Playing With Fire

“Sophie I am not going to date. Quit asking me.” I told my friend, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I tried to scoop out the chocolate ice cream from inside its tub.
“Damnit I won’t quit asking you, you need someone to pamper you. Or at least distract you from your work.” The calming notes of Mozart sounded from the living room speakers and I sighed, giving up and taking the tub with me onto the sofa.
“I told you, I’m perfectly happy with my work.” I heard her huff of laughter on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, because teaching Enochian and Angelic Mythology is really entertaining.”
“Hey, just because I’m smarter than you doesn’t mean you make fun of me.” I teased, pretending to be offended.
“You’re not smarter, you’re just an ass.”
“I resent that.” We both laughed and I sat down next to my cat on the floor, ready to mark the papers I’d given up on before. “Look, I have to go.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot of special things to take care of with your other half.”
“Making fun of Billy now, are you? Someone’s feeling a little bitter today.” I scratched behind Billy’s ears for emphasis, and even though my best friend couldn’t see she probably knew what I was doing because she announced she was off to have sex with her handsome boyfriend before hanging up on me. Sighing, I licked some ice cream off the spoon and picked up the first paper on the pile. Just as I’d finished marking the first paragraph, the doorbell rang, and my sharp sixth sense told me this wasn’t a visit from my neighbour to offer me cookies.

I stood up and left the music as it was, lifting the rug in the hallway to check that my devil’s trap was in place. Grabbing my knife from behind my bookshelf, I opened the door, a fake smile plastered onto my face. The porch was empty, and the street quiet. I spun around just in time to catch the teenage boy from down the street on my knife, his black eyes lighting up orange as he died. Shutting the door quietly, I laid him down on the floor, and noticed with aggravation that the devil’s trap I’d checked before had now been destroyed. I gripped the handle of my blade and stepped further into the house, making sure my footsteps were light. Peering into the living room, I saw that Billy was gone, and I quieted my mind before I could worry; I needed to focus. My brain registered that the lights were still on downstairs, and that I needed to shut them off so the demons couldn’t see me. I could still see them, ofcourse. I had the advantage of better-than-average eyesight. Checking around the corner, I saw the fuse box I kept open for situations like these, peering from behind a potted plant. My feet skipped through the dining room, narrowly avoiding a chair, but I managed to hit the switch and the house was plunged into darkness. I felt my hearing sharpen and my eyes adjust to the black, noticing the moonlight lighting the kitchen more than it should. Ah. The window was open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze.

I heard the faint shuffle of a boot from the hallway and I stood up, gripping my weapon and holding it out infront of me. My back stayed against the wall, just out of range of a torch being flicked across the floor. A figure stepped into view, its back turned as they looked into the study straight across. Wrong choice. I leapt at the demon, easily tackling them to the wooden floor. Or maybe not so easily, as suddenly I was gripped from behind and thrown against the wall. I sent a kick into the demon’s stomach, not wasting time watching her bend to floor before picking up my knife and plunging it into the other one’s heart. An elbow hit my skull, another fist pounding into my ribs. My knife clattered away as I fell to the floor. A foot sent me rolling, but I kicked back, hearing the satisfying crunch of an ankle and maybe a shin as the demon faltered. Jumping up, I sent a fist flying into her jaw, repeatedly inching her backwards into the study where I knew I had a devil’s trap waiting. As soon as she stumbled into it I stopped, aiming one last roundhouse kick to knock her out. You know, for good measure.

Wiping a trickle of blood from my forehead, I sank down in a chair, my senses telling me I was fine. For the minute. They were also screaming that I was in deep shit.