The door was closing when I felt my left ear twitch.
I paused for a moment, as I'd trained myself to do. Was there something that had slipped my mind?
For fuck's sake, I had unplugged my earbuds case from the charger, but I hadn't put it in my pocket when I headed downstairs.
*Prick,* I thought at my brain.
A deliberate, arrogant pause prefaced the somber reply. *I live to serve, oh "Chosen One."*
I stopped myself from opening the door to exit my Baltimore rowhouse. Without a word, I did an about-face and climbed up the stairs. Asbiel, or as I referred to him, "Assie," had done the bare minimum we required of each other, in the many months since I had touched the cursed coin.
And I wished I could afford a trip to Chicago.
Hey there. My name's Jay Cohen. I'm the Chosen One.
Oh, don't get worked up. Being the Chosen One is a fucking stupid constant pain in my balls.. And it means, and let me be specific here, JACK SHIT.
Okay, so let's get you past the Big False Idea: MAGIC IS REAL. Faeries and curses and cantrips and potions and everything this side of the Force? It's about as common as fish fur, but it actually is real. Seriously. I learned how to concentrate, throw my mental energy, and start an uncontrollable blaze!
AND…
I melted a cheap 18 inch tall metal trash can and almost passed out in my backyard. I had been TRYING to set the paper inside gently ablaze, but it hadn't worked according to plan. I awoke after a few moments with a three day migraine that took my "magic" Happy Fun Pills to achieve functionality.
Yep. That's magic for you. "Hi, you there? With the fucked up life? If you, personally, figure out the mechanics to launch something into orbit from your backyard, it'll kill you!"
But then again, I'm the Chosen One.
The explanation relates to my last name. Have you ever heard that me and my Jewish brethren are G-d's Chosen People? I mean, if you discount the supposed deicide, blood libel, Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust…
In Judaism there's a fucking "holiday" to recall how epically we've been shit on during recorded history. Tisha B'Av. You're specifically mourning all the people who died because they identified as Jewish, and followed those religious tenets, and people hated us.
Not that this priest pays attention.
Yeah, Cohen translates as "Priest" from the transliterated "Cohain". I have checked, since my families on both sides have extensive genealogy records. As far back as I know, I'm 100% descended from the Priest sect of the Levite tribe of Judaism. I was further bar-mitzvahed at Beth Israel Temple in Maryland, just before I quit Judaism.
*Stop dancing around it, "Squire".*
I recalled cleaning up dogshit while I was a teenager, working for a veterinarian. My gag reflex pulsed. Asbiel shut up.
*FINE.*
Okay, here's my situation. If you are still interested in buying Jay's Discount Bulk Manure, you also may be familiar with the Knights of the Blackened Denarius. The supposed 30 pieces of silver sold to Judas Escariot, to betray the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ of Nazareth to the Romans, and ensure his death by crucifixion? That each of those coins is linked to an incredibly potent Fallen Angel, which offers all its knowledge, skills, and powers in order to manipulate and control its host?
Yeah, Satan had PLENTY more Fallen Angels. SCORES. And there were a lot of coins passed around then. You've heard that the Jewish people asked for the freedom of Barrabas? We were supposedly to blame for deicide for the better part of a couple of millennia, by telling a lot of that crowd to not care. Not caring meant not supporting God's Son for his release, which was supposedly THE PLAN ALL ALONG.
We Jewish folk can also thank the Squires of the Tarnished Shekel.
Oh, there's a REASON it sounds less impressive than the "Knights of the Blackened Denarius." You see, that Rebellion against God, where Lucifer Fell, and all Fell with Him? Not quite as simple.
There were at least fivescore of the Host, who looked at The One and The Other and went, "Meh."
And guess who's in my Coin?
Asbiel and his buddies looked at Lucifer, who wanted to tear down all of Creation for the perceived slights against him by God.
They looked at Yahweh, who'd casually killed all people on Earth and was generally a bloodthirsty, capricious prick before he settled down and had a family, with another man's wife...but I digress.
Yeah, this crew didn't see any advantage doing anything to help either side. They weren't Watchers or Warriors so much as indifferent. And Yahweh wasn't a forgiving creator. One Falls, EVERYBODY FALLS.
Lucifer also found little use for ambivalence. And much like the 30 were pressed into service, tho 90 were exiled and forgotten, linked to useless prophecy to minimize their ability to influence the Mortal Plane.
Now guess who was briefly married to a very nice lady from Israel? One who sent him a recently unearthed Roman era coin, as a thinking-of-you gift.
*Fuck you too, Jay. If I could be gone, I would.*
Phone in hand, I paused at the steel door that blocked my way to the graffitied street, where my 9 year old car waited to run my measly errands. Before unlocking it, or even opening it, I rapped my forehead against it sullenly and sharply, three times. I knew how hard to tap my head, enough to cause discomfort, but not enough to debilitate me. At age 46, I was concussion-free, to the best of my knowledge. Smacking my head against the wall hurt me, but Assie felt it too.
And he wasn't as comfortable with pain as I was.
So, you're asking, how do we know Jay's not a paranoid schizophrenic, or suffers from DID?
Well, first, I don't hear "voices." I hear a Voice. And it's the same obnoxious, snotty, arrogant voice that reminds me of an androgynous British person doing a parody of Stewie Griffin.
Secondly, he literally woke up from a 2000 year old nap by yelling in my ear to take a goddamn drink of poppy-laced wine. After gibbering madly in Latin for ten seconds, mind you, at the very moment my skin touched my souvenir.
I have mental issues aplenty. Hallucinations have NEVER been among them.
Finally, he's proved it, by being just this side of useless, and knowing stuff I couldn't.
Assie is psychometric. When the Coin touches something, Assie suddenly understands everything about it. Apparently, I was supposed to have an innate talent for it. Neither of us is particularly interested in pursuing more lessons right now, see above "melted trash can."
So, Asbiel and his colleagues were unceremoniously dumped into the mortal plane, with some of the same benefits of the Blackened Denarius. Extended lifespan for mortal hosts, potential immunity from certain poisons or plagues, and a Voice that wants to manipulate you into Working For It.
Except…
This WASN'T the Infernal answer to the A-team. They were NOT the most powerful, the most fearsome. They weren't the Injustice League, or the Evil League of Evil. Bad Horse would pass on these powerless jokes.
Because unlike the crafty, powerful beings trapped in a Blackened Denarius, these twerps were pretty much left with the intention that they be useless.
So when I was holding my phone and pulling the coin out of the plastic, I dropped both the phone and coin out of startled shock when Asbiel awoke. I'd been planning to selfie with it, and send the pic overseas. And this reject from the Vatican archives took a few to get oriented.
First, he was awake, and finally linked to another mortal. And he'd never liked experiencing mortal pain. He could look through my eyes, and knew he wasn't in Judea any more. Psychometrically connected to me, he experienced my entire existence up to that point.
That's a LOT of pain for a being unexpecting of it. Psychometry is reading OBJECTS, but for the first time in centuries, Asbiel read a Person.
And then the Coin fell on my phone, and the phone died, and then a pompous voice wasn't demanding poppy juice, but Excedrin. When he landed on the phone, well, he drained it of electricity, inspected it top to bottom until he knew how modern tech worked, figured out the linguistics, and after ten seconds we were linked and speaking.
And now, the Coin followed me around like a yo-yo. No matter what I did, where I dropped it, who I gave it to, it just kept ending up back with me. Nobody notices it, pays attention, and it's almost an albatross, except a bit less seabird flavoured. And it weighs less.
My neck cracked as I sat down in my car. I plugged my phone in and hung it from my rear-view mirror, turning on a classic rock radio station. I'm a mentally disturbed, disabled, retired, demonically possessed, literally accursed Baltimorean atheist priest, running errands during a pandemic.
Fun Times.
The car bounced over the rough pavement as I drove towards My Destiny. This time, it was a kosher supermarket. I'd gotten a gift card ages ago, and even if I didn't practice Judaism, food is food and groceries are groceries. The map gave me directions to kicking me off the highway 2 exits earlier than usual.
Magic can be really cool, don't get me wrong. Asbiel let me experience some of the memories he had of ancient sorcery, and every once in a blue moon, I would Read an object. Linking with him had refreshed some old half-memories of childhood, and me being attached to or repulsed by things.
One of the other things I got exploited for by Voldemother. A narcissistic manipulative sociopath is not necessarily the best candidate for single motherhood, let alone twice, not that Dad was a treasure either. But when I was taken to the shrink in second grade for acting out in class, I wasn't properly treated for my ADHD. Mom thought she needed the pills more.
This is what we call a "pattern of behavior." The pattern is, "how can I exploit the people around me?" And we kids were around Mom a lot.
Magic usually awakens around the onset of puberty. I was reading about it, trying to learn how to focus it, wondering if there was anything behind a couple of my...quirks, I will generously refer to them.
Asbiel snorted. How he did that so well, even without a nose or lungs, annoyed me even more.
Okay, yeah, I was undiagnosed as autistic until 2019, and I've recently fully embraced my inner and exterior weirdos. At least, I'm no longer apologizing or pretending like I'm ever going to approach "normal." But again, Voldemother used that course of study against me, so my magic research and weird behaviors were used as an excuse to have me involuntarily committed for the summer before I started high school. This was an issue of control, and I was more pliable upon release. A shattered vase gets through carry-on in a much smaller container, after all!
While at the market, I browsed for groceries that I could buy that fit my odd personal criteria. I also recalled an old used bookstore nearby recommended by a fellow Paranetter, looking for a first-print conspiracy theory bible book. I needed a used copy.
This book was over the top loco, the man trying to link every biblical prophecy he could into a semi coherent plot line from the Garden of Eden to End Times, which was, according to him, my 58th birthday. Yep, the World Ends on May 23rd, 2032. At 4:20 Eastern. The pdf of the self-published finished work was available online for free.
The problem with the first edition was that My Unmedicated Author friend had cited some info on the Dead Sea Scrolls that was not incorrect, but it also wasn't published, common, or even available to the normal general public at the time of publication. And it was about prophecy.
One or another archaeological institution that was well funded enough to litigate about 3900 copies of that first print to be recycled in advance, but the author had some promotional copies, and had managed to slip a hundred or so past a warehouse manager. A Texan Southern Baptist warehouse manager. Who took his wife on an expensive dinner around the time those books disappeared.
Jussayin'.
Magic can be cool, but I had shied away from it after my release from incarceration. If I had known then a tenth of what I knew now, I would have called 911 and filed for emancipation at age 14. So, this means I was limited to whatever flashes my scarred psyche would allow me to touch. Right now, and Asbiel swore he wasn't behind it, I would just Read things at random, about two times a day on average. He would, on occasion, join me in exploring specific parts of a Reading, with a lot of wheedling on both of our parts. However, my first magic lesson had gotten a couple of pyro jokes and accusations from my neighbor next door. I was able to BS it as an accident trying to deep-fry a turkey.
Magic has downsides beyond being difficult and dangerous. It also usually kills mortal tech, depending on how strong your magical aura ranges around you. One of my long-dead careers had been in tech support, ironically.
There's a loophole, though. I'm not a mortal practitioner. Using an enchanted object isn't against any of the Laws of Magic, so I'm not using my own magic, but rather the power that flows through the Coin. Asbiel isn't mortal. So until I was actually powering and using enough of the magic myself, with intention to do so, and not focusing through the coin at all, my aura was as flat as the next muggle.
Of course, nobody in their right mind would admit to being linked to a fallen Angel, even a benchwarmer. I hadn't heard about Denarians enjoying a happy retirement package. You didn't usually hear good things about actually Cursed Objects.
This also means that if you see someone who looks mortal and they're really psyched about CES, and something Truly Weird happens, it wasn't mortal magic anymore. It could be a Sidhe lord under a Glamour, maybe a vampire in disguise, or something Really Bad. Again, see above, "Knights."
45 minutes after exiting Seven Mile, I pulled into the used bookstore's lot. I spent a moment sneering at the '88 Camry, and the snotty witch I knew who was stuck driving the wreck. She had power, but she was a lousy person and I knew she paid a lot keeping that old beast running. Always had the dumbest phone possible, and never powered it on.
I felt bad for her kid. I saw a lot of similarities between his mom and mine.
Bobbie and I glared at each other out of the corners of our eyes while pretending to ignore each other. Pikesville was a good place to get non-christian religious paraphernalia, and she was apparently getting some used Judaica. Trying to avoid contact with her was a bad idea, because I tripped on the door frame and bumped her as I walked in the store.
"Watch yourself, Cohen!" she barked.
"Nah, don't need a watch anymore. Just use my phone as a clock." I bowed obsequiously, mocking her with every motion of my clumsy frame. "Please, oh Witch of Anne Arundel, have mercy on this impertinent mortal klutz. I can't think of more than, oh, SEVEN or so reasons, why you still put up with me."
The light blue eyes narrowed over the mask that hid her thin lips. Bobbie was good with auras and energy. This also gave her skills at mental magic, curses, and healing. Bobbie's temperament for healing had the bedside manner of a Hospital Department Head who hasn't dealt with a patient in 20 years. And curses are usually obnoxious, but generally harmless. Placing and removing curses was her main supplemental income.
So, if you yourself ever experience sorcery, I bet you're gonna be a bit freaked. And you're gonna hit the internet, wondering if you're cracking up. Dig deeper than the self-diagnosis psyche tests,and spend a couple more hours digging through some weird search parameters, and then the Paranet becomes available. Like every computer forum, there's a pinned post about the rules at the top. I don't know if it was magic or javascript, but some forums made you click on each Law, read, accept, and initial, each law before you could even see anything else.
Mental Magic was two of Seven Laws. Enthralling, in other words, controlling, was one. Invading, or mind reading was the other. Apparently, it's much less "Professor X" and more "brain blender biofeedback" when actually getting into somebody else's head, if you try to explore that branch of the Arts. For both humans on the link.
Sometimes Paranet pages had names of people who had tested the very boundaries of the Laws, along with their birth and death dates, with the law they'd been suspected of breaking. Most were just disappearances. The rest were either missing their head, missing their body, or doing a great impression of Robin Williams in Baron Munchausen.
Very few people knew who enforced the Laws. It wasn't well understood for people on our end of the powered bell curve. The more power, the less tech you could use, and the fewer answers that made it to us. It was just clear that words like "Warden" and "Council" and "Lawbreaker" were excellent words to end a party..
The clerk behind the counter finally noticed me. I am freely admitting, Bobbie's better looking than me, so the very frum man handed her bagged items with extra attention. "Here you go, Miss Harper. Look forward to seeing you again soon."
"Thank you, Avram." She grabbed her bag and paused to look down her nose at me."EXCUSE me, please," she sneered with great exaggeration.
"Todah rabah, babycakes!" She already thought I was a chauvinist. I'm not. I'm just petty with people I actively dislike. I made a point of holding the door in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion.
Almost imperceptibly, I heard *It's beyond me why you're single. Such a suave, debonair performance.*
"Asshole," I mumbled.
Avram, already unhappy that I had chased out the pretty customer, focused all of his attention on me. "Language!" he said sharply, with a slight yiddish accent, "Mister Cohen, is it? What can I do for you on this fine Erev Shabbos?"
"Yeah, thanks, I'm looking for a specific book about comparative religion. It's in English. ONLY English."
He pointed me past the children's section to the very small area where a mess of disorganized tomes awaited. Not that I personally cared, but I hadn't understood a lot of Jewish scholars to be actively practicing Orthodox Judaism AND also be interested in what the Christians and Islamic communities and their minutiae. Until I had been forced to accept the idea of Creation and Power as fact rather than mythology, I'd been a contented atheist. You wanna worship Christ? Allah? Odin? The Flying Spaghetti Monster? Go for broke, but leave me alone. Now I was researching one of my least favorite topics.
Twenty minutes later, I found the battered copy, barely holding together with its front cover missing. I pulled out my phone and compared the info on the publication page with the info from the Paranet's web link.
Sonofabitch. I'd found it.
*You understand, I'm not helping you with this. It's beneath me."
I started to remember something vile just to piss him off, but I didn't want to let Assie get me irritated. This was a win. I just started back towards the clerk.
The man took my potential purchase, eyeing it with disdain. "Mister Cohen, such a pleasure." He emphasized my name as he dropped my battered tome into a plastic bag. "I don't appreciate you being difficult to my customers."
I eyed him back. I've heard about a soulgaze, but nobody I knew with enough power ever met my gaze, and I sure didn't qualify. I'm good at a disdainful glare. "Yeah,you like the pretty young shikse. Good for you. But I know her. I've spent time with her. Verkakte doesn't start to cover it." I slid my card through the reader and gestured for my bag.
Avram looked at me with a pitying expression. "Oy, you're a bitter soul. I'll pray for you."
*Dumbass.*
I wasn't loud or emotional any more. I was quiet, angry, triggered, and forcefully commanding. "No, Avram. You will not pray for me. And you know exactly why. Do you need me to tell you?"
"Oh, sure. This one I'll take home and we'll discuss it after the candles are lit." I recalled the antisemitic tropes about greedy shopkeepers.
"That's fine," I replied. "I'm cool with a conversation about me. But a monologue in a language I don't understand to a deity who ain't listening?" I smiled. Big and bright, showing my lost teeth from the childhood accident...to the mask. But I was obviously smiling behind the cloth face covering.
"Avram. You and I both know that in the Talmud, it is stated that my right to not practice Judaism is as important as yours. It's not even in the subtext. It's stated. Flat out. It. Is. EXPLICIT. Everything that revolves around Judaism and my life is mine to choose, and mine alone. And if you take that away from me by praying for a man who has told you that the Rules state you shouldn't, well, I guess you're just aiming for a 612 at the best."
He harrumphed. I was betting the 613 dig was particularly irritating for him. "Very well. But do you know where and why it says that?"
"I don't need to. That's your concern. Mine is my book and my receipt." I held out my hand for the slip of machine-printed paper.
"Shabbat Shalom. Come back soon..,meshuggener." The last word was barely audible.
Yeah, well, fuck you too, Avi.
As I drove away, I was recalling a standup comedy bit from the 80's, the guy pretending that the schizophrenic voices in his head were LITERALLY God, and the psyche patient was trying to defy His Commands.
Years later, I heard a theory that maybe God chooses psyche patients, because a "sane" brain will filter messages in a way He doesn't want.
I'd lost God, after well, you know, LIFE. By age nine, I was merely going through the motions, and by age 14 Voldemother no longer attempted to force my religious participation. But mental health issues can be genetic in origin.
That's right, I believed mental health was a divine conspiracy theory about communication with Celestial entities.
Why not? I thought that God was an asshole (if he existed), before I Coined up. This priest was on his way to pick up his psyche meds. What does it matter if people suffer with depression and anxiety, as long as the charismatic guy tells everyone how many shekels to sell your daughter for after she's raped by a bronze age goatherder.
*Or it could be just random chance. DNA is complicated, and you hairless monkeys had some weird ancestors."
"But isn't random chance also part of his Divine fucking Plan? You know I love pointing out to obnoxiously faithful people that there's a spot in said Plan for us unbelievers.*
Asbiel hesitated, then replied, *It is, and it isn't. 'The mortals have free will but there's destiny and prophecy and it all works out exactly the way I want.'* He paused. *Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing Metatron, but it doesn't translate well from the Celestial tongue, and it's all paradoxically true, in a Heisenbergesque way.*
*Never mind. I don't have enough care right now.*
I found irony that the moment when all of my thoughts drifting to my genetic mental health was as I pulled into the Target lot to pick up my psychiatric medications.
