I think we've all worked in offices like this. What! You mean it's just me? The story is by Ryan Dull, who makes his debut on the Grievous Angel.

His work has previously appeared in Psychopomp Magazine and on the Pseudopod podcast, and is upcoming in Third Flatiron's Cat's Breakfast anthology. He adds "Ryan Dull is still hiding out in Southern California. Please let him know when the coast is clear. You can find him on Twitter at @RyanSoDull"
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Armaggemnon
by Ryan Dull

Armaggemnon demands sacrifice. We try to ignore him. He demands sacrifice in a booming voice, much too deep for his soccer ball body. He demands sacrifice from everyone he sees, rolling across the ceiling to shout down into one cubicle after another, leaving a rift of popped-out ceiling tiles in his wake. We can hear him coming from around the corner. He is oblong, and he thumps whenever he rolls onto his cheek. He mostly bothers the people near Steve, since he’s bound to Steve and he can’t get far. But when Steve walks to the bathroom or the copier, Armaggemnon barrels along with him, tearing into workspaces and commanding us to throw precious things into his ravenous maw.
    
Steve is incredibly apologetic about the whole situation. He grimaces and tells us that if he’d known this kind of thing still happened, he would have spent his vacation at the beach and not spelunking in long-sealed jungle caves. Every day, he stays late to fix the ceiling. He’s a diligent guy, works a lot of Saturdays. He knows he’s lucky to have this job, given his condition.
    
There’s been some back and forth with the insurance people, we’re told. Steve holds that it’s a parasite, plain and simple, and that he’s entitled to whatever kind of solution medical science can devise. The insurance people think that it’s more like an old-world blood curse, and that Steve should consider more financially prudent options, like religion. Steve hunches in his ergonomic chair, listening to hold music in one ear and antediluvian cries for satisfaction in the other. Whenever the screams peak, the mysterious tattoos on Steve’s wrists glow through his cuffs. Steve’s been wearing a lot of dark shirts lately, but nothing can hide the eldritch loops of Armaggemnon’s brand. He says he’s tempted to try feeding Armaggemnon, just to see if it might shut him up. It doesn’t seem likely. Carol once gave him a jellybean, and it only made him bigger and louder.
    
We don’t want to let Steve go. That would be difficult, ethically speaking. We can’t know if Steve maybe shattered some ancient urn or if Armaggemnon really latched onto him for no reason. We can’t cast blame. This is a family business. We’re a family. What happened to Steve could have happened to any one of us (although we don’t like jungle caves – we like the beach). We assume this floating, yelling, unholy, beet-red cranium must be taking some kind of toll on Steve’s home life. We are very conscious of how much stress he must be enduring. The last thing we want is to exacerbate it. But it’s become a productivity issue. The thing is so fucking loud.
    
We’ve rented a space uptown, a satellite office, a run-down two-room with a key to a shared bathroom. We’ve draped the place in holy symbols, had it sanctified by a whole mess of holy people. It’s taken a lot of time, and no small expense. We’ve kept it all very hush hush. Steve doesn’t suspect a thing.

​We’re showing him tomorrow, taking him uptown under the pretense of a client meeting. He’s going to be thrilled. We haven’t taken him on a client meeting since his vacation. We’re going to buzz him into the new building, maybe even have a ribbon-cutting ceremony at Steve’s brand new, personal, private office. We’ll say a few words. Steve will be profoundly grateful. And then the rest of us will drive back to work and that screaming head can starve for all we care. 

​Conjur Wife Redux
by Marge Simon* 

I was a lowly accountant and she was a shy young thing. A head of unruly red curls, and a keen attention to anything I said. She stole my heart! How joyful I was when she agreed to marry me. I brought my bride home to a modest cottage outside of the city. It was in need of paint and plumbing repairs, and there were sugar ants in the kitchen. She appeared delighted, and I was grateful. Unfortunately I had no time to devote to repairs, and we simply couldn’t afford a full renovation. Within two weeks, she had repainted it inside and out. The kitchen was spotless and the bathroom sparkled like new. Her pot roasts and desserts were heavenly, and she never complained about anything. In the space of two years, I rose to be manager of the firm.
 
All that I just took for granted until one stormy night when gargoyles were flying about willy-nilly as they have been wont to do since we moved here, I caught her in the kitchen invoking a spell.
 
“Is that creature in the air with a scorpion tail a kindred spirit?”  I asked.
         
“Of course he is, Malcolm,” she replied with a twinkle in her emerald eyes.  “Is that a problem?”


* Artwork also © Marge Simon

​We've all seen action movies but what about the little things – like the drive across town and where will our heroes park the car? Our new story by Laura Davy examines these issues – and also ensures our hero does not catch a chill! Laura Davy has been published in Apex, Escape Pod, Sword & Sorceress 31, Grimdark Magazine, and others. Check out her website www.lauradavy.com and Twitter @TheLauraDavy



What Happens During a Cutaway Scene
by Laura Davy


“If the ritual is completed then Azazel will be summoned at midnight,” Linh read from the Book of the Serpents, the infamous book she and Jeremy used to help them battle evil. “If we don’t stop the cultists, the demon will devour millions.”

The two friends stood stunned and scared in Jeremy’s apartment. At only 17-years old they never thought the fate of the world would rest on their shoulders.

“We know they’re at the Eastshore Cemetery,” Linh said as she looked up from the cursed text. “If we hurry we might be able to stop them.”

“We will stop them,” Jeremy said. “We have to. Let’s go.”

Unfortunately life couldn’t simply skip from the decision to leave to appearing at the fight.
Linh shut the book and hid it away. “Okay, that’s like a fifty minute drive from here. Do you have enough gas in the car?”

“Yeah. Well, probably.” Jeremy looked around the room. “Do you think I should bring a jacket? I mean, it’s a summer night so it shouldn’t be too cold, but still.”

“All I need is my weapon,” Linh said as she held out her hand and magically materialized her Spear of Souls.

“Don’t do that indoors. You’re going to knock over a lamp. And why would you bring it out now anyways?”

“I was making a point.”

​“Nice pun, you should use that when you stab someone.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Linh dematerialized her spear and headed towards the bathroom. “I’m going to pee before we go.”

“Oh, the door still does that thing where it sticks and you have to jiggle the handle.”

Jeremy went to the closet and stared his jackets. His puffy plastic-looking ones looked terrible on him, but were almost sinfully comfortable and warm. Normally he’d wear his faded leather jacket, but last fight the sleeve was ripped off and he hadn’t sewed it back yet. Decided, he took two puffy jackets, just in case Linh got cold too.

“Okay,” Linh announced. “I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

They left the apartment and sprinted to Jeremy’s used Dodge Charger. Jeremy took the driver’s seat and Linh settled into the passenger seat.

“I feel like I should make a shotgun pun here,” Linh said. “Something like, I claim shotgun, and not just the weapon.”

“It would work better if it wasn’t just the two of us.”

“It would also work better if I actually used a shotgun.”

“Looks like I have enough gas,” Jeremy said as he started the car and sped off. “Might not get us home, but we can deal with that then.”

Linh synced her phone up to the car radio and blasted classic rock. The loud music filled them with adrenaline and hope. For about five minutes. By the fourth song they had both started zoning out and Linh realized they had a problem when neither of them even sang along to Aerosmith’s Walk This Way.

“I actually have a few audio books on here too,” Linh said fiddling with her phone, “if you want to listen to something different.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

“Yeah.”

Five more minutes passed as they listened to the loud music.

“What type of books?” Jeremy asked.

They pulled up to the Cemetery listening to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

​Linh scanned the street and didn’t see any empty parking spots. “Why is it so crowded here?”

“Maybe the cultists don’t like carpooling. Oh, there’s a spot.”

It took Jeremy only three tries to successfully parallel park.

They turned off the car and faced each other, still seated. 

“Want a jacket?” Jeremy asked.

“I’m good. All I need is my weapon.”

“I swear, if you materialize that spear in my car…”

The sound of an explosion coming from the Cemetery rocked their parked car.

“Convenient timing,” Linh hopped out and made her weapon appear. “If we don’t make it out of here alive I want you to know I...”

Jeremy interrupted, “Whatever you have to say you can tell me after we save the world.”

They went and fought the cultists. They won.

​And it was a warm enough night Jeremy didn’t actually use a jacket.