God created man.

The flesh prevaileth and a great Church shall be builded,consecrated in its name.No longer shall man's salvation be dependent on his self-denial.And it will be known that the world of the flesh and of the living shall be the greatest preparation for any and all eternal delights. (The Satanic Bible. Pg 23 – 24)

A solitary figure dashed across the street and ducked into a gloomy pub. Inside people crowded together in small booths; hunched over in quiet conversation. The air was filled with a musky scent which lingered in the nostrils. The walls were of dark, varnished wood while the floors were light, uneven planks. Although it was a spacious bar, the amount of people packed into the room made it seem compact. The young man strolled to the bar and sat beside a hard faced, middle aged woman. She greeted him with a smile and nodded towards the bar maid.

"You're late tonight." Said a young bar maid. “Usual?"

She had the mug set on the bar and the hot coffee poured before the young man could even answer. But he smiled in reply and took the drink to a nearby booth. There he waited to begin another night of long, meticulous searching.

Joel Black stared up at the bar maid who was flirting with and flattering a man who was at least twenty years her senior. Bow legged, longhaired and unshaven – he had the appearance of an old western cowboy. But surely not in Dublin. This character could be anything, and though Joel wasn’t about to list all the possibilities, he could only be certain the man wasn’t here for a drink. The cowboy smiled charmingly, brushed his bristly chin with his knuckles and slid a brown envelope across the wooden surface of the bar. Emily, the bar maid, set his frothing beer down on the counter and lifted the large package. She watched as the cowboy tipped his hat to her, lifted his beer in the other hand and left to sit with a small group.

Emmet lifted his head to give his friend a disapproving look.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” he said, matter-of-factly. He waved his hand in the air and Emmet fell silent.

He rolled his eyes, dropped his head and carelessly piled all of the notes that were littering the table into one neat pile. So what if they were all mixed around, upside down or inside out? As long as they were all there and not taking up valuable space.

“Ergh!” Joel grunted. He was watching another shady stranger approach the bar. “Why does she put up with that?”

“She has to. Either that or she drives the customers away by being rude,” Emmet replied, his head resting on his right hand while the other scribbled furiously on a piece of scrap paper. He drew out a tic-tac-toe grid and filled the squares in by himself.

“I could have whipped that stupid grin off that cowboy’s face!”

“You could have. But then I would have had to call an ambulance.” Emmet kept his eyes on the paper.

“Yeah.” The corners of Joel’s mouth crept up into a smile, “For him.”

“No. For you.”

Joel fell silent. 

“Maybe you should ask John to put up a ‘No petting’ sign,” Emmet suggested after several moments. Joel wasn’t laughing. Instead he wrote ‘Ask Da for Pervert warning sign’ on Emmet's scribbled page.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, throwing the mechanical pencil onto the table, “and if he doesn’t do it, I will.”

“What is it with you? Do you still have a thing for Emily?” Emmet asked, his eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Joel blushed and shielded his face from Emmet’s view. It was an obvious yes, and it was no secret that Joel had asked Emily to go out with him on numerous occasions, and had been shot down. But that had been over a year ago. Emmet had no idea that Joel’s old feelings weren’t really all that old. Thus the subject was dropped.

Emmet shifted awkwardly in his seat and set about searching the papers to his left. With the amount of work he had to do, it wasn’t hard to at least look busy. Actually being busy was the hard part. He sorted each of the pages into various piles, which were all given different headings such as “Research,” “Notes” and “Theories.” Anyone watching him would think the young men were completing a project for collage, but it was far from schoolwork. A closer look would show the chapters from Binsfeld’s Classification of Demons by Peter Binsfeld and notes on each of the Seven Deadly Sins. Or the manuscript from Francis Barrett’s The Magus. All of which would never be found in a classroom. It was all part of the job description. Research was the key to success, and as a hunter, defeat was best not mentioned.

“Shouldn’t you put the notes of each individual demon along with the author who wrote them?” Joel asked, now leaning over the table and pointing at the pages.

Emmet shot him a dark look from under his sandy curtains. He didn’t like people judging his organizational skills - or any of his other skills for that matter. Joel immediately sat back and folded his hands neatly in front of him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he whispered, realizing his mistake. “I’ll just leave you to get on with it then.”

“If you must help me, go and get me a drink of something,” Emmet spat. His arm was half extended over the notes as if protecting them.

Joel hesitated before reluctantly leaving the table and taking up a stool at the bar. Emmet sighed. The threat was gone, and he could freely continue with his sorting. It relaxed him in a way, skimming the writing on the page and placing it in one of three piles. Then moving on to the next one and repeating. It may have seemed like OCD behaviour to someone on the outside looking in, but organization and order made Emmet less of a nervous wreck.

Emily Dalton stood gently cleaning a glass with a dry cloth. She smiled as she spotted Joel approaching and he found himself blushing; he had always had a thing for her charm.

At the age of twenty she had been offered a job as a model in New York City, but she had chosen to stay in Dublin, Ireland and help at Crossroads Corner instead. She preferred to use her good looks, slender 5’9 frame and luminous, peach skin to draw in the customers, resulting in not only more business but more information. The hunters that came in told her everything – and not just the men. They handed her folders and pictures and asked for her opinions. And if they were reluctant to share information, all she had to do was flirt, smile and thrust her breasts out. That got them talking.

Ever since she had first taken up post as bar maid, Joel had been after her. He was cute, yes, and he had grown into a fine looking young man, standing at 5’11 and lean. But he was five years her junior. At nineteen, he was only bordering on adulthood, and he still had a certain childlike air about him. Not to mention he was her boss’s son. He had already asked her on a date several times, and each time she had let him down gently. The most he had ever gotten was a peck on the cheek, and she was never done giving him and Emmet hugs.

“Hello, Joel. What will it be, lad?” She asked, her enthusiastic tone sounding almost too forced.

“I’ll have a Coke, and can I get a coffee for the brooding scholar behind me?” he replied, using his thumb to point over his shoulder.

Emily craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of Emmet furiously rearranging papers into piles, his thick mass of sandy hair dusting across the table. She held a soft spot in her heart for the boy and could want nothing more than to just take all his pain away. His eyes told of his age and his silver scars told of his wars. She sighed.

“What is it this time?” She took a coke from the cooler, placed it on the bar and turned to make Emmet’s coffee.

“Same as always. He’s set on finding these demons.” Joel cracked open the can and took a sip. “He can’t let it go. Most hunters after a hunt just want to grab a beer and relax. Have a few laughs with their mates or get some action.” He glanced up at Emily, who quickly looked away. “But not him.”

“You’re not at all like your father, are you? John is looking for them in his spare time too.”

“We are just home from a hunt.”

“And?” Emily asked, raising an eyebrow, “Is that any reason to stop the pursuit?”

“Okay. I suppose I can see why he would be so persistent to find them, but he needs to give himself a break and stop taking it so seriously. Da doesn’t treat it like a military operation. Right now he’s off talking to his mates over there.” Joel cocked his head in the direction of a group of middle-aged hunters, his father sat among them. He was easily the youngest; his hair was still thick with only a hint of grey within the brown, and his face wasn’t nearly as worn as those of his comrades. There was an explosion of laughter as a tall tale passed between them.

Emily gently placed the coffee in front of Joel. She took a spoon from her apron and stirred it in a circular motion.

“They’re discussing another hunt; I was over there a moment ago for a chat. But Emmet is a lot more determined than John about these particular demons, and we all know why.” She pointed the spoon at Joel, foam dripping from the tip of it. “Listen to me, Joel. You have to tell him to take it easy and relax. If he doesn’t, he’ll have a stress induced seizure or something.”

Joel shifted away from the spoon, a bit taken aback by her sudden adopted authority. Foam flopped from the rounded tip of the spoon onto the bar top. He nodded, lifted the coffee and briskly retreated back to the table.

Emmet was still in the same position and mood as before. Even as Joel placed his frothy coffee in front of him, he didn’t utter so much as a “thanks,” but Joel knew better than to feel offended. The notes were beginning to look digestible now that they weren’t scattered all over the surface of the oak table. Even Joel, who was easily distracted and didn’t read anything that wasn’t in short, sharp bullet points, would find it easy to find the information he wanted with minimal trouble.

“This is looking very productive! I am almost considering doing some real research now.” Joel sat back and took a swing from his coke can. A faint smile spread across Emmet’s face.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he replied, taking the delft mug by its handle. “You mean you weren’t doing real research before?”

It was intended as a joke. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, contemplating an answer that seemed suitable until Emmet laughed merrily.

“I was only joking. It’s not anything to me whether you work or not. This is my primary focus, not yours.” He blew at the coffee, the steam swirling in the air. “Even if John seems to take it on as his sometimes.”

“That seems like the beginning of a guilt trip.”

“Maybe.”

Emmet sighed, placed his head on his hand and stared at the clock. He watched as the hands ticked slowly around the clock’s lifeless face, and he realized that the pendulum swinging beneath had an inverted cross carved into the gold. Which raised the question of where John had purchased it. Perhaps he didn’t realize the cross was there; it was very small, and John never was one for concatenated pedantries in furniture. The bar itself reflected this. Most of the things that actually did match or show some sophistication had been hand-chosen by Emily. Somehow the carelessness of John’s décor added to the uniqueness of the bar, and Emmet found it interesting.

Joel was talking again, but it was all white noise to Emmet. Other things occupied his mind, demanding his attention. So many questions repeated over and over. Some had been repeating so long that Emmet was beginning to think they must be rhetorical. He usually had all the answers, figured out one way or another. But right now he had none, and it frustrated him to the point that he could feel a headache forming.

“…so what do you think then?”

Emmet looked up in surprise of Joel’s sudden question.

“I…um…” he stammered. “Could you repeat the question?”

“It’s not important.” Joel lowered his head and circled the lid of his can with his index finger. “I was just making idle conversation.”

“You know I hate it when you make bombastic prating.”

“And I hate it when you use big words like that.” Joel laughed, “Even if it’s just because you can.”

The clock that had enchanted Emmet a few moments ago chimed; it was eleven-thirty and time for him to make tracks. He bid goodbye to Joel, and as he politely placed his empty mug on the bar, Emily reached up to ring the rusty, bronze bell.

“Last orders!” she bellowed, “All of ye get out, or I’ll set the hounds on ya!”

There was an eruption of laughter and cat calls. Emmet smiled, and she returned his smile.

“You keep them right Em’s,” he said.

“Nothing like a woman’s touch,” she replied. “Take it easy Emmet.”

“You too.”

Although he knew she meant it with general concern, he didn’t. She wouldn’t listen to him even if he did because unlike him, safety was her middle name.

Back in Portmarnock, the breeze down by the coast was filled with the smell of salt, fish and ship oil. Although it was only September, the cold autumn air nipped at Emmet’s skin through his anorak, and he was forced to huddle himself into a tight ball. It was a far cry from ideal, but it wasn’t home; that was good enough for Emmet.

As much as he loved and respected his mother, he hated that she had brought his father, Gavin, back into their lives. He was the main reason Emmet and his mother barely passed a word to each other when they were at home. Being there drove Emmet mad with rage and loathing; he hated not being able to hold a conversation with his own mother in his house for fear of upsetting her or his father. But he knew better than to expose himself to that too often. He had found that after his possession, his temper had been considerably shorter than it ever was, and when he lost it things got messy. Literally.

Despite the sudden burning rage boiling in his veins, he couldn’t’t help but think about his younger brother, Fillen, and how this must be affecting him. Emmet may be a monster sometimes, but he was far from heartless. Fillen had nothing against Gavin. In fact, they got on as if they were father and son, which technically they weren’t. Emmet was happy that his little brother was happy, but he couldn’t help but worry that Gavin would eventually decide to leave him too. He knew it would break his mother’s heart. So no matter how much Emmet hated Gavin, driving him away would only make things worse for everyone else. He just had to put up with it.

Emmet pushed himself up off the pebbled ground, having had enough of the bitter night air, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked slowly along the beach. Fishing boats bobbed on the calm waves of the water, creating an eerie splashing. It was the only thing, along with some nocturnal sea gulls, that broke the night’s decorum.

Silence.

It wasn’t something Emmet experienced a lot. When he did, it was welcomed with open arms.

As he idly made his way home, he contemplated the one thing he always did when he felt as helpless and stuck as he did at that moment; he considered asking them for help. ‘Them’ being the priests and the witches, the mediums and the exorcists. He shivered. He never gave into such methods willingly, and he wasn’t about to start.

He kicked a rather large and circular stone with the toe of his boot; it clicked and clanged as it rolled. The sea’s waves roared across the coastline, breaking the silence. Maybe it was the chill in the air or the sudden feeling of paranoia, but Emmet felt his skin tingling with aggressive pricks. Something in his gut told him all was not right.

As he walked, he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darted from left to right and he kept looking over his shoulder. Finally he took a deep breath and dashed home.