Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3)

by Chute, Robert Chazz

  Beyond the gate, however, I expected a lot of prying eyes and long stares. My left hand went to the left horn. Its surface was smooth to the touch and cool as polished stone.

  “I suggest you own it,” Psymon said. Apparently, Psymon was rested and back to being Psymon, Psymon.

  “Own it?”

  “You know, like when a guy is starting to go bald? The answer is not to buy a wig. The answer is to shave it and strut, tall and proud.”

  “I’m not particularly tall and I’m not feeling very proud.”

  Wil and Manny appeared behind me. “Actually, we have a plan,” Wil said. “You know, about the, er…”

  “Trees sprouting from my head?” I suggested.

  “They aren’t that bad,” Manny said.

  I waved her away. “My plan is to only go out at night and hide in a blacked out van. What’s your idea?”

  “It was actually sort of my daughter’s idea,” Psymon said.

  “Well, if Fawn came up with it, I’m sure it’s great. Somebody please tell me the damn idea but, fair warning, if somebody says the words paper bag, I’m cutting off somebody’s pinky finger.”

  “Cosplay,” Psymon said. “Fawn was thinking My Little Pony, but basically we’re suggesting that you hide in plain sight where possible. With the horns and armor — ”

  “Dude! I look like an escapee from a Renaissance fair.”

  “I was going to say comics convention,” Psymon said.

  Wil pulled something from behind her back and held it so close to my face, all I saw was black felt. Manny put it on my head and tapped it down over my horns.

  I took it off immediately. “A top hat? I’ll look like Abraham Lincoln.”

  “A stove pipe hat,” Psymon said. “From my days on stage touring Europe in elegance. I met my wife wearing that hat in Prague. Well, ex-wife, but still — ”

  “You got a date wearing this?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t wear it all the time and I was a bit thinner then.”

  “Your ex is very deep,” I said. “I’m not wearing a top hat.”

  “A stove pipe hat,” Psymon said.

  “Lincoln was one of our most respected presidents,” Wil added. “Freed my people. Wrestled. Might have been gay, we’re not sure. It was all pretty cool except for the part about getting assassinated while sitting in a rocking chair at a play.”

  “Do you expect me to tail the big bad professor wearing this? This is the opposite of under the radar. Why don’t we just alert the media and tell the world we’re a covert military force defending our dimension from hungry monsters?”

  “Relax,” Manny said. “Let us, your humble underlings take care of the covert grunt work. You can still direct the Choir from the van. We just thought…you’ve never been to California, right?”

  I hadn’t and said so.

  “There are palm trees,” Manny said. “It’s nice and warm. We want you to be able to get outside, see the campus and go to a waffle house.”

  “We’re here to fight evil and kidnap a demon mage,” I said. “We aren’t gonna have time to do the roller coasters at Disney.”

  A man cleared his throat behind me. I turned. It was Devin Anguloora. The big Samoan was frowning. “Too bad about the roller coasters. They are pretty rad.” It might have been the most human and personal thing I’d ever heard him say.

  I stared at him for a moment. Malta stood behind him, smiling and looking smug.

  “Have we mastered teleportation, sir?” I said finally. “I didn’t know you were aboard.”

  “Aside from archery, I fly.”

  “Planes?” I asked.

  “I am not wearing a cape,” he said. “I’m a pilot. There are many archers but few as good as me. Fewer still who are certified to fly a Challenger. I’m sure that’s what got me the job.”

  “Any other hidden talents, sir?”

  “I won a cha-cha contest in high school and I make a mean tuna casserole, but only on special occasions. That’s about it.”

  Malta giggled. “She is so not ready to take command of a mission.”

  Anguloora whirled and smacked Malta at the base of her throat with the web of his hand. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch as Malta hit the floor. She grabbed at her neck uselessly, choking and gasping for breath.

  Anguloora looked back to me, ignoring Malta writhing on the cabin floor. “Never tolerate sedition in the ranks. Troops without discipline who don’t know when to shut up will fail you when the pressure is on. And don’t call me, ‘sir.’”

  “So, you’re on my team?” I asked.

  “The command is yours. I’m here to observe and I’ll be your backup in case things go awry. You do your thing and I’ll hang back unless you need fire support. Or maybe an airstrike.” He gave me a tight smile.

  I looked to Malta. She was beginning to get her breath back. I told Manny and Wil to help her into a seat.

  “Malta,” I said. “On me. You drive.”

  Anguloora’s eyebrows went up. “Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, Iowa?”

  I shook my head. “Malta is one of our best, trained by the very best. We need her on this more than ever.”

  Malta rubbed her throat and nodded. It wasn’t a thank you but it would do. It had humiliated her to be taken down so quickly and easily in front of everyone.

  Lesson 171: After someone fails and falls from grace give them a chance to redeem themselves. They’ll try even harder to rise ever higher. I knew something about that.

  When Malta got her breath back, she stood and her gaze met mine. When she spoke, it was with a rasp. “What are your orders, Iowa?”

  I considered the stupid hat in my hands. “First, a team building exercise. Then on to Palo Alto where we will break up into recon squads to probe for weaknesses in Chronos’s defenses.”

  “Team building exercise?” Manny looked skeptical. “Um, Iowa? I don’t want to get punched in the throat, but may I ask, respectfully, is this going to turn into some weird corporate retreat where we get blindfolded and play a game of pass the lemon without using our hands?”

  I stuffed the hat down tighter over the horns. “We can do that if you want, but I was thinking we race to see who can get their van loaded fastest. Before we get to Stanford, the winners get a minute to stand under a palm tree to pose for an Instagram. That’s about all we have time for.”

  Everyone but Devin Anguloora smiled but it was Psymon who got my attention. He stayed behind the big Samoan staring at the back of his head. The mind reader’s face looked like he was reading a book filled with pictures of burned bodies.

  That was my amateur cold reading. I had no idea then how accurate I was. Whatever was in Anguloora’s head, I figured it was none of my business. I tell myself that, even if I’d known the truth then, it still wouldn’t have made any difference to what happened later.

  Lesson 172: Some comfortable lies are convenient and help us get past the pain of our mistakes.

  That was annoyingly vague, wasn’t it? Let me be more clear: one of us was about to become a martyr and the thought of it brings tears to my eyes as I type this.

  Lesson 173: Martyrdom is overrated.

  15

  After New York’s snow and ice, the dazzling California sunshine was paradise. Our little convoy inched through bumper-to-bumper traffic as the heat beat down.

  Rory is the oldest ghost I know but I did see some old ghosts in California. An old guy walked down the side of the highway. With his long beard and the pants he wore — I’m sure he would have called them ‘britches’ — he looked like an old prospector looking for his mule.

  I rolled down the window a bit to get a little air and to take a closer look at the old man as we passed. He spotted me immediately, took off his hat and bowed.

  The dead travel some of the same astral bridges as demons do. Maybe that’s why the ghosts bowed and curtsied to me. Professional courtesy, maybe.

  Farther up the road, I sa
w three forlorn misty wistfuls sitting around a small circle of rocks. They were Native Americans, I’m sure, maybe the dead of the Ohlone tribe. That seemed to fit. Ohlone. Alone. It was too perfect not to be right.

  It has always stuck with me that the clothes we die in are the clothes we’re stuck with as long as we are ghosts. Manny dressed fashionably at all times and sometimes I wondered if she was so style conscious because she didn’t want to become condemned to wearing something ugly for a long stretch of afterlife.

  What we wear is so much a part of our identity, we don’t even think about it. Our clothing choices are as personal as a second skin, even if (maybe especially if) we say we don’t care about clothes.

  We don’t all become ghosts, of course. If we’re fortunate enough to move on to Elsewhere, maybe we get a chance at a new wardrobe. That fate seemed far more preferable to becoming a wandering ghost.

  Those misty wistfuls sitting in a circle might have been waiting for someone to start a campfire. Or maybe, in death, they were reliving the memories of hundreds of campfires, oblivious to the traffic growling and chugging by.

  As the flow of cars started forward and stopped, water mirages shimmered in the heat. I wondered what happy memories I’d look back on if I died on this mission. I thought of Manhattan’s warning that we could all die tomorrow so we better grab the happy now.

  What if I died and got trapped between this earthly existence and Elsewhere as Brad had? There was no time for Disneyland. I’d never have that. This might be my only visit to California ever.

  “We should make time for waffles,” I said aloud.

  Malta looked over at me. “What?”

  I told her to go into Santa Clara. Wilmington radioed the others to follow us. A few minutes later, we pulled off the highway and into a restaurant parking lot.

  “I’ll stay in the van, guys,” I said. “Leave me the keys so I can turn on the air conditioning once in a while. And bring me something to eat. I don’t care what, but if there are waffles…y’know.”

  Wilmington put a hand on my shoulder. “We aren’t at Stanford. Nobody’s watching. C’mon.”

  I sighed. “Alright. Gimme the hat. I’ll look ridiculous. If anybody doesn’t want to sit at my table, I’ll understand. Or I’ll get thrown out and I’ll understand.”

  Manny smiled. “Say that in a lower voice, you could be Eeyore. Can I score you an antidepressant, fearless leader?”

  As I stepped out of the van, I had to laugh. The whole team greeted me in full armor. No trench coats. Covering up would have been far too hot, anyway. Our gauntlets shone in the sun and our breastplates — some of which were updated antiques — were works of art.

  Everyone, even Devin Anguloora, carried sword canes. Our regular swords would spook the locals and the police would be called. However, we didn’t look remotely dangerous. Dressed in our armor, we looked like refugees from a Renaissance fair crossed with Star Wars fans. Ridiculous.

  Manny stepped close and, with a soft clank, gave me a hug. I thought she was just being nice but, as she stepped away, she snatched the stovepipe hat off my head and tossed it into the open door of my van. My horns were exposed to the world. We were weird before. Now, we were a spectacle and I was a freak on display.

  I started back toward the van but Psymon sat in the van’s doorway. “No, no. I told you. Own it.”

  Even Devin Anguloora surprised me. “I’ll guard the vans. Go eat.”

  Beaming smiles, Manny and Wilmington each took an arm and ushered me toward the restaurant. As soon as we stepped out from behind our vehicles, I no longer felt like I was carrying seventy pounds of armor. I felt naked.

  Across the parking lot, a family of four was getting into their car. They stopped and stared. The boy was about fifteen. As soon as he spotted Manny, I thought he might drool on his shirt. I don’t think he even saw my horns.

  The mom and dad stared our way, too, giving a little head shake and looking again as if looking twice would change the view.

  Their daughter was a cute little blonde girl. She pointed at us and jumped up and down. “Mommy! Look!”

  “Ryder!” the mother said sharply. “Sh! They’ll hear you!”

  Of course, with demon senses, I didn’t miss a word even though they spoke in whispers. The girl cupped her hand to her mother’s ear but, to me, she may as well have been speaking from across a table.

  “Mommy! Do you see them? That girl has horns!”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I have horns? I want horns! Like a baby deer, Mommy!”

  The mom looked my way uneasily. “No, Ryder, I don’t think you want horns. It’s almost Christmas. That’s just not right.”

  “But Mommy! She’s beautiful!”

  I smiled at the girl and waved. “Thank you, Ryder! I think you’re beautiful, too! Inside and out!”

  The girl gaped at me. “Mommy, she knows my name!”

  “Ryder is a lovely name,” I called as we passed. “I’ve never heard it until now.” I winked at her mother. “It’s a day for firsts, isn’t it? Have a great day! Or make it one!”

  Manny and Wilmington blew kisses to the boy gawking at us. The dad fumbled with his phone to get a picture. I glanced back at my crew. It felt good to be out in public like this. It felt great not to hide.

  Maybe it was Manny and Wilmington flanking me — or maybe this was a demon power I was only just discovering — but I didn’t feel sick to my stomach talking to strangers like that. I didn’t care about Ryder’s mother and her disapproving stare.

  Walking into a waffle house in full armor surrounded by my allies in the Choir Invisible made me feel stronger. Disapproval didn’t matter. I knew we’d have to go back into hiding, of course. The Choir Invisible is a covert operation for good reason. That afternoon, though? We walked tall in the sunlight.

  Psymon and Minnie ran ahead to open the front doors for us.

  “It’s not demon power,” Psymon said. “This is just like performing on stage. That unfamiliar feeling you’re getting right now is confidence.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And stay out of my horned head.”

  “No promises.”

  The hostess was a teenager named Sue, judging by her name tag. Menus in hand, her eyes went wide as we crowded in.

  The clatter and chatter of the busy restaurant stopped. Everything went so quiet, I could pinpoint the heavy breathing from a big guy in the corner stuffed into a yellow and red Ironman t-shirt. Close by, I heard the irritated rumble of a middle aged woman digesting the first half of a churro.

  What I hadn’t known about the Ra was that letting out my demon half would make me hungrier. The aroma of hot food made my mouth water and I craved bacon and rich, dark coffee.

  “Um…uh…what are you guys supposed to be?” Sue asked.

  Wilmington leaned forward and whispered, not unkindly, “Customers. Very hungry customers.”

  “Um…uh…”

  The guy in the Ironman shirt stood and pointed. His mouth dropped open. I spotted half chewed guacamole before I could look away. He wasn’t staring at me, though. The big guy rushed forward and stuck out his hand. “Patton Oswalt! I’m your number one fan! I listen to everything you do. I watch everything you do. I saw you in Austin last year!”

  Psymon smiled and pumped the man’s hand.

  “That bit you do about the circus? Man, I laughed my ass off. And, ‘I want all the ham!’ I could be that guy! Let me ask you, of all your bits, what’s your favorite joke?”

  “I like all the ones where I make you think I’m somebody else.”

  The man laughed but I’m sure he didn’t know why.

  Psymon turned to the restaurant hostess. “Do you have some tables for my friends and me? We’re going to a Comic Con and just want to grab a quick bite.”

  Looking flustered, Sue glanced down at her seating chart.

  “If you shove a couple of tables together by the booth at the back, we can all squeeze in,” Psymon added helpfully. “We can wa
it while you clear the table. My new number one fan wants to take pictures with all of us, don’t you, Tim?”

  The man in the Ironman t-shirt looked quizzical. “How’d you know my name?”

  “Oh, you told me when you introduced yourself. Don’t you remember?”

  “I…I…uh — ”

  “I’ve got a good memory,” Psymon said. “For instance, at my concert in Austin, you sat toward the back on the right, beside a pillar.”

  “Wow,” Tim said. “That’s right. How could you know that?”

  “I never forget a face, Tim.”

  Wilmington and Manny and I smiled at each other. I put my arms around their waists and squeezed until their feet came off the ground.

  As we waited for our tables, several more restaurant patrons stepped forward asking for pictures and autographs. The pictures were fun. I have no idea what people do with celebrity autographs but Psymon was gracious enough to give out plenty.

  Several people asked to touch my horns and I was feeling so unselfconscious, I let them.

  “Wow!” one girl said. “Those feel so real! And the details on your armor, it’s like…you guys are the hottest cosplayers I’ve ever seen. You take it deep!”

  “Patton, where’s the Comic Con?” Tim asked.

  “Private function. Fundraiser to get more canes to people who need canes. Down at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon.”

  “Sick!”

  “Brad and Angelina are behind it,” Psymon lied. “It’s their latest cause.”

  I don’t remember the meal. I don’t recall all the hands I shook or hugs I got from happy strangers. But I’ll always remember Ryder, the little girl who called me beautiful.

  Lesson 174: Everyone should get to feel loved like a celebrity just once. All that fan love is probably why Brangelina still look so good.

  Before long, there would be fewer of us. When the killing begins, it’s good to have a kind memory — anything as sweet as little Ryder — to hold on to. Wherever you are and whatever you do, Ryder, thank you for being you.

  Later, when I was tempted to lose hope, picturing that little girl’s face reminded me what I was fighting for.