Stuck between life and death, James Ward must remember his name and his past traumas, especially those involving his evil "Uncle" and his ex-girlfriend, Iris Penner, before he can be ressurected.
Now free from Iris Penner's soulscape -- aided by the sinister Demon of the Hudson -- the soul of James Ward must use memories from his previous life, recast as dreams, to recall his True Name. If he fails, he will forever remain trapped as a shadow between life and death. But first he must call up his toxic memories of his malevolent, manipulative "Uncle" and his strange, magical neighbor and ex-girlfriend -- Iris Penner.
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Written by Steve and Robin Pool
Voiced by Emily Woo Zeller
Sound Design and Editing by DSS (Dissecting Sound & Soul). Sound effects provided by ZapSplat
Intro song “Plastic Stars” and outro song "Rolling Towards the Sun" by Corey Distler https://soundcloud.com/deadmentalkingpdx
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Copyright (c) 2022 by Uncle Robot Media, LLC.
SAYONARAVILLE: MANHATTAN
EPISODE 3: DEVIL IN THE DETAILS
INTRO: The following series contains adult themes, strong language, violence, sexuality, and drug use. Listener discretion is advised.
[INTRO MUSIC: "Plastic Stars" by Corey Distler]
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
“What’s your fucking name!? If you can’t even say it, you’ll just go on and on, forever as you are, neither alive nor dead, stuck in between. And you’ll be of no use to me. I will leave you behind as easy meat for the specters and ghouls that prowl in the shadows.”
The little black orb quivered, not understanding the nature of the threat but terrified nonetheless by its gravity. Name? What’s a name again? Did it have one, whatever that was? It dropped into another dream, the only way it could think, to seek out a name. What his name was...
Christmas parties were always the stuff of regal glitz in the Ward household. The grounds of their colonial revival mansion were bathed in illuminated holiday auras. Beautiful pearls of twinkling, suspended lights made curls in the windows and draped from the gambrel roof. Just offshore, rented sailboats decorated with bright, colored bulbs bobbed in full view of the expansive sea-facing windows.
Inside, the home had been professionally, immaculately staged for the season, as it always was. This was how all of the Montauk elites prepared for the holidays, everyone all showy in front of each other like peacocks, dazzled and critical and envious in equal measures.
Just inside the grand foyer of the Wards’ palatial home stood a 12-foot tall spruce dressed in red and white gingham ribbon, red and silver metallic balls, and freshly baked gingerbread cookie ornaments. Around its base lay a wrap of exquisite taffeta plaid. On the nearby piano sat a crystal bowl filled with sugared cranberries and clove-studded oranges. The air was perfumed with the fragrances of apples and cinnamon and brandy. Just out of sight, a string quartet played Christmas-appropriate classical pieces by the master composers of old Europe.
The adults -- the men in black tuxedos and the women in extravagant ball gowns, kitschy Christmas-themed earrings, and updone hair -- cradled crystal cups filled with warm cider while gathered in groups based loosely on their relative importance to each other. The few children who had attended the party had been sequestered in the back of the house and served gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate made from melted bars and steamed milk while they made Christmas crafts and watched videos of shows their own parents had watched as children. This was also where the real family Christmas tree stood -- the one where children’s handmade ornaments hung strategically next to whimsical blown glass balls, and copious presents wrapped in metallic paper formed a perimeter around the tree’s base.
Trying to get a good look at the adult party, James lurked in the corridor next to the kitchen, apart from the other kids who, honestly, annoyed him as they were exceedingly spoiled and dull. The adults were much more interesting people to watch.
“James, sweetheart? Do you need something? Where’s Mrs. Hornsby?” Standing in the kitchen was James’s angelic mother, Margaret. She clutched a highball glass -- her one and only “bad habit” so far as James knew -- now down to a swirl of melted ice.
“She’s back with the other kids.” James sighed. “I’m bored, Mom. This party is boring.”
Margaret kneeled down to her son’s level and lovingly stroked his cheek. “Don’t you like spending time with your friends, surrounded by all those fun crafts and yummy treats?”
“No. Do you?”
Margaret gave James a knowing smile. “You are too clever by half, sweetheart.” She kissed his head. “Tell you what...you play the good host for another hour or so...I’m sure the other kids will have gone home at that point...and I’ll come back and play console games with you. Deal?”
James grinned and nodded. “Deal.”
“Good boy. Now Mommy has to go back and entertain her friends, too.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Where’s Iris? I see her mom and dad came, and I wanted to show Iris our Christmas tree and all our presents.”
“Well, Iris is still a baby and is too young to come to parties like this. Plus, she can’t see very well right now. Babies can only see things close up. But it’s sweet that you want to share the Christmas season with her. Give her a few years, my darling, and she’ll be able to attend parties with you. I’m sure that that will make her very happy.”
James watched as his mother remixed herself a cocktail then rejoined the adult group. He soon felt another adult hand on his shoulder, and he immediately brightened.
“Hello, James.”
“Hello, Uncle. I didn’t know you’d come to the party.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Why aren’t you with your friends? Standing around the kitchen by yourself can’t be all that much fun.”
“I don’t really like the others very much.”
“I see.” After a thoughtful pause, “Well, would you consider keeping me company then? To tell you the truth, I don’t like many of the adults at this party, either.”
James smiled as he looked up. “Of course I will. You’re my favorite uncle. Maybe my favorite adult, apart from Mom.”
“Well, I doubt I’d be able to surpass Maggie as anyone’s favorite, so I won’t even try.”
James laughed. “Let’s play the Lucky-Unlucky game!”
“Okay.” Uncle thought for a moment. “See that server over there? The young man with brown hair and a goatee?”
“Yes.”
“That man is very unlucky. He’s quite poor and doesn’t have a place to live. After the party, he will sleep in his car in a megastore parking lot.”
James winced at the thought. “Oh, he really is unlucky. Tell me more, please.”
“That woman over there in the cream-colored gown..."
“That’s Mrs. Fallon,” James interrupted. “She’s very lucky. Her family is quite wealthy and, according to Mom, she’s a very important person in Hamptons society.”
“Yes, well, I hate to break it to you, James, but Mrs. Fallon is going to be very unlucky tonight. She will learn in a few hours that her three-times unlucky prodigal son, Noah, has died in a filthy by-the-hour hotel room with a heroin needle shoved between his toes. The woman who’d shot up with him stole the money and credit cards from his wallet, along with his phone and expensive watch, before she anonymously reported Noah’s overdose to the police.”
James looked shocked but also pleased. “That’s terribly unlucky. Poor Mrs. Fallon. Poor Noah. Is there anyone here who’s lucky tonight?”
“Well, you are, James. No one is luckier than you.” Uncle’s expression darkened. “That man over there is about to become very unlucky.”
James looked about, trying to see whom Uncle referred to. “Ah...I think that’s Mr. Gottlieb. Wait, he’s unlucky, too?”
“He’s about to be. Tomorrow he’s planning on filing an expensive legal suit against your father over some business...unpleasantness. It’s not so much the risk of losing any money of consequence as it is the potential to damage reputations. That’s the real threat of it. And imagine, that bastard has the nerve to show up here tonight, all smiles and false friendship, and neither of your parents suspects his treachery. But you know what, James?” Uncle’s light blue eyes, almost like frost, locked with James’s eyes. “No one fucks with your family.” With gritted teeth, Uncle added, “Very. Unlucky.”
Mr. Gottlieb, surrounded by a host of other wealthy bastards, started to cough.
“Are you alright, Alfred?”
“Do you need something to drink? Miss? Miss? Can we get a glass of water over here?”
Mr. Gottlieb’s color began to change, and his hands reached up to grasp at his throat.
“Oh my God! Somebody call 911!”
There was a wave of screams as Mr. Gottlieb collapsed on the ground. Moments later, his heart ruptured.
Uncle, now all smiles, put his hands on James’s shoulders. “Very unlucky, indeed.”
James walked by Iris while she was drawing with chalk on the sidewalk. He was 16 and in the first month of his junior year in high school. She was nearly nine and in the fourth grade but had an air about her sometimes that made James feel like he was, between the two of them, the little kid.
“Hey, shortie. What’re you drawing?”
“Don’t call me that. I’m drawing the flowers that appear in my dreams.” On the sidewalk before her, Iris had sketched a dazzling array of blossoms, some familiar and some alien in shape, all in bright, hyper-saturated sidewalk chalk colors.
“Wow, those are really cool. I don’t think I could draw those nearly as well as you do. You’re a very good artist.”
Iris sighed. “I should be, for all the private art lessons that Mom makes me take.” She continued skritching out more flowers with an eerie level of confidence and speed that made James feel more than a little self-conscious.
“So, did I tell you that I’ve decided to run for student body president at my school?”
Without looking up, Iris asked, “What’s that?”
“When you get to high school, there’s this thing called student government. It’s where candidates like me get elected by all the students to help decide how the school is run. The student body president is the person in charge of that.”
That got Iris to stop and look up at him. “That’s what you want to be?”
Under her gaze, James felt another wave of discomfort. She’s just a kid, he reminded himself. Don’t get all weird now. Don’t let her mess with your head. “Yeah. It will look great on my college applications, and I think if I win, Dad’ll buy me a car.”
“What if you don’t win?”
“I’ll win. I was made for this role.”
But it was as if Iris knew that was bullshit. He could see it in her expression. He would be running against Mallory Pruett, one of the most popular girls in school. He was doubtless far behind her in likely votes even before anyone had started campaigning. All Iris said was, “Okay,” and James knew that his failure was all but certain.
Iris interrupted his thoughts. “James, have you ever heard the story of King Pellinor and the Questing Beast? It’s an Arthurian legend that some say is really a metaphor about the futility of chasing after things that you can’t or aren’t meant to have.”
She said this in a way...or maybe in a voice...that did not sound like her at all. And her question. Did she overhear some adult mention that once? He’d never heard of Pellinor or that Questing Beast before. So how did Iris know about it? Also, she never called him James. Only Jimmy. Or, when she was feeling rowdy and there were no adults around within hearing range, she’d call him something with shit in it: shit-breath, shit-hugger, shit-for-noodles. Then she’d put on an adorable kid smile, throw out a “just kidding” heart emoji, and laugh. Against his will, he’d usually laugh, too. That’s probably why she did it. She just loved attention and, apparently, also saying the word “shit”.
“Where did you hear about that, Iris?”
“Huh? Hear about what?”
Whatever it had been that had prompted Iris to ask such a complicated and challenging grown-up question appeared to have passed, and she seemed once more like her normal little kid self.
“Nevermind. Got to go. Homework to do. Bye, Iris.”
“Byyyye...Good luck with the election thing."
At dinner, James told his parents his plans to run for student body president. They were very excited and showered praise on him for taking on such an ambitious challenge. They had no doubts that he’d win. He was a Ward, for God’s sake.
The only person who didn’t believe this was Uncle. After dinner, James pulled him aside in the sitting room. “So, hey, when I mentioned that I’m running for student body president, you didn’t seem very excited about it. Don’t think I can do it? Don’t think I’m lucky?”
For the first time that he could remember, Uncle was angry with him. “Don’t ever joke about that, James! You are provoking forces that you cannot possibly comprehend whenever you say such things.”
Sheepishly, James replied, “Sorry. I won’t say it again.” Now it was James’s turn to be angry. “But it doesn’t sound like you think I can win.”
“You will not win...”
“What the fuck!? Uncle!”
“Let me finish. You will not win...without my help.”
“What does that mean?”
Uncle walked over to the wet bar, poured himself a shot of bourbon, and took a slow sip. “What do you know about your family history? Maggie’s side. Not your dad’s. No offense, but Arnie’s family is mostly made up of dumbasses and losers. Definitely unlucky. Don’t tell him I said that.”
“Well...I know Mom’s family has been here for a long time, going back to the Mayflower.”
“That’s right. And the Morris family has prospered ever since. It’s not just anyone who can claim to belong to a family that once owned a quarter of Brooklyn, back when it was all farmland, and counted membership in the Astor 400. Industrialists, scientists, bankers, doctors, lawyers, famous artists, notable actors and musicians, award-winning journalists, senators...your mom’s side of the family wrote the book on being lucky. Do you know why that is?”
James looked puzzled, not sure where this was going. “...No..."
Uncle smiled like a serpent. “It’s because of me.”
James frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Come now, boy. You know who I am. What I am. You always have, even if you’ve never admitted it to yourself.”
“I...I don’t follow..."
“The old know and the young suspect. You know that I’m not human, right?”
“No...I..." James found the couch behind him with his hand and slumped down into it. The air around him felt heavier, and the light in the room seemed dimmer. And there was a hint of...what?...an odor. Something unpleasant. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
“You’re not lucky. Maggie’s not lucky. Your grandfather’s not lucky. Not without me. Your mother’s family has always been rubbish, without my intervention. I was their luck. Back in the old country. One of your ancestors, I forget which now, had summoned me and made a pact with me when it had become clear that her family would have otherwise starved before that particularly cruel winter was out. And when her descendents had immigrated here to America, I immigrated with them. They took care of me and I took care of them..." Uncle waved his arms about the room. “You can see how well that all worked out.”
Fear crept inside James’s mind like a chilling fog. Now he could see Uncle for what he...it...really was, and he wanted to scream. Stumbling as he tried to get up, he said, “No. No.” Over and over.
“See? You do know. And now that’s out of the way, I can become your luck. And you will be very, very lucky. All I need to do this is to have you make me a promise...a pledge...first.”
As James backed out of the room, he shouted, “S-stay away from me!”
Uncle ignored James’s outburst. “Oh, James, you protest now. But soon you will experience what it means to be truly lucky. What fun that will be.”
At the big party celebrating his victory in the school election, James finally felt like he could breathe again. He, not his opponent, had won in a landslide. With his Uncle’s help, he’d managed to build a coalition of supporters that proved unbeatable. And, as a result, not only was he the new student body president, he was also the most popular student in school. He was very, very lucky. And that was a big relief.
Twice as many people had attended the party as had been expected, and the house was packed. To accommodate the large number, the party flowed out into the backyard. A half a dozen grills blazed, each manned by a professional chef, and emergency crews from three local catering companies wielded trays filled with drinks and hors d'oeuvres and worked the hungry and thirsty crowd. For most of the day, James had been the eye of an unrelenting attention storm, an unfamiliar experience. Drained, he found a brief respite in a quiet spot with a good view of the shoreline.
“What’s the matter, James?” James felt a prick of pain and dread at the sound of Uncle’s voice. “Adulation getting to you already?”
“What? Oh, uh, hi. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Better get used to it. There’s going to be a lot more of that in your future.” Seeing James’s ambivalence about the first big win of his life, Uncle added, “You know, a lot of people want things that they won’t admit to and, in bouts of piety, straight-up deny, because of what that would say about them. It’s understandable, though, because it’s human nature to want everything, especially the forbidden, taboo things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some number of years ago, long before you or your mother had been born, a cousin of yours, Samuel Morris, discovered he’d been given the gift of prophecy. Rather than keeping it to himself, as most with that gift do for what should be obvious reasons, he decided he wouldn’t conceal it and declared himself an oracle to everyone he met. It took less than a week to silence the scoffers. He was the real deal, after all. Afterwards, he told me that he didn’t need my luck anymore because he’d be able to do what he wanted without my help -- to make a real difference in peoples’ lives while also making a small fortune for himself.
“Soon his day was full of appointments with people seeking answers and guidance for their confusing and troubled lives. But as with many things in life and the afterlife, he should have thought carefully about whether this was a good idea or not. He discovered that few of his clients were ever really honest about the knowledge they sought. No one wants to confess having evil desires, especially to someone rumored to be holy. The insipid drivel that they sought his guidance for was in no way connected to any of their real desires, and poor, unlucky Samuel couldn’t help but see that. Whenever he peered into a client’s soul, what he saw were carnal desires for a litany of Old Testament condemnations...what we infernals refer to as “the really bad, really fun shit list”: ego, idolatry, apathy and hatred, cruelty, rebellion, murder, infidelity, theft, lies and slander, envy, and a thirst for revenge. One client might be a closeted narcicist or racist just one step away from being consumed by apathy or hate. Another might beat their spouse or children or animals behind closed doors. People wanting to know how to get away with infidelity, embezzlement, theft, sexual assault, slander, murder. Difficult shit to take. Even more so when those desires had come from people he had known and respected all his life.
“And then there were all the visions of people’s impending dooms...an expecting mother who would die alongside her newborn while giving birth, a man who, after getting fired from his job, would take his life. Another man who’d lose his arm to a machine on an assembly line. A couple who would die in a house fire. A bride who would kill her new husband in self-defense after he would nearly beat her to death. Terribly unlucky stories like that, one after another. It got so that he couldn’t turn it off. Everywhere he looked, he saw the blackest evils and grimmest tragedies, biding their time, hovering like dark shadows over everyone. And warning them did no good. If someone changed what they were doing to avoid a particular death, something else equally bad or worse would kill them instead.
“Finally, desperate and nearly driven mad, Samuel humbled himself and came to me for help. I reminded him, of course, that he had hurt my feelings foreswearing my protective luck. But after making him grovel a bit, I released him from his burden by removing his eyes. No more visions after that. And then, bolstered with my luck, he went on to live out a peaceful, sightless life.”
Uncle gave James a terrifying smile.
“Why did you tell me that story, Uncle? I don’t understand the point of it.”
“The point of it, nephew, is that you need to rethink what your desires are. Don’t desire petty shit. You won’t really want it and will regret having gotten it. Think bigger. Much bigger. Now that you are moving into the world of adults, you need to manage your desires and your methods to maximize your luck. Human existence by its very nature is pain because you are all, beneath the veneer of civility and enlightenment, predatory pieces of shit. Yes, even you, my dear nephew. The lucky ones are just those who don’t lie to themselves about it and, instead, embrace their true natures to maximize their happiness. Use everyone. Bend everyone to your will. Use them up before they use you up. The unlucky ones are always cowards who get devoured instead of being the devourers.”
“Th-that’s horrible! You’re horrible! How...how can you tell me that I should become a monster so that I can be happy and successful?”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my philosophy when it got you elected to a position that you most definitely did not deserve.”
“Y-yeah. But..."
“I know, James. You are young and still a spoiled, idealistic idiot. You haven’t a fucking clue how the real world works. But you will soon enough. Now, Uncle is hungry. Please bring me some sustenance.”
Against his wishes and his every instinct, James complied. “Yes, Uncle.”
James knew exactly what Uncle wanted. As he prepared a ritual that Uncle had taught him, a Red Eye sigil glowing just outside the range of human sight formed in the palm of his right hand. He then sought out the girl he’d run against in the election, the one who would have won had Uncle not helped him.
Asking around, he found Mallory Pruett talking with a group of her friends, also pretty, popular girls. One or two of them, with crooked smiles, looked strangely at James as he approached the group. He could see in graphic detail their thoughts and desires regarding the new president-elect, and he had to fight off a fierce blush. Uncle really was right about people.
Everyone except Mallory greeted him in a decidedly flirty way. Mallory’s greeting was more inscrutable. “Hi, James.”
Feeling bolstered by Uncle’s luck, James swallowed his nerves and answered with confidence. “Hey, ladies. Thanks for coming to my party. Everyone having a good time?”
All, except Mallory, answered with enthusiasm. “So, hey, Madam Vice President, I was wondering if you and I could talk for a little bit about some ideas I had for our first council meeting on Monday.”
Her expression darkened, but for only a moment, as James stared into her eyes. Then she smiled and said, “Yeah, that’d be great.” Once the two of them were alone, James placed his magicked right hand on Mallory’s shoulder and kissed her. With the press of his lips to hers, he began to feed off Mallory’s anima.
It felt both horribly wrong and incredibly good at the same time. What the fuck was he doing? Why the fuck hadn’t he known about this before? He felt deeply ashamed. He felt absolutely incredible. He was definitely going to Hell for this. But who cared?
Mesmerized by his Uncle’s magic, Mallory didn’t even struggle. And whatever alarms had been going off in James’s head about the utter wrongness of this act, how this was coercion and manipulation, how this was straight-up assault, akin to date rape, were drowned out by the waves of ecstasy he felt as he bit deeply into Mallory’s life force.
Over dinner with their next-door neighbors, the Penners, the Wards, or specifically, James, had news to share. Uncle was not in attendance. He never was whenever Iris was around. James was now 18, a recent high school graduate, and off to college in the fall. Iris was almost 11 and...odder than ever. Rumors about her being cursed or bringing curses had started to circulate, and James had hoped that none of them was true. Thinking about moving to the City, he found himself worrying about her. If he wasn’t here in Montauk, to keep an eye on her, who would? Who would watch out for Iris?
Without warning, Arnie pinged his wine glass with his butter knife. “Excuse me. Excuse me!” Once everyone was quiet and James was properly mortified, Arnie continued. “James, our brilliant co-valedictorian graduate...that’s right...applause, please..."
“...Dad!”
“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, James has some very good news that he’d like to share with everyone.”
Everyone quieted and waited on him to speak.
“Well, ah, I just wanted to tell everyone..." James’s eyes zeroed in on his parents’ joyful expressions. Shit! He was hoping to tell them privately later. No putting it off now, he guessed. “...Is that I’ve accepted an offer to attend Columbia University next fall.”
The neighbors Roger, Cathy, and Iris all politely awed and clapped. His parents looked confused. Artie said, “I..." Looking at Margaret, he continued, “Well, we...thought you’d decided to attend Harvard. It was a good offer. It’s a great school.”
“Well, Dad, so’s Columbia. And their offer is every bit as good. I can always go to Harvard for graduate school.”
“Yes, well..." Artie noticed the curious glances from their dinner guests and Margaret’s tugging on his sleeve. “...we...uh...can discuss this later, I guess. In the meantime, a toast to our soon-to-be Ivy Leaguer!”
There were “here-here’s” and the clinking of glasses all around, and the rest of dinner passed pleasantly without incident.
Afterwards, James and Iris played an FPS game on his console in the den while their parents drank coffee and socialized in the living room. Though he liked playing games with Iris, it irked James that she was so damn good at them. Better than him, though? That was something that he was never going to admit.
Iris surprised him with a question. “Is something wrong, Jimmy? You don’t seem right.” Though she never took her eyes off the paramilitary battle playing out on the television screen, James could feel the heat of her attention on him.
“Me? No, I’m fine. Everything’s great.”
Iris pressed pause on the game just as her game avatar had machine-gunned through a line of masked terrorists and stared right at him. Not for the first time, he thought that her gaze felt like an actual weight.
“What?”
For a long time, Iris thought about what she was going to say. Finally, she settled on one sentence, “I miss the old you,” before unpausing the game and continuing her digital rampage.
In James’s left hand, lucky news. In his right, unlucky news.
The Harvard Law admissions letter was heavy, almost like cloth. What it said didn’t matter as much as who had said it, of course. Harvard Law wanted him. Harvard! He had finished top of his class at Columbia and had received a perfect LSAT score on his first try. The gushing recommendation letters from prominent professors he’d studied under had also been helpful. The number of victims needed to secure the boost for those final grades and that test score and those letters had reached mid double-digit levels, for what that was worth. But, hey, Harvard!
The text message on his phone was from James’s mother. His father, complaining of chest pains, had been admitted to the hospital earlier that morning but James shouldn’t worry. He didn’t need to come home if it was an inconvenience.
Replying, he wrote, “Thanks for letting me know. Of course I’ll come home. I’ll grab a train and be there by this evening. Love to you both. Also! Great News!!! But it’ll have to wait..."
Mom had been trying to downplay all of Dad’s troubles for a while now, but James had known how worried she really had been. Dad had been struggling with his health, and, truth be told, with his company, ever since James had won his election for student body president. Though Uncle had made no mention of ever shifting his favor from father to son, James could tell that Uncle was no longer helping Dad. When asked about it, Uncle gave a non-committal response. “He’s probably just going through a rough patch. I’m sure he’ll be fine soon enough. He’s always been the lucky type.” Nothing about himself in his reply to James.
James wondered -- and worried -- that Uncle’s luck might be limited to a few people, or maybe even one person, and didn’t actually extend to the whole family in general. That meant that his luck could be cut off or taken away at any time. James just had to make sure that didn’t happen.
He put down the letter and his phone and started to dress. Lying face down on the hotel bed was a naked, still-warm woman whose name James couldn’t bother to remember. Her lingerie lay scattered across the room, and her expensive dress had been flung to the ground without any regard for wrinkles. That’s how eager she’d been. The two had met in some loud, obnoxious hookup bar, and it hadn’t taken much for him to convince her to come to the hotel room. She had been admittedly hot, but she had also had a personality that made James flinch. And she’d tasted sweet, in a cloying, sickly kind of way. Uncle was happy, however, so whatever.
James grabbed his jacket, phone, acceptance letter, and room key just as there was a knock at the door. He opened it to a 30-ish business drone, tall and athletic, definitely in the “bro” category. James despised people like that. The man smiled, dazed by magic he couldn’t comprehend, as James handed him the room’s card key. “Here you go. Thanks for the use of the room.”
“Totally, man. No problem.” After a brief pause, the man called after James. “Hey, you wanna grab a beer?” But James was already in the elevator and pretended not to hear him as the doors closed.
Home for the weekend, James sat in Iris’s Queen Anne chair while she lounged on her bed. Humming some pop tune, she stretched a newly-rolled joint over to James, then began to roll one for herself. Iris had a rule that no one could touch her own joints or drink from her cups or eat from her plate. Something about potential danger, but she’d never elaborated, and James had never pushed her for details. Lighting his joint, James took a deep drag off of it.
“Wait!” Iris shouted. “Don’t inhale too deeply...”
Too late. James felt something like an explosion of smokey confetti in his lungs. Color began to make crackling noises, and sound developed a funny smell. He could also swear that someone said, “Death is just a palate cleanser.” Recoiling from the joint, he sputtered, “W-what the hell is this?”
Iris smiled as she took a more judicious drag from her joint. “I call this ‘what normal must feel like’. Sorry. I should have warned you.”
“Jesus! Yes! Do warn me next time you give me some weird-ass blend you threw together in your mad scientist lab. Dammit, I think my tongue is starting to itch.”
“It’ll pass. But going forward, tiny, gentle puffs. Okay?”
“Seriously, what is in this?”
“Just one of my normal favorite buds, actually, that I juiced up with a spell I learned from a sus-as-fuck-looking but otherwise harmless hedge wizard dude who had a booth at the farmer’s market in Sag Harbor. Guy was a total trip but he really knew his plant-based magic. Maybe he was one of those...what do you call ‘em...druids?”
James scoffed. “A druid? On Long Island?”
Iris tilted her head in her insanely cute way. “I dunno. Whatever he is, his magic is good. I like it.” She took another puff, and, weirdly, her eyes glowed while she inhaled.
James took another skeptical look at his joint. “Are you sure this is safe? And what do you mean ‘this is normal’?”
“Course it’s safe. It’s better than safe. In addition to helping me reduce my mana swells and giving me a sweet-ass buzz, it’s decreased my appetite for more dangerous, more illegal substances.”
James watched Iris as she lay on her stomach and kicked her legs to some internal beat. “Are you doing okay, Iris? Have you been having more trouble with...?”
He didn’t finish before Iris interrupted him. “I’m fine, Jameee. A-okay.” She didn’t sound fine. She sounded totally buzzed already, after only a few puffs. He laughed at that.
That thought actually made him relax. Having mana poisoning challenges wasn’t uncommon for people these days, like having acid reflux or bad acne, but no one that he knew had ever had them as bad as she did. Bad, like, spontaneous fire outbreaks or poltergeist-like psychokinetic events bad if she was feeling stressed or sick while being overly magical. It was a poorly-kept secret that Iris had been plagued her whole life with an overabundance of mystical energies. She was lucky to have her parents, expert researchers in the subject, helping manage her symptoms and outbreaks. But still, James knew that it had been hell on her, and that she hadn’t been great about dealing with her pain. She’d started very early with the drinking habits, drug habits, needle habits, shoplifting, fighting, and sleeping around habits. Everyone who knew her thought of her as a stoner, a slut, a spoiled bitch, and a delinquent. Some people even spread rumors that at one time she’d been a full-on lycanthrope but that her parents had somehow cured her of that. But people said those things because they didn’t know her. Not like he did. There was a raw vitality about her, a kind of shine that made others seem dull. Her critics could grouse all they wanted in the darkness. Not him. He craved bathing in her light.
But as much as James loved it, Uncle feared it. Uncle had warned James repeatedly not to get involved with Iris. He had said those things to James not out of petty jealousy or anger but out of pure fear. He would never show up somewhere if Iris was there, too.
Iris, seeing James’s conflicted look, got off the bed and sat down in his lap. “I couldn’t take your puppy dog eyes anymore. Whassa matter?”
She began to gently stroke his cheek, which first flushed, then became uncomfortably warm under her touch. James didn’t seem to notice. His hands went to her face, which was slightly glowing. Kinda weird, but also cool, so he was okay with it.
Iris pressed deeper into his chest. Her breath, almost torrid, fanned across his neck. James slouched in the chair, letting her sprawl over him. Her lips brushed against his, familiar but strangely a bit exotic, carrying a brand new flavor or scent. He wanted more of whatever this was. Greedy, he inhaled deeply.
James had fed on many women on Uncle’s behalf over the years, but never Iris, and never solely for himself. But now James felt a hunger that he’d never felt before. Whereas his previous victims could not come away undamaged, some actually dying, he was sure that Iris could take it. She had plenty of mana to spare. Too much of it, actually. He would probably be helping her. Right?
Uncle shouted in James’s mind. “Boy! Stop it! Stop right now! What the hell are you doing!? Do you want to die!” But Uncle might just as well have been shouting at the wall. James was completely lost in the madness that had gripped him.
He felt himself extend his customary unseen, intangible hand into Iris’s back. Iris flinched but didn’t pull away. His psychic “proboscis” felt for her soul and touched an essence that glowed like a white-hot poker.
Uncle screamed, “Stop, James! Get away from this girl! She’ll kill us both!” But there was no getting through.
Iris’s hands slipped beneath James’s polo, her fingers searing red, smoldering prints where she gripped his chest. But James was beyond pain. His hand pushed under her faded Metroid t-shirt, reaching for her breast. As he grasped it, it began to glow white-hot, and he lost all feeling in his hand. Iris’s lips burned his. Her legs straddling his lap began to scorch his skin through the fabric of his jeans. Neither noticed the rising stench of blackened cotton.
Uncle howled unheeded.
James’s crotch stiffened, and he pushed Iris back, fumbling with the button on his pants. Flame suddenly erupted from every part of his body as every cell simultaneously reached critical temperature. Iris screamed as she scrambled backwards. A sheet of fire engulfed the chair, and billowing black smoke stained the white ceiling. The shriek of fire alarms tore through the house. James’s last thoughts, before he was incinerated, were of the indescribable bliss of being baptized in Iris’s unfiltered, unchecked, glorious light.
[OUTRO SONG: "Rolling Towards the Sun" by Corey Distler]
The black orb had become a man. James was whole and restored. Naked and shivering in the alley behind the Five Points coffee shop, James looked about in a panic. He felt his face and body, verifying his reality.
Uncle was gone. In its place was a new presence, equally demonic and terrifying. No, much, much more so. James crouched as the new presence spoke in his thoughts.
“Well done, James. You’ve managed to crawl back from death, and, through your will, made yourself whole again. I think I can use you after all. Go and reclaim your old life, and always listen for my instructions.”
As James ran into the night, he thought of home. He thought of Iris. He needed to get back to both. But first he needed some clothes and cash.
Across the street, a couple walked under the warm glow of a streetlight, the man’s camel topcoat and shiny black shoes suggesting an after-dinner-and-a-show stroll home. The man looked to be about his size, and his clothes suggested a full wallet. As James approached, the couple stopped, pulling out phones to call the police.
Power filled his throat. “Madam, you will refrain from screaming or calling out for help. Sir, you will give me your clothes and your wallet. Take me to your car, if you have one, and give that to me, as well.”
Unable to resist his commands, the couple obeyed.
NEXT EPISODE: SHADOW WORK