by J. R. Mabry
93
“What’s it like to be possessed by a demon?” Bishop leaned forward, looking in Richard’s eyes as if he expected to see a little devil lounging in his iris. The close heat of his body and the musty smell of him made Richard light-headed—and in fact, a little crazy. His cock started expanding, seemingly of its own volition, and he began to sweat. He shifted in his chair.
“Uh…it’s like being handcuffed to your college roommate at all times,” Richard said. “And not your bookish roommate, either. I mean the boorish asshole who thinks that women are just jizz sponges—who has no manners, no boundaries, and no self-control.”
I love you, too, Duunel said spitefully.
“Oh, and he never shuts up,” Richard said. “Unless, of course, you’re about to be raped by a hulking Neanderthal, in which case he’s nowhere to be found.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Bishop narrowed his eyes and squirmed uncomfortably.
“Sounds like it,” Richard agreed. “Let me process the trauma of it a little more, and I’ll tell you about it. Right now…I don’t care to relive it.”
“It sounds like you’ve had a hell of a time,” Bishop said. He reached out and touched Richard’s hand. Richard squeezed it and looked in Bishop’s eyes. He could lean over. He could kiss him.
You do that and I’ll short-circuit something in your brain. That’s a promise, Duunel said. Now back the fuck off, homo-Romeo.
Richard blinked. He smiled. The moment had passed. Bishop withdrew his hand, but not the subject. “Are you partnered?”
Richard shook his head. “No. I had a boyfriend, but he broke up with me a few months ago. Still…adjusting. I had a girlfriend before that.” His eyes darkened. “She died.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bishop said. “What ha…how? I mean, if you’re okay…”
Richard held up a hand. “I’m okay. She…was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Frenzy demon. Massive head trauma. They kept her alive for a few days, but then…” Richard’s heart felt like lead. He tried not to think of Emma, and on a good day he succeeded. “One of the risks of our business. Partners are also sometimes in the line of fire.”
“Are your brothers in the order partnered, then?”
“And sisters. Yeah, all of them, now,” Richard said. “Except me. And I can’t. Right now, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Bishop asked.
“Well, if I met a wonderful woman, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he said.
“Oh…” Bishop leaned back, nodding slowly. “I get it. You can play for either team, but the demon—”
“He’s strictly a straight shooter,” Richard nodded. “And he’s pretty vocal about it.”
“That’s a bitch,” Bishop said, giving Richard an odd, forlorn look.
“Tell me about it,” Richard agreed.
“Is this a…permanent arrangement?” Bishop asked.
“No, it’s…let’s just say it’s a marriage of convenience,” Richard said.
“How long does he plan to stay?”
Richard blew air out of his cheeks. “Until we can find a suitable host.”
“You mean, someone for him to possess?” It was Bishop’s turn to look aghast.
Richard drained the last of his coffee. It was his fifth cup, and he was beginning to feel distinctly buzzy. “Well, right. I talked him out of inhabiting a little girl. We’re just waiting for the right…person to come along.”
“And you feel comfortable…damning someone like that? Isn’t that a little…I don’t know, God-like?”
“Tell me about it,” Richard said, playing with the ring of wet coffee on the table. “That’s why he’s still here. I have no idea how to make this decision, or whether he’ll even go along with it when I do. It has to be by mutual consent, of course.”
“And until then you can’t…” He presented the most obvious bedroom eyes Richard had ever seen.
“No,” Richard said. “I can’t take the Eucharist, either. Nothing he’d find offensive.”
“That’s burdensome,” Bishop scowled.
“Yes,” Richard said. “But we have an agreement. If I want him to keep his side of the bargain, I have to keep my side.”
“What’s his side of the bargain?” Bishop asked.
“Not taking over my consciousness and going on a killing and raping spree,” Richard said, matter of factly.
“Oh. That would be bad,” Bishop said.
“It would,” Richard agreed.
94
Kat pressed her hands to her ears to shut out the pain, but the deafening noise continued. She rolled to face the doors, felt the wind of a passing bullet, and tried not to flinch. She forced open her eyes and saw a front line of Secret Service men, complete with their trademark sunglasses and midnight-black suits. Two of them held shotguns, and Kat flinched as fire erupted from their muzzles. Four more of them were emptying the clips on their handguns. Spreading out behind them was a motley assembly of what looked like ordinary people—ten of them, now twenty, now fifty of them pouring out of the conference center, all of them with guns blazing.
She rolled again and watched with fascinated horror the destruction the assault wreaked upon the army of the damned. Plumes of blood erupted as the buckshot tore open arteries and sent brain matter spraying over the roiling horde. Faster than she could count, she saw their attackers fall, and yet others—the demons more adept at working the human bodies, she guessed—seemed undeterred, despite the fact that they sported two, three, five blooms of blood where the bullets had entered them. These continued to advance, and Kat saw a shotgun blast to the head finally fell one of them. The agents must have picked up on this because the heads of the other, more determined attackers were not far behind. Kat flinched as she saw the top half of a woman’s head disappear before her eyes. The neatly dressed woman pitched forward as a broken string of pearls scattered and rolled toward Kat over the concrete of the entrance landing.
Motion atop a far building caught her eye. The figure that must have been Larch was waving his hands wildly. She couldn’t hear him, but as the horde on their side of the warding line ceased their advance, she guessed that he had called a retreat. But how could they hear him? she wondered. She didn’t know, but she couldn’t bother to ponder it now, either.
There were more people behind her firing guns than there were possessed on their side of the warding line. These few fell quickly, or pressed back into the wall of their fellows. Kat watched, fascinated, as the great mass of the damned turned to shuffle out of the alley toward Fourth Street. Meanwhile, those who had faced them at the very edge of the warding line dropped like stones as the pressure from their rear was removed. Kat realized that those who had not been shot had been crushed by those pressing from behind.
A great cheer rose up behind her, and Kat turned again to see cowboy hats tossed into the air and agents dispassionately speaking into walkie-talkies. Struggling wearily to her feet, she stumbled over to where Mikael lay crumpled in a heap. “Call an ambulance!” she called to no one in particular. But she saw several of the convention-goers reach for cell phones, and she wordlessly blessed them.
Looking up, she saw Doug crouched beside her. “Thank you,” she said, but before he could reply she saw a flash of red in his eyes, and his face became slack. “Oh no, you fuckin’ don’t,” she said, and without thinking she grabbed for one of the dropped planks and clocked him across the jaw. She saw a tangle of teeth and blood fly in a red arc. As the man tottered before her, she tossed the plank, seized him by his hair and raised her voice in a defiant prayer.
“Okay, Jesus, you and me haven’t done this before, but this sorry guy has suffered enough. I can’t drive out this demon, but you can, and if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s about fucking time. So, if you got it, you’d better bring it ’cause this guy fuckin’ needs it.”
Nothing happened. Kat felt angry. She remembered Susan talking about holding God accountable for his promises. Something in
her snapped, and she raised her head to the sky and screamed, “Are you fuckin’ deaf? You’ve got responsibilities here, asshole! Do it!”
She stamped her foot to punctuate her command, and as she did, Doug began to jerk uncontrollably. His eyes rolled back in his head, and a presence rose up in him—his eyes glowed bright red, and a smile spread across his face in a display of naked, proud wickedness. Kat realized that she was staring into the face of pure evil, and it made her spine feel like ice. She was riveted to the spot, unable to flee, unable to speak.
Before anyone else could move, the possessed man’s face shook, and the smile faded, replaced by confusion and dismay. The being howled, and the sound ripped at Kat’s soul. But she stood her ground as the howl ended and the man collapsed to the concrete like a sack of rags.
The onlookers holstered their guns, wide-eyed, and began to applaud. Terry rushed to Kat and caught her as she began to topple. He steadied her, hugging her to him, and speaking reassuringly. “You did it, Kat. You hung in there and brought the message. You did great. Just relax. The demon is gone. Your friend, there, is delivered.”
“He’s delivered of his teeth,” said one of the Republicans, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, chewing tobacco. He spat.
“What in God’s name…” Kat heard a familiar voice and turned to see Governor Ivory emerge from the doorway, his face growing white as he surveyed the damage. A shorter figure walked up beside him, taking his arm to support him. Kat rocked back on her heels to get a better look at him. It was Bishop Preston.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of, David,” Preston said. “That’s why I hired these good people.”
“Holy God…” Ivory looked like he was about to fall over.
With a jerk of his head, Terry motioned for Dylan to go over. Dylan scowled momentarily at Terry but then obeyed. He walked up to the governor and the bishop, transferred the ragged board thick with blood and hair to his left hand, and offered his right to shake. Governor Ivory stared down at it in horror. Kat saw that it, too, was covered with blood. “Uh…sorry ’bout that,” Dylan said, and wiped his hand on his cassock. He offered it again, but it was little better.
Nevertheless, Preston took the hand and shook it warmly. “Your courage is heroic,” the bishop said. “I’m so grateful that you’re here.”
“Holy shit…” Ivory continued to marvel.
Terry walked up beside Dylan and offered his own hand to the bishop. “Good to see you again, Bishop Preston. Sorry to be so…unpresentable.”
“Please come in, and avail yourselves of my dressing room,” the bishop said, with real compassion in his eyes. “You can clean up and get some refreshment. Our Secret Service folks will want to speak to you—I’ll have them meet you there.”
“One of our order mates is wounded,” Dylan said. “We need to make sure he gets taken care of.”
Kat stood. “I’ll stay with him and wait for the ambulance,” she said. “And Dylan, I’d like to go to the hospital with him.”
Dylan looked uncertain. He looked at Mikael, then up at Kat. “We need you here,” he said. “But Ah understand. If’n it was Susan lyin’ there, ain’t nuthin’ would keep meh from her. Okay, but if ya can come back, do it. If ya can’t…Ah understand.” He turned back to Preston and placed his hand on Terry’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
95
“Well, can I show you around?” Bishop asked.
“I was about to ask about the restroom,” Richard said. “You only rent coffee, after all.”
Bishop nodded and stood up. “This way,” he said.
“Toby, stay,” Richard commanded. The dog, reclining completely on the floor with all four paws in the air, only blinked at him.
Bishop led Richard around the bar, where an open door led to a short hallway. “Here’s my room,” he pointed into a door on his right. “It’s my office, too,” he said. Richard glanced in and saw about what he had been expecting—a desk was in one corner, adorned with piles of papers. A window directly above it illuminated it brilliantly. On the other side of the room, a twin mattress lay on the floor, covered by a single fitted sheet. A wad of bedclothes lay coiled upon it like a snail.
“The restroom is here,” Bishop said, pointing into a room on the left. He pointed to a final door down the hall. “That last room is storage—not much of interest there unless you really want to stare at sacks of coffee beans or beer kegs.”
Richard nodded, still mildly horrified at Bishop’s anchoritic existence. He closed the door of the bathroom and leaned against the sink, feeling a disquieting tangle of emotions. One the one hand, he found Bishop’s warmth, his intellect, and his bookish good looks to be an almost irresistible mix. On the other hand, he was repelled by the magnitude of neurosis that had effectively rendered him a prisoner of his own fear. Richard simply could not imagine that sort of life.
His imagination leaped to the logical consequences of getting involved with such a man. Richard had tried long-distance relationships before. Actually, endured was the word that came to his mind when he thought about such attempts. If he got involved with Bishop, it would mean a lot of travel—and it would all be on him. Bishop, after all, would not travel to Berkeley, would he? Richard sincerely doubted it.
Richard sighed and lifted the lid on the toilet. As he emptied his bladder, he thought about the advantages. He’d finally have a partner who would not resent the time he spent pursuing his vocation. Despite all of Richard’s quirks, Bishop would be grateful to have him. Whoa, boy, Richard warned himself. Just put the brakes on here. You don’t even know if he’s a bottom.
Okay, did not need that image, Duunel complained. Your faggoty obsession with this guy borders on cruelty for the rest of us stuck in your head.
“If I only had a dollar for each of the times I’ve heard that sentence,” Richard noted aloud.
I’m just sayin’, Duunel almost whined.
“I’m keeping my promises,” Richard assured him. “But it’s not like you filter your thoughts before you so generously share them.”
You don’t think so, huh? Duunel countered.
That caught Richard off guard. Did Duunel have the ability to filter his thoughts? Richard had assumed that Duunel’s limitations were similar to his own. Now he wondered about that. If that were true, what was Duunel not sharing? Richard shuddered at the thought of it.
Richard washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. He dried both quickly and rejoined Bishop on the floor of the coffee shop. The working group was breaking up, and Bishop was exchanging hugs with several of the patrons. Richard watched them as they left. As the screen door slammed, Bishop turned to face him. “Just you and me,” he said.
“Don’t forget the dog and the demon in my head,” Richard said.
“You say the sexiest things,” Bishop noted.
Richard smiled broadly—a little too broadly, he decided, and tempered himself.
Bishop checked his watch. “Hey, I’ve got a lunch rush coming in about an hour. Care to help me make sandwiches?”
“I’d love to,” Richard said. He followed Bishop back behind the bar. Bishop pulled several bags containing different kinds of breads from the refrigerator and set them on the workspace below the giant mirror.
“We’re going to prep these for fillings—lunchmeat, cukes, and sprouts. Let’s put ham here, turkey here, and sliced beef here, like this,” Bishop said, preparing one sliced beef sandwich as an example.
“No condiments?” Richard asked.
“We’ll add condiments and the kind of cheese the customer wants when it’s ordered. In the meantime, the bulk of the work is done,” Bishop smiled.
“Sounds good,” Richard said, nodding.
“If you’ll do that, I’ll get the soup ready to go,” Bishop said. For a while they worked together in contented silence. Then Bishop asked, “So, your order is in need of a bishop. What happened to your old bishop?”
Richard felt a heaviness descend on him.
After all, it had only been a few days since he’d heard the news about Bishop Tom. Richard missed his friend terribly. Briefly, he recounted what he knew of Tom’s motorcycle accident.
“That’s terrible,” Bishop said. “You see? That’s exactly why I don’t go out. The world is not a safe place for mitred Americans.”
Richard smiled, but it was a thin smile. He appreciated Bishop’s attempt to cheer him, but he needed to grieve Tom. And with all that had been going on in the last week, he hadn’t really had much time to do that. He thought about sharing these thoughts with Bishop, but he felt too tired all of a sudden to try.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Bishop touched his arm, apparently noticing Richard slide into himself. “I didn’t mean to make light of your bishop’s death. I take it, it was more than just a professional relationship?”
Richard nodded. “He was a very close friend. There aren’t many people who understand what we’re doing—not really. And he…well, he really put his neck out for us.” Richard remembered back to how Bishop Tom had stood up to the other bishops of the Old Catholic Synod of the Americas. He had quit rather than allow the Blackfriars to be cut loose without a bishop. He knew how important what they were doing really was. Richard made an attempt to be more lively.
“So, when he died, we lost our connection to the apostolic succession,” Richard said.
“Along with your ability to perform the sacraments,” Bishop nodded.
“Worse than that, we lost our ability to command demons,” Richard said gravely.
Tragic, said Duunel in his head. Cue the violins. Richard ignored him.
“Which leaves you…” Bishop began.
“In a very vulnerable position,” Richard finished. “Before I left the friary, we had an army of several hundred possessed people loitering just across the street. If it weren’t for the wards that Terry set years ago…” he trailed off, staring off into space.
