Ammon first met Mygheon, the daimon of destruction, when Dad invited him to Sunday dinner. Dad knew him from work—Dad managed some government nuclear physics project, and Mygheon had been summoned to eliminate the radioactive waste.
The day of the dinner, Ammon kept peeking out of his bedroom window, hoping to catch sight of Mygheon flying through the air as the avenging dragon from stories. He completely missed their guest walking up the path to the door—an ordinary human in a simple gray suit.
Ammon exchanged quizzical glances with his six siblings as they came to the table, but all he received in return were shrugs and headshakes. The younger ones openly stared at the man Dad called Mygheon. After the prayer, four-year-old Lucy blurted out, “Are you really Mygheon?”
“That’s rude,” Dad said.
“It’s fine.” Mygheon pulled a bone out of the roast chicken and held it up so she could see. As he stared at it, the bone disintegrated from the top down until it had completely dissolved.
Immediately, Ammon’s siblings clamored for Mygheon to destroy more things. They would have grabbed stuff from their rooms, but Mom and Dad insisted that they stay at the table. So, they asked why Mygheon wasn’t a dragon. “It’s easier to be human,” he answered. “But if you want to see…” and he transformed into a six-foot tall black dragon.
From then on, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise as Ammon’s siblings begged for more shapeshifting. Mygheon turned into various animals, even twins of various members of the family.
After dinner, Ammon cleared his place with the questions he’d wanted to ask still stuck behind his throat. They’d had a real immortal being for dinner, and they’d wasted the time on party tricks. He was about to retreat to his room so the adults could converse alone when he overheard Mygheon and Mom arguing about the dishes. “You don’t have to do that,” Mom said. “You’re our guest.”
“I insist,” Mygheon said. “It’s the least I can do in return for a wonderful dinner.”
Ammon rushed over. “I’ll help him dry.” He smiled innocently at Mom’s shocked look. He never volunteered to do chores.
Mom glanced back at Mygheon before throwing up her hands. “Fine. I’ll leave you to it.”
Ammon grabbed a towel as Mygheon filled the sink with sudsy water. “You were quiet during dinner,” Mygheon said. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”
“Yeah.” Was he that obvious? “Did you ever meet George Washington?”
“I did, once. I’ve got a lot of respect for him.”
Ammon couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Where? What was he like?” He peppered Mygheon with questions until the dishes were spotless.
* * * * *
Ammon practically ran to school the next day. He couldn’t wait to see his friends’ faces when he told them the news. As soon as he entered school grounds, he spotted Tom heading for the basketball court. He jogged over. “Hey, Tom! You’ll never guess who we had over for dinner last night.”
Tom smiled and tossed the basketball to Ammon. “Yeah? Who?”
Ammon passed it back. “Mygheon.”
Tom caught the ball and held it, smile fading away. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“You need to talk to the bishop.”
Ammon blinked. Some Christian denominations preached against summoning daimons like Mygheon, but he’d thought a fellow Mormon would understand. President McKay had said that daimons were like aliens, and had nothing to do with Satan. “What are you talking about? Summoning a daimon’s not a sin.”
“But Mygheon is a murderer.”
“No, he’s nice.”
Tom scowled. “Did you seriously forget about all the kings he’s assassinated through history?”
“They were corrupt.”
“And what about the time when he annihilated the city of Ostend?”
Ammon shifted uncomfortably. “That led to a truce in the Eighty Year War, didn’t it?”
Tom shook his head. “Go talk to the bishop.” He stalked off and tossed the ball to other friends gathering on the court.
Ammon gripped the strap of his satchel. Mygheon was just doing his duty. He wasn’t a murderer. He’d prove it.
* * * * *
Mygheon returned for dinner the next Sunday, and again insisted on washing the dishes, just as Ammon hoped. As soon as the two were alone at the sink, Ammon asked, “Would it be possible for you to come to school tomorrow? There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Mygheon’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you want me to intimidate someone for you?”
“No, no, nothing like that! It’s my friend, Tom. He’s refusing to talk to me because he thinks you’re evil.”
“I see.” Mygheon dumped a handful of clean silverware into Ammon’s side of the sink. “And you want me to prove him right?”
“What? No! I want you to prove him wrong!”
“Good luck with that.”
Ammon stared. “But you’re not evil.”
Mygheon shrugged as he slipped the plates into the water. “The more people think I’m evil, the fewer people summon me. Gives me more time to do what I want, like have dinner with your family.”
That made sense. Still… “I’m not asking him to summon you. I just want him to be friends again.”
Mygheon held up the next plate, but instead of disintegrating the food stuck to it, he just stared at the clinging tomato sauce. “And how do you answer when he brings up the people I’ve killed?”
“Your attacks ended wars. If you hadn’t intervened, more people would have died in the war than died in your attack.”
“Is that how they’re teaching history nowadays?”
“It’s the truth!”
Mygheon leaned against the sink and closed his eyes. Then he met Ammon’s gaze with a grimace. “I suppose you aren’t aware that I was summoned to kill your prophet, Joseph Smith.”
Ammon froze mid wipe, his throat suddenly tight. “But you weren’t at Carthage, were you?” He hadn’t heard of any daimons being among the mob that stormed the Carthage, Illinois jail, but Mygheon could have shapeshifted to blend in with them.
“That’s where he died?”
Ammon nodded.
“No. I wasn’t there. I refused the contract, and warned Smith about those plotting against him.”
“See! That proves you aren’t evil.”
Mygheon shook his head. “You have to understand, it isn’t in the nature of daimons to question the contracts we are given. It took me far too long to realize that I could, to realize that I should.” Mygheon’s voice grew quiet. “I don’t know how many innocent people I assassinated before that. Ostend alone must have had tens of thousands of civilians.”
Ammon’s head felt numb, like Mygheon’s confession had scared all his thoughts away. Still, he should say something. “But… you’ve repented, right?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Mygheon didn’t go to church.
Mygheon slid the final pot into the water. “I may not take those contracts anymore, but that doesn’t repair the harm I’ve done.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t do what you’re asking me to.”
If Tom could see how forlorn Mygheon looked at this moment, he’d know Mygheon wasn’t evil, right? Then again, he’d probably call Mygheon a murderer before they could say a word in defense. It wasn’t fair to ask Mygheon to suffer through that. “It’s OK. I’ll find another way to deal with him.”
“I’m sorry. I’d hate to be the reason you aren’t getting along with your friend.”
Ammon tossed his towel onto the counter and threw his arms around Mygheon. “For what it’s worth, thank you for refusing the contract to kill Joseph Smith.”
Mygheon pressed his wet arms against Ammon’s back, but Ammon didn’t mind the damp. “You’re a good kid.”
“It’s nothing.”
Mygheon pulled back and shook his head. “You don’t know how much I needed that. How can I repay you?”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. What if I told you more about Smith?”
“Ok.”
“It was nearly midnight when I found his house…” Mygheon kept talking after the water had drained, even though Dad was waiting for their adult chat.
Ammon didn’t know if he could repair things with Tom. But given the choice between him and Mygheon, he’d take the one who was kind.
Annaliese (rhymes with pizza) Lemmon likes to eat chocolate, play board games, and collect virtual creatures. Her fiction has been a finalist in the Mormon Lit Blitz multiple times, and has appeared in Mysterion, Wayfare, and Irreantum. She lives with her husband and children in Arizona.
