“There is a portal from Toronto to Montreal,” I say, worried because it might be an actual wormhole and not an insubstantial series of social connections and business ties. “This is an obvious statement from a Canadian perspective. Or maybe not.” The province that Montreal resides in wanted to separate from Canada and become its own country, so maybe there is something irreconcilable about the exotic beauty of Montreal; Toronto is just a typical large metropolis, famous only for being the largest city in Canada. But as I continued my investigation in Ottawa and all the paganistic iconography in our monuments become obvious, I began to see that there is something queer about Canada—-like maybe we are more superstitious than our American brothers and are not too concerned about it because we assimilate the lore from our history and elementary school lessons…
The Eternal Flame in front of Canada’s parliamentary buildings: water out of fire. The neat poetic of it seems explanation enough, but I took a closer look and there was…. something thay looked like a pentagram at the centre of the flame. Anyhow, doesn’t it sound like alchemy, this water from fire?
“Solinis has the Montreal scene under control.” Laertes is baffled as to why he can neither pronounce the demigod’s name properly nor attempt to speak it without suffering a flinch. Maybe he should start taking his Wellbutrin as prescribed? But the faeries….
Cairo. “None of our people can enter Toronto for the time being.”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, disappointed to see me act as though I were ill-educated.
“For what it is worth, Jeff, you are a hero in my books,” quips Laertes. “Even those who do not believe in magick will say thay Vodou is best avoided at all costs.” I know you don’t want to hear that I took the beating so that everyone else did not have to. “You survived because you have noble light inside you; those dark gods opted not to pitch you into to Hades because you are one of God’s favored.”
I am still going to hell. Everyone is polite enough not to make a big deal about it. Picking up the dark arts, even as a last effort at self defense, is a mortal sin. It was like eating another fruit of wisdom, and I could technically get into heaven if I returned the knowledge I stole, but the new awareness is a virus in my soul. Weakness in my personality prevents me from doing the right thing and, in the end, the sin is so mild to my fellow humans that I know I keep putting off the debt to God for a day when the weight of life does not make the defeat so debilitating, but nothing is ever going to improve. I am cursed by several talented practicioners of supernatural phenomenon.
“You care too much for the Christian God,” Laertes advances. “You owe Him no debt. Convert to Islam or Judaism and the sleight will be forgiven, I assure you.”
It does tempt me. “Meteor will fall in Toronto. The event can be delayed by pulling strings in Montreal but its destination cannot be altered.”
“Is Solinis really going give a romantic relationship with Frederic another try?” Cairo asks in sardonic relish.
“Meteor doesn’t have anything to do with Frederic and Solinis’s broken heart in this reality.” The whole world dismisses the disturbing drama because Solinis is a demon, and because a man like Frederic is what a demon deserves, but unyielding innocence is what fuels the symbiosis towards Fred. In another book, where clichés about not being able to choose who you love do preside, Solinis could be lauded as the last romantic. Even humans are no so idealistic when it comes to love… but Fred is the only person in all of existence who will profess something like romantic love for Solinis. Michael Archangel is the Enkidu/Gilgamesh fuck buddy that Sol resigned himself to as a fair compromise, hiding their Romeo and Juliet behind time travel.