Lightbearer

by L.C. Davis

“Anyway, it all started when my sister sold her soul to the devil--well, technically, it all started when I sold my soul to the devil, but the one wouldn’t have happened without the other.”

“The narrative format really isn’t necessary,” says the angel. “The facts will do.”

“Sinatra? Seriously? The Sultan of Swoon?” I groan. “Right. Okay. That’s gonna make creating a mental soundscape for the emotional bits harder, but whatever, we’ll figure it out.”

“Of course it didn’t,” the angel says in a flat tone. I’m starting to like him. Kind of. Too bad one of us has to die, and it isn’t gonna be me.

2%

We’re twins, but she got all the stick-up-the-ass genes and I got all the anxiety and our mom’s penchant for day drinking.

Well...

I peeled out of the lot, empty save for the creepy neighbor who lived upstairs and collectd exactly three head-sized parcels from the mailroom every Tuesday. Nice guy for someone who probably had a freezer full of heads.

Reality and Sirena have never been on good terms. Kind of like me and the local transit authority.

3%

“Shit.” And here I was hoping that wasn’t it. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. We empty our bank accounts, you cut off your hair, I’ll dress in drag and we’ll go to Monaco to start over. We’ll be llama farmers. Do they have llamas in Monaco? Never mind, we’ll figure it out when we get there.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why is drag your solution to everything?” “I look amazing in fishnets,” I reminded her.

4%

Maybe she was afraid I’d leave, too. There were times when I thought about it. I figured I had another five, maybe ten years before the symptoms made independent living impossible, and there were times when I told myself that they’d both be better off without me. But then I remembered that look in her eyes the morning he didn’t come down for breakfast and I knew even if I could probably do that to our mother, I could never do that to Sirena.

At one point, we’d been all each other had and while I knew I was just one part of her life now, she was still the only thing that kept me attached to planet Earth most days. The only thing I had worth fighting for.

I was halfway home when my “shit, something’s wrong” radar started singing off the register. It wasn’t something logical, but it’s never been wrong. Not once.

Spider-man? Is that's you?

Now, you might be asking yourself, “What does a muscular, fearless-seeming specimen such as yourself do when the most important person in his life goes missing for a solid week?”

8%

I’ll take your silence as a yes. See, in the action movies, when the hero’s wife, daughter or some other close lady relation goes missing so the lazy writers can demonstrate his prowess at the expense of her agency, there’s usually a montage. He makes some phone calls, busts some heads in a few shady bars, and finally returns home to discover a dramatic ultimatum written in blood on his mirror or some shit. His big break in the case of a lifetime.

Investigating Sirena’s cult. If you find this, I’m probably dead or sucking demon cock. Either way, don’t bother looking for me. P.S. I bequeath to you my evil cat. Don’t ever give him catnip or you’ll figure out why his name is Cheese. P.P.S. This isn’t a suicide note, but if anyone asks, tell them it was bears.

I see you looking at me. All judgy, like you’ve never summoned the Dark One under the new moon out of desperation.

12%

(Take a minute if you wanna write that down, Gabriel, that one took me a while.) [It’s all being recorded, Mr. Curtis. And my name is Chemuel.]

In short, he was like a boner generator on legs. [Mr. Curtis, please. The facts.]

“Hi, Devil Daddy,” is what came out, and I smacked myself in the face. “I mean...cock. Fuck! I mean fuck. Not you...me. Wait, that’s not right either.”

13%

He stared at me like I’d broken him. Could you break a demon? It felt like an accomplishment, even though I was pretty sure I should have been insulted by the look of horror in those red eyes.

15%

“There’s a line between giving up and making deals with the fucking devil.” “Technically, he’s just a Duke of Hell.” “Beside the point, Sirena!”

“The lightbearer!” one of the guards cried as the others surrounded me. My face became so intimately acquainted with the dirt, it owed me dinner.

18%

“When Shera told me you’d fallen asleep on the job, I thought she meant it figuratively.” “In my defense, and I mean this in the most reverent possible way, your books are boring as shit.”

20%

“That’s good, because when the portal sealed behind Sirena, it sealed for the foreseeable future,” he said, crossing his arms. “For the time being, we’re under siege, which means no one gets in or out.” “Like a slumber party?” His eyes narrowed. “No, not like a slumber party. Like a siege. What is wrong with you?”

“You are by far one of the most mentally taxing creatures I have come across in the seven realms, and that includes a troll who never stops speaking in riddles.” “You have trolls here? And I got stuck in the smartass demon realm?”

21%

Apollyon grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me around in front of him. He was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked, and he already looked like a guy who chewed glass to freshen his breath.

Damn, the guy was thick. In more ways than one, if the bulge in his leathers was any indication. “You know. Bowchicabowwow?”

In my head, I’m thinking, “Don’t ask, Levi. Just. Don’t. Ask.” And I mean, really, there’s no good answer that could come from that question, is there? Not in Hell. But I’m nothing if not a glutton for punishment--and cheese, but that’s another matter entirely. “What do you eat?”

23%

After the first couple of days, I’d rarely seen Apollyon and gotten used to the idea of being an infernal trophy wife. Not a bad gig, really. Not with a live-in chef and all the eye candy you could drool over.

24%

Hell was surprisingly beautiful at times. Just a shame it was run by a total asshole.

32%

“Alright,” I muttered. “I’ll give it a shot, but what am I supposed to make? And if you say use your imagination again, it’s gonna be a space pony.” “What the fuck is a space pony?” “A pony who lives in space. Obviously.”

35%

“She’s not!” I protested. “It’s a she now?” “It has a feminine spirit,” I informed her. “And her name is Janis.” “Janus?” Shera wrinkled her nose. “Like the Roman god?” “No, Janis as in the goddess of rock,” I clarified.

She was cuddly for a hellhound. Then again, I’d never met another, so maybe it was just a trait of the breed. Either way, her company made it a little easier to live with the fact that I was probably never going to see earth again. Or anyone on it.

39%

(They’re called something else, but I don’t remember what. Is that going on the record, Chimneyel?) [Defibrillators, Mr. Curtis. Just stick with your best recollection. And it’s Chemuel.]

Okay, so a few of them gasped. One was more of a cough, but there was a general air of, “Oh, no, he didn’t,” in the room and the look on Shera’s face would’ve been priceless, if I hadn’t been in agonizing pain. Apollyon pulled his unnecessarily long finger out of my heart and I started coughing blood up all over his nice white pirate shirt. I swear, he’s the only guy who can pull off a shirt like that. I just look like someone’s uncle got lost in Epcot, y’know?

“He already knows about you,” Apollyon snapped. “You’re his Vessel. He’s just been waiting for you to die. If he finds out you’re here in a demon’s custody, he’ll be extremely eager to meet you.” “Really?” “No!” he snapped. “He wants to wear your corpse like a well-tailored suit, you fool. What do you think is going to happen?” “So you’re saying he doesn’t want to be friends?”

“We’re talking about Levi!” she cried. “Guy can barely put his pants on without zipping up his dick and you want to use him as bait to blackmail Lucifer.” “Ouch,” I muttered. “Still here, and that happened one time. You said you weren’t gonna tell anyone!”

Apollyon sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out which one of the two it was over.

43%

“Of course I was serious. You’re talking about a twenty-four-seven fuckfest for the next month, co-starring me and your freaky demon dick,” I informed him. “I don’t think I’m out of line expecting at least a little foreplay in the romance department.”

43%

“You know, he may talk a big game, but deep down, he’s still a man,” said Maiz. “As opposed to what, a bunch of possums in a trenchcoat?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I see why he’s so charmed by you.”

“You did say you wanted romance,” he remarked out of the blue. “I can’t imagine discussing Lucifer is very conducive to that.” “Don’t kinkshame me.”

46%

“If you wanted to play doctor, all you had to do was ask.” “I need to ascertain that you’re in condition to do this in the first place.” I snorted, covering my mouth a little too late. “What?” “Assertain.” “What are you, a frat boy?”

When he pulled out two stirrup attachments from the edge of the bench, I gulped. “So the full workup, huh?” “Would you prefer I had someone else do this?” “No,” I muttered. “I’d rather limit the number of people who’ve had close encounters with my asshole, thank you very much.”

51%

“Seriously? I’m sitting spread eagle in front of you so you can size me up to be your hellspawn incubator and a towel over my dick is supposed to make me comfortable?”

51%

“That’s it?” I asked doubtfully. “I thought I was finally gonna get to see your dick.” He chuckled. “You’re really that curious, are you?” “Uh, duh. And at this point, if it doesn’t have a vibrate function and light up, I’m gonna be pretty disappointed.”

“So your protocol is fine with you stabbing me with your knife cock, but caffeine is off the table?”

55%

“Not today. My ass bounced back pretty quick, thanks to the demon jizz. You should really think about selling that.” “Is he always like this?” the doctor asked, turning to Maiz. “Trust me, he’s on good behavior around you.”

60%

Well, that sounded ominous. If the difference between Hell rain and Earth rain was anything like the difference between Hell pudding and Earth pudding, I certainly wasn't eager to find out.

"Jump on three," she says. "One. Two. Three!" I had plans of jumping casually, all Mission Impossible style, but they go out the window as soon as I do. Our screams--or maybe just mine--echo around us, loud enough to wake the dead and whatever else happens to be up here.

If there’s one career I’ve known was never a possibility from the time I got kicked out of junior high choir, it’s being a rockstar, and yet, as I rock the baby in my arms on the porch and sing, she coos adoringly at me like I’m Freddie and Aretha wrapped up in one.

“It’s your kid,” she says, taking the rocking chair next to me. “I still can’t believe you named her Stevie.” “I wanted to name her Pat Benatar Snookie the Third, but Apollyon said no.”