I wasn’t sure we could even call them boxing lessons at this point. The next lesson consisted of flipping a concrete-filled tractor tire ten times around the entire perimeter of Knuckleheads and dodging slightly-blunted bolts from a crossbow. Freddie had basically lost his mind the second I told him about my powers, it seems, but it was a nice distraction from the other insane shit that was going on in my life.

Until I told him about the insane shit that was going on in my life.

After the way he responded to me having magical powers, I honestly thought I could tell Freddie anything. But when I casually mentioned that I had found a demonic cult that thought of me as their messiah, he lost his shit.

“Oh Hell no,” he said quietly, through gritted teeth. “You let them believe that?”

“Yeah, I need their help,” I said, taken aback by the pure anger in his tone. “It’s not like I’m actually their messiah. Jesus, Freddie. Calm down.”

“Don’t say His name, Gus. Don’t ever say His name again. Jesus will forgive you for almost anything, but there are some things that are unforgivable. Becoming the leader of a bunch of devil worshippers is one of those things. What you’ve done is irredeemable. Get the fuck out of my gym.”

I like to think I have some thick skin, but the vitriol and disgust coming from someone I thought of as a friend just minutes before hurt me deeply. Even more than usual, I felt like an animal, or a monster. He was right. I was irredeemable.

Nothing I said could have been right in that moment. I wanted to say sorry, but it was clear it wouldn’t matter, even if I meant it. So I just turned around and started to walk out of the gym.

But what if he tells on me?

Would Freddie report me to the police? Would he seek out Alec and point him at me? Point him at my family?

I couldn’t let him do that.

I turned around to tell him that if he ever gave me up, I’d remove his fucking head from his neck, but he was gone. He’d gone out the side door.

Fuck.

He was already swerving onto the road in his brand new Ford F-150 when I got outside. I was fast, but I couldn’t outrun a truck. I could’ve done something — slicked the road with slime so he would crash, throw a booger bomb through his window — something. But I didn’t want to, and the hesitation lasted long enough for him to speed out of sight.

My guts twisted and churned as I made my way through the Fatty’s Taco freezer and into the chamber with Mother Dora. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort, and was hardly trying to contain her giddiness. So far, she hadn’t done any more blood magic in our apartment, but I had a feeling that would change about thirty seconds after she entered the library.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, not one of the cult’s scheduled meeting times, so the only people there were Gerald and Darius, who were both in the library and were startled by our entrance.

“Hello, master,” Gerald said. Darius looked away from us and grumbled something under his breath. “Uhhh… who is this?” Gerald continued.

“Someone who actually sort of knows what the fuck they’re doing,” I said. “How long have you guys had these books? And you couldn’t find a hint of tangible magic in them? Mother Dora here was making her blood float around my house after fifteen minutes.”

Gerald was shocked, and Darius was suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Really?” Darius said. “From which book?”

Mother Dora looked happier than a pig in shit. With a smarmy smile, she took one of the books from under her arm and put it on Darius’s desk. She flipped to the page with the ritual and placed her finger on it just in case we were too stupid to realize that this was the page she used.

“Holy shit. I thought this was a recipe for blood sausage!” Darius said.

“Jesus Christ, dude. What kind of fuckin’ satanic historian are you?” I said. They acted like I had just called their mothers cunts or something.

“We don’t say that word here,” Gerald said. His pale face suddenly looked a lot more rodent-like.

“I say whatever the fuck I want here,” I said. “Or do you plan on doing something about it?”

Thanks to the black robes and the overall musty smell of the tunnels, I couldn’t tell you for sure that Gerald shit his pants, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. He jumped up like something was trying to spring from his asshole at the very least.

“I’m sorry sir. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve been leading this group for a long time. I guess I got used to it.”

“Well, better get unused to it,” I said. “You’re fourth place around here now. I’m first, Mother Dora’s my lieutenant, Darius is Speaker for the House, and you’re whatever they call fourth place.”

“What? Darius is ahead of me? Why?” Gerald asked with a hint of indignation in his voice. “I’ve been the leader here for nearly a decade. He just keeps the books. He couldn’t even tell the difference between a blood manipulation spell and a blood sausage!”

“Yeah, well neither could you,” I said, “and he’s not a little kiss-ass. You’re only fourth until I realize I like one of the baldies better than you.”

I took great joy in seeing Gerald become progressively more pissed off at me, his pale face turning pink, then red, and a vein throbbing over his left eyebrow. Was I taking out my frustration about Freddie out on Gerald? Yeah, probably. I just wanted to punch something, and Gerald was a great punching bag.

Darius and Mother Dora were much happier about my rankings. Darius, being at least twenty years older than Gerald, had clearly felt like he’d been getting the short end of the stick around here for years, that his knowledge had been going underappreciated. I didn’t appreciate it either, but he didn’t irritate me as much as the other freaks that dwelled down here.

“Alright, Mother Dora,” I continued, “have at it.” I waved my hand vaguely at the bookshelves. “Darius can help you out. He at least knows the titles of the books, I hope.”

Darius was thrilled to be helping someone who could actually do magic for a change. “Of course! I know what I call them, at least!” He chuckled, and he led Mother Dora to what he called the “Torture and Mutilation Section”. So it was just me and Gerald, standing awkwardly in front of Darius’s empty desk. He looked at me with apprehension, like someone who was about to get into a wrestling ring with a grizzly bear.

“Gus, lord,” he said. His voice was shaking. “I really think you should reconsider the rankings. Darius, while experienced, is quite elderly, and is prone to lapses in memory, so giving him any sort of power could result in —”

“When do the baldies meet here again?” I asked, barely registering that he was talking. Something about the way he spoke just made me want to ignore him. “I need to talk to them.” I sniffed the air and wiped a line of dust off of the side of a bookshelf with my finger.

“We’re gonna make some changes around here.”