by J. R. Mabry
BRIAN HEARD a rustle at the front door, and then a roar as his housemates blew into the foyer like a summer storm. They laughed and hooted, and it was clear to him that their degree of merriment was high. Tobias barked and zoomed past him on his way to the front door, his ample yellow behind wagging profusely.
Brian leaned against the doorway and folded his arms, looking for all the world like a lean, satisfied, Semitic question mark. “I’m guessing the tournament went well?” he said. He knew it had, of course. Terry had texted the results hours ago.
“Mikael rocked the fuckin’ house!” Kat announced, hanging her coat on a hook by the door and grabbing Mikael around the waist to give him a proud squeeze.
Mikael was in the middle of taking off his own coat, so the hug was awkward, but he paused and soaked it in. He looked over at Brian and nodded.
“It was cool.” Kat let go of him and straightened his gi. “And you can wear those jammies to bed anytime you like, tiger.”
Mikael’s eyebrows perked up. “That sounds like an invitation.”
“Invitation, hell,” Kat said, making for the kitchen. “That’s an appointment.” She paused to kiss Brian on the cheek. “Hi there, Sweetie. I’m sad you couldn’t join us.”
“I’ve been to my share,” he said without a note of resentment. “It’s been a busy day around here, too.”
“Hey, Baby Doll,” Terry said, reaching up for a big wet kiss from his hubby. Brian bent down and gladly acquiesced, tasting toffee and mint and…cardamom? He drew his head up from the kiss. “Fuck! Did you guys eat?”
Terry slunk and tried to slip into the kitchen. Brian grabbed the back of his shirt and turned to Susan, the one person from whom he knew he could get a straight answer. “Well?”
Susan looked at Mikael, then at Kat, then at Terry, and finally back at Brian. “Well, um…”
“You did know that I’ve been cooking all day for you ungrateful turds, right?”
“Brian, relax,” Susan cooed. “We’re famished. We were all the way in San Jose, and we were sinking into hypoglycemic shock. We grabbed a couple of samosas from the sidewalk vendor outside the arena, just to hold us over. We all split one—except for Mikael, who could have eaten the whole cart if we let him.” She gave Brian a reassuring hug as he let go of Terry’s shirt. “We did not let him.”
She touched Brian’s beaked nose with her finger. “Now, what’s for dinner?” She winked at Terry, who breathed a sigh of relief and successfully completed his entry into the kitchen.
“Turkey,” Brian announced, pouting and barely mollified. “With bacon-apple stuffing.”
“Because you can never have enough turkey,” said Terry.
“And squash with chipotle applesauce,” Brian concluded.
“Wow. That’s autumnal,” Kat noted. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I collected a lot of recipes this winter, and I thought I’d give some of them a try,” Brian explained.
Just then the door opened again, and Dylan stepped in. “Hah, gang,” he announced. He removed his coat and turned to Mikael. “Ah expect you kicked some butt.”
“I was successful in making sure no butts were kicked at all.”
“So, you won, is what yer sayin’.”
“I am.”
“Good job!” Dylan rubbed his hands together. “Someone please tell me dinner is close to bein’ ready.”
“One half hour,” Brian said, looking at his watch. “Just enough time for you all to say Evening Prayer.”
“Thet sounds like a plan,” Dylan agreed and led the way to the chapel.
5
DUUNEL ALWAYS FELT SLIGHTLY uncomfortable when he slipped in between. He couldn’t go far, or he would lose his host—sorry host that he was—but infernal discipline demanded that he check in regularly to update his master and receive orders.
Duunel mused on just how far askew the human perception of demons was. Humans assumed that order was good and chaos was evil, and so it must follow that demons were an anarchic lot. But nothing could be further from the truth, Duunel said to himself as he waited for his lord to appear. In fact, demons were strictly regimented. It was the Enemy that trusted his minions and allowed so much disorganized squalor. By comparison, Hell ran like a Swiss watch—with every demon knowing his place, every order obeyed without question, every command carried out with speed and efficiency.
Demons that failed their superiors were not coddled. They were not given second chances, training, or therapy. Usually, they were simply relegated to lunch.
In a few moments, a haze appeared to form in the in-between, and Duunel stood at attention before it. When it resolved, a great dragon with the head of an eagle appeared, glowering at Duunel with one great, glowing red eye. This was the great demon prince Maaluchre, whom Duunel had been privileged to serve since the time of the Great Deluge.
“My master,” Duunel said, prostrating himself.
“Rise and report,” said the prince.
Duunel rose, standing once again at attention. “The human sleeps,” Duunel said. “Or, more accurately, he’s passed out drunk.”
“You had a hand in this, I suppose?” The prince did not look displeased.
“Sadly, no. He does this to himself, quite willingly. But I’ve certainly been working on vice amplification in other areas.”
“I can tell you are amused,” the prince said. “And yet your entertainment does not advance our liberation.”
“My lord, the members of his order have been our only real predators in this part of the world for years. And among them, he is the most potent and effective. As long as I inhabit him, he is out of commission.”
“And our Father is well served,” the prince nodded. “And yet the others are not ineffective.”
“Alas, no, my lord. They are quite competent. Just last week they crippled poor Alak.”
“What horde is he in?” The demon prince looked up, trying to remember.
“Cthollud’s, seventh plight.”
“That is tragic,” Maaluchre scowled, his red eye glowing hotter. “We cannot afford to be losing such powerful allies at such a crucial time. Not when our Father is on the move.”
“That is precisely what I’m saying,” Duunel agreed. “But I have my hands full keeping this one busy. I can’t stray from him, or my hold will be lost.”
“Quite right, quite right,” the demon prince agreed. “Well, we must think of a way to take out the rest of them at a single stroke.”
“I have an idea,” Duunel said. “After all, I have access to the human’s thoughts and memories. I know what frightens him most. Killing the members of his order would be a huge endeavor, and in my opinion, our efforts could evoke…resistance. Better to keep a low profile so as not to upset the plans that are already underway.”
“What do you suggest?” The red eye opened wide like the blooming of a crimson flower.
“I believe we can…relieve them of their power—quickly, easily, and at a single stroke.”
Eagles should never grin, Duunel decided, as he saw the skin around his master’s beak stretch back.
“I’m listening.”
6
RICHARD CLOSED his eyes against one blinding ray of the setting sun. His brain was pounding, and he felt nauseated. He considered throwing up but decided to wait until the room stopped spinning.
That will teach you to drink too much, said the voice in his head.
“I drank just enough, thank you,” Richard said out loud. His own voice sounded thin and distant in his nearly empty bedroom.
You’re not the only one suffering now, you know, the voice complained.
“Oh well…” Richard wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “I’m drinking for two, now.”
I thought you Christians were supposed to be compassionate?
“I thought demons were driven by self-interest.”
That is a curious observation, the demon in his head noted. On the one hand, I love to egg you on because
I enjoy seeing you damage yourself and suffer. It’s one of the few great pleasures left to my kind—
“Your kind…” Richard repeated.
On the other hand, in my current position, I can’t do that without feeling the effects of it myself. It’s different when I’m in complete control, then I’m not so eager to push you into…enjoyable situations.
“Always good to know you’re lookin’ out for me, Duunel,” Richard said without a shred of conviction.
You know what would really help right now? the demon offered.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
You need some Vicodin—it will really help with that headache.
“Huh…do you think?”
Oh yes. Very much. Good stuff. I’d chew it if I were you. Take two, they’re only five hundred milligrams, so you need more of them.
“Duunel?”
Yes?
“Go fuck yourself.”
Richard heard a knock, but he ignored it.
I love the fact that we can cohabit so congenially.
The knock came again, louder. The door swung inward. “Richard?” called a male voice. Richard squinted without moving his head and saw one of his roommates come into view. “Hey, Doug,” Richard said, not bothering to move.
“Um…can I talk to you?”
He’s here to throw you out on your ass, you know, said Duunel.
“It’s your ass, too, fuckwad,” Richard mumbled.
“What was that?” Doug said, not understanding.
“No…nothing. Sorry. I’m a little…tipsy.”
“Uh, I’d say you’re falling down drunk, man.”
“Tomato—toMAHto…” Richard said. He grimaced as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He felt his brains sloshing to the bottom of his skull, grating as they went. The Vicodin sounded better and better. He looked around for his shoulder bag.
Doug continued. “I’ve been talking to Molly and Sue, and we’ve come to a decision, and it’s a hard one.”
Richard leaned over and found his bag. He reached into the inner sleeve and found a couple of Vicodin left over from a root canal last year.
Two, said the demon. Make sure to take two.
Richard took one. “You want me out,” he said to Doug.
“Um…I wasn’t going to put it like that.”
He hates you, said Duunel in his head. Everyone does, really. They pretend that they like you, but they don’t, not—
“Okay,” Richard said. “Tonight, I guess.”
“Yeah. We can’t have another…another night like last night.”
“See what you’ve done?” Richard said to Duunel.
“Uh…how is this my fault?” asked Doug defensively. “I wasn’t bumping against the neighbors’ ceiling at 4 a.m. this morning.”
“No, I wasn’t talking to…never mind. I’m drunk, remember?” Richard chewed the Vicodin.
Take two, said the voice in his head.
“Shove it.”
“Okay, no need to get nasty,” Doug said, backing out of the room.
“Not talking to you, Doug!” Richard called as he fell back onto the bed. “I’ll have all my stuff out in an hour. Is that okay?”
“That’s…fine. Let me know if you want some help.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Richard lay motionless on the messed-up bed.
Where are we going? asked Duunel.
“You figure it out. It’s your fault we’re moving.”
We could pick up some chick at a bar and sleep at her house.
“Does that ever really work?” Richard asked. “Really?”
Not for people dressed like monks, admitted Duunel.
“Friars,” Richard corrected him.
Assholes, conceded Duunel.
7
AS THE LAST chant hung in the air, Brian placed a giant platter containing the turkey and stuffing on the lazy Susan. For good measure, he lit a couple of candles and noted the encroaching twilight with satisfaction. He loved this feeling—of warmth and food and family. Tobias licked at his hand. He stooped and patted the big dog’s side. “Right, let’s get you some dinner, too.”
Brian had just scooped a cup and a half of dog food into Tobias’s bowl when the others started filing into the kitchen.
Kat sat in her usual place and reflected. “You know, I never really prayed before I came here. It’s always calming, but there was something special in the air tonight. I felt…I don’t know what it was. It was grace-full.”
Susan nodded and sat herself. “I know just what you mean. Liturgy gives me that feeling all the time. I sink into it, and peace just flows into me like a stream of water.”
Dylan sat next to his wife, saying, “Or like light through a winder when there’s lots of dust particles floatin’ in the air…like in an old house or a barn or…Wait, thet didn’t come out quite as nice as Ah hoped it would.”
“Nice try, though, dear.” Susan patted his leg then gave it a squeeze. “Why don’t you say grace, O Interim Grand Poobah?” she said, referring to his status as head of the order while Richard was demonically indisposed.
They all bowed their heads except for Dylan, who raised his hands in the orans position. “Good evenin’, God. It’s been a heck of a day, and we are all tired and hungry and grateful and glad. We give thanks for Mikael’s victory. And Ah’m personally grateful that Dicky’s okay. Please bless this food so that we can be blessings in turn. And since Ah sure love me that Jesus feller, Ah’m gonna pray in his name and his Spirit—amen.”
Amens went up around the table, and suddenly there was a flurry of shaking napkins, pouring iced tea, and passing plates. “So, Mikael,” Susan said, “since you’re already on top of the world, I saw an ordination date scrawled on the calendar.”
Mikael beamed. “That will be Reverend Mikael soon,” he nodded, spooning some curried potatoes onto his plate.
Kat leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Do you feel reverential?” she asked.
“I don’t feel holy, if that’s what you mean,” Mikael said.
“Ain’t none of us feel like that,” Dylan shook his head, taking a dinner roll. “Most a’ the time we just feel like fakes.”
“Is that true?” Kat asked.
Dylan met Terry’s eyes. Terry nodded, “Yeah, pretty much. But you have to recognize that as a temptation.”
“What do you mean, ‘a temptation’?” Kat asked.
“I mean that the holiness isn’t ours; it’s God’s,” Terry said.
“We’re not good, just stupid enough to say yes!” Dylan added.
“Exactly,” Terry said. “But as you know, we are surrounded by enemies—demonic forces who would like nothing better than to stop us by whatever means they can.”
“An’ discouragement is a pretty effective means,” Dylan said with his mouth full.
“Speaking of demons,” Mikael said, “what’s up with Richard?”
“Yeah, Honey,” Susan said. “You raced out of the Coliseum, and we haven’t heard a peep from you since. Is everything okay?”
“Ah woulda called if there was anythin’ hairy. Ah just didn’t want to alarm anyone. Everythin’ is under control.” He heaped a pile of green beans next to his stuffing. “After Ah got the call, Ah grabbed the bus—it was quicker’n you’d expect. Ah went to Richard’s place—the boarding house near Piedmont.” They nodded, as they were all familiar with the trendy Piedmont shopping district in Oakland. Everyone had been to Richard’s new place at least a couple of times.
“It makes me sad just thinking of that place,” Kat said, looking at her yams. “I mean, it’s as nice a place as plenty I’ve roomed in, but…it’s not here, you know?”
“Ah know it, and unless Ah miss my guess, Richard is gonna be out on his ass pretty quick ’cause Ah don’t think there’s any way his roommates are gonna let him stay.”
“What happened?” asked Terry, tearing into his turkey with gusto.
“Um…let’s just sa
y there was a sleep-disorder incident.”
“Uh-uh,” Susan said, not looking at her husband. “We’re not going to ‘just say’ anything. You’re going to tell us the whole story in gory detail.”
Dylan deflated for a moment but then took a deep breath and told them what he found.
“Thank God for the helmet, I say,” Brian noted.
“And we went for coffee. Ah got a good liter of the stuff in ’im—Peet’s Coffee, too, so you know it was powerful. We smoked a doobie—”
“You smoked a doobie,” Susan corrected.
Dylan ignored her. “He was his usual cheery self by then. Ah don’t think it’s hit him how powerfully his roommates are shook up by this. Ah told him, they’re probably gonna ask him to leave.”
“And he said?” asked Kat.
“Ah think he’s in denial,” Dylan said, a little sadly. “You know, he’s a good guy—a conflicted guy—but a good guy. And, okay, he’s got a demon inside him, sure. Ah think he’s just tryin’ to look on the bright side and make the best of things.”
“I bet he cries himself to sleep every night,” Susan said.
“What makes you think that?” Dylan asked.
“Because I would,” Susan said. “The people at this table are the only people Richard has in his life who really get him—”
“Uh…he’s been playin’ chess with Larch now and then, over at the Hawk and Serpent Lodge in the city,” Dylan said hopefully.
“Like I said, we are the only people who really understand Dicky, and he can’t be here,” Susan continued. “Since the house is warded against demons, Richard can’t come home so long as he’s playing hotel to one of them. My guess is that he’s so lonely it’s tearing him apart.”
“Seemed okay to me,” Dylan said.
“You’re such a man,” Susan said dismissively.
Dylan looked at Terry. “You gonna stand for that?”
“You’re such a straight man,” Terry agreed.
Dylan opened his mouth and looked at Mikael for help. Mikael held up his hands. “I’m an insensitive boor and have the membership card to prove it, so don’t look at me.”