Of the many different situations I had created contingency plans for, none prepared me for this. How does one explain to a rather intimidating young lady that they were possessing her brother’s body?

All I could do was my best.

“You may call me Ludo,” I said.

Silence dominated the room. The dim lighting contributed to an oppressive atmosphere, as if I had strolled into some cave and discovered a legion of hungry red eyes lying in wait.

I coughed into my hand. “Ludo Edkeis, third-ring----”

“Ludo.” Charlotte spit the name out. “What happened to Johnny?”

“Well, you see, the thing about that…” I scratched behind my ear. Hopefully the darkness masked my grimace. “I woke up in this body at the coffee shop with no recollection of what had transpired. The Goddess has not seen fit to discuss matters with me. I do have access to all of his memories, and it feels as if his personality is laying dormant.”

Charlotte’s tone transcended the known limits of sharpness, becoming a spiritual attack that struck me to the core. “Oh, so you’ve merely consumed his soul?”

I chuckled awkwardly. Davis looked sympathetic but unwilling to intervene. The others, perhaps glad to see her ire redirected my way, offered even less support.

“I would think not,” I said. “Certainly not. The Lady of Light values all of her children. She would never destroy a person for convenience. She is our shepherd through the afterlife, and thus quite skilled in the storing and handling of souls. So to speak.”

Charlotte tilted her head upward and took a deep drag from her cigarettes. “She ‘values her children’? Clearly you aren’t from here. Maybe she’s your mother, but she’s not ours.”

“Oh. Valid point. When dealing with another deity’s realm, I imagine she would handle the matter with characteristic grace. Likely she offered Johnny some sort of deal in exchange for his cooperation."

Charlotte riposted with another rapid thrust to the heart. “Quite a few qualifiers there, Ludo. You imagine. Likely. You would think not. My brother is one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. The co-heir to a thriving conglomerate and over a billion dollars in assets. What’s she going to give him? Another few inches of height? Magic powers, maybe?”

I considered a flippant remark and quashed the idea immediately. What would appeal to Johnny Parish, a wealthy scion infamous for disregarding responsibility and social etiquette?

“Magic would prove enticing, certainly,” I said. “If you would permit me to hedge my bets one more time, I think I may know what Johnny is missing. An issue for many folk confronting their place in the world. Meaning.”

“Meaning?” said Charlotte, curiosity dulling the edges of the word.

“A person with nothing to strive for finds very little to appreciate or be proud of." The more I spoke, the easier it became to maintain eye contact. “Johnny has been blessed with a remarkably easy life. Born with good looks, wealth, above-average intelligence. Guaranteed admittance to Stanford. He has no wife to keep him humble. No children to make him truly care for another person’s well-being. In that case, his sacrifice becomes all the more noble. For a time, he has given up his agency to contribute to the greater good. That holds meaning.”

Beams of illumination pierced through the gloom as several officers wielding flashlights entered the area. Questioning shouts. The sparks of static lightning winked out of existence after I dropped the spell.

Shoving aside any external distractions, I maintained my sole focus on Charlotte. Her eyes glistened as if she were on the verge of tears, which did not mesh at all with Johnny’s memories of her.

She looked away. “We’ll talk more about this later. For now, let’s get you out of here. There’s a huge crowd outside demanding answers. What happened in that Peet’s Coffee is all over the internet. Someone was in a virtual meeting and their laptop captured some of the action. Others managed to get some recordings on their phones. A lot of people think this is some shitty publicity stunt from my brother.”

Biehl must have been one of the newcomers with a flashlight. “We need to debrief. He’s not under arrest, true, but we have important things to discuss before he can go.”

“Who the hell are you?” said Charlotte.

“Special Agent Andrew Biehl of the PED.” One of the flashlights focused on Davis. “That’s my partner, Special Agent Jeffrey Davis.”

“What the fuck is the PED? Never heard of it.”

“It seems the cat’s already out of the bag,” said Biehl. “We’re the Paranormal Encounter Division. Highly classified. Until now, at least. What the hell happened to the lights in here, by the way?”

I tugged on my shirt collar. “I overloaded them until they exploded.”

“Why?”

“...Dramatic effect.”

Alanna’s fingers flitted across the screen of her tablet with uncanny speed and precision. “No real data out there regarding the Paranormal Encounter Division. Andrew Biehl and Jeffrey Davis are known government employees, however. Mr. Biehl was a renowned kickboxer with a 37-1 record, only known loss following his mother’s death a week before the bout. Dropped off the map after becoming special forces four years ago. Mr. Davis is a decorated veteran as well. Considered a first-pick college football linebacker back in the nineties until he quit following an accidental death on the field. No social media or recent public activity from either. They're ghosts.”

Even compared to Charlotte, Alanna was terrifying in her competence. All of that discovered in less than twenty seconds, seamlessly integrating new information as her report went on.

Special Agent Davis pointed a finger-gun gesture her way. "Was high school prom king too. Don’t leave that out.”

Chief Henderson finally found her voice. “More minor celebrities here than a LA nightclub. It’s true, though, that the pressure from outside is starting to build up. We have to make some sort of statement. Maybe it would be best to frame it all as some publicity stunt. Don’t think a lot of people would buy it, but they might if their alternative is thinking that magical powers are real.”

“I will tell them the truth,” I said.

Several flashlights converged on my face.

“No,” said Henderson and Biehl together.

“An abbreviated version of the truth,” I corrected, using a hand to shield against the glare.

“No,” they repeated.

My agreeable nature almost conceded the point, but this was too important. “You wish to continue deceiving the public because you fear their reaction. Forgive my bluntness, but this is a foolish and cowardly tactic. You are delaying the inevitable so that it becomes a problem for your future selves. Your future selves will be quite annoyed with your past selves when your hand is forced.”

Biehl grunted. “My current self believes there is a better way to release this information. Johnny fucking Playboy addressing a mob in front of a police station is way low on the list of appropriate press conferences.”

“I disagree.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You disagree,” said Biehl.

“He disagrees,” agreed Davis.

“You heard the man,” said Charlotte.

I ignored their unhelpful echoes. “If you meant to reveal the truth, you should have done so long ago. Brand would have been incontrovertible proof."

"Look, Ludo---" began Biehl.

"The Goetia established a grip on my world because their true nature remained unknown until it was far too late. If the Errata are conducting targeted massacres, their more insidious forces have already infiltrated every significant power structure across Earth. There is some small chance anyone present could be one of their agents, though at this point I doubt they are ubiquitous enough for that to be a pressing concern.”

Charlotte’s laugh was harsh and forced. “How could any of us be their agent? Would they be evil enough to possess someone else’s body?”

A few deep breaths expelled the annoyance from my mind; the pain from my broken ribs brought clarity. “They killed my wife. My daughter. They destroyed my world. I spent so much time mulling over my many regrets. All the things I wish we did differently. For decades I slept with my eyes open, waiting for the moment they finally caught me as well. From my perspective, that happened earlier this morning. So there will be no delay. The war begins tonight.”

“Be reasonable, Ludo,” said Biehl. “Let me talk with my boss. We can make a statement tomorrow.”

This circular conversation was beginning to test my patience. I turned my attention to the well-dressed man with the briefcase who accompanied Charlotte and Alanna. “My lawyer friend. If I am not under arrest, how soon can you free me?”

The lawyer visibly startled. He composed himself, pushing up his Oliver Peoples glasses with the heel of his hand. “Not long if everyone complies with your release. They can delay, but you’ll be out by the end of the night.”

“You can’t do this, Ludo,” said Special Agent Biehl.

Another couple deep breaths failed to soothe my growing anger. “I can. Earlier, I offered to work with you as equals, and in response you chose to highlight the power difference between me and your government. The gap between everyone here and myself is not nearly so large, but for the moment, you cannot stop me. Mobilize your tanks and jet planes if you wish, but they will not arrive before I’ve had my say. Release me, or I will release myself.”

After that, the conversation subsided into bitter tension. We moved into a room with non-exploded lighting, where the lawyer signed various papers while a legion of officers looked on. The PED agents decided to linger so they could observe my speech to the crowd.

Towards the end of my release, Davis slipped a business card into my hand.

Voice too low for Biehl to hear, he muttered, “Call me. I’ll make sure you talk with Darius.”

I nodded my thanks.

The others stayed near the entrance while Chief Henderson escorted me to the Property and Evidence Division. Officer Turner and his glorious mustache manned the counter. He refused to acknowledge my greeting, sliding a tray containing my belongings in front of me without a word.

Dead cellphone. Slim Italian leather wallet, a gift of unknown origin from Charlotte. Key ring. A clip of hundred dollar bills totaling $2100. My watch, displaying the time as slightly past seven in the evening---about six hours after the events at the coffee shop. And, unfamiliar to me, a felt jewelry box. I left that one in the tray.

“Where did this come from?” I asked Turner.

He shrugged, unwilling to make eye contact. “All that was in your pockets when they searched you."

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the object in my divine vision. “Has anyone opened this?”

Turner glanced down at a ledger on the counter. “Yup. It’s logged as ‘small jewelry box, wooden ring.’”

My mind went blank. Wooden ring?

Fingers trembling, I flipped the box open. Nestled inside was, indeed, a band of red oak, chipped and stained from decades of wear. Rotating it revealed tiny script written along the inside---Lani Rosen pledges her soul to Ludo Edkeis 13/5/947.

I had lost this wedding ring over twenty years ago. The priceless treasure somehow slipped off of my finger one day on the outskirts of Bellaya Forest. For a week I scoured the general location where I lost it, widening my search radius to cover a ludicrous area, but there was never much of a chance of discovering a wooden ring in the woods. Once it had contained a fleck of iron that would have allowed me to track it, but an emergency burned that up long ago.

This looked and felt like an exact replica. I doubted it was the original, a sentimental token transported across realms for no tangible benefit. The ring was a message, but from whom?

I resisted the urge to slip it onto my finger. With loving care I set it back into the box, which I snapped shut and set on the counter. “Destroy this. It should not exist here. The Goddess may have sent it with me as a source of inspiration, but I doubt she would waste energy on this. Handle it carefully, but make sure no trace of it remains.”

Turner stared at the jewelry box as if I had just set down a live grenade. “What?”

Chief Henderson shot a concerned glance my way. “Do it.”

“Who brought my belongings here?” I said. “Who searched me?”

Turner scoffed. “I’m not telling you that."

Henderson grabbed the ledger and flipped it over. “Laura Hauff. She was on shift here earlier. That’s just who recorded the belongings. She wouldn’t have been on scene.”

I memorized the name, though I doubted it would lead anywhere. The Goetia were no amateurs when it came to mysterious taunts.

After I slipped the other items back into my pockets, Henderson escorted me back to the entrance. Charlotte, the lawyer, and Alanna stood as one group, with the special agents lingering off to the side awkwardly. Davis nodded my way. Biehl hung up his cellphone, face red with anger or embarrassment from whatever conversation he just suffered through.

The crowd outside was visible through the glass doors. Hundreds of people packed shoulder-to-shoulder, some of them holding signs aloft. One of them said ‘TELL THE TRUTH’. I smiled sadly.

“You really shouldn’t do this, Ludo,” said Special Agent Biehl in a defeated voice.

I shoved open the doors and stepped out. Though the sun had set, enough light remained for me to pick out details from the scene. An elevated concrete walkway around twenty paces long separated the entrance from the street. Police officers in full riot gear maintained that distance so that none of the crowd came too close.

When I came into view, the mob exploded into a furor, shouting and thrusting their signs to the heavens. A sea of cell phones popped up, recording my every movement.

How to begin? My stomach fluttered. Never much of a public speaker, I had foolishly assumed the right words would come to me in the moment.

Remembering the wooden ring settled my nerves. I fiddled with my right index finger. Old habit.

My grand speech could wait a few more moments. Now that my migraine was finally beginning to subside, I had to brace myself for an even worse one.

Divine sight settled over the world. The intricate mess of gold and silver lines was bright enough to be near blinding, obscuring much of the view. Hundreds of electrical signatures congested the streets. A wave of nausea forced me to swallow bile.

But I saw what I was looking for. What I feared. Among the legion of mortal souls stood an aberration.

Human signatures manifest as a golden silhouette filled with a tracery of countless interlocking lines. Our movements---even our thoughts---are conducted through an impossibly complex interplay of electrical and chemical reactions. Demonic forms are physical constructs of unknown material, inert to divine sight. Their souls, however, are not.

A dense gray orb floated in the center of the crowd.

Now the words came to me. Simple is sometimes best.

“Run!” I screamed loud enough it felt as if my throat was tearing. “Run!”

The crowd shifted. Their shouts died in the wake of my sudden outburst. A few people peeled away from the mass, but most remained still.

Sometimes theatrics are necessary.

Drawing electricity from such an environment was laughably easy. Though metal was generally a better medium for this sort of thing, I had neglected training that power due to lack of resources; my instincts went for lightning.

Crackling blue-white letters formed in the air: RUN. THEY’RE HERE.

Finally most of them started to move, pushing against one another, individual reason separating from the mob as panic settled in. Among the chaos of golden silhouettes, the gray orb remained still. Waiting.

Darkness crept into the corners of my vision as rage threatened to take control. No---not now. Too many people. I needed to be able to think, to reason.

Something was wrong. The Goetia always learn from their mistakes. They knew I had overwhelmed the coffee shop demon. This one should pose more of a challenge. At the very least, it would possess superior immunity to my elemental arsenal.

Deep breaths. Think.

More electrical signatures behind me as the others emerged from the building to investigate.

“Stay back!” I yelled.

To my relief, they listened.

The gray orb began to advance forward. Alert to some nebulous danger in their midst, the crowd parted to allow its passage. Several electrical signatures, too slow to recognize the threat, flickered and vanished as the demon annihilated those in its way.

Rage threatened to overwhelm me once more. No. Focus.

Another gray orb entered the periphery of my divine sight’s range, around four hundred paces away. Fast. Unholy fast, leaving a path of devastation in its wake.

Moments later, yet another gray orb swept in from the opposite direction.

The Goetia had indeed learned their lesson. This time, they sent three.