The Devil's Details - Ch. 09

"You implied that, yes, but as in all things, you were pretty fucking vague on the concept."

"The man who you would call your father... he died, not long after your conception."

"How 'not long after' exactly?"

"A day, maybe two," Veronica said quietly as they walked out onto the busy New York City Street. "If a person isn't at least somewhat supernatural, getting sexual with a divine being is most often fatal. The Nephilim we're talking about here, they aren't the same level of toxicity as your mother is, but people they were sexual with, they're going to get sick for a while, have some health problems. Stuff they'll get over eventually, because thankfully, they weren't together for long enough. Doctors won't know what it was, but they'll say it must've been flu or an infection of some kind that they just got better on their own from. But if your girls had gotten proper serious with anyone? If they'd been in long term relationships lasting more than a month or two? Their partners would've withered and died in front of them within a matter of months, and no one would know why. Mysterious unexplained illness, it would've been written off as. I doubt any of them would've been durable enough to celebrate a one-year anniversary with any of your girls."

Tabitha let out a quiet whistle. "That's applicable to me too, isn't it?"

"Much more than it is the rest of the girls," Veronica confirmed. "You're toxic to humans, and if you were spending long periods of time with any of them, eventually they'd turn to illness, respiratory failure, dementia and, ultimately, death. So it's worth being aware of that kind of pain you're capable of involuntarily bringing to humans, should you decide to get too close to any of them."

"Bit of a bummer, all said and done, but I guess humans wouldn't really understand what I see every day anyway."

"Plus, you have to admit, bringing somebody by Hell on a first date isn't exactly what I would call a panty-dropper," Veronica joked.

"How'd my mother make it work?"

"She doesn't need any external things to impress people," Roni replied. "Your mother... she's a force of nature. She was one of God's archangels before The Fall. The favorite, in fact, God's personal chosen. Still, being told constantly about 'The Plan' with being given a copy of said plan began to drive your mother nuts, and that's why she ended up leading the rebellion, taking many angels with her out of the Heavens to go and establish Hell. That's why she was the one who got the primest cuts of the land."

"I assume God was angry?"

Roni chuckled a little bit, shaking her head in disagreement. "I wasn't there for it - we're talking thousands of centuries before my birth - but I heard that God merely smiled at the rebellion, said that not only was it was expected, but that it was part of The Plan, and let them go without any fight or discussion. I think that only pissed your mom off even more, but hey, deities aren't easy for anyone to deal with."

"How the hell are so many creation stories in conflict, then? I mean, how are there so many different gods to begin with?"

Roni stopped walking, looking up at the sky as it started to sprinkle gentle rain down onto them, a strange expression crossing her face. "I always go back to something Morgana La Fey once told me. 'Anything is true, if enough people believe it.' That's the fundamental lesson, the only lesson that matters, if you get right down to it. Each of the creation stories you've ever heard are true, to somebody, but just because that person believes in that particular creation story doesn't mean that the other creation stories aren't also true to someone else."

"You met Morgana La Fey?"

"I came across her, Merlin and the Storyteller arguing once in a tavern, about a thousand years ago, not long after my birth. They were arguing philosophy, semantics, and magic."

"Was there a particular reason?"

Roni nodded, as the rain's pace started to quicken a little bit, and she started walking again, setting pace for them both. "They were attempting to discern exactly what the Storyteller was, because he wasn't a magician, a sorcerer, or a god. As it turns out, he was the newest addition to The Elite, something that perplexed both Merlin and Morgana."

"The Elite? Weren't they those people that were considered the best of their field? A sort of skill-based immortality?"

Roni nodded. "That's the lot. But Merlin argued that it didn't make any sense for The Storyteller to be one of them, because nobody had ever heard of him. He didn't look all that impressive, overweight, short-sighted, a bit scruffy looking. But there was no question that he was, in fact, one of The Elite. He bore the same telltale aura shades as the rest of them. It had been centuries since a new member of The Elite had been born, so Merlin argued that The Storyteller had found some way to cheat the system, which amused The Storyteller to no end."

"I mean, I hate to be in agreement with some crotchety old mage, but isn't Merlin right in this?" Tabitha said, trying to keep beneath the awnings as much as possible as they skirted along the sidewalk as the rain truly began to pelt down hard upon them. "How can he be the world's greatest storyteller if nobody's ever heard of him?"

The demoness grinned. "I sort of thought that too, but Morgana pointed out it was because of that that The Storyteller had cemented his place among The Elite. He introduced stories into the world without anyone knowing they were from him. He didn't need to be famous; his stories did. The Storyteller knew that moveable type had been invented just a little while ago in southeastern Asia, and that meant that many stories that had been circulated in the oral tradition were starting to codify, solidify. Sure, people had begun writing them down earlier, but more often than not, folk tales were still the currency with which travelers bought hospitality from strangers, and he had invented so many of those folk tales that it had calcified his place in the world."

"I imagine he got replaced by Shakespeare eventually."

"See, you'd think that, but The Storyteller had already breathed so much life into so many stories that he was impossible to separate from the whole cloth narrative that was part of everyone's daily lives, and while Shakespeare may indeed be the greatest known writer the world has ever seen, the stories that are part of the lifeblood of the human race? Those still carry the fingerprints of The Storyteller, and he's still up to his tricks even today. Yesterday's folk tales are today's internet whispers. He's found new ways to put his stamp on the world, by introducing things into the world without attribution, letting the ideas burrow within the skulls and minds of people around the globe. It's been a couple of decades and change since I've seen him, but he was particularly proud of his newest creation back then... he called it 'a meme.' They were microstories, designed to get into the mind and never let go. A visual equivalent of the musical earworm, he described them as. And he certainly was right about that, because about a month later, it seemed like everyone was talking about this 'All Your Base' animation that was making its way across the Internet. But even many of Shakespeare's great plays have The Storyteller's DNA in them, the core conceits and concepts taken from narratives The Storyteller had introduced long before Shakespeare reworked them for his own liking. So, to bring it back to where I started, as Morgana told me, anyone can define reality for as many people as they like, as long as other people choose to go along with it."

"That's... terrifying," Tabitha said, as the rain finally grew intense enough that they ducked inside of a café to take shelter from the weather. "A bunch of people just decide 'here's what we believe in' and suddenly that's true for them?"

"There are certain levels of impact on reality, obviously, but your mother liked to say—"

"There are many Hells out there, but this one is yours," a caramel smooth voice said from across the café. "Hello Veronica. I'm guessing this is Tabitha? Do bring her over her here so I can get a look at her. Allow us to sit and enjoy an espresso."

Tabitha felt the words coming to her lips before she intended them to, words she'd been dying to speak all her life but had never truly had a chance to say before now.

"Hello mother."