Ninety-Nine Percent Fiction
Mark gave the email another read.
Saw your post about the WP story on the McCain temper. If one half of it were true, it would give me pause. As it happens, the piece is 99% fiction.
“If they only knew,” he thought.
Every few centuries, the old man took heat for his temper, the blood-lust of the damned. Voltaire once called him the “fire of Paris,” mistaking his demon rage for something human. Those were dark days, back before the demon McCain had taken an interest in the hazel-like blood of the American west.
He clicked send and glanced at the chamber door. Still closed, and beside it, the master’s coat hung on the lower rung. That meant he was still feeding, but Mark didn’t know on whom–he had been too distracted by emails to participate in the ritual. Hopefully, not another staffer.
“He’s been in there a while,” Mark said. “What’d we give him?”
One of the volunteer coordinators answered, “a goat. It was the best we could find.” That was Sheila, by appearances, a young girl, but a two-hundred-year-old ghoul should know better.
“He’ll be in a foul mood when he–”
The thought was interrupted by a loud crash, and the demon McCain slammed the door open.
“WHO WROTE THIS TRASH!?!” he roared. There were pages of text in his claws. “WE ARE NO LONGER STARING INTO THE ABYSS OF DEFEAT!?!? WHAT DO THE HUMANS KNOW OF THE ABYSS?!”
It fell on Mark to calm him down. “It’s just an expression, John. We thought it would play well against–”
“SPEND HALF A MILLENNIUM IN A PIT OF FLESH-EATING PISCHACHAS, AND TELL ME IT’S JUST AN EXPRESSION!!”
“If we have time we’ll change it, but really John, you need to get cleaned up before the reporters get here. You’re covered in blood.”
“DO YOU DARE PATRONIZE ME!?!” The demon lurched forward. To the staffers, it must have seemed brave–the way Mark could stand there and speak calmly as the creature readied itself for an attack. But it was the only way. And McCain knew better than to feed on another speech writer. “DO YOU DARE!?!?! ANSWER ME!! BY SOUL OF ALASTOR, BY BE’LAKOR’S BREATH, DARE VACCA AND CRY OUT–”
“What did we agree?” Mark said.
The demon paused, his eyes still blood.
“What did we agree? If you’re going to get upset, you agreed–”
“I WOULD HUMAN CURSE.”
“That’s right. You would human curse. You want to get elected don’t you? So it’s fine if you want to be angry, but you have to–”
“Fuck you,” the monster said quietly.
“Much better. Fuck me. Now, you were saying?”
“I’ll go get cleaned up.”
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