Second, while I might have hoped for a friendly genie in the Barbara Eden mold, what I got was Mr. Clean. That is, he looks like Mr. Clean, with the bald pate, the bushy eyebrows, the gold earrings, the rumbling voice and the steroidal musculature. His name is Abishanizad. I call him Mr. Clean.
And finally, genies cannot, in fact, grant wishes. At least Mr. Clean can’t. Or won’t. I tried.
I hit the power switch on the Zenith—this ancient artifact didn’t come with a remote control—and the spirit appeared on the screen in all his thirteen-inch black-and-white glory.
“What do you want, mortal? Still wishing for a larger bra size?”
“I was fourteen when I made that wish. Let it go.”
Mr. Clean is my familiar, but I don’t think he’s particularly satisfied with the arrangement. He’s arrogant, overbearing, sarcastic, sexist and generally unpleasant. Then again, ancient earth spirit, unfathomable power, dawn of time—it could be worse.
“What do you want? I have things to do.”
“Like what? You live in a TV.”
“Springer is on.” No wonder he’s always in a bad mood.
“Tell me everything you know about possession. It’s really important.”
“It’s nine-tenths of the law. Can I go now?”
“No, I mean the other kind.”
“Oh. You don’t have enough time.”
“For what?”
Mr. Clean sighed, and it sounded like the Santa Ana winds wheezing in from the desert. “For me to tell you everything I know about possession,” he said.
“How much time do I need?” I said, checking my watch.
“You’ll be dead before I get to the good parts.”
“Oh. Okay, how about I ask you specific questions, and you answer them as best you can in terms that a puny and barely sentient mortal woman can understand?”
“Fine. It is not an insignificant request,” he said.
And so the bartering began. This is why I don’t call on Mr. Clean more often. If there’s a downside to having a jinn as a familiar rather than an extra set of batteries, this is it. Everything I ask of him is a favor he says I’ll have to repay in kind someday.
The key, here, is someday. I won’t have to do a favor for him immediately, and in fact I won’t have to repay the favors for as long as he remains my familiar. So the exchange is never a simple “I’ll do this for you if you do that for me” kind of thing. The price is set in hypothetical terms of the sorts of tasks I might someday do for him when he’s no longer my familiar. It’s kind of like using a credit card when you’re not really sure how much you’re spending or when you’ll have to pay it back.
“What are we talking here?” I asked. “Like, I could visit you one day and rake your sand dune.”
“I don’t live in a sand dune. It’s not that kind of desert.”
Really, it’s exasperating. “Well, what then? How about a Hershey bar with almonds? You like those. I’d bring you one—all you’d have to do is ask.”
“One Hershey bar, one question,” he countered.
“I’m probably going to have a lot of questions, but I’m not sure how many.”
“You could bring me a Hershey bar once a month.”
“Once a year, duration proportional to the number of questions.”
“Done,” said Mr. Clean, crossing his arms. “Ask your questions.”
On the surface, this looked pretty cut-and-dried. Unfortunately I hadn’t just agreed literally to bring Mr. Clean a candy bar once a year. I’d agreed to do some similar service, a favor of like magnitude. It was like throwing in a player to be named later in a baseball trade. Of course, there’s absolutely no way for me to keep a precise record of these transactions. I figure I’ll just try to weasel out of anything unpleasant if and when the time comes.
“I need to know how to protect a victim of possession.”
“What kind?” asked Mr. Clean.
“A guy. He’s young, gorgeous, he has these little dimples when he—”
“No, monkey brain, I mean what kind of possession.”
“There’s different kinds?”
“Demonic, ghostly, spiritual—benevolent and malign, to name just the most common instances.”
“My bad guy channels juice from the Beyond and rolls with a spooky mummy jar, so I’m thinking ghostly possession.” I described the ritual murders.
“If the entity is channeling juice from the Beyond, it is not a ghost. A ghost is juice from the Beyond, but it has no power to manipulate that medium. In other words, based on the evidence you have presented, you are precisely wrong. The entity is not a ghost, but it could be a demon or spirit.”
I ignored the insult. “A demon—like a fallen angel?”
“A demon is not a fallen angel. The Fallen do not possess people. They are angels. They can manifest in the earthly realm and smite cities. Don’t you read?”
“So if a demon isn’t a fallen angel, what is it? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve always heard—”
“A demon is one of the Firstborn.”
I just waited. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to give him the satisfaction of vocalizing my ignorance. Plus, by baiting me into asking stupid questions, he was angling for more candy bars.
Mr. Clean sighed—again with the wheezing. “The Firstborn were the pre-Adamic race created and given dominion over the earth. The one created before humans.”
I tried to let it sink in and basically came up empty. “Sounds like heresy to me, baldy.” Sometimes I throw in an insulting nickname, just because. “You’re lucky—back in the day, they’d have your chestnuts roasting on an open fire for that.”
Mr. Clean’s laughter crackled from the set’s tiny speaker. “I am an immortal spirit of earth and air. I believe I will take my chances. Besides, it is in your Book, and once again, you have demonstrated that you are incapable of reading anything more challenging than Cosmo.”
That was a dirty lie, and yet I knew I would never win a scriptural debate with Mr. Clean. Gangsters, as a rule, are never the ones sitting in the front pew on Sunday.
“Okay,” I said, “forget the religious angle for a minute. You said pre-Adamic, as in before Adam. This is the twenty-first century. We know now the whole Adam and Eve thing was just an analogy.”
“Metaphor,” said Mr. Clean.
“I’m pretty sure it’s an analogy,” I said.
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
“Okay, just a metaphor then. Anyway, we evolved. There were lots of species that had dominion over the earth before us, like dinosaurs.” A sudden, terrible inspiration struck me. “Dinosaurs didn’t get bitch-slapped into extinction by a meteor? They turned into demons?”
Mr. Clean was rubbing his temples. “The physical evolves. The spiritual, I assure you, was created. Your Genesis story is a metaphorical description of the spiritual creation of your race.”
“So you’re saying humans weren’t the first race given souls?”
“Just so.”
“And you’re saying these Firstborn guys turned into demons?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they were given free will.”
“So were we. Don’t you read?”
“But you were given something else.”
“Like what?”
“Conscience. Empathy. The knowledge of good and evil.”
“Heresy!” I cried. “Right there, that’s big-time heresy, I’m sure of it. Satan, the apple, that’s when everything went to shit.”
“It all went exactly according to plan. The Morning Star was the fall guy.”
I crossed myself and eased away from the TV set. I’m a gangster and a sorcerer, but I was also raised Roman Catholic.
“Satan is evil,” I said. “I know that’s in my Book.”
Mr. Clean shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yes, Lucifer rebelled, and he Fell for it. Hard. He tainted the soul of humanity w
ith the knowledge of good and evil. But only because he—and a few others, the rest of the Fallen—recognized that someone had to do it.”
“Yeah, pride. See, that’s it right there. He thought he knew better than God. That’s why he Fell.” I noticed that I was shaking my finger at the TV, I suppose in righteous indignation. “Anyway…why? Why did someone have to do it?”
“Because the Firstborn were a disaster. They were created as they had to be created, creatures of pure will. Without conscience. Without empathy. Without that little voice in their heads to whisper to them the difference between good and evil. And so they were ruled utterly by their passions—they literally did whatever they wanted, when they wanted, without regard for the pain and suffering it might cause others. They didn’t know any better. It was inevitable.”
“So then, why didn’t God just give us a conscience?” I asked. “I mean, assuming for a moment I believe this heretical bullshit that He didn’t.” I was starting to understand why my religion generally warns people off trafficking with spirits. I felt my soul getting a little overheated just having this conversation.
“The whole point of creating both you and the Firstborn was that you would have free will. You would be made in the image of the Creator. That is what distinguished you from all the other beings that had been created before, including the angelic host. This in itself is evidence that the Rebellion was part of the Plan. Lucifer, being an angel, had no free will. Ergo, he could not have chosen to rebel. Likewise, only beings with free will could be given dominion and bring the Divine Plan to fruition in the earthly realm.”
“Okay, but version one-point-oh didn’t go so well, so God had to try again.”
“Yes. But the Eternal does not make mistakes. There is only one way it can do a thing. It is bound by its own perfection, by its own Plan.”
“So, then…version two-point-oh, us, was going to end up the same as the Firstborn, created without knowledge of good and evil.”
“Yes.”
“But God’s hands were tied, so to speak, and He would just have to keep trying, the exact same way, every time.”
“Correct. And everyone knew it. The Infinite could not directly constrain the free will of humanity—”
“So Lucifer did it for him,” I finished.
“Yes. Just as the Creator knew he would. As I said, it was all according to the Plan. This is why there had to be a War in Heaven. This is why the Morning Star had to Fall. It was his destiny.”
“Wait, God knew Lucifer would betray Him?”
“Of course the Omniscient knew it. Duh.” Mr. Clean didn’t usually go in for slang. He must have been especially frustrated with my sluggish cogitating. “All that unfolds does so in accordance with the Will.”
“But,” I said, flailing desperately for Sunday school lessons, “something isn’t right, here. Before Adam and Eve ate the metaphorical apple, everything was perfect. It was paradise.”
Mr. Clean shrugged. “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Things started out okay with the Firstborn, too, but they went downhill fast. Humans took the apple. They had but one rule, and they broke it. Free will without constraint—it always leads to the same place.”
“But they only took the apple because Lucifer interfered!”
Mr. Clean nodded. “Indeed.”
My head hurt. “It seems like a paradox.”
“Things do get complicated when one contemplates the motivations and intrigues of eternal and omniscient superbeings.”
“What were we talking about again?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“Demonic possession.”
“Oh, yeah. So the Firstborn, demons, they do that sort of thing?”
“Yes. They were cast out before humans were made, and they still lust for the dominion of the earth that was denied them.”
“So if my friend is being possessed by a demon, how do I get rid of it? Exorcism?”
“He’s not.”
“He’s not? After all the heresy, now you tell me he’s not?” I was pissed, but this kind of thing is par for the course with Mr. Clean. Like I said, I try not to turn on the TV any more than I have to.
“Demons were created of this world. When they possess a host, their corrupted, physical forms—forms you would call monstrous—assert themselves. This tends to have pronounced and readily visible effects on the victim.” He shrugged. “You’ve seen The Exorcist.”
“Yeah, green vomit, uninhibited head rotation, that kind of stuff.”
“And more, if the possession persists. Eventually the host will be completely replaced by the demon, in both body and soul. From what you have described, your boyfriend does not exhibit any of these characteristics.”
“No, he’s hot,” I agreed. “All I got were the black eyes and the creepy voice. Okay, not a ghost, not a demon, that leaves spirits. How did I know we’d have to run through all the options?”
“Not all. As I said, only the most common forms. If you would like, we can also rule out animal possession, sorcerous possession—”
“Sorcerous possession? What about that one? How do we know it’s an evil spirit and not an evil sorcerer?”
“Because the possessor was channeling magic from the Beyond. Can you do that?”
I frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“Of course not. A sorcerer’s magic comes from this world.”
“Okay, fine, an evil spirit then. How do I get rid of it?”
“Benevolent or malign?” asked Mr. Clean.
“Definitely malign. As in, ritually skinning and crucifying guys.”
“In this case, the distinction I make refers to the effect on the host, rather than the moral quality of any actions that are performed in the course of the possession.”
“Well, I don’t think Adan’s getting any good vibes out of it, if that’s what you mean. As far as I can tell, he isn’t aware of it at all.”
“Malign, then. He probably will not be aware of it until the spirit gains full control and his soul is consigned to the Beyond.”
“How does the spirit gain full control?”
“The spirit will continue possessing the host, as frequently as it is able. You can expect more rituals. I have no way of knowing how many it will require. The more powerful the spirit, the more difficult it is to sustain itself in the mortal world.”
“So the more powerful it is, the more time I have before it gains full control?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” Wimpy and slow would have been even better, but at least this gave me some time. “So why is it squeezing the murder victims?”
“I have no idea.”
“What?”
“I do not know the answer to your question.” This was the first time Mr. Clean had said this to me. I’d have expected him to admit it reluctantly, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “I can speculate, if you like.”
“Will that cost me extra?”
“Of course.”
“Damn. Okay, go ahead. But only a candy bar or two worth of speculation.”
“If the spirit is very powerful, it may need to prepare its vessel for permanent inhabitation.”
“I thought you said all it needed was full control?”
“In this instance, such a spirit would require full control of a host that was capable of sustaining it. The spirit may need to first prepare the host in order to possess it completely without unwanted side effects.”
“What kind of side effects?” I asked.
“Destruction of the host.”
“Oh. So why would it need to squeeze my guys for that?”
“The spirit needs to prepare the host, but filling it with juice from the Beyond would also destroy it. Think of it as interior decorating or home improvement. The host needs fresh paint and flooring, maybe some new cabinetry and granite countertops in the kitchen, but the spirit has no such materials of its own. It has to acquire them from somewhere else.”
“You watch way too much TV.�
��
“I’m missing Springer,” said Mr. Clean, the barb passing safely over his shiny dome.
“Okay, this is good. So how do I stop the spirit from gaining full control?”
“You could kill the host,” Mr. Clean suggested.
“I’d really like to go out with him again. Next?”
“You could find the spirit and destroy it.”
“But it’s not possessing him all the time. Do I just follow him around and jump him if he tries to skin someone?”
“No, you cannot destroy the spirit in the mortal world without also destroying the host. You will have to confront the spirit in the Between.”
“What’s that?”
“What does it sound like, ape-girl?”
“Uh, the place between this world and the Beyond?”
“Right.”
“There’s a place between this world and the Beyond?”
“Yes.”
Damn. That one was going to cost me a Hershey bar.
“Fine. How do I get there and find the spirit?” I mentally congratulated myself on the twofer.
“That is two questions.”
Damn. “Fine, just answer.”
“I can show you a spell that will allow you to walk in the spaces Between.”
“Cool, and?”
“Where the host is, the spirit will be. The Between is a shadow of this world. Find the place where the spirit possesses the host.”
“Like his loft?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“You will need a guide.” Mr. Clean arched his eyebrows. “I could arrange one.”
“I can’t find his apartment on my own?”
“Yes, the Between is an analog of this world, so you should be able to find this place. But something will probably find you first.”
“So it’s dangerous?”
“It’s the kind of place inhabited by evil spirits that possess mortals, and many other such things.”
Mob Rules Page 12
