Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls)

by Killian McRae

  “I’ll admit. You weren’t completely off. In vino veritas, right?” For a moment, she thought about arguing with him, but couldn’t figure out what her argument would be. “Does that make me a bad person, being tempted by you?”

  “You’ve used sex too long as a way to offset the pain, a therapy. It’s in your nature, the desire to be intimate with someone. You’re just following protocol.”

  “Is that what you used to do?” She tried to flatten her tone, to make it sound like this was just a matter of scientific inquiry, not personal interest.

  “As a demon? There is no escape from the pain. You’re totally cut from the light. No matter what you do, there’s always some level of suffering. Yes, you get satisfaction in the act, but it’s because you know you’re contributing to a person’s moral demise.”

  “Oh.”

  “But sometimes …”

  “Yes?”

  His smile warmed her. “Once in a while, in the midst of it, my aura would interlace with the chick’s, and for a moment, though there was still pain, I could also feel her joy. Those were rare times, but, damn, when they happened, it would leave me stepping a little lighter in my loafers for a while. Hello, what is this?”

  On the corner of her desk sat the little white book, bound in leather, she’d all but forgotten about since Father Philips had given it to her two weeks before.

  “The Bible.”

  Jerry tossed the book up and caught it, as though testing its weight. “So weird to be able to hold one of these things again without fear of punishment. You read any of it?”

  “I’ve read it all. You forget, I’m a parochial school survivor,” she added, pointing her thumb at her chest. “Actually, I got that from a priest after mass a few weeks ago. Ramiel must have given it to him. Whoever it was, was definitely an angel based on his description. He said something too about … being worthy of the scroll.”

  “Worthy of the scroll? Those were his exact words?”

  Riona bobbed her head. “He said the angel told him to tell me that.”

  Jerry pawed through the contents of the tome with more aggression. “You know what that means, right?”

  “That I should invest in a paper mill?” she joked.

  He grimaced without looking up. After a moment, his finger anchored on the page. Jerry turned the book to her and read aloud as his pointing highlighted the text. “And they sang a new song: ‘You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.’ Holy toast with beans, Riona, why didn’t you say something about this before?”

  “Well, if I had known you were such a fan of Revelations, I might have suggested it to the whole book club, Jer.”

  Looking more nervous than a turtle on the interstate, Jerry ran his hands through his black hair. “Is this … Is this what the prophecy was talking about? ‘She will pull Heaven to Hell and circumscribe creation.’ This whole time, everyone thought it was metaphoric, that it meant the Keystone’s issue with the one arisen of Hell would somehow be responsible for a shift. But no, it’s more literal than that.”

  “Jerry, do you mind sharing a little bit of your thought process with me on this?” Snatching the Bible back from his grasp, she shoved it into her sweater pocket, reminding him that she was actually still in the room.

  “The Hell-Heaven accords, Riona. You’re going to renegotiate them. You’re ‘worthy of the scroll.’ It means you’re going to represent one of the two sides.”

  She blew a raspberry. “Plllpt. Jerry, come on. The Hell-Heaven accords were put in place hundreds of years ago. And that was only because the Council of Seven needed a way to curb the influence of Hell on the development of Lutheranism.”

  Jerry looked at her askew. “Someone’s been doing her homework.”

  She beamed, assuming it was a compliment.

  “That just further supports my theory. The Hell-Heaven accords go back to the beginning of time. Every so often, because of a major shift in one of the three realms, they have to be updated, revised. It’s only happened a handful of times. But I’m not worried about that. What I’m worried about is, which side will you be representing?”

  She didn’t brave an answer. As though she and Jerry’s confrontation had exposed some truth, both silently acknowledged that she was weighing her fates. Heaven or Hell? It was a fair question.

  Jerry swayed about, looking every bit as drunk as he had the night before. “I need to … Yeah, I need to go see someone. Just, please, don’t do anything to bring on the apocalypse until I get back, okay? And whatever you do, tell no one about this, not even Dee. Not even Ramiel.”

  He dashed from the room saying no more. Riona looked back on her computer screen where the data she’d shown Ditter was still displayed. Did this revelation mean she was going to die? That it was her fate? For some reason, the thought saddened her. Yes, she wanted to be with Marc, but she’d hadn’t thought about the fact that she’d have to die to do that. Which was silly. Of course she’d have to die.

  Unless there was a way around it.

  “She will pull Heaven to Hell …”

  If you knew how to manipulate the numbers, you didn’t need something dramatic to happen to have dramatic results. Sometimes making something happen depended only on your ability to rewrite the past using its own facts against it. She thought about what she told Ditter on the phone. She didn’t see why the future of the cosmos should differ too much from Statistics. When things weren’t adding up, the reason almost always was the same: human error.

  Chapter 19

  There were significant differences in the abilities of one Gaius Gallicus, aka Jerry Romani, now that instead of a superhuman demon body he had a regular old mortal one. For example, he could no longer push his way past a full-grown Cerberus without some serious WWF-style action ensuing.

  You’d think from a distance that Chipper and Jerry were reunited frat brothers, the way the guard dog’s arms circled around the latter’s body, pinning him into his chest from behind. Up close, however, one could see the painful temptation in Chipper’s eyes to lean down over his victim and perform an emergency ear-off-ophemy right there on the spot.

  “Let me go, you out-of-work hellhound!” Jerry’s biceps bustled, his pecs perked, his abdominals were abominable, but all to no avail. “I have to talk with her.”

  “Nobody gets to see the Goddess without an appointment or an invitation, sweetheart. I thought a demon like you would know that.” Turning toward the door, still ajar after Jerry’s dash-and-gab attempt, he wrestled his captive in the direction of the exit. “You can call to schedule during regular business hours. Our number is 1-800-FUCK-YOU.”

  To borrow one of Dee’s favorite sayings, what the Jim Dandy fuck had he been thinking? A Cerberus always obeyed his given order, to the death, when necessary. Hades had loved the weredogs so much, he negotiated their retention in his surrender treaty when he’d lost Hell to Lucifer. Even as a demon, he’d have to go through his whole box of tricks, magic, and dirty tactics to have a hope of getting past one.

  “I’m not a damned demon anymore, and you know it. I’m a fucking Pure Soul! Let go of me!”

  And Chipper did just that. And added a push. Out the door.

  “Pure as the yellow snow.”

  The door of the Inferno began to swing in the opposite direction, Chipper’s hand on the edge driving it, the semi-canine bouncer paused. A moment later, he whined in a voice that made him sound worthy of an honorary status as a teenage girl, “Oh, come on. I just got him out the door. You can’t be serious.”

  “Two minutes.” Persephone’s commanding tone snaked around the entry and met Jerry’s all-too-relieved ears. “But then you can kick his ass out in super-duper slow-mo, for all I care.”

  Chipper’s shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

  For a “Goddess,” Persephone sure looked ragged and raged. Her hair, normally styled in loops an
d curls that made a man dizzy, hung limp and plain around her shoulders. True, nothing could ever dull the shine or detract from the perfection of her form, but the way she carried herself was oddly human. Downtrodden, Jerry decided, was the best way to put it. With an acknowledging nod from his master, Chipper bowed and dissolved into the shadows of the club.

  “You gonna set up your own occupy movement outside my bar, or are you coming in, Gaius?”

  She offered him a hand, something so egalitarian that someone of her stature never would have done in ancient times. Silk would be put to shame compared to the softness of her skin.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Lady, I’ll come in. Feels like snow.”

  Inside, she led him without talking to the bar, pouring herself a glass of something amber. She gestured the unmarked bottle to Jerry in a sign of offering.

  “Is it … um, domestic?”

  One corner of Persephone’s mouth rose. “It’s made by mortals, if that’s what you mean. Beanstalk Microbrewery over in Dorchester, specifically. I don’t cater to the supernatural crowd here, especially demons. They tend to eat my customers or walk out on their tabs. I guess once you’re damned, something as petty as shoplifting seems like no big whoop.”

  Pouring a glass out for him, she handed it across the bar. Jerry joined her in a swig, delighting in the warmth that flowed across him as the liquid spiraled down his throat and into his gullet.

  “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

  With a gulp, Jerry finished off his drink, then dragged his sleeve over his mouth to dry it. “I want to talk to your husband, actually.”

  “Well, that makes one of us.”

  Jerry exhaled. “I know you two aren’t exactly simpatico. I wouldn’t ask unless it was really important.”

  “And, prithee, what is so important?” She tipped the bottle again, replacing that which she had already consumed.

  “I know what the prophecy means. Riona is going to be an advendavi.”

  Shards of glass splayed over the counter, over the bar stools, and crashed to the floor. From whatever corner he had retreated, Chipper sprang, coming in between Jerry and the Goddess. Both men were just as confused, however, when they beheld Persephone’s state. Her skin had gone whiter than a sheet; her hand still lingered in the air. It became apparent to Jerry, seeing the pale-red strips over her knuckles, that the bottle had not fallen like he first thought, but been smashed in Persephone’s own hand.

  “Impossible.” Her voice, though quiet, held at bay a storm of emotions that her eyes could not mask.

  Chipper shifted between right foot, then left, then right again. “You okay, boss?”

  “I’m fine.” Then she turned back to Jerry. “Only an elite can be an advendavi, and Riona isn’t an elite.”

  “Not yet, but she will be,” Jerry assured her.

  Persephone’s gaze scrutinized. “Are you certain of that?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. Don’t tell me you haven’t picked up on it.”

  Finally, her arms began to sink. “I’ve had suspicions, but I didn’t think it was possible. Does Ramiel know about this?”

  “He’s never denied it, but the only thing he’s ever been willing to confirm for me is what a piece of shit he thinks I am. And I’m bound by Big Boss on this one. I can’t say anything to the lady in question.” Leaning in, Jerry placed his hands on the edge of the bar. “So you can see why getting a little professional consultation from Hades might be of use right now.”

  “I do. Chipper, would you go grab a mop and a dust pan from the kitchen to clean this mess up?” Without hesitation, the dog played fetch. “Hades listens to me as much as Bill listens to Hiliary, if you catch my drift. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll ask if he’ll grant you an audience.”

  “I don’t need you to ask. I’ll ask, just let me know where to find him.”

  She waved through the air dismissively. “You can’t go where he is.”

  “Fuck. On the mountain, hey?”

  She nodded. “But as luck would have it, I’ll be heading that way soon, too.” She rolled her eyes. “The solstice is nigh, you know.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me you’re still doing that, are you?”

  “Contracted until one of us kisses dirt, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I’m leaving next week.”

  “Ramiel know about that?”

  She feigned confusion, but he was so over letting those around him sport a second face at will.

  “You love him?”

  Persephone crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the bar. “Like it matters. I’m nephilim, and he’s angelus. We’re not ever going to be together. Not to mention, you know, the fact that I’m married to the prince of pity and self-indulgence.”

  “You never know what’s going to happen in this world or the next, Lady.”

  She startled when his hand ghosted over hers. When they found themselves exchanging sympathy via goofy smiles, she shook herself from her stupor.

  “I’ll do what I can, Gaius. I can’t leave the mountain if he agrees, though, and that ass won’t come down for all the tea in Costco. You’ll need a sponsor. I … think you know what I’m hinting at. You going to be able to swing that?”

  “I’ll find a way,” Jerry assured, pulling back his hand. “And if Dee doesn’t do it for me, he’ll do it for Riona. Speaking of which, I’d like to send you a Christmas present.”

  “You know I don’t exactly celebrate JC’s b-day, right?”

  Jerry could break bread with her on that one. “Solstice then. I don’t want Riona here when Marc shows up. I need to deal with it alone. Would you sponsor her on the Mountain?”

  Her fingers looped her cup. “You sure you want to subject someone who looks like her to my family? I can’t make any vows for her safety there. Hades in particular has a thing for redheads.”

  “I know, Milady. But sometimes you just have to go with the devil you know.”

  Chapter 20

  What Riona did not place on the counter, as Dee and Jerry looked on, was a severed kraken’s head or a box of tourist flyers filled with glossy pictures of the Canadian Tundra, and a complete set of the greatest hits of Neil Diamond, alphabetized. Yet, for all their comprehension of why she was covering their kitchen counter in what she in fact was, those might have resulted in fewer cocked heads and vacant expressions.

  She weighed herself on her hands as she leaned across the kitchen island, glaring at Dee in his boxers and Jerry in his briefs. “What? Can’t a girl unpack groceries without getting the third degree?”

  Dee’s hand went to his eyes, trying to rub away the sleep. “Sure you can, but if you do it at 4 A.M. on a Saturday, we’re bound to come running. Come on, Ree. I wouldn’t be surprised if you woke up all the dead in the North Church Cemetery with the racket you were making.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I went grocery shopping. Hope you don’t mind, I used your car.”

  Jerry nosed about in a few of the sacks. In the third, his hand shot in to the unknown and removed—in a manner akin to a magician with a rabbit—a twelve-pound, plastic-wrapped, frozen turkey.

  “Are you going American domestic on us, Keystone?” he queried as the incriminating poultry twirled in a slow rotation from his hand.

  “I’ve asked you not to call me that. Marc used to …” The words died on her tongue. Rounding the island, she cradled the beheaded beast in her arms. “I’ve never made a Thanksgiving dinner. I realized that as I was tossing and turning last night.”

  “Thanksgiving was three weeks ago.”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly in the mood then.”

  Dee pulled himself to the other side of the kitchen, yanking down the canister of coffee from the cupboard. “Never knew you were the cooking type. I think the most I’ve ever seen you whip up is a takeout menu and microwave popcorn.”

  Riona shoved the bird into the refrigerator before she turned and started to unload other goods; various assortment
s of vegetables, both of the fresh and canned variety, jars of gelatinous goo that was hopefully turkey gravy, rolls boasting a Hawaiian heritage, and six bottles of wine.

  Six bottles. For three people.

  Riona huffed as she slammed the refrigerator door closed. “It’s just a big, fat bird and a few side dishes. How hard can it be?”

  “I’m what?”

  “Picking up my mother,” Riona repeated.

  She stood just outside his bedroom door at the tender hour of eight A.M., her arms crossed over her chest and her fingers tapping on her biceps. He’d gone back to sleep after assuring that their kitchen wasn’t being ransacked by thieves, but he’d really hoped to achieve double digits in to the morning before getting up again.

  “Use Dee’s car. I already asked him, he says it’s cool. You do know how to drive, don’t you?”

  “I was a gnosis demon, if you’ll recall.” His fingers labored to rid his human eyes of the sleep crusted in the corner. “Molly know I’m coming?”

  “Do you think I’d warn her in advance so we could all be victims of pre-meditated ridicule? No, she doesn’t. I called the home, though, and told them you’d be picking her up around ten or eleven. They were not entirely opposed to the idea of her staying here the whole weekend. Funny, since I didn’t even ask.”

  That gave him ten times the jolt any cup of coffee could. “Thank the gods. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “Not unless a national disaster strikes rendering all forms of public and private transit dead, no. Even then, we’d do our best to find a horse and buggy.”

  Groaning, he turned back into his room to shimmy into a pair of jeans and an overly-worn, long-sleeve plaid shirt.

  Molly Dade’s tongue was unnaturally still as he loaded her extra oxygen tank in to the trunk. Riona’s mother tended toward the petite and shrunken down side. It looked like someone had left an albino raisin on the front seat. So different from his own mother. Though his personal human memories were fuzzy, Jerry vaguely recalled Julia Gallicus back in Ancient Alexandria being called on to weigh down their ships in port while anchors were repaired.