There's a Demon in the Glass
Copyright 1995 by Anne Fraser
It was one of those bars. The ones that only appear on the night of
the full moon, or that suddenly show up on a quiet little street you've
never walked down before. Where the guy on the barstool next to you is
more likely to be a vampire or an alien or just maybe an alien vampire
than an ordinary joe. Where the pool tables are in another dimension
and I wouldn't recommend going to the bathroom unless you can pee in
freefall. Where the bartender is always named Callahan or Hooligan or
just maybe De Camp. Yeah, you know the kind of bar I mean...
Anyway, there I was, warming the barstool, staring into my vodka rocks
and ignoring the stunningly handsome guy beside me. I might've been
more interested if I hadn't seen him metamorphosize from something
pinky-green and scaly about a minute or so ago. A girl's got
standards.
"'Nother vodka rocks, Calligan," I told the bartender.
"Hoolihan," he said.
"Whatever."
"Maybe you've had too many, Denver."
My mother had been a travelling salesperson. We were all named after
the cities where she figured we'd been conceived. On the whole, I was a
hell of a lot better off than my big brother, Tuktoyaktuk, or my kid
sister, Come By Chance. I'd been begot at a convention.
"Maybe I haven't had enough," I snapped back at the bartender.
The big hunk of whatever on the next barstool turned and eyed me
speculatively. It wasn't even an "I wonder how you are in bed" look, it
was an "I wonder how you taste deep-fried and dipped in salsa" look.
"Piss off, scaly," I hissed at him as Hoolihan put another drink in
front of me. "I want to drown my sorrows, not be the feature at
tonight's BBQ."
Miffed, the thing turned away, the glamour already fading as it shifted
back into its normal form. It was a lot less attractive as a kind of
ambulatory salamander.
"Thought there was a 'don't eat the customers' policy," I griped into my
fresh drink.
Hoolihan shrugged. "What happens outside the bar isn't my business,
Denver."
"You want my business, you should make sure I don't end up as half-elf
au jus."
Oh, didn't I mention that about my Daddy? See, Mom's a witch and
travels with a line of potions, talismans, grimoires, and magic junk.
And she's a sucker for pointy ears. So at the big Sabbat Con in
Denver.. yeah, you get the picture. I get my wide hips and great patter
from Mom. Everything else screams ELF! I think his name was
Winterthorn, but it might have been Jingles. With Mom, you never know.
All elves look the same in the dark. That's howcome I can find these
quaint little bars with the jukeboxes that play the greatest hits of the
next century.
"Right," Hoolihan grunted and moved to the end of the bar, where the
usual Tuesday night crowd of were-badgers was getting a little rowdy.
They were always a pretty wild set.
I was left to contemplate the injustices of an uncaring world and half a
glass of lousy vodka. If I looked too hard, one of the ice cubes
started to resemble a tiny little winged, horned, humanoid-thingy
sitting in a crouched position and holding its knees. Now that was
lousy vodka.
Ignoring the weird ice cube, I glanced around the bar. Besides the
were-badgers and the pink-green lounge lizard; there were two full elves
playing darts (and trying really hard to pretend they didn't see me), a
burnt-out mage with a dragonsword muttering something to a bored-looking
female psi-vamp, a large female ghost in medieval costume, a family
group of a male jester, a female vampire and a loquacious little
lagomorph, two oddballs from a race I couldn’t immediately identify
except that he had auburn hair and impressive muscles and she was hugely
pregnant, a beautiful French female vampire (by Erewhon, the place was
crawling with the undead!) and her familiar/companion, who was either a
Siamese cat or the ghost of a small boy...
Boring.
"I'd sell my soul for some real action," I said to my vodka rocks.
"That can be arranged," the drink replied.
There was a kind of *plop-clink-sloosh* as I set the glass back down on
the wet counter.
The ice cube stretched, unfolded its wings, stood up and, after a couple
of experimental flaps, flew out of the glass. It perched on the rim,
dangling its little hooves. His, rather, for it was naked, male, and
anatomically correct. Pretty impressively, too, for a creature only a
few centimetres high...
Whoa. I was staring at an ice cube's cock. Hoolihan was right. I'd
had too much to drink.
"Now, let's discuss the terms of the contract," said the ice cube,
producing a tiny little briefcase out of nowhere and settling it on his
tiny little knees. "Can you define precisely what you mean by 'real
action'?"
Okay, maybe it wasn't the vodka. Not even that could account for the
briefcase.
"Sorry?" I blinked.
The ice cube thing sighed. His wings, like tiny crystal bat wings,
fluttered a bit. He was transparent around the edges and solid white in
the middle, just exactly like an ice cube. He even had a slight crack
across the ribs. His voice was frozen, the way someone sounds when
they've got a mouthful of popsicle.
"You wished to sell your soul for some 'real action', whatever that is.
My company is prepared to provide you with said 'real action' in return
for the promised payment." He snapped open that itty-bitty briefcase
and looked hopeful.
"Who are you?" I asked him. "WHAT are you?"
"I am an ice demon," he said proudly.
"No such thing."
He heaved another frosty sigh. I felt the moisture on my face.
_Definitely_ not the vodka.
"Not a nice demon, an ice demon," he said. "My name is unpronounceable
in the human tongue, but can be roughly translated as 'misty cold
frosted one who dwells in little square plastic compartments in
neglected freezers'. You, however, can call me Freon."
"What's an ice demon like you doing in a joint like this?" I asked him.
He looked like he'd heard the joke a time or two before in the last few
millennia.
"Looking for customers," Freon replied.
As the daughter of the five-time recipient of the Hepsebah Memorial
Saleswitch Trophy for Customer Satisfaction, that was something I could
understand. A lot of people probably said they wanted to sell their
souls after drinking Hoolihan's poisonous liquor.
"And you really think I'd sell you my soul?" I asked him.
"You certainly expressed the sentiment."
"If ice demons show up every time someone says that, you must be busy as
hell."
"Someone from my company always checks to see if the potential
customer means it."
"Do you get salesmanship awards? Work on a commission basis? Are there
promotions in Hell?"
Freon winced. "Please. We refer to it as 'H.Q.' If I get enough
contracts signed, I can get promoted to fire demon. It's warmer, and
there's less chance of a client thinking I'm just the DT's."
"Ever meet the boss?"
He shook his itty-bitty head. "But we're not here to talk about my
job," he said. "We're here to talk about _you_. And the contract."
"Yeah, the contract," I said. I knew about contracts. Watch out for
the fine print. Of course, since the contract he was holding up was
about the size of my thumbnail, this one was _all_ fine print. "Let's
hear about it."
"It's standard issue, you know. The usual terms--we give you seven
years in which we will fulfill your wishes for money, beauty, revenge,
world domination, a new car... whatever. At the end of that time, we
claim your mortal soul."
"I'm half-witch, half-elf. I don't _have_ a mortal soul."
He grinned a tiny grin. "A technicality. You have a soul. We'll take
it, we're not fussy."
"In return for...?"
"Your wish for 'real action', however you may care to define that, will
be fulfilled."
"You don't know what real action is?"
"I know what I would consider it to be, but I do not know what your
personal definition might be."
"Really?" This required some thought. I thought I saw a way of
satisfying my urge without selling my soul, but I'd better be careful.
When dealing with the devil, or even a pint-sized ice demon, it was easy
to slip. Mom would whup my ass if I sold my soul, no matter how old I
was.
"Really," Freon nodded. "Can you explain so that I can fill out the
blank parts of the contract accordingly?"
I was thinking fast. "Look," I said, "I can't explain, but I can _show_
you. One demonstration of 'real action' so that you can write it down.
All you have to do is come with me and keep your eyes open."
"Hm..." Freon scratched his bald little head and some teeny ice chips
flew off. "That doesn't sound like a _bad_ idea..."
"One question. Can you... enlarge yourself?" I realised I was staring
at his crotch again. "I mean, get bigger? Uh--make yourself
human-sized all over?"
"Yes, certainly, if need be."
"Great. Don't just yet--wait til I tell you."
"Very well." He carefully folded up the tiny contract and put it back
into his cute little briefcase. "I shall accompany you in this form
until that time."
"How?"
He flapped those pretty wings. "These are functional."
"What else is?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing. Sure you won't get tired? You can ride in my pocket."
He drew himself up to his whole five inches. "Madame, I am an ice
demon. I do not have mortal limitations. Besides, I can't ride in your
pocket, I might melt."
"Well, we can't have that, can we?" I paid Hoolihan some money,
possibly Greek drachmas, or maybe Federation credits. It was all one to
him. I turned to my bitty demon. "C'mon, short and chilly. Let's go
where the action is."
I walked and he flapped out of the bar, passing a naiad-vampire hybrid,
a punk teenage vampire in a leather jacket and torn jeans, and their
charming vampire child, a kid with a SuperSoaker full of bloodwine.
It was going to be one of _those_ nights.
I was glad I was leaving. With that crowd; space-time anomalies, evil
twins, disappearing rooms, walls that walked, and the end of the
universe couldn't be far behind.
Freon flapped frostily just above my shoulder as I left the bar.
Hoolihan's disappeared behind me, but I wasn't worried about it. I
could always find it, or some other similar watering hole, when I needed
a drink. I had to wear a hat over my pointy ears and shades over my
slanty eyes so as not to freak the mundanes on the street. No one else
could see Freon, apparently, so I didn't have to worry about him.
We went back to my place. It's not much, being a flat above a store
that sells herbal remedies and sometimes defines that a little too
loosely for the drug enforcement cops. I never quite know when my
landlord is going to get raided, so I'm careful with some of the plants
Mom gives me. It's not even the pot or the opium poppies, but the
deadly nightshade and monkshood that worry me...
But back to Freon. He took a little recon flight around the flat, tiny
wings leaving a fog trail behind him. Since my decor is Late Mid
Eclectic, there was lots for him to look at.
Finally he came back and buzzed around my head. "is this where the
'real action' is?" he asked, looking a little puzzled.
"It will be. Remember, this is just a demonstration. This isn't a
commitment on my part to sell my soul."
"That is perfectly understood," he huffed.
"Then make yourself human-sized," I suggested.
He did, so quickly that I was a little stunned. Then I had a good
look-see and was stunned all over again. We are talking major hunk
here. Okay, so he was bald and had horns and hooves and the cutest long
tail with a barbed tip; but when an otherwise perfect specimen of
masculinity is presented to me, I'm willing to overlook a couple of
design flaws. Those beautiful crystal wings were folded around him like
a transparent cloak. Suddenly wondering about other parts, I checked.
Yup, that was man-sized now, too.
I moved to the CD player and put on some music. Soft stuff, nothing
head-banging and certainly not rap. Then I turned the lights down and
ducked into my bedroom, where I slipped into something a little more
discomfiting.
"Erm." Freon's breath came as a startled mist when he saw me come out
in that slinky sheer dress that my baby sister normal gave me last
Beltane. Or maybe it was Lughnasdag. I was also wearing some perfume
called "Kumm En Geddid", a gift from another sibling, my brother
Intercourse. It was nice to have a family that encouraged one's little
hobbies.
"Do you know how to dance?" I whispered in his ear. I'd have tickled
it with my tongue, but was afraid of having it freeze there. That would
decidedly spoil the mood. Besides, it'd hurt.
"Erm." The poor little--er--big dickens was looking like he'd rather
be back at HQ.
I took him in my arms, not too tight, just enough to let him know he was
being held. He was a bit chilly to the touch, but I wasn't getting
frostbite. He didn't seem to quite know what to do with his wings, and
ended up furling them around both of us, which was kind of romantic.
"Is _this_ 'real action'?" he asked. He was steaming a little around
the edges.
"Gettin' there," I told him.
I managed to shed the slinky dress--no easy task while being held by
those wings, let me tell you--and was down to my sexy underwear. Freon
was beginning to get the idea, or at least parts of him were. He was
kissing me and generally checking things out. This Jack Frost wasn't
nipping at my nose.
So I nudged him towards the bedroom, where I quickly got rid of what
little clothing I had left. I'll have to remember that things go a lot
faster when the guy is already naked.
Well, yeah, it was a little like cuddling up to a glacier, but it felt
good. He wasn't so cold that I was in danger of hypothermia, and he was
pretty eager. The damn wings and his tail kept getting in the way
until he figured out how to control them, but after that things went
pretty smoothly. It was a little like doing it with an icicle, mind
you...
About the time it felt like an ice cube had gone nova between my legs, I
noticed that there was a lot less of Freon. The wings had already slid
off. My sheets were all wet.
He looked at me with those frozen white eyes, the original cold stare.
"This is going to get me in trouble!" he gasped. "I didn't even get
your soul in return!"
"You wanted to see real action," I told him. "This is it, Frosty. What
can I say--I'm hot."
"You sure arrrrrrrrr...." he said as his face turned into a puddle.
He was kind of a classy demon, after all. He didn't go for the cheap,
obvious line.
"Tell the boss down at HQ not to mess with Amity Gotobed's little girl
Denver!" I shouted as Freon disappeared completely.
Hey, I was pretty proud of myself. I had beaten the demon from the
glass and had great sex. Mom would sure be pleased...
Except I'm not sure how she's going to take my _other_ news.
Here's the kicker, and the price I paid for dealing with the devil:
I'm pregnant.
______________
The End.
2,676 words