“Fine!”

The shout was beleaguered and exasperated, and the voice was desperate, but not yet panicked. It was followed by a declaration, located somewhere vaguely within the foggy downpour.

“I’ll do it myself!”

With those words, Alejandro turned. He did not know why. The invasion was abrupt and absolute, and suddenly his limbs were no longer his own. He saw, with growing horror, his head and body twisting backwards, himself being swiveled around against his will. The effect was dizzying—

—and nauseating.

Briefly, he was aware of a voice crying out in agony in the background. It was not his own, and it sounded suspiciously like the wizard’s—though different, somehow. The cry bouncing against his eardrums was a frightened wail that echoed with the same revulsion and incomprehension Alejandro was feeling as he was wrenched away from the monster’s jaws. He fell away, stumbling and throwing himself upon the floor as pain jabbed into him from the impact. His teeth chattered as he got to his feet—once again, with no help or willingness on his own part. His own hands moved over his eyes, clutching at the sword that was no longer there. He saw them give up, throw themselves upwards in defeat.

Then—

Gone.

The wailing stopped, and Alejandro was himself again. He saw the wizard float into the air over him. He saw him cup a hand to his mouth. The other—his left—was held over his heart. Three of his fingers were curled; the thumb, pinky, and fourth fingers. The other two extended upwards, pressed together in what had to be another magical seal.

Alejandro saw Clark take in a deep breath.

Saw him strain with the effort in a way he had never seen from the wizard before. Saw him breath out again, just as the hellhound was turning towards him. The monster opened its mouth for another bite, and the fire that came flowing from Clark’s lips met it halfway.

Green.

And white.

Later, Alejandro would not remember much of what happened. He could only recall those two colors, and the howl that emerged from the throat of the hellhound as the flames reached its throat. Burning so hot so as to appear incandescent, the beast’s bones crackled as it whipped back and forth on the end of the flaming sword. In its dying struggle, it threw off fire of its own. Reddish slag rolling over its skull, falling to the floor and creeping up the nearest walls.

The pews went first. And they were followed by the tapestries hanging over the walls. Alejandro felt the wizard’s arms under him, lifting him up. He tried, found his balance and almost fell to a knee before Clark caught him. The tall, slitted windows in the church was cracking and breaking from the heat; and through them came the wail of distant sirens.

“We have to go,” Alejandro heard. He stared, still groggily, at the entire wall that was now aflame. The monster was gone; and in its place sat a big, black burn mark in the center of the chamber. The podium was eclipsed by a red-orange blur, and somewhere the flames had already made the jump to the ceiling beams. A groan, more felt than heard, marked the moment the entire building begged them to leave, before the whole thing came down on itself.

“Hurry,” Clark urged. When Alejandro did not move, he slapped him. In his hand was the hellhound’s red collar, which he hastily pocketed. “The shield! Get the shield, and let’s go!”

They never did get what they came here for.

They never even found it, because when Alejandro pointed out the way, that path was already blocked.

The building was completely aflame. The smoke was choking. In a few seconds, they could not even see the remains of the podium through the smog. Clark finally admitted defeat, looking upon the scene. He grabbed Alejandro and clicked his heels three time.

The portal snapped shut. The two men were gone. The church continued burning as outside the windows, flashing lights converged upon the parking lot.

~

On Saturday nights, Lin hosted additional activities at his church. This has been a tradition of his for years. Back in the early 90s, he had discovered the wonders a pot-luck dinner could do for his community, and kept up the habit over the decades. He entertained guests from all over. Some who joined the festivities were not Christians, but in his house, the spreading of his faith was secondary to the building of friendships.

In that regard, he admitted the Word of his God paled when compared to the effects of Chinese cuisine upon his guests.

They came from all over.

Families laughed together, each trying to outdo each other with the dishes they brought in. The weekly tradition was by now very popular, and something the local community looked forward to every weekend. In fact, the gatherings tended to last long past the time it was supposed to, and Lin was still seeing off the rest of the stragglers when the thump was heard.

All jumped.

People were crowded into the front of his small church. Mothers, fathers and laughing children. Old friends were saying their farewells, and new acquaintances exchanged contact information with each other. Lin stood in the middle of the wholesome hubbub like a wise king holding court. The entertainment wound down, and the light was shining warmly upon oh so many happy faces when all turned towards the sound of the noise.

Thump!

It happened again, and Lin jumped with them. The sound originated behind him, back inside the main church building. It sounded like a gunshot, and was followed by muffled curses—voices mumbling unintelligibly from the direction of the confession box. As the churchgoers looked on in visible confusion, the box suddenly shook, shuddering of its own accord as if it would come off its foundation and make a run for it. More shouting—still unable to be made out—issued from within.

All eyes turned to Lin. The priest blinked. For a moment, he looked panicked, but quickly recollected himself. He slapped his hands together in a ringing clap, drawing the attention of his churchgoers. In the background, the box fell still.

“Alright! Meeting finished! Go in peace.”

He spoke quickly, first in English and then in Chinese. He added to it a version in Punjabi as well, just for good measure, before herding the last of his flock out the door. If he was more flustered than normal, they didn’t seem to notice. In Lin’s house, if he didn’t worry, you didn’t either. In fact, most had forgotten all about what they had seen (or only imagined) by the time they were on the steps and headed down.

The laughter resumed; and the farewells also. From several places, engines rumbled to life along the street as headlights flashed in the Toronto night. Lin practically threw the last couple out, before slamming the doors. He then headed back inside just in time to see the doors of the confession box spill open, and its contents falling out in the form of one disoriented looking young man and his wizard friend. Both wore weary, haggard expressions. Meanwhile, whispers of smoke came off them, thick with the smell of a recent fire.

Clark saw Lin and immediately grabbed the smaller man’s arm. He said, his voice hoarse: “Shield.”

Lin only nodded. He didn’t understand, but he was willing to listen.

Clark worked more spit into his mouth. He tried again, practically croaking the words at the old man: “The whole place has gone up. But it wouldn’t have burned. It’s a relic. Maybe you can call the station.” He huffed. “Fire-station. Not police. Call and see if anyone picked it up. Nobody left there now. Probably no one will make a fuss, but if they do, ownership and all, I want you to see what you can do. The shield, if anything, should come to Alejandro. I’ll need it before long—”

His eyes widened then as Lin leaned up, whispered into his ears.

Clark blinked.

“What?”

Lin told him.

It was new information, and it had just come in.

“You found him? Emmanuel? He’s meeting her when?”

There were now tears in the wizard’s eyes, and he couldn’t help himself. He was losing control of the body he was possessing, and his lips shook, and he forgot all about the prior battle he had just experienced.

He had burned a hellhound to nothingness with deadly, conjured magical fire; and was even on the cusp of recovering the ancient shield that was key to averting Armageddon. Alas, none of that was important next to what Lin had discovered.

Clark bit his lips.

Coughed.

His throat was scalded from the inside out, but that was nothing. The pain felt in his heart—not even his heart, not really—was all too real now that Mary was leaving him. Once he learned that, nothing else mattered. Really, he didn’t know how things could be worse from here on in.

Then, Alejandro stumbled over to him. The boy was still dizzy. Interdimensional travel was something he could deal with; not so, however briefly, the experience of having his own body possessed. He buckled over just then and threw up on the wizard’s shoes.

Clark didn’t mind.

Didn’t even notice.

He wept with tears not his own for he understood what he must do.

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