Chapter 2
The former King of the Demons, Azzandar, was very, very furious. He stewed silently, so angry that it was a wonder that there wasn’t steam coming out of his pointed ears. The biggest reason for his black fury was currently sitting beside his fleecy-lined kitty basket, running a little brush over his coat over and over again.
How he hated this human! The one called Chris treated him to such indignities that no demon should ever have to bear. No matter that he was now trapped in this furry little body, his soul was still that of a demon. And it raged inside of his skull, as he glared evilly up at the human. His yellow-eyed Look of Death had no more effect on Chris than it ever had for the last two days, which infuriated him even more. The wretched human just couldn’t seem to read any of the signals that Azzandar tried to send him! If his teeth had been bigger, he might have contemplated trying to rip this Chris’ throat out with them.
“There, you look great,” the human crooned, making Azzandar flatten his ears to his skull. “I know you don’t like this, Rusty, but your coat is all shiny and smooth now.” He ran his fingertips down Azzandar’s spine, making the former King of Demons begin that involuntary rusty purring which he hated so much.
Chris smiled. He could see that the former stray was angry with him, which didn’t surprise him. The cat was probably used to being on his own, and didn’t like a human taking care of him. Those yellow eyes had glared at him furiously for the last two days, as he’d installed the cat in a soft, lined basket that wouldn’t hurt him, and had brought his new pet a can of soft kitty food for him to eat. At first Rusty had only continued to glare at him, but finally the smell of the food had made his nostrils flare and his whiskers twitch. Finally, grudgingly, he’d stopped glowering at Chris and had stretched out his neck to sniff at the open can of food. He’d taken a tentative bite, and after that had been too busy eating to pay any attention to Chris at all. And that livid sulfurous stare had followed him around his apartment whenever Rusty wasn’t eating or sleeping, which he did a lot of as his body recovered from whatever had happened to it.
That glare rather amused him. Chris sometimes wondered why he and so many other humans were slaves to these creatures – cats could be so horrible sometimes. Whether it was sharpening their claws on your furniture or limbs, pissing on the floor because they were mad that their box wasn’t clean enough, or shedding hair everywhere(and especially on your favorite clothes or the ones you were going to wear to work), cats could be decidedly beastly. And yet he couldn’t seem to resist them, no matter how hard he tried. He was such a chump.
Chris sighed, scratching around the base of Rusty’s ears to make his purring grow louder. He’d already found all of the spots that made his new pet go all limp and also made him kind of drool a bit, a sign of extreme pleasure in cats. Right behind the ears, under the chin, a spot in the middle of the reddish-brown breastbone – he’d sussed out all of these special places and more. He enjoyed doing this, not only for the purring but because he knew that this pissed Rusty off for some reason. After all, humans had to punish cats in return once in awhile…
He let his fingers do the walking as he thought about what a push-over he was – not only to his pets but to his boyfriends as well. He’d only had a handful so far, but with each and every one of them he’d let himself be walked over and used by them. He hated that about himself, but he couldn’t seem to help it. At least with cats it was an honest cruelty – he’d been lied to far too often by guys who were bored with him, or cheating on him, or were planning on cleaning out his bank account(the third one had done that, vanishing into thin air afterward). Rusty’s open hatred of him was rather refreshing, in fact.
“It’s just you and me, Rusty,” he commented aloud. “I think I’ll just swear off guys for awhile. Well, except for you, anyway. Because you’re a guy, huh? It’ll be just us guys, you and me.”
His voice was sad and wistful. Azzandar wanted to snort in disgust. Spineless fool! He raged inside his head. Humans were weak and pathetic. And now he was a mere pet to one of them! It was intolerable. When he got his claws on his brother, he was going to rip his guts out and make him eat them. He’d keep that black-hearted sibling of his alive for many centuries, all the while suffering endlessly. Perhaps, a millennia from now, he’d put the wretched creature out of his misery. But only if he felt like it.
He was distracted from his raging thoughts by fingers gently scritching under his chin. His mouth opened on a silent hiss of fury, because he hated this caress most of all. This weak little body loved it; his salivary glands were activated by the pressure, and he actually began to drool a little out the side of his mouth. By the Eternal Darkness, to be reduced to a drooling blob by the mere touch of mortal fingers! His eyes roiled with the hate he was feeling as he looked up at the human. Of course the creature wore a fatuous smile, and was crooning in that ‘little baby’ voice that he despised.
“Feels good, huh?” the human asked, making him want to spit and scratch. If he hadn’t still been feeling the lingering dregs of weakness from his journey through the portal, he would have. He’d have shredded this human with the razor-sharp claws on the end of his paws. As it was, he made a small sound and batted at the hand a little, hating how little strength he had. It was ridiculous that he, who had once been the fearsome King of all the Demons, was now this pathetic scrap of fur, reduced to a mere thrall to this puny human.
Chris laughed and avoided the batting paw easily. “Oh, come on, boy; you know you like it,” he teased. The yellow eyes narrowed and took on a truly evil look.
Chris shook his head, rising lithely to his feet. “It’s okay, Rusty, I get it. Here, I’ll get you something that you’ll like better than my petting,” he went into his small kitchen and fetched down a can of tuna from the cupboard, then retrieved a can opener.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the cat’s ears had perked up, and that the yellow gaze was watching him intently. He grinned a little to himself. Even an evil-tempered creature like Rusty couldn’t resist the lure of fish. He filled a little cat bowl with the tuna, still surreptitiously watching the cat out of the corner of his eye. Rusty was sitting up in his basket, alert and watchful. His keen gaze was resting not on Chris, but on what his hands were doing. The human chuckled to himself. The way to a cat’s heart was definitely through his stomach, he thought to himself.
He casually turned away from the counter holding the bowl. He lifted it a little, enticingly, as he looked down at the cat in the basket. "Would you like something nice to eat, Rusty?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes.
Azzandar wanted what was in that bowl. The smell of it reached his sensitive nostrils, and he’d begun to salivate again. While it enraged him completely that he had to beg for food from this human, his stomach didn’t care about what he thought. His mouth opened, and a loud mewl sounded out as he demanded the contents of that bowl vigorously.
Chris’ lips twitched. Rusty was definitely feeling better today; his voice was loud as he demanded that Chris feed him. Another squall sounded out through the apartment, and the cat’s tail lashed. Chris understood him as well as though he were speaking English. His soft heart wouldn’t let him torture the cat anymore; he walked over and knelt down to put the bowl in front of the basket within Rusty’s reach. “There you are,” he said, scratching the top of the cat’s head again. This time he managed to do it without receiving a furious glare, because Rusty was far too intent on bolting the tuna to care about what he did. He sat there running his hand down his new cat’s spine, and feeling better than he had in months. Well, they did say that pets were good for relieving stress and lowering blood pressure. And Rusty was much cheaper therapy than going to a shrink.
Azzandar wandered through the apartment slowly, feeling disgruntled. Chris had gone out the door today, telling him that he had to go to work. It wasn’t that he liked being around the human – it was just that he was stuck in this small space by himself without being able to go outside. He’d already circled the entire apartment several times, stopping to use that humiliating box with the fine clay in it. To have to squat down and empty his bowels in that box enraged him. But his body knew what to do, and he had to follow its instincts whether he liked it or not.
He went over to the window and jumped rather heavily up onto the window seat there. He almost didn’t make it – his body still wasn’t fully recovered yet. Azzandar squinted out at the world outside, trying to get used to sunlight and being out during the day. While demons were not destroyed by sunlight, they hated and avoided it whenever they could. They lived in the Darkness, after all; the bright sunlight was anathema to them. As a cat, however, it didn’t bother him much. His pupils automatically narrowed to take in as little light as possible, and he peered out into a world done in shades of grey. It was strange not to be able to see colors, and he hadn’t quite adjusted to the fact that everything was black-and-white to him now.
There was a tree outside the window, its leafy boughs nearly touching the pane. His sharp eyes caught movement, and he stiffened a little as he saw a small feathered creature twittering and hopping around in the tree. His instincts made him go into a crouch, and his tail lashed back-and-forth in excitement. Here was this body’s natural prey, right in front of him. But he couldn’t get to it with the window in the way, and of course he didn’t have any hands to open the window with. He growled in furious frustration, baring his teeth at the unobtainable bird outside the window. How he would have liked to have something to tear apart right now! It would make him feel better for a little while.
Azzandar turned his back on the bird, sulking as he hopped down off the window seat and walked away. This form was so small and pathetic that he couldn’t stand it. Had he been a magnificent, massive demon with wings that had brushed the floor and skin the color of human blood only a few days ago? It didn’t seem possible, not now. Not when he was stuck in this weak furry body with its four legs, its string tail, and a mouth that was no good for any kind of speech whatsoever.
He stalked into the bedroom, jumping up onto the bed. He indulged in some minor destruction to make himself feel better, using his claws to rip at the cover in a most satisfactory way. He left long scratches in it, his eyes narrowed in spiteful glee. Maybe this was a petty revenge, and not terribly worthy of him; but it was the best that he could do right now. When he was done, he contemplated his work with a smirk on his furry face. ‘Take that, human!’ he thought spitefully. ‘Lock me in this dwelling will you?’
He moved on to attack the couch, shredding one of the arms. But then he felt tired, which annoyed him. He still wasn’t fully recovered yet from his trip through the portal, although he had more strength and hurt less now. He limped back to the basket, which was at least soft. He curled up in it with a little moan for the aches in his body, hating himself for making it. With a last glower at everything around him, the former King of Demons closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Chris was stocking the shelves when a familiar voice spoke from behind him: “Hey, Chris,” it said.
He whirled around to find himself face-to-face with his former boyfriend, Rick Majors. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and his voice was just a little bit hoarse as he said: “What are you doing here, Rick?”
“Hey, can’t I come and see my ex?” Rick replied, his voice wheedling.
Chris felt his stomach knot inside of him. He knew that tone…Rick wanted something. Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for him. Especially since he was so very bad at resisting guys like Rick. He was in real trouble here, and felt a sense of helpless apprehension fill him up as he faced his former boyfriend and waited to hear just what it was that Rick wanted from him.
Rick smiled ingratiatingly, a sight that made Chris feel even more apprehensive. “Hey, I just wanted to see you,” Rick began in wheedling tones.
Chris crossed his arms tightly over his chest, hugging himself protectively. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “Why?”
Rick pretended to look hurt. “Oh, come on, Chris,” he said, reaching out to pat his arm. Chris stiffened at this touch, and Rick pulled his hand back. “I miss you,” Rick told him.
Chris’ mouth worked. “Well, you wouldn’t have to be missing me if you hadn’t cheated on me with everything that walked on two legs and had a cock,” he hissed.
“I know I was a jerk when we were together, but I’ve changed,” Rick protested. “I really have. I swear.”
Chris gave him a doubtful look. “Look, Chris, I really need to ask you for a favor,” Rick said, those wheedling tones back in his voice.
‘Oh, here we go,’ Chris thought in resignation.
Rick did his best pleading ‘puppy dog’ eyes as he continued: “I lost my job and got kicked out of my apartment. I have nowhere to go. If you don’t take me in, I’ll end up sleeping in my car. Please, Chris? Just until I get back on my feet,” he added.
Chris wanted to pull his hair out. This was just the kind of thing that he’d feared when he’d heard Rick’s voice behind him. “Look, I don’t know,” he began. “Don’t you have anyone else you could stay with?”
Rick shook his head, looking pathetic. “Nah, my friend Jarrod is living with his boyfriend, and that dude doesn’t like me for some reason.”
‘I wonder why?’ Chris thought cynically to himself. Rick went on in a suffering voice: “And my parents won’t even talk to me, you know that.”
Chris felt a twinge of sympathy, which he tried unsuccessfully to surpress. It was true that Rick’s parents had disowned him when they found out that he was gay; although he supposed that was partly because Rick was such a man-whore. If he’d showed a little more restraint(and hadn’t nailed one of their friend’s college aged sons at their Christmas party one year, a sight which almost everybody at the party saw when they walked into the sitting room to drink egg nog and look at the tree), then they might still be talking to him. But still…
He bit at his lip a little as Rick (sensing that he was weakening), upped his begging look and tones even more. “Please, Chris, I really need a place to stay. Just for a little while, I swear. A couple of weeks at most, while I get a new job and a place to live. What do you say?”
His hopefulness was too much for poor Chris. He sighed. “All right,” he said in resignation. “You can stay with me for a little while. But only for a few weeks,” he went on as Rick brightened up. “And you’re sleeping on the couch,” he tried to keep his voice stern, and Rick nodded.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say. I’ll just hang around until you get off work, okay?” he said.
Chris nodded. “Okay,” he said tiredly, thinking to himself that this situation wasn’t okay at all. This wouldn’t go well. How could it? Rick was a moocher and a cheat. He was really in trouble here.
Azzandar was sitting up in his basket, considering getting out of it, when the front door opened. The human walked in, followed by another human. The second one dropped a bag on the floor near the door, and spoke in a voice that the former king of demons took an instant dislike to: “Hey, that’s not Buster. What happened to him?”
“He died,” the one called Chris replied shortly.
“Oh, man, that’s too bad. Where’d you get this one from?” he walked over to look down at Azzandar, who gave him a yellow death glare.
“I found him behind the store. He’s a stray, and he got hurt somehow. But he’s getting better. I call him Rusty.” Chris explained.
“Rusty, huh? Hey, little fellah,” the human crouched down and reached out to pet his head with his fingers.
Azzandar snarled and swatted at those encroaching fingers, leaving bloody scratches on them. The human yelped and pulled his hand back. “He scratched me!” he cried indignantly.
“Sorry, he’s not very friendly,” Chris said in concern.
The human glared at Azzandar, cradling his bloody digits. The demon-turned-cat gave him a look of deadly loathing in return. He didn’t know who this human was, or what he was doing here – but Azzandar intended to make him wish that he’d never come to the human Chris’ dwelling.
Rick sat on the couch and glared down at the creature crouched near his feet. The cat was genuinely evil! He was convinced of that. Whenever Chris was at work, the creature went out of its way to torture him. Whether it was sitting for hours glaring at him with those piss-yellow eyes, or lying in wait for him to come out of the bathroom and then attacking his ankles in a guerrilla raid when he least expected it, the cat Rusty was a total little demon. He had scratches all over his ankles and hands, and more in various places where the cat had bitten or scratched him. And the little bastard had sprayed his clothes! Now they all smelled of that horrible, musky-pissy odor, and washing them twice had only reduced the smell, not gotten rid of it entirely.
Rick hated this cat. If he could have, he would have gotten rid of it permanently. Maybe by tossing it into the street while a garbage truck was passing by – flattened cat sounded great to him. But if Rusty disappeared, Chris would want to know what had happened to him. Besides, he wasn’t at all sure that he could pick the devil cat up without being horribly mangled anyway.
“Fuck off, you mangy beast,” he muttered, lashing out at the cat with his foot. He’d gotten smart and started wearing a pair of heavy leather boots, because when he’d still been wearing sandals on his feet Rusty had dealt out some heavy damage when he’d tried to kick the beast. But the cat dodged his kick, growling furiously at him while its glare intensified. He was going to pay for that, the yellow eyes said clearly. He was going to pay dearly.
Rick wanted to snarl himself. The cat had interfered with his plans big time. See, Rick had figured that he’d be able to shack up with (and sponge off of) Chris for a good bit of time. Part of that plan had included weaseling his way back into his former boyfriend’s bed. It would be a lot more comfortable than the couch, that was for sure. But when he’d tried to snuggle up to Chris a few days ago, the cat had waited patiently until he’d had his arm around Chris’ shoulders and had attacked him. He’d screamed as teeth had sunk into his calf, and had jumped off the couch to hop around trying to dislodge the cat. He’d been decidedly disgruntled when Chris had finally freed him, because he'd looked like he was trying not to laugh. That had pissed Rick off, and he’d sulked for the entire evening after that.
He just didn’t see what Chris saw in this horrible cat. It wasn’t even loving to HIM, and Chris was supposed to be its owner! The cat batted at Chris when he tried to pet it, hissing furiously. The only time he seemed to be able to touch it was when he fed it. Who the hell wanted a pet that hated them?! Rick just didn’t get it. But then, Chris has always been a push-over. Witness his living here rent free after he’d cheated on Chris. Apparently Chris was such a pussy that even a cat could walk all over him. Pathetic.
The cat had circled the couch and had jumped up on the back. He was crouched there glaring at Rick, clearly planning another foray against him. His yellow glare promised death and destruction. Rick gave him the finger, knowing that the cat wouldn’t understand this gesture but making him feel better just to do it. “Somebody should gut you and use you to make violin strings,” he told the beast.
The cat’s tail lashed from side-to-side. Its shoulders went lower than its haunches, and its lips drew back from its white teeth. He saw the fangs clearly as it hissed at him. Its claws sank into the fabric of the couch as its whole body wriggled. Rick cursed and grabbed a pillow off the couch, swatting at the cat with it. Rusty jumped backward, falling off the couch onto the floor. Rick laughed loudly at it, as the beast landed on all fours and gave him a murderous look. “That’ll teach you, you little son-of-a-bitch,” Rick told the cat triumphantly.
The cat moved in a reddish-brown blur. Rick couldn’t move fast enough, and claws sank into his legs through the fabric of his jeans. He yelped, jumping up and trying to whack the beast dangling from his leg. The cat growled and sank his claws in deeper, trying to rip the fabric right off of Rick’s leg. He hopped up and down, yelling and trying to kick the cat.
Rusty let go of his leg – only to do something so much more hideous and diabolical, that his brain could barely register it at first. The cat coiled it haunches and launched itself straight at the most vulnerable part of a man – i.e., Rick’s groin! Razor-sharp claws sank into his testicles through the fabric of the jeans, and there was a short, appalled silence before Rick screaming in agony and shock. He hit the cat as hard as he could, connecting with its skull. It went flying through the air, landing heavily on the floor nearby. But Rick didn’t care at the moment about the beast’s health – all he cared about were his wounded nuts. He clutched himself, groaning, sinking to the floor half-sobbing. That fucking CAT!!! He was going to kill it if it wasn’t dead already!
Just then the door opened, and Chris entered the apartment. "Hi, I’m home,” he called, and then came to a shocked halt at the sight of Rick on the floor clutching himself. “What happened?!” he cried.
“That fucking cat scratched my balls!” Rick screamed in pain and fury.
“Rusty? Oh my God!” Chris cried, seeing the cat lying on the floor unmoving. He hurried over to the beast, falling down on his knees next to his pet. He gathered the cat up, looking like he was going to cry himself. “What did you do to him?!” he demanded, glaring at Rick.
Oh, this was too much! Chris was taking that THING’S side after it had mangled his balls?! “What did I do to him? Look what he fucking did to me!” Rick yelled, displaying spots of blood on the front of his jeans.
Chris’ glare intensified. “I’m sure that if he attacked you, it’s because he had good reason! And that you deserved it! If you’ve hurt him, I swear that I’ll finish the job by cutting off your balls with a hack saw!” he screamed, rage in his eyes.
Rick’s mouth dropped open. He’d never seen Chris like this before. “You’re crazy,” he said incredulously. “I’m getting the hell out of here,” he turned and began to jam his stuff back into his bag, wincing and half-bent over in discomfort because of the pain in his balls.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass,” Chris snarled behind him. “Rusty, are you all right?”
Rick grabbed his too-full bag and stormed out of the apartment, He was sure at he could find somebody else to shack up with, someone who didn’t have a devil cat out for his blood. Let Chris have the evil beast. Rick wished him luck of that horror.
Chris paid no attention to the apartment door slamming shut behind a furious Rick. He was running his hand over his pet, searching for injuries. He was scared that Rusty would die. Tears ran down his cheeks as he half-sobbed: “Please, Rusty! Please wake up!”
Azzandar heard that familiar voice speaking, and felt great annoyance. The human sounded like he was crying again. Wretched, weak, pathetic creature! His eyes flickered open so that he could deliver the death glare necessary for such ridiculous behavior. But the moment they opened, the human made a choked sound and hugged him tightly, much to his outrage. “Oh, Rusty, I’m so glad!” Chris sobbed into his fur, making the former king of demons wish that he could just gut this wretched human here and now. “Rick’s gone,” he added, sniffling, which news at least pleased Azzandar. He definitely hadn’t liked that other human at all. If anybody was going to take advantage of Chris, it was going to be HIM. Not some scabby, lazy, weak human who did nothing but sit around on the couch all day eating Chris’ food. That’d teach that human not to mess with him, Azzandar thought in spiteful triumph. And good riddance to scum.
Azzandar was not going to take no for an answer this time. He meant to get out of the apartment one way or another. He’d been cooped up here for weeks, as he recuperated from both his trip through the gate and the aftereffects of hitting the wood floor pretty hard when that useless moocher Rick had struck him. But now he was definitely feeling better, and he prowled the place for hours on end in furious boredom. That he should be caged like this! That wretched human never let him out, even though he’d made some darting forays at the front door when Chris was leaving for work. He'd always managed to put Azzandar off, usually with his foot. The former king of demons would sit down on the floor sulkily, and yowl in righteous fury after it had closed. But today he intended to get out of his confinement.
He ghosted along the wall, crouched down until he was nearly flattened to the floor. His yellowish eyes were fastened on the closed front door. He knew that Chris would be home from work at any moment now, and he intended to take advantage of that fact. He positioned himself on the far side of the door, near a table that Chris set his stuff down on when he entered the apartment, wriggling a little as he hid behind the table where the human wouldn’t be able to see him clearly. Then he stilled, going into ‘kitty hunting’ mode. Wait for it, wait for it…
His sharp (in more ways than one) ears caught the sound of footsteps outside. He almost hissed in excitement, but refrained lest Chris hear him and realize how close he was to the door. He heard the key turn in the lock, and the soft snick as the door handle turned and the door was pushed open. “Rusty? I’m home…” Chris started to say, as he said every day when he entered the apartment.
He moved. Like a streak of reddish-brown lightning, Azzandar hurled himself around the table and through the door between Chris’ legs, feeling triumph as he darted out into the hallway and ran as swiftly as he could toward the world outside. “Rusty!” he heard Chris yell behind him, but he didn’t stop or even slow down. He was too close to freedom to do something that stupid. He heard footsteps running after him, but he didn’t look back. He arrived at a set of stairs, and flung himself down them lightly and skillfully. He was learning the benefits of this body, including being able to land on all four feet and upright if he ever fell. He barely hit any of the steps as he jumped the last few feet, and his paws hit the wooden floor at the base of the stairs. His claws scrabbled at it, as he hurled himself forward toward a large open space and a set of doors in the far wall. One of them was opening, and a human was walking through them.
Azzandar felt great glee when he saw that the human entering the building was carrying a load of plastic bags full of groceries in her hands, and couldn’t see the floor. He deftly dodged her legs and threw himself out the doors, squinting as the sunlight outside half-blinded him. He was free!
Azzandar halted for a moment, getting his bearings. But he was sure that Chris would be right behind him, so he made for some bushes as soon as he could see even a little. He scooted under them and crouched there, feeling the dirt under his paws, and smelling a dazzling array of odors. His nostrils flared as he looked at the doors, which burst open as Chris ran through them. He stopped and looked around. “Rusty?” he called. “Where are you?”
Azzandar sniffed and didn’t deign to answer. Not when he’d finally gotten outside like he’d wanted to for the last few weeks. Chris called him a few more times, moving around searching for him. He didn’t move, not wanting to make any noise. The human stopped at last, looking disconsolate. “Rusty? Please come back,” he said, sniffling. By the Darkness, did the human ever do anything but cry?! An annoyed Azzandar wondered in silent disgust.
Chris finally moved away back toward the building. Azzandar waited until he’d disappeared inside, then crawled out from under the bush and loped off toward a larger patch of bushes and a few trees. He was sure that he’d find his winged prey there, the little twittering ones that he’d lusted after whenever he’d seen them through the windows of the apartment. He sniffed at the air, taking in the alien scents. His ears twitched, as he listened to the sounds of the outdoors. He set his paws down delicately in the dirt, his tail lashing as he arrived at one of the trees. He craned his head, squinting in the brightness as he searched for signs of movement in the branches.
There! Something was moving. Hopping around. He crouched automatically, as his cat instincts came into play. Azzandar eyed the tree, and then jumped at it. He began to scale the trunk, using his claws as pitons. Up and up he went, his eyes fastened on the little creature still hopping along a branch to his left. Reaching the first branch on the trunk, he slithered up onto it, flattening himself again. His back end wriggled as he stared at the bird. He measured the distance to it, then hurled himself forward as swiftly and terribly as a striking snake…and missed. The bird exploded upward in a whirl of feathers, and he almost went head first off the branch as he struggled to find purchase on it. He hissed in frustrated fury, glaring evilly upward to where the bird had disappeared.
Azzandar sulked for awhile, crouched on the branch while his tail lashed and he glared at the green foliage around him. No more birds landed in the tree, so he finally shimmied down the trunk and stalked off into the bushes to see if he could find anything else to hunt.
He tried to catch a swift rodent, but it scurried down its hole before his claws could close in it. He did manage to spear a bug on his claw, but it tasted terrible. He spat it out with an angry growl, thoroughly disgusted. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d been out here for several hours while he’d unsuccessfully hunted. He considered his options, then finally snorted and stalked away back around the apartment building. Here he found Chris sitting on the sidewalk with a bowl set down in front of him. A tempting odor rose from the bowl, and his nostrils twitched as he smelled it. Azzandar knew that scent. It was that luscious, lovely stuff that Chris called ‘tuna fish’.
His stomach snarled at him, clenching and twisting inside of him. Azzandar made his choice, and trotted out of the bushes and toward the human. Chris cried out when he saw the cat, his face lighting up. Azzandar ignored him, going for the contents of the bowl. He began to scarf it as fingertips rubbed over his fur. “I’m so glad that you didn’t run away,” he heard the human say happily as he bolted the food. “I guess you just wanted to get outside, huh? I can understand that. I’ll tell you what – when I come home every day, I’ll let you outside to run around for awhile. As long as you come back afterward. Okay?”
Azzandar paused for a moment as he considered this offer. It sounded like a fine deal to him, since he obviously wasn’t very good at this hunting thing, and would likely starve to death if he went out on his own. He twitched an ear at Chris to communicate his acceptance of this offer, and resumed eating.
“This collar is really weird,” Chris commented thoughtfully, trying to get his fingers under it. He’d thought to remove if and replace it with a nicer-looking collar with little crystal chips in it; but the thing had no latch or buckle that he could see. And it was made of a strange smooth substance with a glossy dark look to it. It was like nothing that he’d ever seen before. What was this stuff?
Rusty ignored him. The cat was sitting on the couch next to him, with his yellowish eyes fixed on the TV screen. If he didn’t know better, Chris would have sworn that the cat was interested in what was going on on the screen. Chris ran his fingers along the collar, searching for any kind of fastening. But he found none. How had this collar come to be on the cat in the first place? What was it made of? His curiosity was roused, so he leaned closer and peered at it.
Rusty was still ignoring him. Chris squinted at the dark, smooth material, and noticed something strange. Well, stranger even than the collar itself. There was something – a line of symbols or something running around the collar in a line. They appeared to run the length of it, and they were lighter in color than the collar itself. “I wonder what these are?” he mused aloud, moving a finger along the weird symbols.
The cat twitched an ear at him, but didn’t answer. Chris decided to try cutting the collar off with a pair of scissors. He got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, fetching a pair from the drawer. When he returned, Rusty threw him a cool look then went back to his TV program. Chris smiled as he sat back down. His pet still hadn’t totally warmed up to him, but he knew that it was only a matter of time. He opened the scissors, and very carefully wedged them under the edge of the collar, but when he tried to close them he found that he couldn’t. The blades weren’t making a dent in the strange stuff that the collar was made from.
Chris frowned a bit, and then got up again to get a steak knife from the silverware drawer. He tried sawing at the collar with it, but the only thing that happened was that Rusty flattened his ears to his skull and hissed at Chris angrily. He shook his head, wondering just what the collar was made of. The knife hadn’t even put a nick in it!
He thought about it all that evening, and finally he got a piece of paper and a pencil and copied the symbols as best that he could. He’d take the slip of paper to the library tomorrow after work, and see if he could find out anything about them.
Chris flipped through the book lying on the desk in front of him. He’d shown the piece of paper to the librarian, but she hadn’t been able to help him. So he was going methodically through books on symbols and various languages, hoping to find something that resembled the ones on the collar. So far, no luck. Right now he was scanning a list of Celtic runes, but while there was some resemblance he didn’t think that they were the same. He sighed, knowing that he had to get home soon and let Rusty out for his nightly wandering. The cat got peevish if he didn’t get to leave the apartment for a few hours every day.
He set the book on Celtic runes aside, and picked up another one. He’d look through a few more, but if he didn’t find anything he’d go home. He became aware that someone was standing near him, and looked up into the face of a young woman. Her eyes were curious, and she smiled at Chris. “Hi,” she said.
“Uh, hi,” he replied.
Her eyes were fastened on the paper lying next to him on the table. “That’s interesting,” she remarked.
“Is it?”
She nodded. “”I haven’t seen any of that in a long time,” she added.
Chris perked up. “You’ve seen this before?” he said, tapping the paper. “I’m here trying to figure out what kind of language it is.”
“Well, you won’t find that in normal books,” the woman said. “You’d have to find a black grimoire for script like that.”
“A black grimoire? What’s that?” Chris asked her in puzzlement.
“It’s a magical book for those who practice dark or evil magic,” the woman replied. "That script is what some of the spells in them are written in. It’s supposed to be the symbols of the demonic language.”
Chris felt a chill run down his spine. “De-demonic?” he repeated. “As in…demons?”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “In fact, that looks like a spell or incantation right there,” she pointed at the piece of paper. “Where’d you get it?”
Chris looked down at the paper, dumbfounded. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said numbly.
Chris came out of his haze of thought and turned to look at the young woman who’d just told him about the demonic script. “Excuse me – but how do you know all of this?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I had some friends who were Satanists,” she replied bluntly. “They mostly smoked dope and had these stupid ceremonies, but one of them got a hold of a book on realistic rituals and insisted that the rest of them start doing it the right way. I only went to one of their ‘new, improved’ ceremonies, and I was so freaked out that I left before they finished and never went back. It was really creepy. The same guy had gotten his hands on a black grimoire, and he explained all about the demonic script to us before they started the ceremony. I’ll never forget what it looked like – and I instantly recognized it when I saw your piece of paper. Where’d you get a sample of it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Chris remarked distractedly as he rose to his feet. “But thanks for telling me about it.”
“Sure,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he said doubtfully.
Chris did a little research on Satanism and demonic script on the computers at the library before he left, but he didn’t find much information. He was still feeling a little dazed as he drove home. Why did his new pet have a collar with demonic script on it? A collar, moreover, that he couldn’t get off? He felt puzzled and uneasy. What should he do? Maybe he could find an expert. But where could he look for one? He didn’t think that the Yellow Pages had listings for Satanists or experts on demonic script.
Go to Next Chapter
The former King of the Demons, Azzandar, was very, very furious. He stewed silently, so angry that it was a wonder that there wasn’t steam coming out of his pointed ears. The biggest reason for his black fury was currently sitting beside his fleecy-lined kitty basket, running a little brush over his coat over and over again.
How he hated this human! The one called Chris treated him to such indignities that no demon should ever have to bear. No matter that he was now trapped in this furry little body, his soul was still that of a demon. And it raged inside of his skull, as he glared evilly up at the human. His yellow-eyed Look of Death had no more effect on Chris than it ever had for the last two days, which infuriated him even more. The wretched human just couldn’t seem to read any of the signals that Azzandar tried to send him! If his teeth had been bigger, he might have contemplated trying to rip this Chris’ throat out with them.
“There, you look great,” the human crooned, making Azzandar flatten his ears to his skull. “I know you don’t like this, Rusty, but your coat is all shiny and smooth now.” He ran his fingertips down Azzandar’s spine, making the former King of Demons begin that involuntary rusty purring which he hated so much.
Chris smiled. He could see that the former stray was angry with him, which didn’t surprise him. The cat was probably used to being on his own, and didn’t like a human taking care of him. Those yellow eyes had glared at him furiously for the last two days, as he’d installed the cat in a soft, lined basket that wouldn’t hurt him, and had brought his new pet a can of soft kitty food for him to eat. At first Rusty had only continued to glare at him, but finally the smell of the food had made his nostrils flare and his whiskers twitch. Finally, grudgingly, he’d stopped glowering at Chris and had stretched out his neck to sniff at the open can of food. He’d taken a tentative bite, and after that had been too busy eating to pay any attention to Chris at all. And that livid sulfurous stare had followed him around his apartment whenever Rusty wasn’t eating or sleeping, which he did a lot of as his body recovered from whatever had happened to it.
That glare rather amused him. Chris sometimes wondered why he and so many other humans were slaves to these creatures – cats could be so horrible sometimes. Whether it was sharpening their claws on your furniture or limbs, pissing on the floor because they were mad that their box wasn’t clean enough, or shedding hair everywhere(and especially on your favorite clothes or the ones you were going to wear to work), cats could be decidedly beastly. And yet he couldn’t seem to resist them, no matter how hard he tried. He was such a chump.
Chris sighed, scratching around the base of Rusty’s ears to make his purring grow louder. He’d already found all of the spots that made his new pet go all limp and also made him kind of drool a bit, a sign of extreme pleasure in cats. Right behind the ears, under the chin, a spot in the middle of the reddish-brown breastbone – he’d sussed out all of these special places and more. He enjoyed doing this, not only for the purring but because he knew that this pissed Rusty off for some reason. After all, humans had to punish cats in return once in awhile…
He let his fingers do the walking as he thought about what a push-over he was – not only to his pets but to his boyfriends as well. He’d only had a handful so far, but with each and every one of them he’d let himself be walked over and used by them. He hated that about himself, but he couldn’t seem to help it. At least with cats it was an honest cruelty – he’d been lied to far too often by guys who were bored with him, or cheating on him, or were planning on cleaning out his bank account(the third one had done that, vanishing into thin air afterward). Rusty’s open hatred of him was rather refreshing, in fact.
“It’s just you and me, Rusty,” he commented aloud. “I think I’ll just swear off guys for awhile. Well, except for you, anyway. Because you’re a guy, huh? It’ll be just us guys, you and me.”
His voice was sad and wistful. Azzandar wanted to snort in disgust. Spineless fool! He raged inside his head. Humans were weak and pathetic. And now he was a mere pet to one of them! It was intolerable. When he got his claws on his brother, he was going to rip his guts out and make him eat them. He’d keep that black-hearted sibling of his alive for many centuries, all the while suffering endlessly. Perhaps, a millennia from now, he’d put the wretched creature out of his misery. But only if he felt like it.
He was distracted from his raging thoughts by fingers gently scritching under his chin. His mouth opened on a silent hiss of fury, because he hated this caress most of all. This weak little body loved it; his salivary glands were activated by the pressure, and he actually began to drool a little out the side of his mouth. By the Eternal Darkness, to be reduced to a drooling blob by the mere touch of mortal fingers! His eyes roiled with the hate he was feeling as he looked up at the human. Of course the creature wore a fatuous smile, and was crooning in that ‘little baby’ voice that he despised.
“Feels good, huh?” the human asked, making him want to spit and scratch. If he hadn’t still been feeling the lingering dregs of weakness from his journey through the portal, he would have. He’d have shredded this human with the razor-sharp claws on the end of his paws. As it was, he made a small sound and batted at the hand a little, hating how little strength he had. It was ridiculous that he, who had once been the fearsome King of all the Demons, was now this pathetic scrap of fur, reduced to a mere thrall to this puny human.
Chris laughed and avoided the batting paw easily. “Oh, come on, boy; you know you like it,” he teased. The yellow eyes narrowed and took on a truly evil look.
Chris shook his head, rising lithely to his feet. “It’s okay, Rusty, I get it. Here, I’ll get you something that you’ll like better than my petting,” he went into his small kitchen and fetched down a can of tuna from the cupboard, then retrieved a can opener.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the cat’s ears had perked up, and that the yellow gaze was watching him intently. He grinned a little to himself. Even an evil-tempered creature like Rusty couldn’t resist the lure of fish. He filled a little cat bowl with the tuna, still surreptitiously watching the cat out of the corner of his eye. Rusty was sitting up in his basket, alert and watchful. His keen gaze was resting not on Chris, but on what his hands were doing. The human chuckled to himself. The way to a cat’s heart was definitely through his stomach, he thought to himself.
He casually turned away from the counter holding the bowl. He lifted it a little, enticingly, as he looked down at the cat in the basket. "Would you like something nice to eat, Rusty?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes.
Azzandar wanted what was in that bowl. The smell of it reached his sensitive nostrils, and he’d begun to salivate again. While it enraged him completely that he had to beg for food from this human, his stomach didn’t care about what he thought. His mouth opened, and a loud mewl sounded out as he demanded the contents of that bowl vigorously.
Chris’ lips twitched. Rusty was definitely feeling better today; his voice was loud as he demanded that Chris feed him. Another squall sounded out through the apartment, and the cat’s tail lashed. Chris understood him as well as though he were speaking English. His soft heart wouldn’t let him torture the cat anymore; he walked over and knelt down to put the bowl in front of the basket within Rusty’s reach. “There you are,” he said, scratching the top of the cat’s head again. This time he managed to do it without receiving a furious glare, because Rusty was far too intent on bolting the tuna to care about what he did. He sat there running his hand down his new cat’s spine, and feeling better than he had in months. Well, they did say that pets were good for relieving stress and lowering blood pressure. And Rusty was much cheaper therapy than going to a shrink.
Azzandar wandered through the apartment slowly, feeling disgruntled. Chris had gone out the door today, telling him that he had to go to work. It wasn’t that he liked being around the human – it was just that he was stuck in this small space by himself without being able to go outside. He’d already circled the entire apartment several times, stopping to use that humiliating box with the fine clay in it. To have to squat down and empty his bowels in that box enraged him. But his body knew what to do, and he had to follow its instincts whether he liked it or not.
He went over to the window and jumped rather heavily up onto the window seat there. He almost didn’t make it – his body still wasn’t fully recovered yet. Azzandar squinted out at the world outside, trying to get used to sunlight and being out during the day. While demons were not destroyed by sunlight, they hated and avoided it whenever they could. They lived in the Darkness, after all; the bright sunlight was anathema to them. As a cat, however, it didn’t bother him much. His pupils automatically narrowed to take in as little light as possible, and he peered out into a world done in shades of grey. It was strange not to be able to see colors, and he hadn’t quite adjusted to the fact that everything was black-and-white to him now.
There was a tree outside the window, its leafy boughs nearly touching the pane. His sharp eyes caught movement, and he stiffened a little as he saw a small feathered creature twittering and hopping around in the tree. His instincts made him go into a crouch, and his tail lashed back-and-forth in excitement. Here was this body’s natural prey, right in front of him. But he couldn’t get to it with the window in the way, and of course he didn’t have any hands to open the window with. He growled in furious frustration, baring his teeth at the unobtainable bird outside the window. How he would have liked to have something to tear apart right now! It would make him feel better for a little while.
Azzandar turned his back on the bird, sulking as he hopped down off the window seat and walked away. This form was so small and pathetic that he couldn’t stand it. Had he been a magnificent, massive demon with wings that had brushed the floor and skin the color of human blood only a few days ago? It didn’t seem possible, not now. Not when he was stuck in this weak furry body with its four legs, its string tail, and a mouth that was no good for any kind of speech whatsoever.
He stalked into the bedroom, jumping up onto the bed. He indulged in some minor destruction to make himself feel better, using his claws to rip at the cover in a most satisfactory way. He left long scratches in it, his eyes narrowed in spiteful glee. Maybe this was a petty revenge, and not terribly worthy of him; but it was the best that he could do right now. When he was done, he contemplated his work with a smirk on his furry face. ‘Take that, human!’ he thought spitefully. ‘Lock me in this dwelling will you?’
He moved on to attack the couch, shredding one of the arms. But then he felt tired, which annoyed him. He still wasn’t fully recovered yet from his trip through the portal, although he had more strength and hurt less now. He limped back to the basket, which was at least soft. He curled up in it with a little moan for the aches in his body, hating himself for making it. With a last glower at everything around him, the former King of Demons closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Chris was stocking the shelves when a familiar voice spoke from behind him: “Hey, Chris,” it said.
He whirled around to find himself face-to-face with his former boyfriend, Rick Majors. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and his voice was just a little bit hoarse as he said: “What are you doing here, Rick?”
“Hey, can’t I come and see my ex?” Rick replied, his voice wheedling.
Chris felt his stomach knot inside of him. He knew that tone…Rick wanted something. Whatever it was, it didn’t bode well for him. Especially since he was so very bad at resisting guys like Rick. He was in real trouble here, and felt a sense of helpless apprehension fill him up as he faced his former boyfriend and waited to hear just what it was that Rick wanted from him.
Rick smiled ingratiatingly, a sight that made Chris feel even more apprehensive. “Hey, I just wanted to see you,” Rick began in wheedling tones.
Chris crossed his arms tightly over his chest, hugging himself protectively. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “Why?”
Rick pretended to look hurt. “Oh, come on, Chris,” he said, reaching out to pat his arm. Chris stiffened at this touch, and Rick pulled his hand back. “I miss you,” Rick told him.
Chris’ mouth worked. “Well, you wouldn’t have to be missing me if you hadn’t cheated on me with everything that walked on two legs and had a cock,” he hissed.
“I know I was a jerk when we were together, but I’ve changed,” Rick protested. “I really have. I swear.”
Chris gave him a doubtful look. “Look, Chris, I really need to ask you for a favor,” Rick said, those wheedling tones back in his voice.
‘Oh, here we go,’ Chris thought in resignation.
Rick did his best pleading ‘puppy dog’ eyes as he continued: “I lost my job and got kicked out of my apartment. I have nowhere to go. If you don’t take me in, I’ll end up sleeping in my car. Please, Chris? Just until I get back on my feet,” he added.
Chris wanted to pull his hair out. This was just the kind of thing that he’d feared when he’d heard Rick’s voice behind him. “Look, I don’t know,” he began. “Don’t you have anyone else you could stay with?”
Rick shook his head, looking pathetic. “Nah, my friend Jarrod is living with his boyfriend, and that dude doesn’t like me for some reason.”
‘I wonder why?’ Chris thought cynically to himself. Rick went on in a suffering voice: “And my parents won’t even talk to me, you know that.”
Chris felt a twinge of sympathy, which he tried unsuccessfully to surpress. It was true that Rick’s parents had disowned him when they found out that he was gay; although he supposed that was partly because Rick was such a man-whore. If he’d showed a little more restraint(and hadn’t nailed one of their friend’s college aged sons at their Christmas party one year, a sight which almost everybody at the party saw when they walked into the sitting room to drink egg nog and look at the tree), then they might still be talking to him. But still…
He bit at his lip a little as Rick (sensing that he was weakening), upped his begging look and tones even more. “Please, Chris, I really need a place to stay. Just for a little while, I swear. A couple of weeks at most, while I get a new job and a place to live. What do you say?”
His hopefulness was too much for poor Chris. He sighed. “All right,” he said in resignation. “You can stay with me for a little while. But only for a few weeks,” he went on as Rick brightened up. “And you’re sleeping on the couch,” he tried to keep his voice stern, and Rick nodded.
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say. I’ll just hang around until you get off work, okay?” he said.
Chris nodded. “Okay,” he said tiredly, thinking to himself that this situation wasn’t okay at all. This wouldn’t go well. How could it? Rick was a moocher and a cheat. He was really in trouble here.
Azzandar was sitting up in his basket, considering getting out of it, when the front door opened. The human walked in, followed by another human. The second one dropped a bag on the floor near the door, and spoke in a voice that the former king of demons took an instant dislike to: “Hey, that’s not Buster. What happened to him?”
“He died,” the one called Chris replied shortly.
“Oh, man, that’s too bad. Where’d you get this one from?” he walked over to look down at Azzandar, who gave him a yellow death glare.
“I found him behind the store. He’s a stray, and he got hurt somehow. But he’s getting better. I call him Rusty.” Chris explained.
“Rusty, huh? Hey, little fellah,” the human crouched down and reached out to pet his head with his fingers.
Azzandar snarled and swatted at those encroaching fingers, leaving bloody scratches on them. The human yelped and pulled his hand back. “He scratched me!” he cried indignantly.
“Sorry, he’s not very friendly,” Chris said in concern.
The human glared at Azzandar, cradling his bloody digits. The demon-turned-cat gave him a look of deadly loathing in return. He didn’t know who this human was, or what he was doing here – but Azzandar intended to make him wish that he’d never come to the human Chris’ dwelling.
Rick sat on the couch and glared down at the creature crouched near his feet. The cat was genuinely evil! He was convinced of that. Whenever Chris was at work, the creature went out of its way to torture him. Whether it was sitting for hours glaring at him with those piss-yellow eyes, or lying in wait for him to come out of the bathroom and then attacking his ankles in a guerrilla raid when he least expected it, the cat Rusty was a total little demon. He had scratches all over his ankles and hands, and more in various places where the cat had bitten or scratched him. And the little bastard had sprayed his clothes! Now they all smelled of that horrible, musky-pissy odor, and washing them twice had only reduced the smell, not gotten rid of it entirely.
Rick hated this cat. If he could have, he would have gotten rid of it permanently. Maybe by tossing it into the street while a garbage truck was passing by – flattened cat sounded great to him. But if Rusty disappeared, Chris would want to know what had happened to him. Besides, he wasn’t at all sure that he could pick the devil cat up without being horribly mangled anyway.
“Fuck off, you mangy beast,” he muttered, lashing out at the cat with his foot. He’d gotten smart and started wearing a pair of heavy leather boots, because when he’d still been wearing sandals on his feet Rusty had dealt out some heavy damage when he’d tried to kick the beast. But the cat dodged his kick, growling furiously at him while its glare intensified. He was going to pay for that, the yellow eyes said clearly. He was going to pay dearly.
Rick wanted to snarl himself. The cat had interfered with his plans big time. See, Rick had figured that he’d be able to shack up with (and sponge off of) Chris for a good bit of time. Part of that plan had included weaseling his way back into his former boyfriend’s bed. It would be a lot more comfortable than the couch, that was for sure. But when he’d tried to snuggle up to Chris a few days ago, the cat had waited patiently until he’d had his arm around Chris’ shoulders and had attacked him. He’d screamed as teeth had sunk into his calf, and had jumped off the couch to hop around trying to dislodge the cat. He’d been decidedly disgruntled when Chris had finally freed him, because he'd looked like he was trying not to laugh. That had pissed Rick off, and he’d sulked for the entire evening after that.
He just didn’t see what Chris saw in this horrible cat. It wasn’t even loving to HIM, and Chris was supposed to be its owner! The cat batted at Chris when he tried to pet it, hissing furiously. The only time he seemed to be able to touch it was when he fed it. Who the hell wanted a pet that hated them?! Rick just didn’t get it. But then, Chris has always been a push-over. Witness his living here rent free after he’d cheated on Chris. Apparently Chris was such a pussy that even a cat could walk all over him. Pathetic.
The cat had circled the couch and had jumped up on the back. He was crouched there glaring at Rick, clearly planning another foray against him. His yellow glare promised death and destruction. Rick gave him the finger, knowing that the cat wouldn’t understand this gesture but making him feel better just to do it. “Somebody should gut you and use you to make violin strings,” he told the beast.
The cat’s tail lashed from side-to-side. Its shoulders went lower than its haunches, and its lips drew back from its white teeth. He saw the fangs clearly as it hissed at him. Its claws sank into the fabric of the couch as its whole body wriggled. Rick cursed and grabbed a pillow off the couch, swatting at the cat with it. Rusty jumped backward, falling off the couch onto the floor. Rick laughed loudly at it, as the beast landed on all fours and gave him a murderous look. “That’ll teach you, you little son-of-a-bitch,” Rick told the cat triumphantly.
The cat moved in a reddish-brown blur. Rick couldn’t move fast enough, and claws sank into his legs through the fabric of his jeans. He yelped, jumping up and trying to whack the beast dangling from his leg. The cat growled and sank his claws in deeper, trying to rip the fabric right off of Rick’s leg. He hopped up and down, yelling and trying to kick the cat.
Rusty let go of his leg – only to do something so much more hideous and diabolical, that his brain could barely register it at first. The cat coiled it haunches and launched itself straight at the most vulnerable part of a man – i.e., Rick’s groin! Razor-sharp claws sank into his testicles through the fabric of the jeans, and there was a short, appalled silence before Rick screaming in agony and shock. He hit the cat as hard as he could, connecting with its skull. It went flying through the air, landing heavily on the floor nearby. But Rick didn’t care at the moment about the beast’s health – all he cared about were his wounded nuts. He clutched himself, groaning, sinking to the floor half-sobbing. That fucking CAT!!! He was going to kill it if it wasn’t dead already!
Just then the door opened, and Chris entered the apartment. "Hi, I’m home,” he called, and then came to a shocked halt at the sight of Rick on the floor clutching himself. “What happened?!” he cried.
“That fucking cat scratched my balls!” Rick screamed in pain and fury.
“Rusty? Oh my God!” Chris cried, seeing the cat lying on the floor unmoving. He hurried over to the beast, falling down on his knees next to his pet. He gathered the cat up, looking like he was going to cry himself. “What did you do to him?!” he demanded, glaring at Rick.
Oh, this was too much! Chris was taking that THING’S side after it had mangled his balls?! “What did I do to him? Look what he fucking did to me!” Rick yelled, displaying spots of blood on the front of his jeans.
Chris’ glare intensified. “I’m sure that if he attacked you, it’s because he had good reason! And that you deserved it! If you’ve hurt him, I swear that I’ll finish the job by cutting off your balls with a hack saw!” he screamed, rage in his eyes.
Rick’s mouth dropped open. He’d never seen Chris like this before. “You’re crazy,” he said incredulously. “I’m getting the hell out of here,” he turned and began to jam his stuff back into his bag, wincing and half-bent over in discomfort because of the pain in his balls.
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass,” Chris snarled behind him. “Rusty, are you all right?”
Rick grabbed his too-full bag and stormed out of the apartment, He was sure at he could find somebody else to shack up with, someone who didn’t have a devil cat out for his blood. Let Chris have the evil beast. Rick wished him luck of that horror.
Chris paid no attention to the apartment door slamming shut behind a furious Rick. He was running his hand over his pet, searching for injuries. He was scared that Rusty would die. Tears ran down his cheeks as he half-sobbed: “Please, Rusty! Please wake up!”
Azzandar heard that familiar voice speaking, and felt great annoyance. The human sounded like he was crying again. Wretched, weak, pathetic creature! His eyes flickered open so that he could deliver the death glare necessary for such ridiculous behavior. But the moment they opened, the human made a choked sound and hugged him tightly, much to his outrage. “Oh, Rusty, I’m so glad!” Chris sobbed into his fur, making the former king of demons wish that he could just gut this wretched human here and now. “Rick’s gone,” he added, sniffling, which news at least pleased Azzandar. He definitely hadn’t liked that other human at all. If anybody was going to take advantage of Chris, it was going to be HIM. Not some scabby, lazy, weak human who did nothing but sit around on the couch all day eating Chris’ food. That’d teach that human not to mess with him, Azzandar thought in spiteful triumph. And good riddance to scum.
Azzandar was not going to take no for an answer this time. He meant to get out of the apartment one way or another. He’d been cooped up here for weeks, as he recuperated from both his trip through the gate and the aftereffects of hitting the wood floor pretty hard when that useless moocher Rick had struck him. But now he was definitely feeling better, and he prowled the place for hours on end in furious boredom. That he should be caged like this! That wretched human never let him out, even though he’d made some darting forays at the front door when Chris was leaving for work. He'd always managed to put Azzandar off, usually with his foot. The former king of demons would sit down on the floor sulkily, and yowl in righteous fury after it had closed. But today he intended to get out of his confinement.
He ghosted along the wall, crouched down until he was nearly flattened to the floor. His yellowish eyes were fastened on the closed front door. He knew that Chris would be home from work at any moment now, and he intended to take advantage of that fact. He positioned himself on the far side of the door, near a table that Chris set his stuff down on when he entered the apartment, wriggling a little as he hid behind the table where the human wouldn’t be able to see him clearly. Then he stilled, going into ‘kitty hunting’ mode. Wait for it, wait for it…
His sharp (in more ways than one) ears caught the sound of footsteps outside. He almost hissed in excitement, but refrained lest Chris hear him and realize how close he was to the door. He heard the key turn in the lock, and the soft snick as the door handle turned and the door was pushed open. “Rusty? I’m home…” Chris started to say, as he said every day when he entered the apartment.
He moved. Like a streak of reddish-brown lightning, Azzandar hurled himself around the table and through the door between Chris’ legs, feeling triumph as he darted out into the hallway and ran as swiftly as he could toward the world outside. “Rusty!” he heard Chris yell behind him, but he didn’t stop or even slow down. He was too close to freedom to do something that stupid. He heard footsteps running after him, but he didn’t look back. He arrived at a set of stairs, and flung himself down them lightly and skillfully. He was learning the benefits of this body, including being able to land on all four feet and upright if he ever fell. He barely hit any of the steps as he jumped the last few feet, and his paws hit the wooden floor at the base of the stairs. His claws scrabbled at it, as he hurled himself forward toward a large open space and a set of doors in the far wall. One of them was opening, and a human was walking through them.
Azzandar felt great glee when he saw that the human entering the building was carrying a load of plastic bags full of groceries in her hands, and couldn’t see the floor. He deftly dodged her legs and threw himself out the doors, squinting as the sunlight outside half-blinded him. He was free!
Azzandar halted for a moment, getting his bearings. But he was sure that Chris would be right behind him, so he made for some bushes as soon as he could see even a little. He scooted under them and crouched there, feeling the dirt under his paws, and smelling a dazzling array of odors. His nostrils flared as he looked at the doors, which burst open as Chris ran through them. He stopped and looked around. “Rusty?” he called. “Where are you?”
Azzandar sniffed and didn’t deign to answer. Not when he’d finally gotten outside like he’d wanted to for the last few weeks. Chris called him a few more times, moving around searching for him. He didn’t move, not wanting to make any noise. The human stopped at last, looking disconsolate. “Rusty? Please come back,” he said, sniffling. By the Darkness, did the human ever do anything but cry?! An annoyed Azzandar wondered in silent disgust.
Chris finally moved away back toward the building. Azzandar waited until he’d disappeared inside, then crawled out from under the bush and loped off toward a larger patch of bushes and a few trees. He was sure that he’d find his winged prey there, the little twittering ones that he’d lusted after whenever he’d seen them through the windows of the apartment. He sniffed at the air, taking in the alien scents. His ears twitched, as he listened to the sounds of the outdoors. He set his paws down delicately in the dirt, his tail lashing as he arrived at one of the trees. He craned his head, squinting in the brightness as he searched for signs of movement in the branches.
There! Something was moving. Hopping around. He crouched automatically, as his cat instincts came into play. Azzandar eyed the tree, and then jumped at it. He began to scale the trunk, using his claws as pitons. Up and up he went, his eyes fastened on the little creature still hopping along a branch to his left. Reaching the first branch on the trunk, he slithered up onto it, flattening himself again. His back end wriggled as he stared at the bird. He measured the distance to it, then hurled himself forward as swiftly and terribly as a striking snake…and missed. The bird exploded upward in a whirl of feathers, and he almost went head first off the branch as he struggled to find purchase on it. He hissed in frustrated fury, glaring evilly upward to where the bird had disappeared.
Azzandar sulked for awhile, crouched on the branch while his tail lashed and he glared at the green foliage around him. No more birds landed in the tree, so he finally shimmied down the trunk and stalked off into the bushes to see if he could find anything else to hunt.
He tried to catch a swift rodent, but it scurried down its hole before his claws could close in it. He did manage to spear a bug on his claw, but it tasted terrible. He spat it out with an angry growl, thoroughly disgusted. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d been out here for several hours while he’d unsuccessfully hunted. He considered his options, then finally snorted and stalked away back around the apartment building. Here he found Chris sitting on the sidewalk with a bowl set down in front of him. A tempting odor rose from the bowl, and his nostrils twitched as he smelled it. Azzandar knew that scent. It was that luscious, lovely stuff that Chris called ‘tuna fish’.
His stomach snarled at him, clenching and twisting inside of him. Azzandar made his choice, and trotted out of the bushes and toward the human. Chris cried out when he saw the cat, his face lighting up. Azzandar ignored him, going for the contents of the bowl. He began to scarf it as fingertips rubbed over his fur. “I’m so glad that you didn’t run away,” he heard the human say happily as he bolted the food. “I guess you just wanted to get outside, huh? I can understand that. I’ll tell you what – when I come home every day, I’ll let you outside to run around for awhile. As long as you come back afterward. Okay?”
Azzandar paused for a moment as he considered this offer. It sounded like a fine deal to him, since he obviously wasn’t very good at this hunting thing, and would likely starve to death if he went out on his own. He twitched an ear at Chris to communicate his acceptance of this offer, and resumed eating.
“This collar is really weird,” Chris commented thoughtfully, trying to get his fingers under it. He’d thought to remove if and replace it with a nicer-looking collar with little crystal chips in it; but the thing had no latch or buckle that he could see. And it was made of a strange smooth substance with a glossy dark look to it. It was like nothing that he’d ever seen before. What was this stuff?
Rusty ignored him. The cat was sitting on the couch next to him, with his yellowish eyes fixed on the TV screen. If he didn’t know better, Chris would have sworn that the cat was interested in what was going on on the screen. Chris ran his fingers along the collar, searching for any kind of fastening. But he found none. How had this collar come to be on the cat in the first place? What was it made of? His curiosity was roused, so he leaned closer and peered at it.
Rusty was still ignoring him. Chris squinted at the dark, smooth material, and noticed something strange. Well, stranger even than the collar itself. There was something – a line of symbols or something running around the collar in a line. They appeared to run the length of it, and they were lighter in color than the collar itself. “I wonder what these are?” he mused aloud, moving a finger along the weird symbols.
The cat twitched an ear at him, but didn’t answer. Chris decided to try cutting the collar off with a pair of scissors. He got up off the couch and went into the kitchen, fetching a pair from the drawer. When he returned, Rusty threw him a cool look then went back to his TV program. Chris smiled as he sat back down. His pet still hadn’t totally warmed up to him, but he knew that it was only a matter of time. He opened the scissors, and very carefully wedged them under the edge of the collar, but when he tried to close them he found that he couldn’t. The blades weren’t making a dent in the strange stuff that the collar was made from.
Chris frowned a bit, and then got up again to get a steak knife from the silverware drawer. He tried sawing at the collar with it, but the only thing that happened was that Rusty flattened his ears to his skull and hissed at Chris angrily. He shook his head, wondering just what the collar was made of. The knife hadn’t even put a nick in it!
He thought about it all that evening, and finally he got a piece of paper and a pencil and copied the symbols as best that he could. He’d take the slip of paper to the library tomorrow after work, and see if he could find out anything about them.
Chris flipped through the book lying on the desk in front of him. He’d shown the piece of paper to the librarian, but she hadn’t been able to help him. So he was going methodically through books on symbols and various languages, hoping to find something that resembled the ones on the collar. So far, no luck. Right now he was scanning a list of Celtic runes, but while there was some resemblance he didn’t think that they were the same. He sighed, knowing that he had to get home soon and let Rusty out for his nightly wandering. The cat got peevish if he didn’t get to leave the apartment for a few hours every day.
He set the book on Celtic runes aside, and picked up another one. He’d look through a few more, but if he didn’t find anything he’d go home. He became aware that someone was standing near him, and looked up into the face of a young woman. Her eyes were curious, and she smiled at Chris. “Hi,” she said.
“Uh, hi,” he replied.
Her eyes were fastened on the paper lying next to him on the table. “That’s interesting,” she remarked.
“Is it?”
She nodded. “”I haven’t seen any of that in a long time,” she added.
Chris perked up. “You’ve seen this before?” he said, tapping the paper. “I’m here trying to figure out what kind of language it is.”
“Well, you won’t find that in normal books,” the woman said. “You’d have to find a black grimoire for script like that.”
“A black grimoire? What’s that?” Chris asked her in puzzlement.
“It’s a magical book for those who practice dark or evil magic,” the woman replied. "That script is what some of the spells in them are written in. It’s supposed to be the symbols of the demonic language.”
Chris felt a chill run down his spine. “De-demonic?” he repeated. “As in…demons?”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “In fact, that looks like a spell or incantation right there,” she pointed at the piece of paper. “Where’d you get it?”
Chris looked down at the paper, dumbfounded. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said numbly.
Chris came out of his haze of thought and turned to look at the young woman who’d just told him about the demonic script. “Excuse me – but how do you know all of this?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I had some friends who were Satanists,” she replied bluntly. “They mostly smoked dope and had these stupid ceremonies, but one of them got a hold of a book on realistic rituals and insisted that the rest of them start doing it the right way. I only went to one of their ‘new, improved’ ceremonies, and I was so freaked out that I left before they finished and never went back. It was really creepy. The same guy had gotten his hands on a black grimoire, and he explained all about the demonic script to us before they started the ceremony. I’ll never forget what it looked like – and I instantly recognized it when I saw your piece of paper. Where’d you get a sample of it?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Chris remarked distractedly as he rose to his feet. “But thanks for telling me about it.”
“Sure,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he said doubtfully.
Chris did a little research on Satanism and demonic script on the computers at the library before he left, but he didn’t find much information. He was still feeling a little dazed as he drove home. Why did his new pet have a collar with demonic script on it? A collar, moreover, that he couldn’t get off? He felt puzzled and uneasy. What should he do? Maybe he could find an expert. But where could he look for one? He didn’t think that the Yellow Pages had listings for Satanists or experts on demonic script.
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