A Deliberation of Morality
Kevin L. O'Brien
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Text Copyright 2013 by Kevin L. O'Brien
Cover design and typography copyright 2014 by Kevin L. O'Brien
Trajan Pro font distributed under an end user license by Carol Twombly and Adobe
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License Notes
Please consider writing a review for this book on the retailer's website.
If you see any misspellings or typographical errors, please notify Kevin L. O'Brien using one of his online social networks. Thank you.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, including those based on the real world, are either products of the imagination of Kevin L. O'Brien or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Because some ebook platforms do not support special characters, certain words may appear misspelled, but this was done deliberately to avoid the problem of the platforms deleting the characters. Also, the LRF platform used by older models of the Sony Reader does not permit the use of links to external URLs, whereas the PDB platform used by Palm reading devices does not support any form of linking whatsoever. Finally, certain words use British instead of American spelling, to simulate the characters' English accents.
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Table of Contents
Preface
A Deliberation of Morality
About the Author
Other Books by Kevin L. O'Brien
Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien
Sample Excerpts
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Preface
Most of the enemies of Sir Differel Van Helsing exist independent of her, but one is a product of her own thoughts and actions. It is a personification of her evil side known colloquially and in folklore as the shoulder devil. For virtually everyone else, it is merely an ideal, a way of thinking about the temptations and selfish thoughts that intrude into our minds every day. No one actually sees it, or its counterpart, the shoulder angel.
But Differel insists on being different.
This story takes place just after the first of year in 2011, barely half a year after "Rhapsody in Orange".
Back to TOC
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Sir Differel glanced at the clock on her desk; it read 10:33. She laid the pen down on the blotter, leaned back in her chair, stretched and yawned, then rubbed her eyes, slipping her fingers under her glasses. She had at least another hour's worth of work, most likely two, before she could retire. She doubted she would be in bed before one. Those late nights wore her down, but she didn't have much choice, not if she wanted to spend time with Henry. She couldn't do anything about being interrupted by crises, but at least she could postpone all the routine busy-work until after she put him to bed. That didn't give her much time to sleep, and it cut into her Dreaming time, but the lack of rest she could deal with until he went back to his grandmother's estate, and Victor would bend over backwards to accommodate her. Although, sometimes she wondered if she went to the Dreamlands more for getting away from her duties than to see him.
She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn't sure if her dedication was worth the hassle. It seemed like her superiors and underlings took advantage of it, demanding her immediate and personal attention to tasks that could wait until later or be taken care of by others. Then again, she felt partially to blame. She had never delegated authority, except for administrative tasks and those functions she knew little about, such as data analysis. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't be in her present situation. It could also aid her security; if eliminating her did not threaten the stability and operation of the Order, like it currently would, she might become less of a target.
But would that be enough? she wondered. She doubted it, and neither did she believe she could change things that easily. Sometimes she felt trapped, unable to imagine any way out, and at such times she found herself wishing that she could just walk away from the whole thing.
A pop startled her, and when she opened her eyes and slipped her glasses back on she saw a small column of fire and smoke standing in the middle of a report, accompanied by a deep, resonant bass organ chord. Alarmed, she half rose out of her chair when it disappeared. In its place stood a feminine anthropomorphic figure inside a ring of char, no more than six inches high and dressed in an erotic bodice with a cross in the cleavage lacings, a pair of belted panties, fishnet stockings, and stiletto-heeled shoes, with a garter on her left thigh, two more on her upper arms, and a spiked collar around her neck. The clothes were fiery red while the collar, belt, garters, and shoes were night-black, and the spikes, buckles, and cross coin-silver. It took her a moment to realize the tiny woman looked exactly like her, even down to the glasses, except for the two red horns sprouting from either side of her head, and the long, sinuous barbed tail that emerged from her backside.
She looked up at Differel with a sly, devilish expression as the aristocrat stood up, but as soon as she recognized her, she jumped, a shocked look on her face.
"Good God!" Despite her size, her voice sounded normal, and identical to her own. "Whatever I did, it couldn't have been bad enough to deserve this!"
Differel leaned over the desk, her hands braced against the top. "Who, or what, the bloody hell are you!?"
Recovering quickly, the diminutive Differel gave her a look admonishing her not to be daft. "That should be obvious. I'm your shoulder devil."
"My...what?!"
The devil-doll sighed in frustration and shook her head. "Do you have a hearing problem? Shoul--der--de--vil!"
"And just what is that supposed to be, exactly?"
She threw up her hands and glanced towards the ceiling. "Oh for the love of Evil! How dense can you possibly be? I'm one of the two personifications that sit on your shoulders and offer advice on moral dilemmas. In my case, I personify temptation, and appeal to your selfish motivations."
Differel felt faint for a moment and resumed sitting. "I must be dreaming," she half-whispered, leaning forward. She held her head in her hands with her elbows resting on the desktop. "Yes, of course, I've fallen asleep over my work and I'm having a guilt-ridden nightmare."
"I wish!" The devilish-Differel sounded peeved, so Differel looked up and crossed her arms over the desk. Meanwhile, her diminutive doppelganger placed her hands on her hips and turned away. "Being assigned to you is hardly what you would call a plum assignment. In fact, it's usually reserved either as a way to haze rookie tempters, or as a form of punishment."
"I beg your pardon?"
She spared her an exasperated glance over her shoulder. "Being a shoulder devil is an occupation, not a vocation. It's usually a devil's first job after graduating from the tempters training academy. However, it can be assigned to retirees who wish to keep their hands in the business, or to incompetents or malcontents as a way to teach them humility and the error of their ways. Haven't you ever read C. S. Lewis? The Screwtape Letters?"
That did seem rather familiar. "Alright, I see what you're getting at."
The devil-doll nodded her head and turned to face her again. "Finally! Now we can get down to business. Oh, by the way, the name's Differel Diabolique, but you can call me DeeDee. I prefer informality among friends."
Differel frowned. Her attitude grated on her nerves. "Just a moment. If what you say is true, then there should be a 'shoulder angel', correct?"
"Exactly. She personifies your conscience and appeals to your altruistic motivations."
"Shouldn't she be here as well?"
Her face split into silly grin. "Are you kidding? You don't need her, you're a bigger stiff than she is."
Differ
el felt her anger flare as she sat upright. "Now just a bloody minute--!"
DeeDee's own face turned fiery red as she became upset. "I meant it as a compliment! Jesus, but you have a temper. I told you, being assigned to you is considered onerous duty. Why do you suppose that is, huh? It's because you're such a straight-arrow no tempter has a chance of getting you to commit any kind of sin, no matter how insignificant. So why would you need a shoulder angel? You do her job better than she would. In fact, I hear being assigned to you is considered a rather cushy posting Upstairs. She's probably off somewhere working on her tan, the stuck-up little bitch! Me, I'll probably spend my time doing my nails. Big whoop."
Differel forced herself to relax. If she was having a dream, she should be able to control it, but she would have to be calm, and if she