Community Service - Vaughn R. Demont.pdf

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Acknowledgments
My thanks first go to my editor, Anne Scott, whose work ethic inspires me more with
every book. Thanks as always go to my dedicated beta readers Chris S., David and Pam
D., Scott G., and Nicky, for giving me the nudges I needed to keep me on pace. Thanks
also to my family and friends who continue to support me, especially my mom, my sister,
Kim, and Angie, who all keep me going. Thanks also to Tenacious D, Rise Against, BT,
Barenaked Ladies, and Muse. Without your music, James and Spence wouldn’t be the
same. And finally, my deepest thanks and gratitude to all the City fans out there, I hope to
continue telling you stories as long as you want them.
Dedication
For Pam and Dave, who knew me when.
Chapter One
James
“Jimmy?” The voice is small and frightened.
On the TV, The Late Show is only halfway into the opening monologue. I yawn, stretch
and look over at the source of my broken reverie. She’s short, dark-complexioned; has
black hair tightly braided, dark eyes; is wearing pajamas with a big pink pony surrounded
by cupcakes on the front.
“Yeah, sweetie, what is it?” It doesn’t take much effort to not sound annoyed. Sharon’s
daughter isn’t difficult to babysit. I only have to remind her a couple times to brush her
teeth and eat the dinner her mother left. Then it’s an hour and a half of cartoons and bed at
eight thirty. Easy money, really.
“There’s a monster in my closet.”
I should have expected this. She’s only seven, and I remember being terrified by any
number of things when I was her age. With her dad deployed overseas and her mom at
work, it falls to me to deal with the monster problem. This is my first experience with this
from the other side though, so I have two options: handle it like my mother did and tell her
stories from Irish folklore and the innumerable rules of the Fair Folk until she falls asleep,
or handle it like my father and “chase the monster away”. Only one of these options will
get me back to The Late Show before the special guest comes on.
I get up off the couch and smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Tessa, I’ll make it go
away.” I offer her my hand, but she elects to stay behind me while I head into her room.
It’s dark, obviously, but even her nightlight’s out, so I can guess why she panicked. I flick
the switch on and off several times. Nothing.
Crap, bulb must’ve burned out.
Well, to be honest, I didn’t believe my dad when he turned on the lights to show me that
my closet was empty and there was nothing under my bed. The monsters only came out
when it was dark, after all, and I wasn’t about to listen to Dad’s silly logic on the matter.
“Okay, sweetie, you get into bed, under the covers all the way, and I’ll make the
monster go away, all right?”
She nods, grabbing a purple plush unicorn and hugging it tightly in one arm while she
tugs the covers over her head. Yep, kid logic—if I’m completely under the covers, they
can’t get me.
Might as well not stall. I do need her to be asleep when her mother gets home if I want
to keep this job, considering Sharon finds me creepy. Most people do. (The white streak in
my otherwise red hair doesn’t help matters.) I cross to the closet, the door slightly ajar, and
I pull it open, the hinges giving an eerie creak as I’m treated to the view of a rack of
hangers with clothes and pajamas, a backpack hanging on a door hook…
…and a three-foot-tall, implike creature—grayish-black skin, a long hook nose, longer
pointed ears, glowing yellow eyes, bony tail, and clawed hands and feet—sitting in a
hunched position on top of Christian-themed board games.
Damn it.
Slowly, deliberately, I kneel, now eye to eye with the creature. It bares its claws, hissing
loudly, showing a row of needle teeth. Considering that it didn’t come out of the closet to
go after Tessa, I have to assume it can’t leave it. Maybe it needs to be invited? I have no
idea. I’m relatively new to my job.
Not babysitting, that’s just moonlighting. I have another job with a specific skill set.
I bring my right hand in front of me, making sure it’s not visible (from the bed), in case
Tessa is watching. With a slow exhale, I let my will flow into my fingers, thick jagged arcs
of electricity jumping across my palm. “Boy, did you pick the wrong closet.”
Its eyes go wide, and it makes a tiny squeak of fear.
“Do you know who I am?”
It nods very quickly.
“Who am I?”
Its voice is rough, breathy, jagged like broken glass, but it speaks in Sigil, the language
of magic, and it hurts my ears. “Keth.” It trembles in terror. “Sorcerer.”
This is why most people find me creepy. Sorcerers aren’t supposed to be real, so normal
people tend to see me as someone to generally avoid.
Also, I’m a little relieved that the creature got it wrong. I don’t like advertising the full
extent of my title. “Correct. Now, what do you think I’m going to tell you to do?”
I keep the electricity jumping between my fingers, the sound of crackles and pops
intensifying to drive the point home. It’s sort of draining to be this showy. I could tap a
few things in the room to fuel the working, but then I’d have to explain to Tessa (and her
mother) why half of her dresser and three of her toys evaporated, and like I said, I want to
keep this job.
It shrieks suddenly, and the darkness of the closet behind it spreads as it attempts to
escape into the black. I snatch it by the neck, the creature screaming in pain as the
lightning in my hand races through its body. Its voice devolves into a language I can’t
understand as it thrashes, attempts to free itself, the electrical current keeping its limbs
seized.
“Yield! Yield! Yield!” The pool of darkness vanishes as I drop it onto the Bible version
of Scrabble, and it immediately clasps its hands in supplication.
Wasn’t expecting that, honestly.
The yield, not the Bible edition of Scrabble. Since I started babysitting for Sharon, I’ve
learned that there are Bible editions of everything.
“I don’t buy it.” I’ve played a certain game before that definitely does not have a Bible

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