After a rather awkward exchange with the person manning the front desk, who had been rather nonchalant about his viewing of risqué media in a -relatively- public setting, he and Taz secured a room using the funds they had absconded with.

Taz struck up a conversation as they ascended the stairs to the second floor, where their assigned room lay. “This place is a shithole.”

Well, that was to be expected. Motels are not known for their luxury. Or their sanitation. “It was the cheapest place within a couple of miles. Besides, we won’t be here but for a few days, if that. No need to waste cash on fancy towels and room service we’ll never use.

“Unless you can magic up some dough for us?” Greg asked, a bit hopeful. He did not know the extent of Taz’s occultic knowledge and had hoped his friend would offer a solution. Alas, the demon simply snorted in amusement. Greg’s shoulders slumped a bit. “Ah, well. That’s fine. We’ll figure something out. Probably.”

The place the not-cult resided in had been rented under Jerry’s name, funded by the collective efforts of the group. Lucy had her, admittedly meager, income from her shop. Steve worked at local grocery store. Mark had a daily commute of over an hour, his job was to unload and load cargo at a warehouse a few miles outside of town. Greg, at Steve’s suggestion, had taken up odd jobs he found in the local newspapers. It kept him busy and gave him a sense of purpose, as minor as it might have been. That had helped ease his troubled thoughts, somewhat; being able to contribute to the wellbeing of others made him feel like he was helping meaningfully.

Greg was under no illusions that he could sustain his previous lifestyle now that he had no one to mooch off of. Despite the others continually reassuring him that he was not imposing on them, Greg had only seen himself as a leech, contributing only the bare minimum needed to maintain the façade of being if not an asset, then not being a liability. Steve in particular had nearly slapped him when Greg said as much.

“Listen, Greg,” Steve had said, “you are not a burden. We understand what you are going through. We know what you are going through. Because we are going through the same things.

“And while we can’t just wave a magic wand and fix things,” he smiled wryly, “and while we don’t have the resources to get everyone here the help they need, what we can do is be there for each other. You just need some time to think and understand yourself. Again, you are not a burden.”

---

Greg turned the key, unlocking the door to their room. The inside was furnished sparsely, with a chair to the left of the door, two single beds against the wall to the left, a nightstand between them, and a television opposite them. Just past the television was a door that, presumably, opened up into the bathroom.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Taz set the box down on the chair, claimed a bed for himself, grabbed the remote from the nightstand, and started channel surfing. From the almost bored look Taz held, Greg was certain that the demon had stayed in a similar setting before, and at least more than once.

Greg set his backpack down and laid on the other bed. “We’ll start searching for a more long-term place to stay, and start job hunting. Later. I need a nap after all of that.”

And though he so desperately wished for peace of mind, it would not come to him. There were just too many thoughts occupying his head. For one thing, demons were real. Until today, he had his doubts. Though some of the books they had acquired had spoken of demons and their summoning, Greg had his reservations. For one thing, more than half of the spells, incantations, rituals, and invocations just flat-out did not work. They had tried each and every one, testing different interpretations of the components and instructions, all to no avail. Often times, the magic that did work had only done so after liberal interpretation of the instructions, and even then, the results were often not at all what had been written down. Whether due to error or some change in how magic worked due to some unknown factor, no one could determine.

For example, one invocation called upon ‘The Shrew of the Verdant Valley’ to ‘return life to desolate lands.’ The first interpretation the group had agreed upon was that the invocation would target nutrient-deficient soil and dead flora in some yet-undefined area, and reinvigorate them. In actuality, the spell increased fertility rates in the area of roughly a mile. That had been one hell of a doozy to figure out, involving a small news story a few months after they had invoked the spell, a professor teaching statistics at the college Greg went to, several days spent rechecking translations for the invocation, and frankly, a lot of luck.

So, it came as a surprise to Greg when the ritual to summon a demon actually worked. Though, now that he had the time to think about it, the descriptions in the text were not very accurate. Taz, other than the sharp teeth, crimson skin, and what he now could see were not in fact claws, rather they were jet-black nails that had been sharpened to a point, looked surprisingly human. His facial structure and musculature were slightly different, enough that they couldn’t be called entirely human, but close enough to pass brief inspection.

Greg… didn’t have questions about Taz’s home realm. If he was being honest with himself, Greg just didn’t care. He had no interest in visiting, nor did he think learning more about it would benefit him. Greg also had a feeling that Taz didn’t want to talk about his home either. Not that Greg would ask. If Taz did not want to share, Greg would not press him.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Can’t sleep?”

Greg turned. “How could you tell?”

Taz had paused his channel surfing, having muted the T.V. “You were having a staring contest with the ceiling for at least half an hour. I think you won.”

Greg chuckled. “Yeah, well… yeah. I am.” He sighed, “I’ll be fine, I’ll get some rest, eventually.”