by Savoy, Skye
I felt him deflate. “We are both frustrated. One of us needs to leave, but I will not be far away if you need my less-than adequate warrior skills.”
“Aw, Suriyel, I’m sorry!” I waited in hopes he’d forgive me and reappear. “Come back!”
I banged my head against headrest until it started to ache. I sabotaged myself by always having to be right. Why did I always have to have the last word? I sure picked the wrong time to drive away the hottest angel I ever met. Okay, the only angel I ever met—the only one who could help me out of this predicament.
* * * *
Three cars filled most of my former driveway. A cute blue VW Bug was parked behind Mel’s “green” car. A bumper sticker on Mason’s jacked-up truck read, Lift It Up: Fat Chicks Can’t Jump. I wasn’t fat anymore, yet I seriously resented his prejudice.
Darkness filled my beloved kitchen. I fumbled for the light switch only to be greeted with Mel’s dismayed, “No!”
My heart did one of those cartoon jumps out of its cavity and back. “Hell and damnation, Mel!” I gripped the counter and grabbed my chest. “Never startle me like that!” With as much fast food as I’d inhaled since becoming Stacy, I knew if the demon didn’t get me, a heart attack sure would.
“We’re in the middle of a séance. If you turn the lights on, you’ll break Kris’ trance,” Mel explained in a hushed voice.
“If your loud mouth yelling at Stacy didn’t wake this woman up, nothing can,” Mason chided under his breath.
I walked with trepidation to the dining table where they performed their nonsense. Kris’ lithe frame swayed to some music only she heard. Her eyes matched her black, wild, corkscrew hair.
“We waited as long as we could for you but Kris said something about feeling the presence of spirit and didn’t want to wait any more.”
“I can see that, Mel. I thought you were going to help me make the pink butter mint patties, not bring Zoltar the Fortune Teller here.”
Mason turned a gimlet eye to Kris. He spoke through the side of mouth. “I ain’t seen nothing great about her yet. She’s kinda’ giving me the creeps. Her eyes rolled back in her head twice.”
“Maybe ya’ll should just leave,” was on the tip of my tongue when Kris emitted a shrill, “Howdeee. I’m jes so proud to be here.”
“That’s Kris’ spiritual guide,” Mel lowered her voice and her eyelids in a conspiratorial way.
“Her guide is Minnie Pearl? That’s ridiculous.”
Mel crossed her arms in front of her chest as if she dared me to keep it up.
“Who?” asked Mason.
“Minnie Pearl wore a straw hat with a dollar ninety-eight price tag hanging from it. C’mon ya’ll. ‘Grand Ole Opry?’ ‘HEE HAW’?” Crickets chirped. Kris hummed. Mel and Mason stared at me like I uttered something in Swahili.
“Uh…Aunt Ava told me Big Mama made her and Mom watch the show every Saturday night”
“Ya’ll, the presence of your old Aunt Ava is here. She wants to give you a big SAA-LUTE,” Minnie Pearl announced.
“Who’s she calling old,” I mumbled.
She was absolutely right. I stood here in all Stacy’s glory and waited for Minnie Pearl to recognize my spirit and flush me down the tube into the here-after.
“Ava? Ava hon’ can you hear me?”
Oh, I heard her, all right. She bellowed with the vocal fortitude of Mayberry’s Aunt Bea.
Cold air blasted through the house. The air conditioner usually barely spit out cool air. This turned into a wind and gathered momentum as it whipped up a frenzy. Knick-knacks, silk flower bouquets, and papers flew round like dead leaves. Suddenly, the table shot up, revolved three times, and slammed down. A dark mist bubbled between Mel and Kris.
Mason was so scared, his eyes bugged out like marbles. He backed away from the table and pointed to the boiling darkness over Mel’s right shoulder. “W-what the hell is that thing?”
Mel turned to see what Mason pointed at, then tip-toed over to me.
Evil rolled off the shadow as it formed a scaly, lizard-like creature. Lethal talons reached across the table for me.
Mason cowered, and Mel gasped as it came toward me. Kris remained oblivious, stuck in her supernatural trance.
My hands shot out across their chests like Big Mama used to do when she made a sudden stop in her beat-up Ford truck. Her salary as a clerk in the town’s only grocery store meant brakes were replaced if they were nonexistent.
What did Suriyel tell me about blocking demonic attacks? Something about envisioning light pushing it back to hell. The hell with pushing, it was time to blow things up. My mental blast yielded less than spectacular results. It recoiled instead of disintegrating.
Its grin revealed a mouth full of decaying teeth sure to give Robert a hard-on. One red eye winked at me as the creature wrapped itself around Kris.
“Get the hell outta here,” I screamed at the demon.
Mason bolted for the kitchen door.
“I wasn’t talking to you, chicken shit,” I called after the breeze he left behind.
Mel stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a huge carving knife, and returned to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. “I’m gonna filet that thing and drop it straight off in the grease!”
“Mm-mm. Deep-fried demon sounds like a great addition to our catering menu, but I think you need to wait outside with Mason.”
“No, way, girl. I ain’t leaving you. Besides, Mason’s probably home by now.” She waved the knife with each word. I paled and moved out of her way.
“I love you so much it hurts! Bye now!” Kris blew kisses at us as the demon sent Minnie Pearl skittering back to some spiritual replica of Grinder’s Switch.
The eyes of the demon peered at me through Kris’ heavily made-up peepers. Blue eye shadow and red, glowing orbs didn’t complement each other in the Mary Kay color wheel of life.
“My, aren’t you the elusive one.” A hissing sound emphasized every word.
“Listen, you…whatever you are, you better do like Stac said and get the hell out before you get dead,” Mel threatened and assumed the infamous linebacker position she used on her daughter’s father after he refused to send child support.
Demon-Kris levitated from her chair. The creature’s tail hung down from Kris’ boho dress. An ear-grating laugh from her mouth. “Call off your ferocious little lap dog before I turn her into one of my minions.” The demon’s borrowed lips twisted into a smile, “Stac.”
Yeah, yeah, I got it. She knows my secret ID and all that jazz. “I think it’s safe to say you’re the one who’s been trying to kill me and my family.”
The beastie laughed and gurgled simultaneously.
“Well, you’re picking on the wrong person!” I mentally stomped my foot. Where’s Mr. I-Will-Not-Be-Far-Away-Suriyel? “I’ve been trained by the best, so you just better go back to hell where you belong!”
Senator Elvis almost left the building for real. Kris was an innocent vessel, she deserved to be protected. I lowered my aim at the creature’s heart and blasted her tail with a fireball.
“Trained by the best, hunh?” She picked her tail up and pinched the flame out. “You’re really testing my patience.”
Demon-girl whizzed a bolt of power at me with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. I was too slow to block her power. I doubled over with an oof of pain and flew backwards. The wall shook when my body slammed against it. I stuck to the wall above the antique buffet, like a fly on flypaper.
She floated closer to me, smacking her lips like I was a big tasty T-bone from Western Sizzler. “I finally have enough power to claim you.”
Kris’ long fingernail reached out to touch my forehead. A tendril of energy wafted through the amulet on contact. My vision blurred. I flashed back to Suriyel when he told me only the strongest demon could undo what he and Samael did. Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m going to give up this body until I can figure out a way to kill this demon.
I visualized blazing white light as it flo
wed from every pore of my being. My power channeled through the amulet right where her finger touched it. A loud rumble sounded. Her body caved in the middle like a giant fist hit her in the gut. She sailed to the opposite side of the dining room. The impact of her body against the sheetrock sent Big Mama’s Pierced Depression Glass serving platter smashing to the floor. I slipped down from the flypaper wall a couple of notches.
“Damn! That was irreplaceable!” I needed to use some mojo to super glue it together. I wanted Kitty to have a matching set when I left all Big Mama’s stuff to her.
The beastie shook Kris’ head as if to clear it. “Hmmm. It seems you do have a bit of power after all.”
Mel called to me, “Hon, I’ll get you a ladder after I kick her crusty ass.” Knife in hand, she grabbed the creature’s tail and yanked like it was a church bell.
Outrage crossed the demon’s borrowed features. “What is it with you stupid humans and my tail?”
Mel had no clue what she was dealing with, but it didn’t stop her from lunging at the wicked thing with her knife.
“Wait! Don’t stab Kris in anything vital.”
Mel paused too long, which allowed the demon to turn the knife on her without even touching it.
All her life Mel fought—fought to raise her daughter without the help of the father. She held her own against a stream of small town losers who thought she was easy because she got knocked up as a teen. Mel’s toughness was no match for the supernatural. I watched as her arms shook from the effort of trying to hold the knife away from her heart where the demon tried to plunge it.
The words, “finally have enough power” reappeared in my brain. I didn’t want to think about how she recharged her demonic batteries. Even rechargeable batteries can be drained. I focused my strength on yanking the weapon out of Mel’s hand. In my mind, I grabbed the weapon and pulled it away from my girlfriend’s heart. The amulet pulsed between my eyes as the tip of the knife turned toward the scaly monster who forced it back to Mel.
Sweat poured down my face from the back and forth knife action with the fiend. Every muscle hurt, even though I fought a mental battle. The demon leered at me each time she pointed the knife at Mel’s heart. I gritted my teeth and dug deeper to control Mel’s puppet-like motions. Her death was unthinkable.
Samael was nowhere to be seen. I assumed Suriyel was a no-show because wanted this body to die so he could take my soul. The thought pissed me off enough to go into maximum overdrive. A weird humming sound filled the air. I drew all the power from the amulet and willed the knife to fly from Mel’s hands.
Boy, that did it! The blade sliced through the air, end over end, right at the demon. Its creepy, red eyes got as large as saucers. The creature left Kris’ body in one pitch black poof and released me from my wall-mounted position.
Kris and I plummeted to opposite sides of the floor. The knife cut through a big clump of hair instead of her skull. It plunged into the wooden shelf put up to display Big Mama’s collection of serving platters.
My friend fainted into a heap onto my oriental rug. I ran over to check her pulse. No telling what that demon did when it disappeared. What if it took her soul because it wanted me?
Mel’s boobs, cinched up into sea-buoy-proportions thanks to her push-up bra, moved up and down. A strand of Kris’ lopsided hair blew in and out of her mouth. Good.
The whirring noise didn’t stop when the demon left. It came from the far corner of the living room. I planted my feet firmly on the ground in the fighting stance Suriyel taught me. This time, I’m ready for that toothy harlot from hell. I braced myself and watched the Elvis puzzle-piece portrait hanging over my couch. The droning noise grew louder. All the pieces of Elvis in his 1969 come-back tour leather outfit jiggled like Mexican jumping beans. Not the puzzle! It took me two whole days to put together. The stupid thing fell apart when I tried to glue it to matte-board so I could frame it.
Suriyel materialized with his sword in the upright position. His frown lines disappeared as soon as he saw me. “You are alive.”
“Depends on your interpretation.”
“There was some type of shield over the house. I came as soon as I could get through.”
I uttered a peeved, “Whatever,” and stared at the picture. A tire followed by a gold basket emerged from Elvis’ crotch. My labor of love shattered into a million puzzle pieces.
“Aw, c’mon!” I wailed and ducked in time to see a gold-plated hover-round whoosh over my head. The tip of Suriyel’s sword blew a tire out.
I spun around in time to see two paisley polyester-clad butt-cheeks on each side of the cushy seat as the vehicle careened to a stop in the doorway to the laundry room.
“Aw, shoot! How am I supposed to back this thing up,” a familiar voice cracked. The rest was drowned out by the boop, boop, boop warning sound of the machine in reverse.
After several excruciatingly long minutes and several attempts to turn around, there sat Big Mama on the fanciest, albeit catawampus, scooter I’d ever seen. Nothing shocked me anymore, but this one made my mouth hang open.
My beloved mother in her purple sweater and paisley pantsuit blinked at me over her cats-eye glasses. “Are you just gonna stand there catching flies or are you gonna give your Big Mama a hug?” She lifted her hands from the shiny steering wheel and beckoned me toward her.
Many times since her death, I wished for a hug, a smile, or just a glimpse of my mother. I rushed past Suriyel, overjoyed, tripped over Mel, and launched myself into my mother’s arms with a cry. Pain from landing on the floor chest-first greeted me instead of the warm, oversized bosom of my long-dead mother. It knocked all the air from my lungs.
I rolled onto my back. Big Mama and Suriyel seemed mesmerized by the way my mouth moved in and out like a goldfish’s.
“Oh, I forgot about that,” Big Mama said, unapologetically. “Guess I’ll have to figure out how to fix that next time I’m here.”
She sized Suriyel up the way only a parent does a prospective beau. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Ms. Porter. Do not worry. Everything is fine.”
“Good to know you ain’t here collecting her soul like you did mine.” She inclined her head my direction. “You might want to do the gentlemanly thing and help her up seeing as how you’re upright and she ain’t.”
Suriyel snapped to attention and yanked me through Big Mama’s image fast enough to make my head spin.
“Thank…you,” I said between short breaths.
“What in the world is going on here?” Big Mama rolled her cart closer to me. The scent of White Shoulders, her signature perfume, lingered in the air.
“That’s…a…long…story.” My labored breathing had yet to return to normal. “The…ques…tion…is…what… are you doing here?”
The wrinkles on Big Mama’s head formed a “v.” “Well, I was sitting there enjoying a good game of Bunko on the front lawn just inside the Pearly Gates with my angel friends. That reminds me. They keep asking me why your mama and Aunt buried me in such a hideous outfit.” Her gaze cut from me, down to the big pink and yellow paisleys that screamed circa 1963.
No way am I taking the blame for that one! “That was all Ki—Mama’s fault. You should have been buried in that pretty blue chiffon dress you wore to the Legion Hall for ballroom dancing night. She insisted you looked better in the purple paisley she’d given you the Christmas before you passed.”
“Aw, Stacy, you know she got that at Mazierky’s yard sale. You should have seen the look on Mrs. Maziersky’s face when she looked into my coffin and saw this horrible thing.” Big Mama clucked her tongue. “Honestly, who expects to find their discarded clothes on a dead body?”
My shoulders shrugged in an apology to Suriyel. I wondered if the half-smile he shot me wasn’t really a painful bowel obstruction instead.
“You were playing Bunko with your angel friends, then what?”
“Oh, yeah. We were talking about that weren’t we, son. Anyway, I kept hear
ing this voice calling Ava’s name. I didn’t know what to think ‘cause the voice sounded like Minnie Pearl’s. We just had dinner together a few nights ago.”
The revelation made me butt in. “Minnie Pearl is Kris’ spirit guide.”
I got the impression they’d never heard of a spirit guide from the almost visible question marks above their heads.
Big Mama didn’t miss a beat. “Well, she never mentioned it to me. Anyway, I got worried, so I hopped on this here brand new, macked-out scooter, and here I am.”
“That’s all fine and good, Big Mama. But why did you come this time and none of the other times I called?”
“Probably because you did not call her,” Suriyel warned.
I swatted him in the gut. “Don’t you need to leave again? I have a right to ask her why she ignored me.”
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Suriyel pulled me into the kitchen. “Have you forgotten whose body you’re in and why you can’t tell anyone who you really are?”
The dish rack overturned when I pulled free from his grip. It sent another one of Big Mama’s serving platters to its death on the tile floor.
“Aw, that was what my mama served Sunday roast on!”
“No, she didn’t, Big Mama. She served ham. You served roast so dry I used to tell you that Bedouins were camping out in my throat,” I said and scrambled to pick up the pieces of the unfortunate dish.
Big Mama fell right into my reminiscing with a small laugh. “That’s right. I had to wrestle the pitcher of tea away from you on more than one occasion.”
Suriyel slapped a hand over his forehead and scrubbed it down to cover his eyes.
“Wait a minute.” She pointed at me with an arthritis-free finger, which was strange to see since they’d been curled with it for years before she died. “That was Ava. Not you.”
“Not exactly, Big Mama.” I used magic to return the broken pieces to their original state, then opened the cabinet, and set it in its rightful place.
Big Mama shot up from her scooter. “What did you do to that platter?” She looked at me, then at Suriyel who refused to look her in the eye. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on here right quick.”