Lonny looked stunned. “Flush my weed?”
“Yes. It isn’t doing you any favors.”
“It’s not really that big of a deal.”
“You’re right,” Teacher conceded. “Marijuana isn’t a big deal, but it’s still an issue. You wanted me to teach you, and that’s what I’m doing. Did anything I say not follow rationally? You want to start a band to influence hearts and minds, and I’ve always thought that seems a lot more difficult than it looks on paper. However, your guilt trip has persuaded me to stay on board, and it seems only fitting that I should be your voice of reason when you choose not to use your own. You won’t be able to sing if your voice sounds like mine, and no one will want to listen. And you could spend your time drugged up, or you could spend your time working on music. I have a suspicion that the inspired, druggie artist isn’t as successful as some make it out to be.”
“It’s just pot,” Lonny tried to explain.
“It’s a distraction. This is what you wanted. I won’t be a dictator, but you’ll have to show me that you want to benefit from my wisdom in order to keep receiving it. Deal?”
Lonny sighed and nodded as he reluctantly stood up with the bag in his hand. “This is what I wanted before you told me I was going to have to flush my weed,” he grumbled.
Raul laughed. “Just let me know when you change your mind about me. My offer to find you a better teacher stands.”
***
“You see?” Adversary’s voice asked. “My influence grows.”
Muriel stared at the fallen angel standing before her and the computer in the otherwise basically empty office suite with skepticism. For some reason Muriel couldn’t fathom, this fallen angel, one Gazardiel, had taken a mortal form of a little girl. All demons were able to shape the mortal forms they would be stuck with for the rest of their time on Earth, so Muriel was curious what Gazardiel’s logic had been. As madness accompanied any angel’s fall from Grace to semi-mortality, there may not have been any logic involved.
Though she realized the computer monitor to simply be a representation of Adversary’s presence, Muriel still turned to it as she said, “Are you sure she’s right in the head?”
“I demand to know why I am here!” Gazardiel screeched petulantly.
Muriel narrowed her eyes. “Let me just send this one to Hell. She seems a little scrambled still.”
“No,” Adversary answered. “Gazardiel, you’re here because I summoned you. You, Muriel, and every other demon I bring into my fold will help me crush my enemies. We’ll ascend together, unless, of course, you’re going to be a problem for me. In that case, I’ll give Muriel permission to speed the molecules of your body up so fast that you literally fly apart.”
Gazardiel sneered at the monitor and flipped her fine, platinum blond hair around as if working into a tantrum. “You don’t know me very well.”
“On the contrary,” Adversary replied with a laugh that was particularly eerie through the voice changer. “I know that you’re quite capable of manipulating sentient minds, no matter the type. Consequently, I’m sure you’re thinking about how to force me or Muriel into submission at this very moment. I can assure you that, even if I were in the room with you now, you wouldn’t have the aptitude to overcome my will. And, as for Muriel, I control her completely.”
Muriel only shrugged apathetically.
“Just as I control you completely,” Adversary continued. “Muriel can accelerate or decelerate your matter at a molecular level, but I can simply detach you from your shell and send you to Hell. You are mine, and you will fight for me without question, or you can perish at any time for your insubordination. You get to decide, but do it quickly.”
Gazardiel crossed her arms over her chest and puffed out her bottom lip. “Fine! But she’s not going to order me around.”
“No,” Adversary agreed. “Until such a time as I acquire a general, I will be the one giving orders to my horde.”
“Horde,” Muriel scoffed. “The two of us?” After glaring at Gazardiel, she added, “Maybe one of us?”
“There are more on the way,” Adversary assured her.
“What general?” Gazardiel demanded, ignoring Muriel’s taunt.
“That is something I’ll be addressing shortly. Suffice it to say that there is one candidate in particular who should work nicely.”
***
“You framed me?” Dylan asked through clenched teeth.
Jeremiah nodded and took a drag from his cigarette. “I did.”
The boy did his best to hide his fury. “Why?”
“Timing is crucial,” Jeremiah explained, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “I needed to determine where you would be when the time was right for us to meet, and it gave me the opportunity to learn more about you and how you perform under pressure. But it was most important that you be available when I needed you, that you not be part of a family or dead from gang violence. And, as you can see, it all worked out.”
“I was in there for six months,” Dylan said from a daze.
“Nearly seven,” the demon corrected, “after all the time it took for that mind-numbing paperwork to be processed. Yeah, I’m sure Arizona Juvenile Corrections is no walk in the park. But, look at it this way, Kid: I’m sure you’ve got some good stories.”
“Seven months of my life. I was in four fights. I got this in one,” he said, showing Jeremiah a scar under his chin, “and two broken fingers on my right hand. And, in another fight I didn’t do so great in, I got a concussion, three broken ribs, and two chipped teeth.”
“And the other two?”
Dylan tilted his head in exasperation. “What do you mean, ‘other two?’”
“No scars from the other two fights?”
“No scars,” Dylan confirmed. “I won the other two; they were one-on-one. But there shouldn’t have been any fights. I can’t believe you did that to me.”
For a moment, Jeremiah looked concerned. “Did I forget to mention that I’m a demon? I could’ve sworn that we already covered that, but I am getting old, and things sometimes slip my mind. Yeah, that’s important—I’m a demon.”
“Fuck you!” Dylan screamed.
“There it is: your trusty standby. Well, get it all out. I don’t foresee me sending you to a therapist in the near future, so that means we’re just going to have to talk about it.”
“I never did anything to you,” the boy argued, his voice again at its normal volume, but shaky. “How could you--? Why was I--? You’re…you’re--…”
“Yes, I am. I’m all of the terrible things you want to call me and worse. I am the incarnation of torment. I am vile and an abomination. I will hurt or exploit anyone to get what I want, without exception. But I’m still one of the good guys. There are demons out there who will target you if they haven’t already, and I’ll do my best to destroy every one of them. I can accept you hating me, as long as you live. And, if things go exactly the way I plan them, you will.”
“You’re a bully,” Dylan finished.
The demon nodded wordlessly as he ashed his cigarette into an ashtray he’d picked up from the coffee table.
For several minutes, the two sat in silence, staring coldly at each other. Then, the phone rang. Dylan wasn’t sure who jumped more. Though it was Jeremiah’s phone, from the demon’s reaction, it didn’t seem like he was familiar with the sound of the ringer. To the boy’s surprise, the demon acted almost unsure of what to do. He sighed and walked over to where the phone was mounted between the foyer and the living room. Getting nothing from his caller ID, Jeremiah became intrigued.
On the fourth ring, he answered, “Yes?”
“Thank you for answering,” a deep, distorted voice began.
“You have the wrong number,” Jeremiah replied and hung up. He closed his eyes as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Look, Kid--”
The cordless receiver in his hand began to ring again. Jeremiah scowled and peered down at the caller ID to confirm that the number was
again blocked. He nodded angrily and held up a finger to indicate to Dylan that the conversation wasn’t over.
Jeremiah pressed the answer button and calmly explained to the person on the other end, “I have no idea how you got this number, but you aren’t on the list. It would behoove you to never call me again.”
“I am no telemarketer,” the same distorted voice interjected, “and this was no accidental connection, Jeremiah.”
“Okay, proceed with the explanations because, the next time I hang up on you, I’ll disconnect the phone and have the number changed. Then, I’ll come looking for you, Mr. Ransom Call, so we can have our chat in person.”
“I’m looking forward to that day, Jeremiah, but I’m afraid it can’t be yet. I’ll get right to the point: I’m building an army, and I need a general.”
Jeremiah laughed out loud. “Is that so? And who, may I ask, is calling?”
“You may call me Adversary.”
“I see. Is that supposed to be a reference to Satan? Seems trite. You could at least go for something a little less lofty. Besides, Lucifer hasn’t been around for quite some time.”
“Obviously,” Adversary agreed. “The name clearly doesn’t reference Satan, not that I think you would have much room to judge name choices, Mr. Felangelli.”
Jeremiah’s voice dripped with irony. “Look at how much you know!”
“I have sources.”
“I’ll bet. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sound like those sources explained to you the mistake that you’re currently making—or you just chose not to heed them. I’m a very dangerous individual, Mr. Ransom Call. And, if you’ve gotten this far, you surely understand that a voice changer and a blocked phone number won’t stop me from finding out who you are.”
“Who I am is hardly as important as what I represent. I am the enemy to the established order of demons and prophets. I will make a new order, stronger than Metatron, stronger than Lucifer, stronger than the Elder Prophet Council, and we will crush anyone who stands in our way.”
“Everything you just said is stupid,” Jeremiah scoffed. “I would say uninformed, but the arrogance with which you speak sounds demonic, and a demon should know better. You think you’re just going to slide in after Metatron’s demise, as if he didn’t have a hierarchy set up?”
“How do you know I’m not a part of that hierarchy?”
“It stands to reason that you would be,” Jeremiah admitted. “You know of my existence and apparently respect my leadership qualities. We may have even worked together at some point, though I strongly doubt I was working for you.”
“No,” Adversary said. “You have never worked for me.”
“And that’s been a good arrangement for us so far,” Jeremiah responded. “Let’s not change our winning strategy now.”
“You do well to hide the fear you must be feeling.”
“I don’t fear you,” Jeremiah growled.
“Of course not. But, no matter how…safe…you may feel with Metatron gone, that hierarchy you reference would still like to have your traitorous head.”
“Traitor?” Jeremiah asked quietly, seething with rage. “You think I am a traitor?”
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I have my own issues with authority and tend to buck the establishment every opportunity I get. We’re rebels to the core and always will be. I respect your independence, and I think we’d make a great team.”
“That isn’t going to happen. I have a different Boss now, so you can go run and tell Patheus that I’m still alive if you want, but I’d guess you don’t want him to find out how you know.”
“I’ve no intention of saying anything to Metatron’s lapdog, ever.”
“He used to be my lapdog,” Jeremiah interjected.
“I am well aware. Patheus will get his, along with any other faction that believes it has dominion over the rest of us. And it’s actually your—shall we say progressive?—mindset and your recent embrace of some morality that makes you perfect for the job.”
“I’m sure my resume is a consideration.”
“Indeed. There has never been a general like you.”
“So you’re going to try to flatter me?”
“Oh, it isn’t simple flattery,” Adversary insisted. “The evidence is in, and you can believe me when I say that I’ve explored every alternative I’m aware of before coming to you. I know you’re going to be a hard sell.”
“Maybe impossible.”
“Maybe,” Adversary echoed, “but it would be a shame to not even try. I’ll continue to try to incentivize you, Jeremiah, and I’m anticipating our next conversation already.”
“The next time we chat--” was all the demon could get out before a click and the sound of a dial tone. “Hmm,” he pondered as he hung up the phone. “That was rude.”
“You did hang up on him first,” Dylan pointed out, “and you’re an evil motherfucker.”
“Oh,” Jeremiah said, turning to the boy with a smile, “I’d almost forgotten you were here. ‘An evil motherfucker,’ you say? Strictly speaking, I have no mother, so you must believe I’ve fucked someone else’s mother evilly. Or maybe I fuck evil mothers—yours, perhaps. Regardless, you should remember that I’m not a nice person, but I’m effective. If evil is what you want to call it, go right ahead. I’ll trade you one year of your childhood, which could have ended you up in the same predicament anyway, for a long life where you understand your abilities and are immeasurably safer from jackasses like the one I was just on the phone with.”
“You aren’t even going to apologize?”
“My job requires many things of me,” Jeremiah answered, grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray, “but that’s not one of them.”
***
Muriel scowled at the behemoth that bore down on her and Gazardiel, wondering if she could get him to pummel the runt before she put an end to his rampage. They’d followed him out to a farm thirty miles west of Omaha, while he was still in his human form: that of a young man with shaggy, blonde hair and a slight build. From the look of things, he had neither showered nor changed his clothes in a very long time. When it started to get dark, he gave them the slip. After a few more hours of searching, they found him again, walking down the road with his thumb out. When he spotted them, he’d apparently decided he was tired of the chase. He shifted from a grungy hippy hitchhiker into a vaguely human-shaped amalgamation of dirt and rock, ten feet tall and four feet wide at the shoulders. Hunching over slightly, he rushed them like an angry bull. He was more than fifty yards away, alongside the seldom-traveled country highway, when he turned on them, but Muriel was sure he’d close the distance quickly. As his legs pumped, driving him closer to the other two demons, she could feel the earth beneath her feet shaking.
Gazardiel had also transformed. She’d become an imp: short, with a barbed tail, leathery skin, clawed hands and feet, bat-like wings and ears, and a cruel smile filled with tiny, razor-sharp teeth.
Bouncing up and down in giddy anticipation, Gazardiel pleaded, “Let me take him.”
Sighing, Muriel decided against letting the charging hill trample the little one and held her hand out, as if directing him to stop. With little effort on her part, his rush decreased. Every step seemed more of a challenge than the last. She saw his legs start moving slower, like they were becoming increasingly heavy.
“I’ll slow you down so much that you become a statue if I have to,” Muriel threatened with a shout, “but you will listen to me. Stop fighting, Voltumna.”
Voltumna issued a final, phlegmy growl before halting and offering considerably less resistance. Muriel heard a hint of defeat in the growl and relaxed her control as well.
“Good,” she purred. “Now, why don’t you revert back to your human form, and we can discuss this in a civilized way.”
“Oh, I can take him!” Gazardiel insisted, with acidic saliva dripping from her mouth.
“She may be immune to civilized discourse,” Muriel admitted, “but I don’t t
hink you are. Turn back into that young man…with the rugged look, and let’s be friendly.”
Voltumna’s giant shoulders slumped, and he slowly shifted back into the unkempt, long-haired, slender hippie he had been before, now with only tatters of his unwashed clothing. By this point, Muriel had ceased control over the cells in his body, and she simply regarded him with a smile she no doubt hoped was disarming. He glared back disgustedly.
“You’re foul,” he observed. “Poisonous—both of you.”
Muriel nodded, looking down at Gazardiel, who was still turning back into her own human form. Her long, serpentine tongue was the last feature to change, caressing her chin before slithering back into her mouth, which no longer held fangs, but baby teeth.
“I can see how you might say that about her,” Muriel agreed, “but I promise I’m not crazy. I’m here to offer you a great opportunity, one I know you’ve felt beckoning, but you just weren’t ready for it yet. However, all is forgiven. Today is the day! Our master bids us return so that we may prepare for our rise to power.”
“I don’t desire power,” Voltumna declared, scowling.
Muriel seemed genuinely shocked. “Really? I thought all fallen angels lusted for power.”
He spat on the ground at her feet. “You sicken me.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. Look, you’re in this the same way I am. Run if you think you can, but I can’t. Ultimately, the pull will be too strong. I didn’t have to come out here; you would have eventually made your way to San Francisco. He was calling you.”
“And who is he?”
Muriel sighed. “He calls himself Adversary.”
Voltumna grunted a laugh. “Seriously?”
“I know. The name’s stupid--”
“You shouldn’t speak about him like that!” Gazardiel interrupted.
Beyond the Shadows (To Absolve the Fallen Book 0) Page 4
