Chapter Three Desire & Deals
I wait.
And wait.
And wait some fucking more.
I yell.
I scream.
Silence.
“For the love of maple-glazed donuts covered in bacon,” I say, punctuating each word with a bang of my head on the desk I’ve put claw marks into and cracked, “Hello?”
“Hello?” comes the same husky voice from the fuck only knows how long ago. His tone is confused and slightly muffled. Even so, I have to admit, I enjoy the smooth yet slightly raspy timbre.
Thank all the Seven Deadlies and the ones that didn’t make the cut, too.
“Hello!” I croak a little too enthusiastically. I clear my throat and try again. “Hello. Please don’t walk away. I swear, I’m not a drunken delusion.”
“I’m not drunk,” the voice argues as I hear the door open.
“Hungover hallucination then. I’m not that either,” I retort. “Where in the seven circles have you been?” I demand.
The door slams shut with a sharp snap. “My house has been bugged. Big brother has been reading my internet search history and flagged me as a potential threat,” the voice stammers on in a panic.
If I roll my eyes any harder, they’ll get stuck, and with my luck, I’ll get reassigned to possession.
Yeah, fuck that shit.
“Hey!” I yell to grab his attention. “I’m gonna need you to focus.
I am not Big Brother. You are not having a nervous breakdown.
This is not a fever dream, hallucination, poisoning, bad trip, or any other means that you are likely conjuring.
I. Am. Real. I have been trying to speak to you for hours, human. ”
“Ezra,” comes the voice as I’m in the process of sucking in a lungful of air to continue my tirade.
“What?” I ask as my lungs deflate.
“My name is Ezra,” he says calmly. “You’d think if I was having a nervous breakdown, the voice in my head would at least know my name.”
I groan. “Not a breakdown, dude. We’ve been over that.”
“Says the voice coming from...wait, where are you coming from? There’s an echo. If this were my internal voice, there wouldn’t be an echo. Unless my mind is a reflection of the mines of Moria, dark, empty, and hollow.”
“Ezra!” I snap, “You summoned me through the Ouija board. I mean, not me specifically. I just happened to be working the Summoning Switchboard.”
I hear the door slowly creak open. “Switchboard? Summoning? What the fuck are you on about?”
Well, he opened the door. That’s progress, right?
“Let me see if I can dumb this down for you, as the effects of the alcohol are obviously still addling your brain.. At some point, you ignorantly played with a Ouija board. By playing with said Ouija board, you connected with the Summoning Switchboard, connecting you to me. Now tell me what in the unholy fuck you want, so I can close this cursed ticket.”
“We did use the Ouija board last night,” he mutters, voice coming closer.
No shit, Sherlock.” I think as my claws dig into the desktop.
“If you find the planchet, that’s our line of communication.”
A moment later, he speaks, and it comes in crystal clear. “I’m losing my damn mind.”
You and me both, buddy.
“Again, we’ve been through this. Not the point,” I say, slashing the air as if he can see me. “So, you opened a line to the switchboard because you have a want or desire. I happened to be on switchboard duty and answered the call. Now we can discuss the nature of the desire and make a deal.”
“Deal?”
“Deal. As in, you want something, I provide it in exchange for something, like your soul or years off your life.” I’m shocked that Ezra is not familiar with the scenario.
“I don’t want to give up any of those things!” he exclaims so loud my eardrum may be bleeding.
I sigh heavily. This is not going to go well, I just fucking know it. “Well, you desire something, or you wouldn’t be an open summoning case I have to close,” I say matter-of-factly. Maybe I can logic this out with him.
“This is a hallucination. I had too much tequila last night, and I’m exhausted from a long year of teaching angsty teenagers and taking care of Gideon,” he snaps.
“This is not a hallucination; this is work.”
“Yeah, because demons have 9 to 5s,” Ezra says, tone dripping with sarcasm.
I can feel my blood begin to boil. “Look, just tell me your desire. I’ll grant it, waive the penalty, and we can end this exhausting call.”
Sweet Satan, if this man does not accept these terms, I am going to go nuclear.
There’s a loud thud right before Ezra angrily states, “Consider this call ended.” His final word is punctuated by the door slamming shut.
“Hello? Hello? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I screech.
This punishment is literally going to be the punishment from Hell and then some.
I hope Karma chokes on its fucking cocktail.