Call My Name

I spent the better half of the morning pouring over history books in the old library nestled in the neck of the forest. Even all the way out here I can faintly hear the buzz of cars going by on the highway, sometimes with loud engines sometimes with music blaring through the speaker.

But so deep inside the library, I get this sense of peace, as if the world around me is falling away and the only thing is me and the text.

There isn't anyone here except for me and the librarian. The feeble old woman hovers at the desk by the door, with the thinnest, circle glasses plastered to her face and a small, portable fan sitting on her desk.

She's sleeping, has been since I arrived, and I don't think she'll wake anytime soon. Never does.

I flip to the next page, only to see it's blank. So it is the page after, and every page after that.

I stare silently wondering what happened. Will the main character die, and will the princess return his affections? Will the demon king finally get his revenge?

I sigh inwardly. There was something about these old books, improperly kept, they just started fading until there wasn't anything left of them but dusty spines that hadn't been cracked, and yellowed pages with faded ink.

With a sigh, I pick the book up and return it to the back of the library with all the old historical tales that have kept me up as of late. None of them seemed finished, not one had each and every word still sprawling through its pages.

I run my hand over the shelf and it comes back dusty. I pat it off on my sweats and keep going trying to find something less, withered.

As I come up on the final shelf it takes just as long for me to realize I've read every book here. Every book except for one.

The book sits perched on a pedestal. It's all black with no title, and no author. Its pages are gilded, the shiny gold reflecting the stream of sunlight pouring in from the stained glass roof above. It reminds me of the Bible.

I run my finger over its cloth covering and gently remove it from the pedestal. My heart begins to beat faster, and my breath shallows as the heavy book makes my hands tremble.

'There's something wrong' I think to myself. "I can't move," I mumble. My body is sluggish, frozen almost, as I stand there, staring, trembling. It's as if all the pressure in the world has settled in my bones.

In an instant, the feeling vanishes. And I gasp for air. I drop the book and back away into a hard surface.

I turn around to be met with black eyes, and dark hair. The man looks me over before leaning down and picking the book up.

I don't dare speak, for fear has stolen my voice.

I stare in disbelief at the brown, sharp, horns protruding from the sides of his head in pointy arcs that curl at the ends.

He stands up and dusts the book off handing it to me.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says quietly. His voice is smooth like a singer, and brassy.

I gently take the book. It doesn't feel heavy anymore in fact it's lighter than it should be considering it's girth.

I double-take, as I notice words in a strange language have been written on the front. And even stranger, I feel like I can read it.

"Who are you?" I ask him, glancing back up from the book in hand.

He shakes his head. "You already know,"

Something in the back of my mind tells me he came from this book, the title is his name, and if I say it...I'll be stuck with him forever. I've read many fairytales. There is no way I am wrong.

Except for the fact that that can't be true, fairytales are just that, lies told to children for entertainment. they can not come alive into handsome men with strong jawlines, and broad shoulders dressed in all-black, pin-straight, three-piece suits.

I shake my head. No. I think and quickly place the book back on the pedestal.

"I'll head out first. You have a good day."

He watches eerily quiet as I pass by.

And then he's at my side again as I pass by.

And then he's at my side again as I pass by.

And then he's-

I turn to the side and notice I've walked the same length of space three times. I gulp.

"Did you need something?" I ask him in a small voice.

"Don't we know each other?" he retorts with a lazy smile.

I shake my head no.

A frown weaves it's way over his full lips, and pulls at his nicely trimmed beard.

"I think we do, don't we Aria," he says.

I shake my head no.

He nods yes.

Sweat drips down my neckline into my shirt. "Uh sir, I think you have the wrong person. My name isn't Aria."

His frown deepens and he looks between the book, and me. After a beat, he closes the distance picks the book up, and flips to the first page.

"Aria Elder. Age twenty-five, widowed with no children," he glances up at me before continuing. "Extremely smart, laid off from her job as Sous Chef for smart-mouthing her manager," he chuckles at the last part. "Believes in fairytales."

I shake my head no again as if I am stuck on repeat. 'He doesn't know me, he doesn't know anything.'

"That's you. Isn't it?"

I turn and begin to run. I push my body, weave through the shelves see the light through the sliding glass door, and the librarian asleep at her desk.

Then black eyes stare deep into me as I am locked, running in place.

"Please just let me be," I beg.

The man sighs and flips through the book. "You have a very long archive of books stored in your head," he mentions.

"Please,"

He looks at me, studies my face, my body, my soul. "I wouldn't have come if you didn't need me. What is it that you want Aria? What do you need to move on?"

"Move on from what?" I shout.

He disregards my frustration and places a cold hand on my shoulder. He's solid, real. I shake my head. It's all in my imagination. Maybe I'm having a nightmare after falling asleep reading too many books.

'Yes, it's a nightmare.'

I relax and the man regards me cautiously.

"Aria, there is something you desire. Tell it to me and I will fix it for you. Make you all better again."

I smile. "No thank you, Mr. Demon, sir,"

He turns the book so I can look at it.

My smile drops as I see myself, drawn in pencil with meticulous detail, stuck in place in the library with him showing me myself in pencil with meticulous detail. I'm not sure when it ends or if it will, but it hurts. Hurts my eyes, hurts my heart.

"I just wanted to read," I mumble to myself.

"Let's explore that. When did you begin reading more?" he asks.

A pencil materializes in his hand and he flips the page waiting for an answer.

I shake my head. "A few years ago."

"When your husband died. Understandable. And what do you read?"

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that."

"So anything you can get your hands on."

"Why do you read?"

I glance up at him. Tears well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. "Can I go home now?"

He sighs again. "If you want to go home, call my name, all you desire will be yours,"

"At what cost?"

"You read too many books, there is no cost,"

"Everything has a cost," I say.

He tsks. A chair appears behind him in a thin fog that dissipates quickly. "Sit down," he says.

Without a choice, my body crunches and sinks into a thick, cushioned lazy boy. It didn't hurt but it was not comfortable, all I could control was my mind, and my words.

"Cost, dear Aria, is a human construct. I do not run on cost, there is no money, no transfer of goods. I help you, that is all."

"At. What. Cost?" I snap.

The demon in front of me grows in size, wings sprout from its back, tearing through flesh and fabric, and blood drips from the ends of its leathery wings into the ground. Where the blood touches, the ground burns, and holes appear all the way down to the soil below the foundation.

"Cease this nonsense, woman."

I cower back into the cushion. 'My body can move.'

I slowly rise to my feet. "Mr. Demon, sir. You have to understand. I don't want anything to do with you."

He runs a large hand through his smoothed hair, tussling it about. Now his flushed face, and messy hair makes me think of him as just another man.

I shake those thoughts from my head.

"What is there to gain from helping me? Satisfaction? If you tell me then I'll answer you. Honesty for honesty."

He pauses for a moment before losening the shiny, black tie at his throat and unbuttoning the top button of his silky black shirt.

"Fine. Sit down."

We sit, and he takes a minute to scribble into the book. His script is fluid, beautiful even and I can't read it. At least, not upside down.

"If I help you, I am promoted from this lowly station. If I help you, you can finally move on from the helplessness of grieving for that bastard you called a husband."

I frown at his distasteful words. "Bastard or not, he was still a man I loved."

The demon quirked a brow.

"How will you help me? What's the limit?" I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders. "What do you want? You're old job back? Wealth? To fall in love again?"

"I want to finish the stories," I say pointing around the library.

He blinks at me. "No, you don't."

"W-what? How can you tell me what I want?"

"I can tell when you're lying."

I sigh and run a hand through my tangle of dreads. Maybe if I tell him what I want he'll actually make it happen.

"I still think there is a cost like you take my soul or something."

"You're soul is long gone."

I gape.

He smiles wickedly. "Just kidding. I don't have the power to do that. I'm not that kind of being."

"Being? You're not a demon? You look like one," I say.

His jaw flexes. "I am not."

I shrug and swing my feet while contemplating how to word what I want. "I'm not grieving much anymore. I am kind of over it."

He nods. "Yes, that man was a bastard."

I shoot him a weak glare. He doesn't even flinch.

"Honestly," I pause. My voice felt weak, my heart began to hammer. I wipe the sweat off of my hands into the gray of my baggy sweatpants. "I haven't been...satisfied in a while. Usually my husband would but...it's just been a long time for me." I glance up at the demon. He stares blankly.

"So you're horny?" he asks.

I flush and clear my throat. "Well not right now...but yeah I guess."

'I hate myself.' Why am I telling this nonsense to a stranger?

"You're soul desired some dick so bad you summoned a demon?" he asks disbelief written all over his face.

"I didn't summon you. You summoned your damn self."

He shakes his head. "No, the hell I didn't. I hate the human world."

"Then why are you here!"

"I can't leave until I complete the job."

His words echo in my head for a moment. What does that even entail, completing the job?

"It's exactly what it sounds like, little human," he says with a sigh. "I can't believe this," he mumbles under his breath.

'You and me both, demon.'

"So what? We screw and you go home?"

He scoffs, "Call my name, relinquish my power back to me, and I will leave immediately."

"What about your promotion?"

"It's not worth it."

"Excuse me?"

He rolls his eyes. "We're different species."

"Like I don't know that! But you don't have to be rude about it. I'm attractive...a little."

He contemplates his next words. "I didn't say you weren't. However, mating a human comes with its consequences."

"M-mating? This isn't some teen movie. This is my life we're talking about."

"Fine! I don't want to fuck you if you're going to be like this."

"What are you even talking about? What am I doing wrong?"

"You're so damn selfish!"

It's my turn to scoff. I stand up. "This is ridiculous."

He stands up and runs his hand through his hair again. "Wait, wait. I'm sorry, look this is a bit of a strange situation for me. I've never been called to the human world for this kind of thing. I'm not even sure what to do right now."

I nod. Honesty. That's what I like. "Great. We're both screwed then. I'm assuming I can't leave from where you were summoned until your job is over, and you can't leave from me until your job is over."

He nods in agreement.

"So take off your clothes."

His wings flutter closed around his body and he steps back stuttering.

I strip off my shirt. "Let's make haste. I want to go home and stuff my face with sweets."

"I-I," he stutters out.

I gently grab the ends of his wing and unwrap them.

His face is red like rubies and his eyes are wide and confused.

"It's okay. I'll be gentle," I say smiling. I can't tell if this feeling is malevolent or not, but I love it.