To Dine With a Demon

Book signings bring out the weirdest people.

She was just over 5 foot tall. Her short jet-black hair was pushed back from her round face by a green headband. With her black vinyl shorts, knee high black boots, and black crop top, she was dressed more for an anime convention that a mall crawl. At least she had the body for the outfit. There's little in this world more disturbing that the sight of a pair of short shorts trying to hold back the full-figured fury of something that should be covered by a moo moo.

She kept rubbing the emerald-tone gemstone attached to her gold belly chain between her thumb and pointer. At first I figured it was a nervous twitch. But when she closed her almond-shaped eyes and stood like a statue except for the rubbing it seemed more like a meditation.

"What's your name?" I asked as she placed her copy of my book on the table.

"Hoshi. H ... o ... s ... h ... i."

"That's pretty," I said, opening the cover to sign the title page. "What does it mean?"

"Why do you assume it means anything? What does Michael mean, after all?" Her voice was more deliberate that it should be for what I assumed was a nineteen year old.

"It's Biblical. The Archangel Michael," I replied as I signed the book. "Chased Satan into Hell."

"I wouldn't say he actually CHASED the Morningstar anywhere."

"Enjoy the book, Hoshi." I handed her the book. As she took it from me, she bent over as if to kiss me. I moved my head back from her. She smiled and widened her eyes.