Branches, Birches and Junipers/Chapter 6

Back in Mark’s dorm room.

Nothing happened. No darkening, no ominous music. The only peculiar thing was a slightly translucent young man, sporting a ridiculously patterned bow-tie, floating upside down, surrounded by a pastel aura.

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” the young man said. “Finally, I get another job! The last one didn’t turn out so well, but I’m determined to make do the best I can with this one!” He did a few excited flips in midair, looking more like an overexcited schoolboy than a serious deal-making demon.

“You alright?” asked Mark, who had been looking on at the display apprehensively. He had shaken the demon’s hand without giving a thought, and now regret was sinking in.

A laugh echoed from the demon. “Very much so! More than alright! Dazzling, actually!” he said. “Anyway, the name’s Polynices Crawford. Current client? You.” His accent was distinctly English, but Mark couldn’t make out the specific region.

Polynices finally turned around the right side up, floating down and touching the floor lightly with his toes, then his heels. He greeted the Juniper kid with a sharp bow, then stood up tall and straight. “Heard the sound of distress and pain and self-doubt and anxiety and paranoid and all those other terrible things. Also: jealousy and rage and loss and… seriously, must I really go on? From any spare records I found back in Hell’s Headquarters, it seems like your family has a history of summoning demons purely through those things. That’s skill, kid.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Terrible? Of course! But human and nothing to be ashamed of? Without question.” Polynices laughed uncomfortably. “I’ll like to let you know that your demons don’t define you.”

His remark was oddly comforting. Mark pulled himself off the floor and onto the foot of his bed to listen.

“After all, I went through many of these things myself. Same age as you, too. This is advice from a veteran, kid,” he said, hovering near the bookcase and picking up a small model of the Millennial Falcon to fiddle with.

Mark opened his mouth to utter a “don’t touch that, it’s expensive”, but there were more pressing matters.

“And look where that got me,” the demon continued. His tone shifted from playful to wistful as he added, “now I’m a demon!” Just as quickly, his tone shifted once more. “But that’s nothing to worry about, is it? No, this is actually quite nice. Not ideal, though. After all, there’s alwa–“

The demon sure talked a lot. Mark wasn’t even sure if half of what the demon said was relevant. Mark really didn’t want to waste his time listening to most of the stuff Polynices sprouted, but he also didn’t want to miss anything crucial.

“Anyway? What do you get out of that handshake?” Polynices delicately placed himself on the desk, legs crossed. “A lot. As a open and honest demon wannabe-lawyer, I’ll outline all of the Terms and Conditions out for you. And unlike the internet, you can’t just accept without listening. I’m not going to let you, because there’s some serious stuff I wrote that you better listen to, or else it’ll ruin your life.”

The demon snapped his fingers, and continued. “First of all, you’re welcome to let people know there’s a demon in your life. I should be nothing to be embarrassed about. The only problem? Because of stigma against certain disorders in society, I am.”

“Secondly, you’re my vessel. Only technically, though. I don’t like using vessels, because ugh, have you ever tried possessing a body? You feel so weighed down and you have to get your vessel’s character right,” Polynices grimaced. “So, you’re not going to be my vessel, which is good for both of us, but it also means that whenever I get a super awesome brilliant plan to make you Marlinchen again, you really have to work with me.”

“Thirdly and finally, the deal ends when I return you to your previous Marlinchen status, and you… well, I haven’t decided the specifics of your payment. I’ll probably get you to bake a million pies or something. Maybe not a million. That’s slave labour. A dozen sounds more realistic, yes?” a laugh escaped.

“And that concludes the Terms and Conditions of Polynices’ Incredible and Brilliant Deal-Making,” Polynices said, and bowed once more.

The demon spoke way too fast. Mark tried to listen and keep up. “So now I’m stuck with you?”

Polynices fake-gasped, as if he was insulted. “Stuck with? I was thinking more friendship bracelets and all that jazz. Except I can’t weave. Heard you could knit though.”

Mark’s eyes widened. People knew (and cared) about the baking, but the knitting was always more of a side thing. At least there was someone who appreciated it. “We can get matching beanies!” he suggested.

All he received was a frown. “That would mess up my impeccable hair. Can you do scarves, though? I’ll be up for scarves.”

“Fine. I’ll knit you a scarf and you help me out with the Marlinchen dilemma.”

“Deal,” Polynices stuck out his right hand, and dropped the Star Wars model into his left pants pocket with his other.

Mark took it. “Deal.”

Another cocky grin. “Well, in that case, let’s talk! I know what happened, but tell me what happened from YOUR point of view.”

Probably-not-the-next-Marlinchen went off in a spiel. The phone call at the library, the concerned birds, the fight with Icarus, the wedding, fainting, talking with the parents, the coffeeshop, and locking himself in his room until now.

“Kid, you’re missing the big picture,” Polynices said, his head propped up on his hand. “Doesn’t the next Marlinchen have the curse?”

“The curse!” Mark leapt off, and ran into the bathroom. Leaning against the sink was the mirror (which had since fallen off the wall, and no one had yet bothered to fix it). “You can’t be Marlinchen without the curse. That’s what they all say.”

The demon followed, diving past Mark, and grabbing onto the mirror. It was only half of a meter across, and he carried it with ease. “Precisely,” he said, and flipped the mirror around to face Mark.

Meanwhile, the Juniper kid was internally screaming. Mark knew he cried blood. Since he was eleven, his tears were never just water and salt. That was the mark of Marlinchen. He had been too busy focusing on personality and character, when he ignored the most obvious and defining feature. It was an odd feeling of relief and panic.

“That’s… that’s awesome,” Mark said. He had covered his face with his hands – partially out of embarrassment, partially because he was feeling too emotional. “I was always her, right? Marlinchen? Like if I weren’t, I wouldn’t have the c–“

“Kid, look up,” the demon urged.

Mark edged his face out of his hands and looked at it in the mirror. He never cried – at least not in front of people. In the mirror, his face was wet, and his eyes shining and watery. His pout fell into a frown.

“I haven’t been crying, have I?”

At least, he didn’t want to believe he had.

His tears were too dull. Too pale. Too… watery.

Mark brought his hands to his mouth when he realised. “Blood. There wasn’t any blood in those tears.”

Polynices lowered the mirror, so that the demon’s face replaced the boy’s. He looked just as crestfallen, just as bewildered, just as broken. “What.”

“I just said tha–“

“Kid, I know what you said. That was an expression of shock and concern,” his voice was calm on the surface, but still fretted with worry. “Look–“

Instead of listening, Mark ran forward, grabbing on Polynices’ arms. “What if I’m not Marlinchen anymore? What if the Marlinchen curse… well, jumped person? What if… what if Lea has it?”

The demon broke an arm free to pat the guy on the head. If Polynices had been alive, he would have called it ‘a pathetic display’. But he wasn’t alive, and couldn’t possibly think of any reaction Mark was having as abnormal. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, then.” A grin crossed the demon’s face. “Heard that this Lea girl was some sort of a romantic. You know what’s the best way to make a romantic cry?”

(“I really don’t like the sound of this…” mumbled Mark.)

“You break their heart.”

“…”

The demon pulled back, extending his arms in a half-hug gesture. “Well?”

Mark frowned. “That’s really extreme.”

Polynices’ face broke from its cocky smirk, to slightly crestfallen, before finally settling on a sheepish grin. “I’m not talking about physically ripping hearts out of bodies. That’s like, gross. Neither is having her romantic partner break up with her – that is, if she even has a romantic partner. I was thinking emotional musicals. Everyone cries in emotional musicals, right?”

“I haven’t.”

“That’s because either you don’t watch musicals, or you don’t cry. Granted, it’s a bit of a stretch, but theatrical performances are one of the few things that deems it alright to cry in public.”

Polynices looked upwards with an unfathomable smile.

“Please, trust me, Juniper tree.”