by Joshua Ingle
Whenever Thorn was alone with Joel, he tried to convince him to publicly confess his lie, but so far Joel had proven stubborn. Such a prideful mind would not willingly humble itself, Thorn knew from experience.
“Idea for you,” Shenzuul said as Joel and his wife parted ways for the last time. “We make him lose all money. He miserable. Live in poverty.”
“Poverty does not guarantee misery,” Thorn said, trying to sound wise. “Think subtly. In any society, money must concentrate somewhere. Best to let it fall into the hands of those who will hoard or misuse it. If we made Joel poor, the money he would have had could end up with someone who will use it well.”
Shenzuul grumbled an unintelligible complaint. For how much he claims a desire to learn subtlety, he seems uninterested in it. Thorn still worried about Shenzuul’s loyalties, despite the introduction to Garrett last night.
They followed Joel out toward his car, a sleek new Mercedes-Benz.
“Joel boring,” Shenzuul blurted. “He no challenge.”
Thorn might have felt the same way three months ago. “Not challenging, but important. Celebrity is critical to demons in the U.S. Any demon of significance will have at least one celebrity charge.”
“A killer is better charge to have.”
“Which do you think hurts the Enemy more: killing one human or ruining the lives of millions? If you influence a person of influence, everyone who admires that person will go down with him or her.”
“Ah. Like president?” Thorn and Shenzuul settled into the back seat of Joel’s car as he revved the engine and turned up some classic rock.
“Or an actor, or a singer, or a novelist. Challenging charges are of course just as prestigious as influential charges, but often you can find both in the same person.”
Shenzuul pondered this, then said, “You have many famous humans?”
“Now? No, just Joel. Back in the day, though…” When a small group of demons had devised and helped implement the Hollywood star system, something akin to a gold rush had swept the demon world. Millions of devils had left New York and D.C. for Los Angeles. Thorn had been one of the first on the scene. “D.W. Griffith was my charge. Fatty Arbuckle, too.”
Shenzuul nodded respectfully, clearly unaware of who those people were.
“Jamar Tripp?”
Shenzuul’s eyes lit up. “Rapper who died from drugs last year? He yours?”
Thorn nodded. “He lived in Cascade Heights.” Joel’s car left the parking lot and took off down the road.
“I hear his music sometimes in Kinshasa.”
“See what I mean? Halfway around the world, my whispers to Jamar had influence. With their short lifespans, most humans don’t realize how suddenly this new information age appeared, how historically unprecedented and promising it is.” It could be used for good as well, but Thorn left that part out. “You can use movies and music to lie to the masses about anything. You can trap people into oppressive gender roles, glorify violence, tell children that love is about sex and that sex is about power.
“You can even lie about us.” Thorn had always found it ironic that nearly every popular misconception about demons came from the demons themselves. Many demons found the accentuated portrayals of themselves in movies to be hilarious. Little girls vomiting blood and contorting into impossible positions played like comedy to devil folk. In truth, demon possession was often a dull affair (and always an illegal one). It was more useful for influencing the physical world than for frightening people.
“Or lie about Enemy.”
“Or that.”
“Like how some people think humans turn to angels when they die.”
Thorn chuckled insincerely. “Or whenever a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.” If that’s the case, where’s my damn bell?
“But humans supposed to be ice—ice-lated?”
“Isolated from each other? Yes. Well, in the case of celebrities, not always. If they’re listening to you, it’s good to keep them visible and therefore influential.”
“Like Joel is visible and influential.”
“Yes, we will keep him visible, and let his lies inform people. And entertain them! Always remember this. Entertainment is just as useful for distraction from good as it is for temptation to evil. Every half-day spent reading Joel’s book is half a day spent not doing something truly meaningful.” Thorn realized with a sickening unease that he was still quite passionate about these matters. He had to remind himself that he was trying to change.
He examined the renegade neurosurgeon in the front seat, pumping his head to “Back in Black” and speeding twenty over the limit. Driving like this, Joel seemed in his element, at peace, but Thorn knew he would likely go prowling the bars for a hookup tonight, and work on his follow-up book tomorrow… or perhaps on the restaurant he was reopening. Joel was as ambitious as Thorn had once been. Ambition was a good distraction too.
•
Joel and Angela were so dysfunctional, they decided to have sex later that afternoon while their kids were at school. Once upon a time, Thorn would have found this amusing, but now it was just sad.
The last time Angela had had sex with Joel, Thorn had realized she was not really moaning in pleasure. She just did that because she thought Joel liked it. She faked most of her orgasms too. They mostly slept together out of neediness these days, and neither enjoyed it. Nevertheless, both humans were in great physical shape for their age, each with firm muscles and toned buttocks, and the illusion of pleasure was more than convincing.
Thorn could not have been more bored. If demons could fall asleep, he was certain he would have by now. Shenzuul looked like he felt the same way; he was examining an ant crawling on the wall, while Thorn checked the nearly healed wounds Vucion had dealt him, trying to console himself over the train wreck of a relationship playing out on the other side of the room.
At least the human couple had ostensibly separated, which would be healthy for them in the long run… assuming they could stop screwing. Not for the first time, Thorn wished he had a sex drive—not so he could enjoy sex, but so he could understand the damn thing.
Shenzuul casually swatted at the ant, and his hand went straight through the wall. “You study sex?” he asked Thorn.
“I have, but it still baffles me. Usually, the bottom line is to give people as many odd complexes as you can. Make sex awkward, make them worry if they’re sinning, or make them self-conscious about their bodies. Guilt, too. Whenever you can attach guilt to sex, you’ve won.”
“No, you wrong. Enemy say same thing as you. That sex is bad.”
Shenzuul had a point, though Thorn wouldn’t admit it. He’d often wondered why the Enemy preached single-partner-for-life monogamy so adamantly, yet created a people whose instinct was often to be with multiple partners over time. He also wondered why the Enemy was said to frown on indecency when the Bible itself featured all sorts of perverse sex acts among God’s own followers, under His blessing.
Shenzuul abandoned his ant and rose into the air to press his point further. “I think you can let some people treat sex as most important thing in life. Let the only reason they friends with opposite sex is to get in their pants. Have them compete for it, live for it, obsess. Not because it evil, but because it pointless. When you can attach com—compulsion to sex, you’ve won. That’s what I think about sex.” Thorn tried to formulate a response. He imagined that sex was important, that it could be used as a perfect connection between two people, and could be an invaluable emotion moderator and mood booster. Amy had taught him that. If Chaz had been a better man and his affection for her genuine, the sex would have brought her great joy. Why is the Enemy so prudish about something that brings people joy and harms no one? Wasn’t joy a “fruit of the spirit”? Mysteries upon mysteries…
Afraid he might let his new views slip in any response he gave Shenzuul, Thorn let Shenzuul win the argument. When the ex-couple was done, Angela tried to cuddle with Joel, but he got out of bed and walked away
, so she picked up a book and started reading, possibly for escapism’s sake. The two demons and the followers around them trailed Joel to his study, where Shenzuul started whispering to him. “Go whack to porn. After crappy sex, you deserve.” Joel switched on his laptop, eager to oblige.
Poor guy, Thorn thought. Joel was so sure that good sex would make him happy—the lack of it was part of the reason for his divorce. He was in for a disappointment now that he was able to sleep with whomever he wanted.
Joel locked the doors, pulled off his pants, sat down, and opened some of his favorite sites. “Every woman should look like this,” Shenzuul whispered. “Why your wife never look like this? Glad you have more variety now.”
Unacknowledged by Shenzuul, Thorn stood at the door behind them. Joel got busy, and Shenzuul prattled on. “You deserve. You deserve. You deserve.”
•
“We have an award-winning homebrew if you folks would like to try that tonight, or there’s Long Island Iced Teas at half price. What can I start you out with?” The young waiter glanced at the men around the table, who ceased their conversation to stare at his pants, where he had mistakenly tucked in his shirt underneath his boxer shorts, the top of which were now showing prodigiously. Thorn felt sorry for him.
“Well, uh, I’d like a Hot Irish Nut,” Joel said, and smirked at his friends, who laughed.
“Is that a real drink?” Dean asked him.
“Real drink, buddy. I’m not gay or anything, but I think our ginger friend here is an expert on the Irish Nut.” The men laughed again, and the waiter finally checked himself. He hastily shoved his underwear back into his pants, and the group chortled.
“I—uh, crap. I’m sorry.”
“I want a free drink for that.” Joel was joking, but the waiter apparently couldn’t tell, so he stammered for a few seconds. “Relax,” Joel said harshly.
“Sorry, sir. I should have checked that before I came here.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why you work in a restaurant and I have a real job. We’ll take the homebrew, please. Two for each of us. It’s on me, guys.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back with those.”
“And wash your hands before you touch our food!” The waiter turned back, tripped, then scampered away. Joel’s companions guffawed again.
The demons had followed Joel to an upscale club called “D” right across from the restaurant he had recently bought (and right down the street from the club where Amy had once seen Thorn). Joel was entertaining three of his new “friends”—younger men drawn to Joel because of his wealth and charisma. Under the purple lights, he regaled them with a jet skiing story from his vacation in Florida. A scantily clad woman Thorn had never seen before rested under Joel’s arm, laughing at every joke he told.
Shenzuul seemed at home in this environment full of alcohol and sexual conquest. He fluttered among the men, whispering fantasies and malicious thoughts and who knew what else. Two dozen of Thorn’s followers were arrayed in a semicircle around him as he observed his student.
Two days down, twenty-nine to go. Shenzuul wasn’t as dumb as Thorn had assumed, but Thorn would be glad to get rid of him. Thorn had accumulated an immense quantity of knowledge regarding human temptation in his lifetime, and he hated to impart any more of it to Shenzuul. But it was necessary for his masquerade.
Shenzuul and Joel seem little removed from each other, Thorn observed as Shenzuul flitted about and Joel took a deep gulp of his drink. He imagined them both as little children, showing their friends a new toy or skill, wanting people to think they were cool. Both of them thought myopically. Why delay gratification when you could satiate yourself now? Because of the cycle of power, Shenzuul. Like money, power is fickle. The more you use it the sooner you lose it, and the more waste you leave in your wake. Thorn had fallen and risen again countless times before he had learned the benefits of thinking long-term. Perhaps that very lesson had led to his recent change of heart.
Thorn saw himself in Joel as well. The doctor wanted success so badly, and demons had warped his definition of success so much that this, a night at a club blowing loads of money on shallow friends, seemed like success to him. Was he happy? Thorn doubted it. Thorn had never been happy with his own success. All he had ever wanted was more. Even now. More knowledge.
“Your readers.” Shenzuul’s loud words to Joel interrupted Thorn’s musings. “Brag your friends all the readers you have.”
“Be careful,” Thorn said to maintain his cover. “Don’t let him see what society did to enable him to earn his wealth. Let him think he earned it himself. Joel’s readers didn’t give him the money, nor the father who paid for his education nor the family who supported him emotionally nor the publishing company that took a chance on his book. Joel deserves that money, and has no responsibilities with it except to satisfy the whims of his own pleasure and ambition.”
A fight was breaking out nearby, apparently over a woman. A thin, balding man was pushing a younger, muscular man, who was removing his jacket for a fight. The woman was trying to hold the bald man back while calling for a bouncer. Shenzuul seemed distracted by the action as he replied to Thorn. “But I making Joel brag. I subtle.”
“Just be careful is all. Remember what I told you about shortsighted thinking.”
Shenzuul abruptly swung over Joel and toward the fight, which was apparently too exhilarating to resist. Some other demons had already joined the ruckus to egg the men on, but Shenzuul darted to the center of them. Only after Shenzuul had whispered in the thin man’s ear did Thorn see that he was armed. “Shoot him!” Shenzuul yelled loud enough for the whole room to hear.
The thin man drew and fired. Every patron jumped behind the nearest counter or table, or ran for an exit. Joel hit the floor. A bouncer tackled the thin man, bones cracking as they hit the ground. The muscular man checked himself. He appeared unharmed.
Then a woman screamed. Near the back of the club, Joel’s fair-skinned waiter had taken the bullet meant for the muscular man. He lay on the ground, precious blood seeping out of his neck so fast that Thorn knew he wouldn’t survive. Thorn was surprised to see color leaving Joel’s face as he stared at the dying man. Joel appeared even more stupefied than the situation warranted. Traumatized, even.
As the lights went up and the music died and humans attended to the expiring waiter, Shenzuul smugly meandered back to Thorn. “Subtle not always better,” Shenzuul said, making sure Thorn’s followers could hear. “You say, think long-term. You say, ruin man’s life. Well long-term, that man dead. His life ruined.”
The casualness with which Shenzuul had caused the young man’s death appalled Thorn and struck him with a sudden wave of reflection. This apprenticeship the Judge had prescribed would augment Shenzuul’s brutality with Thorn’s cunning, lending a sharp edge to a previously blunt weapon. This is not just something harmless to endure, Thorn now saw. Shenzuul had great potential for destruction, and to use him as part of Thorn’s cover would make Thorn complicit in that destruction. How did I not see this before? What kind of monster am I creating?
Ever the proud student, Shenzuul grinned widely when Thorn did not respond. He had stumped the teacher.
5
Rays of sunset shone through a break in the oak branches onto the group of old burial sites on the forest floor. Centuries of weathering had all but destroyed some of the cairns, but the one Thorn cared about—the one directly underneath the break in the canopy—had remained strangely unaffected, as if the spirits of the plants and animals had protected it. Flying Owl’s family would have liked that thought. Thorn paced briskly around the boy’s final resting place.
He had come here to avoid Shenzuul, had avoided him all day, but now his refuge in the woods held little peace. Whereas this place usually soothed Thorn’s mind with thoughts of better times, today it reminded him of past mistakes and warned him not to repeat them.
He found himself wishing he could use his powers of persuasion on another demon. One soft w
hisper in the Judge’s ear as Thorn might whisper to Amy or Joel, and his punishment with Shenzuul would be withdrawn. A pleasant fantasy.
But now that Thorn saw the road to ridding himself of Shenzuul, he knew how uneven it would be. Shenzuul would have to meet disgrace in the Judge’s eyes. Thorn could try convincing the Judge that Shenzuul had nothing valuable to teach him, that their deal would not be profitable for him… or perhaps it’d be easier to convince him that Shenzuul was too thick to learn subtlety, and by extension too thick to teach the Judge what he wanted to learn. Thorn knew the Judge had eyes and ears among Thorn’s own followers, and would be kept up to date on Shenzuul’s progress, or lack thereof…
If only I could relive my life and stay on good terms with Marcus from the beginning. Then I would still be safely unaware, and none of this would have happened.
“No,” Thorn told himself. “I refuse ignorance. No longer will I trade the pursuit of knowledge for the maintaining of safety.”
His inner voice seemed to silence, but soon nagged him with an old, troubling question. What was Marcus doing in that tent, anyway? Marcus has never been an innovative thinker, but if he was really trying to depose Xeres, he would still have taken a more reliable approach. Something else was going on.
The demons who’d been present that night avoided all talk of Constantine’s battle at the Milvian Bridge. Thorn speculated that they wanted to forget the strange events surrounding it—namely Constantine’s sudden return from death’s doorstep and the murder of the demon sentries before they could warn the others that the battle had begun. As much as Thorn valued knowledge, he had long since abandoned his attempts at puzzling out this particular mystery. It couldn’t be done, at least not with the limited information Thorn had had to work with. So he’d been content to stay in the West, where he’d been safe from Marcus’s vengeance until Xeres’s supposed death. Even then, news of Xeres’s demise had spread at a pleasant snail’s pace, since demons had none of the instant-communication technology humans did. Thorn had known the news would adopt the ring of a tall tale by the time it had crossed the Atlantic, and that therefore decades, possibly centuries would pass before Marcus learned that Xeres was actually dead and came after Thorn. He’d hoped Marcus had forgotten the whole ordeal.
