had in spades.

  Of course, the disgraced Captain Cyrus had had it too, but he was now an infamous historical footnote. And it was precisely that shared quality that was now a source of concern to the judges at the Academy. Volk’s ‘certain something’ might very well be posing another threat to them.

  Yes, Volk was different, and Grace wanted badly to know what made him tick. So when Judge Minos came to her to offer her a promotion, she readily accepted. The advancement came with new powers, privileges, and a greater field of operations. Among her new responsibilities was keeping a silver eye on the enigmatic Captain Volk.

  Volk continued along the perimeter of her circular office, nonchalantly stopping here and there to admire a pain
ting or to examine some kitschy trinket.

  “What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You sent for me, remember?”

  “And so I ask again, what can I do for you?”

  Volk was now standing beside her. He pulled out a large, red paisley bandana from one of his pockets, gave it an unfolding snap, and placed the kerchief over Grace’s open blouse. He tied a quick knot behind her head and then took a step back to admire his work. It looked like she was wearing a lobster bib.

  Volk smiled winningly. “Much better,” he said, and then walked to the front of her desk and took a seat.

  “You know,” Grace said, frost in her silvery eyes, “if anyone else behaved so brazenly, I would have him arrested and punished.”

  “And you also know that every other cupid at the Academy would have been perfectly content addressing your magnificent boobs rather than you.”

  Grace did not respond because she knew he was right. She yanked off the bandana, threw it back at the captain, and buttoned her blouse to the top.

  “I have some news on Captain Cyrus,” she said. “He’s alive.” She smiled at the relief she saw on Volk’s face.

  “Is he okay?” he asked.

  “We don’t know yet. All we know is what we learned from the humans themselves, from their media. Captain Cyrus managed to get himself arrested.”

  “Hah! That’s my boy!”

  “Yes, well, by some bizarre fluke, the disgronifier dropped our always amusing traitor into the NPF, smack in the middle of a college basketball game, somewhere in the state of Maryland. He was deposited ten feet above ground inside a basketball hoop.”

  “Of all the places a spin of the dial could have sent him. What are the odds?”

  Volk chuckled at the picture of his friend becoming conscious of his circumstances, his ass crammed into a bending hoop, the cynosure of thousands of pairs of gawping eyes.

  “Yes,” Grace replied, unimpressed by the improbability. “Even chance has a sense of humor, it seems.”

  “Someone sure does.”

  Grace smiled in amusement at her own picture of a bewildered Cyrus materializing out of thin air into such a predicament on national TV.

  “I’d love to know how he explained his sudden televised appearance,” she said. “He certainly couldn’t have told the truth, if he was even able to recall it. Anyway, that’s all the information we have at this time. I will keep my staff on the story. Maybe he’ll appear on the wires again, though neither his whereabouts nor his condition is any longer a concern of ours. I do it solely as a favor to you, Captain.”

  “I appreciate that, Grace.”

  “Now then,” she said, pushing forward a pad of paper and a pen. “As I said, I’m here to help. Write down what you require to ease your transition.”

  Volk scribbled onto the pad and tossed it spinning back onto Grace’s desk. The pad came to a perfect stop before her.

  “‘Independence,’” she read. “I was thinking more in terms of gear and guns.”

  “I have all the weapons I need. What I lack is the liberty to use them as I see fit.”

  “Captain, the decision to consolidate the Cupid Corps came from the top. I had nothing to do with that, nor do I have any say regarding it. Have you met with Commander Sett yet?”

  “You know I have.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Contrary to what others may believe, or even you yourself, Grace, you didn’t rise this high on your sex-appeal alone. You are extremely talented, hardworking, and proficient. You take your job seriously, and in doing so, I am certain that you are on me like stink on a fear demon.”

  Grace frowned. “You have an odd way of complimenting a lady, Captain.”

  Volk shrugged.

  “Commander Sett told me that you took the news of your merger fairly well.”

  “What did you think I was going to do, punch him?”

  “Actually, yes.” Grace smiled. “But I’m glad you didn’t. Look, I know how hard this change must be for you, and I promise I’ll help you with the transition the best I can. Commander Sett is a tough nut, but I’ve cracked harder ones. Before you do something stupid, please come to me. I may be able to smooth things out.”

  “Like by suggesting that I finish the Veetal match? Was that your idea of smooth?”

  Grace’s lips parted just enough to give her guilt away. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  “He didn’t. He said the order came from Eros via Minos.”

  “Then how did you—?”

  “I’ll do you one better,” Volk said. “You suggested it because you thought by my doing so, it would erase any lingering suspicions as to where my loyalties lie.”

  “You flatter yourself, Captain, but yes, perhaps it was something like that. And so now you are angry with me?” She spoke the words with just the right amount of hurt on her pouty lips.

  Volk grinned. “You really think I have an anger management problem, don’t you? You thought I’d punch Sett out and start barking at you. Yet, you’ve never seen me fly off the handle, have you?”

  “No, Captain, I haven’t. But,” she held up a small disk, “I’ve seen what is on this.”

  “What is that?”

  “Some footage of you in action. Highlights from some of your encounters with the fear demons over the years.”

  “So?”

  “You are a fearsome and ruthless killer, Captain.”

  “They are demons, Grace, not Girl Scouts.”

  “You go about your slaughter with a detached cool that is, well, frankly, a little chilling. Do you take pleasure in making mincemeat out of these demon creatures?”

  “I take pleasure in serving the Master of the Universe, Grace. I was created to do one thing and one thing only, as are all cupids: to be a sentinel of love. If carrying out His command means I must slay every fear demon that gets in my way, I do so with righteous determination.”

  “I’m sure that Judge Minos appreciates your allegiance,” Grace said.

  “I don’t speak of Minos.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said with a wave of her hand, as if she had forgotten to whom she was talking. “You meant Eros, of course. It’s just that so few these days seem to remember who is really calling the shots around here. We are such an irreverent and ungrateful generation. A sprawling bureaucracy can have that effect. I’m certain that Eros is pleased by your devout service. I must admit, I do find it refreshing in a way.”

  “No, Grace, I do not speak of Eros either.”

  “No?” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

  Volk shook his head. “No.”

  Grace threw up her arms in surrender, then leaned back deeply into her chair. “This ought to be good,” she said with a smirk. “Okay, Captain, what’s your game?”

  “No game, Grace. I am saying that I answer to no one but the Most High.”

  Grace sprang forward, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Please don’t tell me you belong to the Anteros cult!”

  Volk shook his head gravely. “I’m afraid it is much worse than that. But let’s leave that be.”

  “No,” Grace said sternly. “Let’s not.”

  Volk contemplated Grace’s eyes, and then said, “Fine, I will pick you up a week from today at nine a.m. sharp. Dress comfortably.” He stood and strolled out of her office.

  33

  Clueless

  Ellen Veetal thanked the last contestant of the day for his time: a handsome, young, tousle-haired man majoring in women studies who claimed the ability to interpret dreams. Ms. Veetal recalled three different dreams for him. His explanation for each one was that the two of them were destined to be lovers.

  Ellen closed the door after him, locked it, and sighed in weariness.

  The second day had proved no more encouraging than the first. The closest anyone came to demonstrating mental powers was a graduate student working on a master’s degree in political science. The gu
y claimed to be a mind reader, and indeed seemed to know a tremendous amount about her. The experiment unraveled when he sneezed and his earplug fell out. He said it was a hearing aid, but when Ellen put the device to her own ear, she heard a familiar voice still dictating what to say next.

  “Very funny, Jill,” Ellen said, unamused.

  “Ouch, busted,” said the tinny voice.

  “I’m gonna show you busted.”

  “Okay. How about coffee later?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Call me…!” Jill trilled.

  Ellen dropped the earpiece onto the floor and stomped on it.

  Word of her interviews had gotten around, and so the line outside her door wasn’t getting any shorter. She still had a few more days worth of interviews ahead. Thankfully, they would have to wait until after the weekend.

  She heard a gentle knock at her door, followed by the twisting of the knob. The person knocked again. Ellen called out, “The interviews are finished for the day, come back on Monday!”

  “It’s me, Chance.”

  Ellen let him in and plopped down on her sofa beside Carl. Instinctively she began to pet his soft fur.

  “You okay?” Chance asked. “You look a little frazzled.”

  Chauncey Matterson himself looked chipper and in good spirits. He pulled up Ellen’s desk chair and sat down in front of her. Carl leapt from the couch, and tail wagging, trotted over to his favorite corner. He sneezed.

  “Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “I’m not in the mood for I-told-you-so’s, okay?” She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  “I’m not mocking you, Ellen. Look, you’re putting your theories to the test, and I respect that. When we experiment, we never learn less, right?”

  Ellen opened her eyes and cracked a little smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m just a little cranky, I guess.”