A Demon Bound (Imp #1)

by Debra Dunbar

One way I can fix is by driving cell reproduction into overdrive and accelerating the natural healing process. It involves minimal energy, but has its issues. You’re making a copy of a copy of a copy, and those cells aren’t as stable as what they originally were. For a really good heal, you need to recreate and that involves conversion. The resulting cells are solid and perfect. Better than they were before injury in most cases.

I couldn’t imagine having an angel breathing down my neck every second, waiting for one to pop out of nowhere and lop your head off because you forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste or something.

“The offspring of Fallen angels and humans. Back when humans were just starting to evolve, a group of angels began having sexual relations with them. They had supposedly spawned a whole race of hybrid beings before the rest of the angels found out and came down on them with holy fury. There were no werewolves prior to this event, so many angels figure that we were the product of this joining: the Nephilim.”

“Angels are psychotic assholes,”

“There are a series of circles covering the house. They symbolize eternity and tell me that this protection is meant to last forever. Inside are both five- and eight-pointed stars which carry the protection against evil. Within them is a tulip which is for trust and faith. The symbols add up to an eternal protection from evil that is based on faith. Faith extended from the angel, which is a significant gift.” I looked at Craig. “You should feel honored to be gifted this. It’s well crafted, and powerful. The main color of the hex is white, which is the energy that powers it. The white is huge. When I touched it, that’s all I could see. It practically blinded me. The power behind this is just immense. There are other colors, too. Blue to reinforce the protection, black to bind the hex together as a whole, and a set of reddish purple angel wings like an artist’s signature. The wings stamp it as a divine gift. So any idiot who tries to break it knows whose hammer is about to drive him into the ground.”

Many of my kind were this way, too. Why apply excess time and energy if less would get the job done? The elves were different though. Everything for them had to be perfect and artistically formed. Everything was an opportunity for art and expression. Their homes, yards, stables were filled with intricately embellished functional items. They would never have been satisfied with this beer bottle. Its very presence would have grated on them.

“There is equal beauty in the things called horrific. The act of destruction is an expression of beauty, too. I destroyed the bottle to make the horse. Is a pretty glass horse worth the loss of a bottle, but the sound of shattered glass and bits flying through the air isn’t? Is transformation only worthy if you approve of the end result?”

“You’re killing me, Wyatt,” I told him as he grabbed a towel and supplies to head to the communal bathhouse in the campground. “You’ll come back and find me shriveled to dust in some female version of blue balls.” “Oh, the drama,” he teased, heading out the door. I hopped up and put on my shirt, draping my bra across Candy’s couch just to piss her off, then went to dig through the donuts. Things felt very right with the world again. I grabbed a chocolate cream and went outside, not finding Candy on the porch or in the front clearing.

Yeah. I could hardly flay him or remove a digit here in the food court. Punishment would be in order back home, not just for saying my names this side of the gates, but by addressing me that way in general. There were titles of respect you used for those above you. Names were for peers and above only. This guy was Low; he wasn’t even in the ranks of the hierarchy. He really shouldn’t even have been addressing me at all. Using the title El was a good call, though. El meant “Mighty Being” or “Powerful One” and was a title used far above my pay grade. He was flattering me to make up for his mistake. He should have used Baal, which means Lord, and is more in keeping with my level.

He had that far away look in his eyes of a man whose dreams have been derailed by reality.

I finally gave up and started tossing darts into the various decorations on the wall holding the dart board. My favorite was in the nose of the mounted deer head. It was very amusing to see a lovely cluster imbedded in the deer’s left nostril. The patrons and bartender started to look at me warily.

The gas station had closed hours before, but there was a soda machine humming away outside the garage building. I only had change enough for one soda, so I used a small trickle of energy to dislodge the rest out of the machine and wasted some time shaking them up and pitching them against the gas pumps. The minimum wage attendant would get quite a shock when he opened in the morning and found the pumps sticky with dented soda cans strewn about. Finally, I couldn’t take any more boredom. I texted Wyatt letting him know that I had decided not to leave anyway, and that I was in Sharpsburg vandalizing a gas station. I told him that he should come down and bring some beer so he could drink with me. Then we could pitch the bottles into the road.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s a mental condition some humans have where they do repetitious behavior, or actions that are driven by compulsion and not the logic of the situation. So you see, I have OCD and cannot quit in the middle of this. I just need to see the hunt through. If I can’t kill him, then fine, but I need to see it through to the end before I can move on. Or I’ll go crazy and wind up in an institution somewhere.”