The Best Man

                He was credited with 500,326 damnations, 32,644 deaths, and 898 suicides. Those were the big ticket items, the only ones all the other demons said really counted. Other things, like causing bouts of insanity (76,326 cases) or seducing innocent virgins (an even 4,000 cases) weren’t counted as significant endeavors, but Cyn felt they should have. They could be so dastardly and dirty, and besides, it only took a little push before someone was falling out the 40^th floor. He was proud of the work he did, and he loved his job. He took the time to memorize the details of each case—like that actress last month whose nudes he had leaked to the press, the one who eventually doused her once-again naked body in glitter, lit herself on fire, and then attempted to jump from her Las Vegas penthouse into the pool below while screaming “I’m a star”—and those details generally soothed any frazzled nerves he was experiencing before a new job. However, there was no case now that could save him from the new fresh hell that was a tie.

                His black talons clacked together as he fidgeted with it, constantly looping it in every direction in an attempt to make it look at least somewhat less unruly. It wasn’t working. Try as he might, the fabric simply wouldn’t cooperate. It was perfect, just perfect. The day was going splendid so far. What was to come next? He was already missing a séance down on 92^nd for this, and he had been forced to postpone the crash of a major airline to next week. And there was something strange happening to his forehead—that wasn’t sweat, was it? He swore under his breath. Disgusting.

                Marco had better realize how lucky he was. When Cyn had first met Marco, he was doing an insanity job on a teacher at West Point Academy. It was some pretentious school for rich parents to send their bratty children to, and he hated it all the more for that. So, had he even possessed morals, torturing one of the teachers at this particular school wouldn’t have been an issue. For this case, he thought that a suspicious voice mail on the woman’s phone would push her over the edge. He was in the process of adding one when Marco surprised him by walking into the empty room. Marco was around nine at the time, but for some reason, he wasn’t afraid of the bright red goat-man towering over him. In fact, Marco had asked if he could help.

                Marco was the one who started calling him Cyn. They were the only three letters in a row that Marco could pronounce in his demonic name, and he was fine with that. He hadn’t expected to start up a friendship with a human. He had been forced into it, really. Marco hadn’t just asked to help on the insanity job—he had given excellent suggestions. “No way, a blank voicemail isn’t going to do it,” he had said as he stared at the phone over Cyn’s shoulder. “Miss Caroline is way too smart for that.” Cyn hadn’t believed him, but the boy’s feedback proved useful. After trying and failing several times, he had begrudgingly used Marco’s idea. The woman was checked into an institution by the end of the week.

                The tie still wouldn’t cooperate. Cyn tore it off, contemplating whether or not an item of human clothing could be sent to hell or not. It was so infuriating it didn’t even deserve to be dragged to hell. It could find its own way. Just take the A train down past all other stops until you reach the place with all the fire. If you smell brimstone, you’ve made it. If not, you’re probably in Cleveland. He snickered a little at his own joke and then kicked at the tie. Marco was an idiot. No, worse, Cyn himself was an idiot. After all, Marco hadn’t twisted his arm or uttered any dark incantation. Cyn was here of his own free will. Perhaps there was still time to get someone to summon him; it would technically be considered a work emergency. But no. He was already missing that séance, and Marco wouldn’t believe the “emergency,” even if it was real.

                Cyn was further contemplating what he should do to the tie when there were two quick knocks on the door and an elderly woman poked her head in. “Hello there, dearie. Just wanted to make sure things were going all right in here!” She frowned as her eyes landed on the tie in Cyn’s hand. He almost blushed when she looked back at him. Cyn knew that look all too well. “You weren’t planning on burning that tie, Cyn, were you?”

                “Why, Mrs. Sanchez, I wouldn’t dream of—“

                “Don’t try to convince me otherwise, I’ve known you for too long. I’ll have you know your outfit was very expensive, and Mr. Sanchez and I paid for the whole thing. Now you may not have much regard for honesty, but I am a good Christian woman and I do. So if you’ll kindly hand over that tie, I’ll help you with it.”

                She marched in to the room and snatched the tie from his hands, immediately throwing it around his neck and deftly folding the fabric into a manageable state.

                Cyn was a demon. He wasn’t afraid of much, considering he was a member of one of the smallest yet most feared legions on earth, but may he be flayed alive several times over if he ever said that Mrs. Sanchez wasn’t the one thing that haunted his own personal nightmares. The woman was a force of nature that was impossible to control. When she had first met him, she had grimaced. “You’ve been good to my boy, and he likes you, so I’ll allow you to see him. But,” she said, closing in on him, “I’ll have you know that I am a good Christian woman, and if you corrupt my boy in any way, you’ll wish I had found an exorcist to send you screaming back to hell with your tail between your legs. Am I clear?”

                She was clear.

                “Are you all set up for the big speech?” she asked gently, looping the tie again.

                “Of course, Mrs. Sanchez,” he said, flashing one of his most winning smiles at her.

                She slapped him on the arm harder than Cyn felt was necessary. “You know, I give you every opportunity to be honest with me—“

                “And as a creature of the night, it’s my duty never to take them.”

                “But tonight you’re covered in sweat, you have the jitters, and you can’t figure out how your tie works.”

                He snorted. “In my defense, human fashion isn’t my forte. Mortals don’t even make hats that work around my horns, let alone pants that cater to my tail. How do you expect me to figure them out?”

                Mrs. Sanchez chuckled as she finished up tying the tie. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. You managed to convince me that you were imaginary for God knows how many years, and you never once tried to drag my baby to hell. Well, at least you never tried very hard.”

                “Only because I feared you, Mrs. Sanchez.”

                She laughed a little, tears starting to form in her eyes as she put the finishing touches on the tie. “My baby will always be my baby, but starting today, he’ll be a little less my baby. And although that’s a scary thing, I’m so happy for him.” With that, she looked up at Cyn and patted his face. “You mean a lot to him, you know. We’re not in a church right now. Notice that? He wanted you here. That’s how I know you won’t let him down.”

                Cyn smiled his most tender, reassuring smile at her. He was a good liar, and sometimes even Mrs. Sanchez believed him. And now, the moment when he most needed her to see through it, was the moment that she fell for it.

                People were milling around the tables now, socializing happily and drinking freely with only occasional glances up at Cyn. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, save for the actual hitching part. Marco was married. He was no longer “Marco.” He was now “Marco and Laura.” Human love still revolted Cyn to no end, but he had to admit that out of all the people Marco could have chosen, Laura was a pleasant one. She hadn’t seemed revolted by his line of work or his heritage, and had instead seemed interested. It was a positive for Marco; Cyn fully intended to stop by and irritate him every once in a while, and Laura had better be comfortable with Cyn, otherwise she might turn into an accidental suicide case. Marco very clearly loved her—if “love” meant “turned into a bumbling fool whenever she was around”—and he would mourn her loss if she died.

                “Excuse me, sir?” a small voice chirped from behind him. He turned to see a girl in a lilac dress staring at him, mouth open slightly. A bridesmaid.

                “Yes?” he asked after a moment of emptiness. She shook her head.

                “You—I—um, they’re almost ready to start serving. They, uh, need all of us to sit down soon.”

                He smiled at her. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to come in a moment.” He angled his body away from her, turning back to his vantage point. He still had a few moments left to craft what he wanted to say. Or at least he would have, had the bridesmaid left him alone and not continued to mouth-breathe over his shoulder.

                His tail flicked in irritation. “Are you still here?”

                 “I just—“ She hesitated, brow furrowing as she took a deep breath. “Your teeth are really straight.”

                Less than half a second of silence passed between them. Cyn’s silence was confused and irritated. He couldn’t say what adjective best fit the bridesmaid’s silence. Perhaps it was “revulsion;” she was still staring at him, a frown etched into her features.

“Yes,” Cyn drawled, “I’m sure they are. The fangs certainly add to the symmetry, I’ve no doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to attend to.”

                Without a second thought, he brushed past her and strode to the table, cursing himself for the lack of care. He still had no idea what to say, or if what he had prepared would be enough. Human tradition was ridiculous and he didn’t see why he had to be part of it.

               

                Cyn didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Marco had arranged for him to speak last. While it gave him time to prepare, he also had to watch as Laura’s maid of honor spoke. The woman was an attorney, for God’s sake. Of course she would argue Laura’s case convincingly. And the dirty rat was human, so she knew how to play to the human emotions of a large group of people. If Cyn knew only one thing about humans, it was that their silly emotions needed to be played to in order for them to remember anything. An attorney. Bah. It was her job to manipulate the emotions of an audience to believe a certain way. Cyn rarely had to play to their full range of emotions. He just had to get them to die or drop their panties.

                As the maid of honor sat, he stood and lifted his glass, smiling. Smile. Exude charm. You can do this, Cyn. He felt his lips tighten and realized that his smile was more of a grimace. Come on, man. It’s just speaking. You speak to pathetic mortals every day. “Good evening everyone,” he said, his vision darkening slightly when he realized that his voice was shaking. “I am the best man. Uh…” Cyn completely lost his train of thought then. Sweat—that infernal betrayer!—was starting to bead on his forehead. What was he supposed to do? The notecards. He had notecards… somewhere. In all honesty, he hadn’t thought he would need them, but now his hands were shaking, a telltale sign that he was unprepared. His hand somehow made its way into his inner jacket pocket, and he noticed that the bridesmaid who had talked to him earlier was clutching the table.

                Introduce yourself.

                “I’m Marco’s best man. You can call me Cyn. That’s what he calls me.” Cyn looked up at the crowd of people. They were silent.

                “He—he couldn’t pronounce my real name. Just the C, the Y, and the N, so… He, um. He calls me Cyn.” Somebody coughed. No wonder, Cyn thought, it’s so hot in here. Hotter than hell. To his horror, he heard his unintentional chuckle echo around the room. He pulled on his collar to try and relieve the heat.

                “You’ve probably noticed that I’m red. That’s just my race. Don’t judge me on that. The horns and tail are free game, though.”

                Still silent. Cyn could feel the sweat pooling on the back of his neck.

                “I met Marco when he was nine. I lost a bet and had to be his imaginary friend because he had no friends and he had to resort to blackmailing a demon to get one.”

                Only Cyn’s short bark of a laugh echoed through the room. He glanced at Marco, looking for reassurance. Marco was leaning forward with his hand over his mouth in either embarrassment or amusement. Laura was staring intently into her lap.

                “Anyways, uh, Marco and I had a lot of good times. Even Mrs. Sanchez can admit that, and she’s a good Christian woman.”

                A laugh rippled throughout the crowd. It was small, but it was there. Cyn felt a surge of confidence. Perhaps this was going the right way after all.

                “Marco and I have had fun together, despite our considerable barrier. He enjoys many things that I have never heard of, and I enjoy many things he is not allowed to participate in. For example, I had no idea that ‘grand theft auto’ was a video game in addition to a criminal act.”

A bigger laugh this time. The back of his neck was still soaking wet.

“If there are any police officers in here, I must confess, it was Marco and I who infamously crashed that stolen vehicle into the fire hydrant on the corner of 5^th and Washington.”

                He caught the parent’s table out of the corner of his eye. Mr. Sanchez was trying to cover a laugh as he patted Mrs. Sanchez’s hand. Mrs. Sanchez didn’t seem to notice it; she was far too busy sending Cyn a death glare that was worthy of his boss.

                “Mrs. Sanchez didn’t know about that one. Oops.”

                The room erupted with laughter and Cyn swayed in place slightly. Part of him noticed that the bridesmaid’s knuckles were white.

                “It’s okay though. I was driving because Marco didn’t have his permit yet. Although, I didn’t know how to drive either, so perhaps it was a poor decision.”

                See, Cyn? It’s easy. His claw tore a jagged line through his notecard as he flipped to the next one.

                “Look, the thing about Marco is that he’s thicker than a post. Everyone here has spent the night either consciously or unconsciously avoiding the demon lurking in the corner. I even had my own special dressing room today because the other groomsmen didn’t want to be in the same room as me. They were smart. But when I first met Marco, I couldn’t get him to leave me alone. Nothing about me screamed ‘flee’ to him. Isn’t that remarkable? And he hasn’t lost it. I’m sure the man could meet Hitler and compliment him on his mustache!”

Marco had thrown his head back and was howling with laughter. Laura was giggling alongside him, her hand over her mouth. Everything was going perfect after that rough start, and at least it kept people distracted from the earthquake. Cyn smiled. He was so good at public speaking that none of the puny humans had noticed that the earth was violently shaking back and forth.

                “If I’m being completely honest—and who can honestly trust me to be honest?—I don’t know Laura very well. I could say that she seems nice, but I’m sure that I seem nice right now as well. I could say that she’s very lovely, but mortal appearances fade with time. But Laura, I must say, if you’re willing to endure Marco’s company voluntarily for the rest of your existence, then you must either be an angel or a devil. And, seeing as I don’t know you very well, it’s clear you must be the former.”

                Cyn raised his glass of champagne to the air.

                “To the new Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez!”

                The room raised their glasses together, saluting Marco and Laura. Cyn downed his glass and sighed. It was done. No more stress.

                He promptly fell backwards and passed out.