Satan's Sword

Okay, I would love to have sex in the tub.” “Sounds fun.” His hands moved slowly over my skin. I was encouraged by how he’d accepted my first form, by how quickly he’d accepted my assurances of what he meant to me. So I let it all out with uncharacteristic honesty. “A tub filled with blood. I can strangle you right before you orgasm. Not kill you, just suffocate you enough to give it that great edge. With a noose made of intestines. Maybe I’ll gnaw on the other end.” My voice trailed off as I imagined it all. I was so turned on.

I’d have been sorely tempted to act like a one-night stand gone horribly wrong and chase him down my driveway trying to give him my phone number and imploring “Call me, call me.” I needed to get a grip here.

Or you could take out your phone and we could play Words With Friends for your soul.

I glanced over and saw Wyatt glaring at me. Journey’s “Lovin’ Touchin’, Squeezin’” was playing on the radio. “What?” I asked. “You secretly hate me, don’t you.” He gestured toward the radio. “You can’t stand the thought of me taking a much needed nap and leaving you to drive without conversation. You’re torturing me with this sappy stuff.” “It’s Journey. I love this song.” Wyatt mumbled something under his breath, picked up the CD case, and started looking through it. He paused with a choked noise, his eyes growing huge. “You’re joking, Sam. Justin Bieber? What are you, a twelve-year old girl?” There’s gonna be one less lonely girl, I sang in my head. That was a great song. How could he not like that song? Still, I squirmed a bit in embarrassment. “A twelve-year old girl gave me that CD,” I lied. “For my birthday.” Wyatt snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re a terrible liar. Otherwise, I’d be horrified at the thought that a demon has been hanging out with a bunch of giggling pre-teens.” He continued to thumb through the CDs. “Air Supply Greatest Hits? No, no, I’m wrong here. It’s an Air Supply cover band in Spanish.” He waved the offending CD in my face. “Sam, what on earth are you thinking? How did you even get this thing?” “Some tenant left it behind,” I told him. “We evicted him, and there were all these CDs. Most were in Spanish, but I’ve got a Barry Manilow in there, too. That one’s in English.” Wyatt looked at me a moment, and with the fastest movement I’ve ever seen, rolled down the window and tossed the case of CDs out onto the highway. It barely hit the road before a semi plowed over it. I was pissed. “You asshole. I liked those CDs. I don’t come over to your house and trash your video games, or drive over your controllers. If you think that will make me listen to that Dubstep crap for the next two hours, then you better fucking think again.” “I’m sorry Sam, but it’s past time for a musical intervention here. You can’t keep listening to this stuff. It wasn’t even remotely good when it was popular, and it certainly hasn’t gained anything over time. You need to pull yourself together and try to expand your musical interests a bit. You’re on a downward spiral, and if you keep this up, you’ll find yourself friendless, living in a box in a back alley, stinking of your own excrement, and covered in track marks.” I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea Air Supply led to lack of bowel control and hard core drug usage. I wondered if it was something subliminal, a kind of compulsion programmed into the lyrics. Was Russell Hitchcock a sorcerer? He didn’t look that menacing to me, but sorcerers were pretty sneaky. Even so, I was sure Justin Bieber was okay. As soon as we hit a rest stop, I was ordering a replacement from my iPhone.

Pride has a terrible price,” I told her. “People with pride are so easy to defeat. They never see it coming. A little cockroach takes down the mighty giant. Of course, it’s best to make it look like a fluke, an accident, and run and hide as quickly as you can.” Kelly looked doubtful. “But then no one knows you’ve done it. They still won’t respect you. How can you advance, live up to your potential, and take your rightful place in the world if you hide in the woodwork like a cockroach?” I was feeling really uncomfortable with her logic. All this talk of respect was bullshit. She wasn’t getting my point here. “There’s a reason pride is a sin,” I told her. “The inner strength you feel is deceptive. It actually creates enormous vulnerability, sets you up for a fall of your own making.

The horse shot out a bolt of energy, but instead of incinerating the log, he arched it around a tree and exploded a hiding buck. Deer bits flew everywhere. I laughed and patted Diablo with approval.

The rest of the week went uneventfully. Well, by my standards anyway. My canary arrived and promptly died. I’ve been through four of them so far and haven’t been able to keep them alive long enough to take them out to the gate in Sharpsburg. They are stupidly fragile and drop dead if you use any mean on them at all, try to feed them dog food, or squeeze them too tight. I’m running out of local pet shops, and Wyatt is getting tired of begging them to ship me yellow canaries. Hopefully, the next one would live long enough for my purpose. Wyatt was

Angry Birds it is. If I win, you let me leave unharmed, unhurt and guarantee I live out my normal lifespan free from you or any of your kinds’ torment. If you win, you get to do with me whatever you want, including taking my soul. You can also have all of my immediate family.