He’s winding down now. His rabbit trailing is complete and noticing the time, he jumps back on track and goes bullet point by bullet point through his lecture notes, like the staccato plunking of a novice pianist. When he finally wraps it up, he opens his case and removes a stack of papers, his lecture notes, for us to study before next week’s exam and asks his front-row pet to hand them out.
The student responds like a dog who hasn’t seen his master in years and explodes with happy tail and butt wags when the scent is recalled.
Ugh.
The professor turns to me while the class distributes the notes, the noise of rustling backpacks and zippers preparing for the stampede that will happen in just moments. Shipley hands me two sheets of paper stapled together. The top page is covered with his lecture outline, but the second sheet is blank except for the inky scrawling of his hand.
St Patrick’s. 8pm. Alone. Bring my books. All will be explained.
An hour later, I have two MetroCards loaded and am waiting outside the Social Sciences building’s front entrance. The dogs of war have been let loose in my brain and while I do plan on meeting Shipley, it’s only to get my answer… and on my terms. I’ll be there early. I won’t have his books. And Fritz will be with me. Shipley can go to hell if he thinks I’m going to face this demon lord business alone.
Eventually, a mop of dirty-blond hair, attached to a burgundy hoodie bounces out of the building and down the steps. I step up from behind him as he scrolls through goodness knows what on his phone.
“Fritz! Got a sec?”
My only friend jolts, dropping his phone. As he ungracefully flaps his arms, trying to snatch it on its descent, he fails and the impact on the concrete leaves a permanent web of cracks in the screen.
“Oh, come on, Henry! Look what you did! Why’d you sneak up on me like that, bruh?”
“You should pay more attention to your surroundings when you walk and not stare at your tech crack. Besides, why don’t you have a phone cover to protect that thing?” I ask insincerely. There’s something sinister in my satisfaction in the phone’s demise.
“Just bought it…”
“Oh. Insurance?”
“…No.”
“Dude. That really sucks, Fritz. Now I guess you’ll have no way to text all of your friends.” I stare at him, punctuating the insult, hoping it doesn’t land too hard.
Fritz chuckles. “You know you’re my only friend, Henry.”
“Yes, Fritz. And friends spend time together, right?”
“Right. They do, but they don’t break each other’s phone, bruh.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” I lie. “Listen, I’m going to need you to be my wingman tonight. I have a date, and I’m meeting her at St. Patrick’s at eight p.m.”
“Good for you, bruh! But I’m not a third-wheel type of guy. Are you sure you need me to come along?”
I try to wrap my deception in thicker layers of enticement. “She’s got a roommate who will be coming as well.”
“A double date?” Fritz’s eyes went wide. I can tell this was way out of his comfort zone, but at the dead center of his imaginations.
“Yeah. And if it goes bad for either of us, the other can act ill, or hurt, or something, and have his buddy there to bail him out of the situation.”
“I know what wingman means, Henry.”
“Great. Here’s your MetroCard. Meet me at the Arch at seven fifteen p.m., and we’ll head up there together.”
The day passes uneventfully, for me at least. I’m sure Fritz has veritable diarrhea from the anticipation of a date, and I feel a little guilty for lying to my best friend’s face. It was the only way. If he knew I was going to confront Shipley and possibly risk another paranormal disturbance, he’d turn me down. But if I can get him there, I know he won’t abandon me. Even if he’s pissed.
St. Patrick's Cathedral is a revolving door of tourists at any hour. When Fritz and I arrive, there’s a five-minute wait just to get through security. Fritz wonders what kind of girl wants to start a date in a cathedral. And that’s a fair question. That’s typically where dating relationships go to die—in a church, with rings and vows. His suspicions are valid, but hope burns alive in his imagination.
Once we’re in, we examine the architecture, the gothic ceilings, statues, flying buttresses, blah, blah, blah. Shipley should be here soon, so I take a seat in a pew in plain view of the entrance. Fritz goes off to burn a candle for my father… at my request. While he’s preoccupied with the task, eight o’clock rolls around, and Shipley enters. It takes a few minutes for the professor to get past security. The guards seem to take pleasure in making him go through extra measures. Shipley’s grumbling and arguing augment their sadistic torments, but the line grows longer and more restless. So, they let their prey go, and he stomps up the aisle in a heap of misery and agitation. Here comes bridezilla.
Shipley takes a seat next to me and rumbles out the last few protests under his breath. I hear a few words that could make the statues of Mary and baby Jesus blush. Finally, he turns his attention to me.
“Well, Mr. Halfmoon, how did it go? Did you find the Annunaki?”
I gush. I tell him everything. Down to the smallest detail. But I’m not speaking to him as much, and I’m speaking at him. I’m angry. I wasn’t prepared, and he knows it. When I get to the part where Og takes possession of the woman in the stall, I’m so worked up emotionally that I’m standing and practically shouting at the professor, leaning over him.
“Calm yourself, Henry!” Shipley snaps, looking about the room and noticing the tourists staring. I’m making a scene. Even the security guards have noticed, and one of them is walking towards us.
Crap.
“The name didn’t work. It was the right name, but it didn’t work. Your stupid books are wrong.”
“Perhaps you should’ve read them thoroughly and gone back over my notes.”
“I read your stupid books.”
“Oh really?” Shipley's voice drips with sarcasm. “Then you must have read in Titanomachy that Perseus used the Harpe to slay the Gorgon Medusa.”
My cheeks flush. I had skimmed over the first book, confident in my knowledge of Greek mythology. He’s right. I didn’t read them thoroughly, and I don’t know what I don’t know.
“I… missed that.”
“Well then. Perhaps you’d better examine your own failing to follow my simple instructions before you flail me for your lack of commitment to the cause.” Shipley stands to his feet, eyes burning with indignation under his bushy white brows.
“Now, give me my books, Halfmoon.”
I’ve just faced a demon lord and walked through the spiritual plane. The squatty little professor’s commands are hardly intimidating.
“No. I’m keeping them until I’ve finished them.”
Shipley’s face is bright red with fury, but I’m not backing down.
“I’ll give them to you after I figure out how to fight the Annunaki… and win. Then I’ll have them back to you.”
The professor and I engage in a staring contest, both standing at our feet between two pews in the middle of St. Patrick’s.
His small tweed-covered chest is heaving as he tries to calm himself, while I quickly relax the muscles in my face and politely assure the security guard, who is now at Shipley’s elbow, that everything is fine.
“Thank you, Officer,” I say in a perfectly controlled and respectful tone. “There was a misunderstanding. I mistook this kind man (I nod at Shipley) for one of the panhandlers. I can see that I was mistaken. My apologies. I’ll keep the noise down.”
That was enough to ward him off.
When the guard walks away, Shipley looks over my shoulder. His face goes white, and his eyes bulge in surprise. Or it could be terror. The bushy white brows retreat up his forehead, and his mouth hangs open, words not coming to his aid. His chin trembles, and he collapses, falling back into the pew, unable to look away from whatever it is behind me.
&nbs
p; “Are you okay, Professor?!”
Shipley hisses, “What’s he doing here?”
I turn to look at the object of Shipley’s torment. It’s Fritz, who’s completed his stroll around the cathedral and is now walking across the pew from behind me.
“Where are the ladies, bruh? It’s past eight… oh, hey Professor!”
I nod at Fritz, still unsure of why the professor is so frightened at seeing him.
“He’s with me,” I tell Shipley coolly.
“I… told you to… come alone!” A look of betrayal and total confusion on the professor’s face.
“Fritz knows everything, Professor. Everything. And from now on, I go nowhere alone. No. Don’t look at me like that. And don’t even ask. After I cross over next time, I’ll return your books.”
Fritz has a disapproving scowl on his face. He knows I’ve duped him into coming here to meet up with Shipley. The girls were just a carrot, dangling from a dishonestly wicked stick. It was a jerk move. I know.
Shipley gathers himself but keeps a wary eye on Fritz. “You must not fail again, Halfmoon. Eight women have now been possessed. One more, and they’ll have enough to complete the ritual.”
“There’s not much I can do until the next full moon, Professor. Except study and prepare. In the meantime, how about you tell me about this ritual.”
Shipley gets to his feet. And backs slowly away from us, but mostly Fritz. What is it that he sees that I can’t?
“Not here. Not with him near.” He hisses and nods towards my friend.
“Another night. Tomorrow perhaps. Your place? Say… nine o’clock? I promise to come by myself.”
Shipley nods and rushes off as if a zombie horde were clawing at his legs.
I turn to Fritz, who just shrugs his shoulders, confused as I at the professor’s strange behavior.
That night, we head back to my place, but on the way, we swing by Fritz’s dorm to grab a fresh change of clothes for him. He’s not letting me out of his sight until he’s caught up on what’s going on and he’s ready to cross over with me.
Fritz’s dorm is a messy cauldron of dirty, discarded laundry, empty pizza boxes, and everything else you’d expect a college dorm to be, but smaller. This is New York, after all. On a cheap desk near the door is a small empty aquarium. The water had been poured out recently, and the mildew odor dominates that corner of the room.
“Sorry. I need to take care of the smell. I know. My fish died. Again. And I never had time to clean the bowl out.”
“What do you mean your fish died again, Fritz?”
“Not the same fish, bruh. I’ve been trying to keep goldfish in that thing, but they keep dying. Like, right when I bring them home from the pet shop. They’re dead the next morning.”
“That stinks, man. Sorry.”
“I’m used to it, bruh. Never had a pet. Mom said that I couldn’t take care of one. Thought I’d give it a try now that I’m on my own.”
“You should try plants, Fritz. That’s a great place to start. Easy to keep alive, and you don’t get emotionally attached to them like you do fish.”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to, but I’ve never had a green thumb.” Fritz directs my attention to the row of terracotta pots lining the windowsills. I walk over to examine the poor specimens. Each pot has pathetic withered stem poking out from bone-dry dirt.
“Dude, I water them every day!” Fritz says angrily, more to himself than to me. “And I keep them in the sunlight here in the window, too. The lady I bought them from told me to use fertilizer as well. So I did that too. I’ve done everything right, Henry. I even talk to them. But they just won’t do anything but die.”
“Maybe you should take up a different hobby, bud. One that doesn’t involve caring for other life forms. Just sayin’.”
I encourage my friend to discard the pots and the tank, then we gather his belongings and trek across the park and back to my place above Village Vapes. Today’s scent, emanating from the shop below, is mango and orange.
I hit the books. I start completely over with book one, and I read aloud to Fritz, who sits at my metal breakfast table and furiously scratches down notes as I read. We’re going to do this together.
Strange. He’s so willing to throw himself into this terrible supernatural quest. My father had to die before I was willing to face up to it. The thought zips through me, but before I have time to analyze it further, my phone vibrates. It’s Mom. I don’t have it in me to talk. Too heavy. So I let it go to voicemail, then immediately listen to her message.
“Hey honey. It’s Mom. I know you’re probably busy with school and everything. But I just wanted to call you and tell you I love you, and that I know you miss your dad. He loved you so much and was so proud of you… Anyway, call me back when you can chat. Miss you, Henry. Oh yeah, I had this weird dream last night. Call me back, and I’ll tell you about it. Bye.”
Chapter 16
Three weeks later, we’re back at my place. The circle is drawn on the wood floor of my apartment. Fritz is on his hands and knees, tracing out the inner triangle, and eye, completing the three-foot-wide Seal of Perseus. When he finishes, we leave and take the subway. Back to St. Patrick’s. In the small memorial garden on the north side of the cathedral, we duck behind a granite monument and make like we’re reading the inscription. But when Fritz gives me the ‘all clear’ nod, I drop down and trace out the Seal once again, in white chalk.
Our next destination is Times Square. The lights blaze and blink, while throngs of people hurry up and down both sides of the street. Between the staircase leading down to the subway and the wall of an office tower, we apply another Seal in white chalk. Then we head over to Grand Central Station.
My first Seal is still there on the lower level platform, faded and scuffled by the thousands of feet that have passed through over the previous three weeks. I take Fritz through every hallway and explain every detail of what had happened.
Except the ladies room, of course.
The Grand Lobby is busier than expected for a weeknight, and finding a place to sit down and make our plans is difficult. But eventually, we grab some chairs at a cell phone charging table overlooking the lobby.
“Shipley told me that the Annunaki only need to possess one more woman. Then they’ll have enough souls to conduct the ritual.” I lower my voice and say the word slowly for effect. But that’s unnecessary. Fritz is scared enough already, taking in everything with earnest sobriety. The gravity of the mission to come weighs upon him, upon us both. But I’ve seen the other side. He’s not yet crossed over, yet he continues to follow me around, blindly drawing chalk circles all over the city, taking copious notes, and preparing himself to help me anyway he can.
He’s not questioned my sanity, or the reality of the events that have taken place. Not once. For the past few days, he’s given up all his other obligations.
Ah, the blind, loyal faith of true friendship.
Good Old Fritz.
“So, did he tell you where the last possession was to take place?” he asks.
“No. But it doesn’t matter if we don’t have the Harpe.” I have no idea where to get such a weapon, but it’s not in this dimension. “The Harpe was a legendary sword wielded by Perseus. That’s how he took Medusa’s head off.”
“So… you’re looking for a sword? In New York?”
“Technically, I’m looking for a sickled blade. The Harpe is a sword with an extra hooked blade, like a sickle protruding from its tip.” I trace the outline on the table. “And no, we’re not looking for it in New York, per se. We’re looking in the… I still don’t know what to call it… parallel spiritual plane… or dimension.”
Fritz crinkled his eyebrows. “Why don’t you just call it what it is? It’s the realm of angels and demons. The Bible’s right, bruh. Just admit it.”
Fritz is a little bold with the statement, and a little off-putting. That’s not like him. But I’m sensing an agitation in him. Perhaps he’s tired of entertainin
g me and following me around in my obsession.
“Could be. At least it’s correct about that. But I don’t recall seeing any angels. Just demons, Fritz,” I say with a sly smile.
“What if you’re the angel? Ever think of that, bruh?”
“I’m no angel, and I don’t believe in them either. Like I said, just demons.”
Fritz gets to his feet, takes a breath, and pats my shoulder. “I have to use the men’s, bruh. BRB. And you’re wrong about angels,” Fritz says with a quiet confidence that suddenly gives me goosebumps. What does he know?
A few minutes later, he returns, and we go over the plan.
“All right, so tonight is the next full moon. I’ll come back here to cross over. I’ll search the area for the next Annunaki. If I don’t find it, I’ll head to Times Square, and cross back over again there.”
“Why Times Square?”
“That’s where the biggest crowds of people are. If I were a demon, I would want as many people to choose from as possible. Besides, once possessed, it's easy to hide in the crowd.”
“Makes sense, I guess. But what about the sword thingy… the what did you call it?”
“Harpe.”
“Right. Aren’t you going to look for that first?”
“Shipley said that the Harpe can be summoned after I cross over. I have to call for it, though.” I can tell I have an embarrassed look on my face. “I would have known that if I had just read the first book he gave me.”
My best friend has a worried look, a bottled dread that can only be capped by his commitment to our friendship.
“And I’ll just wait for you back at your place, right?” Fritz jokingly asked. I can tell that he is only half-joking, though. He’s scared.
“Nope. You’re coming with me. I need you to watch my back. And… I need someone to believe me. I’m not crazy.”
“Shipley believes you, bruh. I do too. After what happened in your apartment last month…”
“Shipley’s crazy, Fritz. A crazy old professor who thinks the world is coming to an end.”
“Is it?” Fritz asks in the innocent tone.
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