The Cupid War: Fallon's First Couple

“This is as good a place to find love as any,” Caleb said as he and Ricky Fallon approached the pub and performance house known as the Desert Spring, “but are you sure you wouldn’t rather choose an easier venue?”
“And have you miss out on another night of bad poetry?” Fallon replied. They stepped up to the Desert Spring’s front door and phased through it as if it wasn’t there.
“They weren’t all bad,” Caleb said. “Some, I thought, had quite a bit of talent.”
“Some,” Fallon admitted. “But not all, or even most. Put them on X-Factor, and that British guy would demolish them.”
Fallon and Caleb walked through the pub like ghosts, which wasn’t far off from what they were. No one saw them as they headed for the back, even though both wore bright pink body stockings with red hearts emblazoned on their chests. No one complained or even noticed as they phased through tables, chairs, the drinks, even the people.
Caleb stopped in the middle of a table near the back. A man and a woman sat on either side of him, talking animatedly while enjoying some pub fare. Caleb reached out both hands and slid them into the couple’s chests. There was a flash of pink light from the area around Caleb’s hands, and the two diners paused in their conversation to stare lovingly into each other’s eyes.
“That’s just showing off,” Fallon said when Caleb rejoined him.
“They were already in love,” Caleb replied. “I set them together the last time we were here. All I did was give them a little boost.”
“Well, I also noticed a potential duo last time,” Fallon said, “and today I’m going to make them my first couple.”
“Then do so,” Caleb said. “I shall be listening to the poetry.”
They walked through the door in the far wall and into the back room. It was half as large as the restaurant, packed with small tables and chairs, with a stage at the far end. The stage was well-lit but the rest of the room was dark. A throng of people crowded the area, enjoying drinks and watching the show. A young woman stood on stage, a microphone in her hand, performing a poem.
On the right side beside the door, an attractive twenty-something woman stood behind a small counter. She was Emma Brownridge, one of the performers Fallon was hoping to match up.
Someone came through the back door and approached the counter. Emma asked him for the cover charge, and he paid up. Fallon touched the guy’s heart, just to check; he had no romantic interest in her.
Just as well, Fallon thought. He had another guy in mind for Emma. Provided, of course, he could find him. It occurred to Fallon that his man might not even be here tonight. That would suck, and be somewhat embarrassing.
Fallon turned and made his way through the crowd, looking for the other half of his couple.
On stage, a poet lamented on the state of the world. Fallon ignored him, and so did most of the audience.
“Derrick’s doing another political rant,” said a large twenty-something man in dreadlocks and a beard. “I’m very nearly surprised.”
“Third one tonight, too,” a young woman with flaming orange hair replied. “I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be angry at, anymore.”
“That’s... it!” said the other young guy at the table. He pulled a notebook from the back pocket of his jeans and a pen from brim of his black Fedora, and began to write furiously.
Fallon walked over and stared into the young man’s face. It was Colin Triller, the second half of Fallon’s couple-to-be.
“Gotcha,” he said, even though he’d done no such thing. He still had to match Colin to Emma, an action that would require patience, finesse, and not a little bit of luck.
First, he needed Colin and Emma to look at each other. Then, when one of them was looking at the other, he’d fire Love into their heart.
That was where the patience came in. He could only do one of them at a time, but he had to do both of them to form a couple.
Colin looked up from his notebook, a devious look in his eyes.
“Brody, Raquel,” he said, holding up his notebook, “you are gonna love this!”
Fallon touched Colin’s heart, the way he had the last time he and Caleb had been here. As Colin looked at his two friends, Fallon sensed he was a little interested in Raquel but not at all interested in Brody. If only Raquel had been interested in him, Fallon thought; he could match them up now and be done with it. Even if she were, Caleb had already joined Raquel to Brody several months ago, and Fallon wasn’t about to mess with that.
Besides, where was the fun in doing something easy? He had his couple picked out. Now he just had to get them to look at each other.
“Derrik Mont, everyone!” announced the host, a thin young woman with dark purple hair. “And next on the open mic list, a returning favourite from the distant land of Thornhill, Emma Brownridge!”
Fallon’s eyes widened, and he turned to see Emma get up from the till counter and make her way to the stage. He’d counted on at least one of them going up on stage tonight. Now he could zap Colin while he watched Emma perform. And he could do Emma when Colin took the stage. It couldn’t be simpler.
Provided Emma didn’t leave before then...
Emma took the stage and launched into a poem. Fallon put his hand back into Colin’s heart and prepared to fire.
Colin didn’t look up. Instead he kept writing in his notebook with an expression of manic naughtiness on his face.
“Look up,” Fallon said. With his hand in contact with Colin’s heart, he knew he could plant a suggestion into Colin’s mind. It didn’t always work, however, especially if the person’s mind was busy. Colin kept writing, oblivious to all else.
“C’mon, man!” Fallon said, bending over to talk directly into Colin’s ear. “Look up and see the hot chick!”
Colin did not. And, up on stage, Emma finished her poem.
“Aysha, do I have time for one more?” Emma asked the host as the audience applause died down.
“If it’s a short one,” Aysha replied from the side of the stage.
At the same time, Colin stopped writing and put his pen down. Fallon took note, and he leaned in close again.
“LOOK AT HER!” he shouted, and Colin actually jumped. His head snapped up and he saw Emma up on stage. Fallon registered the interest in his heart, and with a burst of pink light he filled Colin’s heart with Love.
Colin gazed at Emma, his eyes wide open and his ears taking in every nuance of her poem. Gotcha, Fallon thought. One down, one to go.
Emma finished her poem and left the stage. Fallon went to her, and tried to direct her over to Colin’s table.
“Turn right, go to the guy with the dorky hat,” he said, his hand in her heart, ready to fire. Emma did turn, but as she did so Brody stood up and obscured her view of Colin.
“No, not that guy!” Fallon said.
Emma frowned, then she resumed walking to the back of the room. Brody took his and Raquel’s empty glasses and headed for the bar. Colin watched Emma as she walked; now you look, Fallon thought.
Another poet began his set. He was very angry, though at what Fallon couldn’t say. He ignored him and headed back to Emma’s side.
“Going well, I hope?”
Fallon looked around and saw Caleb sitting on top of the table closest to the till. Two young men watched the show through Caleb’s back, completely unaware of his presence.
“I got him to like her,” Fallon told his mentor. “Now I just need to get her to like him.”
“Be patient,” Caleb said. “An opportunity will come.”
“I know,” Fallon said. “I have a plan.”
And he did. All he had to do was wait until Colin went up on stage; Emma was sure to look at him then.
“Hey, Em,” said a stout blonde in a short skirt and fishnet stockings. “Wanna go for a smoke?”
“Sure, Marion,” Emma replied. “This guy bugs me, anyway.”
“Wait! Don’t go,” Fallon shouted as Emma and her friend went out the door. Of course they didn’t hear him, but Caleb did.
“What’s so funny?” Fallon snapped at him, but his mentor only chuckled.
Up on stage, the angry poet finished to a smattering of applause. Aysha hopped back onto the stage, and Fallon feared she would announce Colin Triller as the next act.
“And now,” the host said, “put your hands together for Danger Girl!”
A short girl in a goth dress slunk up onto the stage.
“I’m not Danger Girl anymore,” the goth girl said. “Now I’m called Lady Deadly. Get it right.” She then proceeded to read a really terrible poem in a voice barely above a mumble. In response, the audience resumed talking amongst themselves.
Fallon hurried over to Colin’s table and planted his hand back inside Colin’s heart.
“If you want her,” Fallon told him, “you’d better get up and go after her.”
Colin looked at the door for a moment, then he seemed to come to a decision. He stood up and headed for the back door, but when he arrived Aysha intercepted him.
“Two of my readers didn’t show,” the host said. “You’re up next.”
“I... oh. Okay,” Colin replied. The door opened and Brody stepped through with two drinks in his hands. Colin looked out at the restaurant, and could just see Emma and Marion sitting at the bar.
“Do I have time to get a drink?” he asked.
Aysha looked up at the goth girl on stage, then shook her head.
“Probably not, if we’re very lucky.”
Colin couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Okay,” he said.
“No, not okay!” Fallon said. “You’ve got to go talk to Emma!”
Colin hesitated, clearly torn, and Fallon thought he had him.
“Kay, that’s all of my poems, bye,” said the goth chick, and she slunk herself offstage.
“Okay, you’re up,” Aysha told Colin, then she rushed to the stage. Colin hurried back to his table and snatched up his notebook, leaving Fallon standing alone by the till.
“Come on!” he cried. Then he turned and glared at Caleb, who remained sitting on top of the nearby table. “You don’t have to keep laughing, you know.”
“I do apologize, my friend,” Caleb replied. “You are reminding me of my first couple. My troubles were not that dissimilar to yours.”
Up on stage, the host announced Colin Triller as the next act. Colin headed up amid a moderate amount of applause.
“Don’t suppose you have some relevant experience to share, do you?” Fallon asked as he walked through the table to Caleb’s side.
“Just this,” Caleb replied. “I had to ask myself why my two lovers were open to each other in the first place.”
Fallon thought back to the first time he and Caleb had come to the show, when he had discovered that Emma was open to Colin. Emma had been watching from the cash desk while Colin performed on stage. She’d laughed and laughed at Colin’s performance. What was it he’d been reading?
No, not reading...
Singing!
Fallon hurried over to the stage. It was a small stage, and only a foot off the floor. Fallon had yet to learn how to interface with different levels, however, and his feet vanished into the wood. Luckily, he was still able to reach up and touch Colin’s heart.
Colin was in the middle of the bit he’d been writing only minutes before - a spoof of Derrick Mant’s latest rant. When he reached the end and received his applause, Fallon shouted as loud as he could, “Do the pen song!”
Colin leafed through his notebook. Fallon watched him, and hoped his message had been received.
“You know,” Colin said, “I have something that helps me with my life. It’s long, hard, filled with fluid, and I’ve got it right here in my pants. It’s...” he reached into his trousers and pulled out... “my pen!”
Yes! Fallon thought. He’d gotten through to him!
“I’d like to sing a little song,” Colin went on, “about how wonderful I think my pen is.”
Fallon ran across the cheering audience and through the door to the pub while Colin began the Pen Song.
“Oh, when poetry takes seed, what’s the one thing that I need? My pen is!”
Emma and Marion remained at the bar, chatting. Fallon slid his hand through Emma’s back and into her heart, then whispered in her ear:
“Colin’s doing the pen song.”
Emma’s eyes widened. Then she giggled.
“Gotta go!” she told Marion. “He’s doing that song again!”
“That song... oh, grow up!” Marion called after her.
Fallon was right behind Emma as she quietly re-entered the back room. The song was in full swing, and some in the audience were singing along.
“What makes me feel grand, when it’s lying in my hand? My pen is!”
Emma looked up, saw Colin...
...and Fallon fired Love into her heart. People come together for all kinds of reasons, he thought. Why not over a song filled with thinly-veiled innuendos?
“Well done,” Caleb said when Fallon joined him at his table.
“Thanks for the advice,” Fallon said.
“Thanks for taking it,” Caleb replied.

As the show wound down, Colin and Emma went to the bar for a drink. Then they left together to go get some coffee. Fallon sensed this, even though he and Caleb were long gone.
“I can still feel them, like you said,” Fallon told his mentor as they ambled on down the streets of the club district. “Is it always this, I don’t know... psychic?”
“You’ll get used to it,” Caleb told him, “and then it will be more of a subconscious thing. You will sense automatically when they will need another Love boost.
“And speaking of boosts,” Caleb turned to face a sports bar, “I have a few couples in need of a topping up. And would you look at that?” he pointed through the window at a flat screen TV hanging on the far wall. “It would seem the Argos are playing tonight.”
“How about that, eh?” Fallon said. In life, he’d been an Argos fan.
“To your first couple,” Caleb said, raising a pretend glass in a toast. “May there be many, many more.”
“Oh, there will be,” Fallon said as they walked into the bar. “I’m just getting started.”

Continued in The Cupid War, available from Amazon.ca and Flux.

What’s There For Me on Halloween? My Pen Is!

I don’t really have anything scary to post here for your Halloween enjoyment, so I decided I’d go with naughty. The following is a song I wrote during my spoken word days while under the influence of immaturity. I amused many an audience with it; the lyrics more than made up for my lack of singing ability.

And, I am featuring this song (well, parts of it) in the short story I’m posting tomorrow: The Cupid War – Fallon’s First Couple. It is an extremely integral part of the plot.

So now, without further ado…

My Pen Is

I'm a writer, and I have something that helps me whenever I need it. It's long, pointy and filled with fluid, and it's right here in my pants! Can you guess what it is? Yes, it's my pen. I want to tell you how wonderful I think my pen is.

When poetry takes seed
What's the one thing that I need?
My pen is!

When my fingers long to dance
What is right there in my pants?
My pen is!

When other boys were in the field
Playing with their balls,
I'd be in my room
With the greatest gift of all.

What makes me feel grand
When it's lying in my hand?
My pen is!

When life seems much too much
What's the thing I long to touch?
My pen is!

What's the thing I seek
Even when it's got a leak?
My pen is!

I know a lot of people
Don't really understand
The joy that I am feeling
When my pen is in my hand.

What is the one thing
That just makes me want to sing?
My pen is!
My pen is!
My pen is!

Can*Con 2012 - Sunday

Sunday was my busiest day, with two panels and a reading. I started the day off right with a Tim Horton's breakfast, and I surprised Violet with said breakfast in bed! Best hubby ever? Uh huh!

I was nearly late for my reading with Eric Choi and Melissa Yuan Innes! We each read for twenty minutes: Eric read his essay Making Mars A Nicer Place, Melissa read the first chapter from her book High School Hit List, and I read from The Cupid War. All of us received our due from the audience, but Melissa's reading generated the best reaction, and deservedly so. I can't wait to read her book now!

There was no rest for the author of Evil (ha ha, see what I did there?); I had to run all the way next door for my next panel. That is one tremendous benefit of having a smaller con - no time lost running across hotels (or even highways[looking at you, Anime North!]) to get to your next event. This panel was GLBTQ Reader, looking at the issue of gender identity in speculative fiction. Brett Savory, Liz Strange and I were lucky to have a very involved audience, and it became more of a room discussion.

Another hour of dealer’s room time, followed by my final panel: Humour in Science Fiction, with Ira Nayman(Alternate Reality Ain’t What It Used To Be) and Cenk Gokce. Here's a picture I took of our terrific audience:

We talked about different types of comedy, and comedy in sci/fi we enjoyed, but the consensus of the panel was that humour in sci/fi equals an automatic rejection from publishers at the current time. Of course, that will change overnight if somebody writes a fantasy/comedy that sells a million copies!

Also, my high school friend Kevin Booth dropped by the panel to wish me all the best – everyone should have a friend like that.

As the convention wound down, I made a final tally of my sales: 23 books in all, including 8 copies of Evil; 5 copies of Epoch; 6 copies of The Cupid War; and 4 Section Ks. Not bad at all! Seems a shame Flux has given up on Epoch and Evil when there is clearly still an audience waiting to be found. I also sold eight Transformers toys, netting me some fine pocket change!

Goodbyes came next, to friends new and old. As always, it was sad. My thanks to Farrell McGovern, Caycee Price, Derek Kunsken, Elizabeth Buchan, Tim Sellmer, and everyone else who worked so hard to put this convention together. I had a fantastic time, and next year I must return for more!

Can*Con This Weekend!

This weekend I'll be in Ottawa for Can*Con 2012! This will be my second time at this convention - the first was many, many years ago, before I'd even published my first short story - and my first time as a pro writer.

My panel schedule is fairly small, and all of them are on Sunday. First, I'll be reading from The Cupid War in Room 3 sometime after 12:30 PM. Immediately after, I have GLBTQ Reader in Room 2(I love how the rooms are so clearly labelled!) at 1 PM. Then, at 3 PM, I'll be doing Humour in Science Fiction with my good friend Ira Nayman (author of Alternate Reality Ain't What It Used To Be) in Room 1.

All day Saturday I'll be selling Evil & Epoch, which I suppose I could classify as collector's items! I'm also hoping to take part in Friday night's paper airplane-making contest, hosted & judged by author friend Marie Bilodeau (Destiny's Blood & Destiny's Fall). I'm lucky in that there will be plenty of people there (like Marie & Ira) whom I've met and befriended at other cons. Gives these events a feeling of community!

As always, I'll provide a full write-up of my experience when I return to Toronto.

Can't wait! Cons are good for me.

Walk of Evil

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” said the Tammy Faye wannabe at the next table. “That jujitsu’s of the Devil, like all those other martial arts.”
My ears pricked up at that. How could they not? After what had happened to me in Ice Lake, my ears are tuned to all conversations featuring both religion and ignorance.
“I’m just so glad she came!” said the Tammy Faye lookalike’s friend, a man with the voice of Pat Robertson and the body of Jerry Falwell. “A literal Godsend, if ever there was one.”
Tammy, Pat Falwell and I sat in a Tim Horton’s in downtown Orillia, a medium-sized town two hours north of Toronto. I’d been job hunting, and was enjoying a coffee after a lengthy interview with the manager. Now, though, I was very interested in the conversation next to me. I’ve had some experience with the supernatural, specifically angels and demons, so naturally I’m nervous about all things God-sendy.
“Do you think that man will try to open another dojo?” Pat Falwell asked. “He did put up quite a fight to stay open.”
“No. Not possible,” Tammy said. “Not after one of Meredith’s miracles.”
My ears perked further. First a godsend, now a miracle? Time for me to butt in.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m Stuart Bradley. Did I overhear something about a miracle?”
Tammy and Pat Falwell were only too pleased to fill me in. It seems there was a jujitsu dojo down the street, and it had drawn a lot of opposition from the Christian community. Why? Because the dojo owner, Lesley Peters, was a gay man. The fundies had protested outside the dojo, waving signs and handing out fliers to anyone who would take them.
“We had to warn people!” Tammy said. “Otherwise, parents might send their children there, ignorant of the danger.”
“What danger,” I asked, “would that be?”
“Well, he is a homosexual,” Tammy said, as if that explained everything.
“You don’t put a wolf in the henhouse!” added Pat Falwell.
I smiled, and resisted the urge to punch them.
A number of parents pulled their kids out, lest they be exposed to the gay virus that people like Lesley (and me, by the way) were put on this earth by Satan to spread. The loss of those kids hit Lesley’s business hard, but he hung in there and stayed open. The fundies responded by stepping up their protests, but their efforts failed to have the desired effect. The dojo owner called the police on them several times, and tried to get them charged with harassment. Things looked bleak for the fundies and their cause to drive an innocent man out of business. But then the miracle happened.
Meredith Donic came to town.
“She’s just wonderful!” Tammy said. “So prophetic!”
“You can see the light of the Lord shining in her eyes,” Pat added. “A real soul-winner.”
“Who is she?” I asked. “And what did she do?”
Meredith Donic, they told me, is a modern-day miracle worker. She travels the country ‘as the Lord provides’, righting wrongs in the name of her Heavenly Father. She came to Orillia because ‘she sensed a calling.’
“She always turns up where she’s most needed,” Pat Falwell said.
“Do you remember that mosque they tried to build in Toronto?” Tammy asked me. “The one at the very spot where the terror attack on the subway took place?”
I did remember the Muslim community centre that was to be built five blocks north of the subway bombing site, and two blocks west.
“Meredith went to the building site,” Tammy said, “and the next day those Islamists lost a critical part of their funding. The whole project was cancelled!”
“Same thing happened to that dojo,” Pat Falwell said. “Isn’t that wonderful? The Lord in action!”
“Fantastic,” I said. “So where’s this Meredith now? Has she moved on?”
“No, she’s staying in our church out on Brodie Drive,” Tammy said. “Apparently the gays are organizing some kind of rally.”
“And they’re planning on holding it in the park right next to our church!” Pat Falwell added. “They blame us for what happened to the dojo.”
“There’ll be dozens of them,” Tammy said, “right outside our place of worship. And during a service, too!”
“Children might see them!” said Pat Falwell.
“As if they had the right,” Tammy added.
“You mean, holding a demonstration outside a place they’re at odds with?” I asked. “Waving signs and handing out flyers?”
“Exactly!” Pat Falwell said. “That kind of behavior, well... it’s disrespectful.”
“It’s discrimination, is what it is,” Tammy said. “But Meredith will be there in our hour of need. Those queers will never have their rally.”
“I see,” I said. “I’ve got to meet this Meredith. Where can I find your church?”
They gave me directions, and told me the best times to catch her there. I thanked them for the talk, shook both their hands, then told them I was gay. The looks on their faces were priceless. As I left, I saw them squirting sanitizer onto their hands.

Lesley’s Dojo was easy enough to find. Like Tammy and Pat had said, it was just down the street at Peter and Elgin. I looked through the front window and saw a man sitting on a large gym mat next to a case of beer.
“We’re closed,” the man said when I came in.
“So I’d heard,” I replied. “You Lesley?”
“That’s me,” he said. “You here to gloat?”
“Have the fundies been doing that?” I asked, and he nodded. “I thought their holy book didn’t encourage pride.”
“Their book says a lot of stuff,” Lesley said with a hint of a smile, and he waved me over. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I heard there’s going to be a rally this weekend,” I said as I walked over to join him on the mat. “I want in.”
“I’m not sure that’s still on,” Leslie said, taking a long pull from his beer. “After what happened...”
“What did happen?” I asked.
“Why so curious?” he wanted to know. He made to offer me a beer, then seemed to think better of it. I am still a teenager, after all.
“It’s... kinda my thing,” I told him. “I ran into some of your gloaters, and they told me about a woman named Meredith...”
Leslie straightened, and his eyes widened.
“That woman freaks me out,” he said. “She told me if I didn’t close myself down, she would ask the Lord to do it. I didn’t take her seriously, but that night she walked around this block, around and around with her arms out like this,” he demonstrated for me, “and singing – really badly, by the way – about how she wanted God to close me down.
“At the time I laughed, but the next day over half my remaining clients pulled their kids out. Someone’s check bounced, too. And then the landlord called up to tell me he was raising the rent. Just like that! Everything was going fine, except for those religious homophobes who kept showing up outside. Then that woman comes and suddenly I’m in hell.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“My friends want to help me organize that rally,” Leslie went on, “but I’m having some serious second thoughts. When I heard that woman’s doing her walking thing – I think she calls it a prayer walk – around the field where we’re planning to have it...”
“You really believe she has some kind of power,” I said, “don’t you?”
“She’s got something,” he replied. “You know, when I was closing up shop after I got the bad news, she came right up to me and said, ‘the power of the Lord in action.’”
“Don’t call off that rally yet,” I said as I rose to my feet. “I know someone who might be able to shed some light on this...”

“Hmm,” said Fon Pyre, a two-foot tall, brown-scaled creature. “That sounds like the work of a djinn.” He sat on the kitchen counter, staring disdainfully at the cup of coffee in his hands.
Fon Pyre was a demon, and therefore an expert on the supernatural. I’d summoned him up a few months ago to help me deal with some unpleasantness in my former home of Ice Lake, Ontario. It involved fallen angels and angry townspeople, and nearly cost us both our lives.
“A djinn?” I asked. “Is that like a genie?”
“Not really,” Fon Pyre said, and he sipped at his coffee. “Ugh. Where’d ya get this crap?”
“Starbucks,” I replied with a sigh. “I forgot to get your stuff while I was at Timmy’s. Sorry.”
Fon Pyre clenched his teeth and grunted. Then he did so again, his entire body shaking.
“Since I’m unable to toss this swill in your face,” he said, “we can conclude I’m still bound by the demon code of honour not to hurt you.”
“So it would seem,” I said, trying not to look too smug.
“However,” he went on, tossing the coffee over his shoulder, “I can still irritate you.”
“Right,” I said, and I got up to get a rag.
We lived with our friend Father Reedy, the former priest of Ice Lake. His cousins, Lionel and Wendy Wefland, owned a two-level house on Cleopatra Court, and had been kind enough to give us their children’s former bedrooms after we’d high-tailed it out of Ice Lake. Because of that unpleasantness I’d mentioned, with the fallen angels.
The Wefland’s don’t know about Fon Pyre, and hopefully they (or anyone else, for that matter) never will. They are, however, really anal about keeping things clean. Knowing Fon Pyre the way I do, I keep several rags around their house in strategic locations for just this sort of situation.
“You were saying about djinn?” I prompted him as I began the clean-up.
“Oh, no,” the demon said. “I’m not sayin’ squat until I get my cup of Timmy’s.”
“I am not,” I said, “going back into town just to get you coffee.”
“You’re right,” Fon Pyre said. “I also require a donut.”
“Forget it.”
“Then no info,” Fon Pyre said, eyeing me triumphantly.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “This fanatic is gonna use her djinn to stop a gay rally. I could do something about it if I knew what I was dealing with.”
“And I should care because...?” Fon Pyre said.
What could I say to that? He was, after all, a demon.
“Answer me something,” Fon Pyre said. “Why do you care? A guy got his business shut down and a bunch of other guys are gonna lose a rally. What’s it to you?”
“Because people like her,” I said, “really piss me off.”
“Ah, so it’s a revenge thing,” Fon Pyre said. “That I can get behind. One condition, though.”
“Coffee and donut?”
“I’m getting that anyway,” Fon Pyre said, and it was his turn to look smug. “If you want my help, I get to come with you.”
I sighed, shook my head and tossed the rag in the sink.
“You know I promised Reedy I’d keep you here,” I said, remembering when we’d first arrived here in Orillia. While we were still unpacking, Fon Pyre took off to have a little fun on the town. The next day, there were reports of dead pets all over the neighbourhood. I’d given Fon Pyre some marching orders when I summoned him, ordering him not to kill anybody. He’s also under a special demon code to protect me, because I saved his life one time. None of that, however, can stop him from killing dogs, cats and the occasional rabbit.
When he got back to the house, I went back into my summoning manual and set up some special wards that a demonic creature cannot cross. Father Reedy made me promise not to release those wards under any circumstances.
“Yep, I remember,” Fon Pyre replied. “Do you want my help or not?”
I glared daggers at him. He beamed enthusiastically back at me.
“Fine,” I said. “But don’t do anything I’ll regret.”
“Swear to God,” Fon Pyre replied, crossing his heart.

Fon Pyre filled me in on djinn while we made our way to the church. Well, not right away. He remained silent until I came out of the nearest Tim Horton’s with his order.
“Djinn,” he began, his mouth full of Boston crème, “are nasty little buggers. Smaller’n me and harder to spot, but really powerful. They can bend reality.”
“Bend... what?” I asked.
“I don’t know how they do it,” Fon Pyre said, “but they can change the course of events to make wishes come true. If we’ve got a djinn to deal with, well... this is gonna get interesting.”
“Come on, Fon Pyre,” I said. “They can’t be that powerful. Can they?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” my demon said, and we walked the rest of the way in silence.

We arrived at the church, a modern brick structure just a stone’s throw away from Orillia Square Mall. It didn’t look all that big; I guessed it would only hold about sixty, maybe seventy people. As advertised, there was a large grassy field next to it.
I looked over at the field and saw a woman walking slowly around the field’s perimeter. She had blonde hair down to the small of her back, and the dress she wore was so modest and conservative it rendered her almost androgynous. She had her arms outstretched in that way believers do, to show they are filled with the Holy Spirit. We could hear her was singing, and even from a distance I could tell she was flat. Lesley had been right on the money.
“That looks like your baby,” Fon Pyre said. “Want me to pull her lungs out?”
“Sounds like she’s doing that to herself,” I replied.
“Ooh, snap!” Fon Pyre said. “So what do you wanna do?”
“We should check for the djinn first,” I suggested. “If Meredith is staying in the church, then...”
“It won’t be in there,” Fon Pyre said. “Non-dimensional beings like myself are not fond of holy places, remember?”
“Right, right,” I said. “Well, that’s one less place to look, I suppose.”
“I’ll find him,” Fon Pyre assured me. “Why don’t you go talk to the cacophontrix over there.”
“Okay, good plan,” I said. “Meet me behind that fishing supply store we passed on the way here. We’ll compare notes then.”
“Roger,” Fon Pyre said, and he ran off into the foliage.
I walked across the field toward the woman, thinking about how I should play this. After all, it wasn’t as if I had any kind of authority. If she wanted to keep singing badly while walking around this field, I had no grounds on which to stop her.
I did, however, have a moral obligation to try.
“Excuse me,” I called to her as I approached. She kept on walking and singing as if she hadn’t heard me. She sang the same thing over and over: “Lord, keep the gay people off this ground.”
“Pardon me, hello?” I said as I arrived next to her. “Are you Meredith Donic?”
She continued as if I wasn’t there. Time to resort to drastic measures.
“Jesus Goddamn Christ!” I shouted.
That worked. Her eyes flashed open, the cat-strangling stopped, and her face took on a look of righteous indignation.
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” she instructed, her voice high and nerve-pinching.
“I won’t if you won’t,” I replied.
“Young man,” she said, “I have never, in my life, taken the worthy and precious name of our Lord in vain.”
“I’m talking about the things you do in his name,” I said. “Like what you’re doing now, for instance.”
“I am on a prayer walk,” Meredith said, “to bless this land in preparation for the coming of the unclean.”
“...the coming of the unclean,” I repeated, not quite maintaining a straight face. Who actually talks like that? Seriously. “Would that be the planned rally to protest the closing of Lesley’s Dojo?”
“Those people are homosexuals,” Meredith said. “I have tried to reach out to their community, but few of them welcome my message of Salvation.”
“Fancy that,” I said. “Maybe it’s because they think you had something to do with the dojo’s closure. Did you?”
“I did a prayer walk around that block,” she said, “and asked the Lord to work his Will.”
“The ‘Lord’s Will’, huh?” I said, making quote marks with my fingers. “You wouldn’t say, then, that you have other supernatural forces working for you?”
“Certainly not!” Meredith snapped, and the horror in her eyes was real. Whatever kind of creature was carrying out her wishes, she clearly wasn’t aware of it.
“The Lord works through me,” she went on. “It was His Will that the dojo be closed, not mine.”
“But it didn’t exactly sadden you when His Will was done, did it?” I said.
“Of course not,” she said. “I rejoice when the Will of the Lord is done. Now, if you will excuse me...”
“Not so fast,” I said, holding up a hand. “You are hurting people with your prayer walks. I want you to stop. I’m asking you, nicely, to stop. Please.”
“I will do as the Lord asks,” she replied. “Not you. Now stand aside.”
I did so. There was no point in refusing. I wasn’t going to convince her to stop, that was clear. Hopefully, Fon Pyre would have some information for me about her supernatural help.
I watched as Meredith walked away, arms spread and voice howling. She really believed she was doing God’s work. Me, I’ll settle for just doing the right thing.

I met up with Fon Pyre half an hour later, next to the dumpster behind the fishing supply store near the mall. He wasn’t alone; he held an apple-sized creature in his hands.
“Who’s your friend?” I asked.
“This,” Fon Pyre said, “is our djinn. Nasty little bugger, isn’t he?”
Fon Pyre held the fat blue creature at arm’s length, where it wiggled and struggled in his grip. It looked like a small Bhudda statue, except its eyes were longer and almond-shaped, and his ears were like Mr. Spock’s.
“Leggo! Leggo!” the little djinn cried. “Tell your demon to release me.”
“Want me to kill him?” Fon Pyre asked hopefully.
“No! You can’t,” the djinn said.
“Oh, I can,” Fon Pyre assured him.
“But you will not,” I said. “Djinn... do you have a name?”
“Rofar,” the blue creature said.
“Rofar,” I said, “you are granting wishes for a woman named Meredith, aren’t you? We want you to stop.”
“That’s what this is about?” Rofar asked.
“We don’t like what she’s doing,” Fon Pyre said. “Well, Stuart there doesn’t like it. I don’t really give a...”
“Shush,” I said.
“Look, um, guys,” Rofar said. “I can’t stop.”
“Sure you can,” Fon Pyre said, and he squeezed harder.
“Noyoudontunderstand!” the djinn cried.
“Ease up on him, Fon Pyre,” I said. “What do you mean you can’t, Rofar? Help us to understand.”
So he did. He explained that when a djinn is summoned to the Earth dimension, they must agree to a pact with the summoning human. In that way, it was very similar to the rituals I’d done to summon Fon Pyre. For djinn, in order to leave the ritual site and fully enter our world, they had to pledge their lives to a person of the summoner’s choosing. Usually this person would be the summoner themselves, but occasionally they would choose to bond their djinn to another.
And that’s what had happened here. Meredith’s sister, a woman named Raven Donic, had called up Rofar. She’d pledged the djinn to Meredith, and instructed him to carry out Meredith’s prayer walk requests.
“So, whatever she asks God to do,” Fon Pyre asked, “that’s what you do?”
“That’s it exactly,” Rofar replied.
“And Meredith has no idea you exist,” I said.
“That was one of the terms of my pact,” Rofar said.
He went on to explain how he went about fulfilling Meredith’s prayers. It turned out he couldn’t simply change reality as Fon Pyre had thought. At least, not exactly.
“To get the dojo closed,” Rofar told us, “I talked to the parents of the kids who went there. I visited them while they were asleep, and planted the suggestion into their heads to take their kids out. Same with the landlord of the place. Told him to raise the rent, and he did.”
“And the cheque that bounced?” I asked.
“That was just a coincidence,” Rofar said.
“And you have to obey, right?” Fon Pyre said. “No way out of the pact you made?”
“Can you get out of your pact with your human?” the djinn retorted.
“He is not my human,” Fon Pyre pointed out.
“But you do obey him.”
“Hah!” I said.
“It’s a demon code thing,” Fon Pyre muttered. “Not the same at all.”
“Tell me something,” I asked the djinn. “Do you go by the words that Meredith uses, or by what she actually wants?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Rofar asked.
“You tell me,” I said.
“Well, technically,” Rofar said, “I grant her wish based on what she sings. Like this time, she’s been singing for God to keep the gay protesters off the ground of the field next to the church.”
“Don’t know if I’d call that singing,” I said, “but yeah, that’s what I heard, too.”
“I was gonna arrange a few accidents for some of them,” Rofar went on, “maybe get a few of them sick...”
“But all you really need to do,” I told him, “is keep them off the ground.”
“Huh?” Rofar said.
“I think I see where Stu’s goin’ with this one,” Fon Pyre smiled. “Tell me, Ro, you actually like that woman you’re stuck with?”
“Not really, no,” the djinn replied. “If she knew about me, she’d consider me an unclean thing.”
“Then listen to the kid,” Fon Pyre said. “You’re about to have some fun...”

When Rofar heard my plan, he was all over it. He spent that week sneaking into the homes of Lesley, his friends, and anyone else remotely interested in the rally, planting seeds in their minds. He also put in a word or two with members of the press.
The night before the event, Rofar grabbed the materials for a special piece of equipment. I went out to help the djinn set it up, and I brought Fon Pyre with me. It was the second time I’d taken down the wards that kept my demon in the house, but he’d proved he could be good under supervision. Besides, we needed his strength to carry the materials around.
On Sunday morning I turned up bright and early at the church, and so did Lesley and the other protesters. None of us set foot on the ground of the park. Instead, we all stood upon a wooden platform that hadn’t been there the previous night. It was big enough to fit all one hundred and twenty-two of us with room to spare, and when seen from above (like, say, from the vantage of the news chopper that flew past), it was clearly a giant triangle.
None of the protesters left the triangle for the ground around it; Rofar had instructed them not to. The djinn’s marching orders had indeed been carried out to the letter.
As the parishioners arrived, there was no disguising their shocked surprise. Clearly they’d been so sure of Meredith’s abilities that the idea of the rally actually happening hadn’t occurred to them.
The look on Meredith’s face was priceless. I thought I’d bust a gut laughing when she emerged from the church and saw us. She looked the way my mom used to when her PC crashed; “I’m pushing the right button,” she’d say, “but nothing’s happening!” The other parishioners didn’t seem to know who to be mad at: us, for showing up; or Meredith, for having failed them.
Meredith didn’t stay stunned for long. She launched into a prayer walk around us, arms out and screech-singing to the heavens. “Remove these homosexuals from our sight!” she sang. We all covered our ears, and so did quite a few church-goers, but we stayed put.
I felt something small zip up my left side and perch on my shoulder. It was Rofar, and he did not look happy.
“I have to obey her,” he told me.
“I know,” I replied. “But she isn’t saying when she wants us removed from her sight, now is she?”
Rofar’s pained expression turned into a beaming smile. He gave me a thumbs-up, then zipped off once more.
When Meredith had completed one full orbit around our group, and we still hadn’t budged, the parishioners apparently decided it wasn’t going to work. One by one, they turned and walked into the church. Meredith continued her prayer walk, oblivious.
I walked toward her, taking care not to leave the triangle, and I gestured at Lesley to follow. I came up with something appropriately rude and blasphemous to say, and said it as she started to walk past us.
“Meredith,” I said when she turned to face me. “This is the power of gays in action.”
Lesley and I exchanged a high-five while she bustled off in a huff into the church.

There was a party afterwards. How could there not be? I made several new friends, and nabbed quite a few phone numbers. My social life had taken a turn for the best!
Sadly, I had to leave early; turns out my job interview at Tim Hortons had gone very well. As I headed for the bus stop, a tiny figure darted out of the bushes and ran toward me.
“Rofar!” I said. “Nice work today, man. I can’t thank you enough.”
“I should be thanking you, Stuart,” Rofar said as he climbed up onto my shoulder. “Seeing my master taken down a peg was the most fun I’ve had all year!”
“I gotta say, you really went to town,” I said. “Convincing the media to come... and where did you get that lumber, by the way?”
“Don’t ask,” Rofar said. “Look, I just wanted to say goodbye. My master’s leaving town tonight, and I have to go with her.”
“I wish we could free you from your pledge,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rofar replied. “I’ve never felt so free.”
“Wonder if I’ll ever know what that feels like...?” a sullen voice muttered when Rofar had gone.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at home in the closet?” I asked, looking down to see Fon Pyre.
“You forgot to reset the wards last night,” my demon informed me. “Guess you’ll take care of that the second we get in, right?”
“I’ll have to, yes,” I replied. “Reedy’s getting suspicious.” Then I paused, and considered. “I’ll reset the wards when we’re both home.”
“When we’re both...?” Fon Pyre said.
“Just stay out of sight, and be quiet coming in,” I said. “And please don’t kill any pets.”
I rarely see surprise on Fon Pyre’s face. This was one of those times.

On Monday morning, I started work at the downtown Tim Hortons where all this had started. And who should come in but Tammy and Pat Falwell! They did not look like happy campers, not at all. I started to make a pot of coffee while straining my ears to hear their conversation.
“...couldn’t believe it, either!” Pat was saying.
“She thinks she must have offended God somehow,” Tammy told him, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “She left town to get back in touch with the Spirit.”
“I hope she does,” Pat said, “or it could be a devastating loss for our church.”
They reached the counter and placed their orders. I poured their coffee, but when I tried to hand them over they stepped back in disgust.
“We know this person,” Tammy told the cashier. “He is a homosexual. We don’t want any coffee that a homosexual has touched.”
Whatever, I thought, as I held my customer service smile in place. We’d won a battle, but the war goes on.

The End