Melvin & Morgan vs. the Demon

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"Bait?"

"Naturally, darling. After all, who could refuse the best ass on the planet?"

"No," Melvin said, shaking his head as realization dawned on him. "Oh, no, no, no."

"You're going to use Salma Hayek as bait?" Lizzie asked in an exasperated voice, her eyes as wide as softballs.

Morgan threw an evil look in her direction and said, "No, you silly bitch! I'm talking about ME!"

For the first time since the demon incident, Lizzie found herself laughing.

4. The Priest

Eric MacMuffin closed his eyes, allowing Bach's music to work its magic, flowing around him and invading him, not as a parasite but as a welcome companion by the fire's warm glow. The Bible, opened and waiting in front of him, often affected Eric in a similar way, both experiences spiritual and powerful and cleansing for the soul. And yet the priesthood often was to Eric merely his way of life. Many years of the bureaucracy that taints any organization had deadened Eric's high religious aspirations; music had become his passion and comfort when the hypocritical actions of the other priests and pseudo-pious congregational members deluded him.

"Do you believe in demons?" a familiar voice said behind him. Startled, Eric almost fell out of his chair, but the initial reaction of uprooted annoyance quickly dissipated when he found himself standing and facing his brother.

"Melvin!" he cried and threw his arms around Melvin's slim shoulders. Melvin returned the embrace with one of his own; it had been too long. But how could he explain a marriage to an authentic, real-life witch? Eric was his brother, yes, but he was also a man of the cloth. Melvin knew that Eric would stand by him no matter what the circumstance, but he also didn't want to place is brother in a situation that was awkward at best.

"So do you ever take that thing off?" Melvin said, brushing away his thoughts and motioning towards Eric's white collar.

"I just like to wear it when I'm reading the Bible, you know, remind me of who I am," Eric said and laughed, clapping Melvin on the back in a brotherly fashion. Eric's light brown eyes gleamed in the firelight, and Melvin geared himself up for what needed to be done. He figured there was no point in beating around the bush.

"Eric, I... we need your help," Melvin said. Eric's features grew serious. Bach's concerto rose to climatic heights around them; violin strings cut violent intonations like invisible blades through the room. Melvin could feel them thrumming through his heart.

"Do you believe in demons?" he repeated.

The music soared; the fire crackled; and the Bible sat silent and unread on the desk.

5. The Plan

Morgan was dressed to kill. Normally, she wore black as classic and dark and dangerous suited her typical taste, but tonight, a slinky red dress clung to her curves and struggled to keep her impressive cleavage at bay. Melvin could barely keep himself from drooling, and Lizzie didn't blame him. The dress had caused an unforeseen effect to her saliva glands as well, and she found herself swallowing more than usual.

The two of them, Lizzie and Melvin, hung back in a corner, pretending to be just another one of the hormonal young couples in the bar. Melvin wondered if he should paw at Elizabeth's breasts a bit, just to fit in more, but decided against it. There was always the chance one could take a role too far.

Melvin held his cell phone against his ear. He could feel the electric hum of magic pulsing inside of it. Morgan had cast a spell on the phone, so that he could hear her thoughts as well as transmit directly into her mind by speaking into it. It was enough to make James Bond green with envy, and Melvin had to admit, he felt a little like Q while Morgan got to play the part of the intrepid spy.

"Does she see him?" Morgan's thought buzzed through the receiver. Next to him, Lizzie shook her head in the negative, her eyes scanning the chaotic groupings on the dance floor.

"No," Melvin said into the phone. For a moment, only thin static crackled in his ear.

"Is your brother up for this?"

"Let's hope so," Melvin said. "The typical Catholic priest is not trained in the ways of banishing demons or keen on assisting witches, but he's at the apartment and he's going to help us however he can."

"I know. If he's your brother, I'm sure he won't let us down. I'm just nervous about all of this," Morgan thought.

"No kidding. I don't like this whole using you as bait thing. Why can't we..."

"There he is. Same fucking black t-shirt," Lizzie interrupted, sitting up in her chair. Her entire body tensed, every muscle pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Melvin's eyes followed her gaze.

A tall, muscular and attractive man looped through the crowd. His hair was a nest of black curls; his jaw was square and set. He looked like someone who had stumbled out of a daytime soap and into the real world. Or maybe he just looked like someone out of the Real Word on MTV; either way, he looked like something created for television or film and not meant for social interaction with the commoners of the outside world. Melvin immediately distrusted him and would have even if he'd never heard Elizabeth's story.

"He's here. To your left. Heading towards the bar," Melvin said into the phone, his voice trembling with anxiety.

"Keep your cool, babe. He'll come to me. If this is really our man then smelling out witches is his forte," Morgan thought, her voice echoing through the phone and sounding just as excited as Melvin felt anxious.

"Do I know you?" Arthur's voice came from her left as if in response to Morgan's last statement. Morgan turned. His eyes were on her, scanning her. Morgan saw the wheels behind his eyes turning and trying to place her, searching ancient memories, but Morgan cut off these thoughts with a dazzling smile, one guaranteed to turn men's thoughts to only one thing. She hoped to patent this smile at some point and make a fortune.

"Don't think so. I'm sure I'd remember making the acquaintance of someone of your..." she looked him up and down, before finishing, "... stature."

The man (demon), Arthur, gave her an uncertain laugh and said, "Stature?"

"Yeah," Morgan said and sipped from her drink, finishing it off with a wet smack of her lips. She swirled the glass; ice musically clinked in response.

"Can I get you another?" the man asked. Morgan smiled, thinking how easy some things came to her. She had him. Still, something in his smile told her that dear Arthur was not totally at ease with the situation.

"Why not?" she said and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar and arching her back ever so subtly. She glanced towards the bartender, making a show of trying to get his attention to allow Arthur the freedom to check her out without fear of repercussion.

"He's staring at your ass," Melvin's voice buzzed in her head. He didn't sound happy. Morgan made sure she didn't send any of the mental laughter in her head through the magic cell phone in Melvin's hands, but it was a hard task. She so loved to taunt him.

"No shit," she thought back. "Told you, best ass on the planet."

Elizabeth snatched the cell phone out of Melvin's hands and snapped, "That's still debatable!"

"Honey, Salma's got nothin' on this a..."

"Here you are," Arthur said, breaking off her thought, a glass in his hand and outstretched towards Morgan in offering. She took it with a sly smile before raising it in a mock toast.

"To tall and dark strangers, especially those who buy me drinks," Morgan said and threw the drink back with a toss of her head. Arthur flashed a strange grin at her, though this grin seemed less twisted with suspicion than his previous one. Morgan knew that even demons were not entirely immune to her charms, a definite advantage of the female sex.

"Are you sure we've never met?" he said.

"Maybe in another lifetime, babe. Maybe in another lifetime," she taunted. She traced one finger down the neckline of her dress, manipulating Arthur's eyes and thoughts to her impressive cleavage before he could think too deeply on her response. Her hardening nipples poked the fabric of her dress like miniature mountain tops.

"I'm Art," the man (demon) burst in a sudden voice, forcing his attention off her breasts and looking into her eyes. He held out his hand.

She took it and replied, "Morgan."

"I'm going to reel him in," Morgan's thought announced through the cell phone in Elizabeth's hand. Lizzie and Melvin exchanged glances.

"So, Arthur," Morgan said, her disarming smile cranked up to its full effect, "Do you dance?"

***

The demon smiled as the witch's body brushed against him, sending electric tingles of desire pulsing through his body. He found himself lusting after her against his better judgment. Witches were such sexual creatures; in life, he believed them to be the whores of Satan. Death and a subsequent face-to-face with the Dark Lord, himself, had since taught the demon better, but he thought that they were whores all the same. Witches may have nothing to do with Satan, but they sure enjoyed a good fuck.

The Dark Lord, however, claimed that witches were not whores; they were merely in tune with their own sexuality as all immortal or ancient creatures are. The demon believed this to be a lie; after all, the Dark Lord was also the King of Lies. In his own defense, the Dark Lord claimed that THIS was a lie and that he was NOT the King of Lies. The world was afraid of the Dark Lord because he only spoke truth, and so the mortals claimed that he told lies to cover up their own fear of truth. The demon merely assumed that this was a lie as well. Better to not think too deeply on such matters, the demon believed.

Then the witch began to grind her firm ass on his crotch, and as his cock lengthened, the demon wondered how he was going to destroy her. He wanted to take his time with this particular specimen; she was something special. He could feel her power emanating off her body, that tight and lithe body, in nauseating waves. Maybe he could take her from behind and impale her; drive his cock through her and up and out her skull and turn her into a witch-ka-bob. But he decided against it. No, he wanted to do something new for this witch. He would do something new and special; he would remember her death for eternity once all of them, all of witch-kind, were exterminated to extinction.

The witch twisted to glare at him, her face flushed with a smoldering look, and she said, "Wanna get out of here?"

"Oh, yes," the demon said. He could hardly wait, imagining the taste of her blood.

***

Elizabeth and Melvin watched them leave together and then followed in Melvin's car, taking care to not get too close to be noticed. They knew where the demon and Morgan were headed anyway; so they felt no need to stay within sight, except for Melvin's anxiety that something might happen to Morgan. He wanted to keep her safely in view, but with Elizabeth's persuasive arguments (to not startle their quarry) repeating through his mind, Melvin kept far enough away so that the demon's vehicle was not much more than a pair of bright red brake-lights glaring through his windshield like angry eyes.

"How're you holding up?" Lizzie said, twisting her neck to face Melvin. He sighed, straightened his glasses and searched for the words. Upon finding them, they burst out of his mouth like steam billowing from a boiling tea kettle, a white hot stream of pent-up frustration.

"I've been kinda pissed since first seeing her in that red dress. I don't like this whole set-up. This plan has more holes in it than a French brothel," he paused. "I can't wait for this whole thing to be over. I mean, what is with this shit? Witch-hating demons and exploding heads and what-the-fuck-ever," he said, sputtering through the sentences like an old truck before finally breaking down.

"Yeah, I can't wait for this to be over, either. I keep hearing Amy's voice in my head," Lizzie replied, tears sneaking into her eyes, betraying her hidden emotion.

"All I want to do is shut her up," she said, and her voice trembled.

6. The Demon

Once at the apartment, things quickly started getting out of hand. Morgan felt the demon's perverse influence infiltrate her nostrils like a rich perfume. It dizzied her and wormed past her softer inhibitions, awakening some animal hormone buried deep within her subconscious. As powerful as Morgan knew herself to be, she struggled against the demon's power. Morgan understood how Amy, as incompetent at witch-craft as she had been, had fallen so easily into the demon's clutches. Amy hadn't a chance.

Mr. Arthur Williams turned all-hands and hadn't been much more than groping palms and smacking lips since they'd first entered his car. He certainly seemed to enjoy his job.

"Easy there, tiger," Morgan said, breaking away from one of Williams' sloppy kisses.

He responded by throwing her against the wall, pinning her and shoving his tongue down her throat. His scent overwhelming her, Morgan felt something within her break, the first line of defense, and she returned the hard kiss, sucking on his tongue. The demon pulled up her dress, exposing her thighs, her panties, and she let him.

***

Eric MacMuffin sat huddled in the vault-like silence of the bedroom closet, feeling not unlike the walled up corpse of Poe's ill-fated Fortunato. He fought off the threatening throes of claustrophobia, clutching a small, leather-bound book closer to his chest: the Catholic equivalent of The Idiot's Guide to Demons. He'd spent the last few hours cramming as if preparing for a demanding final exam, seeing as how he knew next to nothing about demonology.

Thoughts tumbled about his skull. What the hell was he doing? If it hadn't been for the loyalty and love he had for his brother... but demons and witches and hours locked away in a closet? If he didn't know Melvin better, he might think he was being punk'd. Eric still held some thread of hope that it all was some kind of prank and not the sheer insanity it seemed to be.

He hoped he had the faith to get through it.

***

Morgan stifled a moan as Arthur's fingers caressed her thigh and slipped up under her panties to rub her swollen clit. She fought to maintain control, to keep her last fortifications up against the demon's onslaught. She sucked air between gnashed teeth.

"L... let's go... to the bed," she gasped, pushing Arthur's lips away from her own, a hand on his burly chest.

"Good idea," he said, hunger flashing through his eyes. Morgan led him by the wrist. She felt their potential powers colliding, electric in the air, and she tried not to think about what might happen once those two powers were ignited. Goose bumps pimpled her arms. At the top of the stairs, she pushed open the bedroom door.

"Here we are," she purred, her eyes flickering to the closed closet door. Behind her, Arthur Williams did not notice. Twisting around, Morgan gripped Arthur's arms and swung him onto the bed, the mattress bouncing and bedsprings squeaking under him.

"And now comes the fun part," Williams growled, and Morgan thought she heard the rumble of the demon within him rippling his voice.

"You better believe it," Morgan said and snapped her fingers.

One cue, tendrils of rope wrapped themselves around Arthur Williams' hands and feet like angry boas, squeezing without mercy. Williams screamed, almost more in pain than in outrage: the rope had been sprinkled with holy water and blessed by Eric MacMuffin. It seared the demon's flesh with a sizzling sound as it constricted.

Just then, Morgan heard Melvin's priestly brother burst from the closet and immediately begin shouting in a strange mix of Latin and Aramaic. She supposed the mix was due to the fact one could never tell just how ancient a demon might be or what tongue he might speak. She couldn't concentrate on the words or make them out clearly, but they seemed to have an effect, Morgan's attention held fast by the cursing of Arthur Williams as he transformed into his true shape.

While still moderately man-shaped, the demon was a grotesque parody of anything that might symbolize evil. His serpentine tongue lashed between two sets of long, sharp piranha-like teeth. Beastly horns curved out of his head: black and glistening. Tough, leathery red skin covered the top half of his body before ending abruptly into a set of furry goatish legs. His hoofed feet clacked against the lower bed posts, fighting to free themselves from their bonds. He was unlike any demon Morgan had previously encountered; he was a hodgepodge collection of the images the Puritanical Arthur Williams might have guessed a demon to look like. The irony of this knowledge was not lost on Morgan, and she couldn't stop herself from addressing what might be left of the human who had sent so many innocents to their death.

"Mr. Williams! Look at yourself! Everything you so once despised on Earth, and why? So you can set out on some half-baked notion of revenge? Well, let me tell you something, Mister Man. The jokes on you," Morgan said, and with a blinding flash, she transformed.

At this moment, Melvin and Elizabeth flew through the open bedroom door, stopping and shielding their eyes from the unexpected glare. When Melvin looked, he saw that Morgan did not look like Morgan. She looked like something out of the 18th century, long red hair sweeping down an old-fashioned, sternly conservative gray dress. Green eyes flashed from under the flowing bangs of red on her brow. While Melvin wouldn't have recognized the face of the woman standing before him, he recognized the expression and the undercurrent of building power within her as definitely that of Morgan.

Lizzie whispered something under her breath that Melvin probably would have laughed at if the circumstances had been different and he wasn't so terrified: "Hottie alert."

"YOU!" the demon roared in shocked revulsion. It understood at once, memories flooding back like a surge past a broken dam: before him was the very same witch that had bewitched him and indirectly sent him to the gallows so many years before, when it (he) had still known life and could enter a church without shudders of stabbing pain paralyzing its (his?) body. It also realized that the preacher-man had stopped speaking, so surprised had he been by the witch's transformation.

Taking advantage of this momentary lapse, the demon ripped out of its bonds.

"Oh, fuck," Lizzie said in a cold voice.

Before anyone could think to move, the demon's tail whipped out and knocked Eric through the air and into a tall bedroom mirror. It exploded around him, and he fell to the ground in a shower of blood and glass. The book flew out of his hands, banged against a far wall and thumped uselessly to the ground. He didn't get up.

"Eric!" Melvin cried.

"Whore!" the demon roared at the witch before him.

"Get him!" Morgan returned, and fire blasted out of her extended index finger, thumb up like a child's hand-rendition of a pistol. Lizzie responded with a blast of blue lightening crackling off her fingers and striking the demon's chest.

Morgan had once explained to Melvin that every witch manages her elemental powers in an individual way, an expression of how she believes her power should appear to mortals. Often, witches would choose ways in which to best intimidate their opponents. Morgan used pistol fingers to shoot plumes of hot orange flame; Melvin guessed that Elizabeth had been a big Star Wars fan and modeled her attack after that of the dreaded Emperor.

Melvin used a more conventional method of attack. He withdrew the magnum he'd stuffed down the back of his trousers and aimed it at twisted figure of what had once been Arthur Williams.

"Do you feel lucky, you demon fuck?" Melvin uttered in his best Dirty Harry impression and pulled the trigger. The weapon bucked like a wild stallion in his hand, and he almost dropped it. The round crashed into the ceiling several feet above the demon's head.