Brigits_Flame April Entry 02 - Seed
I think this is the last one with Alfie and Mona, as part of a continued storyline from last week and the last couple of weeks, most recently here, but beginning here.
“So,” I say, watching the foot traffic. “The loophole.”
“Yes,” Mona says, gingerly tracing a pattern on the back of my hand, which seems to be the only part of me that doesn’t hurt. We are in a little teahouse on Mammon, overlooking the Belial Suspension Bridge that connects the Thin Cities - Dis and Pandemonium. I think it crosses the River Lethe. But I forget. We’re in Pandemonium (are we ever), and I, Andrealphus-the-accountant-demon, have just narrowly escaped being whipped to death by my employer, one Lucifer-the-Lord-of-Lies. Also known as Samael Q. Douchebag. The time will soon come when I have to grovel at his cloven feet again. But not for now. I fucked up a contract with a mortal, and gave her her heart’s desires without extracting a promise of a soul. But Mona, sweet Desdemona-the-fire-of-my-heart, the one tracing her finger on the back of my palm as I sip my tea, fixed the contract, somehow, brought in the promise of a Glowy Orb, and saved my tawny ass from being made into leather. With a loophole. I look at her, and then look into the glass teapot. I have purchased one of those blooming teas - the kind that’s bound with a bit of twine, and, as it steeps, unfolds into a flower. It looks too pretty to drink.
“I looked through precedent for hours, Alfie,” she says. “But at length I found it.” She pulls up an entry on her mobile and shows it to me. “LaVey v. Bel’Shazzar, Infernal Court of Appeals, 8th circuit, 1972. Upheld: If a client has weaseled out of payment by fraudulently constructing a contract, the court ruled that the contract in question may either A) be considered void or B) special actions may be taken to,” and here she coughs significantly, “rectify the situation.”
“Ah.” The justice system in Hell works about the same as it does anywhere. I might be tempted to say that it’s even fairer than most places. Probably a bribe or two loosened that holding from the court.
“Armed with this knowledge, I applied for a warrant to infiltrate Belinda’s dreams.” I told you the system was fair. You have to have probable cause before you can just invade a mortal’s head. Belinda, incidentally, was the obnoxious mortal-in-question that had fucked with my contract.
“So what did you do?” I pour the tea, first into her cup, then mine. It tastes grassy and fertile, like someone’s backyard.
“I stole into her head,” Mona says, smiling her toothy, sharp smile, “and made her dream of osteoporosis.”
“What?” I cock my head - I don’t get it.
Mona shrugs and takes a sip of her tea. “You know, it’s a big deal for post-menopausal women.”
“Belinda’s, what - thirty?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“So … why did you… okay - no, continue.”
“I put the seed of doubt into her head, Alfie. I haven’t been in a mortal’s dream in a martyr’s age!” She leans in close. “I made her want Ovaltine.”
“What?”
“I made her want Ovaltine so bad.”
“That’s so ridiculous!” I cannot help chuckling, but it hurts my back to move too much. My back is completely raw. Had I mentioned I just got whipped by Satan? “Is there, like, calcium in that?”
“I have no idea. It could have bone meal and fish oil in it; I just thought it was funny.”
“It is funny!”
“So over a series of nights, I made her very afraid of osteoporosis to the point where she was terrified to get out of bed, and then I appeared at her bedside with a pen, the contract, and one of those giant five-pound tubs of Ovaltine.”
“… They sell those?”
“It was like, $8.99 at Costco.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nuh uh. I got a hot dog and a pop for like $1.50. Felt like the 80’s again.”
“So she signed it.”
“She did. She signed her soul for a life’s supply of the brown powder of life.”
“All the other stuff from the bad contract, though -?”
“Oh, that stands, but we’ve got the soul now. So. So you’re good.”
“No, Mona,” I say. “You’re good.”
I watch the suits shuffle past on the sidewalk of Pandemonium. It is the end of the lunch-hour rush, and self-important demons of all stripes hurry back to their offices, hoping to scrabble upwards, to wrangle some success out of this one-legged sack race. For now, I am happy to watch it from this distance, knowing that I must return to it in a few days. Happy with my tea. And, strangely, with Mona.
Y’know, you put a seed of an idea in your own head, and Asmodeus knows what’ll blossom from it. Heh.
That tickles, Mona.