IDK, I’m loading this post Thursday night wondering if we might need a distraction tomorrow. Either way, here’s a free short story for you to enjoy in this rather tumultuous week <3
CURSES WITH BENEFITS
Streetlights filtered in past the edges of the master bedroom’s blinds, casting silvered bands up the wardrobe door in the dark. The air carried humidity from the shower, and the faint scent of mint soap lingered in the air. Harry lay drowsy and warm beneath the heavy covers on the bed, completely comfortable, and completely awake, even though the digital clock on the other side of the room said 2:00AM.
Unaccustomed to needing help falling asleep, Harry let his left hand dangle over the edge of the bed. “Seagal,” he murmured. He inhaled, ready to name the big, black, Great Dane-shaped demon twice more to summon it—demon it may be, but its fur felt convincingly soft and sleek, and since he’d demonstrated to it quite convincingly that he had the ability to freeze its ears off if it set a toe out of line—
A skin-splintering shriek pierced the dark stillness of Harry’s bedroom.
Seagal had appeared alright: on the floor to Harry’s left, in the middle of a pitched, fervoured, violent battle with… something.
Claws flashed in the darkness.
Seagal’s eyes glimmered like firelight. He shrieked again, an awful, bone-rattling cry, terror shaped into sound.
The thing attacking him snarled, sending fear pulsing out into the night.
Heart pounding, hardly daring to move for fear of drawing attention to himself, Harry whispered, “Begone.”
Seagal vanished, and the other creature—and the fearful, agonised shrieks.
Goosebumps pressed against Harry’s fingertips where his right hand lay on his chest; the hair all up and down his arms had raised, and his heart pounded like he’d just finished running a hundred-metre sprint for his life.
Deep breaths. They’re gone now. Deep breaths.
He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly through pursed lips, willing his muscles to relax just as when he woke from his occasional nightmares. (When you made a living hunting down the nastier of the supernatural entities in the world, occasional nightmares were the least you could expect.)
Nothing’s hurting you.
The hairs on his arms and legs slowly settled, and the goosebumps diminished back to normal skin.
What was that thing? And how powerful was it, that it could harm Seagal?
Adrenalin flashed through Harry’s body for the second time as it occurred to him that actually, all he’d done in banishing Seagal was condemn him to fight alone.
Yes, alright, the demon dog with its cropped, pricked ears that trailed off into scribbles of coal black smoke and long, whip-like tail with the tuft of hair at the tip and elbow joints just a little too spiky, too angular was a demon dog…
But that didn’t mean Harry had to abandon it. After all, the demon dog had never abandoned him.
He snorted briefly at that twist in fate; two years ago, he’d have frozen someone alive if they’d told him he’d come to feel empathy for the demon that dogged—ha ha—his footsteps like a personal black hole.
And yet—he sighed—here he was.
Harry dug his fingers into the slightly starchy sheet that covered his mattress. Inhaled deeply and let the warm, slightly minty air ground his awareness. Licked his teeth, searching for the peppermint burn of his toothpaste. Strained his ears and caught the sound of a car whooshing past, a blackbird trilling its territorial song, the faint hum of electronics.
And, thus grounded, Harry opened not his eyes, but his awareness, and let the primal energies of the earth flow through him.
Water was his strength, and that was easy to find with the air still thick with humidity; air was similarly plentiful. Fire came from the electrical currents pulsing through the house, earth from the rather aesthetic arrangement of dried wheat stalks he kept in a drinking glass half full of dirt on the dresser.
“Seagal,” he murmured again. His muscles tensed instinctively—but his room stayed silent.
“Seagal!”
Nothing. And now his heart was pounding fearfully again—only this time the fear wasn’t for him, but for his demon dog.
(His? When had Seagal become his?)
(Answer: when he’d been threatened by someone not Harry.)
“Seagal, Prince of Air and Night, Fleet of Foot and Master of Speed, Haunter of Shadows and Bringer of Sorrow, Seagal, Keeper of Lost Memories and Guardian of the Void, come forth!”
Harry had a split instant to realise he’d just shouted Seagal’s full Name at the top of his voice at two in the morning, and that his neighbours a) might hear, b) would appreciate his weirdness even less than usual, and c) may possibly—infinitesimally small chance, but still possible—have memorised that title, which would cause all sorts of problems if they tried to repeat it in the morning…
Seagal and his attacker burst back into the room.
Harry yelped and leapt off the bed to make room for them.
He stumbled, tangled in the blankets for a moment.
Seagal shrieked again, ear-splittingly loud.
The other creature snarled back.
Harry thumped to the ground—ow, carpet burn, left knee, ow—spun around as fast as possible in the middle of his floordrobe, and raised a hand.
“Aqua potentia!” he shouted in deliberately mangled Latin.
Phantom water jetted from his outstretched hand and hit the two beasts currently tearing up his queen-sized bed with the force of a fire hose.
Seagal whimpered but, having suffered the brunt of Harry’s water attacks before, otherwise simply rolled to one side and off the bed.
The other creature, however—something like what Harry imagined a wolverine (the creature, not the superhero) looked like, if a wolverine weighed as much as he did—screamed in agony.
Perfect.
He’d taken a punt, but demons usually associated most closely with fire (being non-material creatures by nature, they used the elements to craft physical bodies for themselves when manifesting in the material world), making water his usual weapon of choice.
And behold: the wolverine demon’s scream, equal parts pained and pissed off as Harry’s phantom water attack continued gushing at it, was evidence that water had been a good choice.
“Begone!” Harry shouted over the screaming. “Begone, foul thing from the outer worlds! You have no place among this dwelling of mortals. Begone!”
Pain clamped down on his mind. And either the screaming stopped—or else Harry was now screaming so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything else, because the demon had reached out with ephemeral claws, and had sunk them directly into his mind.
You dare, a furious voice intoned. You dare interrupt me.
Pain. Stabbing, seething, burning, furious pain.
Harry choked down his screams, gasped.
Never let them sense weakness.
“Yes,” Harry hissed out through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body wound tight, hands fisting so his nails bit into his palms, thoughts clouded by the red mist of agony. “I dare.”
A snarl.
The pressure in his head let up just a fraction as Seagal jumped the other demon where it towered on the bed.
Snarls. Yelps.
A flash of firelight from someone’s eyes.
Harry raised his arm, trembling from the effort of moving through the burning grip of the wolverine demon, still holding fast to his mind.
“Aqua…” He gasped.
Seagal snapped at the wolverine—and his teeth found purchase, sinking deep into the wolverine’s shoulder.
“Aqua potentia.”
A shaky jet of ghostly water, silvery in the dark, shot against the wolverine again, and the scent of dousing fire filled the room.
River rocks.
Flowing water.
Something akin to a candle going out.
The demon shrieked.
“Begone.” Harry’s arm fell to the ground and he shook, exhausted, spent.
The wolverine demon vanished.
Relief flooded through Harry’s chest like another wave of adrenalin as he stared up at Seagal, now peering down at him from atop the bed.
You saved me. Seagal’s voice in Harry’s head was firm, and decisive—and carried only a hint of wonder around its edges.
Harry tried a smile, made it halfway and decided it was too much energy; snorted softly instead. Yo, he said, too tired to actually verbalise.
Seagal started down at him, fire-bright eyes unblinking as the air cooled around them.
Another car went past out front.
The blackbird dared another trill.
Seagal blinked. You had trouble finding sleep.
Harry nodded a fraction. The piles of clothes he was lying on was pretty comfortable, actually. And if he wasn’t sleeping in bed, surely he could just… not move, and then not sleep equally as well down here.
The bed seemed like an awfully high thing to climb right now.
…Sleeping on a floordrobe wasn’t that bad, was it? He was an adult. It was a legitimate choice he could make. …Right?
Seagal nodded, one short, decisive movement. You will find sleep, he said, a little rumble in his voice. For the next twelve months, nothing shall disturb your slumber, and neither shall slumber hide from you. Seek it, he said, and you shall find it.
It was Harry’s turn to blink. I didn’t know demons gave out blessings.
Seagal’s stare was long, and piercing, and Harry got the impression that if the demon had been able to make a dog mouth present a wicked, gleaming smile, he would have.
As it was, Harry was treated to a smile full of pointed teeth that glimmered in the filtered light of the streetlights.
Oh Harry, Seagal said. We cannot. He tilted his head in the manner of adorable dogs everywhere. But sometimes we can offer curses with benefits.
Seagal vanished.
The silence rang against Harry’s ears.
He closed his eyes. I’ll get up in just a second, he told himself—and snored.
As it turned out, sleeping on a floordrobe was a totally legitimate life choice, when you were an adult who’d had trouble falling asleep—and had just fought a moderately strong demon for the safety of a friend.