Peter Clines - Ex-Communication

“But you’re Cairax,” said Freedom.

“No,” said Max. “We’re two separate beings. Always have been. I just borrowed his body now and then. And maybe a little of his mind-set.”

“Which was your excuse for molesting a dead actress,” said Stealth.

“Hey!” snapped Max. He turned from the mirror. “That’s not what happened at all. The whole thing just got blown out of proportion. And none of you did anything to stop it, I might add.”

Stealth didn’t flinch under his glare.

“I slipped a dead woman the tongue and she bit it off. That’s it. Considering what my perceptions were being filtered through, it’s an amazing example of self-control.”

“Well,” Freedom said dryly, “at least now we know you didn’t do anything disgusting.”

Max turned back to the mirror. A moment passed. No one spoke while the resurrected man scraped at the bit of Jarvis on his chin.

St. George took a slow breath and managed to get the flames in his throat under control. The trailer of smoke from his nose turned to a thread. “So it’ll kill anyone who goes past your marks,” he said.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“How?”

“Well, you’ve seen the exes. He’s got a good four or five seconds before those bodies explode.” He stopped shaving and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve fought Cairax, George. How much damage do you think he can fit into five seconds?”

Stealth’s head shifted inside her hood. “What is the other possible result of passing the wards?”

“He might try to possess whoever goes out there. But the odds of pulling it off with an unprepared body are next to nil. Really, it’s just another way he could kill people.” Max splashed some water on his face and the last of the salt-and-pepper beard was gone. A few drops spotted his hospital scrubs.

“What do you mean?”

Max grabbed a towel and wiped off his cheeks and chin. He let it drop and ran his fingers across his scalp. “If it isn’t suitably prepared with the right sigils and agreements, a normal human body just can’t take the stress of demonic possession.”

“Yours did,” said St. George.

“Yeah, but mine was prepared, plus I had the safeties in the medallion. Anyone else would just burst like the exes. It’s like boiling a frog—you’ve got to go slow to even have a chance of it working.” The sorcerer gestured at himself. “Look how long it took me to work my way into Jarvis’s body. He’d need at least twice as much time.”

Max stopped and ran his fingers across his scalp again. “Weird having short hair. Kind of weird having hair at all, to be honest. Been a long time.” His lips shifted and one of his cheeks bulged. “Jarvis was missing one of his back teeth, too. That’ll take some getting used to.”

St. George felt the hostility coming off Stealth. Max either didn’t notice it or didn’t care. The hero cleared his throat rather than smacking the sorcerer. Max glanced at him, then put his hands down.

“If what you are saying is true,” said Stealth, “the demon could possess an ex just as you did.”

Max shook his head. “He’s too big. A demon needs a sentient soul to use as … as an opposing force, sort of. Without one, going slow isn’t an option. They just rush right into a body, like filling a water balloon with a fire hose. Believe me, if the wards weren’t up, people would be popping left and right in here. Cairax is just too impatient for his own good. That’s why his kind didn’t overrun the world millennia ago.”

“If it knows that,” asked Freedom, “why’d it try to possess the exes outside?”

“Why do people punch walls?” Max shrugged. “And it’s pretty creepy, you’ve got to admit. It sends a message.”

“If what you are saying is true,” said Stealth, “demonic possession should still be a common occurrence.”

“Well, it’s more common than people think,” said Max. “Up until the ex-virus, they couldn’t come through on their own, and once it had wiped out ninety percent of mankind, there just wasn’t a point. Why make the effort to manifest in this world for just a few souls? Y’know, unless they really wanted to kill someone.”

“Wait,” said Freedom. “Why couldn’t they come through before the ex-virus?”

“Because of the Pope.”

“What?”

“The Pope. That’s the whole point of there being a Pope. He’s God’s chosen warrior against evil. You didn’t think the son of God really wanted to create some borderline-fascist religious bureaucracy, did you?”

“You’re joking,” St. George said.

Max shook his head. “The fisherman’s ring. Annulus Piscatoris . Ever hear of it?”

“Yeah, it’s like the Pope’s signet or something.”

“Or something. The real one, not the decoy but the one that’s passed down in secret, is an anti-touchstone. As long as it’s on a living finger, nothing demonic can manifest on Earth in a material form within nine hundred and sixty-three miles of it. Did you know there’s a cardinal whose sole duty is to hang out near the Pope so he can put the ring on if he dies unexpectedly? He’s the one who wears it while they’re choosing a new one, too.”

They all stared at him.

“You,” said St. George, “are making this up.”

“So if we cannot leave,” said Stealth, “what are we expected to do?”

“Just relax,” said Max. “After a while he’ll get bored of stalking around out there and head off to plot some demonic revenge against me.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A little time. Ten or twelve days, maybe.”

“Ten or twelve days?” echoed Freedom.

The sorcerer nodded. “Two weeks tops.”

St. George felt the fire building in his throat again. “You’re saying we might not be able to go out into the city for two weeks?”

“Two weeks at the absolute most,” said Max. “It’ll probably be less than that.”

“There’s no chance we could sneak out?” Freedom asked. “A small team, maybe with a diversionary action?”

Max shook his head. “Cairax is a demonic spirit. He can be in multiple places at once and he can see every living thing inside the walls. There’s no getting out without him knowing.”

“The other option,” said Stealth, “is we surrender you to this entity now.”

Freedom’s lips twitched at the corners.

“You could,” Max admitted, “but we’re the good guys. Besides, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. Demons are legendary for holding a grudge, and there’s no way you’d convince it I misled you.”

“Lied,” corrected Freedom.

“It’s all in your point of view,” said Max. “All of this will blow over in a couple of days. Trust me.”

“I think we’re all having a little trouble with that right now,” said St. George.

There was a knock on the door and Billie entered with a duffel bag. “Hey,” she said. “I got a bunch of his clothes. Did you want to dress him up for a funeral or something? He didn’t have an actual suit.”

“Too bad,” said Max. “I like a good suit.”

Her eyes flitted to the resurrected man and she gave a polite nod. Then she looked at him again and her eyes went wide with recognition. One hand rose up. The other one dropped to her holster.

Freedom set a hand on her shoulder. “At ease,” he said.

“Jarvis,” she said, “you’re—”

“I’m not Jarvis,” said Max.

“But you were dying,” she said. “I came and saw you.” After three years of dealing with the undead, St. George could see the conflict on her face. She wasn’t sure if she should hug her friend or shoot him.

“It is not Jarvis,” said Stealth. “His body is being used by another … person.”