“Speaker, attend me and learn truth,” the scarred cleric said to Nancy, his voice like brittle aluminum.

“Yesh,” Nancy slurred and stepped in close.

“Lay your hand in mine, Speaker,” the cleric said. “Those bound by touch can never lie. This is the bond of my truth.”

Nancy held out her hand and he grasped it quickly, like a snake strike. Nancy could see his swollen joints, the labial gnarls of bone-deep burns, and long fingernails the color of Cherry Flavor Aid.

“Know this, Speaker. I cannot rid the homosexual desire from your husband. I cannot restore him as your consort.”

“I don’t want you to make him straight,” Nancy squawked, almost pulling away in shock. “I don’t care if he’s gay. This is San Francisco, this place might as well be called Buckfuckinton. Hell, I fundraise on having a gay husband in certain bars.”

“Then what is it you ask of our order?” the cleric rasped.

“My house is clearly infested with a Rough Trade Demon and I want it out,” Nancy said.

“A Rough Trade Demon?” the cleric asked. “But they usually plague the young, or recently divorced…”

“Listen here, buddy,” Nancy said. “I didn’t suck Jim Jones’ crooked cock to get jerked around.”

“But have you seen the signs? To attempt the purging of a Rough Trade Demon on a different entity might have disastrous results.”

“He comes home smelling like the docks, the constant black eyes, the perfusion of handkerchiefs in multiple colors…”

“Oh, my,” the hooded cleric gasped.

“Blood in his underwear,” Nancy finished. “And it’s not tomato sauce.” She struggled to waggle her eyebrows on the sausage-tight skin of her face.

“I will do this for you, Speaker,” he said and snatched his hands away.

The cleric walked toward the front door of the house, hands held out before him, muttering Enochian obscenities. He mounted the porch and screamed.

“I told you it was bad!” Nancy called.

“No,” he said, looking back. “A priest has been here.”

“I contacted the Archdiocese first,” Nancy said. “They were the cheapest option.”

“The Catholic Church knows nothing of exorcism. They can’t even clean their own house!”

“The last one Paul brought home nearly killed him with a hammer!” Nancy said. “I need my husband alive to launder my money, dammit!”

The cleric grimaced and approached the front door. He bit his left hand and painted a sigil of banishment with it in his own pale red blood.

He cried out in guttural Enochian, his larynx twisted by the brute language of the angels. Nancy had just enough to translate in her head.

I call and command you, spirit of the black eye and bleeding anus, depart this home!

The house seemed to shiver and a sourceless voice answered, “WHO DISTURBS MY GLORYHOLE?”

“The Beloved of Jones the Uncarnated, may His Glasses reflect forever.”

“GO HOME, LITTLE KOOL-AID MAN!”

“FLAVOR-AID!” the cleric shouted and splattered more of his blood on the door.

“YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE.”

“Oh, yeah?” the cleric asked as he burst through the living room wall.