by Brian Corley
“Who’s next?” Lin asked. Tammy awkwardly raised her hand slightly off the table. “Ah good, go ahead, Tammy. Draw a card.”
She drew a great card, won some underpants or something, and the group fell back into the rhythm of the game. I floated back and forth around the house and vacillated between trying to figure out the game and checking to see if Willard was outside yet. Around ten o’clock I decided to ask if everyone had everything they needed, and Zoe put a pause on the game.
She walked me through the work they’d done on the trim around the doors. It was clean work; I couldn’t even notice the difference as they painted the peach wood the same color as the original trim pieces.
“We thought about staining them—peach wood has a unique grain that you don’t get to see often—but decided it would just be easier to paint them. We were a little pressed for time today,” Zoe offered as part of the tour.
There was a big, military-surplus, olive-green rucksack in the middle of the living room floor. Zoe unzipped the bag and pulled out a fleece-wrapped bundle. She unwrapped it to reveal a peach-wood sword. “Lin,” she announced, holding the sword by the blade and waiting for Lin to pick up her weapon for the night. “Tammy,” she said and went through the rest of the group one by one. She handed Max his sword last, and I kicked myself for zoning out. It would have been the perfect time to learn those last two Psy-kick’s names. Dammit, Jonah!
Zoe continued, “Keep these with you at all times tonight. I don’t care if you’re at the table or in the bathrooms. These weapons do not leave your side.”
She surveyed the room, making eye contact with each individual to make sure they understood her direction.
“Good. Now, everyone reach in here and make sure you have enough incense to keep your station smoky. If we have leftovers in the bag, that means you didn’t get enough. We light this place up as soon as Jonah lets us know they’re here. Everyone got it?” Heads nodded in the affirmative around the room. “Alright, go make your stations ready, and let’s kick on some good-quality jams.”
Lin punched in a playlist on her phone, and the group went to work moving furniture to the sides of the rooms and setting up their individual stations as “Bring ’Em Out” by T.I. blared through the speakers. After a few songs, I decided to float up and get a good lay of the land. My head barely cleared the shingles of the roof before I saw him on the sidewalk in front of the house. Just Willard, standing there with his arms crossed and a look of determination set on his face. I floated back down and let Zoe know he was out front—alone. Zoe motioned for Lin to kill the music.
“Hmm,” Zoe thought aloud. “I don’t like it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I feel the same way.”
“Think he’s here to offer up a deal or apologize?”
“I don’t think so. He looks kinda pissed.”
“Be aware of your surroundings, Jonah. Don’t let him draw you out just to flank you. You cannot let anyone between you and the door,” she said, pointing to it. “We need them to follow you through that front door. Do not forget, Jonah. Where do we need you?”
“Now!” I said and raised my right arm up in a cheer. She couldn’t see it, but I heard Max laugh, and that’s all I needed.
“Through the front door, Jonah. Say it with me,” she said.
“Through the front door,” I mumbled.
“Alright, go get ’em, Jonah,” she said.
“Yeaaaah, put ’em in a body baaag, Jonah!” Max yelled from behind me.
Tammy laughed. “Karate Kid! I love that movie!”
Yeah, Tammy, we all know it was from Karate Kid. I steeled myself and phased through the front door.
Willard took notice and stood a little straighter, offering no commentary this time as I approached.
“Willard,” I said, nodding in his direction.
“Jonah,” he said, nodding back.
“So what are we doing tonight? Want me to step on a giant, rocket-powered skate while you chase me around town all night only to have me escape through a hole you painted on the side of a canyon wall while you smash into it?”
What started as a blank face slowly twisted as Willard began to comprehend my dumb reference.
“No, I want you to meet a friend of mine,” he said through gritted teeth.
A form obscured the light around us as a large winged beast descended behind Willard. It landed softly, elegantly for something its size, into what looked like a gracious bow. His head rose, a pointy mass of darkness with glowing red eyes that morphed into a handsome, angular human face as he joined us on the street. His wings folded in behind him as he took on a humanoid form, seven feet tall, not entirely masculine, and dangerous like nothing I’d ever seen.
A strange presence accompanied him—not a darkness, per se, as I could still see—an empty light that cast a shadow of dread and hopelessness, like an inverse but watered-down version of what I felt when Seph revealed his true self. There was no mistaking what stood before me. This must be the demon from my conversation with the angel in my living room.
I thought back to my previous encounter in the garage over in Tarrytown and began to draw power to myself as discreetly as possible.
“Hello, Jonah,” he said with a smile and a low bow. “I am Masephson.”
His voice was smooth, with an English accent, and as he spoke, the feeling of darkness and dread fell away, almost like the feeling when you’ve been out of a pool for a while, walking around with water in your ear, and then suddenly it’s gone. He reached his hand out for me to shake, and I took it.
Am I really shaking this thing’s hand? Eh, seems like the polite thing to do.
I racked my brain for a witty response and came up with a good one, “Hi.”
“We’ve been watching you, Jonah. We’ve been watching you,” he said as he gracefully paced the street in front of the house. “Well, actually, we started with this one here, but he told us so much about you—we just had to find out more.” A fallen branch caught his attention on the street.
“I swear to God, if you pick that up and start singing and twirling it around, I’m just going to go back inside,” I said to an incredibly powerful being of timeless origin and unknown power.
He snorted out a laugh. “You’re an interesting one, Mr. Preston. Oh, you certainly have our attention—the talk of the town!” he exclaimed, flinging his arms wide.
He wore a dark suit that could have been pulled straight from wardrobe on a Tim Burton movie: high collar, skinny sleeves with long, lacy cuffs spilling through. His animated voice dropped down to a dulcet tone. “You’ve done good work around here, Jonah, helped a lot of people. You should be proud.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And you can fight!” he exclaimed, raising his fists up on either side of his face in theatrical fashion. “One at a time, two, four? You take them all on. It’s very impressive.”
“Where are you going with this?” I asked.
“We like fighters, Jonah,” he said, beaming at me. His face dropped its mask as he gave Willard a sideways look. “We like winners, Jonah,” he continued, and I watched Willard deflate as he took that last comment personally. “I’ve come here with an offer, Mr. Preston, a chance to belong to a cause bigger than yourself—bigger than this town—bigger than any of us. Do you want to join the team, Jonah?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head, “I’m already on a team—I’m good.”
He smiled a wide, gleaming grin—charming, but with a hint of menace. Perfect teeth, with points just a little sharper than normal.
“Yes, Jonah, you’re on a team, but with such limitations—such small victories and with such fragile teammates.” His
eyes took on an inspired sparkle. “Maybe they too can join us one day.”
“What the hell?” I wondered out loud.
“Yes! Jonah, thank you for bringing me to
the question! What the hell?” he said, shouting out into the night. “But maybe more importantly, why the hell? Why should there be a Hell at all, Jonah? Why should there be such a place to throw the soul of someone who saved millions with a vaccine alongside brutal murderers just because they didn’t believe in a God they couldn’t see?
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why should a kind old man in the middle of a jungle in South America be punished eternally because he hasn’t been exposed to the existence of God?
“He sensed something, like his father before him, and his father before him, and so on and so forth back through a thousand generations. They sensed something and decided it was a sun-sized god that brought the morning on the back of a jaguar, and left to go home at night. A loving god that gave them life—food, shelter, a family. Thrown into a lake of fire because they didn’t know the actual story. Is that fair, Jonah?”
“Yeah, that would suck,” I responded.
“So join the cause, Jonah. Help us save them! We can liberate them along with the believers—everyone in Hades and Sheol—wherever they rest. We will liberate them as well.”
He concluded with a flourish of his hand and a pose as though he’d just finished a dance.
“I’m not sure if you’re just going through the motions here, or if you actually thought that would work,” I said.
His face shifted from a vulpine-like grin to a foppish pursing of the lips.
“That might have convinced me,” I continued, “if it was the end of, like, a multi-hour, deep conversation over a long dinner with plenty of cocktails. However, seeing as you dropped in as the form of some sort of gargoyle throwing off an energy to inspire at best the creeps, and at worst the strongest case of heebie-jeebies I’ve ever encountered—I’m going to stick with the feathery-winged side whose light is so bright that it terrifies me. I’m scared either way. I may as well side with the good guys.”
His faced dropped. “We all think we’re the good guys, Jonah. Well,” he looked to Willard, “most of us.”
Masephson turned on his heel to face him. “Alright, we had a deal. You feed us information about the boy here, and we train you up and get you your house back. I suppose it’s time we deliver our end.”
He turned back to me with perfect posture while straightening the hair along his face, and I had the feeling that I was about to have my ass handed to me in a very quirky Victorian method.
I held my hands out in front of me. “Hold on now. I believe we have one more night here.”
“Is that true, boy?” he looked back at Willard.
“Yes, I gave them three nights,” he replied.
“Well,” Masephson said, grooming himself once again, “you shouldn’t have said that.”
Now was the time to release all the energy I’d been taking in during the course of the conversation.
“Hadouken!” I yelled.
A ball of energy shot out of my hands and into the breadbasket of my demonic adversary, blowing him back about five feet.
Dammit. I just hit him with more power than I could imagine throwing, exactly where I threw it, and he barely moved. Just last night I punched four guys out of reflex and sent three into another neighborhood and the fourth a block away, and I was only able to move this guy five feet.
He did wince, though, so I had that going for me.
I ghosted my hand into a left cross that made my arm look like it was eight feet long and sent Willard flying down the street. Good, that felt better.
That feeling wouldn’t last long …
Chapter 28
Claw-like hands grabbed me by the shoulders and sent me flying up and over the house toward the backyard.
Masephson was behind me in no time, grabbing me in midair with his feet—which had now transformed into something like a giant eagle’s talons with an additional digit—and lifting me higher like a bird of prey.
It hurt, and I screamed as his claws dug into my shoulders.
His wings emerged again as he tossed me higher in the air and soared up to grab me again. He was toying with me—great.
I pulled hard, trying to loosen a talon without any luck. Masephson was stronger than I could handle.
“He is actually powerful, that one—Willard Hensch,” he commented as we ascended farther into the sky. “He managed to kill you with an earthly tool, and that is just not done—it’s not permitted.” He tossed me again and laughed. “We can do a lot with him, but he’s just not—ambitious. Lacks drive, creativity, and more importantly—style.”
His talons gripped harder. Higher and higher we climbed, Masephson reveling in the disparity of power between us.
He adjusted his feet, and it felt like he was going to rip me in two. We continued to a height reserved for experimental aircraft and weather balloons, miles away from anyone, then came to a stop.
As we hovered, his wings pumping huge gusts of air, he transferred me from his taloned feet to his clawed hands and pulled me in close. His eyes blazed red like coals in a well-fanned fire.
“You dropped an anvil on his head?” he asked.
Oh no.
“Um … yes,” I said.
A growl rumbled deep from within, like a cross between a bear and a V8 engine. The sound choked into sputters.
“That’s hilarious!”
The deep growl transitioned to an airy laugh, which was fairly endearing for an otherworldly being that probably inspired countless terrifying stories and nightmares.
“Very creative. We could train you, you know—give you power. You could join the others we’ve amassed over the millennia.”
He released me, and we hovered together.
“You could do such great things,” he said.
“What is happening right now?”
“I’m recruiting you, young man. Aren’t you listening?”
“Yeah, but I already said no.”
I guess I blacked out temporarily after he slapped me and came to as the sound of wind filled my head. Once coherent, I was able to slow myself to a stop just above the clouds.
Did he really just slap me? Damn, we were high.
Masephson floated next to me, back in his quirky, angular, humanoid form. He was flattening his hair to his face again and pulling on his cuffs.
“Sorry about that, Jonah, but it was an unacceptable
answer.”
“No … sir?” I asked.
His lips straightened, with only the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.
“Better, but still unacceptable. Let’s try this again, old boy. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“I need a leader for my army, Jonah. I want you to command my legion. Will you consider it?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a chap.”
“No … sir.”
“What’s that now?”
“I thought it was more respectful this time.”
“How do you mean? What are you talking about, boy?”
“I mean, I considered your offer, but the answer is still no. Sir.”
“Oh. I see … well, sorry about this then.”
He hit me with a hard, downward punch that whipsawed my neck. I shouldn’t have felt my neck considering I didn’t have a body, but the pain somehow found a way. I woke up on the descent again but didn’t have long to get my bearings.
Before I knew it, I found myself at least ten feet below the earth, and I was in pain—a lot of it. Being underground hurt, the soil burned, and I wanted out of it.
If I had bones, they would have been shattered and scattered across and inside the lawn. Thankfully I didn’t, so I just had to manage unimaginable suffering without permanent disfigurement. I found that I couldn’t just phase up through the earth like I could through everything else I’d tried so far, and I struggled inch by inch for w
hat seemed like an hour before I made it topside again.
I dusted off my pants and shirt out of a humiliating habit and realized, once again, that I didn’t need to, so I stopped. The demon had resumed his gargoyle form and was there to meet me as I rose. He wasted no time, punching me square in the chest and sending me back toward the house and, as luck would have it, through my front door. The room was filled with smoke that curled in a tunnel-like formation as I cut through the living room like a missile and hit hard against the kitchen wall. I picked myself up and flew to my room as fast as I could.
“I’m in,” I yelled as soon as I crossed the doorway.
Max flew into motion, grabbing the piece of trim from the floor and biting down on three nails as he held the wood in place above my bedroom doorjamb. He reached down to pick up a hammer as Willard flew through the front door. Zoe swung her sword like a baseball bat and connected with Willard, the momentum flinging him to her left and against the wall closest to Quinton.
Quinton was able to see the outline of Willard’s body through the smoke, so he knelt down beside him and held him in place by jabbing his sword into Willard’s chest. Max started hammering the trim into place as an enormous figure filled the living room, displacing the smoke.
“What is that?!” Tammy exclaimed, her voice wavering as the fear and dread that accompanied Masephson overtook the room.
Zoe sprang into action with a double-handed lunge straight toward the demon that just came through the front door. He was still in the process of unfurling himself after shrinking down to fit through. A rift of confusion channeled through his confident face as Zoe’s sword made contact and drove him back. It looked as though she actually hurt
the beast.
Something shone across his chest as his hand snatched at the source of his pain. He felt his wound and looked down to examine his now-bloodied hand. He roared as Zoe expertly swung high and down, catching him where his neck met his shoulder. The room shook and eyes widened as everyone could now see what stood in our midst—an injured monster.
Masephson flicked Quinton aside with the back of his hand, grabbed Willard, and flew backward out the front door. Zoe leapt forward and set her peach sword into two brackets that had been mounted above the threshold. Her feet planted firmly with eyes glued to the door, Zoe held out her right hand, motioning for Lin to relinquish her sword. Lin sprang into action, gave up her sword, and made a beeline to my room to join me behind my peach-wood-enhanced threshold … although, if they were able to make it back through that door, we were all in a lot of trouble.
