“We have been at peace for centuries, woman, and you’ve brought us war on the notes of a beggar’s pipe. Do you think you’ll leave here alive?”
Erren laughed. It felt strange in her mouth, a fruit she hadn’t tasted before.
“No mortal can kill me,” she said.
“What do you think we are?” answered the winged-man.
* * *
It was quick, at least.
There was a sensation of movement, a feeling of falling and a quick burst of pain across her chest. The next moment, Erren was some feet away, looking down at her own crumpled body. The winged-god was already stepping over her, summoning a vortex of shimmering light into his outstretched hand. He had his eyes on a man on the other side of a marble pool, who was raising his own trident. The gods were dropping their instruments and reaching for swords and axes.
A soft voice at her elbow. “So, it’s over then.”
The green woman was there with her. Erren wasn’t surprised to see her.
“Finally.” The relief was so large it was difficult to comprehend. Instead she looked up at the sky. The huge stars that boiled there, blue and green and red, were gradually winking out of existence. A giant wolf, bigger than anything she had ever seen, was eating the moon. “What is happening?”
“Just the end of all things. Shall we leave? I can take you far from here, if you wish.”
Erren nodded, and took the horned woman’s hand. It was cool against her skin. “Somewhere quiet, I think. No music, and no dancing.”
“Oh I think I can guarantee it.”
Above them, the sky quietly tore itself to pieces.
HENRY AND THE SNAKEWOOD BOX
M.R. CAREY
I was sitting in the window of a charity shop in East Barnet when Henry Mossop wandered by. I was not particularly well placed. The assistant (clueless little puke-stain that he was) had wedged me into a corner, between an eye-wateringly ugly vase and a plate commemorating the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer.
I didn’t give Henry a second glance as he lumbered into view. He wasn’t the kind of person who invited second glances. He was basically a random jumble of limbs with a head the shape of a turnip. Greasy black hair like some kind of mycelial growth. Clothes that belonged together, but only on a bonfire.
Second glance or not, though, Henry was a receptive soul, and fortunately he lingered long enough for me to make contact. I think it was the plate that caught his eye at first – not because he was a royalist, but because he was a romantic. He got all misty-eyed, and he leaned in so close his breath fogged up the outside of the glass. You just know he had “Candle in the Wind” playing in 5.1 surround sound in the ideal theatre of his mind.
I went around to the back of that theatre, found the fire door, jimmied it open and slipped inside. It took about ten seconds, all told. What can I say? I’m good at this stuff.
Hey, Henry, I said. Hey. Look. Down here. Track left from the plate until you hit the… no, no, you went too far. Back to the right a bit. Little more. Perfect. Hi there.
In spite of this greeting, which was quite verbose by my standards and very circumstantial, Henry looked around in case I was talking to someone else who was standing behind him.
No, I said. You. I’m talking to you. Jesus! Henry, I used your actual name.
“Sorry.”
Forget it. Just, you know, focus a little. This is important.
“Um… How come you can talk?” Henry asked.
I talk the same way you do. Well, not the exact same way. I don’t have a mouth, obviously. But I form concepts in my mind using words as semantic counters, and string them together into intelligible statements.
“But you’re a box!”
No, I’m really not. Common misconception. I look like a box, but really I’m a… you know, I’d prefer we leave the nuts and bolts stuff off to one side just for now. I was about to put a proposition to you.
Henry scratched his head, the immemorial gesture of the comically bemused. “A what?”
Proposition. Bargain. Offer. Deal. Chance of a lifetime, et cetera.
Slightly Faustian, but still good. Well, good’s a slippery concept, but compared to most of these arrangements, I’m offering you the golden ticket.
Henry clung to one of the few words he’d understood, and parsed it as best he could. “A special offer?”
Yes, Henry. That. Exactly. A very, very special offer.
“What is it, then?”
Wishes.
“Wishes?”
Absolutely. You want money? Sex? A free Netflix subscription? More sex? Superpowers? Kinky sex? Whatever it is that gets your endorphins flooding, I can supply it. In frankly ridiculous abundance.
Henry thought about this. For a value of the word “thought”, anyway. He wasn’t exactly a championship contender at that particular activity. “Are you a fairy?” he asked.
Holy shit, I thought. This is the motherlode. But my terms and conditions are strict. I’m not allowed to lie. No, Henry. Not a fairy, exactly. Kind of like that, but… yeah, not like that at all. Different. Very different. Chalk and cheese.
Henry gave me a suspicious look. A look that said he wasn’t the kind of man who gets taken in by talking boxes with slick sales pitches and dodgy credentials. “What are you, then?” he asked.
And since he’d asked, I had to answer. I’m a demon.
That’s make-or-break for some people. Henry could have just taken to his heels and fled, and I would have had to let him go. You can’t force these things. Especially when your material extrusion has been locked into the shape of a snakewood box with a hen and chicks painted (quite badly) on the lid. I’m not equipped for high-speed chases. Not on this plane. If you were to meet me on the fields of Tartarus, that would be a different thing entirely. And the meeting would be brief.
But Henry didn’t run. He just nodded. His vacant expression didn’t change.
Informed consent is important in these matters, so I tried again. A demon, I said. You know. As in devil. Imp. Hellspawn. That kind of number.
“Okay. But you grant wishes the same way a fairy does.”
I do. Better than a fairy, even. Our current package includes unlimited wishes. The normal ceiling of three is waived for premier wish-makers like yourself. You can even wish for more wishes, although with a baseline of infinity you’ve probably got all you need. We’ve also removed the temporary restriction on timeline-altering wishes. You can mess with causality all you like.
Henry clapped his hands together. His innocent face was suffused with growing excitement. “A fairy in a box!” he said. “So cool! So cool!”
Demon. So let’s seal the deal, Henry. Go on into the shop and buy me. I’m four pounds ninety-nine, but you can recoup that immediately by wishing for it back. I wouldn’t want you to be out of pocket here. Go on.
The word “pocket” – a good, old-fashioned noun denoting a physical thing – got a reaction at last. Henry searched his various pockets for notes and coins, eventually coming up with a sizeable heap. “Is this enough?” he asked.
Yes, Henry. That’s thirty-five and some odd change. Just give the nice lady the blue one there, on the top, and she’ll give you back a penny. Plus me. Oh, but Henry, before you complete the purchase…