by Paff, M B
Both men looked up as Tae exited the truck. The wiry black man had recovered from his ordeal, mostly, but still rubbed his right hand with that horrific memory still fresh in his mind. He had heard everything Truman and Sawyer discussed. “Can it come back?” he asked.
Truman shook his head, “I don’t think so, not without its connection to this book.”
“But what if it tries to use you,” Sawyer eyed the book with increasing concern, “just like it used that bitch?”
Tae agreed, watching the book as one would an escaped cobra, “We should burn that fuckin’ thing.”
Truman stood, “Now hold on. We’re not going to destroy it. God knows what could be released if that happened. No, the best thing to do, in my opinion, is to keep it, guard it, and prevent it from ever contacting another person or demon.”
“Can you do that?” Asked Sawyer.
“Yes, I can, given enough time and research, but the first thing I need to do is shut this motherfucker up.”
Both Tae and Sawyer looked at one another in alarm. “Uh, man – are you alright?” Tae drew close, as if to grab the black book from Truman’s arms.
The chubby scholar grinned uneasily, “Yeah, I’m alright. Don’t worry. Here,” he thrust the book forward, “touch it, but just for a second.”
Sawyer and Tae reached out a reluctant hand, “You sure?” asked the big carpenter, hesitantly.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s contained, for now. It can rage and complain all it wants, but it can’t effect the physical world without the connection I told you about.”
When Tae’s hand, still bearing the tiny pinprick wounds of his ordeal, brushed against the edge of the book’s heavy cover, he could hear, faintly and distantly, screams of rage. He jerked his hand back quickly. “What the fuck?”
Sawyer did the same. “Its not like I can hear anything,” the big man said softly, “but more like feel it in my gut, like standing next to a really big subwoofer.”
Truman withdrew the book, “Its still in there – mad as hell and seeking its next wielder. I’ll look up some words of binding. I think I have something here in my journal that I can use.”
Later, as Truman sat on his tailgate, leafing through the pages of his journal, Sawyer and Tae sat in the warmth of the work truck, watching.
“You think we’ve gone crazy or something?” Sawyer asked, “Think maybe this house has some kinda gas or something that makes everyone hallucinate?”
“Don’t start with that shit,” warned Tae, “you and I both know what happened happened. I sure as shit didn’t hallucinate these marks on my hand, or the scratches on your shoulders.”
“True.”
“Can he handle that thing?”
“I think he did a pretty damn good job of saving our asses, didn’t he?”
Tae stared through the truck’s window, examining the professor with curiosity. “I know I didn’t get to see that demon woman that good, but what I did see looked damn good – real fine. If I was him, she would’ve got us good, I think.”
Truman laughed. It was a big, hearty, belly shaking rumble that whipped Tae’s head around. Between chuckles the big man breathlessly explained, “I wouldn’t worry about that demon’s pussy, not with Truman, no Sir.”
“Wha- What?”
“Truman’s gay, you dumb-ass jig-aboo. Gay as a three dollar bill!”
Tae began to chuckle, turning once more to regard the pudgy demon defender, “Well how ‘bout that shit…”
***
The black book was covered with a winter jacket and rested on Truman’s passenger seat. The pudgy professor followed Sawyer’s work truck off the dirt access road and back on the highway leading through Devlin. The book’s dark whispers had been silenced by Truman’s command, though he did not know how long the peace would last. Back in his home, among the many books of arcane lore in his possession, would be a more powerful and comprehensive method to bottle the black spirit.
Sawyer had called and left Kelly at Burke Daniels a voicemail declining the job offer. He cited personal reasons as an excuse.
Tae, as shaken as his big friend, placed a request with his employer for a short personal leave of absence, citing a recent trauma. It was accepted without comment.
Eldonna, the abyssal demon, flayed dozens of lesser denizens of its realm, attempting to ease the rage that choked it. Blood and pain soaked the halls of Abaddon.
The being most recently identified as Asterion, the minotaur of the labyrinth, brooded upon its black plane.