I woke up to a totally unexpected message from Judy.

“Brian says I should apologize to you in person,” her image said, “but I’m just gonna record it. I was so angry after you left, I was shouting about what you said, then he made me tell him what I said, and I thought he was gonna take my side, but he didn’t. He said it sounded like you were trying to deal with your shit like a grownup and I sounded like a crazy bitch.

“I mean, he would never actually call me that, but that’s basically what he said. So, I’m sorry if I sounded like a crazy bitch. I’m not sorry about the stuff I said about Captain Cobalt. I still think he was a murdering piece of shit, but I understand why you needed to believe in him. If I grew up like you did, I would need a hero, too.

“Brian has a play opening this weekend and I’d like you to come. The whole thing is being sponsored by this insane rich woman, so we’ll have food and an open bar, and we can all hang out after the show. Brian wants to meet you, and I… I need to make sure my best friend doesn’t hate me.”

The screen vanished and left me face to face with Lydia, staring at me from her usual spot across the room. “Sounds like you’re not the only one trying to grow up this week,” she said softly. “Are you going to accept her invitation?”

I glanced up and away again, ashamed of what was going through my head. “I have an idea, but it’s really childish. It’s also kind of petty, and maybe a little mean. But this, it’s a real apology, but this is what she does, whenever I pull away from her.

“I know exactly what’s gonna happen at this party. She’s gonna be totally cool and super nice to me, then she’s gonna strut around with her new boyfriend and ever so gently put me back in my place. Taking pity on poor, lonely Tim, who would have no friends at all, if it wasn’t for her. But I’m not poor, lonely Tim anymore. I could show up at this party with a beautiful witch on my arm, if I really wanted to.”

“So why aren’t you talking to her? Surely, she would go to this event with you, after the connection you made.”

“I can’t bring… that witch… into this. I humiliated myself in front of that woman. She gave me the best night of my life, and I just… made a big speech and walked away. And even if I did have the balls to call her, she’d spot you in ten minutes. She might even smell you on me.

“No, if I want to pull this off, I have to use you. I’m not asking you to hurt anybody, we’re just gonna make up a little story. Nothing elaborate, just enough to drive Judy crazy, and challenge what she thinks of me. Using you for this, that’s not evil, right? If nobody gets hurt? It’s just like playing a prank.”

“It’s a bit of a risk, but I think it’s worth it,” Lydia said. “I need you to see what I can do for you, and I like to see you indulging yourself.”

“See? When you say it like that, it sounds evil, but the look on her face… I’m gonna do it anyway.”

* * *

Judy answered instantly when I called her back. “Did you get my message? Are you still mad at me?”

I had to smile. “Of course, I’m not mad. We’ve been friends too long to walk away after one stupid fight. And I really am sorry about how I did it. My timing sucked. I would love to go to Brian’s play, but could I bring somebody with me? Could you get two tickets?”

The look on her face was everything I was hoping for. Dumb shock and a surge of jealousy, quickly melting into her big fake smile. She flickered through the facial expressions so fast, I’m probably the only one who could have tracked them.

“Oh my god, of course!” she said, in her fake excited corporate voice. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Lydia, and I’ve only known her for a little while, but she’s new in town and this would be a good chance for her to meet people.”

“I am so excited for you!” Judy squealed. “You really pissed me off the other day, but maybe yelling at me is good for you! I’m willing to have a few fights if it gets you back in the world!”

This was unusually generous and self-aware for Judy. I felt guilty for a moment, and almost called the whole thing off. Then I saw a shirtless Brian cross the room behind her and matched her big fake voice with my own. “Great! See you on Friday. We’ll be looking forward to it.”

* * *

“We have to do this anyway,” I said, still rationalizing to a demon. “You’re gonna need a cover story if we’re walking around in public. Even if we’re just in the grocery store, I might have to explain you to somebody.”

“And who do you want me to be?”

The way she said it sent an unexpected tingle down my spine, like she really would do anything for me. I looked in her eyes and felt it, desire and a surge of power - like I owned her; like she was a doll inviting me to dress her up.

She saw it all on my face and knew she had me exactly where she wanted me. What the fuck was I thinking, planning a prank with a loaded gun? I knew I was falling for some kind of temptation here, but the thought of walking in there with Lydia, of turning the tables on Judy’s latest boyfriend trap. I could not resist.

“Your cover story, you’re not anybody impressive yet, but you’re going to be. And we have to keep the job story loose, so it doesn’t look suspicious if you’re with me too much, or at the wrong time of day.

“The job I have in mind for you is… a shameless status play, but it will drive Judy insane; even worse because she’ll have to conceal it. It’s really important that you never mention the name of the university, just the name of this program that nobody’s ever heard of.

“We need to make sure she doesn’t know the name of the university until she looks it up. I’ve got an idea that would explain your knowledge of history, and the little references you like to drop, and I think you need to be a witch, in case anyone catches you doing magic.”

“And what would you like me to wear?” Lydia asked, taunting me.

“I am not gonna tell you what to wear! You are not trying to turn anybody on, especially not me! You’ve got to blend in. You need to look like a perfectly ordinary graduate student.”

“I need pictures.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “Jeeves, bring up clothing ads for women, like a typical graduate student would wear at BU.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

A screen popped up with a dozen women in different outfits.

“Is this all you have?” Lydia asked.

“No, just… Lydia you have got to learn to use this stuff. Here…” I angled the screen projector and moved it closer to her. “Just make this hand motion to scroll to the next page or this one to go back to the previous one. Or just say ‘Next’ or ‘Back.’”

“I don’t want to talk to it, and I don’t want it to look at me!” Lydia said, with a strange note of panic in her voice.

“Lydia, there is nothing to be afraid of. This camera doesn’t even register you as a whole body. You’re just a hand motion and a voice to it. Interacting with machines is a basic survival skill for the 21st century. If I can learn magic, you can learn this.”

Lydia peered at the first page of outfits and whispered, “Next” in a timid voice. Then she looked through the next page and tried the hand motion to scroll it. She still looked deeply uncomfortable but seemed to be getting the hang of it. She finally found a page full of stuff she liked and started changing her appearance to match the photos, copying different outfits while I watched.

“Oh lord no,” I said. “I can’t watch you do this. I’m gonna lose my shit and have to run for the footprints again.”

“Just changing costumes is bothering you?” I seemed to have taken her by surprise. “Timothy, there is nothing provocative about these clothes. Do you get this excited just looking at women on the street?”

“No!” I shouted, turning red. “The ordinary clothes only look hot because I know what’s underneath. They look perfectly normal, but I know there’s a demon under there! I’m the only one who knows that, and I know that when we get back home… Anyway, just pick out whatever you want, I’ll be in the other room.”

Lydia decided on her outfit but refused to show me her final choice in advance. Then we picked out one for me. Lydia kept trying to put me in weird old-fashioned stuff that made me look like a vampire from an ‘80s movie.

I held my ground until we settled on a pullover sweater in earth tones, nicer than anything I would have ever bought on my own. We both felt like we could get away with jeans, but Lydia refused to let me wear my white sneakers.

She picked out a pair of leather shoes for a price that would have bought me five pairs of perfectly good sneakers at the HDI distro. I finally let her win that fight, while secretly planning to return them and get my money back, as soon as this stupid play was over.

When Friday night arrived, I showered and changed into my stiff new clothes. Lydia stepped into the bathroom with me and finally revealed her outfit, a dark blue sweater that made her hair and eyes pop. Together, we looked fashionable but baggy, acceptable but a little under-dressed.

We were standing in front of my mirror to pose for her Master, but I didn’t know that yet. I remember being vaguely unsettled by something as we stood there, but my senses were too new to see why.

I thought her sweater was nice, but nothing special, until I saw the loose V opening in the back, exposing a patch of bare skin. I almost touched it, but I knew if I did, we would absolutely miss the play. I would have also damned my soul for eternity, but that seemed less important somehow.

* * *

We took a cab to the campus theater, but I didn’t really get nervous until we landed.

In my living room, this was just a game, but now I would have to do it for real. I’d never been good at lying, and to keep up an elaborate story like this, walking around with a demon like it was some sort of game, I felt like an idiot. Judy would see right through me. Then Lydia would take me home and invite me to take that sweater off, and that would be the whole ball game. I was risking my soul here, just to pull a stupid prank on my ex.

I was right on the verge of freaking out when I heard Lydia’s voice, soft but clear in my head, asking “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I said out loud. I could hear her talking, but her lips weren’t moving. “Are you throwing your voice?”

“Just a little thought projection,” she sent silently. “We use it to communicate with people when we can’t speak their language, or when we don’t want to be overheard. Try to talk back to me without speaking. Just think what you want me to hear.”

“Hello?” I thought to her. “Is this working?”

“You don’t have to shout!” Lydia shouted, still without moving her mouth. “Just send me your thoughts, gently, whispering without using your voice.”

“Wait,” I thought, panicking. “Does this mean you can read my thoughts?”

“Only the ones you’re ashamed of,” she said, winking without winking somehow.

* * *

We weren’t meeting Judy or Brian for the play itself, since Brian would be performing, and Judy had a hundred things to do backstage.

The theater could seat about six hundred people, but it was only about half full. This was supposed to be a university theater full of students, but the audience for this thing skewed very rich and very old. There were maybe a hundred students in the back, but they looked restless and a little bored, like their professors had forced them to go.

Lydia didn’t look nervous so much as she felt nervous as we sat down. Was I getting better at reading demon body language, or was this more half-assed telepathy?

I sent a silent question through our link, and she said, “I was expecting a crowd full of students, but there are far too many powerful men here. A dozen of these people could be demon thralls. I should be able to hide us, but I would rather not expose us to this kind of risk.”

“I’ve heard the phrase before, but what exactly is a demon thrall?”

“A thrall is a human who cooperates with demons, either informally, or with a contract. We used to recruit people in politics, but these days, I suspect most of our thralls are corporate royalty, sitting on boards or holding critical jobs.” She glanced up nervously. “Half the men in that mezzanine could be thralls.”

“Am I a demon thrall?”

“Yes, but most people find the term demeaning. I would never call you that, and I would ask that you never call yourself that, even in jest.”

“I don’t like the idea of being surrounded by thralls,” I said, “but we can’t leave yet. Judy would never forgive me if I walked out on this play. But the afterparty should just be students and cast members.”

The play was called Death on Mars, and yes, they started with an orchestra version of the David Bowie song. I didn’t know much about theater, but I knew enough to realize this did not bode well.

The play came off as crazy expensive and weirdly lazy at the same time. Somebody had spent six digits on holographic sets, simulating rocket launches, the surface of Mars, and NASA Mission Control. But NASA didn’t land on Mars. SpaceX landed on Mars in 2035, using an experimental drive from Madison Hyperdyne.

This play was rewriting history, so the landing looked like it happened in 1998, without ever mentioning a specific year. The costumes, dialog, and hairstyles were all sloppy throwbacks, with a script that centered on two male astronauts trapped in an emergency shelter for most of the play.

The dialog came off as shockingly crude and homophobic, full of religious references from someone who had apparently never met a real Christian before. I recognized some of the New Testament stuff from things my father used to say, but even the most fanatical members of dad’s family would never challenge someone directly about their sex life, the way the bad guys did in this play.

I remembered dad making crude jokes about gay people, but he also had some gay friends, and I think he told some of those jokes in front of them, like they had turned prejudice into some kind of weird meta-joke between them. I never got the sense that my father hated gay people; he was just deeply relieved that his son wasn’t one of them.

I could tell the dialog in the emergency shelter was building to a sex scene, but I was still a bit shocked when it happened live on stage. That was the highlight of my evening, watching Judy’s new boyfriend grope and be groped by his effeminate male co-star.

I thought maybe it was just me being a prude, but the physical performance was so enthusiastic, it was making a lot of people in the audience uncomfortable, even if the genitalia was mercifully obscured. It felt like the director was deliberately making the act violent and grotesque, when it was supposed to be an expression of love.

The play ended with a double suicide on Martian sand, and the audience rose to their feet. Or to be specific, everybody over forty rose to their feet, while the students just snickered to each other and headed for the doors.

It didn’t make sense. Why were the most powerful people in Boston applauding for this piece of shit like Stalin was gonna shoot them if they stopped?

“Lydia, did you understand this play?” I asked silently.

“No,” she admitted. “Did any of this really happen? Did your people actually land on Mars?”

“We did, but this play is a perverted deconstruction of it. That landing was one of the greatest achievements of the human race, but this play is twisting it to make everybody involved look like a victim or an asshole.”