Chapter 4: Shots Fired in a Hasty Haze

Ted had no idea who this new guy was.

From his glass of moonshine, a swirl was rising, too fleeting and rapid as a single whiff of smoke to suggest great strength. He was disappointed.

"Well, hello, state your desire quickly, I do not have all day to linger around in the realm of mortals," a disembodied voice hissed. "I am Hasty Haze, a renowned lesser demon from the outer circles."

Ted did not give a jack about what circle the demon inhabited. Normally, he would have at least had some educational interest, but he had screwed up badly and tied himself to a hopeless deal. He did not have much patience left for small talk with any entities.

"I need to sacrifice some people," he said quietly, hoping that the other patrons would merely think of him as just another harmless lunatic.

"All right, you will have it."

The whisker of smoke disappeared into the air.

Nothing happened – there was nothing to talk to, nothing to elaborate to, and there certainly was nothing left to banish.

"Wait! WAIT!"

Ted was terrified. He had been about to elaborate his intentions. Demons were not known to be judgy, but neither were they supposed to be this careless. The entity had barely even listened to him before taking off.

In a flash, Ted saw his first encounter with a demonic being, as vividly as he saw the glass he did not dare to drink from anymore. He had been twenty and one, with plenty of practice in the hidden arts, and full of hope. He had been so gullible, but the demon he had summoned had been patient, and surprisingly honest for a devilish entity. It had explained the ins and outs of summoning and possession.

There was no taking back an order.

There was nothing that could change what a heart felt about any given thing. Even the greatest of demons could only amplify what was already there.

There was no bargaining after the deal had been sealed.

Ted looked for a swirl of smoke in the saloon, but that was beyond impossible. Every other person smoked pipe tobacco, cigars or cigarettes wrapped in fancy, colorful paper that had to be bad for the lungs.

"Damn…there is just smoke. Smoke everywhere." Ted whistled.

A man sitting in a table full of elderly drunkards jumped up as the sound reached him.

Ted recognized the face now. It was the same drunk maniac who had been preaching about death by storms earlier. The same man had entered the restroom after the friends had finished their botched summoning. Ted had no idea how anyone had thought it was a good idea to let the madman back in.

The crazy man pulled out his pistol, and without any prior warnings, he unloaded the gun into an old grandpa's head.

"Mother of worms!" Ted cursed.

The hasty demon had misunderstood the sacrifice thing completely. Perhaps it was intentional and the damned busy bee worked for the solar deity. In any case, everyone in the saloon was in serious trouble as the smoke devil used the lunatic as a vessel.

Insane and violent people were ripe for demonic possession. It was better to have someone who was already shaken to their very core, or worse, depending on who was judging the situation.

Ted did not worry about the elderly. They did not have much time left, anyway.

He pulled out his own pistol because he did not have any other choice. He did not want to die, and he was not about to change his mind in order to submit to the most stupid possible death.

He missed the head of the madman by an inch, and the lunatic turned towards the bartender, who also had his gun out.

The bartender was pointing his pistol towards Ted.

"You better have a good explanation for that jinx you put on us all, pal," the bartender growled.

Ted chuckled without a single hint of nervousness in his voice. "I do…jinxes ain't real, pal, plain and simple. Why in the name of the Mother did you people let a gun-waving, stark raving, delirious violent madman back in even after he already demonstrated his many, ahem, talents?"

"I didn't let nobody back in," the doorman said. He, too, had his gun out, but he was pointing it towards the lunatic.

Eknie eyed Ted with such a suggestive lust for blood in her eyes that he almost gave her the decisive nod right then and there. That girl could hit her marks like nobody's business. No one would even have heard her click on her miniature gun, hidden in the lavish ring adorning her forefinger.

Now was not the time for rash actions, though. Those actions were what had brought them into this tense standoff.

"Let's just agree that he is nuts and get on with our lives," Ted warned, but he still kept aiming towards the lunatic.

The madman was crazy enough that he could do anything at any given moment. A gentleman would have just executed him and let the city watch deal with the corpse. Asylums for insane people were cruel, inhumane places, and even a man like Ted with a cold, hard heart felt his finger itching on the trigger, eager to let the murderer out of his misery.

It was way more fun to think about that man tied to a pole and bathed in cold water, though.

The situation was unbearable. People were all twitchy and trigger-happy when it came to witchcraft. Hunting witches was illegal and punishable by hanging, but somehow, there never appeared to be any witnesses for those cases.

The bartender looked serious enough and afraid enough that Ted made the decision to protect himself and his friend.

"No witnesses," Ted said to Eknie.

He shot the lunatic in the head.

Eknie opened her pistol ring and took out the bartender with one clean, precise shot between his eyes before the poor sod could do anything.

Ted fired at the doorman, shooting two times, just to be sure. A shot in the chest was lethal, but it left time for the reflexes of the victim to kick in and the fellow managed to fire his own gun.

Ted ducked. The sheer excitement made him feel so invincible that for a moment, he did not know if he had been hit.

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