Body Surfing

Christ,” Q. said, and then, when the doctor made a funny expression: “Don’t tell me.” He shook his head violently. “You’re not actually defending these creatures, are you? Because they were artists or philosophers or whatever? I mean, whatever was in me, it was evil . It killed my friends. The last time I checked, even the greatest artist in the world still goes to jail for killing someone.”
    “But do the greatest politicians? Progress is rarely bloodless, Q., as our president reminds us all the time.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You—”
    “Q., please. Try to understand. To the Mogran, good and evil are childish concepts. They aren’t interested in right and wrong, only in filling the eternity of their existence. Sometimes their actions have beneficial consequences, sometimes terrible, but in the latter case it is more accurate to think of them as you would a cobra: they don’t exist to bite you. They only do it if you get in their way.”
    The doctor waved away Q.’s protest, then handed him the violin case.
    “We should continue this inside. And, as well—” the doctor tapped the violin case “—I would like to replace what’s in here with my del Gesu, which is no doubt coming horribly out of tune in this humidity.”
    Once they were safely in the foyer, the doctor walked into a large living room lit only by the light coming off the street. He spread his arms out, a self-conscious grin turning up one corner of his mouth. The doctor’s outstretched arms lifted his sigil out of his vest as well, which added a sixties lounge lizard aspect to the pose, but he seemed unaware of any irony. When he spoke, he deepened his voice, the way you do when you’re reciting something important or pretentious:
    “For He had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. For it had seized him many times; and he was bound with chains and shackles and kept under guard. And yet he would break his bonds and be driven by the demon into the desert. And Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ And—”
    The doctor jumped at a voice emanating from the shadows deeper inside the house.
    “And he answered, ‘Legion,’ for many demons had entered him.”
    There was the sound of a trigger being cocked.
    “Very nice recitation, Doctor. But I’m afraid neither scripture nor sigil will save you now.”

19
    J asper swung Jarhead’s truck into the hospital parking lot.
    “This. Is. Stupid .”
    He slammed the truck into park and bits of glass flew about the cab. Edwin had smashed out the windows in Jarhead’s truck before driving off with Sandy in his Miata. Jasper supposed he would have done the same thing. Great, he thought. Now I’ve deprived Jarhead of not one but two of his best friends, not to mention set him up for a second charge of sexual assault. Somehow fixing his host’s wrist and helping him drop a few pounds didn’t seem like a fair trade for destroying his life.
    He looked up at the hospital entrance. He’d driven by it a thousand times but had never been in it. The only friend he had who’d ever been hospitalized was Q., but his parents had taken him to the city to have his appendix out, not trusting a country doctor to operate on their son. And of course, Amelia Van Arsdale had died there, years and years ago, but Jasper had been too young to visit her.
    Really, he thought. The number of things he’d waited to do till after he died was a little out of control. Everything from pressing that button on the Qusays’ gate to sex (and sexual assault) to visiting somebody in a hospital.
    Well, not just somebody. His girlfriend. Michaela.
    One more thing he’d neglected to do while he was alive.
     
    Of course, Jarhead had been there for his wrist, and it was Jarhead’s memories that reminded Jasper visiting hours were over. It was, after all, nearly two in the morning. As luck would have it, a paramedic was talking to the blond triage nurse—flirting with her, to judge from the way he leaned over the high counter, or at least looking down her cleavage—and Jasper was able to slip in unnoticed. It was funny how he saw sex everywhere, now that it was the most pressing thing on his mind. The tease and the chase, the call and the response, the stimulations, the artificial aids, and of course the actual act. Had it always been like that and he just hadn’t paid attention? He was coming to hate asking himself those kinds of questions, because in his new state they were