He calls her Janet, even though she’s told him at least a dozen times that it’s not her name, and she wishes he’d stop.
“It’s a microaggression,” she tells him over coffee. “You’re denying me my true name. True names are very significant, you know?”
Ethan barely looks up from his paper. Of course, he still reads the paper. His cuffed chinos and nerdy glasses wouldn’t be enough to let everyone know how much of a hipster he is, so he’s got to go all the way.
“By that line of reasoning, I would be doing you a favor by keeping yours private,” he says. “Want to take a crack at the crossword?”
This is the part she hates - the idle moments before the job. The chit-chat, the pleasantries. She’s never been one for pleasantries. She’s not socialized for it. But Ethan hardly seems to notice as he flips through the pages, ink staining his fingertips. There’s no denying they make a good team, but that doesn’t really make them friends, does it? More like coworkers, if anything. Acquaintances. Partners in crime.
Speaking of, she thinks, and checks the time on her phone. “He should be leaving for his break now,” she says, and she’s annoyed with herself for how relieved she sounds. “Should we head on over?”
Ethan closes the paper with a quick snap and sets it down on the table. There’s trouble in his eyes. “Sounds like a good idea. Onwards, Janet!”
They head over to Ashe Hall from The Black Goat, looking like a pair of coeds on a casual stroll. He looks more casual than she does, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. She stomps a little harder than strictly necessary in her combat boots to counter him. It’s chilly out, and the thick scarf she’s wrapped around her neck does a good job of obscuring half her face. That’ll come in handy later. Campus is quiet - classes have yet to resume, and most of the student body are still away for the holiday. She spent it in her rented room in town, watching cheesy movies on her sister’s Netflix account. He wintered somewhere expensive and exotic, like the Alps or something - she knows he’d love to tell her about it if she asked, so she hasn’t asked.
They pass McKenna on his way to lunch. He’s wearing one of his ridiculous striped polo shirts and his hands are in the pockets of his slacks, mirroring Ethan’s posture. They’re cut from the same cloth, these two. Old money and new shoes. Her shoes are held together with duct tape, but she likes them that way. It contributes to the overall aesthetic. Aesthetic, she thinks, and shudders a bit. It’s the kind of thing Ethan would worry about, and that nauseates her. It’s not an aesthetic for her, but a way of life. And so is this.
They part ways wordlessly. Ethan heads through the front doors of Ashe, taking up a seat on one of the worn couches in the lobby. She makes for the fire escape at the rear of the building. It’d be tricky to take this route during the school year, with people coming and going from the adjacent commuter parking lot. But the lot is virtually empty this time of year, and there’s no sign of the driver of the sole car parked there. There’s no one to watch her as she heads up the rusted steps of the fire escape, moving more quietly and carefully than one might expect of her. It’s the brightest part of the day, and most of the professors with outer offices have shut their blinds against the sun. They timed this carefully.
She reaches the third floor, and McKenna’s window. She’s a little annoyed to find it shut - usually he leaves it cracked a bit to admit some fresh air, but she guesses he closed it to keep any curious critters out while he took his lunch. Well, that’s not much of a problem. There’s a tire iron in her backpack, which she uses to lever the window open. His office door is shut and locked, so there’s no one to see her as she lets herself in. She’d hoped to find the place a little more orderly with the semester over, but no such luck - it’s still entropy incarnate, a whirl of books and papers and manila envelopes spilling their contents across the floor. McKenna has taken the concept of the absent-minded professor to a new level. He’s just a fucking slob. A bourgeois, over-educated slob of old New England stock. The custodial staff who clean up after him should consider themselves privileged to be in the presence of such greatness. Ethan, at least, is organized. The one time she set foot in his dorm room she found it almost sterile, rows of neat folders arranged on his desk, a shoe rack displaying his boat shoes in all their glory, clothes hung carefully in his closet. It was nauseating, but preferable to McKenna’s total chaos.
She manages to locate the book regardless. It’s buried in a jumble of books atop the file cabinet, and she almost misses it. That’s a good thing - it means he might miss it when he comes back. It might take him a good long while to notice it’s gone. She feels a little triumphant as she slides the book into her bag, and retreats hastily the way she came. She’ll head back to her room now, and Ethan will loiter in the lobby until some professor comes along for him to engage in conversation, justifying his presence as look-out. Hopefully it won’t take too long, or she’ll be tempted to start without him. He wouldn’t like it if she started without him, which makes it all the more tempting. But she’ll find ways to entertain herself, until he arrives.
She’s just applied a layer of seche vite on her nails when Ethan finally knocks at her door.
“It’s unlocked,” she calls, like it isn’t always unlocked. She has nothing worth stealing, so she doesn’t worry much about security. He lets himself in. His eyes scan the messy room until they land on the book where it sits atop her secondhand dresser, and he grins.
“Janet, you’re something else, you know that?”
“Still not Janet, but whatever. Do you want to do this now, or should we wait a bit?”
There’s something like hunger in his eyes. But at last he nods slowly. “Yes...we’d better wait. This kind of thing is best done under the full moon, isn’t it?”
“Like hell are we waiting that long. Let’s just do it tonight,” she says, and he nods again.
“Yes, right. Tonight. Good idea.”
She likes to unwind before. She pours herself a glass of wine from the box and grudgingly offers him some, though she’ll need to buy more soon. He politely refuses, and only manages to look faintly horrified for a fraction of a second. Boxed wine would be beneath his delicate sensibilities, she figured. He’s probably used to the fancy imported shit that costs more than ten bucks a bottle. It’s a relief when the sky is dark, and they make their way out to the old art shacks with their equipment in tow.
The rooms that ring the courtyard are invisible from outside the buildings, and there isn’t anyone to see the light of their lamps anyway. She wonders if McKenna noticed the book was missing after all, and if campus PD have been alerted yet. She figures they’ve got some time before they have to ditch it, enough for her to photocopy the pages they plan to keep. A spell is a spell, whether it’s in old ink or inkjet. Wordlessly they go about their preparations - chalked inscriptions, water in a stone bowl, candles that are more for aesthetic than ritual. They ring themselves with salt and get started.
Ethan’s the one who studied Latin at his fancy prep school, so he reads the incantation. She just crouches at the ready, watching the fire burn in the brazier. For a moment, nothing happens. It’s possible this one is a dud - that’s been the case in a few of their jobs. Probably most of them, if she’s being honest. Then the fire burns higher, almost high enough to singe the exposed beams above them. She’s beginning to worry this is going to be a problem when the swirling flames condense in on themselves, and two eyes like bright coals fix on them where they stand.
The thing says something in Latin. Ethan responds. “In English, if you wouldn’t mind - Janet should be able to understand us, too. That’s only polite, isn’t it?”
The fire thing grunts. “You claim a favor,” it says, and her ears perk. “Foolish children...what would you ask of me?”
“Nothing particularly troublesome,” Ethan replies, cheerfully. “I’ve got a list here - hang on, just give me a second….”
The fire thing’s burning eyes seem to narrow in annoyance as Ethan fishes through his pockets. She hasn’t taken her eyes off the hell-spawn, though it’s beginning to hurt her eyes to stare into the flames for so long. She has to do this, though. It won’t be much longer - Ethan knows better than to let it drag.
“Okay, here we go! I, Ethan Holden, would like to earn the grade of A in my Economics class in the Spring semester of 2018. This must come at no risk of physical or psychological harm to my classmates, or my professor, or my TAs, or myself. The grade must appear rightfully earned and face no repercussions.”
The fire thing doesn’t answer right away. “Done,” it answers, at last. “And what of your little companion?”
“Well, little Janet?” Ethan prompts.
She bristles at that, though it’s a fair assessment - she’s been teased about not eating her greens her whole life, so it’s nothing new. “I would like to earn the grade of A in my Mathematics 105 class in the Spring semester of 2018. This must come at no risk of physical or psychological harm to my classmates, or my professor, or my TAs, or myself. The grade must appear rightfully earned and face no repercussions.”
“And what would you offer me in exchange?” the fire thing asks, at last. She knew this was coming. She lets Ethan handle it. He lifts the book, showing the fire thing the page they used to summon it.
“We will remove this page from the text we consulted for this ritual, ensuring that whosoever acquires the book next will be unable to summon you for their own gain. You’ll go undisturbed for a good while longer on that front, which should free you up for...whatever nefarious deeds you all get up to, when you aren’t being bothered for favors. How’s that sound?”
The fire thing rumbles. “Yes...I would not like to be disturbed again, no. Not this millenia. Very well, Ethan Holden. The deal must be set in blood.”
Ethan is prepared for this, though he looks a little green in the gills as he fetches his nice pocket knife. He slices a shallow cut into his palm and lets it drip for a moment before flinging drops of it onto the brazier, taking care not to step out of their salt circle. He hands her the knife, and she takes it wordlessly. She hopes he’s been using protection as she cuts herself, copying his flinging motion. She can hear her blood sizzle.
“I banish thee now, until I should call on thee again,” Ethan reads. “Go on!”
The fire thing hisses. “Fool!” it spits. “You are bound to me by blood, now! I will devour you flesh and spirit, for disturbing my rest!”
The fire swirls, and Ethan cries out. It rears up high to the rafters. The air in the room seems to thin, and she realizes the thing doesn’t need to get them out of the circle to burn them alive or crush them beneath the collapsed beams. This is what she was ready for. She dashes out of the circle, lunging for the bucket of water just beyond the ring of salt.
“Janet!” the fire thing roars. “I bind thee! I will - ”
“For the last fucking time,” she snaps, heaving the bucket. “That’s not my name!”
She hurls the water onto the brazier, and the fire thing yowls like a dying cat. Ethan is knocked flat on his ass as it vanishes with a loud FWOOM, filling the room with black smoke. She coughs, choking, and fumbles her way for Ethan where he fell. She finds him grasping for her, and clutching each others’ arms, they flee out into the fresh air of the courtyard. She splays out on her stomach while Ethan falls to his knees in the tall grass and gasps.
“Janet,” he says. “That was fantastic.” She glares at him. He sighs. “Are you really - ? All right, Philomena, you did a great job back there. I couldn’t do this without you, you know that?”
“That’s because you’re a bougey punk-ass,” she reminds him. “And thank you, for getting my name right for once. You’re not so bad yourself, Holden.”
For a long while they sit where they’ve fallen, breathing in the cool night air and listening to the singing of the insects around them. When the air clears a bit more they’ll retrieve their supplies and head home for the evening, leaving no sign of their presence but some scorch marks hopefully.
“Do you suppose this is all going to blow up in our faces, someday? Literally or figuratively?” Ethan wonders aloud.
“Oh, we’re definitely going to hell,” she tells him, confidently. “Trucking with demons for fun and profit? Yeah, we’re toast.”
“Literally toast?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“It’s just as well,” Ethan says, and sighs. “I wouldn’t want to go to heaven, anyway. That’s way too late in the game to be making new friends.”
She laughs. She keeps laughing. After a moment, he starts to laugh too. Then eventually their laughter subsides, and they lay there looking up at the stars. She meant what she said, of course. They’re probably, very likely, most definitely doomed. But then, who isn’t? What matters, she reminds herself, is making the most of what she’s got now. And good grades are a good start to that. And an eternity of fire with Ethan wouldn’t be so bad, when she really thinks about it.
After all...they make a good team.
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