Blasphemy: A Like Story

Chapter Two

Chicka Chicka Chicka Chicka

I could sense something was wrong and woke. Above me the ceiling fan spun wildly trying to escape its mount. I took stock of my surroundings. Beneath my cherub figurine was a crumb covered table. Sunlight poured in from the window behind it, where a clutter of pots sat on the sill. There were no plants, just dirt and long-ago chewed stems. To my right was a sink full of dirty dishes, over which dripped a rusty faucet. Cupboards glazed in decades of grease and bags of pop bottles and beer cans told me I was in the kitchen. He had moved me into the kitchen?

I popped out of my home and marched through the living room towards the hall. The door to Bishop's bedroom at the end was closed. I kicked it open with my corporeal foot and charged in.

"You re-summoned him?" I demanded.

Bishop stared up at me, with a dazed expression, from the bed where he lay, presumably naked, under the covers beside Asmodeus.

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said.

"I never went far," objected the demon. "Holy water hurts but it doesn't kill or exorcise."

He appeared completely recovered from my heroic splashing. It began to dawn on me that this demon was stronger than myself, and I might need assistance in eradicating him.

"Don't do anything," I said. "I'll be right back."

I slipped into the hall and took the folding circular mirror out of my pocket. Its surface rippled with soft mercury, a very valuable agent for angels and our best kept secret. Until human's discovered it. I spoke Laurel's name three times and waited a few minutes before his face came into view on the other side.

"Laurel, how soon can you get here?" I asked.

"Miranda is on a first date and the guy looks like a total serial killer, so I can't really slip away," he said.

Miranda was his charge. She was a pretty red head with a thirst for craft beer, and a knack for fart jokes.

I quickly told Laurel the story of the last twenty-four hours. His eyes growing wider by the moment. I knew he often thought Bishop was out of control, and that maybe I was a little lax in my guardian-ing. Still, I wasn't prepared to hear him say, "How could you let this happen? Does Hashut know?"

"No," I snapped. "And he will continue not to know."

"Alright. I can be there in a few hours," he said eventually.

"Thank you." I said, as I put the mirror back in my pocket.

Back in the bedroom any shenanigans were cut short by the presence of ten or so cats who had made it onto the bed. The room was a chorus of purrs.

"Don't know why the Hell they like me so much," the demon muttered.

"I think it's sweet," said Bishop.

Asmodeus looked deeply disturbed by that.

I sat myself down on the floor by the doorway, sword drawn, and stared unblinkingly at the pair. Between me and the cats' intrusion, and mine, the erotic atmosphere had vanished. Bishop must have realized this because he began to make an effort to rid the room of felines. However, he couldn't scoot me out so easily.

"Are you just going to watch?" Bishop said incredulously.

Of course, he is," said Asmodeus. "He is a voyeur. All angels are; they claim to be high and mighty but they don't leave the room when you sit around and jerk off."