by J. R. Mabry
“How was your day?” Chava asked.
“How was yours?” Elsa asked. She sounded angry.
“I asked first,” Chava put down the can she was holding and faced her partner.
“So the fuck what?” Elsa responded, a little louder than she needed to.
“Um…guys,” Brian interjected.
“We’re not guys,” Elsa said without looking at him.
“No…” Brian conceded.
Elsa and Chava stared at each other.
“What just happened?” Brian asked.
Chava shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Brian and I are making a grocery list because he’s got to get out of the house before he goes stir-crazy.”
She crossed the kitchen to her partner and kissed her. “Really, tell me about your day.”
“It was hell. Double F-grade hell.”
“Mine, too,” Chava said, turning back to the cupboard. “Why was yours so bad?”
“Can you at least look at me when I’m talking to you?” Elsa asked.
Chava froze. She turned slowly and faced her partner. “Fine.” She crossed her arms. “Please tell me why your day was bad.”
“Every client I have called me today. Every single one of them. And every single one of them is in a crisis.”
“That’s not normal,” Chava said, looking concerned.
“No shit. Okay, every other day, maybe I get a call. Today, I got sixty calls, at least. Sixty! My voice mail is maxed out.”
“So why are you home?” Chava asked.
“You don’t want me home?”
“I didn’t say that. I just figured with so much going on—”
“If you don’t want me home, I can find plenty of other places to go. And plenty of other dykes that think I’m attractive.”
Chava opened her mouth to respond, but Brian stepped in between them. “Okay, time out,” he said. “Something weird is going on here. No one should speak unless I point to you.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Elsa asked.
“He’s my friend,” Chava said in a defensive voice.
“And not mine?”
“Children, please!” Brian shouted. They both stopped.
“Chava, why did you have a tough day?” he asked.
“Because every five minutes, a different temple member called, complaining about their partner, asking me to mediate. Can you believe it? I got like eighty calls today. I finally just turned off my phone and came home. A rabbi can only do so much, right?”
Elsa looked shocked.
“What?” Brian asked her.
“My clients are all having relationship problems. Every one of them.”
“So, whatever is going on with you two, is going on for everyone,” Brian pointed out.
“That’s not possible,” Elsa said.
“And yet, it seems to be happening,” Brian said, sitting back down at the table.
“What could possibly cause something like this?” Chava asked.
“It’s wrong, whatever it is,” Brian said. “It’s not violent-wrong, like the East Bay right now, but it’s really, really wrong.”
“Do you think that it might have something to do with you and Terry?” Chava asked.
“I don’t think so. We…split up before this started happening to you.”
“Maybe it was the first fruits,” Chava suggested.
“Maybe,” Brian said. “In any case, let’s be really careful to be kind to each other. If you feel tempted to lash out, remember that it’s…some kind of influence. It’s not actually something between you two.”
Chava and Elsa looked at each other and nodded. “I’m sorry, baby,” Chava said.
“Me too.”
Brian crossed to the living room and put on his coat.
“Where are you going?” Chava asked. “You forgot the shopping list.”
“To the library,” Brian said. “I’ve got to figure out what could cause something like this. Can one of you check the television? Let’s find out if this is local or…global, I suppose.” He rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed the list. “But I’ll go to the store on my way back. Promise.”
34
Kat hovered over the mirror, moving first this way, then that. “I don’t see him.” Her voice was forlorn.
Marco leaned over and pointed. “There.”
Kat leaned in closer and squinted. She could barely make out a ghostly outline of a hand. It seemed to be twisting. “What is he doing?” she asked.
Marco shrugged. “Gauging by the distance from the floor…picking his nose?”
Kat sighed. “I’m losing him.”
Mikael entered the kitchen and smiled at them. He moved behind Kat, putting his hands on her shoulders. “He’s been lost a long time.”
“He didn’t have to be,” she said.
“He made his own choices,” Mikael said. “We all do.”
“It’s just like Charlie,” Kat sighed.
“Who’s Charlie?” Marco asked.
“He was a magickian who noviced with us for a while. A few months ago Terry led him and Kat on a field trip to Hell and he just…stayed. Said he was comfortable there. He’ll eventually fade out, too.”
“Like Sheol. Or Hades,” Marco nodded. “It’s sad.”
“You reap what you sow,” Mikael said.
“You’re being awfully judgmental,” Kat said hotly.
“I don’t think I am. I’m not saying anything about your brother, or even about Charlie. It’s just a fact. If you cultivate community, you get community, on this side of the grave or the other. If you cultivate isolation, you get isolation. It’s just a law of the universe,” Mikael argued. “And not only isn’t it judgmental, it isn’t even judgment, because God doesn’t make any decisions about people’s fates. The decisions are all ours. And we get exactly what we want…always. If we want to be in community, we get it. If we want to isolate ourselves, we get it.”
“So where does heaven and hell enter into it?” Marco asked.
“Can’t you guess?” Mikael answered. “Community and heaven are the same thing.”
“And isolation?” Marco asked. “Oh. That’s hell, isn’t it?” He nodded, answering his own question. He looked surprised and a little sad. Kat looked back at him. She could see that Mikael had hit a nerve. She smiled at him, a little sadly.
“Exactly. That’s why spiritual community is so important.”
“Marco, is something up for you?” Kat asked.
Marco didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Why spiritual community? Why not any community? Why not a bowling league?”
“I think it’s because most communities are based on commonalities,” Mikael answered. “Let’s say you’re in a bowling league. Yeah, you’re in community, but the community is all bowlers—they’re a pretty similar demographic. So it’s good, I’d even say it’s salvific, but it’s not best.”
“Okay. But what about a church? Aren’t they all Christians?”
“Sure, but from wildly diverse strata—at church you form community with people that are wildly different from you: people of different races, different sexual orientations, different political leanings, poor people, rich people, mentally ill people, smart people, dumb people, and so on. And every one of them committed to loving each other.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a church like that,” Marco said.
“That’s because Christians generally suck at it,” Mikael said, sounding a little sad.
“At what?”
“At being Christians.” He looked down for a few moments. “But we are trying.”
“And other religions, are they trying?”
“I hope so.”
“The bowling league still sounds pretty good.”
“Knock yourself out,” Mikael conceded. “Fewer casseroles, too, I’ll wager.”
“More beer.”
“You don’t know Lutherans,” Susan called from the office.
“I know one Lutheran,�
� Marco called back.
“I don’t like beer!” Susan responded.
“How can you call yourself a Lutheran? Isn’t beer a sacrament?”
“Can we get back to what to do about Randy?” Kat asked.
“Honey, I don’t think there’s anything we can do about Randy. I think we’re just watching what happens to isolated people. What’s happening to Charlie, too.”
“Isn’t he in community with us?” Kat asked. “Why doesn’t that save him?”
Mikael hugged her from behind. “Because he chooses not to be in community with us. The mirror he lives in happens to be in our house, but he has no desire to be part of us, to love us, to let himself be loved by us. It’s love that makes us real. Without it…we stop being real.”
Kat knew that was true. She didn’t answer but clutched at Mikael’s hands and pulled them tight to her breast.
“Doesn’t God love him?” she asked.
“Yeah, and that’s probably why he’s endured so long. But does he love God back? Is that love growing?”
She knew the answer to that. She stared at the wisp of a hand in the mirror.
The doorbell rang. “Ah’ll get it,” they heard Dylan’s voice call from the living room.
A few moments later, Dylan was at the kitchen door, followed by Tobias. “Uh, some detectives, ya’ll.”
Cain and Perry stepped into the kitchen. Kat felt Mikael jump a bit in alarm. “Uh…hi, officers,” she said.
“Sorry to intrude,” Perry said, looking around. “We just have a few questions we’d like to ask.”
“Something smells…interesting,” Cain noted.
“I’m reheating beer-soaked spatchcocked quail,” Marco informed him.
“Have a seat,” Mikael said. “Marco, is there coffee?”
“Coming right up,” Marco said, grabbing a fistful of mugs by their handles and carrying them to the table.
“Tea fer me,” Dylan said. Toby scuttled under the table and lay down, panting loud and fast.
“I know the drill,” Marco rolled his eyes.
“Are we in trouble?” Kat asked.
“If you were in trouble, we’d be talking to you at the station, not here,” Perry said.
Cain added, more softly. “Jimmy—Mr. Tomlinson—he told us about your…speciality. We were hoping you might tell us something useful.”
Susan emerged from the office and leaned against the doorframe, looking on with her arms folded over her bosoms. “Richard! Terry! Get your asses in here!” she yelled. A few moments later, Richard clomped down the back stairs.
“Where’s Terry?” Susan asked.
“He’s in the cottage,” Marco answered. “I think he’s taking a shower.”
“What’s up?” Richard asked.
Susan pointed toward Cain and Perry with her chin. “Detectives. They want to know if we can tell them something useful.”
“Oh, I think we can help you there,” Richard said. “Susan, grab those printouts.”
Over the next half hour, the friars detailed their activities from the past few days. Kat saw Cain and Perry’s eyes get wider, especially when they saw the sigil maps of Oakland, Emeryville, and Berkeley they’d been compiling. “Okay, I keep hearing the word ‘sigil,’ but I don’t understand what that means,” Perry said, a note of edgy frustration in her voice.
“This is a sigil,” Dylan pointed at the map.
“Yeah, I get that,” Perry said. “But what is it?”
“It’s a signature, of sorts,” Richard said, accepting a mug of coffee from Marco. “It is a pictorial ‘name’ or symbol of a particular demon.”
“Or angel,” Marco pointed out. “Angels have sigils, too.”
“True, but we’re not dealing with any angels here,” Richard conceded.
“Fair enough,” Marco said, putting a quart carton of milk on the table.
“So, what does it do?” Cain asked. Kat could see he was trying to keep the conversation on track.
“It serves to connect a magickian to the demon he wants to work with,” Richard said.
“Or she,” Susan said.
Richard glared at her. “The next time you meet a woman who practices Goetic magick, I’ll adjust my pronouns.”
“Goetic?” Cain asked. He looked a little lost, and Kat realized he and Perry had just stumbled into Oz—a vast, unexplored territory they didn’t know existed.
“Goetic magick, demon magick,” Dylan explained. “Goetia means ‘the howling.’”
“That’s ominous,” Perry said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Richard said. “So a magickian uses a sigil to bind a demon to himself.”
“Why would he want to do that?” Perry asked. “Aren’t demons bad?”
“Demons are really, really bad,” Mikael nodded.
“But a magickian does it to enforce servitude,” Richard said.
“Come again?” Cain asked.
“A Goetic magickian—”
“Wait, are there other kinds of magickians?” Perry asked.
“Oh yeah,” Richard answered. “There’s one, now.” He pointed at Marco. Marco, leaning against the kitchen counter, waggled his fingers at them.
“But you don’t work with demons?” Perry asked Marco.
“Oh, God, no. Do I look like an idiot?”
Perry didn’t answer that but looked plenty troubled. “But demons aren’t real,” she said.
“You jus’ keep tellin’ yoreself that,” Dylan said.
“What do demons actually do?” Cain asked. “I mean, why would a magickian—a Goetic magickian, sorry—want to bind a demon to himself?”
“That depends on the demon,” Richard shrugged. “Demons are organized into companies—like the military. We call them ‘hosts.’ Each host has a commander. So far, all of our sigils have been of commanders—a duke or a marquis or a baron.”
“We got one prelate and two presidents, too,” Dylan pointed out. “Ah’m holdin’ out fer a den mother, but we ain’t seen one o’ them, yet.”
Richard ignored the joke. “So when you summon a commander you might get whatever demons that commander rules, too. Not usually, but that’s what we’re seeing here.”
“Why not usually?” Perry asked.
“Because the servitude is usually forced. So whatever demon is summoned will perform for the magickian grudgingly and will usually try to make the working backfire on the magickian, if it can.”
“Payback?” Cain asked.
“Exactly. No one likes being made into a slave. Especially not a prince of hell,” Richard said. “But it seems to us that the magickians doing this working are doing something really clever, something we’ve never seen before. They’re inviting the demon princes, not compelling them. And the princes, in turn, are inviting their subordinates.”
“But inviting them where? To do what?” Perry asked.
“To do this!” Susan pointed at the maps. “The shootings, the prostitution, the orgies, the theft, the…you name it.”
“The demon princes are structured, too,” Richard said. “Each of them is ruled by one of the seven deadly sins.”
“So they’re bringin’ their minions out,” Dylan said, waving his arms excitedly, “to play, to wreak havoc, to do what demons do.”
“And by the looks of it, they’re bringing them to Berkeley, too,” Richard pointed to the map with the least color on it. “It’s just starting here, in the south, where it borders Oakland. But it’s growing.”
“I’m monitoring it in real time in the office,” Susan said, with a flip of her head. “It’s growing, all right.”
Just then the screen door opened, and Terry stepped into the kitchen. He stopped cold when he saw the room was full of people. “Whoa. Okay, sorry I missed the memo.”
“Just filling the detectives in on our findings so far,” Richard said. “What did you and Marco discover?”
“Didn’t Marco tell you?”
“It was your discovery, not mine,” M
arco said. “I didn’t want to get anything wrong.”
“Oh, okay. So we went to Jimmy and Julia’s.”
“Do you mean Jimmy Tomlinson?” Perry asked.
“Yep. They were afraid they were under magickal attack.”
“Magical attack?” Perry jerked upright in surprise. “What’s—never mind. I can guess. What happened?”
“Marco used his device—”
“The narometer,” Marco interjected.
“And?” Richard asked.
Marco shrugged. “I didn’t find anything. Some pingy herbs, but you’d expect that.”
“Fucking herbs,” Mikael said. Kat poked him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Did you see anything?” Richard asked Terry.
“Yeah. I did. Marco was right, everything in the house seemed normal.”
“But?”
“But Marco didn’t point his machine at the people. Jimmy and Julia were fine. But Luna was there. And she was…not okay.”
“What did you see?” Richard asked.
“Serious third-order demonic oppression.”
“Are we talking pinstripe or paisley?”
“Hardcore paisley. With claws.”
Richard nodded, and Kat could tell he was thinking hard. “What did she say when you confronted her?”
“She didn’t say anything. The moment we turned our backs she was out of there.”
“Like a bat out o’ hell,” Dylan breathed.
“Where do you think she went?” Richard asked.
Terry shrugged. “No idea. My guess is she went home, or to report to whoever is oppressing her.”
“Do you think she knows she’s oppressed?” Susan asked.
Richard looked surprised. “That’s a very good question.” He looked at Terry.
“I don’t think so. She might be under a compulsion.”
“And whoever is compelling her might also be involved in the killing at Tilden Park,” Richard said.
“And this?” Susan waved her arm toward the maps. “Any connection there?”
“I don’t know,” Richard said. “If there isn’t one, it’s a big coincidence that it’s all happening at once.”
“We’re not big fans of coincidence,” Cain said.
“No. We’re not either,” Richard admitted.
