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Demons probably don’t share their names. Some tidbit of trivia rattles in my brain about being able to summon a demon once you know their name—though that could just be false pop culture references I’d ingested.
My anxious thoughts end as a fluttering, light sensation dances through my middle. Excitement perhaps. And not mine.
My name is Barbas, madam.
Barbas. Barbas. Odd name. But not as odd as I expected for a demon, anyhow.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, willing my eyes to see through me and to him. But as hard as I try, it’s just my face in the mirror. I don’t even see a hint of the ghostly horns like before.
I’d looked them up last night, the horns, while waiting for him—Barbas—to return. His slender and twisting horns resembled a type of antelope called kudu.
“Why can’t I see you like last night?” I ask, touching the spot on my forehead the horns had been.
Your ward dealt me severe psychic damage. Seeing an apparition of me is likely a function of the ward. A second layer of protection, if you will.
Yeah. I could see that being a pretty effective warning that something was up. I quickly finish getting myself ready, grab a banana from the kitchen, and head to my car, where I continue interrogating the demon in my head.
“So, weren’t there more of you? Four, I think,” I ask, pulling out of my spot and heading toward the hospital.
Yes. There are four of us. We thought it best to take introductions slowly at first.
I glance at myself in the mirror, pretending I’m looking at Barbas and that he can see me, when it occurs to me to simply ask. “Can you see me right now? Can you see through my eyes?”
I cannot, madam. I can only peer through your senses when you give up control.
I take a moment to let that settle in my brain. “So you’re, like, floating in my head in complete darkness?” That sounds awful. We’ll have to work out a different arrangement if that is the case.
A rush of warmth fills me, like a tight hug in front of a crackling fire on a winter’s night. Cozy and comforting.
While it’s true I can’t see through your eyes, I’m happily ensconced in the folds of your mind, Lily.
Huh. Did that mean he could hear my thoughts? I ask as much as I pull into a parking space at the hospital.
I can only hear projected thoughts. Thoughts you wish to send to me. I do not have access to your stream of consciousness.
God, that was a relief. I couldn’t imagine someone trying to wade through that mess.
“OK, then, does that mean I don’t have to speak out loud to you?”
Thinking to me with intention is all that’s required.
Ah. Good to know. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to juggling speaking to him in public settings. I test it out on the way to my mother’s hospital room.
Like this? Is this right?I think extra hard and loudly.
There’s no need to try so hard. Speak to me in your mind the way you would with your voice.
Oh.
Yes, that’s better. Less yell-y.
I smile at Barbas’s tone, but the charge nurse I nod to thinks it’s for her and gives me a half smile back as I enter my mom’s room.
My dad hunches over her bed, his hand wrapped around hers, gaze locked on her slowly rising chest.
“Hey,” I whisper, not daring to look directly at my mom yet.
It’s best not to put such things off. The mind only makes it that much harder.
