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The trouble with humans was that they were curious creatures. Too curious. On the reverse side of the coin, they were weak, easily crushed beneath a god’s heel, Enlil thought, watching the house. Assuming the form of the detective was easy, and now he knew he could enter the house without invitation. The owner had given permission ... twice now. He waited until the guest went back upstairs before he returned to the door.
This little game of cat and mouse was a delightful diversion from centuries of tedium. While his forces gathered and he waited for the stars to align, he had time for such games. Still, there was important work to be done.
Long ago, he had been cast from the heavens into the Hell he now resided in. His patience could only carry him so long. This stupid global peace accord was burdensome, but he knew it could not last long. Peace was weak. He needed conflict to fuel his war machine. He would have to feed the chaos that gave him strength. This would be a good place to start.
Though his brother’s forces had been trying to thwart him at every turn, his creation was nothing if not predictable. Mankind couldn’t avoid war; conflict. They couldn’t follow the All-Father’s rules; couldn’t keep their hands off someone else’s woman or property. While Faith, Hope and Charity were the All-Father’s favorite virtues, Enlil relied on their opposites; Doubt, Fear, and Pride. Each of these anti-virtues fed what had become known as the Seven Deadly Sins.
Of those, Lust and Greed were his favorites. Hatred, an offspring of Wrath and Envy, took a little more work, but once it was initiated, it would smolder and burn long and hot. His own hatred had simmered in his core for centuries. Now was the hour of his great and terrible wrath. It gave him authority over the forces known to mankind.
Standing at the door, he assumed the detective’s form, then reached for the latch. As he came in, the resident of the manor house stuck her head out of the other room. “Oh, Tomáš. You’re here! Good. Come here. I’m very worried about your friend. I’m afraid she’s—”
He was at her throat before she finished her sentence. He tightened his claws around her neck clenching his hand tightly. He gazed into her frightened eyes.
“Tomáš ...?” she gasped, barely above a whisper. He allowed her to see his true form, just to feel the terror that raced through her. It delighted him to feel it quicken her pulse as his black wings unfurled and his horns pierced his skull. He wore his heavy crown well. The throb of her heartbeat beneath his claws made his own heart swell with anticipation.
Like the puny humans at the museum, her flesh tore with ease. The look on her face was one that brought the demon pure joy as her lifeblood coursed from her veins. Her knees crumpled, and she slid down. He caught her elbows and lowered her to the slate tile floors, though why he’d cared to ease her death any was beyond him. Maybe his centuries of banishment had made him soft. But now, the time was coming when he would have everything he needed to regain his full power. He would take his seat at the right hand of the god who had betrayed him so many centuries before. Better yet, he would usurp the All-Father from the throne and take his place of dominion over the Heavens and the Earth.
Death gave him the greatest power. It renewed his soul to feel a heartbeat quiver one last time; to see the light go out in a human’s eyes. They fed him with their soul as it escaped the bonds of their mortal shell. He felt his vigor restored as blood pooled and then thickened.
But this wasn’t the soul he wanted. This wasn’t the soul he needed. It was the soul he could take, and it would bide him ‘til he had the incantations and spells needed to face the Chosen One. The creature upstairs had the most amazing powers. She vexed him. He’d never encountered a human with so strong a soul. He just needed his book. He needed it to be complete, with all the missing spells restored. Then, he could overcome that troublesome creature and reclaim his rightful place amongst the stars.
It was only a matter of time. She would lead him to the pages if he could just be patient. Meanwhile, he needed to feed, and feed he did.
* * *
The detective parked his car in the drive and dashed into the house through the rain. It was unusual for this time of the year to see so much of it, and the day had gone dark and cold; the night, colder. He had spent a long and tedious day going through records and interviewing staff members at the museum. He’d met with the medical examiner and spent hours going over the findings. Then the long drive from the city had him bleary-eyed. He longed for his mother’s cooking — whatever she’d made for dinner — he didn’t care. After he ate, he’d be ready for a good night’s sleep in his old room. He also wanted to speak with Dr. Pierce when she was able to be questioned.
Not sure if his mother and her house guest were still awake, he came in quietly, unsurprised to find the door unlocked. The living room was dark, but a dim light was on in the kitchen. He shook off his raincoat as he peeled out of it and hung it on the peg by the door. “Zuzu?” he called softly. “I’m home.”
There was no answer. Maybe she and Lauren were upstairs. Hunger and the latent perfume of his mother’s cooking coaxed him towards the kitchen where he anticipated finding freshly baked bread and perhaps something more substantial. Liver and onions? Black sausages? He couldn’t quite identify the mélange of meat, onions, and something he could only discern as blood.
He stopped in the doorway when the carpet at the threshold of the kitchen made an unusual squishing sound beneath his feet. He glanced down, finding a dark stain. He gasped and took a step back, seeing red prints on the ivory rug. His eyes lifted and went to the houseguest sitting on the floor, covered in blood with a terrified look on her tear-stained face. Her blouse was dark with it. One fist was wrapped tightly around a bloody knife. She held it out, weakly threatening him if he came close. The other was clamped around his mother’s neck as she lay limp in the woman’s arms.
Lauren’s face was terror-stricken; her eyes wide with terror. His knees faltered and he sank down to the floor, his hand going to his mouth. The houseguest struggled to move away from him as her dark eyes seemed to grow darker. She held up the knife to ward him off, like a lioness defending her kill. She had the look of a frightened animal who knew she was cornered. He reached for her to calm her, not sure if he should be more afraid of her than she was of him. She cried out and flicked the blade at him. “Don’t!”
The detective recoiled. That was the first moment he considered what must have happened here. Lauren Pierce had been accused of killing two others, and now ... Christ! He’d left his mother with a suspected killer! What a fool he had been! His mother was a trained killer in her own right, but she was older ... too old to defend herself against someone who was a good foot taller, thirty years younger, and deceptively strong. This whole pregnancy thing? Was it just a ruse?
“What have you done to my mother?” Kovač roared as he fell back then scrambled to his feet. His brows knitted as tears built in the corners of his eyes, then rolled down his cheeks.
Lauren looked wounded, as if she’d suddenly realized what he must be thinking. “No!” She held up the blood-soaked knife, blocking him from touching her. “Get away!” Her hand holding the knife was trembling. Then he recognized the woman’s other hand was clamped over a gaping wound on his mother’s neck. Had she hurt his mother? Or was she trying to cover the wound. Was she trying to protect her? To save her? Kovač knew how much blood the human body contained; how quickly a body could exsanguinate. By the sheer volume of blood, he knew it was too late. He couldn’t move.
Lauren’s panic culminated in a weak, “Help us ...” The knife fell from her hand.
But there was no help for his mother. She was gone.