“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you know what the biggest problem with hunting demons is?” Eve responded with a question.

“Um, no pay? Hard to put on a resume? People think you’re crazy? Give me a hint,” I said. Probably not too different than being any kind of full-time practitioner.

“They wear human bodies,” she answered.

“Oh.” It made sense, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. That… made things awkward.  “Can you chase them out? What about the red skin and horns?”

“If you see a demon without its meat suit, you’re either using enhanced observation techniques, or you’re about to die. When it’s much easier to take a body, why would you risk something of your own? You have to have power, but more importantly, you need reason. ” she asked.

“How do you know they’re really demons?” I asked. I didn’t really mean for it to sound so antagonistic, but it was a bit aggressive.

“My question, too,” she said. She looked frustrated. “At least I believe in them, which helps.”

“Otherwise he sounds like some kind of serial killer,” I said, realizing her point.

“Yeah,” she said.  She let Roberto come back into the booth with some new bowls of pudding.

“So, some kind of magic to detect this stain? And what do you use, spiritual Clorox or something?” I asked.

Roberto shook his head. “There’s prayers,” he said.

“Spells,” Eve corrected.

“Prayer,” Roberto said. “Though,” he said after a minute, “it is possible that miracles look to be magic.”

“Or vice versa,” Eve and I said it at the same time. Yep, siblings.

“Or…” he shrugged again. “You must realize, there is…” he got that distracted look again, “much of being a demon hunter that is wrapped up with the Church.”

“The Church?” I asked. As far as I can tell, one refers to all the myriad collection of splintered Christian faiths as ‘the Church’ but sometimes they specifically mean the Holy Roman Catholic, and this seemed a time to specify. I mean, maybe he meant the Denver dance club.  That would be funny and weird.

He gave me a suspicious look, but then Eve chuckled. “What did you expect, Bob? True faith?”

He sighed, and shook his head, looking down at the table. “It is strange to me, because we took that magic was a specific gift… and responsibility. Given for specific tasks, and yet there are so many differing opinions, and it’s like…” he smiles a little, looking back up at me, “Denver Comic Con.”

I leaned back. “Oh, go on,” I said, trying not to smile indulgently.

“It was a real eye-opener for him,” Eve tried to hide her own smile. “Not just the cosplayers.”

“Hey, don’t objectify,” I reminded.

“Not even a little,” she sighed, but the smile crept back. “But it doesn’t hurt that it was the same weekend as Pride, and there was quite a variety of eye candy.”

“Not for you,” I wagged my finger at her. Roberto looked like he wanted to do the same thing.

She grinned.  “I know.”

Roberto shook his head. “There are so many opinions. Everyone read,” he made an motion of an arc with his hands, “a group of comics. Or the whole…?”

“Run,” Eve supplied.

“Run,” he repeated, “and would remember different things and come out with their own stories, separate from story that was told.”

“Ah, Star Wars,” I said.

“Well, yes, and X-men, and,” I cut him off.

“No, it’s something I remind people when they talk about Star Wars is that everyone has their own.  For some people it’s a love story, some people it’s a story about the subjugation of droids, for others it’s a story of revolution, and for some it’s just the arc of Anakin and his redemption, but everyone calls it the same thing.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I even call the phenomenon ‘Star Wars,'” I said, unnecessarily.  “But I understand. I didn’t think it really qualified for magic, but yeah, it makes sense.  I stopped going to ‘witchy’ events, and not because I have anything against the lace and black clothing movement, like, at all, speaking of objectifying,” I cleared my throat, “but they didn’t see the Force the same way as I did.”

“Haha,” my sister said.  Not laughed: said.

“Exactly,” Roberto said. He didn’t crack a smile though, meaning that my attempt at humour was exactly as good as my sister’s not-laugh implied. “I have not had a great deal of experience, but I am slowly being exposed to different viewpoints.”

I could just hear the giggle my sister suppressed.

“Intuition is a fantastic ride, itself. A rollercoaster that doesn’t ever improve.” I sigh. “But the point is that apparently being around a demon leaves some kind of slime trail and we can follow it somehow. Better than my plan to start hanging around morgues like some kind of television detective, because I don’t even think they let me in the door without some sad story, and I’m not ready to–”

“You’re rambling,” my sister interrupted.

“Yeah. I do that,” I mumbled.  “So, you in?”

Roberto put up a hand. “What demon do we seek?”

“We weren’t exactly introduced,” I start saying, “but do you mean a unique name? The fellow who was possessed has something odd as a name. Vasil. Kind of like a corrupted herb.”

“Let me start again,” Roberto said, sounding less exasperated than he probably had a right to be. “What know we of this demon? Why do you seek it? Has it done something terrible?  What information do you have for us to start?”

“And how much do you pay?” Eve asked.

“Well, I’ll pick up lunch. What do you mean pay?”

“Demon hunting doesn’t exactly pay the bills,” she said.

I was at a loss until I saw the wink. “Yes, yes, you get to come along. That was the deal, right?”

“No!” Roberto said. “She should not. She’s already being sought–”

“You know about that?” I asked.  It had all but escaped my mind, like everything Magda said.

“Of course I know about it. I made sure it happened,” she said.

I think Roberto and I both groaned.

The usual place was our favourite Indian buffet off of Parker. It was the kind of Indian food meant for white folk like my sister and I; pretty generic, just enough spice to make you feel like you’re being outrageous, and yet the people who came in with the lovely accents acted like it was comfort food.  I’d been to a few others – one gave me food poisoning (I still don’t trust a watery vindaloo) and the other had too many bell peppers. I mean, seriously, there might even have been green peppers in their cream of wheat-alike.  For the price, the Star was pretty awesome for us food-naive.

She and Roberto were busy eating all of the naan while I came in.  I saw that she had already ordered us all chai, and gotten me a bowl of the rice pudding with a spoonful of mango custard on top.  I gestured to the buffet bar, and she scooted Roberto out so we could all meet up in line.

Nen and Rayya had flipped for the responsibility, using my nickel. A literal nickel, that is. It’s what I had in my change cup. Rayya won, which meant she was going to stay “around,” a semi-invisibility glamour. Unlike Nen, she didn’t like to be part of the conversation on my outings.

I caught her reflection in the sneeze guard, but then lost her.  I turned, almost running into Eve, who was busy filling up her plate with hefty spoonfuls. “Meatballs…” she said, with the kind of slow regard that insinuated simulated lust. I raised an eyebrow, and she cut me off. “Don’t say it, E. I’ll win and make you blush.”

I just rolled my eyes. My sister went after me, explaining to Roberto all the things he would like and the things he should try anyway.  I grabbed an extra spoon for the pudding and sat down, picking up my chai to warm up my hands.

A few minutes later, given more naan and a glass of water, the silence was broken only by the other people in the restaurant and the sounds of our forks hitting the plates, plus the assorted smacking and such that drives misophoniacs bugnuts. I used my napkin and sighed, leaning against the back of the booth with the satisfaction of the first plate.

Roberto matched me, and dropped his napkin on his plate. “Your sister, she says you need my expertise?”

“Reluctantly,” I said with a wry smile.

“It is hard to be nice to you,” he said.

“You know, I’ve always suspected that, but no one has ever actually said that to my face, I think,” I realized aloud. I twirled a spoon around, absently.  “It’s probably true,” I decided.

“Definitely,” my sister muttered.  She was still working on some of the spicy chicken. Tandoori, I thought I remembered. Drumstick, kind of red outer coating. I resolved to maybe actually look at the labels on the buffet next time I went up so that I wasn’t remaining ignorant of what I was eating outside of, “The green stuff with the cheese I think? Oh, and I really like the meatballs.”

I sighed, putting the spoon down.  “I just don’t believe in demons.”

Roberto chuckled. “You ran into one?” he guessed.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s probably a parasite. You know, like vampires. Lost in this world, inhabiting someone else’s body, doing what it thinks is natural.” I was starting to pick up the spoon again when Roberto put his hand on mine.

It was uncomfortable, a violation of my personal space, but while I know I tensed up, I tried not to pull my hand back immediately.

“Stop,” he said. “I believe you are a good man, E.  You know there is evil in this world.”

I know I frowned. He let my hand go.

“You can try to rationalize it, but you know it to be true. There are things that are unnatural, things that do not belong because they are against all that is good and true.”

I kept frowning, but while I touched my spoon I didn’t pick it up. “I think there’s a lot of leeway in those terms. Relatively speaking, I don’t know that deciding what’s good or bad is really something at my pay grade.”

“Nonsense,” Roberto said. “It is everyone’s responsibility. It is not to say…” he looked for the words, “It is not to say that you cannot be incorrect. But you must make that decision. You must hold that line. You,” he glanced at Eve.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He’s woke.”

Not the terminology I would have used, but I tried to appreciate it with a forced grin.

He turned his attention back to me. “Your talent especially.  If you do not know what is good, and what is evil, how can you keep the door shut against that which wants in?”

I caught myself turning the spoon around again before I answered. “Generally I figure nothing gets in, and nothing stays unless it belongs here.”

He did a kind of one-armed shrug. “So you have made your decision. You found a path that works for you, but then,” he half-smiled, “so did Darth Vader.”

I took a moment to contemplate the role of Jedi in a universe of gateways to other places, but then realized it was a rabbit hole I’d have to explore later.  “Hey, Vader had the coolest theme song,” I tried, but I knew it was weak.

He shook his head. “Clarity. Focus. You have to have these things in order to hunt demons. They prey on insecurities, turn your head with temptation, and take every advantage you offer, deliberate or not.” He took a deep breath. “If you have truly met one, you would know. It would be a stain on your very soul, a palpable sense of evil.”

“Very theatrical,” I said.

Eve rolled her eyes. “You wanted an expert.”

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s great, it’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word palpable spoken aloud,” I clarified. “Are you of the opinion then that the greatest evil ever perpetrated was to make the Devil a myth?”

“There is truth in it,” he gave another of those half-shrugs. “That there are few demons required centuries of hard labor to make it happen, tempered in that few open the way anymore.  They don’t like the light.”

“Physical and metaphysical, I suppose?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he nodded.  “And the old texts are just that – old, and worn. They are pathways that are well travelled and well patrolled.  You can call, but the numbers… they are disconnected.” He seemed proud of the metaphor.

I humoured him with a nod. “Is there some way you can see this stain?”

Eve stopped him from responding. “More mango custard. Now.”

He smiled a little smile at her and left the table. She cleared her throat and looked at me.

“Roberto,” I said, tasting the name again.

Nen looked up at me, anticipating something more.

“To track a demon, a demon hunter seems like a good start.  Even if I don’t believe in demons, really.”

Nen sat on the edge of the table. “I believe in terrible things that will gladly eat your face.”

“My face in particular or do they just have an occasional craving for faces?”

“A rumbly only faces can satisfy?”

“Well, there’s one thing wrong with them, anyway.” I frowned, and not just because fey quoting internet memes was a thing.

Rayya showed me some sympathy. “There are many beings whose desires border on malevolence as we experience it. A blatant addiction to cruelty perhaps. If something required the pain of others, a foul succubus of sadism. We call it angelic when the same need is in altruism, do we not? But they are still parasites.”

“Not how I really thought about angels. Messengers, yes, but not like the things within vampires.  It sounds pretty cynical,” I said, thinking about it.

“It is the demon within your mythology who makes the contract, and yet the Covenant and other forms of agreement are found on the so-called opposing side.” Rayya made a face I recognized as something she didn’t particularly appreciate.

“So-called?” I asked, appreciating the diversion.

“It is the same source, is it not? Just divided over ideology,” she said, a little hesitant.

I thought about asking her more specifics, but Nen beat me to it. “Some readings differ, as Gilgamesh sees the screech owl that was banished to the wastelands. Metaphors woven, stories made to explain competing tales of humanity’s celebrated children.  And yet do the two who invite speak different tales, such cacophony of myths that it took a Great Star to diffuse the voices into a symphony of reality.  Sound and fury, the shouting of ‘I am,’ similar between gods and mortals.” He shrugged. “A chemical reaction, an accident of life, all desires to understand the taming of chaos.”

“Which is thought to be the source of magic,” Rayya added.

“I’m feeling the cynicism,” I retorted.

“Recognition,” Nen corrected.

“Recognition? Of what?” I asked.

“Of the struggle akin in all realms: to tame chaos to one’s own advantage. A unifying theory of sorts.”

“Magic is physics?” I asked, scoffingly.

Nen shrugged. “And yet you say humanity would be content without interaction in the realms.”

“For which you disagree?” I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know if it is a lack or an excess of imagination,” Rayya said softly.  I couldn’t tell if she was describing me or humanity, or heck, both.

I shook my head. “And this relates to demons?”

“No, malevolency. If chaos is the source of malevolency, demons are the forms of chaos to balance the forces of that which tames it,” Nen suggested.  “Chaos’ paladins, spreading the word of the anarchy in design.”

“Do anarchists have designs? I mean, the first sounds a little too ‘Chronicles of Amber’ for me,” I made a wry smile.

“Everything wrought can be undone,” Rayya shrugged.

“I’ve no horseshoe nails, if you’re about to ask.” I said. “Sounds too much of cold iron, anyway.”

“And in there is an anchor to the myth.”

“Also made of cold iron?”

“What would the temperature really have to do with it?” Rayya asked, but I was beginning to recognize the signs of her having me on, at least a little.

I flattered her with a look that kind of said that, and was rewarded with a smile.  She looked away after a moment.

I sighed. “I should do it.”

“Speak to your kin?” Nen asked.

“Am I that transparent?” I grinned.

“The speech of your movements brings you back to a younger time, and the marks of those years are upon you. Perhaps it is the same with mine.” He looked at Rayya.

She didn’t need to look at him. I recognized that, too.

I sighed and leaned over for my phone.

“Is that Numancy-fancy boy still dancing to your tune?” I asked when she picked up.

“I haven’t gotten bored of him…yet,” she replied. “And how are you?”

“Failing. I have 100 problems, and 99 of them aren’t demons.”

“I’ve always been better than you at math, but that’s implying an imaginary number. I know how you feel on the subject.” That was her saying that I’d made it quite clear.

“You’ve been better than me at just about everything,” I said, and I guessed it was the sentimental influence of the spriggan sibs, or I would never had said it.

She chuckled. “You’re going to ask me a favor, aren’t you?”

“Oh, indubitably.” She gave me the out.

“You need one of Robert’s patented full body massages?”

“Patented?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an entirely new technique that no one else has ever used before, but it involves anatomy and consent I don’t think you have.”

“I don’t…”

“…need to hear any more.” She laughed. “Okay, so instead of his physical skills you want something more … esoteric?”

“Good way of putting it.”

“Huh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Well, it’s going to cost you.”

“I won’t beg, I won’t do arson, and murder’s completely out.”

“Think cheaper.”

“Mom?” I tried not to whine.

“No, are you crazy? Don’t go there. She’s having one of her …”

“One of her…?” I let it trail off.

“Look, she wants grandkids, and unless you’ve made the awful decision to get back with Magdalen P. U., you should be nowhere near her.”

“No, no, no.” I literally pushed back on my chair, as if I could increase the physical distance between myself and that whole thought. “So what is it? I know it isn’t money.  It isn’t money, right?”

“Hah. I don’t need the change between your cushions.  Besides, you have a futon.”

“You don’t say.  So what is it?”

“I’m in.”

“You’re in what?”

“Can I trust you with my boyfriend?”

“Um… his virtue? You were all but throwing him at me a moment ago.”

“No, I want to go with you, wherever you go.”

“You having one of your feelings?”

“Yeah.  Big time.”

“And that’s it?”

“Oh, I’m going to think of something else.  Let me get him on the phone.  Lunch?”

“Usual place?”

“Of course.”