Lester of Two Evils

Stranger Still

The bathroom tile was cold on Lester's bare feet as he crossed to the shower. Rubbing his eyes, he turned the water on and stood half asleep in his pajamas, waiting for it to become hot. Gray morning light shone through the ice crystals clinging to the outside of the room's small window. The evenings were growing colder, and from the look of it, last night had been the first frost of the season.

Autumn in New England could be fickle. Warm days, reminiscent of the rapidly receding summer, were often followed by bitter cold nights, foreshadowing the long winter looming ahead. This teasing shift between seasons tended to make locals suspicious of anything that seemed too good or easy. Even the simple pleasure of an unseasonably nice day was apt to carry a strong sense of foreboding.

Lester was tired. He, Amanda, and Mae had talked late into the night, undisturbed in the quiet of the library's basement. Mae had listened patiently as they'd relayed what they had seen in the alley behind The Mortician's Eye. Part of Lester had expected her to laugh, suggest they were mad, or in some other way doubt the validity of their story, but she never did. Instead, when they were done, she'd asked a few clarifying questions and then sat quietly.

It felt good to tell someone else, and Lester had noticed Amanda relax a bit as well. Though, perhaps not as much as she might have if that someone else hadn't been Mae Chase. Amanda had spent so much time being skeptical or making fun of Mae's obsession with the unusual that Lester suspected finding herself in the middle of one of Mae's investigations was somewhat unsettling.

"Okay," Mae had said finally. "There's no getting around it. We are going to need more information before we can say conclusively what it is we're dealing with."

"We?" Amanda had asked.

"Yes. The sample size of events is far too small. Don't get me wrong. What you and Lester witnessed is compelling. Still, we need some corroborating evidence before we can posit a theory. Then we can work out some possible solutions with potentially beneficial outcomes. There's a lot to do, and it's obvious you two are going to need my help."

"So," Lester had said, swallowing hard, "you're saying you think our fathers really could be demons?"

"Well, yes and no. Haven't you been listening? It's a mistake to take anything in these sorts of books too literally. That's just one interpretation from a single grimoire, and even then, they're depicted as demons, sorcerers, and witches. Other texts show them as actual beasts coming out of the ground or winged things from the sky. I once saw an old lithograph of the same image, but with some sort of swamp creatures."

"Lovely," Amanda had muttered.

"True, none of it is what one would call flattering. But my point is, of all the depictions of fate demons I've ever seen, no two were the same."

"And how many is that?" Lester had asked, pulling the book closer.

"Oh, loads. There are three other volumes in this basement alone."

At this, Lester had looked pointedly at Amanda and nodded his head towards Mae. Amanda had made a face, but before she could object, he'd slid The Lesser Key of Solomon across the table. Amanda's shoulders had sagged as she looked down at the image of the small pile of ash.

"Fine," Amanda had said, closing the book, careful to touch as little of its patchwork cover as possible.

Mae, who had been watching this silent exchange, had squealed with delight. "I can help!"

"You can help," Amanda had sighed.

Mae had shot out of her chair and wrapped Amanda in a hug. "Thanks. You won't regret it."