Chapter Six House Guests
The house was quiet.
Not the normal kind of quiet.
Not “the baby is finally asleep, and I can hear myself think” quiet.
The kind of deceptive quiet that toddlers favor when they are sewing seeds of chaos or turning the hallway into a Picasso-style masterpiece with permanent markers, finger paints, and other questionable mediums.
The kind of quiet that made every parent’s spidey senses tingle.
Which was absurd, given that Gideon was currently napping upstairs and there were no toddlers in the house.
Only me.
And the absence of an exceptionally annoying, sultry demon voice.
It had been a full day since I’d snapped at Syn and thrown the planchet into the closet, hoping to end this ridiculous summoning. Since then, there’s been nothing.
No screaming.
No threats.
No insults.
No hearing my name being screamed on repeat every thirty seconds like the worst, most infuriating broken record.
Just silence.
I stare at the closet door from my spot on the couch where I’ve been trying, and failing, to get some work done before Gideon wakes up.
The closet stares back.
“You are not opening that door,” I tell myself sternly, turning my attention back to my computer.
The closet remained closed.
Silent.
Every minute that passes is a mockery.
Five minutes and a fifth reading of the same email later, I let out a groan of frustration, close the damn computer, and cross to stand in front of the closet door.
I open the door slowly, preparing to be ambushed by an onslaught of fury from the demon on the other end of the planchet.
Nothing.
“Hello?” I say as I pick up the planchet. “Syn?”
The line remains quiet.
“Listen,” I start, rubbing the back of my neck, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re just trying to do your job. A job that I inadvertently created for you.”
I hold my breath, wait for her to answer, but get nothing.
“Hello? Are you there?” I ask the planchet.
“Hi,” A sultry voice says...from behind me.
“Holy fucking shitballs!” I yelp, whirling around and flinging the planchet in the direction of the voice.
What I find steals the breath from my lungs.
Iridescent black skin, an oil-slick sheen shifting between purples, blues, and greens.
Her hair is a tangle of waves, and as she shifts from one foot to the other, I can see multiple layers of various colors.
She’s tall, at least five seven or five eight, with a curvy body, full, rounded hips, and thick thighs.
She’s wearing a cut-up, slouchy Doors t-shirt, with skin-tight distressed leather pants and biker boots. I spot spikes and chains of jewelry and piercings here and there, but the most impressive thing is the set of red and black wings that look like sparks of flame tucked behind her back.
“No need to throw things. Even by demon standards, that’s rude.”
My brain short-circuits as it catches up to reality.
“Are you broken?” she asks, head cocking to one side.
I remain silent as I drink her in. She is by far the most stunningly gorgeous female I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
“Ezra?” she calls my name, waving her hands to get my attention.
“Holy shit,” I wheeze.
She smiles, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting a glimpse of hellfire, which my mind rationalizes is the equivalent of sunshine.
“Holy shit,” I repeat.
“Um, hi,” she says, looking like she feels a bit awkward.
“You’re real,” I sputter.
She rolls her eyes. “Duh. I told you I wasn’t a hallucination, drunken delusion, or product of a nervous breakdown.”
“You’re real, and you’re here,” I say, pointing to the ground.
Her wings twitch as she places a hand on her curvy hip. “Uh huh.”
I shake my head because, clearly, she is not understanding. “You’re real, and you’re here and not, not wherever the fuck the planchet is,” I exclaim, noting the hint of delirium creeping into my voice.
“Yup.”
“But you’re real, and you’re a demon, and you’re here.”
“Yes to all of those,” she says, amused.
“Demons are real.”
“Correct. But for the record, I’m a demoness.”
“Hell is real and has a switchboard.”
“Gold star, Professor Pookey Bear. You can call me Syn.”
“I’m gonna need a minute,” I say, taking several deep breaths.
I’m attempting to formulate a coherent thought when I hear Gideon stirring from his nap. I look up the stairs, then at the demon standing in my living room, then back up the stairs.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, as I head up the stairs. I pause on the third step and turn back to Syn. “Don’t go anywhere.” I dash up the stairs to Gideon's room and lift him out of his crib.
“Escape artist," I say, kissing his head. “I’d love to know how you get out of your burrito wrappings.” I head downstairs to find Syn wandering around the living room, looking around like she’s strolling through a museum. When I step off the bottom step, she turns to us.
“Why are you here?” I ask as I bounce Gideon.
Syn shifts nervously, a fact that a powerful creature such as her could ever be nervous is wild to me, before answering, “I have to close your case.”
“What happened to the planchet?”
“We weren’t getting anywhere, so I had to change tactics,” she states very matter-of-factly. “If you just tell me what it is you desire, I’ll be on my merry way.”
Gideon begins to fuss, so I head for the kitchen, Syn right behind me.
“I already told you.”
She lets out a disgruntled noise I find oddly cute. “No, you told me a bunch of shit you thought would make me go away. I can’t do that until you tell me what you really want.”
At this point, Gideon moves out of fussy and into crying. Damn teething.
“Why is he crying?” she asks, sounding perplexed.
I set him down in the portable crib I keep downstairs and move to the kitchen island to start making his bottle. “He’s hungry. This is his nighttime bottle. He’s also teething.”
Syn moves to the crib and stares down at my son for a moment before turning to me. “As I was saying, until you tell what it is you really want, you’re stuck with me.”
I pause, measuring the formula. She can’t mean what I think she does.
“Stuck as in...” I trail off.
She shrugs. “As in I’ll be your house guest until I can close your summoning.”
I knock the bottle over as my gaze shoots to hers.
“What?!” I exclaim, grabbing the towel from the sink and cleaning the mess.
Gideon picks this moment to let loose a wail that has both Syn and me jumping.
“Hang on, little guy. Daddy’s working on it,” I say gently as I grab a bottle. There’s no fucking way I can have a demon as a house guest. No matter how much I enjoy the sound of her voice or how beautiful I find her.
“You can not be serious.”
“Deadly,” she replies in a tone that leaves no room for negotiations.
Gideon, who has been steadily working himself into a fit, goes quiet as I get the lid on the newly made bottle. When I look up, I nearly drop the bottle again. Syn has Gideon cradled in her arms as her wings gently flap, bobbing her and my son gently above the ground.
Something pinches in my chest.
It’s sharp, the pain so sudden I rub the spot.
Like a belt wrapped around my ribs that tightens for half a second.
“What are you doing?” I say in utter shock.
Her eyes cut to me. “Clearly, what you were or, more accurately, weren’t doing fast enough was causing more upset. He needed a distraction, and given he’s never seen a demon before, I figured I’d make the perfect distraction”
Gideon seems to agree as he starts to coo and swat his tiny, little arms at her.
The sight...does funny things to me. I walk slowly over and reach for Gideon. Syn gently lands and hands him over. My son has the nerve to start fussing again. As I pass her to head for the living room, I swear that I see her smirk.
“Let me make sure I understand,” I say as I take a seat on the couch, “I’m considered an open case. And until you can figure out what it is that I want, you can’t close the case. So, to expedite this process, you’re squatting in my house?”
“Squatters are from the Plague Department upstairs. I’m here on behalf of Summoning Switchboard downstairs. So yes, I will be taking up temporary residence here with you and the living siren until you figure out what you desire.”
Fucking hell, or heaven, or interdimensional realm of pain and torture.
“I could call a priest. Exorcise you out,” I bait.
She waves my words away like swatting a fly. “Urban myth. We,” she motions between us, “are tethered until I close your case.”
I level her with a disbelieving stare as Gideon drinks his bottle. “Bullshit. There’s no way exorcisms are an urban myth.”
“Pookey Bear, demons are the best acting coaches to be found. The drama, the pain, the shock. We’ve got all and more. Some of our most famous residents of the acting world downstairs give lessons to the Department of Possession.”
What multiverse have I fallen into?
I move Gideon to my shoulder and start patting his back. “You’re telling me holy water, prayer, crosses...none of that?”
“None of it,” she confirms.
Gideon burps, and I resume feeding him. “Then why bother?” I ask, now genuinely curious.
This time, when Syn smiles, it’s devious.
“Do you know how fun it is to piss off the prissy little goody-goodies upstairs? Nothing riles them up as much as a good possession where people pull out all the stops.”
“So you’re pranking Heaven.”
“Yup, and with style,” she says smugly.
For reasons I do not want to examine, I store that tidbit of information away. Maybe we can use it for D&D.
Syn and I go quiet as I process this new information while Gideon finishes his bottle.
When he burps, I take him back to the kitchen and clean the bottle.
After that’s done, I pick him back up and motion Syn to follow me upstairs.
A quick diaper change and burrito wrapping later, I find myself standing very closely to Syn, who has been watching my nighttime routine with odd fascination.
“So...” I say, suddenly very aware of the situation. This close to her, I can see the amethyst with silver pupils of her eyes. A full bottom lower lip topped with a Cupid’s bow upper purses as we stand there staring at each other.
Syn looks between the three rooms, then to me. She cocks a sculpted brow expectantly.
“The guest room is right behind you. The bathroom is right there,” I say, pointing to the guest bath. “We’ll be in there,” I add, hitching a thumb over my shoulder.
“Goodnight,” I finish hastily.
Gideon is already drifting off as I lay him in the pack and play next to my bed. I brush my teeth quickly and climb into bed, willing my mind to stop racing.
It doesn’t.
I can hear her moving around, likely trying to settle into her new surroundings. I wonder if she has PJs to change into? A toothbrush? She didn’t have a bag when she popped into the living room.
There it is, genius. She literally popped into your living room. No plane required, so why would she need luggage, dipshit?
Across the hall, a demoness is settling into my guest room.
Yet, that isn’t what’s keeping me awake.