The Devil wanted the bright and lovely Cassy for a bride. Instead, he got a neurotic trickster as a roommate for six months out of the year. He's not happy about it, and neither is Louie.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Cassy's eyes are full of tears as I draw a chalk pentagram on the hotel room floor. "Please don't go back to that terrible place." But my eyes are narrowed as I try to ensure every angle my net of lines makes up is perfect. "Why do you need to go back?"
I finally look up, praying (ironic, I know) that the tealight candles will work. They're soy and not beeswax. The texts called for beeswax. Will the Devil give a shit? I mean, he is a particular man."Because—"
"I want my friend back!"
I stare at her like she's some alien thing. She's in a long black dress and black lipstick. Her blonde hair is done up in pigtails; she should've chosen to be a model, I think absently.
"Louie!" she shouts, and someone bangs on our wall.
"I'll be back in the springtime, and then we can watch all the anime we want together and hit all the cool clubs. But right now, I have to fix this."
"Has it occurred to you that you don't have to fix everything?"
"No." I fumble in my jeans for a match.
She sighs. "Okay, then. Has it occurred to you that maybe having the Devil fix it is a terrible idea? You know, the epitome of all evil? I don't think he has humanity's best interests in mind, here."
"He's not really that bad—"
"You sound brainwashed." She grinds her teeth. "Why can't we just stop and talk about this? Why can't we be the heroes? Cassy and Louie, saving the world together?"
I take a long breath. "You're my best friend. I'm always going to love you."
"Then why are you leaving me here?"
"Cassy, the whole universe is in jeopardy. I have to get help. Yeah, okay, he's the Devil. Bad. Very bad optics. But he's powerful. I have no other options.
She sits down on the floor. "Maybe I'm just being selfish, but I'm terrified. I'm tired of losing you. I feel like...every time I see you, you're less and less human."
She's not exactly wrong. Human beings don't talk to dragons and hold the fate of the universe in their hands. This rubs against my brain like sandpaper. I've always said, 'I am who I am.' But what am I now?
I sit down outside the circle. "Do you have your tattoo pen on you?"
"Always."
I slide my sleeve up and offer her my arm. "Tattoo your name on me. That way, if I ever lose myself down there, I can look at it and remember where I came from and who I need to see."
I think in other circumstances, she would maybe laugh. Or slap me. Or simply refuse. Instead, she offers no argument and pulls the sleek, pink pen from her pocket. I grit my teeth and look away from the stabbing needle, and I fight every fiber of me that demands I ask her if she was supposed to wipe my skin with antiseptic or something. And quickly, in flowing script across my wrist: it's complete.
Cassiopeia Barnes
"What do you think?" she asks.
"I'm so glad you have good handwriting."
The tattoo shimmers. And not in a gross, wet, fresh tattoo way. The words themselves sparkle and then glow. A voice whispers from those very letters, low and throaty: you do not know what doors you've opened.
In a blink, the room is transformed. In the corner, two tall ghosts decked in burial shrouds drink from ghostly china. They tut and laugh at me in Cantonese. Ten-foot-long snakes slither along the floor in dull colors. A skeleton bird clatters in the corner. A cat with jewel eyes and smoke for a body wraps itself around my legs.
Cassy is still staring at the new tattoo. I scream and the neighbor slams on the wall again. "Do you see them?"
"I don't know! I just heard your tattoo talk!"
I press my head into my hands. This was supposed to make me feel more human, this was supposed to remind me who I am, not separate me even further from my best friend. The snakes advance upon me, twins in every slow and deliberate inch they move. They look up at me with beady eyes, and though the words they speak are Cantonese, their meanings bury themselves somewhere deep within me. Deeper than muscle and blood and flesh.
We will desssstroy your world, weak one.
The ghosts look up, delighting in their tea.
Yes, Louie, we will destroy this world and build a new and glorious one.
"I love you Cassy, but I have to go." I strike a match, lighting the dozens of candles surrounding the summoning (exiting?) circle I've built.
She finally nods. "I-I understand."
This world has done nothing but spurn and detest you. You are happier as a pawn of the Devil than you ever were as a human.
The snakes laugh at me. I feel my chest tighten.
I grab her hand, smiling weakly at her, and use one of her acrylic nails to slice open my skin. Blood drips into the chalk pentagram; I do feel bad leaving Cassy here with the circle to clean up. But what else can I do?
I level my eyes at the snakes. "That's a lie. I love this world and I love being human."
But there's a piece of me, irked. A little rough edge cut raw and open because I know that the snake is telling me something both ugly and true.
