Stephanie followed her grandmother down the dark, wooded path. The old woman turned occasionally to make sure she was following, but as usual said absolutely nothing. It was dark and the moon was blotted out more often than not by clouds, but there was a soft ambient light emanating from her grandmother that kept Stephanie from breaking her neck on the various roots, rocks, and branches that reached out from the path to trip her up. The gentle breeze was crisp but not cold, and blew her long black hair softly behind her. The old woman looked back again, a slight smile on her face, and beckoned more emphatically.
Finally, and for the first time ever, they reached the end of the path, or at least this part of the path. It opened to a circular clearing with a small family graveyard at the center of it. It was surrounded by black gothic wrought iron fencing with heavy chains and intricate tassels connecting ornate posts capped with lifelike iron ravens. Directly in the middle of the cemetery was a headstone with Stephanie's name on it. The birth date matched what she had always known to be her birthday, but the death date was marred and eroded to the point that she couldn't discern anything more than the fact that the month had an R in it.
Her grandmother smiled as she pointed at the headstone, motioning her to come forward, but the smile slowly turned into concern and then terror as she gazed at something behind Stephanie. Grams opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out, and then she disappeared, scrambling and clawing at the headstone as she vanished, leaving Stephanie by herself in the clearing. The feeling creeping up the back of Stephanie's neck quickly corrected her: she was not alone after all.
Slowly, Stephanie turned around and glimpsed a large, dark figure against the backdrop of the woods. Its shape was hard to discern because she couldn't seem to focus on it for more than a split second. Whatever it was shifted and moved faster than her eyes could adjust. Stephanie felt cold and tingly, and a fear she had never felt before grew in her chest. She was shaking, but her body wouldn't do what she told it. The shifting form was sliding, maybe even floating, toward her, and she could make out the hint of feathers and wings. The creature, which she could now tell was as black as the deepest trenches of the sea, spread a series of three pairs of large, rapidly fluttering wings to reveal a pale, white face with an unusually elongated jaw and neck.
Stephanie still couldn't move, even as she felt its cold, damp breath on her neck. The creature’s mouth opened wide, so wide that it didn't seem to ever stop opening, and Stephanie knew that it meant to drain her like a vampire. Just before it struck, Stephanie heard what sounded like a cross between the noise of an arc of electricity and that of paper ripping, and she felt as if she were momentarily being pulled inside out through her own belly button.
A swirling and shimmering green gash in what Stephanie could only think of as Space and Time appeared, and Stephanie stumbled out of the rip. A different Stephanie. A Stephanie not herself. The other Stephanie was wearing what looked like an old World War II gas mask and holding a futuristic rifle. "Shit, more Nephilim," said Other Stephanie as she shot the black-winged fluttery vampire-bird-thing.
As Other Stephanie pulled the trigger and a big green light sprang forth from the barrel, Stephanie bolted upright in her bed. She was back in her bedroom. She was covered in sweat and was breathing heavily. She looked around, and a slow calm began to fill that cold fear that she had felt only moments before. After several seconds, she was satisfied that the nightmare was truly gone and her world had returned to normal
She often had dreams in which her grandmother lead her down paths of enlightenment, literal and figurative. She’d taken Grams’ death rather hard, and these continued visits were something of a consolation. She wasn't sure if the connection was directly between her and Grams, or if it was because Stephanie was living in Grams' house, which she’d inherited. The bedroom was almost exactly the way Grams had left it when she died. This was still Grams’ house, not Stephanie’s.
She wasn't sure if she didn't change the house out of respect for Grams, or out of fear that making it her own would be admitting her grandmother was definitely gone. She also worried that the act of settling into the house would also mean settling for good. Stephanie had had always dreamed of living an adventurous life, only coming back to Grams' now and then to gather her thoughts and finances before she set off again to destinations unknown.
She had seen many things on the dream journeys with Grams that had exhilarated her, but they were no substitute for a life of her own. Stephanie had also seen disturbing things with Grams. Certain minor events that had yet to pass, like the death of a distant relative or a surprise change in weather—Grams had always been very concerned about the weather— but never anything like the creature in the dream. Gram had been scared, and then that ghastly black-winged vampire had banished her. At least Stephanie had shown up to save herself.
Mestoph appeared in the alley next to the coffee shop in a puff of black smoke. The alley was empty save for a stray cat digging through the trash. It darted away, startled by the cork-popping sound and sudden gust of wind from Mestoph’s teleporting. Just as the smoke cleared, there was another loud pop and a cottony puff of thick white smoke that quickly dissipated into the gloomy grayness of the day.
Leviticus had a ridiculously big grin on his face.
"You look like some perverted kid who just got fondled by his favorite uncle," said Mestoph.
Leviticus shook his head, slightly amused and slightly disgusted. "You'll never guess what I did," he said.
"Finally got your first touch of a real woman's breast, and not that water balloon you like to fondle in the dark?"
"Aww, isn't that sweet, projecting your deficiencies on me," said Leviticus.
"Alright, Virgin Mary, tell me what cute little misadventure you had on your field trip," said Mestoph in a sickly sweet maternal voice.
Leviticus pulled out a gleaming glass vial wrapped in intricate chrome filigree and flipped it in his left hand with a cocky and overly self-satisfied look on his face. "Behold, a Prophecy!" he said, after some minor legerdemain of spinning and rolling the vial in one hand.
"Nope. Not falling for it," said Mestoph.
Leviticus looked down at the vial, crestfallen, and sighed. Just as the Demon was beginning to let a small smirk of victory creep onto his face, Leviticus tossed the vial toward Mestoph. It tumbled and flipped in slow motion as uncertainty began to show on Mestoph's face. He made a sudden, last moment dash to grab the vial, nearly tipping it to the ground with his effort. Mestoph looked down at the beautiful vial which, as if in response to his lingering doubt, gleamed brilliantly in the meager light of the narrow alley.
"Holy shit!" said Mestoph.
"Holy Shit indeed. Now put that away before someone sees it," said Leviticus as he sauntered past Mestoph and out of the alley.
Mestoph and Leviticus sat at a small cafe table at Bean Counters, which had quickly become their makeshift headquarters. Aside from being a convenient and cozy location with higher-than-usual quality coffee, it was also the crossroads at which their human marks, Marcus and Stephanie, intersected. They sat quietly staring at their cups of coffee, Leviticus blowing on his plain, black cup of joe and Mestoph swirling some sugary sweet concoction that was topped with whipped cream and caramel.
Their friendship had worked so well for so long because neither felt the need to constantly fill every moment with some pointless bit of drivel about how one or the other had gone grocery shopping or walked the dog—not that they’d ever done either of those activities, since they had no need to do so in the afterlife and neither had lived a mortal life on Earth. Instead, they were satisfied to let the meaningful, important things simmer and stew until they were ready to talk. After fifteen or twenty minutes of sipping and stirring, Leviticus finally broke.
"You do realize that I'm not going to let this go for a very long time?"
"What's that?" asked Mestoph.
"Oh, is that how we're going to play it? You know exactly what I'm talking about. I got the Prophecy, and you haven't even gotten close to getting the Omen," said Leviticus.
Mestoph stared down at the liquidy lumps of whipped cream that had survived his endless stirring. He took a long, noisy sip of the triple-shot caramel mocha macchiato, swished the drink that could barely be called coffee inside his mouth for several moments, swallowed, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"I figured I would make sure you could hold up your end of the bargain before I risked my life. Your part was the one most up in the air because it required a lot of skills that frankly you just don't use in your daily afterlife. Therefore, there was no point going further until you pulled through,” said Mestoph.
Leviticus smiled and shook his head.
"You know, the sad thing is I think you're right. But that doesn't negate the fact that I pulled through before you could even plan what you were going to do if I was successful. Face it, I'm just better at this than you are," said Leviticus.
They let another long pause pass between them as each pondered their next move, like they were playing a game of chess.
"You had a lot of inside help. I killed a great spy and drinking buddy to get you information that would have otherwise made your task impossible," said Mestoph with a minor triumphant smile.
"Oh, yeah! Blame the fact that Heaven has better security than Hell. If that's your defense, then you should have an Omen on hand just for the Hell of it," said Leviticus.
Mestoph screwed his face up as the Angel sunk his entire argument. While he was squirming, trying to avoid admitting defeat, he caught a glimpse of their star performer— and his little dog too.
"Hey, look who just showed up," said Mestoph.
"Don't change the subject."
"No, really. Our new best friend is here."
Leviticus looked over and saw Marcus, with Sir Regi in tow, standing in line at the counter. They let the man and his dog get their coffee, including his bumbling ritual with the barista, and then settle into a comfortable seat before they made their move. It was a Saturday, and if history proved correct, Marcus and Sir Regi would be here for the better part of the morning.
Marcus sat in an overstuffed reading chair in the corner of the dark, wood-paneled coffee shop, rendered even darker by the gray gloom coming in through the plantation shutters. He was reading a particularly interesting—at least to him—book on the early days of the Federal Reserve. Sir Regi was curled at his feet. Neither Leviticus nor Mestoph were quite sure how to approach the dog without drawing the attention of his master. They resorted to staring and clearing their throats, without much success. It turned into a passive-aggressive showdown: Mestoph and Leviticus kept staring at Sir Regi, who in turn kept staring back.
Leviticus and Mestoph weren't really sure what they were expecting to accomplish by sitting around glaring at a Scottish terrier. Granted, they knew his secret, and once Mestoph had cued Leviticus in on it they both understood his value. They also knew exactly how they planned to get what they wanted out of him. The problem was that they couldn't afford to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, and give away the dog’s secret.
"Are we just going to sit here and stare at that damn dog all day?" asked Leviticus.
Mestoph had been deep in a trance, staring at the dog, and was surprised to find himself jolted back into reality.
"The little bastard is a hypnomancer!" exclaimed Mestoph in a loud whisper—the kind that if anyone really wanted to listen, they wouldn't have to put much effort into it.
“Do the thing,” said the Demon.
“What?” asked Leviticus.
“The thing,” he said again, gesturing emphatically toward the dog.
“Oh!” said Leviticus, finally getting it.
Leviticus smiled slyly at Mestoph and then turned to the dog. His eyes locked onto the dog’s and then began to jerk and flutter like they were having their own private seizure. His vision blurred and then it felt like the space in between him and the dog shrank while the rest of the coffee shop stayed the same. After a moment the room went black, and only Leviticus and Sir Regi were spotlit as if they were part of a soliloquy in a Shakespearean play.
"It's about fucking time!" said the tiny dog in a thick Scottish accent.
"I'm sorry?" said Leviticus.
"I’ve been waiting for the better part of an hour for one of you scunners to get a clue. It's only after I nearly scramble the brains of that daft Demon friend of yours that he figures it out."
The dog trotted over, followed by his spotlight, and hopped up on the table. The two spotlights merged and created one large splotch of bright white, creating a harsh chiaroscuro effect. At the edge of the circle, the features of Mestoph's face could barely be seen. The dog turned to face the Demon, let out a low purring sound, and a tiny spotlight shone on the top of Mestoph's head. It grew for a few seconds, then popped and joined with the main circle of light like two soap bubbles merging. Mestoph suddenly came to life and joined the small, private conference of a dog, an Angel, and, now, a Demon.
"I told you he was an Angel," said Mestoph to Leviticus.
"Alright, so what do you two fucktards want? If you're just being eejit tourists, you've seen me, so now move on. If you've got business, let's get with it. I've got plenty of napping to do," said the dog.
"Are you really...you know...P-pro—" stuttered Leviticus.
"Whoever I am or was is of no consequence now. I'm Sir Regi, and that's all you need to know."
Mestoph looked down at the dog’s collar and stifled a chuckle. "Sir Reginald Pollywog Newcastle III?"
"You'll call me Sir Regi, or you'll call me nothing at all! If you got nothing to offer, I’ve got fuck all for you, and I'll be pleased to have you move on," barked Sir Regi.
Leviticus looked over to Mestoph, raising his brow. The dog’s attitude could end up being a liability, but Mestoph simply nodded.
What Leviticus and Mestoph described to Sir Regi was a simple deal, though obviously only a small piece of the overall plan, which involved very little actual work from the dog. All they really needed was a snitch. Their plan had to be big and serious enough to get them in trouble with the Powers That Be, but they needed someone to turn them in at just the right time so that things didn’t get too far out of hand. In return for snitching on them, Sir Regi would in favor with God and potentially get readmitted into Heaven. Everyone would win.
"You do realize," said the dog, "that at some point you’ll have to clue me in on what you're actually doing?"
"Well yeah, but you don't really expect us to give you all the details now, do you?" asked Leviticus.
"Yeah, do you think if Hitler had told everyone up front that he wanted to kill a few million Jews and take over the world that we'd have gotten to have World War II?" asked Mestoph.
Leviticus and Sir Regi looked at Mestoph, equally perplexed and appalled. "You didn’t read Mein Kampf, did you?" asked Sir Regi.
“And you do realize that World War II was a bad thing?” added Leviticus.
"Ok, sure. It had some bad sides, too," he said.
"Alright, now that we've once again celebrated Victory in Europe, you have to answer at least one question—why me?" asked Sir Regi.
Once again Leviticus looked at Mestoph, and once again Mestoph nodded. Leviticus explained that they needed someone off the grid to use as a vessel until the time was right to blow the lid off of everything. Sir Regi surprised them by balking at their use of Marcus. Mestoph wondered if he hadn't taken up the role of a faithful dog a little too whole heartedly.
"Is this plan of yours going put Marcus in danger?" asked Sir Regi.
"Not if you do your job right," said Mestoph.
Sir Regi walked back over to his master, and the spotlight disappeared. When the light returned to normal, Mestoph and Leviticus reoriented themselves and looked around. People who had been mid-sip or in the midst of talking finished their gulps or sentences as if no time had passed. The Demon and Angel walked out of the front door and darted around the corner toward the alleyway. Mestoph paused and looked over his shoulder; he had the feeling someone was watching. The streets were empty, and he couldn’t see any eyes peeping at him from surrounding windows, so he shrugged it off and followed Leviticus into the alley. He gave Leviticus a mock salute, and Leviticus flipped him off in return. Seconds later the alley was filled with a gray mix of different smokes.
Once the Angel and Demon disappeared, St. Peter stepped forward from the shadows across the street and smiled. "I've got you, you little bastard," he muttered to himself. There was no way he could get clearance to take out Leviticus, at least not without more proof than a clandestine meeting with one of Hell Industries’ senior demons. He could, however, call in one of his double agents and work his way from Hell back to Heaven until he had enough evidence to satisfy God.
He pulled a brushed steel phone from his pocket. The phone rang a few times, and then a voice that sounded like someone slipping in and out of puberty answered.
"Atreyus here."
"I've got a job for you," said St. Peter.