The Burrito Incident

The bell above the door of "Spirits & Spirits" didn’t jingle. It groaned. Much like the proprietor, Jax Vane, who was currently staring at the microwave with the intensity of a bomb disposal technician.

"Thirty seconds," Jax muttered to the empty liquor store. "Thirty seconds to cheesy, bean-filled nirvana."

San Solace was a tourist trap on the surface—surf shops, overpriced taco stands, and sunburned tourists. Underneath, it was a festering Hellmouth. This meant Jax’s rent was cheap, but his insurance premiums were astronomical. He sold tequila to the tourists in the front and exorcisms to the desperate in the back.

The microwave beeped. Jax reached for the handle, his mouth watering.

* CRASH.*

The front window of the store exploded inward. Shards of glass and display bottles of "Old Pete’s Rotgut Whiskey" sprayed across the linoleum. A figure rolled through the debris, knocking over a display of beef jerky, and came to a stop at Jax’s boots.

Jax didn’t flinch. He slowly peeled the foil off his burrito, took a bite, and looked down.

The intruder was a man in his mid-thirties wearing a beige cardigan and slacks that screamed "middle management." He was covered in glass and whiskey. He looked up, his eyes flashing a luminescent, unholy green.

"release me!" the man bellowed. The voice didn't match the cardigan. It sounded like gravel grinding in a blender. "Release me from this prison of beige and pollen!"

Jax chewed thoughtfully. "You broke my window."

"I am Lord Zarkon the Imperious!" the man shouted, struggling to stand. He slipped on a puddle of whiskey and flailed, his limbs jerking with uncoordinated spasms. "Scourge of the Seventh Circle! Eater of— *achoo!*"

The demon sneezed so hard he fell back down.

"Bless you," Jax said, swallowing his bite. "You’re gonna pay for that window. And the jerky."

"Mortal scum!" Zarkon roared, leveraging the body up again. "I do not care for your dried meats! I demand you slay this vessel! Cut me free!"

"Slay the vessel?" Jax raised an eyebrow. "You want me to kill the guy you're driving? That’s illegal. And bad for repeat business."

"He is weak!" Zarkon shrieked. He looked at his own hands with disgust. "Look at these palms! They are soft! He moisturizes! And his internal organs... they are pathetic. I tried to consume a simple chalice of sulfur, and he went into anaphylactic shock!"

"That’s Kevin," Jax said, recognizing the man now. "He does my taxes. Nice guy. Allergic to peanuts, dairy, and confrontation."

"I hate him!" Zarkon wailed. "Exorcise me! Cast me back to the pit! Anything is better than his inner monologue. He worries about *interest rates*!"

Jax sighed. He placed his burrito on the counter, next to a jar of pickled eggs that had been there since the Clinton administration. "Fine. Standard extraction. Five hundred bucks. Cash up front. Or... well, I guess Kevin can Venmo me later."

Jax walked around the counter, cracking his knuckles. "Hold still. This is gonna hurt you more than it hurts me. Actually, it won't hurt me at all."

He grabbed Kevin’s collar with one hand and slammed his other palm against the man’s forehead. He began the incantation, a Latin verse he’d memorized off a cereal box in the Vatican.

" *Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...* "

Power surged through Jax’s arm. Usually, this was the part where the demon screamed, smoked, and popped out like a cork.

Instead, Kevin’s head whipped back. Blue sparks arced between Jax’s hand and Kevin’s forehead. There was a sound like duct tape being ripped off a hairy leg.

* ZZZT-POP.*

Jax was thrown backward, crashing into the cigarette rack. Kevin/Zarkon flew into the opposite wall, knocking down a poster of a bikini-clad model holding a beer.

Jax groaned, rubbing his shoulder. "What the hell was that?"

Zarkon sat up, looking dazed. He pulled a pack of menthols out of his pocket and stared at it. "I... I am still here. Why am I still here?"

Jax stood up, brushing ash off his coat. He walked over to Kevin and squinted at the man’s aura. Usually, a possession looked like a dark cloud hovering over the soul. This... this looked different. The green demon energy was fused to Kevin’s pale blue soul energy. It looked like someone had mashed two colors of Play-Doh together.

"You’re not just possessed," Jax said, frowning. "You’re stuck."

"Stuck?" Zarkon gasped. "Like... permanently?"

"Someone used a Soul-Glue hex," Jax said. He poked Kevin’s chest. "You’re bonded. If I rip you out now, I’ll shred Kevin’s soul into confetti. And you’ll probably end up haunting a toaster."

Zarkon looked horrified. "A toaster? Me? The Breaker of Chains?"

"Depends on the toaster," Jax said. "Look, this is premium work. Soul-Glue is nasty stuff. I need a retainer."

"I have no currency!" Zarkon yelled. "I have only rage!"

"Check Kevin’s wallet."

Zarkon clumsily fished out a leather wallet. He opened it. "He has... a card that says 'Subway Club'. And forty dollars."

"It's a start," Jax said, snatching the cash. "Welcome to the team, Zarkon. Try not to sneeze on the merchandise."