Heir Of Argranos

6

“And that was when I said to myself; Henri, the only name fitting for this tres magnifique creature is the name of the Caporal la Violette himself.”

“Uh huh…” I urged him on, feigning interest and grabbing another slice of Peperoni Pizza. Between Henri, thirty minutes of listening to him ramble about the history of his cat’s name, and I, we had emptied out three boxes of pizza.

“You see,” Henri continued, after taking a gulp of water from an ice cold bottle, and screwing the cap back in place. “A lot of people don’t pay attention to names. But we artiste… we know that names are like preambles to a person’s life.”

I nodded in agreement, and reached out for another slice of pizza with my left hand. Henri followed my movements with his eyes, but didn’t make any comment on how much pizza I had consumed within such short span of time.

He made sense, to some extent, regarding a person’s name being very important. Although I wouldn’t exactly say that they were preambles to a person’s life, but names really did have ties and effects based on what they mean, and the history of their usage.

This was why most demons needed a false name to disguise and protect themselves. A mortal knowing a demon’s complete ancestral name, was like having the ability to summon the demon and force them to do the mortal’s bidding.

“Take for example Alexandra the third of Macedon –that is, Alexandra the Great. If he had been named something like Trent, do you think he would still be great?”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, definitely not…”

Trent the Great? Doesn’t even sound right…

“See? I had a roommate named Trent back when I was still in college and had not dropped out. He was –to put it nicely, a douchenozzle.”

A snort escaped me, and the pizza I was about to swallow and digest uncomfortably moved up my nasal passage. I paused for a moment and tried to suppress my laughter, while also trying to get the food down the right pipe, but Henri’s pronunciation of ‘douchenozzle’ kept replaying in my head, and I couldn’t help but cackle, which soon turned into a cough.

He handed me his water bottle and I accepted it right away, drowning the remaining water in one go. It seemed to do the trick of pushing the food down, but the unpleasant feeling in my nose still lingered.

“That is enough pizza for one day.” Henri concluded, closing the box that contained the two remaining slices of pizza, and carrying it away to no doubt place it in the fridge.

I watched him go, tapping the bridge of my nose in hopes that it would do something to make the feeling of discomfort go away. Somewhere in the back of my mind, ‘douchenozzle’ repeated itself, causing me to smile.

“So, Frankie tells me you’re her patron’s daughter, and will be staying here for a year. What brings you to Elk Grove?” Henri questioned, handing me a water bottle he brought from the fridge, and reoccupying the space next to me on the couch.

“Trouble…” I replied vaguely with a conspiratorial wink, hoping he would steer the conversation in another direction.

“That is very… troubling.” He said, and expectantly waited for me to get his play on words. When I didn’t burst out into a fit of laughter like he was expecting, he scratched the back of his head and a reddish flush crept up his neck.

“Well…”

Both our attentions were seized by Frankie, who marched down the stairs, past us with a scowl, and disappeared into the kitchen. Barely two seconds later, she reappeared with a ginormous wine bottle, and regarded us both suspiciously. “What are you guys talking about?” She asked, looking a bit uninterested in the whole situation, but plopped down on the couch nearest to us anyways.

“Frankie, haven’t you had enough alcohol for one day?”

“Unless you want me to break this bottle on your head Henri, mind your business. I’ve tried taking a nap thrice today, and none of them worked out well for me, so I’ve earned this.” She replied, ceremoniously shaking the bottle in her hand and trying to remove the cork with her teeth.

“You’ll need a corkscrew.”

Frankie chuckled. “Kid, I’ve been at this for years…” And she pulled the cork out with a pop. A slosh of its content splashed on the porcelain white couch. She sighed. “Not again…”

“Elle a definitivement ses regles…” Henri whispered to himself, causing Frankie to glare at him.

“Anyways…” She began, turning her attention back to me. “Harley, a driver will be here in an hour to drive us to the central mall, cause obviously I’m about to get bat-s**t drunk, and therefore can’t drive. Make a list of the things you need, and get ready. Your father has kept your Centurion Card in my custody, but I will let you have it, if, and only if, you show financial discipline.”

I’ve heard of the Centurion Card from one of the lost human souls in hell. A small piece of plastic that gave one the ability to buy whatever their hearts desired without limit…

Of course my father ruins the fun by placing it in Frankie’s custody.

“Can I tag along?” Henri asked eagerly.

“No, unless you want me to send you to get the tampons and the sanitary pads…”

Henri scrunched up his nose. “I’ll pass. I have a sketch to complete anyways.” He said, taking a long, tortured look at his tattered satchel, which was discarded on the farthest couch. “Is the drawing room still the way I left it?” He directed the question at Frankie.

She shrugged, and took a swig of the wine. “You have legs, don’t you? Go see for yourself. Qui vivra verra.”

“Your French makes me want to hang myself.”

Frankie smiled sweetly. “It’s okay to admit that you’re constantly thinking of hanging yourself. You don’t have to place the blame on my French.”

“Against my will, I shall agree.” Henri replied, getting to his feet. “Mademoiselle Harley…” He addressed, turning to me. “Welcome to Elk Grove.”

I nodded curtly, and muttered a ‘thank you’, which felt weird to say, because they weren’t exactly words that I used on a daily basis.

He shuffled over to his bag, heaved it over his shoulder, and sauntered up the stairs without another word.

I waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Frankie. “Does this mean I’ll have to use the name Harley from now on?” I asked, shifting to the edge of the couch where Henri just vacated, so I could be closer to Frankie.

She nodded, and reached with one hand into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a small rectangular plastic card and handing it to me. “That’s what it says here. Harley Black. Mr. Sonargra said you needed to stay disguised, and that was why you couldn’t use his name. Someone delivered the ID a while ago.”

As if I would ever willingly let myself be called ‘Harley Sonargra’. Plus, ‘Sonargra’ itself wasn’t my father’s real name.

I collected the plastic card from her and examined it. ‘Identification Card’ was boldly written on the top in blue ink, and a passport of my current physical form was printed directly below the words, with basic information on age, height, weight, address, issued date, and random numbers next to it. It felt cold and useless in my hand.

He must’ve given the order for the identification card to be made after our argument. Telepathically, I tried to reach out, but realized that the barrier was still there.

Frankie sighed and carefully placed her bottle of wine on the small center table only an arm’s length away from where she sat. Her voice dropped an octave lower. “Henri doesn’t know, and I’d like to keep it that way. The less people that know, the safer you, I, and everyone around us is.”

I’m sure she means the safer she and everyone else is, because if anyone is going to be a threat or danger, that person would have to be me. I’m the one they need saving from, not the one that needs to be saved.

“You and Henri are…” I left the question hanging. It was something that had sparked my curiosity. At first I had the thought that he might be her boyfriend, but then there wasn’t any sign of romance or attraction between them, and they simply seemed too mismatched to be dating.

“We grew up in the same foster family, before we uh… left. He’s like a brother to me.”

A sullen expression crossed her face, like she had suddenly remembered something she wanted to forget, but then in the next instant, it was gone; replaced by a look of utter boredom.

“You’re gonna love earth Harley. Devils roam freely here. It’s gonna feel just like home…” She said with a bitter laugh, and picked up the wine bottle again, retreating up the stairs to her room, already swaying back and forth, out of balance on her feet.