Memoirs of a Household Demon

Chapter 1

A Typical Morning Possession

            The fifth circle of Hell wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. Countless tormented souls bobbed across the muddy surface of the River Styx, struggling to stay afloat. They scratched and kicked, drowning each other, their anguished cries echoing off the greater cavern walls. A soothing atmosphere, I suppose, but the sheer monotony of it all was like taking a cheese grater to the side of my face. It was nothing compared to the evergreen chaos of the mortal realm above.

            “Hey, Yuriel!” shouted one of my kin. He approached me at the water’s edge, his crimson eyes peeking out from beneath a tattered cloak. “Did you wanna get in on this?” He raised a cat o’ nine tails in his claw, the fragments of bone and metal weaved through its leather cords gleaming in invitation.

            I tore my gaze away from the sea of writhing bodies, lazily shaking my head. “Maybe next time. My assigned human should be waking up soon and I don’t want to be late for work.”

            “You sure? A fresh batch of politicians just arrived from a plane crash. They still think they’re in D.C.”

            Tempting as the offer was, I shrugged it off with a sigh, slipping from my perch atop a mound of skulls. “Give ‘em a few extra lashes for me, will ya? I’m on the clock.” I stretched forward my hand, willing open a swirling portal of purple flames. The bridge between spirit and the physical. Its flickering glow sent shadows dancing across the surrounding wasteland, beckoning me into the dark tunnel beyond. Grinning farewell to my cohort, I pushed off from the ground, launching myself headfirst into the void. Wind rushed past my pointed ears, excitement already swelling within me as I laid eyes on the speck of light twinkling in the distance. Earth, my own personal playground.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m a demon. A devil. Or as we like to be called, “celestially challenged”. Now, I bet you're picturing me as a red Al Pacino with horns and a pitchfork. Sweet Lucifer, stereotype much? Believe it or not, we really aren’t so different from you mortals. We enjoy a lot of the same things—warm places, instant gratification, possessing a human body, that kind of stuff. We exist in the hidden world all around you. A world you can’t see, hear or touch, but is no less real than the breath in your chest.

You may be wondering why I'm being so generously candid with you. Why reveal my true nature? Why give you a glimpse behind the scenes of reality itself? I think the real question is, why wouldn’t I? When you've been around since the dawn of creation, you've got stories to tell, am I right? A guy can’t help but peer over his shoulder at eternity and long to replay some of the highlights. At any rate, my thoughts keep pulling me back to this specific point in time. The point where my past met the future, triggering a chain of events that would ultimately shake the foundations of both Heaven and Hell. A tale that begins with a slobbering man-child from the twenty-first century—Paul Meechum.

As for the exact date, it's hard to be sure. Back then, every day was so alike they all just seemed to blend together. On this particular morning, I recall rising from the fiery abyss into the dimly lit squalor of Paul’s living room. The floor was still littered with last night’s pizza boxes, the furniture decorated with used underwear and other sweat-stained laundry. I'm sure the stench of weed and body odor would’ve been unbearable had we demons been blessed with a sense of smell. As expected, the stoner himself sat zombified on the couch, tripping on his latest dose of opioids while the TV blared in front of him. I strolled over and plopped down at his side, about to put my feet up when an all-too-familiar groan echoed from the kitchen behind us.

"Come for more, foul beast?"

I tilted my head back, addressing my antagonist with a condescending grin. "Morning, Tinkerbell! Up for another fun-filled day of being a loser?"

Paul's angel stomped into the living room, his eyes glowing menacingly. "My name is not Tinkerbell! Be thou gone, wretched fiend!" He raised a hand over his head, materializing a gilded sword into his open palm.  A flick of his wrist ignited the blade with a pale white flame, its tip sizzling in the air as he leveled it in my direction. The two of us stared at each other, the angel trying his hardest to intimidate, but between the flowing white robes and his perfectly braided gold hair, I just couldn't take him seriously.

"What the Heaven do you think you're doing?" I laughed. "Put that thing away, Blondie. We both know you can't kill me any more than I can kill you. No physical bodies, remember?"

The angel lowered his blade with a sigh. "Such a cruel truth…" He trudged over to the couch, dissipating his weapon in a burst of light, the glow fading from his eyes as he sat down on the other side of Paul. The pitiful human was still giggling up at the ceiling, completely unaware of our little confrontation. "My name is not 'Blondie' either," the angel added with a pout.

"Does it look like I care?" I said, stroking my goatee. "You’re one of Daddy’s golden boys. That’s all I need to know. Besides, we’ve been at this for twenty-five years already and you’ve never once bothered to give me your real name."

"Hmph!" The angel stuck his nose in the air, folding his arms in defiance. "An evil cur such as thee doth not deserve the honor of knowing, Dark One."

"Ok then, ‘Goldie’ it is," I shrugged. "Look at the two of us, squabbling like a married couple in front of junior here. Might as well let him join the festivities..."

Goldie watched in horror as I levitated into the air, centering myself over Paul as he sat with the same stupid look on his face. My humanoid form compressed into a tendril of darkness and plunged through the top of Paul’s head, spreading to fill his appendages like fingers in a glove. All at once, the rush of physical sensations washed over me, his body awakening to my command. I swept my newly claimed hands across the couch's fabric, every stitch of thread a symphony against my bare skin. Beyond the din of the TV, an outside world flooded my ears with such delicious clarity. Bird chirping. Dogs barking. A lawnmower in the distance. My vision, though slightly blurry, was still so powerful and vivid. But the smells. Let's just say the contents of Paul's living room were every bit as putrid as I'd imagined.

"Leave the mortal be!" Goldie cried. "Fight it, Paul! Resist the power of the Dark One, I beseech thee!"

"Paul can't hear you," I said, curling his lips into a wicked grin. "He never does. His consciousness is buried under a fog of poison. He hasn't heard so much as a whisper out of you since he was fifteen."

"Those blasted fools!" Goldie pounded his fist on the arm of the couch. "To think Paul would deem them as friends."

"That's right," I scoffed. "He's been mine since that night in Joey Pierce's basement. Amazing what a few puffs and some peer pressure can do for the soul, eh? It's as easy as watching dominos fall. Tip one and they knock down another."

"I shall never understand," Goldie said under his breath. "Why dost thou find such pleasure in the corrupting of mortals? Is the spreading of misery thine only joy?"

I marshaled the strength in Paul's legs, lifting myself off the couch. His muscles should’ve been simple enough to control, but the drugs in his system left them feeling sluggish and rubbery. "So, you still haven't figured it out yet, huh, Goldilocks? Your master denied my kind a chance at mortality. By casting us out, we're doomed to remain forever numb to the physical world. That’s why we make mortal pleasures our own, temporary as they may be. What else can I say? We like to live vicariously."

"Utter foolishness!" Goldie shouted. "Thou blamest the Father for thy fallen state, but the choice was thine! Rebellion was a choice!"

"And what did you choose?!" I shot back. "You chose eons of service to these selfish, snot-nosed whelps! And for what?! The promise that you'd one day become one of them? That you'd live out your brief, insignificant life with the very real chance that you'd fail and be claimed by Inferno? The best you could hope for is to die bereft of any earthly pleasures and resume your slave labor as an angel once again."

Goldie furrowed his brow. "I would be welcomed back into Heaven. Back into the Father's presence."

I stared at the angel, forcing a renewed smirk onto Paul's face. "Is that so? Don't you have to be born first? When's that gonna happen, huh? Are you even sure it will? You've been waiting for thousands of years already. What makes you think that'll change any time soon?"

"Silence!" Goldie looked away, his voice shaking with frustration.

"No, I think you're going to stay right here..."

"I said silence!" Goldie cried, covering his ears.

I leaned forward, bringing my face only inches from his. "Don't you see? This is your fate. To be forgotten like the rest of us. Despite all you’ve ever done to fight against Hell, you're already there!"

"ENOUGH!" The angel sprang up from the couch, his entire body erupting into a blinding white light. The sheer force of his anger threw me backward against the wall, knocking the wind from my borrowed lungs. "Release Paul at once or I'll—!"

"Or you'll what?" I interrupted. "Burn my demonic spirit to ash? Send me back to Inferno just to regenerate and return good as new? Futility aside, Paul’s heart is much too close to the darkness for you to overpower me. Even if you could, you’d have to go through him to do it. Thing is, I don't think you've got the guts. You wouldn't dare lay a finger on a poor innocent mortal, would you? Fortunately for me, I actually enjoy the pain..." I clenched Paul’s fist and slugged him square in the jaw.

The angel's light quickly faded to reveal the most amusing wide-eyed stare. "W-what?"

"Yeah, you don't like that, do you?" I chuckled. "Stand down or your precious Paul gets it!" I underlined my threat with another punch to the face.

"H-hey! Stop that!" Goldie pleaded.

"Can't hear you!" I teased in a singsong voice. At this point, I had Paul going at it with both fists. "Quit hitting myself! Quit hitting myself!"

"Duuuuude, what the fuzznut are you doing over there?"

I froze mid-punch, realizing too late that Goldie and I weren't alone. We exchanged glances, peering down the hall to find Slim Jim trudging through the empty beer bottles. For all of you uninitiated out there, James "Slim Jim" Peot was our resident parasite. Where he came from or why Paul continued to let him sleep over in the laundry room remains a mystery to this day. It probably had something to do with Slim's virtually infinite supply of drugs and booze, but considering he was the only human I'd ever known to lack both an angel and a demon, there was only one thing I knew for sure—he was a lost cause.

"Oh...uh...hey, Slim," I muttered. "I was just...um...waking up." Trying to impersonate Paul during a possession was always a challenge for me. Good thing he was usually so wasted that nobody knew his real personality in the first place.

"Interesting method you got there," Slim replied, scratching his head. "So, is punching yourself some kind of new morning ritual?"

"Oh, heck yeah," I said, nodding sheepishly. "The doctor says, ‘a good punch a day keeps the sleepies away.’ Really gets the blood pumpin’, you know? It's great for getting past a hangover." Goldie may have been invisible to Slim, but I could still see the angel facepalm out of the corner of my eye.

"Aw man, that's awesome!" Slim said, actually buying it. "It's like an alarm clock for your face! Let me try!" Slim gave himself a savage right hook, knocking himself back into the hall onto his belly.

"Well done," I said, stifling a laugh.

Slim groaned on the floor, his face still buried in the carpet. "Son of a—come on, Pablo, how could you do this to me?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Just trying to give some helpful medical advice, dude."

"Nah, man, not that..." Slim reached under a pile of beer bottles and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. "You left a perfectly good phatty on the ground, brah!" He flopped onto his back, whipping a lighter from the pocket of his robe. After sparking a quick flame, he put the joint to his lips and took a nice long drag. "Aaaahhhh...Acapulco Gold...and is that a hint of Sour Diesel I detect? Good stuff."

I tapped Paul's foot, no longer amused by Slim Jim's antics. "Hey, ‘brah’, I’m glad you’re enjoying the vintage, but unless you’ve brought me something fresh, I’m gonna need you to pack it up and—"

Slim threw his hand in the air to cut me off. "Say no more, dude. Ol' Slim Jim's got ya covered." He picked himself up off the floor and sauntered into the kitchen, his recovered joint still hanging from his lips. "You’re not really yourself right now, are you, Pablo? I can tell."

"Y-you can?"

Slim paused to shoot me a knowing glance. "Of course, dude. You’ve got a burnin’ case of the ‘hangries’, but don’t worry. I brought just the thing..." He reached under the counter, presenting a large glass cake pan covered in aluminum foil. "Ta-da!"

"OK, you got me," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "So, what’s on the menu?" I hobbled over to the kitchen bar, pulling up a stool as our guest slid his offering in front of me. He carefully peeled back the aluminum cover, revealing a neatly sectioned grid of chocolatey brown squares. The mere scent of them was enough to get Paul’s mouth watering like a faucet. "Ooooh, is this—?"

Slim nodded with a chuckle. "That’s right, my dude! Behold my incredible, edible brownies!" And that, my friends, was how James "Slim Jim" Peot totally redeemed himself.

"It’s go time!" I cried, snatching up a pair of brownies. Five seconds later they were in Paul's stomach and I was on to round two. As a demon, the sense of taste was an amazing experience no matter what my host was eating, but the combination of weed and fudgy goodness was almost more than I could bear. Every bite was pure ecstasy and I made sure to let Goldie know. "Mmmmm...yes! That’s the stuff! Yes! More!"

Slim stared at me with eyes wide, clearly disturbed, yet pleased by the reception of his culinary masterpiece. "So...uh...I guess you like them?" he asked, drumming his fingers together. "You mind if I…?" Slim tried to reach into the pan for a brownie, recoiling in shock as his hand was met with a slap and a menacing glare.

"MINE!" I said in a deep demonic growl. He quickly retreated to the far end of the kitchen counter, watching in horror as I continued to gorge. A sort of animal urge had taken over Paul’s body, demanding to be fed, driving me into a frenzy. It wasn't until the pain of fullness hit me that I finally stopped scarfing.

"Now can I have one?" Slim asked timidly.

I sat back and glanced down at the pan. Its only survivors were half a brownie and some drool-coated crumbs. I let loose a reverberating belch, then nodded with a smile. "Yes. Yes, you may."

Slim reached out and snatched the half brownie, clutching it like a frightened squirrel as I peered at the clock above the oven. "8:43," it read. A little early for the weekly poker game next door, but I figured now was as good a time as any to jump ship. With a swift jolt, I popped my spirit body free of Paul's head and landed in the living room beside Goldie.

The angel was busy bonking his head repeatedly against the wall, twisting his neck to scowl at me. "Done already, foul beast?"

"For the moment," I replied smugly. "You guys deserve a short break, what with this being Sunday and all. Don't wait up, Pumpkin..."

I turned to get one last look at the humans before heading out. Slim Jim was hunched over the remains of his cake pan, licking up the crumbs while Paul stared at him in dazed confusion. Neither had the slightest clue as to what had just happened, oblivious to my ultimate form of dine and dash. Even now, I think back on that morning with the most fervent affection. My only care in the world was the next good time as I passed through the nearest wall into the front yard.

  

Chapter 2

Demon Poker

In all the years I spent roaming the earth, I’d seen my fair share of prime real estate. The Garden of Eden, for example, was a quaint little patch while it lasted. Of course back then, we only had two humans to play with and their only idea of fun was to run around naked and open a petting zoo. Fortunately, as time went on, they learned how to do that multiplication trick they love so much and then things started to get interesting. They began to build cities and towns, each one bigger and more decadent than the last. They developed a taste for vanity and violence, their greed spreading as rapidly as their numbers. Before long, the world had flooded with people, and that's when the venues really kicked into high gear.

Every era had its own hotspot—the location where every demon wanted to be. There was Babylon and Alexandria. Damascus and Jericho. Oh, and Sodom! The parties back then were so off the hook that the guys upstairs had to vaporize the place for having too much fun. Like all good things, it had to come to an end. It always did, eventually. The key was to hit up a civilization at the peak of its sin, its indulgence, and then, just as it became ripe for destruction, scurry off to find the next promising target. Each time and place offered its own fond memories. Rome, 385 AD. Salem, Massachusetts, 1692. Berlin, Germany, 1930. Florida, since 1845.

But of all the gems I’d ever come across, there was nothing like 21st century California. I still remember the rumors that used to circulate down in Hell. Demons would talk of crime, pollution and self-righteousness as far as the eye could see. I figured if even half the rumors were true, it’d be worth putting myself on the waiting list. Several decades came and went, but before I knew it, Paul was born, and I became the proud tempter of my very own California deadbeat. It was a dream come true...for the most part.

I pictured myself being assigned to one of the majorly demonic cities. Maybe San Francisco, Hollywood or Los Angeles. I would’ve even settled for Silicon Valley. But no. Paul's obnoxious parents kicked us out into the suburbs of a lame little town called Rialto. I guess it wasn’t completely terrible, but our street only had a few burglaries a year, and we hadn’t even had a single drive-by shooting! Kind of a rip-off if you ask me, but I suppose home is where the human is.

Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. I’d just left the house to find the neighborhood's usual gauntlet of pleasantries—the morning sun beaming, birds chirping happily, the hipsters from down the block jogging, and the taste of breakfast, or rather Paul's, still fresh in my mind. Across the street, I spotted Old Man Bigler going about his typical routine, watering his lawn barefoot in his suspenders. His dull eyes seemed to follow me as I walked, making me wonder if he could actually see me. I quickly dismissed the thought, chalking it up to an optical illusion and his thick-lensed glasses. Still, the way he kept tracking my every move, too deliberate to be coincidence. I decided to put him to the test, waving my hand to gauge his reaction. To my astonishment, he smiled and waved back! I froze in my tracks, the geezer catching me so off guard that I failed to notice the true recipient of his greeting.

BARK! BARK! BARK!

I jumped half-way across the yard with a shriek, turning to find Paul's Siberian Husky snarling on the other side of the chain-link fence. Old Man Bigler may not have seen me, but the dog's piercing blue eyes were definitely fixed on mine as I cowered beside the nearest lawn gnome. The mangy mutt must’ve been stalking me since the moment I'd stepped outside. I swear, why couldn't Paul have been more of a cat person? Cats were great at ignoring humans and devils alike. In fact, pretty much any animal would’ve been better than a dog. There was something about them that simply didn't mix with my kind, especially if we’d just inhabited a mortal body. Some say it's because of their ability to sense evil. Others think they can smell the stench of human still lingering on us as we pass by. Whatever the reason, they knew when we were around after a possession and certainly weren't shy about vocalizing it.

"Dang it, Charlie, what's the matter with you?!" I picked myself up and stomped over to the fence. "I told you before, Paul's mom was the one that got you neutered, I had nothing to do with it!" Charlie kept barking in my face, apparently immune to my blame throwing. What was I thinking, trying to reason with a dog? He didn't need a reason to hate me. It was hard-wired into his DNA. With nothing left to discuss, I shrugged my shoulders and continued on to the house next door.

Strolling up the driveway, I couldn't help but chuckle at the drastic change in scenery. While Paul's yard was overrun with weeds and garbage, the neighbors sported a perfect plot of freshly manicured grass. Instead of dusty, barred windows and peeling paint, there were sparkling wind chimes and bright orange stucco. It was like someone had decided to build a mansion beside a dilapidated outhouse. Even so, I much preferred my humble porta potty over the gilded cage standing before me.

I paused at the front porch, taking a moment to put on my big shot persona, then passed through the ornately carved wooden door into the house. The inside was almost as immaculate as the exterior, though refreshingly tarnished with a few stray toys scattered here and there. For such a large home, it was unnervingly quiet. I was used to the constant noise of Paul's TV filling the void. Even when he was alone, it created the illusion of a lively atmosphere. But not this place. There was an unspoken structure to it—a warmth and reverence that somehow left a nagging twinge in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it had to do with all the happy pictures standing over the mantel. Perhaps the watercolor painting of the perfect family hanging on the refrigerator door.

Suffocated by its presence, I bolted for the staircase and bounded to the top. Reaching the last step, I pushed off with both feet and flew straight through the ceiling. Drywall and insulation swiftly turned into open cobwebs as I popped head first into the attic.

"Oh, hey, Yuriel. You're a little early."

I touched down gracefully onto the gnarled wooden floor, crossing my arms as I stuck the landing. In the dim light of the attic window, three demons sat around the table in front of me, its dusty surface occupied by a single deck of cards. "Hey, guys. Figured you wouldn't mind if I loiter. Just finished gorging my human on marijuana brownies and had some extra time to kill. You know how it is, right, Belial?"

The largest of the three demons scratched his shiny bald head. "No worries," he replied. "We're almost done with our weekly planning meeting." Belial turned to the others sitting across from him, gesturing to the female of their group. "Alright, Jezazel, since we’ve got Yuri here, you wanna fill him in on what you've got brewing for this week?"

The succubus nodded, rising from her chair with a proud grin. Her one visible eye peered at me through the ratted curtain of her pitch-black hair. "As you know, Hector is a tough nut to crack," she said with a rasp. "He’s a devoted husband and father, but like any man, he can fall prey to carnal desires. It's only a matter of finding the right bait."

"You're talking about that hot new intern at his office?" Belial asked.

Jezazel's eye twitched excitedly. "Precisely!" she croaked. "Seducing men is my specialty, and she's just what the devil ordered. Guys can't resist twentysomethings with a rack like that. I even pulled some strings with her demon to get her into that red miniskirt. Sure enough, I caught Hector staring at it for a full 3.8 seconds! One more week of those sexy thighs and I’ll have him in the bag."

Belial raised an eyebrow. "You're sure it was a sensual stare? Or was it more of a, 'Really? You wore that to work?'-type stare?"

"One hundred percent pervy!" Jezazel insisted.

"OK, pervy it is," Belial said with a thumbs up. "That's what I call progress. How about you, Zebub?"

Jezazel sank back into her chair, nudging the skeletally thin demon sitting beside her. He nervously tapped his fingers together, his eyes darting around the table to avoid meeting mine. I did a double take, only now realizing we’d never met before.

"Hey, Bel, who's this?" I asked, pointing to the jittery stranger. "What happened to Danjal?"

"New transfer," Belial said flatly. "I guess the kid was too much for that old cream puff, Danjal. He told the boss that his face would melt off if he had to put up with her cuteness for another minute."

I rolled my eyes at Belial. "You tellin' me the boss actually reassigned him to someone easier?"

"Of course not!" Belial laughed. "He just melted the idiot's face off and gave us this rookie here instead." Belial wagged his hand dismissively at Zebub. "The guy's only been on the job for a day and he's already priceless. Go ahead, Newbie. Tell Yuri your diabolical plan for the kid."

Zebub shuddered in his chair. "D-d-do I have to?" he pleaded.

"Do it! Now!" Belial roared.

Zebub jumped to his feet, cowering away from the table. "OK, OK, fine..." The scrawny demon summoned all the courage he could muster, quietly forcing out a single word. "Cookies."

I furrowed my brow, recoiling in confusion. "'Cookies'?"

"Hear me out," Zebub said, gaining confidence. "In my experience, humans need to start small before moving up to the bigger sins. You have to break down their inhibitions little by little. Make them hunger for more, you know what I mean?"

"By feeding the kid cookies?"

"By stealing them," Zebub corrected. "Every other Monday, the kid's mom, Daniela, bakes a fresh batch of cookies, but she’s pretty staunch about only having them for dessert." The demon jabbed both thumbs to his chest. "That's where I come in. First, I wait for the mom to get distracted. Then I'm gonna tempt the little brat with a noseful of that sweet sugary aroma. She won't be able to resist creeping into the kitchen to take a peek. That's when I seal the deal. I’ll whisper into her ear, telling her that no one will know if she sneaks a taste. It's just one cookie, right? It's a free country. It wouldn't hurt anybody. Then she'll snatch one off the counter and BOOM!" Zebub clapped his hands triumphantly. "She's mine!"

Belial threw his head back, bursting into laughter. "There you have it, folks! The master plan! Can you imagine, Yuri?! A couple more weeks and we'll have that kid knocking over a bakery! Maybe even a Starbucks! Today, Mom's kitchen. Tomorrow, the world!"

"Hey! Sh-sh-shut up!" Zebub cried, shrinking back into his chair. "It's not like you could do any better."

I raised an eyebrow at Zebub. "Are you sure about that? This is Belial we’re talkin' about. As in, the Lord of Wrath? He’s one of the seven cardinal demons. Haven't you heard the stories?" Zebub shrugged his shoulders. "Sweet Lucifer, you gotta be kidding me," I groaned, smacking myself in the forehead. "What, have you been hiding under a rock this whole time?"

"I…I wasn’t hiding," Zebub replied. "I’ve spent the last few millennia patrolling the shores of the Lake of Fire. It’s lonely work you know, prodding souls into the lava, making sure they never climb out. We didn’t get a lot of gossip down there and all the humans ever did was scream."

"You definitely needed to get out more," I said, pulling up a chair at the table. “Let me know if any of these ring a bell—Xerxes the Great? Genghis Khan? Benito Mussolini?  Miley Cyrus?”

Zebub looked at Belial, his pointy nose wrinkled with skepticism. "Seriously? You worked the Cyrus?"

"Well, I don't like to brag, but I've been around a bit," Belial said, feigning humility. His lips slowly curled into a toothy grin. "Perhaps you've heard of a little thing called...the twerk?"

Zebub gaped in amazement. "No. Way. That was you?! What about starting the First and Second World Wars? Oh, and the making of Jersey Shore?"

"All me."

The scrawny demon flailed his arms around like a spastic fanboy. "Dude, you’re a freaking legend! Why didn't you tell me that you were the Belial?! I would’ve—" He paused, narrowing his eyes at the alleged VIP. "Wait a second. If you’re the Demon of Wrath, what are you doing in a backwater place like this? Shouldn’t you be working on World War III or something?"

Belial slumped back in his chair, bashfully stroking his beard. "Apparently, my help isn’t needed for that," he sighed. "The world is growing smaller every day. As the mortals continue to evolve, so must our tactics. Global conflicts and famine have been replaced by luxury, laziness and digital narcissism. The boss seems to think the fall of humanity will be easier to achieve this way, putting my expertise into a more…intimate setting."

"So he assigned you to a Bible-thumper from Puerto Rico instead?" Zebub asked.

"He told me I needed a 'challenge'," Belial said with a pair of air quotes. "He sure as Heaven wasn't kidding about that part. Daniela’s a stone-cold demon killer. I've been working that wench for years, but she hasn't budged an inch. It doesn't help that her angel is just as stubborn. That blasted featherback won't stop riding me!"

"It does say something when one angel is enough to counter all three of you," I added.

"Yeah, well, I don't need anyone's pity," Belial sneered. "Angel or not, I'll get Daniela sooner or later. All it takes is the right incentive. If she can't be tempted by physical pleasure, I'll simply break her instead. You'd be amazed how far a little misfortune can drag someone from the light."

Jezazel leaned forward, her head propped on her elbow as she gazed at Belial in admiration. "Isn't he the best?" she gushed. "Even with the deck stacked against him, he still manages to inspire."

"Down, girl!" I said, kicking her under the table. "You guys need some alone time or can we get down to some poker already?"

Belial was quick to follow my lead, scattering his deck across the table with a swipe of his hand. "Alright, losers, cards are dealt!" he shouted. "The name of the game is Hex-us Hold 'Em. Everyone's got five minutes to gather a four-card hand from the face-down pile. Once time is up, we play off the three face-ups on the table. Opening ante is one solid minute in the Lake of Fire. Let's see what ya got." Belial stretched his hands over the deck, grinning with anticipation. "On your mark…get set…" With a flick of his fingers, he popped three cards face up—a four of clubs, queen of spades and an ace of hearts. "Begin!"

All of us shot forward in our chairs, joining in the mad rush to corral a set of cards from the disheveled pile. For a human, it would’ve been a simple task—just pick up the cardboard rectangles and fan them in your hand. But for a demon? More like trying to eat spaghetti with a shovel. It wasn't the same as solidifying our bodies against the furniture or the floor. That was a passive interaction. It was a matter of displacing ourselves around an object rather than the other way around. When it came to actually moving things, we had to channel our emotions, focusing all our will, rage and frustration on a given target. If I didn't exert enough effort, my hand would pass through the card like a puff of smoke. Too much, I'd knock it across the table as Belial had done. The trick was to find the perfect balance and not let go.

Even with thousands of years to practice, it was still a challenge to gather the cards without accidentally showing them to the rest of the group. Then again, that was half the fun. We got to practice our object manipulation while getting a good laugh out of each other's screw-ups. My only lament was that we had nothing tangible to ante. Money wasn’t a thing in the spirit world, and it was already a chore to move the cards. Who’d want to hassle with things like chips or buttons? Instead, we dealt in the only two currencies a demon understands—time and pain.

"Hey! How do you get those dang cards to move like that?" Zebub cried. Despite frantically sweeping with both hands, he’d barely managed to slide the first card in front of him. Meanwhile, Belial and Jezazel were almost halfway done. The two of them had developed a better understanding of quality over quantity, each using a single finger to tap, press and drag.

"Well, I guess some of us are just naturally talented," I said, reaching for my fourth card. I plucked up the edge with my fingers, peering at the face underneath. A two of hearts. I casually lowered the card back down and lifted another. The king of spades. With a quick tugging motion, I reeled it in to complete my hand. Sure, it wasn’t exactly legit for me to "try before I buy" when it came to facedowns, but hey, that’s just how demons play poker. If you could cheat, you cheated. May the best cheater win.

Jezazel had the right idea, leaning over to sneak a peek as Belial checked his cards. "Nice pair of tens you got there!" she said out loud. Belial tossed her a withering glare as she retreated back to her own hand.

"You know, all things considered, you guys really do have a great set-up here," I said, trying to ease the tension. "I’d never get away with this much peace and quiet at my place. Could you imagine trying to play with some nagging angel hovering over us?"

"I hear you," Belial said, gathering his last card. "That's the one advantage to having the host family go to church every week. They take that pesky featherback with them. And you know what they say, 'When the cat's away, the mice will play satanic poker in the attic.'"

I looked down at my cards, struggling to hold my deadpan expression. "Yeah, that's totally something people would say..."

"Come on, bean pole, aren't you ready yet?" Jezazel hissed at Zebub. 

"Give me a break here," he said, slap-fighting his last card into place. "I'm not used to moving stuff this delicate, Jelezez."

The succubus gnashed her teeth. "‘Jelezez’? The name’s Jezazel!" She pointed to her moldy lips, exaggerating the pronunciation. “Jeh-zay-zuhl! Get it through your thick head!"

"You losers go ahead and take your time," Belial gloated. "I'll win this whenever you're ready." He huddled gleefully over his finished hand, peeking at the same three cards to be sure they didn’t wander off. Jezazel had so graciously announced his pair of tens, but was that all? Could he have three of a kind? Maybe four? If it was some sort of bluff, he was doing a pitiful job.

"OK, I think I got it," Zebub said proudly. "Ready to read 'em and weep?"

“If you insist.” Belial flipped over his first two cards, revealing the pair of tens I was expecting. 

"I fold," Jezazal groaned. "Just look at this trash." She slipped her hands under the table and lifted them through it, flipping her cards face up. Sure enough, we found nothing but a pair of nines.

"Them's the breaks, sweetheart," Belial chuckled. "What about you, Newbie? You going to fold with dignity, or would you rather embarrass yourself with a crushing defeat?"

"We'll see who gets crushed," Zebub said, bobbing his eyebrows smugly. "In fact, what do you say we up the ante? How's about five—no, TEN minutes in the Lake of Fire?"

"Ten?!" Belial gasped, nearly falling out of his chair. "You've got some balls, Newbie, I'll give you that." He glanced over at me, our eyes locking to measure each other's confidence. After a short game of mental chicken, the two of us finally nodded in agreement. "We're in, bean pole. Time to put your torment where your mouth is."

"Your funeral..." Zebub went to lift his first card, grabbing it by the closest edge to carefully stand it up. His finger held the card at the top of its height, pausing for dramatic effect before letting it fall onto its back. A five of clubs.

Belial pursed his lips. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Just wait," Zebub said, reaching for the next card. Once again, he slowly propped it up on its edge, savoring the moment before flipping it over. This time, he unveiled a six of clubs. One of Belial's eyes twitched as he realized where this was going. Consecutive numbers of the same suit. Could Zebub really have pulled a straight flush? That was the second-best hand in the game. There was no way we would’ve topped it. 

"You are so full of crap," Belial sneered. "You're bluffing, I know it."

Zebub flashed a smirk. "Am I?" He flipped the next card with the same agonizing suspense. To our horror, we found a seven of clubs glaring back at us from across the table. With the face-up four, all he needed now was a three or an eight. "It's not too late," Zebub taunted. "There's still time to pack it up and accept a quick, painless defeat. Well...maybe not so painless. You’re still gonna have to go for a dip…"

Belial and I exchanged awkward glances. "Geez, who is this guy?" I asked. "One minute, he's stuttering in the corner like a beaten stepchild. The next, he's gone full megalomania."

Belial shrugged his shoulders. "I think deep down he's just hyper competitive."

"What's it gonna be, boys?" Zebub reached for his last card, lifting it with a maniacal grin. The tip of his finger held it vertical as he waited for our reply. "It's now or never!"

"For a guy who claims to have us on the ropes, you’re taking an awfully long time to finish us off," I said.

Zebub's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Just trying to enjoy the ride."

"Sure you are." I kicked back in my chair and folded my arms. "You know what? I can wait. Go ahead and keep monologuing."

Zebub's smile faded. "Really? That's how you wanna go down?"

"Yup, sounds like fun."

Zebub's finger quivered atop his erected card. It was surprising enough that he’d held it steady for so long, but we both knew he couldn’t maintain that level of focus forever. Any second now he was going to lose control. "Last chance, Belial. You don't want the same fate as Yuri."

Belial winked at me, finally catching on. "Actually, I think I do."

Our challenger's face twisted into a grimace, dropping the card right on cue. He tried to swipe it back towards himself to conceal its identity, but panic had already taken over. His hand passed right through the card, helpless to stop it from landing face-up in a tiny cloud of dust. Silence fell over the room, all eyes glued to the table…

"FOUR OF HEARTS?!"

Jezazel fell out of her chair, howling with laughter. "After all that, you had nothing?! Somebody give this moron an Oscar!"

Belial sat back and stared at the card, utterly dumbfounded. "Wow, Newbie. That was pretty epic."

"So, what now?" I asked Belial. "I don't suppose you want to BS me into submission too?"

"Why bother?" he replied. "I've got nothing to hide." Belial showed me his third card—an ace—nodding to the one already face up on the table. "Ooooh, what's this? A two pair?! Are you sweating yet?"

"Three of a kind beats two pair," I said flatly, dropping a trio of kings.

A fanged smile crept out from beneath my opponent's bushy beard. "That's definitely true. Good thing that's not what I have…" Belial triumphantly flicked his last card in front of me, revealing a third ace. "Full house, baby. And even if we were comparing our three-of-a-kinds, the highest card always wins, so the only way you could beat that is with—"

"Four of a kind!" I interrupted. Belial's jaw went slack as I flipped over my fourth monarch—the king of spades. "Would you look at that! I'm the king of kings! How do you like me now, suckers?!" The others stared blankly as I leapt from my chair and started dancing the floss. "Woooo yeah! I'm the bomb! Kneel before Zod, peasants!" After a modest ten minutes of celebration, I finally got bored and plopped back down at the table. "So," I said with a smile and a clap, "who's up for another round?"

 

 

Chapter 3

The Guardian Angel

"Honey! I'm home!" I said, passing through the front door. "Did I miss anything fun?"

With the sun setting outside, Paul's living room was almost completely obscured in darkness. The man himself was conked out on the couch, barely visible against the faint flicker of the television. Goldie sat beside him with arms crossed, trying his best to ignore me. On the kitchen table behind them, Slim Jim was lying sprawled on his back, his grinding snores muffled beneath a lampshade placed snugly over his head.

"Oh man, I definitely missed something fun.  Hey, Goldie, care to give me a recap?"

"Burn in eternal hellfire, cretin."

"The guys next door already got me covered on that one, hot stuff, but thanks anyway."

Goldie rolled his eyes and reached for the remote control, ratcheting up the volume on the TV to drown me out. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him use the tactic, but in this particular instance, watching his finger mash that tiny plastic button, something occurred to me. How was he so tangible? A motion that precise would’ve demanded a repeated burst of focus, yet Goldie never missed a beat. Was he really that good at object manipulation? What was the source of his power? Certainly not the rage, pain and frustration we demons use. If angels were our spiritual opposites, could it be feelings of love, joy or compassion? How disgusting.

Still, a mix of wonder and ambition urged me to pry for some answers. There’d be no point trying to ask him directly, but perhaps some small talk would loosen his tongue. I strolled over to the couch and plunked down on the other side of Paul. "You're right!" I yelled, motioning to the TV. "Waking up the humans will make possessing them a lot more interesting!"

Goldie sprang back to the remote, dropping the volume to a more comfortable level. I tried to feign displeasure to cheer him up, but he simply stuck out his tongue and continued glaring into the screen.

"So...reruns of Big Bang Theory, huh?" I asked sheepishly. Goldie furrowed his brow in reply. "How about that Sheldon?" I said, playfully nudging Paul's unconscious body with my elbow. "He's such a rascal, isn't he? Bazinga!" I chuckled awkwardly at my own banter, shutting up as the quip landed flat on its face.

As I plotted my next move, Paul began to stir beside me, wiping the drool from his chin. "Wha—what day is it?" he groaned. A loud snore from the kitchen table left him no closer to the answer. He fished his cell phone from the pocket of his sweatpants, squinting into the screen. "Sunday again?! Dammit, Slim, I told you those shrooms were bad!" Paul hoisted himself off the couch, his plumber's crack swinging in my face as he trudged over to the kitchen. "Hey, dude, you got anything to munch on? I haven't eaten in a week..." He scooped a bowl out of the sink and placed it thoughtlessly on top of Slim Jim's chest. Impressively enough, the pot-headed freeloader managed to stay asleep, lying there with that lampshade over his head like some kind of bizarre performance artist as Paul dumped Fruit Loops and milk into the bowl.

Goldie was far less amused by the display. His attention had already shifted back to the TV, the animosity in his eyes having melted into sadness and exhaustion. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been overjoyed to watch him smolder in quiet anguish, but for some inexplicable reason…I wasn’t. 

It didn’t make any sense. I was winning like Charlie Sheen, so why wasn't I reveling in it? Was I getting soft in my old age, or had I gotten bored from the lack of challenge? In retrospect, I can now label this for what it was—the first notable time in my existence when I...I…oh, Devil, this is making me want to puke…I actually sympathized with someone! There, I said it. I feel so dirty now. Anyway, the stupid angel looked so pathetic it ended up driving me to do the unspeakable. Something that went against every facet of my nature.

"So, how was your day?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could even think to choke on them.

Goldie cocked his head, staring at me as if there were lobsters crawling out of my ears. "Did...did thou asketh—?"

"You heard right," I said, reclining myself against the back of the couch. "I asked how your day was."

Goldie recoiled suspiciously. "Thou jest."

I shook my head, struggling to put on a sincere smile. "Nope. I'm honestly curious. What does an angel do when there's no demon to contend with?"

"Well then, allow me to educate thee," Goldie said, turning his whole body to face me. "It all began at daybreak when a beastly hellspawn befouled the mind of my charge and forced him to partake of poisonous muck."

"It's called 'breakfast'," I interjected. "And it's the most important meal of the day, so yeah, you're welcome."

"HE SPENT THREE HOURS VOMITING, THOU WRETCHED CUR!"

"OK, so Paul comes with his own detox feature? Very cool. Go on."

Goldie's face reddened with anger. "I did everything within my power to comfort him, but his body was weak and trembling, completely deprived of nutrients."

"Sounds like he was ready for lunch."

"If only it were that simple," the angel groaned. "That intoxicated fool was all too eager to fill him with another poison."

"To be clear, the 'intoxicated fool' you're referring to is Slim Jim, right? You know, 'cause we got more than one guy around here that fits that description."

Goldie nodded. "Aye. The Slim Jim proceeded to offereth up all manner of strange fungi. I tried to warn Paul of their evil, whispering to him with my still small voice, but it was all for naught. He gobbled up the bewitching 'shrooms' and then he...he started—"

"Tripping balls?" I offered.

Goldie dropped his shoulders in defeat. "Indeed. There was much tripping of the balls. Their eyes grew large and they giggled exceedingly. Before long, they were running around the room trying to escape 'the ghost of Michael Jackson'."

I nodded sympathetically. "Hallucinations. My favorite part."

"Not mine," Goldie pouted. "They stumbled about for the span of many hours, finally growing weary of their delusions. To escape their tormentor, the Slim Jim declared that 'shadows could not find them in the dark'."

"Hence, the lampshade," I deduced. "Stellar move. That explains why all the lights were out when I came home." The angel bobbed his head in confirmation. "Sounds like you had a rough time, bud. My condolences."

"No need to gloat," Goldie muttered. "I suppose thou planneth a night of misery as well?"

I straightened my back, throwing an arm over the top of the couch. "You know what? How about we don't and say we did?"

Goldie regarded me with a sideways glare. "What meanest thou? Speak plainly."

"Do I really have to spell it out?" I replied. "I’m in a pretty good mood right now, so I was suggesting to take the night off and give you some time alone with the meat bags. If you’re not interested, we could—"

"No, no, rest thyself!" Goldie insisted. "Thou hast labored diligently today. Take time to bask in thy victory."

I faked a yawn, covering my mouth to hide my grin. "Well, if you really think so, I guess I'll be on my way…" I rolled off the couch onto my feet, pretending not to notice the sheer joy and relief washing over Goldie's face. The gullible featherback seriously believed I was doing him a favor, so excited with my absence he didn’t notice how often I’d bail around this exact same time.

You see, over the last few years, I’d developed a certain guilty pleasure. One that had to remain a secret to both angels and demons alike. It was the real reason I never possessed Paul so early in the evening. How else would I keep his blasted dog from blowing my cover? Stealth was of the utmost importance.

Without any further delay, I strutted across the living room and out through the front door. Darkness had fallen completely over the neighborhood now. Stars glittered from behind the yellow haze of streetlamps, the drone of crickets and distant traffic hanging in the air. As for the humans, there wasn't a soul to be found. All of them had retreated into their homes, enslaved by the familiar glow of the TV flickering in the windows. That meant their accompanying spirits would be inside as well.

I crept my way along the outer wall of the house, cutting through the bushes into the side yard. Beyond the chain-link fence, Charlie was relaxing in his igloo-shaped dog house, busily chewing an old leather boot. So far, he hadn't noticed my presence. With at least six hours since my last possession, he should’ve lost my scent by now, but I didn’t want to risk getting too close. Not when a single bark could give away the game.

Glancing up at the neighbors’ house, I spotted my window of interest on the second floor. The lights were already on inside, casting a procession of shadows across the walls and ceiling. Normally, it would’ve taken some effort to get the timing right, but my early leave turned out to be a stroke of luck. I gently pushed off the ground and floated up to the window, stopping below the sill to peek into the room.

The scene would’ve made any other demon run screaming. It was nothing but rainbows and unicorns. Baby dolls were fashionably clothed and sitting properly around a miniature tea set. Crayon drawings of family and friends were posted neatly over the closet doors. Not what you were expecting? That's right…I was peering into a little girl's bedroom. The one belonging to Eva Torres, Hector and Daniela’s only child. Now, hold on. Don't jump to any wild conclusions. I wasn't there for the kid so much as I was a certain ritual. A bedtime ritual, to be specific.

Eva was already sitting cross-legged on top of her bed, giggling with her back to the window as her mother untied her pigtails. With the tug of each little ribbon, her long black hair went spilling over her shoulders, its sheen reflecting the light from her Hello Kitty lamp above the nightstand. As the dark strands fell tangled and crimped from the day's adventure, Daniela met them with the gentle stroke of her brush, taming them into beautiful coalescence. All the while, she hummed a familiar lullaby with a smile so tender.

I closed my eyes and let the melody permeate the glass between us. Every note softly caressed the back of my head, soothing me into a comfort I’d never known anywhere else. Even with my inability to sleep, Daniela’s voice seemed to draw me into a state of unconsciousness, wrapping me in the dream of being the child sitting beside her. I could feel the warmth of the sheets beneath me and the assurance of her embrace that I wasn’t alone. But why? Why did I need this? These things were meaningless for a demon. All of it should’ve been so foreign to me, yet I hungered for it just the same. It was like a distant memory, begging for me to remember.

"Mommy, you know my favorite thing about unicorns?"

Daniela stopped humming, instantly breaking me out of my trance. "Uh, no, mija. What's your favorite thing about unicorns?" she asked.

"They can fight back!" Eva declared proudly.

Her mother curiously tilted her head. "Against who?"

Eva whirled around on the bed, rolling onto her hands and knees. "Anyone. Everyone," she replied. "It was on the pony show I saw today. Bad people came to steal the ponies from their village, but the unicorns chased them away with their horns!" She put a hand to her forehead, jabbing a finger in the air. "Unicorns are way better than horses. They have a sword attached to their head!"

Daniela chuckled. "Well, you're not wrong about that, mija. So, what now? You want to be a unicorn?"

Eva pursed her lips, considering the question. "Mmmmm, nah. I'd rather be a triceracorn!"

Daniela's eyebrows shot up. "A 'triceracorn'?! What in the world is that?"

The girl raised a hand to her forehead again, this time extending three fingers. "It's like a unicorn, but with three horns instead of one. That way, it's three times the danger!

Daniela blinked hard at the trio of menacing fingers, erupting into a laugh. "Que chistosa, niña! You ready for some danger?" She dove onto the bed beside Eva, pulling her in for a tickle. "I got you now, triple-threat!"

Eva squealed, squirming frantically as her mom's fingers found their way to her armpits. "Aaaaiieee! No, Mommy! Ponies aren’t supposed to be ticklish!" she laughed.

While the two of them wrestled around on the bed, a third figure emerged from the hallway behind them. From the stature, I thought for a second it was Eva's dad, Hector, but there was no mistaking the subtle glow emanating from her snowy white robes. It was Sarai, the youthful spirit of Daniela’s dearly departed grandmother. The resemblance between the two women was striking, both slender with the same high cheekbones and mochaccino skin. Their bright brown eyes, though deep and compassionate, were also piercing in the scariest way. It was like they could read your mind with a single glare, and in the case of Sarai, probably burn a hole through your head to boot. That was the thing about her—she was Daniela to the extreme. Take all that motherly sternness and holy fire, then wrap it up in a flawless six-foot Amazonian body and you'd get the infamous guardian angel of the Torres family. 

I quickly ducked under the window at the sight of her. Unlike my own pathetic counterpart, she wasn’t an angel to be trifled with. Even Belial complained about her ability to banish and inflict pain on demons just by willing it. To be caught snooping by my peers would be embarrassing to say the least. But to be caught by her? I shuddered to think. Moving ever so slowly, I shifted up beside the window, carefully leaning my head until a single eye was able to peer through the glass. Fortunately, Sarai hadn't spotted me, too distracted by the tickle fest happening on the bed.

"Horn attack!" Eva shouted, prodding her mom with three fingers to the belly.

Daniela jerked away with a laugh, grappling Eva into a hug tight enough to end her rampage. "OK, mija, you got me! Triceracorn for the win!" The two of them took a moment to rest, both panting from the frenzy. "Alright, time for goodnight prayer," Daniela said finally.

"My turn!" Eva shouted.

Daniela released her captive and shimmied off the bed onto her knees. "OK, but don't forget to include Bisabuela this time," she said, pointing her thumb at a small portrait on the wall.

I leaned in a little further to get a better view of the picture. Its edges were tattered and worn, the fade of its sepia denoting its age. Featured prominently at its center was a lone woman, elderly and wrinkled with skin like parchment. She wore a long button-up dress with her dark gray hair tied up in a Victorian-style bun. Her expression was solemn and unamused, but what really grabbed my attention were the eyes. Those piercing, X-ray vision eyes of hers were all I needed to confirm that she and Sarai were both one and the same.

What a difference death had made for her. Despite how frail and decrepit her mortal body had become, her spirit had retained all the vibrance and beauty of her prime. Such was the privilege of being an angel. While we demons were nothing more than a shadowy imitation, each and every one of them got to stand as the pinnacle of the human form. A painful reminder of what we could’ve been.

"Don't worry, Mommy," Eva said. "I won't forget about her."

Sarai smiled brightly. "That's my girl," she said, kneeling down beside her great granddaughter.

"Ready?" Eva asked, folding her arms. She squeezed her eyes shut, sneaking a quick peek to be sure Daniela was doing the same. "Dear Father in Heaven, we thank you for this day and for all the blessings you’ve given us. We thank you for our family and for the great breakfast Daddy made this morning. Oh, and thank you for the fire extinguisher he used to put out the toaster oven." Daniela sternly cleared her throat. "Er—I mean, thank you for keeping us safe," Eva corrected. "We ask you to please protect Daddy as he drives to work and bless Mommy that her hands won’t hurt when she's typing on the computer."

Sarai leaned down next to Eva, bringing her lips to the girl's ear. "Please bless Tío Edgar to get well soon," she whispered.

Eva paused for a moment as though deep in concentration. "…Please help Uncle Edgar to feel better soon. Make his sickness go away. And as always, bless Bisabuela that she'll be happy up in Heaven and keep watching over us. Amen."

"Amen," Daniela said, wiping a tear from her eyes. She glanced over at Eva, regarding her thoughtfully. "That was really nice, baby. How did you know Tío Edgar was in the hospital? Did Daddy tell you about it?"

"Nope," Eva replied, crawling into bed. "I just sort of…knew it."

"You sure did," Sarai said, rising to her feet. "And don't worry about me, corazón. I'm right here and happy as can be." She reached down to stroke Eva's head, her fingers passing gently through the little girl's hair. "Heaven is where you are, mi amor."

Eva snuggled under the covers, a faint smile on her face as she gazed up at the ceiling. She may not have felt the hand of the angel standing over her, but she could feel the love as real and as tangible as the pillow beneath her head. Of all the mortal pleasures I’d experienced through possession, nothing came close to what that child shared with her family in that room. Somehow, someway, I had to taste it for myself, no matter the obstacle.

"Oh, that reminds me." Daniela pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her messages. "I need to call your tía and find out how Edgar's doing." She picked herself up and started for the doorway, her hand reaching for the light switch.

"Mommy, wait!" Eva cried. "You forgot the song!"

"That's right, listen to the kid," I said under my breath. "Get your butt back in there and give us a show."

Daniela glanced back down at her phone. "Mija, visiting hours at the hospital are going to be over in—"

"Please, Mommy?" Eva begged. She clutched her blankets desperately, throwing in some puppy dog eyes to seal the deal.

Daniela was no match, shaking her head with a sigh. "Madre mía, that is so not fair. Alright then, what do you want me to sing?"

Eva scratched her head. "Hmmmm…how about 'Duermete mi niño'?"

"Classic choice. I like it," Sarai agreed.

Daniela tucked away her phone and returned to Eva's side, kneeling down again with her elbows over the bed. As her daughter nestled herself against the pillow, Daniela placed her hand over Sarai's, the two of them moving in sync as she ran her fingers through Eva's hair. She took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and started to sing. The moment her voice reached my ears, it was like magic. The air became lighter, the stars seemed to grow brighter, and the whole world around me became that one little room. Even without understanding her Spanish, I knew all the words by heart. I'd heard them hundreds of times before, their simple poetry a spell that could only be cast between a mother and her child—but that wasn't even the finale.

As Daniela reached the second verse, the angel beside her joined in as well, harmonizing in a perfect soprano. With every phrase, Sarai poured out her devotion, her voice powerful as it was transcendent. It was joy after pain. Love after loss. An elderly soul's journey back home. I couldn't help but pity the humans. Divinity was swirling all around them, yet I was the only one that could hear it, longing for it never to end. When it finally did, I tried to savor that last delectable note, wringing it out in my mind for all it was worth.

"Sweet dreams, Mija," Daniela whispered, kissing her daughter’s forehead. She rose to her feet, switching off the light as she stepped into the doorway.

"Night, Mommy," Eva replied.

I rested my chin on the windowsill, so high from the concert I forgot my stealth mode completely. Instead of slipping away per usual, I just floated there like an idiot, fantasizing about a mortality I’d never have. That is, until a familiar noise made everything go sideways.

BARK! BARK! BARK!

I whirled around in a panic, spotting Charlie at the fence below. He was darting back and forth behind the wire mesh, his growls immediately joined by the clanging of trash can lids. On the ground beneath me, Hector had just finished taking out the garbage. Amidst all the singing, I hadn't noticed him come out the back door. Wait…the singing! I turned back to the window, petrified to find Sarai standing on the other side of the glass. Her eyes burned from out of the darkness with a pale white glow.

"Oh sh—"

Before I could utter a word, Sarai's hand shot through the window and grabbed me by the neck. I tried to wrench myself free, but her squeeze only grew tighter. In an instant, she flew forward out of the house and plunged me into the yard below, slamming me against the dirt. "Why are you trespassing here, diablo? Speak quickly before I lose my patience."

I made a low gurgling sound in my throat, hoping she cared enough about my answer to loosen her grip. As she started to ease up, I forced myself into a smile. "Evening stroll," I choked out. "Didn't mean any harm."

"LIES!" Sarai picked me up and hurled me at the side of the house. I willed myself intangible, trying to avoid the impact by passing through the wall, but to my surprise, I crashed painfully against it anyway. Before I could recover from the shock, Sarai materialized a pair of flaming swords, their curved edges flashing in the moonlight as she moved with incredible speed. A moment later, I was pinned against the house with flickering steel crossed at either side of my neck. "Since when does your kind not mean any harm?" she hissed. "That's the reason for your existence, is it not? What other business could a perro like you have with my kin?"

I slowly raised my hands in surrender. "I get it. I get it. Don't screw with Mama Bear," I croaked. "Wouldn't dream of it, I swear. Someone was singing so I just wanted to check it out, that's all."

Sarai narrowed her eyes, their intense glow abruptly fading. "You heard that?"

"Of course. Lovely singing voice you've got, by the way. Big fan."

The angel cracked a smirk. "Why thank you. Don't think for a second you're off the hook though."

"Oh, come on," I coaxed. "You wouldn't seriously punish a grateful observer, would you? Where's the nobility in that? Don't you guys believe in mercy?"

"So long as it doesn't rob justice," Sarai answered.

"Look, I was only curious, OK? If it's all the same to you, I’d rather just scurry on home and leave you in peace." I willed myself intangible again, but the house remained solid behind me. "Speaking of which, you mind telling me why I can't pass through this wall here?"

Sarai leaned forward, gently sliding her twin swords closer to my throat. "This household is under my protection. Its jurisdiction is fully under my control, and if I recall correctly, you aren't a part of it."

I grit my teeth as the heat from Sarai's blades began to singe my cheeks. "You do realize that you can't kill me, don't you?" 

The angel snarled menacingly. "Not in the permanent sense, no. But you can still experience pain, and I can send your ashes back to Hell until your spirit regains its bodily form."

"You know what? You're absolutely right. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself. I'm—"

"Yuriel," Sarai interrupted. "You're the demon from next door."

"You know me?"

"Your reputation precedes you."

"As does yours," I said, trying to play it cool. "That's why I can assure you, I had no intention of crossing you or your family. Please forgive my intrusion."

Sarai studied me for a moment, then backed away with a grin, dematerializing her swords in a burst of white flame. "Oh, an apology? Really now, was that so hard?" She dismissed me with a nod, turning around to calm Charlie as I slumped down the wall onto my knees. "Shhhhh, there, there. Who's a good doggy? Who's a good doggy, outing the stupid diablito? You are!" Sarai bent down and reached through the fence, rubbing Charlie's scruff with seemingly palpable hands. The happy Husky wagged his tail, resting on his haunches to soak up the attention. 

"How—how are you doing that?" I asked, motioning to the dog. 

Sarai pulled her hands through the fence and stood up, gazing at her fingernails as if she'd just had them painted. "You mean my ability to interact with physical objects? I'm afraid you couldn't possibly understand."

I clenched my jaw at the angel. "Try me. I’ve spent millennia tossing around everything from M&Ms to battle axes. Regardless of size or shape, it’s always been a matter of focus and the corresponding wickedness of my human. It’s an equation that any demon can comprehend, so what’s yours? I’ve seen your kind move mountains one day, then struggle with a paperclip the next. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. And the way you handled that mutt from the other side of the fence…that sort of control isn’t something I see very often. Why is that?”

"Let me answer your question with a question," Sarai replied. "Why do you do it? Why bother interacting with the world around you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I said, barely stopping to think. "What good are toys if you can't play with them?"

Sarai frowned at my response. "So, you only act out of selfishness and amusement? Typical demon. That is why you fail to understand."

I shot the angel a skeptical look. "What, so acting on behalf of others magically makes you more powerful?"

"Of course!" she said, nodding earnestly. "Well, there's a little more to it than that, but let’s do the math—selfishness is to look inward. The benefits are only for one. But to do the opposite, to look outward, channeling your power everywhere else instead? The benefits are infinite. Then again, you wouldn't know that. You've only ever existed for yourself, am I right?" 

"Oh, please, lecture me all about the power of niceness and friendship." I hunched over, pretending to dry heave. "You really think I'd buy that children's cartoon bull crap?" 

"No, I honestly didn't," the angel sighed. "No one can expect you to be more than what you are. That said…"

Sarai raised a hand in front of her, levitating me off the ground. As I started to flail, she swiped her fingers to the side, launching me through the fence into the dusty banishment of Paul's yard. I landed on my head, tumbling to a stop behind Charlie who didn't seem to notice.

"Get off my lawn and stay off!" she warned. "None of your kind are permitted here, save the usual three mongrels. If I catch you sneaking around here again, I'll torch you so hard you'll have to go to the Lake of Fire to cool off!" Sarai dusted off her hands in satisfaction, turning up her nose as she proceeded to float back into the house. I waited for the last of her white robes to disappear into the woodwork before sticking out my tongue in defiance.

"Yeah, you better run!" My empty threat echoed off the darkened houses and into the night sky, too pathetic and cowardly to warrant a response. As I sat brooding on the gravel, Charlie trotted over with his tail still wagging happily. He paused beside me to sniff my face, then lifted his back leg and began tinkling in my lap. The stream passed through me to the ground below, but I certainly got the gesture. "Oh, of course, by all means. Rub it in, why doncha?"

After a solid half-minute of playing fire hydrant simulator, Charlie finished up and moved on, leaving me alone to ponder on what Sarai had said. Could the source of her power really be that simple?  Just a matter of using it for the sake of others? As much as I hated to admit it, she was right about me. I’d only ever used my powers for my own gain. Who else would I even use them for? Nothing in the devil’s playbook had anything to do with helping others unless it was off a cliff. Even when it came to other demons, we only cooperated with each other to help ourselves. 

Then it hit me. Maybe the secret was to act on behalf of a specific person. That must’ve been why Sarai was so protective of the kid. There was something special about her. It would explain why Goldie was such a wimp. Paul was probably a weaker source of power. That's it! I jumped to my feet, the wheels turning in my head now, shaping themselves into the most deviously ambitious plot I’d ever concocted. I had to get closer to that girl, Eva. I had to learn her secrets and exploit them in order to claim that awesome power for myself. Then no one would be able to keep me from those sweet bedtime rituals. My only roadblock was going to be Sarai. If there was one thing I took away from this evening’s encounter—one thing I’d never forget—it was that that pony had horns.

Did you enjoy what you read? Subscribe to my monthly newsletter by clicking the link below. It's totally free, you won't be spammed, and you'll get updates on all my novel and short story releases! Exclusive content is on the way as well!