Who’s going to walk with me
When I get to heaven?
–Hootie and the Blowfish, “Old Man and Me”
Mike sat back from the book and rubbed his eyes, sighing. Enochian was one of his best languages, and he was good at cryptography, but not when it changed haphazardly in the middle of sentences or even in the middle of words.
This mage – he flipped to the front of the book – Uralamus, was paranoid like most mages; so instead of having his grimoire blow up when opened, or have it use disappearing ink, or have it bite, he only made it confusing.
Mike had been transcribing this book for about a day or so, and it was giving him a headache. It was interesting, not necessarily useful so far. Most of what he had transcribed was the mage’s notes of his own demon summoning, like a journal. The dates, he knew, were based on astronomical points, such as Moon void of course in Scorpio, Sun 38 degrees in Aries. Later he would dig up his ephemeris to find out the exact date.
Through the silence of his workshop in the Isles, he heard a noise, like a gong. Someone was at his door. Good, a break is what I need. Though he had no idea who would be at his door. He hoped it was Girl Scout cookies. He loved those minty ones, and Scott would like the peanut butter ones…
It went off again, and Mike sighed, pushing himself away from the desk. He blew out the candle and set the quill in the ink to refill. He flew up a little and flew to the door, having only to think the word to cause him to fly. He landed gently, straightened his shirt, and opened the door.
An old woman, gaunt and hunched over, looked up at him. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I want to die,” she said.
Mike rubbed the back of his head, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I don’t do that kind of thing. Maybe if you piss off an Arbiter?”
She shook her head. “I was told to come here. My husband said to come here.”
“Your husband is wrong, I’m sorry.” He tried to think of someone that could do what she wanted.
“He said you know the way to heaven.”
Mike stepped outside, closing the door gently. “I used to. I don’t anymore.” He looked out at the water for a minute, then back at the woman. “I’ll see if I can find someone–”
She grabbed his arm in a grip that was stronger than she looked like she could do. “It has to be you. You know the way.”
“Where’s your husband? I can tell him–”
“He died many years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Look, I can’t. I made a promise.”
“A promise?”
Mike nodded. “To Hades. I can’t kill people whenever I feel like it, and I can’t show them the way to heaven.”
“You can’t?” He saw her eyes well up with tears.
For the first time in his life, his heart went out to her. She probably felt she had lived long enough, was probably in pain, for all he knew was terminally ill.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, reaching for her hands. They were bent arthritically, and he was surprised at how she even got here.
Things clicked into place. “How did you get here?”
“By cab,” she said.
It would have been a perfectly sound explanation – if there was a road big enough for a cab to come through. He released her hands and stood up straight. “You’re testing me.”
“What?”
Mike turned away from her, and went back into his warehouse, slamming the door shut on her. “Not funny, Hades.” He walked back to his workshop, ignoring the pitiful knocking on the door. A huge, darkly-armored man stood at his desk.
“I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself,” said the man, his voice sounding like it’s not usually used.
“Hades,” Mike whispered, and immediately dropped to his knees, looking down.
“No,” he said, “One of his many messengers. I am Zagreus.”
“You’re his son,” Mike said, still looking down.
“You have heard of me.”
“I memorized the Iliad in Latin.”
“I bring a message for you, Reaper.”
“Reap–”
“In reward for your steadfastness, and your devotion to your lovers, name one thing that your demoness had given you that you would like returned to you.”
“Wait, ‘Reaper’?” Mike looked up at the man. He had removed his helmet and had long black hair. The man’s face was black also, with bright green eyes.
“That is your answer?”
“No, that’s not my answer,” Mike said, thinking quickly. What did Grimalkin give him that he missed so much?
He looked at the spellbook. “I want to know all the spells again.”
“You shall know the spells of all the mages, witches and wizards that are in the realm of Hades.”
“Fair enough,” Mike said, getting to his feet. He didn’t feel any different.
Zagreus passed his hand over the candle at Mike’s desk and it sparked to life. “My apologies for disturbing you in your work.” He walked back to the circle, stood in its center, clapped the helmet back on his head, and disappeared.
Apologies? Mike, stunned, went over to the grimoire. He still couldn’t read it just by looking at it, but he flipped through it and his eye caught a page written in Enochian, but not cryptographically.
It was a spell for making bread rise faster.
Mike grinned and whispered, “Thank you.”