“Fine,” I sighed heavily. “But can't you just, oh, I don't know, snap your fingers and take us somewhere?”
His head shot backwards in rip-roaring laughter. “Snap my fingers? Toying with the fabric of reality is exhausting, maggot. There's only so much energy I can expend at a given time. And I prefer to keep mine reserved for less trivial matters.”
“So you can't teleport?”
“I can 'teleport' all I want, I'm a spiritual being. But you're trillions upon trillions of atoms large and far too heavy to be transported through reality's seams with ease. Which is why we ride.”
“You're calling me fat.”
“No, I'm calling you material. Now get on, lamb- here's a helmet,” he said, tossing it to me. I strapped it on, muttering darkly as I straddled the bike behind him. His outfit had mysteriously changed to faded
“Bait?” I cried out in indignation. “You're using me as bait?”Samael lazed in his armchair. He grinned lopsidedly. “Amongst other purposes, maggot. I also expect you to do laundry, cook, and make sandwiches- that was my nose, whelp!” he snapped as I hurled a glass at his face. He caught it and set it on the table. “Your treachery knows no bounds. Please learn to take jokes.”“Treachery? You want to use me as monster chow. And I would never feed you.”“But that BLT was delicious...” he said, forlorn. “Fine. I can do without domestic services. What I do need, however, is something underworlders find appetizing: namely, nubile young women-”“-Nubile? Did you really just say that?-”“-like yourself. You're young, harmless, and easily taken ad
I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, chest heaving. “Don't scare me like that,” I said hoarsely.“Expect the unexpected, worm. I'm always unexpected.”“Please get out of my car.”He ignored me, fishing my purse from the space between seats and rummaging through it. “Phone- no. Lip gloss- nooo. Ah, here it is,” he crooned, taking out the blue vial. “Now, little mortal, have you tried it yet?”“What? No!-”“-close your eyes,” he ordered, about to poke my eyes out. I shut them reflexively, and he dabbed the liquid onto my lids. “There,” he said, satisfied. I blinked back tears as my vision refocused. The night beyond my car burst into color, everything that had once been darkness was now muted colors, like the world seen through tinted glass. Will-'o-the-w
Something licked my face- something fluffy that purred. I looked up to find Samael offering me a fat alley cat so old, patches of fur had fallen from its skin. Its ears were torn, and its body was riddled with the scars of harsh survival. I took it, surprised, and it mewed, curling up against me.“The cat's the one that's dying?” I said, voice shaking with relief. “I thought you meant a human.”Samael looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yes, Callie, a cat. Do you think I would give you something so traumatizing? It only has a few moments left, poor thing.”I looked down at the pitiable creature, stroking its fur. “I thought you...”“Cats and dogs are never afraid of Death. They can always see it, even when I haven't come for them. That's why dogs bark at nothing and cats stare at empty spaces. No, it's the living t
Coach's eyes bulged like a fish, pupils boring holes through my head. I looked up from my quad stretch, attempting to smile. Nerves turned it into a grimace.“Callie,” he said softly.“Yes, Coach?” I said meekly. The other girls shot me sympathetic glances.He stood rod-staight like a military general, arms folded behind his back. “What's in a week?”“Our meet.”“What meet?”“A track meet...”“And what do athletes do before meets?”“Carb load?”“Train, Callie. Athletes train,” he said decisively. “And our top varsity runner decided to skip practice Friday. What sort of message does that send, Parker? What example does it set for the underclassmen that look up to her?” He looked down his long nose at me, a slight sn
“You're suspended in mid-air, and you're part goat. Pardon my French, but what the bleeding heck? The peeping-tom poltergeist in the locker room was bad enough!”“There's a resident pervert of the spiritual nature in every changing room full of nubile young maidens,” Puck said sagely. He landed on his feet and scuffled towards me. The sprite stood tall, bent over like a slender tree. His limbs were long and sinuous, and his tail swished in the breeze. Puck's yellow eyes danced with amusement. “Oberon puts those shades to shame, though,” he whispered confidantly. “I'd hasten to lock my doors, were I you.”My cheeks blazed red. “You're disgusting, the both of you.”Puck laughed jovially. “Pardon if my coarse manners offend. I tell it like it is, sparing no truths betwixt. What might I say? My kind loves a merry ro
“But don't agents have to be trained?”Samael grinned, pouring himself more tea. “Smart girl. These-” he said, reaching behind the table and withdrawing three leather-bound tomes, “-are for you to memorize.” He plopped them down in my lap.They smelled musty and looked ancient. I opened the top one: vellum pages, elaborate hand-inked script, illuminated pictures- it looked like a medieval grimoire. I read their faded spines: “'THE SECRETIVE HISTORIE OFE DAEMONS AND FEY, bye LORD SAMMAEL MALKIRA.' 'An Inquiry Into the Heavenly Spheres; or, the Spiritual Realms: A Treatise by Dr. Mephistopheles.' 'The Idiot's Guide to Hell- by Aym the Disgruntled, upon Threat of Blackmail by Samael the Git.” I looked at him questioningly, holding the first one. “You wrote this? The handwriting's indecipherable,” I observed, examining the spidery script
I sat on the porch in the autumn twilight, pouring through the leather bound tome on my lap. Frustration mounting, I flipped through the pages, searching. NPR drifted from the kitchen as my father shelled oysters for dinner.“And in local news, a horrifying murder occurred in Anacostia this evening. Police just recently discovered the mutilated body of a sex worker in a dumpster on Good Hope Road. Commuters are advised to avoid the area, as the scene is closed to the public. Her identity is unknown, but her body shows evidence of brutal assault. The case is under intensive investigation. If you have any information, please contact local authorities.”The book shook in my hands. I cursed, slamming it shut. “You just won't tell me what I need to know, will you?” I said darkly.The book stirred, spine shivering. Surprised, I traced the stacked pages. A paper cut me.&n
Certain physicists have come to the conclusion that our universe is made of strings. While their simian minds are too primitive to grasp the true nature of the cosmos, the metaphor gives an accurate model of Creation at large.Whether the world is made of strings or string-cheese, and the moon is rock or Swiss, the material of existence has certain qualities. Swiss, as you know, has holes in it. Threads break. And string-cheese, obviously, is designed to peel. It's all very well that humans have discovered the material of the universe. But the sad fact remains that they understand little about it.The tapestry of our universe is imperfect. It unravels. It comes undone. An occasional hole pops up, and its edges fray with time. Wormholes, physicists call them. As if some hungry annelid munched its way through space and popped out into another dimension. Higher beings laugh at our