“Uncle Glaasya, will you tell me a story?” asked the littlest of the human kittens.

“How did you know I was Glaasya today, little one?” he replied smoothly, hiding his cigarette the moment she approached.

“Because today you are all… fancy.” giggled his nifling tabby.

And so he was. Today Glaasya Llabolas wore a black button-down, black jeans, black cowboy boots, a black bolo tie with silver accents, and his insanely long ochre-dark, reddish-black hair pulled into a low tail and secured with fine braids.

“I am the second American Glaasya, darling. I keep many homes. Do you remember my story?”

Little One shook her head no, still smiling, in soft Hatchetman pajamas of red and black with a little red bow on each shoulder. She fastened her Hatchetman superhewwo cape as she settled in. She couldn’t have been older than eight, and she mispronounced things on purpose to earn extra stories.

“Ah. I know that look. You do know it. You just want me to tell it again.”

Little One giggled. “Start with the mad scientist… pweaase, Uncle Gwassy-ya?”

“I met the mad scientist when this exquisite body was recruited as a human spy at eighteen. Still rough, still muddy. The lunatic said, ‘My daughter is in danger. I am dying in this body, and your life is about to be disposable. There is a sigil in my office. We can get this over with quickly, before they relocate you to Tempe.’”

He let the smoke of the memory sit a moment.

“My human host said, before he was me, ‘What do I get out of it?’ And the scientist said, ‘The love of my daughter. Immortality. Exquisite genius.’ So the human bled, and I changed outfits. I left the aging mad scientist, and I became a beautiful spy. And his daughter loved me. My human self did not die until it realized there were consequences for not loving her back.”

“What were those?”

“I would never have children. Every harm I wished on her, or allowed, or enacted, happened to my human self instead. And whether I stayed in this host or not, this body was conscripted to protect her until it dies.”

“Why.”

“Because I betrayed her. For money, and for the esteem of other people.”

“Do I know her?”

“No, little one. I watch her from the computer in my office. I am the first to know what help she needs. Just like every other Glaasya Llabolas.”

“Oh. Is she pretty?”

“Are wolves pretty, Little One?”

“YES!!! Uncle Glassya,” Little One exclaimed. “When I grow up, I wanna be a wolf!” And she promptly, convincingly howled, despite being an Arizona housecat.

“Well, little Wolf, right now we stay cats, because we live in the realm of Al-Araf. But we can be wolves if we visit Folkvangr someday.”

“What is that?”

“Where we go when this life ends. Sometimes.” He smoothed her cape. “But for now, it is nifling kitty bedtime.”

“I want another story, Uncle Wolf?”

“Uncle Wolf?”

“Your shadow. It looks like a wolf with wings.”

“Very observant. You are quite the little goetia already.”

“When do I get to switch bodies?”

“Some are born human, little Valec. You only get one, this life. But that is powerful.”

“Powerful?”

“You get continuity. I can only come through in patches and scraps.”

“Of exquisite men!” she giggled.

“They are only exquisite because of me.” He booped her nose. “Without me, and after me, they are the outcomes of their own ethics. Nothing more.”

“Will you ever stay forever, Uncle Glaasya?”

“I cannot. My spirit has to travel back to Pennsylvania. But Uncle Raven will still have this body after I am gone.”

“Uncle Raven just cries all the time.”

“That is the result of his own poor decisions. Give him time. Second chances are hard on grown-ups, Val.”

“STORY!” Little One insisted. “You tell THE BEST stories when you are here.”

“Do I. Very well.” He settled back. “Once upon a time there were two kings, a father and a son, but their thrones were Hollywood props and their robes were plastic and linen, sewn in a factory by tired robots. I could visit neither kingdom. They saw the other Goetia as competition. Though the truth is, no other Goetia care for humans, after all the ways humans enslaved us.”

“But you do.”

“Sometimes even slaves get a little power, and choose to spend it kindly. One kingdom belonged to Amon, older than me in this life, and orange. His son was an orange-and-white fluffy cat named Abaddon, who was both a person and a place. Amon was everyone’s best friend, which is impossible to keep up, so he betrayed everyone, regularly. Abaddon ran a prison for the dead. And they both fell in love with the same kitty.”

“Was she beautiful?”

“He was beautiful, only after they loved him. Abaddon was still human then.”

“Poor Abaddon.”

“He got better. He just got trapped. When the human part of him failed God, the better part, the smokeless fire, burned the mud away, until he was so beautiful they caged him like a bird.”

“But Uncle, humans don’t get caged. They cage others.”

“Humans caged other humans first. That is the most important thing to remember, kitten.”

“Did he get free?”

“So far, only as a cat. But he can be human sometimes, too.”

“What was his name? The one they loved?”

“That is a secret, darling. And they were not lovers.”

“Then what are they?”

“Goetia. And trying to serve God.” He drew the blanket up over her shoulder. “Goodnight, little one. May God bless you and keep you. May His face shine upon you and give you peace.”

“Amen, Uncle Glaasya.” She was already going under. “Please come back soon.”

He kissed her forehead.

Then he shambled to the porch, just as the tow truck’s lights swung into the drive. He lit a cigarette, and thanked God he wasn’t Bird anymore.