The Demon In the Corner

Caliburn is a daemon from the Seventh Circle of Torment, a taskmaster to the souls bound to eternal pain. But when a woman walks into the Midtown Bar he hangs out at, his day gets interesting.

First of all, my hair was on fire.

I mean, this isn’t a new thing. My hair is always on fire. Never goes out. It’s part of who I am. I mean, no respectable being of the Seventh Circle of Torment goes around without at least a couple of sparks playing between their locks. It just doesn’t work that way. Sevens have this inherent need for something violent, something destructive. It just kind of goes with the territory. Especially Outers. Working with the Phlegethon in the Outer Ring makes them just a little obsessed with anything that burns. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of fetish.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My name is Caliburn, but you can call me Caleb. I’m a daemon, if you want to use the general term. Technically, I’m a harpy, but most people seem to think that only women get that job, so I call myself a daemon to avoid confusion.  You may ask why there’s that pesky little “a” in there, because you happened to notice that, without it, it spells “demon”. Well, that little “a” seperates me from those really evil guys you hear about, like Abaddon or Asmodai. Those guys suck.

Daemons are different. We aren’t really “evil”, per se. We just do our job. We’re like those government officials you see around, going through the motions with those looks on their faces. You know what I mean. That look that basically says “I don’t care about you, or this job, or this place, or my family, or my dog Pepito. I just don’t care.” Daemons are sort of like that. We go around, poking sharp sticks at one person, stabbing another, pouring molten brimstone on a third. We do stuff like that. Not really anything bad, not really anything good. Like I was telling Ajax the other day, we really should be in the First Circle. I feel like limbo would be perfect for daemons.

So why aren’t I down in Hell, pouring fire on some thug? Because of my rugged good looks and dazzling smile. To some extent, at least. It’s mostly because I don’t agree with the Harpy lifestyle. I mean, punishing people for eternity has to get boring at some point, right? Watching a spirit flop around like termites are crawling through its nether regions (literally, in some cases) is only entertaining for the first few centuries or so. I wanted something else.  That’s why I’m up here, sipping scotch in some Midtown bar.

That’s right, this daemon got a messenger job for Abaddon himself, and I get to hang out in Manhattan between claimings.

It isn’t all fun and games. Sometimes a human doesn’t feel like going downstairs when they die, if you know what I mean, so I have to go send them the message. Occasionally I’ll go with a forked tail and red pitchfork, if I feel like the day needs a little livening up, but mostly I just dress up like a mailman and make them sign for a package. It’s easier to get into their house that way. Then, once I’m in, I just have to slap a “Return To Sender” sticker on them and off they go, with a little bit of screaming. That part annoys me. Why scream? It’s not like you’re going anywhere unpleasant. Believe you me, it’s hilarious that some people use “Go to Hell” as an insult. Please. There are worse places you could go. Purgatory is pretty close to the top of the list. At least in Hell you actually feel something, even if it is eternal pain. All you can feel in Purgatory is spiritual cobwebs slowly growing on your knees.

Sorry, rambling is one of my shortcomings.

So there I was, nursing a glass of Label 5 whiskey, hair blazing like the inferno itself, when this girl walked in. Now I have seen some pretty ladies, (a couple of my friend’s bachelor parties were in the Lust Circle) but she blew me away. Black leather jacket, navy jeans, high-top sneakers, and a heavy metal t-shirt? Red, shoulder length hair with a bandanna? Damn. This girl was even finer than Helen of Troy herself. (Don’t even think about it. That girl is a witch. I have no idea what Paris or Menelaus sees in her.) I may have fire in my hair, but this lady was hotter than I was. I didn’t even know that humans were made like this. She looked my way, and her eyes widened.

“Oh, my God.” She yelled, staring at me with her mouth open. “Why is your hair on fire?”

Whoah. Wasn’t expecting that.

You see normally, human’s can’t see my hair, or any part that’s even remotely divine or demonic. It’s part of the punishment for Eve eating the apple.

So why could this smoking hot chick see it?

I was about to get back on the highway to Hell, but luckily the other patrons at the bar didn’t think much of it.

“Lady,” The bartender said offhandedly. “If you’re already drunk, don’t come stumbling in here. I don’t need to deal with you when the cops could easily do it for me.” The other customers and I laughed.

The lady walked over and sat down next to me, staring at my head the whole time.

“Come here often?” I said suavely, taking a sip of my drink.

“Obviously not often enough.” She said warily, ordering a drink of her own from the bartender, who gave her a stern look. “I haven’t seen you around at all, Heat Miser.” Her voice was as the sound of dripping honey.

“Hey, I’ve met that guy. Obnoxious little weasel.” We both laughed, the ice broken between us. She glanced up at my hair.

“So, how do you get it like that?” She asked, reaching up to touch it with her smooth, pale hand. I gingerly grabbed her hand and put it back down on the counter. My hair can actually burn mortals, and I didn’t want to harm that fine body.

“Honestly?” I said. “I’m a demon. I work in hell.” She laughed again, obviously not taking me seriously. Mortals never really did.

“So, Mr. Satan-”

“Lucifer, actually.” I interrupted. If she thought I was the big man, might as well correct her terminology. The bartender brought her drink over, and she nodded at him before she turned back to me.

“Alright, Mr. Lucifer, how’s life? Reaping souls, punishing the damned, that kind of thing?” She giggled. I smiled.

“Well, I’m actually here in Manhattan because I got bored with it.” I replied. She actually looked kind of shocked at that. “I thought I might get around, see the sights, but I just ended up here.”

“Not a bad place.” She said, looking around. As she reached for her glass, her pinky brushed my hand, and electricity surged through my body. I even got goosebumps. Luckily, she didn’t notice. She took a sip from her drink. Whiskey, it looked like. Damn, I was liking this girl more by the minute.

Her pocket beeped, and she pulled out a phone. Checking it and frowning, she drained the rest of the glass and stood up. She tossed a few dollars onto the counter for her drink.

“Wait, where are you going?” I said, looking up at her. She smiled and sat back down, putting her hand on mine.

“Don’t worry, demon boy, I just have to go to work. I’ll call you when I’m done, though.” She said quietly, and then kissed me quickly.

I swear, if I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have fallen on the floor.

As she started out the door, I regained whatever senses were left in my fiery brain.

“Wait!” I shouted at her, and she stopped with one foot out the door. “You don’t even have my number!”

“I won’t need it, flame boy!” She smiled back at me, and then she was gone.

As she left, I swear I saw two giant white wings on her back and a halo above her head. The air around her even seemed to glow.

Stunned, I sat back down to my whiskey.

Damn, and I thought my hair was the weirdest part of my day.

Reviews

[Justin Robben]

Very enjoyable piece. There were a handful of lines I had to grin at, they were so well timed.
I did not see the twist at the end coming, either. Bravo.

If I had to pick one thing that "bothers" me about this piece...it's that it needs to continue!! :)
This has all the makings of a great novella, or more. Forbidden, taboo love of the highest order!
Please, do yourself, and all of us, a favor and continue.

Editing, to add some more. I think you've got a really strong piece here in its disguised simplicity, Cody. It felt extremely 'relatable', from the easy way you have our daemon spewing off facts to the startling way he was awestruck by the woman. And while WE should have known there was something divine about her, we didn't, because you masked it so well. We likely can relate to gorgeous woman, way out of our range, who simply floor us.
Even this "man" wasn't expecting her to be something otherworldly.

Bravo, man...bravo...

[MoriartyMesa]

I am reminded of some Johnny Cash in this, true and back breaking. Love it