Beignets
The RV sat tucked behind a small, forgotten church in rural Louisiana, its exterior faded and worn like it hadn’t moved in years. But inside, the space was a masterpiece of magic—luxurious, sleek, and modern, with wide glass windows that showed panoramic views of faraway mountains or beaches, depending on the day. It wasn’t just an RV; it was a sanctuary for Rev Bones, the man who called it home. The enchantments that lined the walls expanded the space far beyond its humble exterior, making it feel like he lived in a penthouse perched on the edge of reality. Bones had carved out this place of order and control in a world that often left him dealing with the unpredictable and the absurd.
Rev Bones wasn’t your average priest. Once a man of strict vows, including a vow of poverty, he now lived in the strange space between the mundane and the divine. He had made his name as the most highly trained mortal exorcist and mage on the planet, but he was far more than that. He served as a personal assistant to none other than Yeshua bin Yusuf—yes, that Yeshua—the one most mortals knew as Jesus. And while most people might imagine working for the Almighty meant parting seas or performing miracles, Bones’ duties were far more... down-to-earth. Errands, mundane tasks, and the occasional exorcism filled his days, all performed with the sarcastic grace of a man who’d seen far too much and still didn’t believe he was getting paid enough.
Today’s task was supposed to be simple. Beignets. Yeshua had a craving—fresh from New Orleans, of course. Bones had gotten the call late the night before, just as he was settling in. “Go grab a dozen for me, will you, habibi?” Yeshua had said, as if it were the most normal request in the world. And for Yeshua, it was. After all, Bones had long accepted that being the personal assistant to the Son of God meant dealing with errands both divine and ridiculous. Whether it was picking up robes from the cleaners or tracking down lost artifacts, Bones never knew what to expect from day to day. Today, though, seemed like it might actually be quiet—just a quick drive to the French Quarter and back. At least, that’s what Bones told himself as he sipped his coffee and glanced out at the enchanted view through his RV’s windows.
Bones was about halfway through his coffee when Teagan shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and already dressed in her Starbucks apron. She worked the morning shift at a store in Nebraska, but thanks to a magical door in their closet, her commute was a little more unconventional than most. The door led directly to the broom closet of her Starbucks, and every day she stepped through it as if it were completely normal. "Another day of slinging lattes," she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Teagan leaned over, kissed Bones on the cheek, and gave him a sleepy smile. “Try not to get into too much trouble on your way to get Yeshua’s beignets, alright?” she teased. Bones grinned, shaking his head. “Trouble? Me? Never.” Teagan smirked, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her bag and disappeared through the closet, leaving Bones to his own devices.
Bones finished his coffee and stood up, stretching before grabbing his jacket. His day seemed simple enough—just a quick trip to New Orleans for some beignets and back to the RV for the rest of the afternoon. No exorcisms, no vampires, no demons... just fried dough and powdered sugar. He grabbed his pocket Bible and tossed it into the front seat of his 1980s Mercedes diesel, then reached for his Penjammin, already looking forward to hitting it on the road. As he stepped outside, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Yeshua bin Yusuf. Bones sighed and answered, already expecting the usual mix of casual requests and cryptic comments. “Let me guess,” Bones said, leaning against the car. “You want me to get your beignets without powdered sugar this time?” Yeshua’s warm, relaxed voice came through the line. “No, no, habibi. The usual will do. But there’s been... a complication. You’ll figure it out when you get there.”
Bones settled into the driver’s seat of his 1980s Mercedes diesel, the familiar rumble of the engine vibrating through the frame. He lived out of his RV, constantly on the move, traveling from place to place for work—if you could call what he did “work.” Today, though, seemed like a nice break from the usual chaos. No exorcisms, no demon hunts, just a trip down to New Orleans to grab beignets for Yeshua. The old diesel cruised smoothly over the backroads, the Louisiana sun warming the dashboard as the car rattled down familiar routes. Bones reached for the Penjammin sitting next to him but decided against it for now. It was going to be an easy drive—one he’d made a thousand times before.
The miles rolled by in a comfortable rhythm, the occasional car passing him on the otherwise empty road. Bones had always preferred these quiet stretches—just him, the open road, and the distant promise of New Orleans. The radio was off, and the only sound was the steady hum of the engine and the faint rustling of trees swaying in the light breeze. He cracked the window, letting the cool morning air drift in, carrying the familiar scents of damp earth and cypress. Every now and then, he glanced out at the swampy landscape, feeling a certain comfort in the quiet, predictable nature of the drive. Today, it felt like just another simple errand. He even started thinking about which coffee stand he’d stop at on the way back, already craving a fresh cup.
Bones settled deeper into the seat, one hand lazily resting on the wheel while the other drummed idly against the console. He’d been driving this route long enough to know it by heart—every curve, every dip in the road, every stray gas station between here and the French Quarter. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore. The Louisiana landscape drifted by in its usual slow, almost sleepy manner: overgrown trees, patches of fog rising off the swamps, and the occasional glimpse of an old fishing shack in the distance. This was the calm before the chaos, he figured. Any time things seemed too quiet, too easy, something weird was bound to happen eventually. But for now, it was just him, the road, and the quiet hum of the car as it coasted through familiar territory.
After about an hour of driving, Bones noticed something odd—just a flicker of something different as he passed by a road sign. At first glance, it seemed normal, pointing toward a small town ahead, but as it disappeared in the rearview mirror, Bones furrowed his brow. The sign had looked... old. Not just weathered, but like it belonged in a museum—wooden, with faded, hand-painted letters and a style he hadn’t seen in decades, maybe centuries. He shook his head, dismissing it as some forgotten relic of a roadside attraction, but the thought lingered. He adjusted his grip on the wheel, his eyes scanning the horizon. The pavement under the tires felt a little rougher now, the ride a bit bumpier, as if the road itself was changing, but it was gradual enough that he barely noticed at first.
Bones drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his mind drifting back to the beignets and the quiet day he’d imagined. But the drive didn’t feel as smooth anymore. He could feel every bump in the road now, a rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk under the tires that hadn’t been there before. He glanced out the window, noticing that the trees lining the road seemed taller, more twisted, as if they belonged to a different time. The pavement he’d been driving on was gone, replaced by... cobblestones? He blinked, staring down at the road as the car bounced slightly with each stone. “What the hell...?” Bones muttered to himself, slowing down a bit. It made no sense. Cobblestone roads? Out here? But the car kept moving forward, the familiar hum of the engine now mixing with the strange, uneven clatter beneath him. Still, he drove on, trying to convince himself it was just some weird, old stretch of backroad he hadn’t seen before.
Bones saw a carriage coming his direction confused, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the engine growling in protest as the car struggled to pick up speed over the uneven cobblestones. The carriage ahead kept moving steadily, its horses clomping rhythmically over the stones. Frustrated, he stuck his head out the window, ready to see what was holding him back—only to freeze. His Mercedes diesel was gone, replaced by a manure cart, creaking wooden wheels turning slowly under the weight of a heavy wooden frame. The smell hit him next, sharp and unmistakable. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, blinking hard, as if that would somehow undo the surreal sight in front of him. But it didn’t. The cart was very real, yet... off. The horses pulling the carriage ahead looked solid at first glance, but Bones could sense the magic about them—a faint shimmer in the air around their hooves, the way their bodies seemed to blur slightly at the edges. This wasn’t just some old-fashioned backroad. Something was very, very wrong.
Bones pulled his head back inside, feeling the comforting hum of his engine beneath him, though the sight outside told a different story. To him, everything still looked normal—the familiar dashboard, the worn steering wheel, the Penjammin sitting on the seat beside him. But when he leaned out the window again, the exterior told a different tale. His sleek Mercedes was gone, replaced by a manure cart creaking along on rickety wooden wheels. He slammed his foot on the gas in frustration, expecting the car to roar ahead, but instead, something snapped. Bones’ eyes widened as the reins of the horses in front of him jerked free, and the carriage they were pulling lurched forward. The horses sped up instantly, galloping ahead as if spurred on by the burst of speed from the car-turned-cart. “Oh, crap,” Bones muttered, gripping the wheel tighter as the cart picked up speed, the wheels clattering faster over the cobblestones. He had control—sort of—but it felt like both the horses and the cart were taking him for a ride now.
Bones’ hands tightened on the wheel as the cart—no, his car—finally slowed, the horses coming to a stop in front of a large, weathered house. The structure looked ancient, its stone walls darkened by time and the faint flicker of lanterns casting long shadows across the cobbled street. Outside the house, a woman was sobbing into the chest of a man dressed in the ornate robes of a bishop, his hand resting gently on her head as he whispered consoling words. Bones furrowed his brow, watching the scene unfold from his seat. His gut told him this was no coincidence. Yeshua had a habit of sending him into the thick of things with little warning, and this... this definitely felt like one of those moments.
He pushed open the door and stepped out, fully expecting to see his usual boots hit the ground. Instead, he froze, staring down at the rich, deep red fabric that now flowed around him. He was dressed in the robes of a cardinal, complete with a wide-brimmed hat that somehow sat perfectly on his head, though he hadn’t put it there. “Of course,” he muttered, tugging at the unfamiliar fabric. “Because why wouldn’t I be a cardinal today?”
Bones looked down at the flowing cardinal’s robes, shaking his head in disbelief, but what really threw him off were his old, beaten-up Vans, still duct-taped together and sticking out from under the rich red fabric. The ridiculous sight almost made him laugh—almost. He groaned, pulling his pocket Bible from his jacket, flipping through it until he reached a section simply labeled "Tongues." The page seemed to shimmer faintly, and he could feel the words in front of him shift, translating the rapid French he was hearing into English in real-time. “Thank you, Yeshua,” he muttered under his breath, closing the Bible softly.
The bishop caught sight of him and immediately straightened, his eyes widening at the sight of the cardinal’s robes, though the duct-taped Vans didn’t seem to register. The woman, still crying, turned toward Bones, her tear-streaked face full of desperate hope. Bones took a deep breath, tucking the Bible back into his jacket. “Alright,” he muttered, stepping forward, his Vans scuffing against the cobblestones as he approached the pair. “Let’s figure out what kind of mess I’ve landed in this time.”
As Bones approached, the bishop glanced nervously between him and the manure cart parked behind him. The horses were standing still now, steam rising gently from their flanks, but the smell wafting through the air was impossible to ignore. The bishop cleared his throat, clearly unsure of how to address the situation. “Your... Your Eminence,” he began, his voice wavering slightly, “forgive me, but I must ask—why is it that you, a cardinal of such high standing, have arrived in... well...” He gestured awkwardly toward the manure cart. “A manure cart?”
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Bones blinked, then looked back at the cart with a resigned sigh. Of course. “Long story,” he said, glancing down at his Vans for a second before turning back to the bishop. “Let’s just say I’m working with what I’ve got.” The bishop nodded, clearly not understanding but too polite to press further. Bones ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Yeshua really knows how to keep things interesting.”
The bishop was a short man, his back slightly hunched with age and worry. His balding scalp gleamed in the dim light, a thin ring of gray hair circling what remained. His face, lined with years of quiet service, was drawn tight with concern as he stood near the sobbing woman. His robes, though worn, were still finely embroidered, the edges frayed with time but maintained with a care that spoke to his dedication. He approached Bones slowly, his voice low and gravelly from years of sermons. “Your Eminence,” he began, almost reverently, though the nervous tremor in his voice betrayed him, “thank God you’ve come. We are... in need of your help. The woman’s daughter, she’s possessed by a demon like nothing we’ve ever seen.”
Bones listened to the bishop’s shaky voice, his mind already calculating what little he had to work with. His fingers curled around the Penjammin, which now looked like an old, well-worn wooden pipe, thanks to whatever time-bending magic had thrown him into this mess. He brought it to his lips, lighting it with a flick of his fingers—a subtle bit of magic that barely registered to those around him. As the bishop spoke, Bones took a long, slow hit, feeling the familiar warmth settle in his chest before he exhaled a massive cloud of vapor, the thick plume drifting into the cool air. The bishop, caught in his own tale of desperation, didn’t seem to notice. “She speaks in languages none of us can understand, Your Eminence,” he continued, his hands trembling slightly. “She’s strong—far stronger than any girl her age should be. No matter what we try, nothing works. Our prayers, our rituals... it’s as if the demon is laughing at us.” Bones took another small puff, the cloud swirling around him as he nodded slowly, more for himself than for the bishop. “Yeah, sounds like I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” he muttered under his breath.
As the vapor cloud slowly dissipated, Bones ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the situation settle in more deeply. He glanced down, his fingers absently brushing against the pocket Bible tucked into his robes. That was about all he had on him that was even remotely useful for this. His mind flicked to the McDonald’s cheeseburger still sitting in the car—hardly the ideal tool for dealing with a demon. A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So, I’ve got a Bible and a cheeseburger,” he muttered to himself, the absurdity of it settling in with each passing second. The bishop, still caught up in explaining the chaos within the house, didn’t seem to notice Bones’ side comment. “Nothing more powerful than fast food, right?” he added dryly under his breath, taking one last hit from the pipe before straightening up. Whatever he had, he’d have to make it work.
Bones’ stomach grumbled, reminding him of the fact that he hadn’t eaten since his dab and coffee that morning. He glanced at the McDonald’s bag sitting in the passenger seat and sighed. “Well, I’m not going in on an empty stomach,” he muttered, grabbing the cheeseburger from the bag and unwrapping it as he stepped out of the car. The bishop, still watching anxiously, said nothing as Bones casually stuffed the burger into his pocket, fully intending to finish it the moment he got a break. With his pocket Bible in one hand and the cheeseburger in the other, he walked toward the house, feeling the weight of both his hunger and the demon waiting inside. “Priorities,” he mumbled under his breath, giving the bishop a quick nod before pushing open the creaky wooden door. The inside was dim, the air thick and heavy with something dark and old, but Bones was already thinking about the first bite of that burger as he stepped over the threshold. He’d handle the demon, sure, but a man had to eat.
The moment Bones stepped inside, the temperature dropped, the oppressive air thickening with every breath he took. The dim light barely reached the corners of the room, casting long, distorted shadows along the old stone walls. He was about to take a bite of the cheeseburger when a low, guttural hiss echoed through the room. Bones froze, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the space. His gaze shot upward, and there she was—the girl, her body twisted unnaturally, climbing backwards up the wall, her fingers and toes gripping the stone like a spider. Her head was turned fully toward him, eyes wide and gleaming with an unnatural light, her lips pulled back into a snarl. “Well, that’s not creepy at all,” Bones muttered under his breath, the cheeseburger still half-unwrapped in his hand. The girl hissed again, a deep, animalistic sound that reverberated through the room, and Bones sighed, tucking the burger back into his pocket. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Bones barely had time to blink before the girl launched herself off the wall, screeching like something straight out of a nightmare. He ducked just as she flung herself toward him, her clawed fingers swiping through the air where his head had been moments before. “Holy—!” he yelped, stuffing the cheeseburger between his teeth as he scrambled backward, one hand fumbling to open his pocket Bible. His other hand dove into the book’s binding, fingers grasping for the tiny golf pencil he kept tucked in there. The girl hissed again, her body twisting mid-air as she landed and flung a nearby chair at him with unnatural strength. Bones dodged, the chair smashing into the wall behind him, splintering into pieces. With the burger still clenched in his mouth, he flipped through the Bible’s seemingly infinite pages, his eyes darting between the girl and the hastily drawn spell forms he was sketching in mid-run. “This is gonna be one of those days,” he muttered through a mouthful of cheeseburger.
Bones ducked just in time to avoid a table flying across the room, the possessed girl hissing and spitting as she prepared for another attack. “Alright, that’s enough,” he grumbled, flipping through the infinite pages of his Bible with one hand, the other gripping his golf pencil. He scribbled out a quick set of symbols, Japanese in origin, before tearing the page clean from the Bible’s spine. As the girl lunged again, Bones sidestepped her with a quick move and, in one smooth motion, slapped the charm right on her forehead. The symbols lit up with a soft glow, freezing her mid-leap like a statue. Her eyes darted wildly, still burning with fury, but her body remained stuck in place, hovering inches from the floor. “Yeah, that’ll hold you for a minute,” Bones muttered, adjusting the cheeseburger still clamped between his teeth as he flipped through the Bible again, looking for something a bit more permanent. “Now let’s see... where’s that exorcism when you need it?”
Bones frantically flipped through the infinite pages of his Bible, the tiny golf pencil tucked between his fingers as he scanned spell after spell. The girl remained frozen in mid-air, the charm on her forehead glowing faintly, but Bones knew it wouldn’t hold forever. His eyes finally landed on something promising—a powerful exorcism ritual. Relief washed over him for a split second, but then his heart sank as he read the fine print. “Old Hindi ritual,” he muttered to himself, “requires... beef.” His gaze dropped to the cheeseburger still hanging from his mouth, the weight of what he’d have to do settling in. He pulled the burger out slowly, staring at it with genuine sorrow. “I really didn’t want to have to do this,” he muttered, sighing heavily. The cheeseburger seemed to mock him, the faint scent of beef and fast food lingering in the air. “Rest in peace, buddy,” Bones whispered, already preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
With a heavy sigh, Bones gently set the cheeseburger down on a nearby table, flipping through his Bible with one hand as he scanned the room for the next ingredient. “Salt... I just need some salt.” His eyes landed on a small dish on a shelf, clearly placed there for something far more mundane than exorcising a demon. He grabbed it, pouring a generous amount into his palm before kneeling down and tracing a salt circle on the floor. The girl remained frozen in mid-air, the charm on her forehead flickering slightly as the magic began to weaken. “No pressure,” Bones muttered, drawing the circle as quickly and carefully as he could, his focus sharp despite the ridiculousness of the situation. With the circle complete, he placed the cheeseburger reverently in the center, stepping back to admire his work. “Alright,” he sighed, feeling the weight of the moment, “you deserved better, but here we are.” He flipped to the page in his Bible and prepared to begin the Hindi ritual, knowing the demon wouldn’t stay frozen much longer.
Bones knelt by the salt circle, his Bible open to the right page, the cheeseburger sitting solemnly in the center. The air in the room grew heavier, charged with the tension of the ritual about to begin. He glanced up at the girl, still suspended mid-air, the charm flickering weakly on her forehead. Time was running out. With one final deep breath, Bones started chanting the ancient Hindi words, his voice low and steady. The temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree as the words took hold, and the girl’s body convulsed slightly in response.
Bones’ eyes narrowed as he focused on the exorcism, and that’s when he saw it—a thin wisp of black smoke curling from the girl’s ear, twisting in the air like a snake. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. “This one’s an ear guy.” The smoke thickened as the demon began to emerge, slipping out from the ear in slow, deliberate waves, each line of Bones’ chanting drawing more of it free. The girl’s eyes rolled back into her head, her body twitching as the dark spirit left her. Bones gritted his teeth, holding the chant steady, watching as the demon slowly, almost reluctantly, uncoiled from within her, pouring out through the ear and toward the salt circle.
Bones’ chanting grew more deliberate, his hand steady as he reached into the salt circle and carefully lifted the top bun of the cheeseburger. With the tip of his golf pencil, he quickly sketched an ancient symbol onto the bun’s soft, greasy surface—just enough to create a seal strong enough to contain the demon. The moment the mark was complete, the air around the room seemed to twist and pull, as if gravity itself had shifted. The black smoke curling from the girl’s ear wavered, then surged toward the burger, sucked in like a vacuum.
The girl let out a low groan, her body shuddering as the last of the demon was drawn out of her, the smoke twisting and swirling into the marked bun. Bones held his breath, his fingers still pressed to the burger, watching as the demon’s form, once powerful and terrifying, was reduced to nothing more than a wisp of smoke being trapped inside fast food. The bun glowed faintly, the symbols burning with soft light before settling back into place. “Of all the places to end up,” Bones muttered under his breath, glancing at the now demonic burger. “Talk about a last meal.”
Bones let out a long sigh of relief, the glow from the marked bun finally fading. He carefully placed the top bun back onto the burger, sealing the demon inside. With practiced ease, he reached for the crumpled McDonald’s wrapper, rewrapping the burger with a reverence normally reserved for holy relics. “Sorry, buddy,” he muttered to the burger, slipping it back into his pocket, where it sat with a faint, ominous warmth. Standing up, he dusted off his robes, feeling the tension in the room lift now that the demon was safely contained in fast food form.
Just as he turned toward the door, the girl, no longer climbing walls or spitting curses, slowly stumbled forward, her legs shaky and her eyes wide with confusion. She blinked a few times, her voice soft and hoarse. “What... what happened?” she asked, her gaze drifting to the room around her, like someone waking up from a long, dark dream. Bones gave her a quick glance over his shoulder, pushing the door open with his foot. “You’ll be alright,” he said, his voice calm but tired. “Just... stay away from any ancient artifacts or creepy books for a while.” The girl followed him, still dazed, as they stepped out into the cool night air, the house behind them finally feeling lighter, free from the weight of what had been lurking inside.
As they stepped into the cool night air, the heavy tension from the house melted away, leaving only the quiet sounds of the street. The girl stumbled after Bones, still disoriented but visibly relieved, her breaths coming in slow, deep gulps. Bones stretched his arms overhead, feeling the stiffness of the encounter leave his body. He absentmindedly patted the cheeseburger in his pocket, the demon now trapped within, before shaking his head with a sigh.
The bishop, wide-eyed and silent, stood nearby, clearly in awe of what had just transpired. Bones gave him a tired nod and started down the cobblestone path. But before he made it too far, a realization hit him. His hand went to his jacket pocket, not for the Bible, but for his phone. He tapped the screen, and as it flickered to life, the task that started his whole day stared back at him in a text from Yeshua: "Don’t forget the beignets!"
Bones groaned, running a hand down his face. “Right... beignets.” He turned back toward the bishop, the girl still recovering beside him. “Uh, sorry to bother you,” Bones said, rubbing the back of his neck, “but would you happen to know any bakeries around here that sell beignets? I’ve got a job to finish, and I’m way behind schedule.” The bishop blinked in confusion, still struggling to process the scene, but nodded slowly. “A... a bakery?” he stammered. Bones nodded, exhaustion setting in. “Yeah, I’ve got a boss who’s not gonna be too happy if I don’t bring them back.” With that, Bones trudged off down the street, knowing it’d be a long night before he got home.