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Dust-covered city.

“Words of banishment exist in most languages and societies since the creation of human civilizations. Demons were known to possess unwitting men, women, and children. Strong beliefs and convictions were poured into words and songs, also known as spells, to fight them off. Some call it magic, energy, unknown science… Scholars study the mechanics behind them, but, in the meantime, exorcists use them as their primary weapons against demons.”

-Extract from the State Exorcist’s Manual , edition of 2047.

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, 2052

The sun is gliding toward the horizon as I rise from my slumber. I spent a long time in the bath to wash the blood from my hair this morning, then went to bed once Leo had gone. During the day, he’s usually running errands for me and digging for signs of demonic activity while I rest.

I trudge to the kitchen, still half asleep, to make coffee. It won’t taste as good as Tina’s, but it’s better than nothing. I find a chipped mug in one of the cupboards and push the button of the decades-old coffee machine. It purrs like a waking beast.

Leo left the TV on the news channel. The anchor is talking about an ongoing demon hunt happening in Hollywood. The State Exorcists have been called to provide assistance to the police as they deal with a gang of demonic traders. A video appears in the left corner of the screen, showing armed officers taking down a door, followed by two exorcists dressed in black body armor and fancy goggles.

I snort. “Show-offs.”

The goggles are to hide their blood-injected eyes from the Angels’ Tears. The drug will give them a neat rush of adrenaline, better reflexes, and enough strength to face the possessed. It’ll also drive them out of their minds, like rust eroding the cogs of their sanity.

Once my coffee is ready, I take the spiral staircase to the roof. I sit on one of the old chairs left by the previous tenants. The pillows’ colors have faded under the sun, so much so that it’s difficult to make out the patterns. Like me , I think. Except that sunlight is not the reason for my washed-out condition. A few cacti have survived in the dry planters—neglected survivors covered by a thin layer of yellow dust like the rest of city.

I drink my coffee as the sky turns a bruise color. No matter how long I wait, I won’t be able to see the stars. There is too much pollution and dust over Los Angeles. We’ve been planting trees in most cities for a decade now to try and manage the heat islands brought by climate change, but I’m afraid it comes a little too late. Los Angeles is baking under the sun more and more every day. But humans don’t know when to give up, and the city is expanding like a festering wound.

Summoning rituals are also part of the problem. Every time a connection is made with Hell, the air warms considerably within a hundred-foot radius. And Los Angeles registers the highest number of demonic possessions in the world. The people here are more vain than anywhere else, and the gangs mastered the demonic trade faster than the government could train exorcists. Fools flock to the city from all over the globe to get their own demon.

Humanity is playing with fire. The fires of Hell, to be precise.

Lights appear at the windows of neighboring buildings and streets as darkness falls, offering me glimpses of normal lives.

Leo calls my name from the apartment below, letting me know that he’s back. I tend to react badly to surprises. I almost blew his brains out in the first week when he snuck in without ringing the bell. He learned his lesson. But, against expectations, he kept coming. He’s a tenacious kid.

“Jon!” he calls again, climbing up the spiral staircase leading to the roof. “I’ve done groceries, and I’ve filled the fridge.”

“Thank you kindly,” I say, resting my head on the back of the chair.

I gave him access to one of my bank accounts weeks ago. Money was never a problem for me; I have a sufficient inheritance from my father. And even as an independent exorcist, I get paid more than enough by people who appreciate my particular set of skills.

“I’ve got a job for you,” Leo tells me, sitting on the chair in front of me.

I open my eyes, dubious. “You do?”

He grins, proud of himself. “Someone is asking for you in Skid Row. They need an exorcist.”

I sigh. “Leo, it’s—”

“It’s not like the last time!” he cuts me off. “How could I have known she was just deranged? She fit the description!”

A few weeks ago, Leo brought me to an old building downtown. A woman had been biting her neighbors. But it turned out the old lady just had schizophrenia.

“No, this time the possessed personally asked for you,” he continues. “They’re hiding to avoid the State Exorcists. I think it’s a gang member who made it out from the war happening in Hollywood right now.”

My interest is piqued. If they’re one of the demonic traders giving such a hard time to the State Exorcists and the police, they must have a higher demon. Maybe they will finally have the answers I’m looking for.

“Good job, Leo,” I say, rising from my chair and heading downstairs.

“Can I come with you?” he blurts out, following me down the spiral staircase.

“No.”

“You’ll need me to take you there. I have the address!”

“Just give it to me and go home,” I say, throwing my chipped mug in the sink.

“I used all my charm to get this intel! I’m coming with you, or you’re not getting it.” He has his hands on his hips like a petulant child.

I sigh deeply. “Alright.”

Maybe it’s about time I showed him how nasty the life of an exorcist can be and put an end to his fool’s dream.

I get dressed, and by the time I get out of the bedroom, Leo has put all of my relics and weapons on the table. There is the Dagger of Redemption, my two guns with silver engravings, and the custom-built shotgun I ordered a few years ago that comes with holy water ammunition. This one is perfect for dealing with a pack of lower demons. There is a set of titanium chains, of different length and thickness. Leo even replaced the missing holy water from the pocket-size case.

“Do you expect a demonic war zone?” I say.

He caresses the shotgun with his fingertips. “I thought… maybe you would let me borrow something. Since I’m coming with you.”

Without a word, I grab the case of holy water and hand it to him with the gloves. He pouts, but accepts it nonetheless. He hides it in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Today, he’s wearing what I’m guessing is his exorcist attire. He has combat boots on—similar to my own—black tight jeans, and a dark gray tank top with holes. His hair has been braided back. I refrain from telling him that he looks more like a teenager going to a concert than a demon hunter.

I put the two guns in the holster around my chest, then grab the dagger and a few other items. There is a case on the kitchen counter made to contain the Eames vessels in nitrogen. I trade them for a steep price with Willa. Only a few labs make them for the State Exorcists, just like the Angel’s Tears. It was invented by professor Eames ten years ago.

Leo waits for me near the door with the freshly dry-cleaned coat. Having an assistant is nice. I’ll need to get rid of him sooner than later, before I get too used to it.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We catch the aerial tram near my apartment. A few lines were built over the Los Angeles skyline fifteen years ago when vehicles for domestic uses were banned from the city proper. The windows are covered by a thin layer of yellow dust, turning the city lights into wisps of colors . At this hour, the wagons are full of party goers and exhausted workers going home after a long day. Only the second kind of commuters get off at Skid Row’s station with us. The poor neighborhood isn’t a place to party.

No matter how many promoters tried to attract the richer population to Skid Row with plans of fancy buildings and improved living conditions, they never succeeded. They could never get rid of the homeless and drugs in the streets. Things only got worse after the start of the demonic trade almost twenty years ago.

Leo is comfortable in these parts of town; this is where he grew up. His family of seven lives in one of the buildings. He leads me to an old vertical house. It looks like it has been standing here for almost a century, judging by the architecture. The first floor is a supermarket. The owner nods to us as we make our way through the aisles and to a door that says Staff Only .

A middle-aged Chinese woman welcomes us with fearful eyes in the back office. She thanks us profusely as she unlocks another door leading to the apartment upstairs. She locks it again behind us. Those people fear what dwells in their building.

Leo pulls out his holy water and walks in front of me, acting like a bodyguard. I grab him by the collar and drag him back.

“Don’t be so eager to lose your life,” I say.

He grumbles something I don’t catch.

The possessed is not difficult to locate. The family living here—the supermarket owners, I’m guessing—have barricaded a door with planks and a dresser. The place smells like blood and sweat.

I knock. “Hello there.”

Leo gives me a curious look. There’s no point in creeping quietly if we have to break the door down.

“Who’s there?” ask a woman’s voice from the other side.

“The exorcist you requested,” I say.

“Jon Shaw?”

“Yes.”

She’s well-informed. My reputation is only known to a handful of people in Los Angeles. I prefer it that way.

“Come in… You’ll have to… break the door,” she says. “They nailed it to the frame…” She sounds exhausted.

I rip the planks with my bare hands while Leo struggles to drag the dresser away. I take my dagger out and kick the door in. We enter what looks like a teenager’s bedroom. There are posters on the walls and plushies on the bed. The woman is sitting on the floor near the window. Her shoulders are slumped, and her face is illuminated by the lamppost just outside. The smell of blood and sweat is stronger here. She’s been struggling with her demon for a while. Leo stands behind me, holy water at the ready.

I turn on the light. She’s Asian. I’m guessing this is where she grew up. The woman downstairs must be her mother. She’s wearing a ripped t-shirt tainted with blood. Her eyes are half-closed, and she looks pale.

“Let me guess,” I say. “One of your tattoos has been damaged and you can’t contain your demon anymore.”

The woman smiles faintly. Her teeth are pointy. “The exorcists… Those fuckers rushed into our base last night. They shot me… One of the bullets took a chunk of my tattoo.” She gestures at her chest. “Shut up!” she suddenly screams.

I know she’s not talking to us.

“What class?” I ask, wanting to know what we’re dealing with.

“Three…” she says.

Leo gasps behind me. He didn’t expect to have to deal with a class-three demon on his very first exorcism. They’re smarter and stronger than the lower ones.

“I’m impressed you’ve managed to hold up the fort for so long,” I say, kneeling in front of her.

“What… other choice do I have?” She struggles to get the words out. “He doesn’t like you.” She smiles again.

She’s talking about the demon raging inside her body.

“I bet he doesn’t,” I say.

“I understand now why they call you the White Exorcist… What’s up with you? You’re an albino…?” Her eyes narrow at me.

I get back on my feet. “Leo. Help me tie her to the bed.”

“Name’s Andrea…” she says, trying to rise.

I help her up and she falls on the bed, scattering the plushies. I wonder what happened between her teenage years and now to make her join a gang of demonic traders. I take the titanium chains out of my pocket and give them to Leo. Andrea struggles to let us tie her to the bed frame; her demon disagrees with the turn of events.

I can’t blame her for not wanting to call the State Exorcists. They aren’t known to keep the hosts alive. And if she survives their barbaric methods, she’ll be sent to jail immediately for her role in the demonic trade of her gang.

Leo’s hands shake as he ties her hands and feet with the chains. At least he has the good sense to be scared. As soon as the exorcism starts, the demon will break through Andrea’s last stronghold and take over.

“We’re doing this. Anything you want to say before we start?” I ask her. “We can give a message.”

The implication is not lost on any of us. In case you don’t make it .

Andrea shakes her head. “Help me get rid of the fucker, and I’ll owe you,” she says. Her lips are trembling but her eyes are determined. “Drag him out of me by the tail if you need to.”

I smile. “Understood.”

I start reciting the centuries-old words. They taste sour on my tongue. My own demon is long gone, but my body still feels him linger. My cells despise the incantations as much as any creature from Hell.

Andrea arches on the bed, pulling at her restraints. The veins along her forehead and neck stand out like roots of evil under her skin. An inhuman growl rises from deep within her. I hope the owners were smart enough to close the shop. I know from experience that the demon won’t go quietly.

I change the words, going from Latin to an old African dialect. The Church isn’t the only one that has been fighting demons for centuries. Many religions and cultures have been doing it since the dawn of time. Hell was always a threat, even if it used to be harder for demons to cross to our world.

Andrea’s demon lunges, pulling on the chains. His teeth bite the air, trying to rip my throat out. I punch him in the face. Leo shouts in alarm, but I ignore him. The right side of the bedpost breaks, freeing one hand. He grabs me by the throat, cutting my airflow and stopping me from singing the words.

“There you are… White Exorcist,” he says, his voice lower than Andrea’s. “Should I take your body next? This one bores me.” He laugh maniacally.

I get a hold of his hand, and twist. The wrist breaks, surprising him. I shouldn’t be stronger than a possessed. Not without taking the Angel’s Tears.

I switch the words to an old Japanese song that was used to keep the yokai at bay. The demon screeches, fighting it.

“Get the Eames vessel in my pocket,” I say to my assistant.

But he’s staring at Andrea on the bed, her body twisted in an unnatural position. Her face is terrifying. Bulging eyes, pale lips pulled over her teeth, skin the color of white marble with darker veins… He’s pushing her to her limits.

“Leo!” I shout. “The vessel!”

He finally gets into action and rummages through my pocket to find the Eames vessel.

“I’ve got it!” he says, unlatching the glass cylinder with shaky hands.

The human flesh inside—grown in labs—will be perfect to contain the creature from Hell.

Noticing the vessel, the demon screams louder and the walls of the small bedrooms seem to quake. I hold him down.

“Where is the gate?” I ask, close to his borrowed face.

His eyes widen, and he laughs again. He’s foaming at the mouth.

“You wish you knew!” he says.

I punch him again and blood spatters on the bed. “Where!”

“You won’t stop us!” he says, before biting his tongue.

He’ll try to kill his host by chewing her tongue off and bleed to death. I can’t let it happen. I shove the leg of a teddy bear inside Andrea’s mouth to stop him from biting down, then I sing the words again. As the demon tries to resist, I grab the Eames vessel from Leo’s hand. It’s cold against my palm, to the point of burning skin. I pop it open and change the words. This time, it’s a summoning incantation. The kind demonic traders use to get in touch with demons in Hell.

Andrea’s demon can’t resist the pull; the vessel is much easier to slither in than to stay in a resisting host’s body. The dark veins converge around her mouth and—invisible to the human eye—he gets sucked into the Eames vessel. I close the latch. Andrea falls limply on the bed.

The sudden silence is deafening.

“Holy shit,” says Leo after a few seconds.

I chuckle and climb down from the bed. “Let’s go. We need to get the vessel back in nitrogen.”

If the temperature rises too much and the human cells die, the demon will be sent back to Hell. Luckily, we have a few hours before that happens.

I walk to the door.

“Shouldn’t we… do something about her?” Leo asks, looking at Andrea, unconscious on the bed.

She’s bleeding on the pillow. Some of her DNA already mutated with the presence of the demon inside her; she’ll heal faster than any normal human would. She’ll be fine.

“We’ve done our part. Her family will take care of her.”

With some luck, they’ll manage to stitch her tongue and she’ll be able to talk in a few weeks. In any event, we succeeded in keeping her alive after kicking a class-three demon out of her. She’s luckier than most possessed.

Leo swipes a hand in his sweaty brow and follows me down the stairs.

As we cross the closed supermarket, the owners give us wary looks. The woman is crying and shaking like a leaf.

“She’s alive and free,” I tell them.

They run upstairs without even letting us out. I find the button to raise the shutters and exit out in the quiet street. It’s no surprise to see that most passersby have run away. A demon on the loose is one of the worst things that could happen, even for Skid Row. With some luck, no one has called the cops and Andrea won’t get caught. In any event, it’s none of my business.

I hand the Eames vessel to Leo. “Run home, will you? And put it back into the nitrocase. We’ll give it to Willa next week.”

Our new friend will soon head out for one of the vaults built to contain demons.

“Sure,” he says. He looks a little shaken, but surprisingly level-headed after witnessing his first real exorcism. He got lucky; it was one of the good ones. “Where are you going?” he asks me.

I walk away and wave. “The night is still young, and there are many more demons to be found.”

A cooler wind blows over Los Angeles, ruffling my hair. This one is free of dust; it comes from the sea. Maybe tonight, a few stars will be visible from the outskirts of town.