Demon and Angel Co-Parent

There was never a boy who lived in a situation like Jeremiah. Every kid since the dawn of time had been taken care of by another human at some point in their lives. Most were blessed enough to have at least one loving person in their life. Jeremiah was fortunate enough to have two guardians who loved him very much. What made his situation unique was they weren't humans at all. 

Natural enemies, angels and demons fight over the souls of the humans on earth, but none so much over one particular soul. Jeremiah. What was so special about him, few could say. To Anavon and Destern, he was their world. 

Their first mission was to protect him. What each other's master's had in store for the little boy was a mystery, but both were tasked with his survival regardless. Anavon took the mission seriously, but no one told her to protect his parents too. When the boy was a year old, a drunk driver struck the car. Destern had known about this event and was specifically told to take possession of the drunk man so Jeremiah's parents could live a long life and slowly corrupt the boy.

The problem was Destern got distracted by a housewife across the street who was flirting with the neighbor's pool boy. He gave that woman the extra push she needed to ruin her marriage, but forgot the more important task. Satan did not take too kindly to his failure, despite gaining two souls and a strong foothold in two more. To make amends, Destern was tasked with raising the boy. No better bad influence than the one who raises you for eighteen years. 

God was unsurprised by this and thus why he told Anavon to only protect the boy. Her task was to raise the boy alongside Destern. Continue to protect the boy and teach him right from wrong. It was a job she took with glee, growing fond of her little "child."

In the beginning, it was easy for Anavon to care for the boy. Destern rarely stopped by for more than an hour a day, far too busy cultivating a neighborhood he wanted to live in. He never saw the point in trying to influence a child who can't even speak, nor did he want to get attached to him. Over time though, that changed. Destern started to enjoy seeing the smiling little boy, even if that meant spending time in an angel's presence. It made him squirm at first, feeling all kinds of love and kindness radiating from her. After a while though, he became accustomed to it.

As the years went on and the boy could start speaking, Anavon's trials began. Destern would try to teach him naughty words and act in unbecoming ways. Anavon had to be sneaky and convince the demon that if Jeremiah acted like him from an early age, he could never live up to his potential. Jeremiah was the key to many souls, not just his own. Destern knew that and conceded, taking a more measured approach to deviance.

Soon enough, the boy had started going to school. Most parents would be relieved to not have to deal with their kid for a few hours, but work didn't stop for these two. Although not in physical form, they still hung around his school everyday. The problem became Jeremiah could see them, regardless of form they were in. It became a distraction that they both agreed had to stop. Instead, they did normal parent things, like shop for clothes, get food, take care of the house, and talk with the neighbors. For the most part, they stayed out of Jeremiah's life at school.

Both the angel and demon were satisfied with their jobs so far, each believing they were on the right track until something happened that angered both of them. Jeremiah came home one day crying with bruises all over his arms. He admitted to them he was being bullied at school by a bunch of older kids. Anavon held him on the couch, wrapping her wings around him for an extra layer of comfort. Destern, on the other hand, was pacing on the carpet, mumbling a furry of curses.

"It's okay, Jeremiah. I'm here for you," Anavon said in a soothing voice.

"My arms hurt."

Destern's rage flared at Jeremiah's omission of pain. He marched over to the two, determined to know more about his "son's" predicament. "Let me see your arms."

Jeremiah sheepishly revealed his arms out from Anavon's winged protection. His forearm bruises might as well have been sleeve tattoos, deep in color and all consuming. Destern roared and turned away, unable to look at him. 

"Tell me who did this," Destern said.

"Destern, No," Anavon said. She glared at him, but he was far too preoccupied with getting his coat in the closet. 

"Did you not see what they did to our boy? I will have their souls!"

Anavon turned Jeremiah to face her. "You don't have to tell us. All that matters is you are home. You go run upstairs and soak those arms in the tub. I'll be up soon."

Jeremiah nodded and jumped out of her embrace and scurried off to the bathroom upstairs. Destern was going to follow him, but Anavon outstretched her wing to block his path. 

"Get those feathers out of my face." Destern swatted at her.

"We need to talk."

"The only talking I need to do is with my son. There will be vengeance."

"Not by you. Not like this."

Destern crossed his arms. "How then?"

Anavon retracted her wing and motioned him to join her on the couch. He sat down reluctantly, but he knew he would get an answer if he complied. She was always good at awarding any concession he gave. 

"Why are you so mad about this? You're the one who wants to see our boy burn in hell."

"How are you not angry? Did you not see his arms? He could've been killed!"

"I never said I wasn't angry…" Anavon sighed, trying to stave off the urge to raise her voice. "...but I don't want our boy to see that the only response to violence is more violence,"

"Oh, so we are just supposed to turn the other cheek on this one? That's not how that works where I come from!"

"I know it isn't. But Jeremiah can do more good if he isn't in a jail cell by eighteen."

Destern hated hearing the word "good," but she was right. Jeremiah was far too valuable to be locked away in a jail cell. The boy brought far more joy in his life than he cared to admit. Dare he even say love. It was dangerous for him to feel and think in such ways, less his master found out. Destern had to squash this feeling and stood up from the couch.

"Fine, you win this one. I'm going to take all this pent up energy out on Steven instead."

"Why Steven? What did he do to you?"

Destern shrugged. "Nothing. That's why I hate that guy so much. He does absolutely nothing but sleep all day."

"He's in a coma," Anavon said, rolling her eyes.

"Not tonight he isn't. Tonight, he is Chad Bundy, Master of Pussy! I'm going to see how many venereal diseases I can get him in a night."

"You are so gross, you know that." Anavon got up from the couch and walked toward the stairs to check on Jeremiah.

"What? I could have been talking about cats. They have diseases too."

Anavon dismissively waved to him without turning around. Destern bit his lip, watching her naturally seductive hips and carefree wave. Something about her being unattainable made it wrong in the most right way for him. He shook his mind from the thought, knowing his lust would be satisfied tonight and maybe his vengeance too. Women of the night work in a dangerous profession, especially when a demon is on the prowl with no one to take out his rage on.

Destern went back into the closet and pulled out a raincoat. "Steven might be needing this."

His deeds would for sure be on the morning news the next day, but a small victory for hell was a far cry from victory in the ongoing war. Jeremiah was still alive, being cared for by his guardian angel. He was destined to guide more souls to salvation than would ever be lost by Destern's vile ways. All Anavon had to do was stay loyal to her master. The war would end one day and when it did, she wanted her family to be on the winning side. On the side of righteousness and good.

***

The Cat Did It

A bushy haired man named Branson was sitting up on his faded couch that proudly wore the scars of a glorified scratching post. Sitting on the other side of his smoke glass end table were two detectives donning drab grey suits. Their badges were the only colorful part of their attire, perched on their belts next to the spare magazine. One of the detectives, who identified herself as Detective Fraser, was rifling through her bag to grab some photos. The other detective, Detective Peck, sat back in his seat and snuck a peek at his coworker's ass. Branson could see the interest, but he never thought a detective would be so unprofessional in his presence. Detective Peck looked back at Branson and winked at him, before sitting forward.

"Mr. Stairfield, we are here to ask you a few questions about your cat," Detective Fraser said, with a stack of photos and drawings in her hand. 

Branson cocked his head. "My cat?"

"Yes, sir. Recently we had a string of vandalisms and robberies where we have caught all the suspects."

"Okay…" Branson said, unsure where they were going with this.

"All of them had the same story. They told us a cat told them to do it."

"They sound crazy."

"We would agree, but they all gave us the same description of the cat," Detective Peck said.

Detective Fraser laid out a few of the photos and drawings, all depicting a black cat with red eyes and fur that stood on end. Branson took a brief glance at them before looking back at Detective Fraser. 

"Your neighbor said you have a black cat," Detective Fraser said. 

"Well, my neighbor is a liar! It shouldn't take a detective to know that. Who told you?"

"Alice Fletcher. Lives a few doors down," Detective Peck said. Both detectives sat at the end of their seats, surprised by Branson's hostility. 

"Alice Fletcher is a loon. And a little…" Branson trailed off, noticing the detectives were starting to take more interest in him. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just get worked up when her name comes up. She is always trying to get me in trouble."

"We aren't accusing you of any crimes, Mr. Stairfield. We are simply looking for some cooperation in our case."

"I thought you said you arrested everyone?" 

"We did. The problem is we recently had a murder and the suspect in that case explicitly mentioned a black cat told him to do it," Detective Fraser said, pointing to a picture of the cat. 

Branson looked between the two faces of the detectives. He knew what they were implying and he wasn't having any of it. 

"Do you think I did it? Is that why you're here?" Branson said, standing to his feet.

"We are not saying that sir…"

"You think I dress up as a cat and go brainwash people into committing crimes? You want to see my closet? Come on. I'll show you. No cat suits in there!" Branson almost yelled at them. 

"Please calm down, Mr. Stairfield," Detective Peck said. 

Branson waved his hands around. "Calm down? Why?"

"We just want to see your cat," Detective Fraser said.

"I told you, I don't have one!"

"Then why is your couch all ripped up?" Detective Peck questioned.

"I bought it second hand! Even comes with a permanent cat piss smell. Want a sniff?" Branson said, lifting up the cushion.

"And the litterbox?" Detective Peck asked, pointing to the grey box with kitty litter next to his grungy door.

"Came with the couch. Haven't had time to throw it."

Detective Fraser collected her photos and put them back in her bag. She shoved it into Detective Peck before he could lose his temper. She pulled a card out from her suit pocket. 

"I can see we came at a bad time. If you do see a black cat, please give me a call," she said, placing the card on the table.

Branson watched them both with steely eyes as they left his apartment. The door closed shut and Branson picked up the card on the table. It had her name, badge number and contact information as well as the case number on the back. He walked over to the kitchen and turned on the stovetop, leaving the card on top. 

From behind, a black cat scurried out of an adjacent room and jumped up on the couch. The cat meowed and Branson turned to face the cat. 

"You really fucked up this time," Branson said. The cat responded with a meow. Branson moved over to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh outside air. He looked down at the sidewalk that was three floors below him. The undercover looking police crustier was parked near the curb.

"They are getting too close. You need to fix your mess," Branson said, turning to face the cat. The cat jumped off the couch, ran toward Branson and jumped up on the window sill. It looked back at Branson and meowed one last time to him before jumping to the next window sill.

"And none of that loose end bullshit again," Branson called out to the cat that had already sprung to the last set of window sills. The cat landed on a railing which surrounded some green shrubs along the exterior wall.

The two detectives walked out of the building side by side and the cat balanced on the railing near them. It meowed, getting the attention of Detective Peck. He looked right at the cat before he grabbed Detective Fraser's ass. She turned to him and slapped him across the face. The cat meowed again. There was a brief pause where the detectives were either going to tear each other apart or kiss. Unfortunately, it was the former. They both drew their service weapons, but Detective Fraser was not hindered by the bag. Three shots rang out as she shot her partner twice in the chest and once in the head.

People across the street screamed and a car that was driving by screeched its tires, leaving smoke in its wake. The woman looked over to the cat and it meowed one last time. Another shot rang out and Detective Fraser collapsed to the floor over her partner. The cat looked up at Branson, who watched the whole ordeal unfold from the comfort of his window. He looked over to the card that went ablaze. The stovetop coils were red hot and the card shriveled up into nothing more than ash. Branson gave the cat a nod.

"Look what you made me do, Alice. Look what you made me do."

Evil Rivals

"Death!" Satan yelled at the top of his lungs, storming up the spiral cobblestone staircase. Soot coated the hot steps and grey ash filled the crevices.

He got to the top of the keep that overlooked the fiery hellscape of...well...Hell. Death stood in his normal business attire, a midnight black cloak, gazing over the tortured souls in the lake of fire. Their screams moved like a breeze, whispering their pain to anyone that would hear it.

"What up, Lucy?" Death said, still entranced by the horrific scene below.

"Don't you give me that Lucy shit! I know what you did."

Death turned to Satan. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You took that soul before his time. I have been planning his soul's demise for years!"

"How was I supposed to know your plans? You sure took your sweet time with Hal?"

"I thought I had more time with him."

"Life is a funny thing. You never know how much time you got,” Death said, tapping his scythe on the floor.

"Fuck you, Death. You aren't supposed to take sides."

Death cocked his head. "I'm not." 

Satan took a step back and his eyes got big. "You're still mad my demon killed that family of yoga instructors last year."

"Those were mine and you knew it!"

"Ah ha! So this is payback," Satan said, pointing at him.

"All I did was do my job. Your man went out of his way to take my job.”

"What are you complaining about? Not being able to kill?"

"I don't kill. I harvest souls."

"What's the difference?" Satan said with a shrug.

"God sees the difference. Runs his show much better than you do.”

Satan's eyes burned red with rage. "Don't you dare bring him up down here!"

"Or what? You're going to kill me?" Death said,

"I know about Linda. You have been keeping her alive on purpose after all these years. Maybe my demon loses his way on Earth…stumbles into her."

"You want to play with fire? I'm game. I will walk up there right now and take out that entire congregation in Alabama. God knows they are ripe for your picking in a few weeks. Can't shake a stick without hitting a relative."

"You wouldn't," Satan said, trying to glare through him. 

"Oh, I would. God and I have been on pretty good terms. Maybe I can help him out some more…" Death said, looking Satan up and down. "Not like he needs it."

"Alright, that's it!" Satan said before leaping on top of him. Death blocked Satan's hands with his scythe and fell on his back. 

Satan tried to tear the scythe from Death's hands, but boy was he strong. Satan tried whipping Death with his forked tail, but Death was quicker, batting it away with the blade. That motion caused Death to roll on top of Satan, pinning the tail underneath their collective weight.

"Get off me!" Satan said. 

"Not until you promise to stop killing my souls!"

"I promise. Okay!" Satan said, straining from the pain of his own tail stabbing him in the back.

Death got up and gave Satan some space. Satan brushed the soot off himself and pulled his tail out of his back. They both were silent, letting the whispers of torture and pain float into the room. Satan glared at Death, getting more frustrated by the second that he couldn't see his eyes under that blasted cloak of his.

"So...we have an understanding?" Death asked.

"We do."

"How do I know you will keep your word? Lying is kind of your specialty."

Satan took a deep breath. "We want the same things. Would be bad business to screw my partner, seeing as I'm stuck with you for eternity."

"We aren't partners."

"Fine. Associates."

"Barely."

"In any case, I promise to not kill people if you promise to stick to your timelines."

"What if I need to change them?"

"You have to give me notice."

"I won't be able to just give you notice," Death said.

"Give me notice first. And no more of that surprise bullshit."

"I should be able to do that…assuming Linda is not touched.”

"We have a deal." Satan held out his hand.

Death bursted into a cloud of grey smoke and was gone. Satan wafted the smoke away and a devious smile grew on his face.

"Oh Death, you stupid schmuck. She is almost 200 years old. Her brain at this point isn't what it used to be. Be a shame if she thought back to her times as a free diver and tried to take the plunge one last time. Who knows, the bag of brittle bones might live?”

He let out a villainous laugh that roared across the sea of fire, blocking out the wails below. This was going to be his best payback yet. Cheating Death without breaking his promise. After all, he was just encouraging her to relive her youth. What's so bad about that?

A Pact Rescinded

A piece of old parchment slid across the wooden table, followed by a fine tip pen with a peasant feather attached. The lantern above swayed back and forth. The floors creaked in sync with the lantern chain.

“Just sign the form,” the demon said.

“But...I don’t understand. He doesn’t want me?” Pepper said.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“But...I made the pact? It just feels wrong.”

“You didn’t turn out how he thought you would. Just sign the form.”

Pepper picked up the pen and scanned the form. He touched the tip to the paper and then retracted it.

“Wait. What do you mean, I didn’t turn out like he thought?”

The demon rolled his eyes. “What more do you want from me? He didn’t like the results he was getting from you and decided to go another direction. End of story.”

“Results? I did exactly what he asked of me.”

“Can you just sign the form? I’m late for my hot torture session. I don’t want the prongs to get cold.”

“Not until I know why my results weren’t up to his expectations.”

The demon sighed. “Do you remember when you were supposed to poison Pastor Kennedy’s tea?”

“Yes. He was allergic to shellfish, so I–”

“He wasn’t allergic to shellfish. It’s his favorite food. He was in such a good mood he went on to save three thousand souls that evening.”

“So, I made a little mistake.”

“One time is a mistake. Every time starts to feel like divine intervention.”

“What about when I murdered Mrs. Tanov?”

“She never died.”

“Of course she did. She had no pulse and I left her in that little wooden cabin in the middle of Siberia. In the winter. With no heat.”

“Her nephew came by just after you left. Gave her CPR. Her nephew ended up believing in Christ after that and they went on to evangelize most of Eastern Europe.”

“But–”

“No. No more buts. Every time you get a task you screw it up majorly. The Devil is afraid you will mess up Hell too. Just sign the form.”

Pepper slumped his head down. “Fine.”

Pepper wrote his name on the last line in the document and it rolled up by itself, flying into the demon’s hand. The pen disappeared into a small puff of black smoke. The demon stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers, engulfing him in flames.

“Usually I say, See you in Hell, but if I do, I swear to God I will kill myself,” the demon said before he disappeared with the flames.

Pepper got up from his chair and walked to the wood door behind him. He opened the door, revealing the impressive ship. Black sails above, taunt from the wind blowing, propelled the ship over the large waves. Water splashed over the thick railings, diluting the pools of blood. Over the entire deck were countless bodies, each with their throats slit or stabbed in the heart. Not a soul was stirring amongst the mass floating grave.

“Whew, I really dodged a bullet I guess.”