Page 4 of My Saintly Demon

“I was going to, I was. But when I got to his place, he had this really cool set-up outside for his pet rabbit. You should have seen it. It was genius, and the bunny was just so cute! Like, he was super fluffy, and had the biggest ears, and when he yawned he —”

“Dave!”

This is it. I’m about to die.

“I just couldn’t do it because who would take care of the bunny if his owner disappeared? It didn’t feel right.”

My father rubs the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh and closes his eyes. “You wanted to save the rabbit, so you didn’t kill the man?”

“Yes.”

“And what kind of promise did you have him make for me to believe he’s going to stop making his anti-demon videos?”

When I don’t answer immediately, his eyes blink open and he returns his gaze to me.

“I’m waiting.”

“I told him if he sent me pics every day of his bunny, I’d spare his life.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Not even a little bit. Have you ever seen a rabbit yawn, father? It’s the cutest thing.”

“Jesus fucking christ. This is worse than I thought.” He stands, hands in his pockets and stares down at me. Flames flicker behind his eyes and the heat rolls off him in giant waves. He’s mad, but not fireball mad. “I’m sending you to earth for a week. You won’t be able to come home until I say so, and that’sifI say so. If you can’t figure out how to stop apologizing and making deals involving rabbit photos instead of souls, you’re going to stay there.”

“A week!? But how will I survive and stay hidden for that long? I can’t do that!”

It’s one thing to not obliterate a guy for spewing demon hate on the internet, but it’s quite another to have to stay on earth for a week and deal with humans twenty-four-seven. Even if they have cute bunnies, they’re incredibly complex creatures to me. I’ve never been there longer than twenty-four hours before. It’s like throwing me in the deep end when I can’t swim.

The knowing gaze on my father’s face tells me that’s exactly the point of all this. I need to be less apologetic, more demon-like. I need to stop showing mercy and take what I want because I can. If I can’t do that, I won’t be welcome back here.

“When you walk through that door, you’ll be in the worst place a demon can find himself. Figure out how to survive it and you can come back. If you can’t…”

I stand up, straightening my suit again and exit the room with no more words. As I pass by the chair I was in earlier, I tuck my demon handbook in my coat pocket. If I’m going to be on an extended visit, I’m going to need some guidance.

There are a lot of things I’ve not done well as a demon. I know I’m too nice. But being with humans is going to take some time to figure out. I don’t know if I can do it in a week.

With a final breath, I open the door and step into my punishment.

Hell on earth.

CHAPTERTHREE

CHARLES

Go ahead and add performing a funeral mass with a raging hangover to my list of transgressions.

I’m not even sorry about it. Well, I’m sorry someone lost a person they loved, but I’m not sorry I wasn’t responsible enough to remain sober to come to work. And no, I don’t want to hear about how it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism. I know it’s not. But right now, it’s the only thing that works.

Once I’ve spoken to the bishop and told him to go fuck himself, preferably with the horse-sized dildo in his dresser drawer and not enough lube, I should be able to move on and put this shit show behind me. Although, we need to have words over this gag order bullshit. I’m so tired of being the one dumped on. The one everyone just assumes will do as told because I always have.

Making sure I lock the rectory behind me, I immediately go to my closet and behind all the clothes I never seem to wear since I’m always in this goddamn robe, I find the old cookie tin hidden behind my favourite Doc Martens from high school and flip open the lid. Bills of all kinds spill out when the lid pops off. Twenties and fifties and ten dollar bills burst out. I’ve skimmed from the offering plate for so long now, I’m on my fourth cookie tin. Every time it gets full, I drive three towns over and deposit the cash into a bank account not connected to my working life. The parish knows where I bank and it wouldn’t shock me if they know my bank balances. Last time I checked, I had over ten thousand dollars in my secret account. Not a fortune by any means, but it will buy me some time while I figure out what to do with my life. While the letter promises me a large amount of hush money, I’m skeptical they will follow it through.

I’ve been double-crossed already, after all.

Stuffing the money I skimmed earlier into my stash, I shed my clothes as I walk back to the living room. When I became a priest, not once did I ever think such a dark side would bubble out of me.

Stealing from the offering plate? Drunk on the job? Sex with the bishop?

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