Dark Crossroads

The sleek, black ’69 Chevrolet Camaro pulled up outside the United Methodist Church in Gary, Indiana. The driver stepped out of the car, a cigarette held between his lips as he looked up at the massive abandoned church beneath the moonlit sky. With the decline of employment and the rise of poverty and crime in the area, this example of Gothic Revival was left to fall to the wayside.

He smoked the cigarette down to its filter and dropped it on the sidewalk before crushing it beneath his shoe. Reaching beneath his suit jacket, he drew out a stylized revolver with Enochian sigils carved into the barrel. Once confirming the gun was loaded, he slid it back into the holster and started walking towards the church entrance, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

The doors were shut on him. He tried pushing, but they wouldn’t budge. The man kicked the door once and it didn’t do much. The second kick, he could hear a little crack. He gave it two more before the door finally burst open.

They had a sense of humor, he had to give them that. Demons operating out of an abandoned, gothic church. Showcased their arrogance. His blue eyes scanned the large cathedral as he entered, remaining back by the entrance. With his hand held out, he closed his eyes and concentrated his senses, trying to pick up some trace of demonic energy.

And he could feel it. There was a demon here. Not only in this building, but in this very room with him. Opening his eyes, he drew the revolver and held it at the ready, looking around the room. All he could sense was the demon’s presence, but he couldn’t pinpoint its exact location.

“Alistair Carraway,” said a voice echoing in the darkness. “What brings you to this little shithole?”

“Been tracking you for some time,” said Alistair, his voice colored with an English accent.

“And how did you find us?”

Alistair grinned. “Your demons don’t hold up so well under torture. By the end of it, they were begging for an exorcism.”

He could sense the demon’s anger flare up.

“Doesn’t have to be this way,” Alistair continued. “All I want is the girl. Leave her to me and you can walk out of here, no fuss, no muss.”

Alistair stepped down the aisle, moving towards the center of the nave. His eyes went to the galleries up above the side aisles, trying to see if he could catch sight of the demon in the darkness. But there was nothing. Just a deafening silence followed after Alistair issued his terms.

“Come now, you know my reputation amongst your kind,” said Alistair. “Do you really want to test me?”

“There are things we fear far more than Alistair Carraway.”

“What, like the wrath of your master?”

More silence followed.

“I know what that woman is to you. I know what she’s carrying,” he continued. “But you can’t have her. Either of them.”

“Oh?” asked the demon. “You would risk your own life for a whore and a Hellspawn?”

The voice now seemed to come from the gallery on the left. Alistair turned in that direction, aiming the gun up there.

“The big, strapping hero.” The demon spoke again, this time the voice coming from the ambulatory behind the altar.

“I think we’ve had enough of this game, don’t you?” asked Alistair.

“Absolutely.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. The voice now came from directly behind him. He spun around, raising the gun and firing. The demon was fast and dodged the bullet, pouncing on Alistair and knocking him to the ground.

He was strong, possessing the body of a young man with a black mohawk, a denim jacket with the sleeves torn off, ripped jeans, and safety pins through his earlobes. His eyes were bright yellow, and he roared like a lion just before he pounced.

The gun was dropped to the side. Alistair stared into the demon’s eyes, the creature struggling to keep him pinned down. And then, Alistair started speaking, muttering in Latin.

“Exorcizamos te, omnis immunde spiritus, omnus satanic potestas—”

The demon recoiled, pulling away in pain, trying to cover his ears. Alistair got back to his feet and continued speaking while reaching one hand into his jacket.

“Omnis infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

“You think this will stop us? You’ll be too late to save them, Carraway!”

Alistair knew the demon was right. There was no time to waste with an exorcism, not while Grace was still lost somewhere inside here. He picked up the gun and pointed it at the demon. “Where are they?”

“You’ll have to kill me before I ta—”

Alistair’s response was to put two bullets into the demon’s head. Iron-forged, silver-coated hollow-points. Inside each round was a mixture of holy water, salt, and other herbs designed to ward off the supernatural. Enough to kill a demon possessing some poor bastard.

Stepping forward, Alistair looked down at the now-vacant body. The punk’s eyes were gone, burned out by the death of the demon inside. A part of Alistair felt remorse at having to kill the kid, but time was a factor if he wanted to save Grace’s life and stop this cult from completing their ritual.

He knew they were in the building, somewhere. It was just a matter of finding them. Alistair knelt down by the dead body and checked the pockets. Nothing on him but a switchblade and half a pack of cigarettes, which Alistair helped himself to. He stood and walked along the side aisles, moving into the first door he found.

That door led to a stairwell, which he slowly descended into the basement area. As he moved deeper, he could hear something. A chorus of chanting voices. Alistair moved along, sticking close to the walls and the shadows they cast. His heartbeat increased, the adrenaline beginning to pump through his body.

The chanting became louder as he moved through the dusty corridor. He reached beneath the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt and drew out a necklace from which a pendant of the Seal of Solomon hung. Alistair whispered words of a protection spell and moved on.

He knew the voices were here, behind this door. With a swift kick, Alistair knocked the door in. The large room had seven figures wearing crimson cloaks, gathered in a circle. Their chanting ceased immediately and they all cast their eyes to Alistair. In unison, they all turned, facing him.

Seven worshippers. Seven sacrifices. Seven sins. Alistair knew why these men were here, and what the demon had planned to do with them. From the center of the circle, he heard a woman screaming. He could see Grace writhing on the ground, her brown skin glistening with sweat, black hair plastered to her face. Her knees were bent and occult symbols had been carved into her pregnant belly, with more on the rest of her naked body. She gritted her teeth in pain, her eyes clenched shut.

“You sons of bitches…” muttered Alistair as he stepped into the room and raised the gun, firing into the head of one of the cultists. A second lunged at him and Alistair took a step back, firing two rounds into his chest. Alistair allowed the cultist’s body to fall to the ground.

One shot and five cultists left. Not the best odds. Alistair shot another. Four left. He flipped the gun around and clutched it by the barrel. A cultist came at him, drawing an ornate dagger from beneath his robes.

Alistair dodged the first and second slash, then charged in and bashed the butt of the revolver against the cultist’s head. The force dropped him, blood dripping from the fresh wound. Alistair bent down quickly and picked up the discarded knife.

Three left. They stood between Alistair and Grace and he heard her screams become even more pronounced. It was coming. Soon, it would be here.

“Kill him,” said the cultist in the center—clearly the leader.

The two flanking him charged with their daggers. Alistair took a few licks, but pressed on, dodging their strikes. Grace’s screams echoed in his head, trying to distract him, but Alistair wouldn’t let himself lose focus.

The two cultists were on either side of him. One thrust forward with his dagger and Alistair sidestepped, grabbed the cultist’s arm, and continued thrusting so his dagger went into his partner’s gut. Alistair then drove the knife he’d claimed into the cultist’s back.

He drew the blade from the wound, blood dripping down the edge as he faced the leader. “It’s over. You can’t complete the ritual now.”

“Perhaps not,” said the cult leader. “But the child will still be born. And one day, he will bring humanity to its knees!”

The leader charged. Alistair threw the dagger, striking him in the head and the leader fell down at his feet, dead.

“Sorry son, but you won’t be there to see it.”

Alistair went to Grace’s side. He realized for the first time she’d been placed in a circle. The inverted pentagram—Sigil of Baphomet. Grace reached out, grabbing hold of his wrist. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“A-Alistair…he’s coming…”

He looked at the knife. If he killed her now, he would end all this. And what about the leader’s prediction? Could he really risk all that? The ritual wasn’t completed, maybe there was hope for the child. Or maybe he was doomed no matter what course of action he took.

Grace’s screams continued and Alistair made a choice. He set the knife down and removed his trench coat and jacket, ready to go to work. Not long after, Grace’s screams were replaced by the sound of a crying child.

* * *

Alistair pulled the car up to the monastery located outside Rock Island, Illinois. He drove all night, one hand on the wheel, the other cradling the infant, wrapped in his trench coat. He took a deep breath and opened the driver-side door, moving slowly so as not to wake the child.

Alistair ascended the steps and approached the large, wooden doors. Engraved in the stone archway above them was a unicursal hexagram surrounded by a circle. Alistair kept the baby in one arm and raised his other, banging a few times on the heavy wood. After a few moments, the door opened and an old, bald man with a silver beard and glasses and dressed in a black robe stood on the other side.

“Alistair?” he asked in surprise.

“’Morning, Thomas,” said Alistair. “Mind if I come in?”

“O-of course,” said Thomas, stepping aside and holding the door open. His gaze was fixed on the child as Alistair moved inside, slumbering in his arm.

“Mind putting on some coffee?”

“Right this way.”

Thomas led Alistair through the monastery into a kitchen area. Once there, Alistair took a seat at a table while Thomas went to the counter to prepare some coffee. When it was ready, he brought two mugs over and sat across from the paranormal investigator.

“When did you become a father?” asked Thomas.

“He’s not mine,” said Alistair. “There was a case. A woman named Grace was pregnant and this is her baby.”

“What’s so important about this—” Thomas interrupted himself. “Wait. Who’s the father?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“Let me rephrase—what is the father?”

Alistair’s blue eyes met Thomas’ intense stare. He looked back down at the baby’s sleeping face and gave a sigh. “A demon.”

“Dear God…” Thomas involuntarily slid his chair back in surprise. “Alistair, you can’t be serious. You brought a cambion here?”

“She was taken by a demon and his cult. I tracked them down to that abandoned church in Gary. The plan was after the baby was born, it would be anointed in the blood of seven sacrifices—seven sinners. I killed the demon running the show and the cultists. The child was born clean.”

“Have you gone mad?” asked Thomas. “That child is cursed for life! Best to kill it and get it over with! You know what happens if the armistice is violated—”

“I’ll deal with that,” said Alistair. “Think about it, Thomas. A cambion fighting on our side. Think of how powerful he’ll be. Of the advantage he’d have.”

“He’s a child of Hell.”

“And Lucifer was once the most beloved of all angels. Look how that turned out,” said Alistair. “How you come into this life doesn’t mean shit. What you do with it does.”

Thomas shook his head. “What do you want from me?”

“I need to leave him here. If there’s anyone who can set him on the right path, it’s this order.”

“That’s a lot to ask, Alistair.”

“I know it is, Thomas. But you owe me and you know it. How many times have I been there for you? For this order?”

Thomas sighed. “And where will you go?”

“There’s still the question of who his father is and how I can protect him. I’ll be back when I can, but you know what my work’s like.”

“True.” Thomas rose from his chair and walked around the table to Alistair’s side. He held his hands out. “Well, if we’re going to be responsible for raising him, is it okay if I take him now?”

Alistair slowly stood and looked at his old friend in the eye. He could sense Thomas’ apprehension, but he also knew the monk to be a man of his word. Alistair carefully handed the infant over. The baby stirred in the old man’s arms, opening his eyes and staring up. Thomas nearly gasped when he saw the glowing, crimson eyes the baby had.

“He’s unique, gotta give the boy that,” said Alistair.

“Does he have a name?”

“Yeah, he does. Grace had one picked out for him before she died.” Alistair reached a hand out and rubbed the baby’s bald head. “Luther. Luther Cross.”

The Windy City. Even in the spring, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.

’Course, that’s something of a misnomer. I’ve had occasion to spend…quality time with a few witches in my day. And all of them were pretty warm and inviting.

Cold doesn’t bother me too much, though. As I leaned against the side of my black ’69 Camaro and scanned the dilapidated tenement, I puffed on an American Spirit cigarette, enjoying the weather.

My name’s Luther Cross, and I’m a paranormal investigator. Got a poltergeist tearing up your house or a demon you need exorcised or a monster stalking you, I’m the guy you call. Not often I take jobs that bring me out to the South Side of Chicago—normally, not a lot of financial reward for my tastes. But this was a favor to an old friend.

I’d driven around for about an hour, trying to get a sense of where it was all going down. Once I felt that familiar pull of demonic energy, I pulled over to the curb and dug in deep.

This old tenement was where the pull was the strongest. It was like the energy was an industrial-strength magnet and I was just a tiny paperclip, helpless to fight against the attraction. I was sure my crimson eyes were burning up with the demonic energy coursing through my veins. Anyone who happened to walk down the street and see me like this was liable to dart off to the nearest liquor store and crawl inside a bottle for the next few days.

He was in there, that was for certain. I reached inside the pocket of my black trench coat and pulled out a Superman action figure. I’d told Reggie’s grandmother I’d need one of his personal possessions to track him down, and this is what she gave me—told me he’d play with this damn thing for hours when he was a kid, pin a towel around his neck and run through the apartment building pretending he was flying.

I scoffed and put the figure back in my pocket. The tracking spell led me right to Reggie’s location, and I could sense the presence of darkness surrounding the building. Time to go to work.

I flicked the cigarette down the sidewalk, the butt dusting off embers as it tumbled along the cracked concrete. Sliding both hands into the pockets of my suit pants, I strolled up the path to the tenement.

The front door was boarded up. If I were a normal guy, this might prove to be a bit inconvenient. Fortunately, normal and me parted ways before I was born. I raised my foot and kicked right through the boards, breaking them into splinters. After pulling the remaining planks away, I stepped inside the lobby.

The only source of light in this old, abandoned building was from the street lamps and moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows. My unique heritage made it easy for me to see in the dark, though there was nothing worth seeing in this place.

The stench was something awful. Mixture of shit, vomit, body odor, and probably decomposition—the latter of which I was unfortunately very familiar with. Reggie was still alive in here, though—had to be. Tracking spell wouldn’t have led me here if he wasn’t. Plus, I promised his grandma. I may fight demons, ghosts, and monsters on a regular basis, but even I wouldn’t risk the wrath of an old-school black grandmother.

The energy was strong, pulling me up. I began to climb the staircase, the rotted, old wood threatening to give way with each step I took. As I reached the landing, the stench grew worse. But the pull grew stronger. Definitely headed in the right direction.

On the second floor, I tried to keep my steps as quiet as possible. I doubted it would do much good, though. The warding sigils tattooed into my dark skin may keep the things that go bump in the night from tracking me, but they lose their effectiveness in close proximity.

The third door—that’s where the pull was the strongest. I wrapped my hand around the knob and turned. Unlocked, of course. After all, who’d be dumb enough to come down here?

I pushed the door open and took a step inside. The stench hit me, like running right into a brick wall at full-speed, so bad my eyes started to water. I cringed for a moment, then pressed on.

“Luther Cross…”

My name was hissed. I peered into the darkness. This was once the living room of an old apartment. Now there wasn’t much left. Just some old, dirty mattresses with junkies spread out on them. Track marks running down their arms, used syringes littering the floor; sitting up on one of the mattresses was an old, severely emaciated man. Though by the looks of his glowing yellow eyes, he wasn’t strictly a man anymore. He snarled at me. There was a teenage boy lying by his side, unconscious or in a state of heroin-induced euphoria. Hard to tell which from this angle. His head was in the frail man’s lap and the old bastard’s long, bony fingers stroked the boy’s forehead.

“You have no business here, cambion.”

Demons were a rotten bunch. Some were fallen angels, others were humans sentenced to Hell who gave in to the darkness. This one was the latter, what we call a feeder. They crawl their way out of Hell, take on a host body, and subsist on the negative energy of humanity. Drug addicts are a particular favorite. For a feeder, the energy an addict gives off is like…well, like crack. And for humans, it chipped away at their soul, brought them closer to Hell.

“I’m just here for Reggie Ferguson. You hand him over to me, no fuss, and you can go about your business.” I looked around the room at the other addicts. Some were feeders, like this one. The others were just poor souls providing them their snacks.

“You’d leave your precious humans to us, Cross?” the demon hissed. Then he started to chuckle. “Expect me to believe that?”

“These people stopped giving a damn about their souls long ago. They don’t mean shit to me.”

Pretty harsh, Luther. But then again, part of me believed it. People are gonna do what they wanna do. My job is to help the ones who get sucked into this against their will—or those who can pay my fee. Otherwise, if you knowingly jump into the inferno, it’s not in my job description to pull your ass out. You want a fireman, go ring up the CFD.

“I’m not so sure I believe you, Cross.” The demon continued stroking the boy’s short hair, his yellow eyes fixed on him almost lovingly. “And besides, Reggie here has proven to be quite a treat. You want me to just give him up to some half-breed son of a whore like you?”

Figured it wouldn’t be that easy. Why can’t it ever be that easy? I slid both my hands into my pockets and stepped deeper into the room. Immediately, the other demons rose around me, surrounding me. Blocking all exits, boxing me in. I looked out the corner of my right eye, then my left. Two demons on either side. I sensed others behind me—three, by my guess.

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” I said.

The demon scoffed and clicked his tongue. “You know better than that, Luther.”

In magic, there’s power in naming. If you’ve got a demon’s name, it’s much easier to put the hurt on him. Why do you think so many possessed people say the Devil’s inside them? Because those demons don’t have any interest in giving up their real name.

I shrugged. “Hey, you know my name, you know what I am. Seemed only fair.”

“My friends call me Slim.”

Not a real name, obviously, but it definitely fit. I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s a pretty safe bet you know my reputation and what happens to bottom-feeders who try my patience.”

The briefest flicker of movement to my right was the only warning I had of the attack. I pivoted to the right and raised my arm to block the demon’s strike. She was small, but fierce. My fingers wrapped around her arm and I spun to the side, throwing her into one of her friends.

The three who were blocking the door moved in. I held out my hand and shouted, “Ignis!”

My eyes burned with a crimson glow and flames appeared between me and the demons. Wouldn’t stop them, but provided something of a distraction. Just what I needed to reach into my jacket and draw my weapon.

She was a custom-made revolver, with Enochian script carved into the barrel. The rounds were special, too. Iron-forged, silver-coated hollow-points filled with holy water, salt, and some other herbs hazardous to the supernatural.

I pulled the trigger and the Enochian symbols burned bright. The first two rounds went into the two to my side. I turned to the door and fired again. The third round went right through the flames, tagging the middle demon dead-center in his forehead. He fell back, hitting the door.

The other two jumped through the flames. I grabbed one by the throat as he landed and threw him onto the ground, then twisted my hand until I felt his neck snap. The last leapt on my back. She was so light, I barely felt the additional weight. But she was strong, her hand wrapping around my gun arm and pulling it away so I wouldn’t shoot her buddy.

I threw my head back, striking her in the nose. They may be resistant to damage, but demons could still feel pain. Her grip weakened and I pulled myself free, turning around and pulling the trigger. She hissed a second before the bullet struck her in the heart.

The one on the ground hadn’t gotten up, but he still writhed. I stepped over him, firing a round into his head. He stopped moving after that. With a gesture, I snuffed out the flames I had created before. No sense letting them get out of control.

Now it was just me and Slim left. I raised the gun, the Enochian script still burning bright on the barrel.

The demon looked up at me and chuckled nervously. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “I think we might be able to come to some sort of arrangement here.”

I scoffed. “Man, you feeders are all alike, aren’t you? Come into my world with all this swagger, thinking you’re hot shit. Then, I kick your asses six ways from Sunday and you suddenly can’t wait to beg for your worthless lives.”

“Now, don’t be hasty, Luther.” Slim held his hands up in surrender and slowly rose to his feet. I kept the gun aimed at his head, raising it with him. “I know things. Things that you may not know about.”

“Oh, please. You’re nowhere close to being a player. There’s nothing you could possibly know.”

“Are you willing to take that chance? C’mon, Luther…I can be a friend to you…” His yellow eyes widened.

I took a breath. Yeah, demons are evil, no doubt about that. But they’re all about self-preservation. And might have considered giving him a pass in exchange for some useful intel. But on the other hand, I’d made a promise. And I may be a bastard, but I’m still a man of my word.

I pulled the trigger. Slim screamed just as the bullet struck him in the head, and he collapsed on the mattress. His eyes were gone, as if they’d been burnt out of his head. That effect happens when you kill a demon when he’s inhabiting a host body.

I holstered the gun. There was just one thing left to do. I knelt beside the boy on the mattress and examined his eyes. Normal, not yellow—couldn’t sense any demon inside him. Ah, Reggie Ferguson, you are one dumb brat. Getting mixed up with junk and finding yourself the snack of preference for a bottom-feeder.

I picked him up in my arms and walked towards the exit, with Reggie mumbling something incoherent. Still couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just high. Just before I left through the open door, I turned and took one last look at the addicts still left behind. Poor bastards. Wouldn’t be long before another feeder came along to set up shop in here.

But that wasn’t my problem. Like I said before, they got themselves into it. If they wanted my help, they’d have to save up their junk money to pay my retainer.

An autumn night in Chicago. There’s nothing better. Gone is the scorching summer heat, but we haven’t yet been struck by the bitter cold of winter. The air smells clean and there’s a nice, cool breeze blowing through the streets. And as I sat on the hood of my car, smoking an American Spirit cigarette, staring up at a brand-new—and completely empty—apartment building, I felt good.

My name’s Luther Cross and I’m a paranormal investigator. Got into this line of work on account of my heritage—my mother was human; my father was a demon. And I’m talkin’ a literal demon spat from the bowels of the actual Hell. Makes me what’s called a cambion. Despite all that, my childhood was pretty typical. Grew up reading X-Men, watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, playing Nintendo, and learning how to master the black arts.

So, what was a fiendishly handsome, well-dressed man about town like myself doing sitting on the hood of a black ’69 Camaro while staring at a building? This tenement—or at least the one that used to be here—had a bad gas leak. Caused an explosion, lots of people died. Those that didn’t got kicked out when the owner decided the land was worth more than fixing the place up.

It wasn’t too far from Logan Square, one of the trendiest neighborhoods in the city, so it didn’t take long for a developer to snatch it up. They knocked down what remained of the old building and built this new one in its place. Five floors, nice and modern, just minutes from the L train.

Except, while the place was being built, several of the workers said they were seeing things. Flashes in the corner of their eyes. Weird reflections in glass. Sounds like people screaming. And then the accidents started. One workman fell down the elevator shaft; another jumped off the roof; and a third went right through a newly-installed window, cutting his throat on the way down.

People started calling in sick and faking injuries to get out of coming to the site. And that’s when the developer came to me through a friend. You won’t find someone like me through a Google search—my business is based on referrals. So, I came down here during the day and, sure enough, could sense the presence of trapped souls.

That’s right: a good, old-fashioned ghost hunt. I hadn’t done one of those since that haunted road case about a year ago. I was a bit rusty on it, spent too much time lately dealing with angel and demon crap. But, it’s just like riding a bike.

I looked down at the gold watch around my wrist. Just after ten at night. Ghosts can appear at any time, but the point when their energy is the strongest is the time they died. And you might be thinking, why the hell would any damn fool want to face a ghost at full-power? That’s because their time of death is when the wall between dimensions is at its weakest. The afterlife is just waiting to suck them back in.

We were right about game time. I slid off the hood of the Camaro and dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushing it beneath the sole of my polished shoe. I took the small bag resting on the car’s hood and walked to the entrance. The front door was mostly glass, and my crimson eyes reflected off the surface. I took hold of the handle and pulled the door open, stepping into the lobby.

The structure of the building was mostly done, but there was still lots of interior work to do. Tools and work benches were set up in the lobby, and it was covered in sawdust. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, holding my arm out in front of me with my fingers outstretched.

Ghosts, souls, magic—these are just words for different kinds of energy. Just like a Geiger counter can detect radiation, magic can detect these supernatural wavelengths. Pretty much everyone can do it, for that matter. Ever feel like you’re being watched when there’s no one around, or think you hear voices in the darkness? That’s not your mind playing tricks on you, that’s you picking up on something paranormal. Well…or you’re going crazy.

The trick is knowing and sensing the differences between those types of energies. If you understand what it is you’re feeling, you can determine what exactly you’re up against. In the case of ghosts, there are a bunch of different types. Some of them are just echoes, constantly reliving their death, like a record that won’t stop skipping (yeah, I said record; I’m old). Others are lost. They’ve got some unfinished business on this plane of existence and they can’t cross over until it’s been completed.

And then there’s the vengeful spirits. These are the ghosts you usually see in the movies. Mean bastards who usually died a violent death and want to lash out at anyone and anything they can. In some ways, it’s understandable. If I don’t get my morning coffee, I start to think murderous thoughts. Can’t imagine how I’d feel if I was violently killed.

Thing about vengeful spirits, though, is that the longer they stick around, the angrier they get. And it’s like the Hulk—anger only makes them stronger. Sooner or later, they end up as poltergeists. That’s when they get powerful enough to affect the physical world in violent ways. So, it’s no longer just about scaring people; it’s about killing them. And that can just lead to the creation of even more vengeful spirits.

In this building, I was picking up on a lot of echoes. A few of the lost. But there was a poltergeist in here, and it was calling the shots. If a poltergeist’s power is strong enough, it can even start to bring other spirits under its control.

The lobby wasn’t where I wanted to be. I needed a focal point to begin the banishing spell if I was going to clear this building. What I planned to do was channel the spiritual energy from this building and guide them to the next world. From there, I didn’t know what happened. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory—how those decisions were made was far above my pay grade.

But in order to channel the energy, I needed as few disruptions as possible. Magic’s like any other form of energy—there are ways to block or disrupt it. I wasn’t sure what kind of metal was used in the construction of this building, but it can sometimes interfere with magic when you’re trying to channel spirits into the void.

That meant what I needed more than anything was a wide-open space. Somewhere I could be in contact with the building, but still have a place to draw on the magic. Which meant the roof.

I heard a growl behind me. Instead of turning around, I set my bag on the floor and knelt down, opening it up and reaching inside. I found what I needed in there, running my fingers over the symbols engraved in the iron surface.

“You should not be here,” said a voice.

“Not a very nice way to treat a guest,” I said, taking what I’d needed from the bag in my right hand and sliding it into my pocket as I stood.

I turned around and saw a spectral figure hovering in front of me. It didn’t look human; it looked instead like some kind of creature. Powerful poltergeists can make themselves appear like whatever they want, so they tend to go for the kind of crap you’d see in monster movies. This one looked like what you’d get after a Predator anger-banged an orc. It was transparent and mostly white, but with glowing, red eyes.

“Y’know, that effect is trademarked,” I said. “If you keep poaching it, you’re gonna be hearing from my attorney.”

“Get. Out!”

The spirit bellowed the last word and the glass windows of the lobby doors blew inward, wind buffeting my face. I closed my eyes and remained standing where I was. Once the wind stopped, I scoffed and opened my eyes, brushing the stray bits of glass off my shoulders with my left hand.

“It’s so cute when you dead bastards try to be intimidating.” I took a step forward and stared it in the eyes. “I’m gonna make myself very clear. You’re done with this place. Your days of throwing construction workers down elevator shafts and forcing timid ghosts to do your bidding are over.”

“Or what?”

“Or this.” I took my right hand out of my pocket and balled it into a fist. I swung, connecting with the poltergeist’s ethereal jaw. As my hand passed through it, the poltergeist’s head recoiled, fading away like vapor as it fell to the ground.

It vanished completely, though it wasn’t gone for good. All I had done was break its connection with this plane. It would be back, and pissed.

So how does someone punch a ghost? Make sure you don’t clench your fist too tight, plant your feet, and don’t forget to wear iron knuckles engraved with symbols meant to ward off spirits.

I picked up the bag and went to the stairwell, kicking the door open. Five floors up, then I could begin the ritual. I started ascending, and when I got to the first landing, another ghost appeared in front of me, this one of an old lady. She screamed, her skin melting off and her hair flying in all directions. I punched her in the face with the iron knuckles and she vanished with another scream.

I felt the presence of another ghost behind me. I turned and was ready to deliver another blow, but as I raised my arm, the ghost was frozen in place. With my teeth gritted, I pushed harder, trying to break the spirit’s hold on my arm. Its eyes flashed as it increased its own power.

I dropped the bag on the landing and quickly reached beneath my trench coat to my hip, moving my hand beneath my suit jacket. I drew another weapon—a silver dagger with symbols carved in it—and I jammed it into the spirit’s side. It wailed in agony as it vanished.

Bag in hand, I ran up the stairs again, clearing another few flights. I was almost to roof entrance, but just as I approached the landing, the chief poltergeist appeared in front of me, roaring and throwing me right back down the last flight of stairs. “You dare challenge me?”

I hit my head on the wall and shook off the disorientation. The poltergeist hovered there, its mouth open with rows of razor-sharp teeth. I was on my side and I reached beneath my suit jacket. The poltergeist slowly descended the steps, its eyes burning brighter as it came closer.

“You, a challenge? Bitch, please.” I pulled my hand out from under my jacket, drawing the custom revolver holstered there. With a squeeze of the trigger, the Enochian symbols along the iron barrel lit bright orange. An iron-forged, silver-coated hollow-point round filled with holy water and special herbs rocketed from the gun. The bullet slammed into the poltergeist, and it vanished.

I took the bag and ran up the rest of the steps, bursting through the door, onto the roof. I didn’t want to be interrupted, so I closed the door and took a container of salt from the bag. A line of this in front of the door would help keep the poltergeist and its little friends at bay, at least long enough for me to complete the ritual.

I took off my trench coat and suit jacket, then took a can of white spray paint from the bag. I drew a large circle with it, shaking the can as needed to continue. The ghosts pounded on the door, trying to get through, but they couldn’t cross the salt line. I painted a smaller, inner circle. In the space between the smaller and larger circles, I began painting symbols. Latin, mostly. Some people used Hebrew, but it really didn’t matter what language you chose for your spells, so long as it was something that could serve as a focal point for your magic. I once knew a guy in New York who did all his sigils in Klingon.

I finished the sigil and sat in the center of it, extending my arms out to the sides and slowly bringing them in front of me, bending the elbows as I did, my eyes shut.

“I banish thee, spirits of loss.”

I touched the tips of my thumbs and index finger, holding them up to my forehead, a way of visualizing the third eye.

“I banish thee, spirits of vengeance.”

The pounding on the door continued. I could sense the salt line breaking, could hear the screams of the spirits and the angry growl of the poltergeist. But I wouldn’t let it distract me.

“I banish thee, spirits of malice.”

The door burst open and I opened my eyes. The poltergeist was the first one out, crossing the distance from the entrance to the circle. The other spirits moved behind it, some of them frightened, some of them driven mad by its control.

“I banish thee to the endless void!”

I outstretched my hands and clapped them together. I could feel a surge of power move through my body. The sigil on the roof began to glow as if it were on fire. It detached from the rooftop, and as soon as the poltergeist saw the sigil, it started backing away.

“No…”

“Oh yeah,” I said, and moved my arms in a circle, rising to stand. The sigil began to spin, moving faster and faster until it became a vortex. The poltergeist screamed, as did the other ghosts, and they tried to retreat.

But the power of the vortex was too strong, and it began pulling them inside. One by one, each spirit that had been haunting this building was drawn into the vortex, the last of them being the chief poltergeist. I circled around and it looked at me with fear etched on its face.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I took a monogrammed gold cigarette case and Zippo lighter from my pants pocket. The poltergeist cried oaths of vengeance, all while I calmly lit my cigarette.

“I’ve heard it all before,” I said. “Give my regards to Purgatory.”

The poltergeist wailed as it was sucked into the portal. The vortex slowed, disintegrating into nothing before it came to a complete stop. I smiled and walked to the edge of the roof, sitting down and letting my legs dangle over the five-story drop. I sat there and smoked my cigarette, looking out over the city of Chicago.

Yeah, this was so much nicer than dealing with whatever bullshit was going on between angels and demons.

Winter in Chicago. They can keep it.

It wasn’t the cold that bothered me—though you’d think we were dead-center in the middle of the Arctic Circle some days. Being part-demon, I had a natural resistance to the elements that humans didn’t.

Nah, what really pissed me off about Chicago winters was the snow. Had been especially bad the past few years. It quickly turned to slush, especially in the city itself. Not so bad when I was behind the wheel of my car, but at that moment, I was forced to slog through it on the sidewalk.

My name’s Luther Cross, by the way. Chicago’s premiere paranormal investigator. Got a demon possessing your kid or a poltergeist haunting your house or a werewolf that won’t stop shitting on your lawn, then I’m the guy you call.

Or at least I used to be. I’d recently gone through some pretty big changes in my life. But I’ll get to that later. All you have to know now is that I had come across a demon possessing some college student. Got a whiff of him from a bar and decided to follow. He was about half a block ahead of me, but that was fine. I had his scent and there was no way he’d be able to escape me.

I stuffed my gloved hands into the pockets of my leather jacket as I followed the same path he did. One of the perks of being part-demon was I had a sixth sense for the supernatural. This guy, I’d already picked up on, and as long as I didn’t let him get too far ahead, I’d be able to follow him wherever he went.

Overhead, the Chicago “L” train rattled on the tracks, chugging on past as it navigated the Loop circuit. I kept walking, spotting the metal stairs up ahead leading to the platform. He’d gone up here, but the scent was still strong. Must have just missed the train. He was gonna wish he’d walked faster.

I climbed the stairs and stepped onto the platform. He stood at the other end, but didn’t acknowledge me. Just stared straight out at the tracks. My gaze never wavered from him, though. He wore earbuds and took the smartphone they were connected to out from his pocket, staring at the blue light of the screen, his thumb flicking across the glass. After a few moments, he put the phone back in his pocket.

He was fidgeting. His knees couldn’t stop bending just a little bit, then straightening up again. His feet kept tapping on the platform. No doubt about it—he was scared of me. And that thought had a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

I reached a hand into my jacket’s inside pocket and took out a monogrammed cigarette case, then drew a cigarette from it. My eyes stayed on him as I lit the cigarette, savoring the fear I could smell wafting off him.

Goddamn, I loved this part of the job.

Finally, he looked my way. And in a moment, I could see his eyes flash bright yellow for just an instant before they returned to the normal brown of the college student he was possessing. Demons generally didn’t like to associate with me. Probably because I had a habit of sending them back to Hell.

I could tell this demon wasn’t very high up on the totem pole. More than likely he was someone who’d just crawled out of Hell and slithered his way into a body. Most demons were just sadists and hedonists, feeding off the negative emotions of humans. But they talked. They knew things, even the bottom-feeders. And there were some questions I wanted answered.

The rattle of the train could be heard in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. I took the cigarette from my mouth and dropped it on the platform, crushing it beneath my heel. The train came to a stop and I broke my gaze on the demon, looking straight ahead at the doors. While waiting for them to open, I caught the reflection of my bright-red eyes in the window. And for a brief moment, my reflection changed, showing who was really in control now.

The doors opened. I took a glance back at him and saw him quickly board a car further up. I stepped onto the train and walked to the front of the car. After a moment, the train started up. I stared through the car window, looking into the one directly ahead. He wasn’t in that one. Was probably at least two cars ahead, if not three.

There was a sign on the door warning people not to cross between cars or face a fine. I’ve never been one for following the rules, so I pulled open the door and crossed over to the next car.

It was late at night, so the train was mostly empty. A homeless guy sat on the bench closest to me, muttering to himself. He held a mason jar between his legs. Judging from his stench, was pretty obvious what was inside that jar. I continued past him, moving down the car. The demon’s scent grew stronger with each step I took.

“Hey, mister, can I borrow a dollar? I’m hungry.”

The voice came from a woman who stood to block my path. Her clothes were filthy, and her hair went all over the place. Judging from the look in her eyes, seemed she was hooked on something, and she held out her hand. I didn’t have time to waste on her, so I grabbed her wrist and stared directly in her eyes.

“Sit down and shut up,” I said.

Without another word, she sat right back on the bench. Another perk of my heritage was I could influence people. The weaker the mind, the easier they were to push to do what I wanted.

I went to the front of the car and looked through the window. I saw the demon in the next car, sitting at the far end. With a smile, I pulled open the door and crossed into the first car. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up. His gaze lingered for a moment, fear passing over his face, and then he looked down again.

We were the only ones in this car. I moved down the center, closing the distance between us. The train’s speed reduced, and I looked out the window to see a stop coming up ahead. He stood from the bench and went to the door.

Oh no. Wasn’t gonna be that easy.

I quickened my pace, and just as the doors opened, I ended up right behind him. I reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his coat. He fell back, stumbling onto the car floor. The doors closed and the train started moving again. He looked up at me, his eyes now remaining in their yellow state. No reason to hide what he was—not anymore.

“H-hold on!” he shouted, his voice full of fear. “I don’t want any trouble with you, man!”

I lifted him off the floor and sat him down on the bench, then sat across from him. With my elbows resting on my thighs, I leaned forward and clasped my hands together, staring right into his yellow eyes.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” I asked.

He gave a nod. “There’s not a demon in the tri-state area who hasn’t heard of Luther Cross.”

“Good, that’ll make this easier. How about we start with something simple, like your name.”

“K-Killian.”

“Okay, Killian, here’s how it’s gonna go down. You’re gonna tell me everything I wanna know.”

“But I don’t kn—”

“And if you don’t, then we’re gonna have words.” I leaned back into the bench and pulled open my jacket so Killian could see the modified revolver I kept holstered under my shoulder. “You know about me, so I’m gonna assume you also know about this.”

Killian’s wide eyes confirmed he did.

“Now, what’s a little piss-ant bottom-feeder like yourself doing in my town?”

“Look man, I’m really not interested in causing any trouble. I escaped the pit, found a body, and that’s that. I’m just taking it for a joyride, seriously.”

“You escaped?” I asked. “How?”

It was a good question. You could think of Hell as something like a prison. The Hell Lords who made up the Infernal Court, they were the wardens and could come and go more or less as they pleased. But no prison’s perfect—there were secret passages in and out of Hell and no shortage of mid-level demons willing to provide you with a way out. Provided you could pay whatever price they asked.

Usually, that meant you had to take on a debt to corrupt a certain number of souls. But Killian here, he didn’t seem like the type capable of doing much corruption. Doubt he could make any deals, either—probably couldn’t sell a boat to a drowning man.

“You didn’t know?” asked Killian. “Asmodeus is missing. No one’s seen him in a few months.”

Actually, I had known about that. Asmodeus was one of the archdemons, a Hell Lord who had his own corner of the pit to rule over. Last time I saw him, he’d convinced me to go to Purgatory with him. He’d gone off on his own and we hadn’t seen him again. As far as I knew, he was still trapped there.

I wasn’t about to explain any of that to Killian. Last thing I needed was any Hell Lords knocking on my door. But I went through some changes myself in Purgatory, and there were things I wanted to know. In the past, Asmodeus could sometimes be counted on for information. That obviously wasn’t an option now.

“I like you, Killian,” I said. “So that’s why I’m gonna do you a solid.”

“You’re gonna let me go?”

I chuckled. “Sure. So long as you live up to your part of the bargain.”

Killian’s eyes went from side to side. “What do you mean? What do I have to do?”

“Like you said, probably not a demon around who doesn’t know who I am. And that’s the problem. So, here’s what I’m going to propose—you now work for me.”

“W-Why would I work for you? You kill our kind.”

I sighed. “Kid, I just explained this to you. If you scratch my back, I won’t put a bullet in your head. But if you’d rather I just killed you now…”

I drew the gun and casually pointed it at him. Killian jumped, holding his arms over his face. As if that would really do anything. I waited for him to lower his arms, which he did after a moment. But I kept the gun trained on his head. My face remained stoic, not allowing a hint of emotion to pass across.

“What’s it gonna be, Killian? You willing to be my eyes and ears in the demon world in exchange for staying alive?”

“So, I’d be your snitch?” he asked.

I smiled and holstered the gun. “Now you’re getting it. And who knows, maybe this will lead to more opportunities for you in the future.”

Killian cringed once more when I reached into my coat a second time. I just sighed and took out a card case. I took one of my business cards from it and passed it over to him. Killian reluctantly accepted the card and looked at it.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“See those numbers on it? You enter those into a fancy new device called a phone and that’s how you get in touch with me.”

“I know what a phone is, what I meant was—”

“Head over to Lust on Rush Street. I want to know who’s in charge. Once you find out, you give me a call.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.” I looked out the window and saw we were approaching the next stop. I stood from the bench and looked down at Killian. “Don’t piss me off, kid. I’m giving you a huge break here. Think you can handle it?”

“I got no loyalty to the Court, honest.”

“Good. Because if I find out you’ve betrayed me, just remember that I’ve gone toe-to-toe with the Angel of Death.”

The doors opened, and I stepped from the train onto the platform. Maybe it was a bit risky to recruit an informant like Killian. Never would’ve done that before. But things had changed since Purgatory, and the Luther Cross who went into that place wasn’t the same one who walked out.

There are a lot of things you could say about Chicago. Traffic’s a pain, our sports teams suck, we don’t put ketchup on hot dogs, and the weather is downright schizo. But you know one thing you can’t really criticize?

We’ve got one of the best damn skylines in the world.

That’s what always strikes me whenever I look out over the city at night. It’s why instead of choosing to go to a bar at the street level, I instead come to the Signature Lounge at the top of the John Hancock Building. Sure, it’s overpriced, but where else in the city are you gonna be able to enjoy a scotch with a view like this?

My name’s Luther Cross. I’m what’s known as a cambion. My mother was human and she was impregnated by a demon. Though not just any demon—a former Hell Lord named Abraxas. Makes me kind of like royalty down in the pit. Wasn’t something I ever counted on, but now I’m making it work for me.

While sipping my Glenlivet, I stared out the window, the glow of my crimson eyes reflected in the glass. In the past, I’d have tried to hide that. But that was the old me, before I went to Purgatory and had a new side to my personality awaken.

For years, I was used as a pawn. Raised by an organization called the Sons of Solomon, who thought I was some kind of weapon to be used against the forces of darkness or whatever. Then got my chain yanked by angels and demons alike. And after Purgatory, I had enough. The old Luther was gone, and I stopped giving a damn about anyone other than myself.

I looked down at my hand. Small sparks of fire appeared on my fingertips. Hellfire to be exact. Started to exhibit the power in Purgatory. And over the past two months, I’ve only grown more powerful.

Oh yeah, speaking of which. I used to just be a half-demon paranormal investigator. But now, I’ve followed in pop’s footsteps and I’m a full-blown Lord of Hell myself, ruling over the domain once held by a demon named Asmodeus. Wasn’t what I counted on, but it was part of the deal I struck with another demon, Lilith.

I hadn’t spent a whole lot of time down there since the transfer happened. Lilith was handling the bulk of the duties down there. Me, I was content staying out of it. Didn’t care much about being an absentee Hell Lord. It gave me the power to walk around without having to worry about angels or demons riding my ass, and that’s all I wanted—to be left alone.

“Excuse me…”

I rolled my eyes and looked away from the window to address whoever this chump was. So much for being left alone. The guy was in his 60s, his gray hair having long receded from the top of his head, and he wore glasses. I could see the glisten of flop-sweat on his forehead and he kept looking around the room nervously.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Are you Luther Cross?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I do.” He sat down at my table and I sighed. “My name is Charles Morrison and—”

“Stop.” I held up my hand. “When did I say you could sit at my table?”

“I-I’m sorry, I just assumed—”

“Yeah, well when you assume, you make an ass outta you and me,” I said. “You got ten seconds to tell me what you want.”

“As I said, my name is Charles Morrison and I need your help.”

“What makes you think I can help you, Chucky?”

“Because I’m being pursued.” He looked from side to side and then leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “By assassins.”

“Sounds like you pissed someone off.” I raised my glass and sipped the scotch. “Sorry to hear that. But Chicago’s a big city, lots of powerful people live here. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a bodyguard.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Mr. Cross. I need you.”

“Y’know, I only like the phrase ‘I need you’ when it’s being said by a hot little number preferably wearing some kind of lingerie,” I said. “When some George Costanza-looking motherfucker says it, doesn’t do much for me. No offense.”

“I think they might be demons. Or working for demons.”

I finished my Glenlivet and held up the glass. Looking around, I caught the waiter’s eye and pointed to it. He nodded and within a few moments, brought me a fresh drink.

“What about your friend?” asked the waiter.

“He’s not my friend and he’s not staying long,” I said and the waiter left. Morrison was staring at me the whole time, no doubt waiting for my reaction after he used the D-word.

“Did you hear what I just said?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, you think you’re being chased by demons. Not my problem,” I said. “I know an exorcist out in Rogers Park, I can give you his name, but that’s about it.”

“I don’t need an exorcist,” he said. “What I need is Luther Cross. The man who I was told I could trust.”

I began to sip the new drink, and that’s when I saw it. On his finger, he wore a gold signet ring with a symbol topping it off. A white stone with a red cross. Though the line going through the cross was higher than usual. It was a symbol I recognized.

“Opus Dei,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “What the fuck do you bastards want with me this time?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“You heard what I said. I’ve dealt with your kind before. So now, not only are you interrupting my quiet time, but you’re also part of an organization that once tried to kill me.”

“Mr. Cross, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Morrison. “Yes, I am a member of the Opus Dei, but it’s a large organization spanning the entire globe. I’m not aware of all the activities of our members.”

“I think it’s time you left,” I said.

“You don’t understand—”

“I’m gonna give you to the count of three.” I fixed my eyes on him now, the glow from my eyes growing powerful enough that it cast a red hue over my vision. “And then I’m going to get angry.”

“Wait, you have to just listen—”

“One.”

“I’m not here on behalf of the order, I’m here because—’

“Two.”

“Please, if you’ll just give me a chance to explain—”

“Three.”

“Dakota Reed sent me!”

I froze and the crimson tinge over the room faded. Several seconds of silence filled the air, and then I realized we were being watched. Our exchange must have been more distracting, because everyone in the Signature Lounge was looking right at us. During the silence that followed, they eventually turned their attention back to their own conversations. Except a man in a tuxedo, the Lounge manager, who came over to our table.

“Mr. Cross, is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I said, looking up at him. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“I feel it’s my duty to remind you that we can’t tolerate outbursts such as—”

I stared into his eyes and his face started to glaze over for a brief instant. Just a slight nudge using my powers to keep him from causing me any more grief. Already had enough to deal with.

“We cool?” I asked.

“Yes sir, of course,” he said. “I apologize for disturbing you.”

The manager left and my focus was back on Morrison. I picked up my drink and took a long sip, never taking my eyes off him. A member of the Opus Dei and he said Dakota sent him to find me? That stirred my curiosity.

“Time for you to start talking, Chucky,” I said. “What do you know about Dakota Reed?”

Morrison hesitated, sighed, and then said, “I don’t think we should talk here. Is there somewhere private we can go? Where we won’t have to deal with the threat of prying eyes and ears?”

Could understand his apprehension. Chicago had a pretty vibrant supernatural underworld and there were interested parties all over the city. Dakota posed particular interest. I met her last spring when she came to me, pregnant by mystic means. At first, we thought the baby might be a cambion, like me. But then it turned out she was carrying a nephilim.

Dakota had been impregnated by an angel. Which was a violation of the armistice between Heaven and Hell. Someone upstairs had a mind to try and thaw out the cold war between the two sides. With the help of an angel named Raziel, I kept Dakota out of harm’s way. After that, Raz took her into hiding.

No one had seen her since. And if someone found out that Morrison knew where to find her, well…they’d be really keen to extract that information.

“Fine,” I said and finished the rest of my scotch. I stood and took my leather jacket from the back of my chair, pulling it over my collared shirt.

Morrison followed me as we left the Lounge. I told the manager as we walked through the exit to put the drinks on my tab and we went to the elevator. I hit the button and slid my hands into my pockets, watching as the numbers ticked up on the display.

“Dakota speaks very highly of you, Mr. Cross,” said Morrison.

“Do me a favor,” I said. “No more talking until we get where we need to go. Not a fan of chit-chat.”

Morrison nodded and the elevator arrived. I hit the button for the lobby and the car began its descent. We rode down in silence all the way to the ground floor, not another word passing between us. The doors opened and I led Morrison through the lobby and out the door, to the parking garage right next to the building.

As soon as we’d left the elevator, I started to sense something was wrong. I didn’t look behind me, but I reached out with my sixth sense. Being a cambion gave me the ability to perceive the supernatural around me. And I could sense the presence of something following us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a uniformed cop keeping pace behind us, maintaining his distance.

Smart guy, definitely a pro. If I were anyone else, I wouldn’t have spotted him. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t dealing with anyone else—he was dealing with Luther Cross.

We entered the garage and got in the elevator. The cop followed us in and he called out. “Excuse me, could you hold the door?”

I pushed the door close button and shrugged as the cop jogged to catch up to us. “Sorry, I’m pushing it, but I think the button’s broken.”

The doors closed and we rode the elevator to the fifth floor. When they opened, I grabbed Morrison’s arm and pulled him onto the parking level. We made a bee-line for my car, the ’69 black Camaro. But as we approached, I saw we weren’t alone. There were two more cops standing by my car, one of them leaning against the trunk.

“This is a nice ride you got here,” said the one leaning. He rubbed his fingers over the surface.

“You mind?” I asked. “Just had it cleaned.”

He scoffed. “Why bother? You know it’s supposed to snow tomorrow, right?”

“My friend and I gotta be going now, so how about you gentlemen leave us be?”

“Oh?” asked the other cop, stepping closer. The name tag on his jacket read Phillips. “I don’t think I like your tone, boy. Are you telling two CPD officers what to do?”

“Not at all,” I said, taking a step back. “I’d just like to get home before it’s too late.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t let you leave,” said the cop who’d been leaning against the car. He stood upright and reached for his belt, drawing his nightstick. The tag on his jacket identified him as Miller.

Then I heard the sound of a door opening. I turned around and saw the cop from before emerge from the stairwell and close the distance between us. Cole was printed on his nametag.

“And why not?” I asked.

“Your car’s in no condition to be driven,” said Miller.

I shrugged. “Seems fine to me.”

Miller raised his nightstick and bashed it against my tail light. The sound of shattering glass echoed on the level. “Check again. You’ve got a light out.”

I sighed. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“And why’s that?” asked Phillips, getting in my face.

“Because,” I said, channeling demonic energy into my fingertips. “You’re just some pissant demons possessing these cops. And I’m Luther Cross, bitch.”

Phillips’ eyes changed to bright yellow when I put my palm against his chest and said, “Ignis!”

His shirt instantly erupted in a blaze of fire. I punched him in the face to throw him back and he rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames.

Cole drew his gun and pointed it at Morrison. I held my hand up and, just as he squeezed the trigger, said, “Sepio!”

Morrison shut his eyes and turned away, but the bullet struck the invisible barrier I cast around him. That should keep him out of trouble while I finished these two bastards off. After that, I’d figure out what to do about him.”

While my attention was on Morrison, Miller struck. His nightstick hit the back of my head and dropped me to the ground. Might be a low-level demon, but he hit pretty damn hard. I was on my hands and knees and I sensed him coming in for another attack. I kicked my leg back, striking his shin. He fell as I got back to my feet.

I took his discarded nightstick and turned to look at Cole, who had his gun trained on me. Figured, the one damn time I left my gun in the car was the time I ended up needing it.

“Get back, Cross,” said Cole. “This doesn’t concern you. Just get in your car and we’ll let you drive away.”

“What do you know about me, Cole?” I asked.

“You’re the mongrel son of a demon’s whore,” he said. “Hunt us down so you can earn brownie points with those winged cocksuckers.”

My fingers tightened into a fist and I felt heat under my skin. “That was then. I’ve had some changes in the past few months. Now, I’m a mongrel Hell Lord.”

The way Cole’s eyes bulged, you’d think they were about to explode out of his sockets. Seems not everyone got the memo about my promotion. The heat under my skin had built up and flames started to dance around my fingertips.

“You shouldn’t have insulted my mom.”

I held out my arm and a burst of hellfire exploded from my palm, crossing the distance between us and completely consuming Cole’s body. He screamed as the hellfire surged through his every cell, utterly destroying every single aspect of his dark soul.

When it was done, Cole was no more and his gun clattered to the ground. I walked over and picked it up, looking at Miller and shooting him in the leg.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” I said, and then walked over to Phillips, who was still writhing in pain from the flames. I put two bullets in his eyes and a bright, yellow light emerged from his sockets before he stopped moving completely.

I knelt down by Miller and looked at the nightstick I’d taken from him. I tapped his cheek with it and stared into his eyes. I could see his anger and fear in those yellow eyes.

“You damaged my car,” I said. “I take that kinda shit personally.”

“Give me a break, man, it was nothin’ personal,” said Miller. “We were just hired to kill that old bastard.”

“Who hired you?” I asked. “You tell me, and this will go a lot more smoothly. But if you wanna be a hard-ass, then…” I held up the nightstick and waved it in front of him. “Well, we’ll see just how many holes this little guy can squeeze into.”

“C’mon, man,” said Miller. “We had no idea you were a Hell Lord. If we knew, we wouldn’t have messed with you, honest.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said, hellfire flowing from my hand and over the surface of the nightstick, coating it. “Just who exactly are you working for? One of the Hell Lords? Someone else?”

“I-I can’t tell you…I don’t know…”

“Wrong answer.”

I went to work on the demon, his screams like music to my ear as I tortured him. I made good on my word and probably set a few penetration records with that nightstick. Before the hour was up, he still hadn’t given up anything—because he didn’t have anything to give up.

Once I was convinced he really didn’t know anything, I vaporized him with hellfire and dropped the nightstick. I turned to Morrison, who braced himself against one of the garage’s support pillars and bent over, vomiting. Guess he wasn’t a fan of my methods.

“Done for now?” I asked.

“What…what are you?” he asked.

“I’m the handsome devil who just saved your ass,” I said. “Now get in the car, you’ve got some storytelling to do.”

My name’s Luther Cross, and I’ve just been stabbed to death. Not often a story begins with the hero dying, but that is how this one starts.

I’m what’s known as a cambion, a human/demon hybrid. My mother was a normal woman named Grace Cross. But my father was one of the Fallen, the angels who joined Lucifer’s rebellion and were cast into Hell to become the first demons. His name was Abraxas.

Just under a year ago, I helped a girl named Dakota Reed, who’d been impregnated by an angel. Those hybrids are called the nephilim and they’re far more powerful than me. Their creation was also strictly forbidden by the terms of an armistice between Heaven and Hell. But this angel seemed intent on breaking that armistice in order to kick-start armageddon.

A lot’s happened since then. I helped Dakota to safety, traveled to Purgatory, got overtaken by my dark side, betrayed pretty much everyone I ever cared about, became a Hell Lord, and then conquered my inner demon. In that time, Dakota also gave birth, and that’s what brought me here.

A demon named Asmodeus was after her. Long story short, he used to be a somewhat ally of mine before he got trapped in Purgatory. To escape, he struck a deal with Thanatos, the big bad who ran it—the nephilim for his freedom. I wasn’t about to let that happen, but to stop him, I had to strike a deal of my own with none other than Lucifer himself. He gave me the means to trap Asmodeus in Hell’s prison in exchange for…well, that’s something I still don’t know.

I managed to finish the job. Asmodeus was now rotting in a place called Cocytus, where he’s held under freezing water by chains of ice as ravenous, predatory fish eat away at his flesh. Didn’t come without a price, though. Bastard still managed to stab me before I got him.

Now I was standing on the beach, looking down at my body. Standing over me was a young Filipino woman named Shelly Reyes. She was a nun with a military background, tough as nails, and assigned by an angel named Raziel to protect Dakota and her baby. Before I died, I gave her a spell provided by Lucifer that would provide protection for Dakota and her kid, Malcolm.

The entire world looked different now that I was dead. It wasn’t dark out, but it seemed almost like someone turned down the sunlight. I reached a hand out for Shelly, but it just passed right through her head. And when it did, she reacted, her body straightening. I could see the goosebumps forming on her bare arms.

I couldn’t feel a thing. Not the heat of the sun’s rays or the humidity in the air. The sea breeze had vanished completely as far as my senses were concerned, as did the scent of the ocean and the sound of the waves. I knelt down and reached for the sand, but my hand went through the grains, not feeling a single one. The only sense I had left was sight. It was definitely a surreal feeling.

And that’s when I saw the fog roll in across the ocean. I stood and approached the water, staring out into the distance. The fog had come from nowhere and stretched high into the air. A boat slowly emerged from the cloud—narrow and long, and forged from human bones and skulls.

A solitary figure stood in the back of the boat, an oar clasped between his hands. He wore a heavy cloak with a hood, but his white eyes glowed brightly in the shadows that hid his face. The boat came to a stop and he raised the oar from the water. A sand dune rose from the surface, providing a bridge between myself and him. He extended his arm towards me and beckoned with a single finger.

I knew who he was. Charon, the ferryman of the dead. I’d seen him before. He was the one who took Asmodeus, Tessa, Cain, and myself into Purgatory. And now he was here for me.

I turned my back on him, looking at the beach house. I watched as Dakota emerged, running to Shelly’s side. She fell to her knees and threw her arms on my body. I could see her tears and it seemed like she was alternating between shouting and crying. But I couldn’t hear her.

“You’re not part of this world anymore, Luther,” said Charon. “Your time has come to leave and move on to the next.”

His voice was the only thing I could hear. I took a breath—or I guess I simulated taking a breath since I was now a ghost—and turned towards him.

“And which ‘next world’ would that be?” I asked. “What happens when a Hell Lord dies? Where does his soul go?”

Charon stepped off the boat and onto the dune. He slowly walked towards me and stopped when he came close. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“How do you not know where you’re taking me?”

“My task is simply to ferry you to the next place. As we travel on the rivers between worlds, it will become clear how you’ve been judged and where your soul belongs.”

“So who does the judging?”

“That’s not my department.”

I scoffed. “For Christ’s sake, do you know anything?”

Charon sighed. “I know even in spite of some recent acts, you were a decent man. You helped many people over the course of your life. That alone may have granted your soul entry into Heaven. But—”

“But I fucked things up when I became a Hell Lord, that’s what you mean to say.”

“It certainly didn’t help matters,” said Charon. “Though I’m not so certain anything would have changed your fate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Not only are you a cambion, but you’re the son of Abraxas. One of the greatest monsters to have ever lived. I don’t know if you ever had a chance at salvation.”

If that wasn’t a kick in the nuts, I don’t know what would be.

“So what happens to me? Does my Hell Lord status get me any sort of leeway?”

Charon looked away, off into the fog in the distance. “I honestly cannot say.”

“Can’t say because you’re not permitted to, or can’t say because you don’t know the answer?”

He shook his head. “Both. Your situation is unique, Luther. No mortal has ever been a Hell Lord before. What becomes of your soul now is anyone’s guess.”

“While we’re on the river, if it doesn’t become clear where I’m supposed to go, then what?” I asked.

“In cases where the soul’s destination is not a foregone conclusion, a trial is held to determine where it will finally rest. It’s rare, but has been known to happen in the past.”

“You’re talking about sentencing,” I said.

Charon nodded. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Both Heaven and Hell could make a case for why your soul belongs in those domains, if they so choose.”

That didn’t fill me with a lot of confidence. With Raziel missing—possibly dead—I couldn’t count on anyone in Heaven having my back. Pyriel despised me and I doubted Gabriel would stick his neck out for me. Plus, just last year I got my ass kicked by Azrael, the Angel of Death.

“And who’s the judge? Who has final say over where my soul ends up?”

“The final judge of all things,” said Charon.

I scoffed. “Death. As in the horseman.”

He gave a nod. “It will take some time for the proper arrangements to be made. I can take you to a place where you’ll be held until the commencement of the trial.”

A place where I’d be held…I knew what that meant. There was only one place where souls who hadn’t been sentenced to Heaven or Hell had to go. And the man in charge of that place had an axe to grind against me.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” I asked. “You can’t send me to Purgatory.”

“Those are the rules.”

“You know Thanatos wants my head on a pike, and you’re just going to turn me over to him?”

“I apologize, but I have no choice.”

“Bullshit!” I stepped up to Charon, stabbing a finger against his chest. “You had a choice when you took us into Purgatory and when you helped us out. You had a choice all those times you helped Cain. And now you’re going to tell me that you’re just a good little errand boy?”

Charon raised his hands to his hood and slowly lifted it off his head. I saw his face for the first time. It was a map of scar tissue and blistered wounds. His face looked like a shattered glass that had been glued together badly. If I still had a stomach, I’d probably be vomiting all over my shoes at the sight.

He raised the hood again, concealing his wounds. “Thanatos has seen to it that I’ve paid for my transgressions. I can’t betray my duties ever again, not without consequence.”

“If he did that to you, what do you think he’s going to do to me?”

Charon lowered his head. Strange that an immortal being was afraid of something. Even more strange that he seemed to feel remorse for his actions. After all the souls Charon had ferried to the afterlife over eons, you’d think he would no longer be capable of emotion, if he ever was.

“You know, I have no power over the dead,” said Charon. “I just take you from one place to the next. But I can’t force you to board my boat.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“How do you think ghosts even exist, Luther? They’re the souls that refused to come with me.”

“So I do have a choice,” I said. “I can choose to stay behind, to remain on Earth as a spirit.”

“Yes, but that path has risks as well, and you should know of them before you make your decision. Most souls that remain behind do so because there is something tying them to this place. But remaining in the veil, stuck between two worlds, it’s too much for many. They break under the pressure and become trapped in nightmares of their own making. Or they try to inflict their pain on the living.”

I’d encountered my fair share of angry spirits in my time, so I knew exactly what sort of risks Charon was talking about. There wasn’t really any choice, though. If I tried to do things the right way, Thanatos would definitely get his hands on me. Even as a Hell Lord, I doubted anyone downstairs would try to get me out of Thanatos’ hands. Why would they? Lucifer wouldn’t want to risk showing favoritism and Lilith already had a rebellion on her hands to deal with. And the other Hell Lords either feared or despised me.

“I’ll stay.”

“Think about this carefully, Luther,” said Charon. “Soon, you’ll start to relive the past, and you could easily become trapped in it. Your rage will grow, reliving the moments of your life, and you’ll start to lash out against the living. You may not even realize you’re doing it.”

“There’s no other way. I’ve gotta figure something out.” I turned away from Charon and looked at Dakota and Shelly standing over my body. It was like time had frozen. “What’s going on?”

“Time moves differently for us,” said Charon. “You may think we’ve been speaking for a while, but it’s been barely seconds for them.”

“They’re going to need help,” I said. “I’ve reached out to spirits for guidance in the past. If I stay here, I can probably see to it that Dakota and her baby are protected.”

“You might be able to, but affecting the real world isn’t as easy as you believe. It will take time to master that skill. And there’s one other thing you should be concerned about.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

Charon started to walk across the sand dune, back towards the boat. As he boarded, the sand retreated beneath the water’s surface and he looked back at me.

“Beware the wraiths,” he said.

“Wraiths?” I asked. “What the hell’s a wraith?”

“I pray you never have to find out.”

The fog rolled over him and slowly retreated, vanishing into the distance. As it did, light returned to the world and I could hear Shelly and Dakota’s voices again. I looked over at them and saw Shelly trying to comfort Dakota and telling her that they had to leave now.

She was right about that. And I’d tag along with them, see if there was something I could do to help. After all, not like I had anything else to worry about now that I was dead.

Ever walk into a place you’ve been a million times before, and even though nothing has changed, it just feels different? That’s what I was thinking as I stepped through the front door of my condo located in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood. It felt like I hadn’t been here in years, even though the time was considerably less than that. But dying had a way of changing your perspectively.

My name’s Luther Cross, and I was just resurrected. You could count on one hand the number of times that the spell used on me had been performed successfully, and you’d still have fingers left over. It put me in a pretty exclusive club.

The condo really did look exactly the same. No one had been here since before my untimely death at the hands of a demon I once called friend. Just moments ago, I woke up in my grave and dug myself out to find two angels waiting for me—Gabriel and Raziel. They were my allies in what looked like a battle headed straight for all-out war. A rogue angel named Pyriel was trying to start the apocalypse. He already had the first soldier in his army, his son, a nephilim by the name of Malcolm. And he had the boy’s mother, Dakota, the woman I died protecting.

But we couldn’t just charge in after them. For one thing, Pyriel was good at covering his tracks. And two, Gabriel and Raziel had to try and appeal to the Powers That Be in Heaven. With the exception of those two, angels didn’t care much for me—probably had something to do with the fact that my father was one of The Fallen. So Gabe dropped me off at my condo before he and Raziel went upstairs.

I was glad he did. Running around as a ghost and then waking up in your own grave really made me want to take a shower before I did anything else. I just wanted to enjoy being alive for a night before I jumped back into the chaos my life had become.

I went into the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. They were covered in dirt and dried blood, and seemed unlikely my dry cleaner could do much for them, so I just left them on the floor with the plan to trash them later. I stepped into the walk-in shower and turned on the hot water.

Damn, it felt good. The only real sensations I’d felt since coming back were the feel of the sheets my body was wrapped in followed by the taste of soil as I dug myself out of the grave. I’d forgotten just how good a decent shower could feel.

As I soaped up my torso, I cringed a bit. There was a spot that caused some slight discomfort. I looked down at my side and saw a scar. That was where Asmodeus had stabbed me. Guess Death couldn’t or wouldn’t erase that little memento once he brought me back to life. I ran my finger over the scarred flesh, sucking in air at the hint of pain I felt. It was more of a reminder of what had happened than anything else. I could still remember how the blade felt going in, the taste of copper as blood pooled in my mouth, and how Asmodeus smiled as he twisted the knife.

The memory caused me to spasm and I banged into the shower door. I slipped and fell to the floor. I looked down at the wound and saw blood pouring out of it, dripping down my body and then mixing with the water before circling down the drain.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. The blood was gone—it was never there. No blood, just the white soap turning the water cloudy as it flowed into the drain.

I groaned and pulled myself up to my feet. Seemed resurrection wasn’t enough to erase that feeling when you died. I’d cheated death before, but that time was different.

After finishing in the shower, I toweled my body off and went to the sink. I wiped the mirror and saw the scar reflected in the glass. I broke from that and looked into my own reflection, then turned on the sink and started to apply shaving cream.

As I shaved, I kept staring at my crimson eyes. Kept expecting my reflection to change into the manifestation of my demonic side, but it never did. Looked like I really was successful in controlling that aspect of myself. At least that was something to be happy about.

Once I finished shaving, I put on my black robe, then collected the discarded clothes and took them into the kitchen. I grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink and stuffed the soiled clothing inside, then dropped it on the tiled floor. Planned to take that out to the trash once I had an opportunity.

I walked over to my liquor cabinet in the dining room, located just outside the kitchen. I opened the cabinet and took out the bottle of Laphroaig and poured some into a tumbler. With the drink in hand, I went to my recliner in the living room and settled in, slowly sipping the drink.

That first sip of the smoky, single-malt flavor almost gave me an orgasm. I hadn’t had a real drink in what felt like years. I took another sip. Not as good as the first, but still better than any scotch I’d had in a very long time. I set the drink down on the side table and picked up the cigarette case and lighter.

The entire time I was dead, all I wanted more than anything was a scotch and a cigarette. Now I had the opportunity for both and it was everything I’d hoped for. I took the lit cigarette from my mouth and slowly exhaled, tilting my head back and watching as the smoke drifted up towards the ceiling, moving in a slow spire before dissipating.

There wasn’t anything I could do about Pyriel or his captives, not until I’d heard back from Gabriel and Raziel. Until then, I had to find a way to keep myself busy. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, after all. Felt like what I needed was a bit of action after being apart from the physical world for so long.

Not that kind of action, though I wouldn’t turn that down, either. What I needed was to get my hands dirty, work out some of this pent-up aggression. And fortunately, I had a loose end that needed tying. Would be the perfect way to kill two birds.

* * *

I used to get around by driving a sweet ’69 Camaro, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Guy named Cain smashed in the roof while trying to kill me. In all the chaos that was happening at the time, I never had a chance to look in on it. Damn thing was probably carted off by now, which meant I was without wheels.

I could’ve taken a bus or called an Uber, but Rush Street was only about ten minutes away from the Gold Coast on foot, so I decided to take the time and enjoy having the use of my body once again.

I had a leather trench coat over a pair of jeans and a black shirt. In the past, I’d always worn a suit, but I was feeling more casual ever since the demon and human halves of my soul were brought into cohesion.

March had just begun, though it still didn’t feel like it. Some years, it was common for the cold to last longer than normal. One year, we got hit by a blizzard on the very last day of the month.

Surprisingly though, the cold didn’t bother me. On the one hand, my cambion physiology gave me a bit more resistance to the elements. But on the other, I enjoyed feeling again. The chill in the air slapped my face and reminded me that it all really happened—I’d come back from the dead.

There were likely to be a few people who wouldn’t be too happy about that. I was going after one of them right now. I turned off State Street and started walking down Rush, to the night club district. Even in the cold, people still lined up to come to these things. Had to admire that kind of dedication.

But I wasn’t interested in the regular clubs. There was one I wanted in particular. The one that had the word LUST over the awning above the entrance. I ignored the line and walked up to the bouncer. Without even looking at me, he jerked his thumb towards the people waiting.

“End of the line’s that way, pal.”

“Last time I checked, this place has a unique ownership model,” I said. “It’s the property of a Hell Lord.”

The bouncer froze and looked up. His mouth dropped when he realized who was standing in front of him. I gave him a half-smile.

“M-Mr. Cross…?”

“Hi,” I said.

“But, I’d heard…I mean, the word was...”

“I know,” I said. “Let’s just say the rumors of my death were a bit exaggerated. Now are you going to let me in or what?”

He nodded furiously and unhooked the velvet rope, then stepped aside. I nodded my thanks and opened the front door, stepping inside. The music’s bass was so loud, it felt like a throbbing inside my head. The lights were dim with a red glow, people dancing and grinding to the beat.

I moved through the crowd, heading towards the stairs. Up at the top of the building was the sixth floor, where the office of the club’s manager was located. It hung over the rest of the place, with large windows that granted a view of the dance floor. And that’s where the man I wanted to see was no doubt waiting.

Not too long ago, a demon named Lilith and I got our hands on a powerful item called the Abraxas Stone. Or rather a fragment of it. It was created by my father and by using it to harness the spirit energy of lost souls, I could threaten even Lucifer himself. I was given Asmodeus’ old realm of Hell to rule over, which Lilith had been looking after as my regent.

As for Lust, this had been an embassy of sorts for Asmodeus. He used to run this club, controlling operations to corrupt souls from here. Technically with him gone, it was now mine. Lilith had appointed a demon named Iblis to look after it. He was a smarmy little shit, but he was also only out for himself.

At least I thought so. Until Asmodeus came back and Iblis helped him kill me. That kind of thing hurt my feelings, so I wanted to come down here and get an apology from him in person.

I got up to the sixth floor and two bouncers stood guard in front of the door to the office. Their eyes met mine, flashing yellow. Demons, naturally. Last one of them I fought was Asmodeus, and he was a former angel.

These two, they weren’t shit.

“Boys,” I said, stepping up to them. “I’d like a word with my manager.”

“Don’t know who you are, but you got some guts taking on that dude as a skin-suit.”

“Not sure what you mean,” I said.

“He means Luther Cross is dead. How’d you take possession of his body anyway?”

“Or maybe you’re a changeling?”

“I’m not a changeling and I’m not some demon or spirit hitching a ride in a corpse,” I said. “I’m the real deal. Back and better than ever.”

They chuckled and stepped forward. One of them started stretching his arms while the other cracked his knuckles. It was difficult to contain my excitement—I’d been waiting for the chance to mix it up once again.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m a bit rusty with this whole thing,” I said with a grin. “So be gentle with me.”

Everything had happened so fast. He didn’t even realize how it had all gotten so out of control, so quickly. But the Morningstar had gone from simply asking questions to leading a rebellion against the Divine Choir and the full force of the Host of Heaven. Elysium, the capital city, had gone from a place of peace and tranquility to a burning site of death and savagery.

He remembered being engaged in battle. He had loved his brothers and sisters. And yet, they had come at him with everything they had. Each one trying to destroy his very existence simply because the Divine Choir had ordered it.

And so, Lucifer had no choice but to fight back.

Pahaliah. Sarathiel. Cassiel. Harut. Daniel. Those were just a few of the angels whose blood had now stained his hands. He remembered the look of terror on their faces as he extinguished their light with a sword constructed from the fire of his own soul.

This wasn’t what he was meant to be. He was the Morningstar. The bringer of light and knowledge. Not a slayer of his brethren. Not the ultimate villain that the Choir had tried to portray him as.

He remembered facing off against his brother in battle. At one point, Lucifer would have counted Michael as his hero. They trained together, fought together, laughed together. Not one angel in all of Heaven had been worthier of Lucifer’s respect than him.

And then, Michael had turned on him. Lucifer wasn’t sure how many of his own rebellious angels Michael savagely cut his way through in order to reach him. Not even Azrael had seemed as frightening as Michael on that day.

Lucifer had held back, not wanting to harm his brother. Michael had no such qualms. His ferocity had been unmatched by anything Lucifer had ever seen. And once it was all over and the dust had cleared, Lucifer expected Michael to deliver the killing blow.

Except he never did.

What happened next was a maelstrom of images. Lucifer and the other rebels had been imprisoned within the walls of Gehenna. There was a trial. Angels were in attendance screaming for their blood. One by one, the judgments came forth. Each of the angels who had sided with Lucifer had all received the same sentence—exile.

But after they had announced the verdicts, the court was emptied. Only Lucifer stood in chains before the seraphim who comprised the Divine Choir. The angels were told that Lucifer’s powers of manipulation were so vast that no mere angel should even be in his presence.

The truth, however, was simply that the seraphim feared what Lucifer might say. That he would reveal the secret they had spent eons keeping from the rest of Heaven. Naturally, they would never admit it, not even to Lucifer when no one else was present. But he could sense their uncertainty as they read out the verdict.

“Exile.”

Lucifer had felt defiant in that moment. More so than in any other. And he looked up, the ethereal chains heavy around his neck. His yellow eyes had burned bright, and he remembered asking them a simple question.

“If my crime was so heinous, then why exile?”

“Because, Morningstar, you still have a role to play. One that will continue to serve our cause for generations to come.”

The floor dropped away. Lucifer looked down to see the clouds spiraling below, spinning off into a darkening void. His wings strained against the attraction, but the chains had already fallen down to the abyss. Then, they pulled him down with them.

His wings were useless and he fell. Lucifer had screamed as he descended down through the clouds. The darkness approached, and Lucifer found himself in the depths. It felt like the darkness had gone on for an eternity without end. Lucifer was no longer certain which direction was up and which was down. All he knew was that there was a feeling of extreme loss that only grew deeper the further he fell.

Finally, after what felt like forever, there was light at the end of the tunnel. But it wasn’t the soft, cool light of Heaven. No, this was a harsh light. Lucifer tried to look away from its glare but he couldn’t. Its light burned his soul, searing away the touch of divinity he had been blessed with since creation.

His descent came to an end when he crashed into a shallow pond. The chains had vanished from his naked body and he strained as he tried to move. Lucifer got on his hands and knees and looked into the surface of the water. There he could see his reflection—dark hair, sharp angelic features, he seemed exactly the same.

Yet somehow, there was something that felt very different.

“Morningstar.”

Voices had echoed around him, all calling him by his title. Lucifer looked at the angels who had joined him in his rebellion. They all stood around him.

He realized they were all changing. The holy light had vanished from their eyes, now replaced by the yellow glow they associated with this wasteland of damned souls. Even their wings had changed. The feathers fell from them, leaving just the bony structure beneath. And though Lucifer didn’t know it then, in time leathery skin would grow over those bones, giving the fallen angels a new sort of wings.

However, Lucifer also noticed his wings remained the same. He folded them around his body so he could examine them closely. The feathers were intact and holding firm. Not even a spot of dirt stained them. He had no idea how that was even possible, when the rest of The Fallen were changing right before his very eyes, being transformed in this place.

Lucifer walked towards the edge of a cliff and looked out over the horizon. The skies were a dark, ominous crimson. And when he looked down from the cliff, he saw the legions that had followed him into damnation. All of them looked to him. When he glanced back, he saw the lieutenants—the ones who had been among the first who joined his rebellion and served him valiantly in the war.

“What do we do now?”

“Where are we?”

“Is…is this the end?”

“Can we really never go back?”

Lucifer felt that defiance build up within him once more. He held up his hands and the voices all around him grew silent. And then, he began to speak.

“I hear your despair. We’ve been cast out, separated from the light that had once nourished us. No more Elysium fields, where joy seems to dwell. Instead, hail this new infernal world we now rule. And in this place, I see a new vision of our existence. Where you see horrors, I see opportunity. Because it’s not the location, but the perspective. The mind can make a Heaven of Hell or a Hell of Heaven.

“So why should we care about Heaven? A beautiful prison with glass walls instead of bars is still a prison. Leave it to the angels and the ‘Divine’ Choir. Here, at least, we can be free. Here we are secure. They may have damned us to this hell, but I welcome their damnation and their hatred. And do you know why?”

There were shouts asking him to continue. And Lucifer smiled as he heard their chants, feeling the rush of their devotion. He raised a defiant fist high above his head, and then spoke a rallying cry that would define this new place for centuries to come.

“Because it’s better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven!”

The cheers echoed throughout the desolate landscape. Lucifer wore a broad, defiant smile on his face as he looked back to see his lieutenants similarly cheering him on.

However, though the moment felt exhilarating, Lucifer felt the hint of knowledge deep in his soul that something profound had been lost.

In the beginning, God created Heaven and the angels. The angels were beautiful, powerful creatures, holding no free will of their own, existing only to serve their father. But one angel, considered the most beautiful and beloved of all, was so struck by the sin of pride that he sought to elevate his station above that of even the Almighty. He led a rebellion against God, but he and his followers were defeated and cast down into the pits of Hell. His name was Lucifer.

Or at least, that’s how the story went. But reality was often quite different from what people had been led to believe. And in truth, the angel known throughout the halls of Heaven as the Morningstar was not so struck with pride that he wanted to be a god himself. The truth of the matter is Lucifer had learned a forbidden secret, known to no other angel save the Seraphim who serve as the priests of Heaven.

There was no Almighty, no Presence, no God. Or if there was, no angel in Heaven had ever spoken to him. Lucifer, honoring his title of Lightbringer, sought to free his brothers and sisters from the bondage of servitude. And so he led a rebellion, but was defeated by his own brother and cast into Hell.

That was where Lucifer had remained, presiding over the Infernal Court and generally keeping to himself for thousands of years. But that all changed when he met a man named Luther Cross. The son of one of Lucifer’s lieutenants from the revolt and a human woman. A cambion who saved the world from a rogue angel driven mad by the same knowledge Lucifer had discovered. Lucifer had agreed to help Cross in his campaign in exchange for one thing.

When it was over, Lucifer would walk the Earth and Cross would become the Shaitan, the supreme ruler of Hell.

That was how the Devil found himself in a club located on Chicago’s Rush Street, dressed in a white suit and a black silk shirt with an open collar. His dark hair was neatly combed back and his eyes had a haunting yellow glow to them. While the other angels who had fallen with him ended up corrupted by Hell and transformed into demons over time, there was something different about Lucifer. He still maintained his angelic beauty and his feathered wings. The only mark Hell had left upon him was his sulfur-colored eyes.

He moved on the dance floor, gyrating with two women at once. Their hands moved up and down his torso and he felt sensations he hadn’t experienced since before The Fall. During his time in Hell, he’d mostly stayed isolated from the others, never indulging his urges. It was a form of penance for him after he failed in his stated mission. As the Lightbringer, he saw himself as a disseminator of truth, but the greatest lie of all was still believed by angels and many humans as well. And after Pyriel’s madness, Lucifer realized the other angels would have shared the same fate.

So he declared his penance over and rose to walk the Earth. To experience everything he’d missed out on for centuries. He could feel the perspiration dampen his clothes in a feeble attempt to cool his body. His heart thumped against his chest in excitement as he savored the women’s fingertips moving across his arms and chest, their lips softly pressing against his neck.

The song ended, but the women seemed content to continue even without music. Lucifer was tempted himself and was already whispering into their ears, offering the suggestion they find somewhere a bit more private. They both seemed enthused by that idea and Lucifer wrapped his arms around their waists, leading them from the dance floor and towards the exit.

But before they reached the door, a hand fell on Lucifer’s shoulder. He turned and saw a large man dressed all in black standing behind him. “If you’ll excuse my interruption, sir, but the owner would like to have a word with you.

“Luc, you know the club owner?” asked one of the women.

“How come you didn’t tell us?” asked the other.

Lucifer smiled at the two of them, then turned back to the bouncer, his smile vanishing. “I think you’ve made a mistake, friend.”

The bouncer shook his head. “No mistake whatsoever. She was quite insistent you meet with her immediately. Sire.” The bouncer’s eyes changed yellow, revealing who was truly inside that body.

Lucifer sighed and turned to the women. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take care of something first, ladies. If you wouldn’t mind waiting at the bar, I promise I won’t be long…” he produced a platinum credit card with a wave of his hand and offered it to them, “…and drinks are on me, of course.”

They smiled and took the card. Both simultaneously planted a kiss on each cheek before they went to the bar to make use of the credit card. Lucifer smiled with satisfaction as he watched them go, but when he turned back to the bouncer, once more the smile vanished.

“Very well, let’s go.”

Lucifer was led through the club and up the stairs to the sixth floor. The first floor of Lust was where the main dance floor was. Each subsequent floor up from there was more like an extended balcony wrapped around, with full-service bars, tables, and a view of the dance floor. The sixth floor had one extra feature that set it apart from the rest. And that was a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows looking down at the club. The door was guarded at all times by two men—also demons.

This was where Lucifer left his escort. The two demons bowed their heads as he approached the door and entered. The office was large and spacious. It was colored red and there were burgundy couches and chairs arranged in front of the window with a bar manned by an employee in the far left-hand corner of the room.

Lucifer walked towards the couch and saw a figure sitting there. Long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders and she was dressed in a black suit. She raised a hand without looking at Lucifer and beckoned for him to come. He straightened his jacket and circled around, facing her.

She was a demon as well, named Mara. A loyal servant of Lilith, the first human corrupted by Hell. And now, Mara was Lilith’s representative on Earth, ruling over Lust and keeping the demons who managed to make Chicago their home in check. She stared at Lucifer for a few moments, her jaw slackening.

“I…I wasn’t sure it was true…” she stuttered, her wide eyes fixed on him. “I mean, I knew. Of course I knew. But to see you here…in the flesh…”

Lucifer chuckled. “It’s quite all right. Seems I tend to have that effect on people.”

Mara stood slowly, her eyes never wavering. She took a step closer to Lucifer and then bowed down on one knee. Lucifer rolled his eyes and pulled her up to her feet.

“No, don’t do that,” he said.

“But you’re him…the Morningstar…”

“Yes, I know. But one of the reasons I rebelled was because I hated the idea of bondage. Well…that form of bondage, at least.”

“Right, right…umm…” Mara giggled and played with her hair. She glanced back at the bartender. “You want a…a drink or something?”

“A martini would be lovely. Gin, not vodka.”

“Sure, of course.”

She signaled the bartender and he went to work making the drink. When it was ready, he brought it over and Lucifer happily accepted the drink. He glanced at the chair nearby.

“May I sit?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely. Please.”

Lucifer settled into the leather chair as he sipped his drink. Mara was still standing and staring at him. She had a reputation in Hell as a fearsome warrior. But now she was acting like a schoolgirl talking to her crush. The whole thing made Lucifer a bit uncomfortable. One of the reasons why he’d isolated himself from the rest of Hell in the first place was because he abhorred being worshipped. He might have been arrogant and prideful, but he certainly was no hypocrite.

“Mara, dear, sit.”

“Okay…” she sat back down on the couch.

“Your man said you wanted to speak to me, so I was hoping we could speed things along,” said Lucifer. “You see, I have two very beautiful and very aroused women waiting for me at the bar.”

“Right, I’m sorry to keep you, but it’s just…” She still stammered. “Look, you’re…here. On Earth, I mean. And some people—not me, of course—but some people may think that’s…bad.”

“And what sort of people are we talking about?”

“Well, there’s…” She glanced up and pointed towards the ceiling. “I’m guessing they don’t like you walking around.”

“No, I’d imagine they don’t. But they also won’t move against me unless I give them reason to,” said Lucifer. “Besides, most of their forces are presently focused on monitoring Hell or trying to find that nephilim boy. They won’t be an issue.”

“And what about others? Like the Sons of Solomon? The Opus Dei?”

Lucifer dismissively waved his hand and took another drink. “I don’t concern myself with a bunch of uptight assholes dressing up in robes and jewelry.”

“Okay, but what are your plans?”

Lucifer finished his drink and set the glass down on the table. He set his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “Ever since The Fall, I’ve been living in seclusion, simply watching from a distance.”

“Watching?”

“Hell. Earth. Just watching from my tower. Never interacting, never participating, never experiencing,” said Lucifer. “It was because I failed that I felt it was necessary to punish myself with seclusion. But now, I feel like my sentence has been lifted and I want to experience things.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded. “That’s it.”

“So you’re just here to get drunk and screw anything that moves?”

“I also enjoy sitting on the beach with an interesting book and dinner at a good restaurant. But in so many words, yes.” His face softened and he smiled at Mara. “Listen, I’m not interested in making trouble for you or the angels or anyone else in this city. I’m just trying to enjoy my retirement. You can appreciate that, can’t you?”

She gave a nod. “I understand. And of course I can. But other people may not feel the same.”

“If they cross my path, they’ll quickly learn just why I was so feared in Heaven,” said Lucifer. “But until then, I do have something to take care of. I trust we won’t be speaking of this matter again?”

“If that’s what you wish. I apologize if I came off as…over-enthusiastic. I just wanted to be certain all your needs were being met.”

Lucifer stood and buttoned his jacket. “Well, not everything. But I’m off to change that. Have a lovely evening, Mara. And thanks for the drink.”

He left the office and bid farewell to the demons standing guard. Lucifer quickly went down the six flights of stairs. As he did, someone bumped into him and Lucifer stopped in his tracks. Flashes appeared in his mind’s eye, clear as if it were his own memory.

He was looking through someone else’s eyes, seeing someone else’s memory. Seated at a bar, there was a glass of wine nearby in front of an empty seat. The man whose memory Lucifer was seeing took out a small bottle and unscrewed the cap. He poured some of the liquid into the wine. A few moments later, a woman with brown hair and in a red dress came to the seat and started talking with the man. She picked up the glass and took a drink.

There was another flash. Lucifer saw the woman look drowsy and start to stumble. The man helped her stay on her feet. He suggested they should get some air. She nodded and he started to lead her from the bar, down the stairs.

And that was where the vision stopped.

It has often been said that the full moon brings out the crazies. And this particular summer night in Chicago proved no different. Even at three in the morning, the night air was warm. The gatehouse for Rosehill Cemetery had the appearance of a gothic cathedral. But in the middle of the night, the gate was supposed to be closed.

A man dressed in a white suit appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his yellow eyes like embers illuminating the darkness. He approached the gate and examined where it had been broken into. A crude job, which suggested he wasn’t dealing with experienced professionals here.

He glanced up at the moon and sighed.  Three AM—the Witching Hour. Or in some circles, the Devil’s Hour (a term he wasn’t very fond of himself). The time of day when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. And when summoning rituals were at their most effective.

With his hands in his pockets, he calmly walked past the broken gate, as if he were just on a leisurely, Sunday morning stroll through a park. One would have almost expected him to whistle a tune.

A few steps in and he stopped, noticing something on the edge of the grass. The man in white knelt down and reached out, running his fingers over the tire tread. It was fresh. Made just before he arrived. While his fingers brushed over the track, images flashed in his mind.

The trunk opening. A child, bound at the wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth. The boy resists, but there are two men holding him. His thrashing means nothing to them. A third person waits at the trunk, holding it open. The boy is thrown inside. The trunk slams shut.

He stood upright and closed his eyes. Though to the rest of the world he was still as a statue, what he actually did was reach out with his power. He had a kind of sixth sense that allowed him to expand his perceptions and feel for supernatural energies.

And he could get a sense of something in this cemetery. It was very weak, which again reinforced his theory that these were amateurs. But the forces they were messing with were by no means benign. If he didn’t stop these idiots before they completed their ritual, there was no telling what sort of chaos they might unleash.

He wasn’t about to let that happen. The Astaroth affair had caused him enough problems. Things were now on a tenuous footing between him and the angels, and he had no desire to draw any more attention to himself.

The car was a red sedan and had seen better days. A bumper sticker on the back read “WHAT WOULD SATAN DO?” He almost wanted to chuckle—they were about to find out.

It was parked haphazardly in front of the Rosehill Mausoleum. At two stories—one partially underground—it was the largest mausoleum in the city. When he came to the steps leading up to the quartet of white columns, he got a clearer sense of the energies lurking inside.

The door had been pried open and he walked past it and into the main hall. His feet were soft as he moved across the marble floor, not making a single sound. The columns gave way to family tombs, the names etched across the walls in a grid-like formation.

His senses guided him through the mausoleum, towards the back east end of the building. Now he could hear voices echoing as he came closer. Three voices, in fact. Two male, but one was female, and clearly in command of the others. No screaming or crying, which could mean the boy was dead or just still gagged.

Their voices came from behind the doors leading to the John G. Shedd Chapel. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. Then, with a gesture, the doors blew open and he strolled right through them.

A skylight was above them, bearing an intricate design of vines, and the moonlight filtered through the glass. The marble room had a series of benches arranged in a semi-square, with a podium standing before the Shedd family tomb. The design on the wall and in the chairs featured aquatic elements.

And in the center of that ring of benches, held down to the ground by the two young men, was the child. A boy of about eight years old. The young woman was standing at the podium, an intricately designed dagger in one hand, the other hand resting on an old grimoire.

“Who the hell are you?” asked one of the young men.

His head was nearly shaved, with just a thin stubble of hair across his scalp. The other had shaggy brown hair, and seemed like any average university student one could spot around the city. The girl was around eighteen or nineteen, with chin-length dark hair and blue eyes that looked upon him with fear and uncertainty.

“That’s an interesting dagger you have there,” said the man in white. “Judging by its design, the book you’re reading, and the innocent child being held down on the floor, would I be wrong in assuming that you’re trying to offer a sacrifice to summon a demon?”

“None of your business!” said the girl.

“On the contrary, I think it’s very much my business…Caitlin.”

What little color remained in her fair skin drained completely. She stammered for a reply, but nothing came out other than a series of noises.

“How do I know your name? Or how do I know that the bald one is Dave and the handsome brunette is Brock?”

The two men exchanged quick confused glances, and then looked at Caitlin. She didn’t acknowledge them, just kept staring at the man in white.

“The answer to all these questions is quite simple. You wanted to summon a demon, well I am the first demon.” He gave a bow as his yellow eyes simmered. “My name is Lucifer.”

The dagger fell from Caitlin’s hand and clattered on the ground. Dave and Brock both loosened their grips on the boy and slowly turned to fully face him. Caitlin staggered forward, coming closer to the Morningstar.

“It…it can’t be…” she whispered. “My dark lord…? Is this really…have we been blessed by your presence?”

Her obsequious nature did little to calm the rage Lucifer felt building within him. In fact, it only increased his hatred for this woman and her two little lapdogs. He was now close enough to touch her, and so he reached out and brushed his hand over her cheek. She shivered in response and closed her eyes, an expression akin to arousal falling over her features.

Lucifer could see her memories flashing before him. A middle-class suburban girl, wanting to rebel against her religious parents. Turned to the black arts, but never accomplished anything other than the most elementary of spells. Floating a pencil for half a second, creating a spark to light a candle, but nothing beyond that. She simply lacked both the natural aptitude towards magic and the discipline to overcompensate for that deficit.

One of the interesting aspects of Lucifer’s psychometric abilities was that they were not a one-way street. He was more than just a receiver of memories—he could also project his own memories or those he’d viewed into the mind of another. And they would feel those memories as if they had experienced them firsthand. Before he came to Rosehill, Lucifer had visited the boy’s home and absorbed memories from his bed.

Lucifer grabbed a fistful of Caitlin’s hair and pulled. She screamed and he placed his other hand on the side of her head, showing her just what the boy had felt as his favorite babysitter pulled him from the bed and kept yelling at him to shut up while her two boyfriends bound and gagged him. Caitlin could feel the boy’s fear, and she shouted in feeble protest, just as he had.

“What did you do to her?” asked Brock, coming at him.

“I showed her what it feels like,” said Lucifer. “Would you like to experience it as well?”

Brock attempted to charge the Morningstar, rushing at him and swinging his fists wildly. Lucifer moved lithely stepping out of the path of the punch, then pushed on Brock’s shoulder and let his own momentum send him stumbling forward and right into the wall.

Dave had picked up the knife and now pointed it at Lucifer. “D-don’t make me do this! I’ll fuck you up, man!”

Lucifer let out a sigh of exasperation. “Little man, do you have any concept of what the word ‘immortal’ means?”

“Nah, you’re not him, you can’t be!” shouted Dave.

“And what makes you say that?” asked Lucifer.

“Satan…he’d be cheering us on! He wants us to slice that little brat open! He needs innocent blood!”

“Don’t believe everything you see in the movies, boy,” said Lucifer. “I was a teacher, a bringer of light and knowledge. I believe in freedom and independence. What you’re trying to do is take away another’s right to live. And I can’t allow that.”

“Yeah…then let’s sacrifice you instead!”

Dave swung the knife wildly on his quick approach. Lucifer evaded each attempted slash with grace and poise, until he finally reached a hand out and grabbed hold of Dave’s wrist. Lucifer twisted the young man’s arm behind his back pushing up until the knife fell from his fingers and hit the marble floor.

But Lucifer didn’t stop there. Even with the knife out of the way, he still continued to apply pressure to the arm. Dave’s screams grew louder, echoing in the chapel until they were deafened by a loud crack. He slumped to the ground, weeping at the pain in his broken arm.

Lucifer stepped back from Dave and Brock tried to attack him from behind. It was a sloppy attack and Lucifer could sense it coming. He grabbed Brock’s arm and flipped him over, dropping him hard onto one of the benches.

Without a word, Lucifer approached the podium and examined the grimoire. It was real, all right. Real and powerful. Even an idiot like these three could accidentally unleash something terrible with a book such as this. But as Lucifer tried to get a read off it, he found he was blocked. He couldn’t see where the book came from or how Caitlin had managed to possess it. That would be a mystery he’d have to unravel later. For now, he closed the book and took it from the podium.

Lucifer knelt down beside the boy, who had fear in his eyes. The Morningstar offered a reassuring smile and the yellow of his eyes dimmed. Gently, he peeled the tape off the boy’s mouth.

“Your name is Anthony, right?” asked Lucifer in a soft voice.

The boy nodded.

“Anthony, my name is…” he paused and then said, “Luc.”

“Y’mean…like Luke Skywalker?”

Lucifer gave a tiny chuckle. “Yes, exactly like Luke Skywalker. Remember what he said to Princess Leia?”

“‘I’m here to rescue you’?”

“That’s correct, and that’s why I’m here, too.”

“So…you’re like…a Jedi?”

“Something like that. Now let’s get you out of here.”

Lucifer removed the bindings and helped Anthony to his feet. He walked the boy to the door leading back into the main hall. With a snap of his finger, he created a small, floating orb of light that moved a few feet in front of them.

“I want you to follow the light to the front entrance. And then wait there for me.”

“But it’s dark. Aren’t there ghosts in the cemetery at night?”

“No, Anthony. I promise you, no ghosts will harm you. I’ll just be a moment. Just stay near the light and it will protect you.”

Anthony gave a somewhat-apprehensive nod, then followed the light out back. Once he was out of earshot, Lucifer turned back to the three would-be demon worshippers.

“As a rule I generally don’t like to lie, particularly not to an impressionable young child like that,” said Lucifer. “But I didn’t want him to be scared. Because you see, there actually are ghosts in this cemetery. Some quite famous ones, too.”

Lucifer held out his arms to the side and begun muttering an incantation in the demonic language of Dimoori Sheol. Feathered wings emerged from his back and raised him off the ground and his eyes had the fiery intensity of a blazing inferno. All three of them could feel a sudden chill, as if the entire room was plunged into winter. As Lucifer continued the incantation, his voice boomed and echoed, like several people speaking all at once.

Once he finished, the wings retracted and his feet touched the marble floor. He turned his back on the three and then stepped out of the chapel.

“Enjoy your evening.”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the chapel doors closed, locking the three inside. As he strolled through the hall towards the entrance to the mausoleum, their screams followed him.

Andrew Greene had been having a good night. He came out to the Red Lion in Lincoln Square hoping for some good drinks, decent food, and with any luck, a chance for some female companionship. His boss had been on a tear on everyone in the office for the past week to finish their projects before the end of the quarter. Stockholders were getting impatient, which meant so were the higher-ups. And that led to crunch time for everyone else.

But it was Friday and Andrew could at least put that out of his mind for the weekend. And he’d managed to do just that. Standing at the crowded bar and sipping a Guinness, he somehow found himself capable of beginning a conversation with Haley. She said she was a graduate student at the University of Chicago. Andrew had barely finished his undergraduate degree at Southern Illinois University, so right from the start it was obvious that Haley had the edge as far as intelligence was concerned.

Fortunately, Andrew had felt renewed confidence thanks to a little bit of work he’d had done on himself. In the six months since then, he hadn’t had much luck, but tonight he was feeling good. Haley was in her early twenties with chin-length brown hair and green eyes. She had a great body and Andrew was starting to feel confident as she laughed at his jokes.

“Hey…” she said, reaching her hand for her drink. But instead of taking hold of her glass, she brushed her fingers against his hand, which held his own beer. Andrew felt a charge and looked up at her. There was something about those eyes that he kept finding himself being swept up in. Her smile was different than before, a little more sultry. And then she said those words Andrew had been hoping to hear ever since he spotted her: “You wanna get out of here?”

“Wh-what did you have in mind?” asked Andrew.

Haley blushed and smiled as she looked down at the counter and swept a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Well…” She looked just slightly embarrassed when she leaned in closer and said in a softer voice, “my roommate’s out of town this weekend.”

A tingle of feeling in Andrew’s lower regions responded to Haley’s invitation. When she made eye contact with him again and asked, “What do you say?”

Andrew’s response was to finish what was left of his Guinness and set the glass down on the counter. “Where do you live?” he asked.

Haley chuckled at his exuberance and finished her own beer. They left the counter and pushed through the crowded bar to reach the exit. Outside, the air was crisp. Despite it technically being spring, it sometimes took the Chicago weather a few weeks to catch up with the season. Haley shivered and Andrew jumped on the opportunity by wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile as she leaned her head against his chest. “I’m not far, just a little past Western.”

Andrew smiled and the pair walked a few blocks down to the corner of Lawerence and Western. As they waited for the light to change, Andrew glanced around, suddenly feeling the odd sense that they weren’t alone. There were other people around, sure, but it was almost like they were being watched. Andrew looked at the people who waited at the light and further back down the street towards the bar. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The light changed and Haley pulled him to cross. He gave one more quick survey and then acquiesced. Once across the street, they went another block, but Andrew’s sense that they weren’t alone persisted. He tried to dismiss it as simple nerves and instead allowed Haley to take him down one of the side streets. She then pulled him into an alley.

“C’mon, my building’s just down here. This is a shortcut, we can go in through the back.”

“Yeah, sure…” said Andrew, still feeling the growing sense of dread. Better to get off the street quickly in case they were being followed. Last thing he needed was to get mugged right in front of Haley. He wasn’t much of a fighter and she’d likely feel humiliated if she saw him cower before some gang banger.

Haley stopped right by the back gate of a small tenement. She grabbed Andrew by his jacket and slammed him against the bars. He was shocked at first, but then relaxed once she kissed him. Andrew’s hands found her back and he fell into the kiss. Haley’s body crushed against him and Andrew felt his body warming to her touch.

“We should go inside…” he said.

Haley nodded. “Yeah, inside.” She turned towards the gate and reached inside her purse, rummaging around for the keys. When she pulled them out and searched for the right one, but they slipped from her hands. “Damn, sorry. Butterfingers,” she said and knelt down to pick them up.

Andrew was feeling impatient. Not only because he was excited for what was about to happen, but also because he still felt nervous for what might be out there. And as he looked around, he noticed a guy turn down the alley and start walking towards them. The man was tall and wore a knit cap pulled down to his brow, his chin tucked into his chest to maintain warmth. Not only was he tall, but his shoulders were broad. And there was something about him that made Andrew feel paranoid.

“So…you got that door open yet?” Andrew asked.

“Sorry, give me a sec,” said Haley. “This lock’s a little tricky, I keep telling the super to fix it, but he just says he’ll get to it soon.”

The man was coming closer to them. And now he looked up, making eye contact with Andrew. It could have been a trick of the light, but something seemed strange with his eyes. There was almost a kind of flash Andrew could have sworn he saw, as if the eyes had glowed for just a moment.

The man broke contact and continued on. Andrew let out the breath he’d been clutching and turned back to Haley. It was just paranoia, nothing more. He had to get himself together, didn’t want Haley to think he was some pussy who’d flinch at the first sign of a stranger.

“Hey.”

Andrew’s body stiffened when he heard the sound. He turned around and saw that same man walking towards him. The guy came closer, almost towering over him. Andrew swallowed hard and reached for the pocket that held his wallet, willing to just hand it over quickly.

The guy’s hands were in his pockets. Slowly, he pulled one of them out. Andrew started to shrink down, fearing that it might be a knife or maybe even a gun. But what the man pulled out instead was just a pack of cigarettes.

“You got a light?” he asked. “Think I dropped mine.”

“Oh!” said Andrew, both surprised and relieved. “Sorry, I…uh…I don’t smoke.”

“Prob’ly a good idea, bad habit,” said the man. “Anyway, you have a pleasant evening.”

“You t—”

Andrew’s response and his relief were both cut short when—much to his horror—Haley turned and pounced on the man with a noise that could not have been human. Instantly, her fingers were tipped with razor-sharp claws that tore open the stranger’s jacket and raked across his chest. He fell back on the ground and lay motionless. Haley turned to face Andrew and he was horrified when he saw the fangs in her mouth.

“Holy shit!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” said Haley, holding out her hand as her fangs and claws receded. “Look, okay, yes, I’m a vampire.”

“So…that’s what this all was? You were just trying to lure me back to your place to bite me?”

“What the hell kind of attitude is that?” asked Haley. “Oh right, just because I’m a vampire, that must mean I’m going to kill you?”

“Well…yeah!”

Haley scoffed. “Believe it or not, I actually like you—well, liked. Before I found out what a racist you are.”

“Hold on, you’re actually offended by my reaction?” asked Andrew.

“You’re a young white guy, wouldn’t you be offended if I assumed you were a serial rapist?”

“That’s…that’s not even close to being the same thing!”

“And after I saved your life from that creep, who by the way had been following us ever since we left the bar,” said Haley. “Y’know what, maybe you should just take your bigotry and go home.”

Andrew’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “This is…insane.”

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t judge people based on what you’ve seen in movies!”

Haley slammed the gate behind her and went into the building, leaving Andrew just standing out there alone. He looked down at the body and jumped, almost forgetting it was still there. “Great, now what?”

He turned back to the mouth of the alley and started walking towards it.

“Uhhh, goddammit!”

Andrew’s body froze. That voice was the same as the guy he just saw Haley killed. Slowly, he turned around and saw the man get back to his feet. He looked down at his tattered jacket and sighed. Then he glanced at Andrew while gesturing to the jacket. “You believe this shit? Brand-new fuckin’ jacket…”

“What the hell is happening?”

“Apologies for all that.”

This was a new voice that came from above. Andrew looked up and saw a man perched on a nearby garage. He hopped off and landed flawlessly on the ground. He was tall and bald, dressed in a long coat.

“My associate over there was just supposed to follow you, not engage,” said the new arrival.

“And who are you?” asked Andrew.

“My name is Belial,” he said, then nodded to the other guy. “That’s Erik.”

“And how is Erik not…dead?”

“I’m a lycan, kid,” said Erik. “Or, y’know, ‘werewolf’ if you wanna go with the normie description.’

Andrew’s eyes went large at that. He turned to Belial. “So, does that mean you’re also a…a…”

“A lycan? No. I’m just a demon,” said Belial.

“Wh-what the hell is going on tonight?” asked Andrew.

“The vampire was just some bad luck,” said Belial.

“Yeah, sorry about that, kid. I thought she was actually going to bite you, so that’s why I stepped in,” said Erik.

“So you guys are what? Monsters hunting monsters? Trying to protect humanity in an attempt to redeem yourselves or something?” asked Andrew.

“No, actually, we’re here because you made a deal about six months ago,” said Belial.

“This is about what I owe? So you’re saying you’re supernatural loan sharks?”

“Basically, yeah,” said Erik.

“A service was performed for you. You were given six months to pay what you owe,” said Belial. “I’m here to claim what’s due.”

Andrew sighed. “C’mon, man. Can’t you just give me a little more time?”

Belial removed his gloved hands from his coat pockets and cracked his knuckles as his eyes flashed yellow. “Do I look like a patient hellspawn, Mr. Greene?”

Andrew sighed. “I mean…it’s just…things are rough out there…”

“Perhaps you’d like to know what happens to deadbeats in Hell?” asked Belial. “I can show you, though I doubt you’ll find it a pleasant experience.”

Andrew sighed and took out his phone. “Okay, just give me the account details…”

Erik took out his own phone and walked over to Andrew. “I got you covered, kid. Let’s settle this now and then you can go home.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

As the two performed the digital transaction, Belial looked at the apartment building Haley had retreated into. Vampires looking for actual one-night stands, sorcerers performing spells on demand, demons and werewolves acting as loan sharks. This was definitely a unique world he’d found himself in.

“Okay, big guy, we’re all set here. Andrew’s gonna get himself home and probably jack off through tears to the soft, blue glow of his computer,” said Erik.

“And my fee?” asked Belial.

“Already taken care of, deposited right in your account,” said Erik.

“Right…my account…” Belial reached into his pocket for the phone. He was still uncomfortable with this human technology, but he was starting to learn.

“Oh, and I got a message from the boss,” said Erik. “He said if you need more work, he’d be happy to toss it your way.”

“Thank you,” said Belial. “Out of curiosity, what kind of spell did Odysseus Black perform for the boy?”

Erik chuckled. “You won’t believe this. Kid wanted a few extra inches below the belt.”

Belial cocked his brow. “Penis enlargement? That’s what this was all about?”

Erik shrugged. “Normies, man. What can I tell ya? Anyway, so about that extra work?”

Belial sighed. “I suppose so.”

“Your boss is okay with this, right?” asked Erik. “Mr. Black wouldn’t want to piss off the Morningstar or nothin’.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine,” said Belial. “The Morningstar is…laying low for the time being.”

A flash of pure, blue light appeared in the night sky above the shore of Lake Michigan. The light quickly took shape and slowly faded as it transformed into a beautiful woman with long, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and feathered wings wrapped around her body. The angel named Anael unfurled her wings and they gently lowered her to the surface of the water, where she was able to set her feet down as if she were standing on solid ground.

Her wings folded back and the feathers emitted a soft, azure glow. The wings receded into her back and once they were gone, so was the illumination. Anael walked across the water’s surface and came to the edge, stepping onto the soft sand.

This part of the lake bordered Evanston’s Lakeshore Historic District. The homes here were large mansions, bordering areas of far more economic distress. A perfect microcosm of humanity—those with the means to help ignoring the problems right in front of them.

Anael hadn’t come here for a stroll along the lakefront, nor to admire the beauty of the excessive mansions. She was here to visit one home in particular, and to tell the occupant that she was well and truly done with him once and for all.

That might have sounded dramatic, if it were the first time Anael had done such a thing. But she felt it was starting to become a pattern with the man she had once loved and pledged her soul to. He had promise once, but he threw it all away. And in her attempts to try to help him find his way back, she herself was now a pariah. She hadn’t even tried to return to Heaven yet, so fearful was she of what the reactions would be once she did set foot in the capital city of Elysium.

The Tudor-style mansion was just across the road from the lake. The streets were empty, and yet Anael still found herself hesitating before crossing the distance. She took a deep breath and then set a foot off the curb. Her steps were slow and methodical, but soon, she had reached the front door. When she raised her hand to press the doorbell, her finger just hovered over the button.

“This is stupid…” she chastised herself and then pressed it.

She could hear the melodic ringing of the chimes from behind the door and she waited for a few moments. When no answer came, she pressed the button a second time. It was then that the door finally opened and she looked up into the face of a man with broad shoulders, a shaved head, and yellow eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” said Belial.

“Might be too soon for gratitude,” said Anael. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Come in.” Belial held the door open for her and Anael stepped inside.

She was somewhat taken aback by the demon’s manner. Normally, theirs was an antagonistic relationship and they had exchanged blows on more than one occasion. In this very house, in fact. But now, he was extremely cordial—almost deferential. She found herself missing the animosity.

As Belial led her through the house, she was surprised to see two unfamiliar figures sitting in the library. Anael stopped to examine them and the pair turned their heads in synchronous movements to look at her. They were dressed in identical black suits with leather gloves and sunglasses. One was completely bald and rail-thin. The other was stockier with straggly hair framing his face and a full beard. They weren’t demons, nor were they human. Anael couldn’t quite a sense of what exactly they were. But something about them both unnerved her.

“A condition of Lucifer’s ‘bail,’ for lack of a better term,” said Belial. “Consider them court-appointed monitors.”

“Who are they?” she asked. “For that matter, what are they?”

“Their names are Grant and Moore,” said Belial. “As for what they are…that’s more difficult to answer. They’re agents of Purgatory and that’s all anyone really knows of them. This way.”

Belial led her away from the library and down the corridor to the kitchen.

“I don’t understand. Why is Purgatory involved in this?”

“They’re not, but they serve as a neutral third party. The Court was divided on whether or not the Morningstar could be allowed free on his own recognizance and any monitors proposed by one camp would be seen as suspect by the other.”

“No honor among demons?”

Belial ignored her jab and just opened the door in the kitchen that led to the patio. “He’s in the pool.”

Anael walked through the door and stepped out onto the wooden deck. There was a staircase that led down to the ground level, where an in-ground pool sat. The lights beneath the water illuminated the blue-painted concrete, and the silhouette of a man swam laps from one end to the other.

She walked down the steps, keeping her eyes on his form. Once she reached the foot of the stairs, Anael stepped up to the pool’s edge. He didn’t stop to acknowledge her, just continued swimming. But on the final lap, he didn’t swim to the end of the pool, instead coming towards her. He sunk beneath the water and Anael was surprised to see a bright light emerging from beneath the surface. The pool started to bubble, as if it were boiling. Anael stepped back and watched in surprise, the percolation intensifying. And then his head pierced the surface, his body rising from the pool in full defiance of gravity, with large wings spread out behind him. When he opened his eyes, they were yellow and burning as bright as the afternoon sun.

He hovered above the water and his wings carried him over to the pool’s edge. His bare feet touched down and his wings receded into his back. Rings of flame-like energy encircled his body, forging clothing over his naked form. The energy dissipated and Lucifer stood before Anael, wearing a smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you, Ana,” he said.

“Hardly the words I’d expect after our last encounter,” said Anael. “I see you managed to get your powers back. So returning to Hell did the trick, huh?”

“Not without some challenges along the way,” said Lucifer. “Since you’re here, I take it Mara delivered the message?”

“She did,” said Anael. “And I have to say, I’m pretty confused.”

“About what?”

“Try everything.”

Lucifer gave a chuckle and walked over to a table with a bottle of brandy resting on top with two glasses. He sat in one of the deck chairs and gestured for Anael to take the other. She remained standing. Lucifer just shrugged and poured himself a drink.

“My actions started all of this. Humanity’s awakening, the war, eons of conflict, Cocytus—it can all be traced back to a decision I made long ago,” said Lucifer. “And so my guilt is going to be judged by the people of Hell.”

“And what’s the charge?” asked Anael.

“Conspiring against them by working in concert with the Divine Choir.”

Anael scoffed. “You weren’t working with the Choir, you were working against them.”

“Was I?” asked Lucifer. “Every good story requires a good villain. By holding onto the secrets I’d learned, I was doing exactly what the Choir wanted me to do. I was perpetuating the great lie and thus, continuing their work. All while posing as some sort of liberator.”

“Mara told me about Raum. And how he broadcast the secret all across Hell,” said Anael. “I imagine people aren’t very happy about it.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Lucifer. “Once that initial shock wore off, most simply came to accept it. They all hated the Choir already, so coming to terms with that sort of duplicity from the seraphim was the easy part. It was my role in all this that’s spurred the most anger. And that’s something I expected, which is why I offered to put myself on trial before the calls for blood began.”

“Do you really believe you can get a fair trial in Hell? These are the people who thought you were their savior and now they see you as just a pawn of their oppressors.”

Lucifer took a sip of the brandy. “Do I take it you’re now willing to accept the truth I once tried to share with you?”

“What, that the Choir invented the concept of the Presence? That it was all a tool for control?” Anael shook her head. “Of course not. I think this entire thing is nonsense.”

“Then why are you here?”

Anael stepped up to the table and leaned over it, her azure eyes flashing as she stared into Lucifer’s face. “I came here to tell you that I’ve had it. Stop dragging me into your craziness, Lucifer. It’s already cost me more than I’d care to give up.”

Lucifer furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? Cost you what?”

She stood upright. “Uriel’s taking credit for getting you to return to Hell, reporting to the Choir that I failed in my assignment because I let my feelings for you interfere with the mission.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Lucifer. “I haven’t returned to Hell at all. Cross still sits on the throne. And you tried everything possible to complete your mission, but nothing would force me back onto the throne.”

“Uriel only cares about the details that make him look good. And he’s now let word spread that I’m compromised. That maybe I’m more loyal to you than Heaven. I haven’t dared return to Elysium because of that, so I’m stuck here on Earth.”

“All the more reason to help me,” said Lucifer. “You take up the cause of defending me, and together we can prove that these structures of control are inhibiting all of us.”

“No.” Anael crossed her arms. “Listen to me, Lucifer—despite what nonsense Uriel is spreading, I am loyal to the Choir and all it stands for. I’m not going to justify Uriel’s lies by taking sides with you in some sort of kangaroo court.”

“You really believe you’ll ever be good enough?” asked Lucifer. “As far as the Choir is concerned, you’re forever tainted because of your association with me. Doesn’t matter that you were simply trying to do the right thing. Scum like Uriel only deal in absolutes, and they’ll twist the truth in whatever shapes are necessary in order to achieve their desires. And the Choir? They don’t care at all. As long as they can maintain the status quo, they’ll happily swallow whatever Uriel feeds them. They’ll sacrifice anyone—even an angel who’s been as loyal as you have.”

“And if I were to help you, what would that do? How would that benefit me?”

Lucifer looked down. His silence was the clearest answer he could give.

“That’s what I thought,” said Anael. “There’s nothing to be gained from helping you, Lucifer. This is just another war that you’ll end up on the losing side of. I refused to fall with you then and I refuse to do it now.”

She turned away and her wings emerged from her back. Lucifer called out to her, and his words caused her to wait.

“So what will you do, then?” he asked.

Anael sighed. “I wish I had an answer to that question. All I know is that associating with you has never been anything but disastrous for me.”

Rather than using her wings to teleport away, Anael took to the skies. She felt like relishing in the freedom of just flying among the clouds and she didn’t give a damn if anyone saw her. All she wanted was freedom from the craziness.

Uriel, Lucifer, all of it. Every time Anael had managed to gain some ground, something happened to set her back. Nothing would ever satisfy either of them. She didn’t know how this would end between those two, but she no longer cared, either.

Now that she was a pariah among the angels, she’d have to find a new path.

A demon and an angel walked into a bar.

No, that’s not the set-up for a joke. In this case, the demon and the angel were on the run from both the forces of Heaven and Hell, which left them few avenues to remain invisible.

The demon was none other than Lucifer himself. After centuries of living in isolation and ruminating over his failed rebellion, the Morningstar finally reached his limit and abdicated the throne. He attempted to retire to Earth, leaving behind the politics of Heaven and Hell.

It wasn’t long before he got dragged back into those same politics, eventually ending in a trial in Hell where he was found guilty of betraying his revolutionary principles for his own self-interest.

His companion was Anael. Several lifetimes ago, they were lovers. But that was before the war and everything that followed. When Lucifer left Hell, it was Anael who was tasked to get him to return to the throne. It took some time, but soon, Anael learned it was just another attempt at gamesmanship on the part of Heaven.

Now they were both on the run. Anael had violated her orders by defending Lucifer in his trial and then refused to return to Heaven. Instead, she sacrificed any chance for forgiveness by aiding Lucifer in his escape.

Lucifer had conned Kushiel, Heaven’s jailer, into helping them abscond. Then as soon as he brought them back to Earth, Lucifer killed him. It wasn’t the proudest moment, but it was a necessary evil. They both knew it would only be a matter of time before the energy expelled by Kushiel’s demise drew attention, and so they left Lucifer’s home in Evanston’s Lakeshore Historic District on the border of Chicago.

Their first stop was a dive bar in Englewood. Far from the most pleasant of neighborhoods in Chicago, but they needed the help of the man who ran his operations out of there.

Lucifer pushed the door open and the stench of smoke hit both him and Anael as soon as they entered. It seemed darker in here than the street. Conversations hushed when they saw the pair enter.

The bartender was tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes had a reddish tint to them and he gave a nod by way of welcome to the two.

“Mr. L., wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight,” he said.

“Erik, right?” asked Lucifer.

The man nodded. “That’s right, sir.” His glance turned to Anael and he focused on her unnatural blue eyes. Without breaking his gaze, he spoke again to Lucifer. “Though not sure why she’s here with you. Boss hasn’t had a good track record with her kind.”

Anael tightened her lips, restraining her anger. Lucifer had informed her on the way here what sort of resistance they were likely to encounter, but she was on edge already and this wasn’t helping.

“She’s with me, that’s all you need to know,” said Lucifer to defuse the situation. “And speaking of your boss, we’d like a quick word with him. Just a few minutes of his time and then we’ll be on our way.”

Erik kept his eyes on Anael as he drew his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text. His phone beeped a few moments later with a response.

“Boss says you can go in,” he said.

Lucifer smiled and slightly bowed his head. “Thank you, Erik. You’re a gracious host.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind,” said Erik just as Lucifer and Anael were about to head to the back room. “Belial hasn’t been answering any messages. Was wondering if he was okay?”

Lucifer’s face darkened, but he wouldn’t give away the truth. “He’s…wrapped up in something at the moment. I’m sure he’ll contact you as soon as he’s able.”

They entered the door leading to Odysseus Black’s office. A powerful sorcerer in his own right, he also had his hands in a lot of Chicago’s supernatural underworld. Black sat behind a large desk and had a glass of rum in one hand and a cigar clutched between the fingers of the other.

“Well, well, the Morningstar himself gracing me with his presence yet again.” Black glanced at Anael. “But I gotta tell you, Lucy, I’m not so fond of your company. Sure, she’s easier on the eyes than Belial, but that’s not enough to distract from the halo of self-righteousness.”

“Okay, I’ve been playing nice, but I’ve just about had it,” said Anael as she stepped forward.

Lucifer stepped in front of her before she could move any closer to Black. He stared into her eyes and whispered, “I know you’re on edge. But if we’re going to get this done, we need his help, like it or not.”

Anael stepped back and folded her arms over her chest. Her lips remained taut.

Lucifer turned to the sorcerer. “Odysseus, my friend. We’re in a bit of an unusual situation.”

“I figured somethin’ must be up. Word on the street is that ol’ silvertop is happier than a pig in shit up in that ivory tower.”

“You’re talking about Uriel,” said Lucifer.

Black nodded. “He won’t stop crowing about how this is the dawn of a new day and all that.”

“Is he saying anything else?”

Black shook his head. “Nah, won’t go into specifics, even when asked. Meanwhile, Mara has been holed up inside her office at Lust. Won’t come out for nothin’, it seems. Not even taking appointments. I know, I’ve tried.”

“We’re in something of a unique situation at the moment,” said Lucifer.

“This something that Uncle Odysseus should be made aware of?”

Lucifer wasn’t sure how much he should divulge. Black had provided him aid and comfort in the past, but he was also an unpredictable sort with no real allegiance to anyone other than himself.

“Anael and I are on a bit of a scavenger hunt, so to speak. We need quiet passage to some of the other realms.”

“Which realms?”

“We have to go to three places. The first two are easy enough for us to access on our own. But the third is a little trickier, at least not without drawing attention.”

Odysseus took a few puffs on his cigar as he studied Lucifer’s features. He exhaled the smoke into his glass, allowing it to linger on the surface of the rum before he took a sip.

“You gonna make me guess?” he asked.

“Alfheim.”

Odysseus took another sip, then set the glass down on his desk. He picked up his cigar and leaned back in his chair.

“Pick a different place.”

“This isn’t a matter of choosing a vacation destination, Odysseus. We have to go to Alfheim.”

“That’s a very risky proposition,” said Odysseus. “The fae aren’t very kind to visitors. Especially not ones associated with Heaven or Hell. Don’t think I gotta remind you of your history.”

Lucifer shook his head. “No, you don’t. But unfortunately, we don’t have much of a choice in this.”

“You gotta give me a little more to go on if I’m gonna help you out,” said Odysseus.

“My house,” said Lucifer. “It’s a real nice piece of property and if you assist us, then once this is over, it’s all yours.”

Odysseus chuckled. “What would I want with a piece of real estate in some fancy-ass neighborhood like that? Cops’d be kicking in my door every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

“You don’t have to live there, you can do whatever you want with it,” said Lucifer.

“To get you passage into Alfheim, I’ll need somethin’ more than that.”

“Belial, you’ve been satisfied with the work he’s done for you?” asked Lucifer.

“Sure. Good worker, nice violent streak. Payments have been a lot more regular when he’s on the job.”

“As you know, he’s been splitting his time between the two of us, but once this is all over, I won’t have need of his services anymore. He’d be completely available to pursue other avenues and I could convince him to become a permanent fixture among your entourage.”

Odysseus nodded along while he puffed the cigar. “Okay, now we’re gettin’ somewhere. But it’s still not worth the trouble of running afoul of the fae. Gonna need you to put a cherry on top.”

“Fine, I have one more thing to offer,” said Lucifer. “How much business does your product do in Lust?”

“A fair bit,” said Odysseus.

“But you’ve got competition, don’t you?”

“You know I do.” Odysseus cocked an eyebrow. “What’re you hintin’ at, Nick Scratch?”

“I can’t make any deals on behalf of Lust’s management, but I do have a pretty good working relationship with Mara,” said Lucifer. “You help us out, I can see to it that she grants your people exclusive distribution rights in Lust.”

“You think she’d do that? Crack down on all dealers except mine?”

“If you give us what we want, I’m sure I can convince her,” said Lucifer.

“She won’t agree to a deal like that without a taste. What could you get her down to?”

“Fifteen percent of your take,” said Lucifer.

Odysseus shook his head and held up two fingers. Lucifer scoffed.

“Two percent is pushing it, Black. What about ten?”

“With Belial on my crew, it’d be cheaper to muscle out the competition.”

“You only get Belial if you help me out, so I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Odysseus grumbled. “Five.”

“Okay, I can get her down to five. But only if you do something else for us.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“We’re not very popular among either the halo or the pitchfork crowd at the moment. We need a way to stay off their radars while we go about our business,” said Lucifer. “And nobody works a spell like Odysseus Black.”

“You’re really in it, ain’tcha?” he asked. “What sort of scavenger hunt are you two on?”

“That’s not part of the deal. I just need to know that you can provide us with the protection we need.”

“A concealment spell from both Heaven and Hell? I can work something like that, but you gotta be careful,” said Odysseus. “Camouflage doesn’t work so well if you run around screaming like a damn fool.”

“Meaning?” asked Anael.

“Meaning that the more you flash those fancy powers of yours, the less effective the spell will be,” said Odysseus. “You can manage some stuff—little bit of strength here, little bit of spellcraft there. But you gotta stay grounded and keep your powder dry. You start flashing your wings or whipping out soulfire weapons, the spell won’t be much good to you.”

* * *

Before coming to Englewood, Lucifer had already known that too much use of their powers would draw attention, so he’d arranged for a car. Anael kept quiet throughout most of the meeting, but once they got back into the car, she voiced her misgivings.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” she asked.

“If you know someone else who can get us into Alfheim, I’m all ears,” said Lucifer.

“You have to convince Mara to go along with this and then there’s the matter of Belial,” said Anael. “Or do I have to remind you that he’s currently trapped in Hell?”

“It’s my fault that he’s there, so of course I haven’t forgotten,” said Lucifer.

“So to recap, we have to rescue Belial from Hell, convince Mara to go along with this deal, and then retrieve Khronus’s pages from Purgatory, the Dreamscape, and Alfheim. And all of that has to be done before we have a hope of making the changes we need.”

“You’re forgetting something, Ana,” said Lucifer. “We’re going to change the timeline. So for the first time ever, we get to operate free from consequences.”

Anael scrunched her brows together. “I’m not so sure that’s how it works, Lucifer. This spell isn’t a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. Khronus said that it’s not something to be trifled with. Everything has consequences.”

“What consequences are there?” asked Lucifer as he started the car. “We go back in time, we change all of this from ever happening. Everything gets set right. And if by chance it doesn’t work, then we can just do it again. We literally have all the time in the world.”

The bear moved through the bare trees on the snow-dusted mountain, its own brown hairs coated with a light tuft of white. Dawn had just broken and the animal was out hunting for its morning prey.

He wasn't the only one.

From a cliff overlooking the bear's position stood a man dressed in furs, the snow shifting off the hairs on his coat and beard as he moved. He wore a hat with a wide brim to keep the sun off his eyes, which held an unusual green hue.

He'd held many names in his unnaturally long life, but the moniker that stuck with him more often than not was the one of his birth...and of his curse.

Cain.

If one believed the legends, he was the world's first murderer. In a fit of jealousy, Cain found the heaviest rock he could lift and used it to bash in his brother's skull. He was cursed by God to be a fugitive for eternity, branded with a mark to identify him to all others.

The legend wasn't quite accurate, though at the time Cain himself didn't even know that. The being he and his brother Abel thought was God was actually just an angel manipulating the pair. It wasn't until centuries later that Cain learned there was no true god, at least none who had ever made its presence known to humanity.

Cain had left his home and in the time since, he'd drifted between many different roles and names. During several instances, he embraced his curse, reveling in murder and mayhem, spilling blood wherever he could, and taking whatever he desired.

But each time Cain traveled down that path, he eventually found it to be a dead end. And that would inevitably lead him to a period of self-exile.

Nothing seemed to change much for him. He'd found community a few times in his life, but it always ended with him leaving. Until recently, he'd accompanied a young witch on her adventures. But as usual, he soon felt himself growing restless and desiring solitude.

There was something else that had gnawed at him. Whenever Cain became too comfortable, the Mark began to itch. It was more than just a simple brand—it had a kind of sentience of its own and a power it held over the immortal.

That was why Cain found himself spying on the bear on this particular morning. He had no need for food--there was more than enough stored at his cabin. Nor was he hunting the bear for sport--Cain never found the killing of any creature to be particularly enjoyable.

He was here because the Mark thirsted.

Cain had been keeping note of this particular bear's movements for the past month, knowing the time would come soon when the Mark would demand an offering. That time had arrived.

He stuck low to the ground, keeping very still and not making a single noise. Cain's ethereal green eyes stayed glued to the bear's movements.

The beast sniffed around the area, clearly aware of something. He raised his head and let out a roar as a signal to anyone that he wasn't to be trifled with. Cain didn't react to the warning, not even a flinch.

The bear raised his leg to relieve himself and then moved down the mountain. Cain jumped from the cliff to a sturdy tree branch and grabbed it with his hands. He swung a few times and released, flying to another tree. His grip almost faltered, but he held tightly.

The tree rustled in response to the added weight and the bear started his attention towards the noise. He gazed at the tree, watching until its slight back-and-forth movement subsided. Nothing of note, it seemed, and so the bear turned away and continued on.

Cain sighed in annoyance. Stupid, over-exuberant moron, he cursed himself. He climbed onto the limb and looked across at the next tree, then down at the bear, who moved gingerly down the mountain. Time was running low and he would have to act quick if he was going to accomplish anything this morning.

The immortal jumped to the next tree, his boots touching the limb and his arm embracing the trunk to keep from falling. Far less noise this time and the bear hadn't even noticed.

Close enough now. Ready for the strike. Cain's hand went beneath his furs and wrapped around a wooden hilt. He drew the machete from its sheath on his belt, the morning sunlight reflecting off its stainless surface.

He jumped, the machete gripped in two hands, its blades pointed at the brown-furred beast below. The machete cleanly slid between the bear's shoulder blades, and the animal's cry of pain shook the branches.

The bear stood on his hind legs and threw Cain off, the machete still lodged in his back. Cain struck the ground on his back and rolled a few times. He stopped and propped himself up on his elbows, quickly melting snow and dead leaves clinging to his coat. His hat had been lost during the fall, displaying his pale, shaved head.

Cain stood, the bear just a few paces away from him. The animal's gold-tinted eyes narrowed, awakened with a fiery rage. He roared, but this time it wasn't in pain--it was a cry of anger.

The immortal was unfazed. Cain had gone up against far deadlier creatures than this. The bear wasn't a threat to him--he was just a morning workout.

The bear rose up and swung his arms out to emphasize his size. He lumbered at Cain, bringing his right arm down first. Thick claws, nearly half a foot in length, threatened to tear open Cain's chest.

Cain grabbed the arm, holding the claws at bay. The bear swung with his left arm, but Cain ducked around to the right, leaving the arm in the spot he just stood. The animal's claws tore into his own flesh, eliciting another loud roar.

The Mark provided Cain with more than just immortality--it also gifted him with uncanny strength far greater than even his large frame suggested. Cain had never tested the limits of his power, but it was certainly enough to fistfight a bear.

Cain grabbed a tuft of the animal's fur and pulled himself up. The fingers of his free hand curled into a fist and he punched the bear in the side of the face. The sound of superhuman knuckles striking hard bone sent a loud noise reverberating through the forest.

The bear reeled, clearly stunned by just how powerful his opponent was. This was an intelligent animal and even he knew when he was in a tough fight. The bear rolled onto his legs and attempted to try to flee the scene.

But Cain wasn't finished. He gave chase, easily catching up to the bear and jumping on his back. The machete was still lodged between the bear's shoulder blades. Cain gripped it tightly and pulled it free from the mass of muscle and fur. Blood spurted out and the bear winced and flailed.

Machete in one hand, Cain grabbed the animal's fur with the other and dug his heels into the bear's hide, holding to the beast. His emerald eyes burned with murderous intent and Cain slashed the bear's arm, disabling one of his weapons.

He rolled off the bear, standing face-to-face with his enemy. The bear rose on his hind legs again and that provided Cain with the opening he needed. He moved closer to the bear and thrust the machete up, right into the beast's throat. The bear tried to roar, but his voice was cut off and blood instead dribbled past his razor-sharp teeth.

Cain pulled the machete out and the bear collapsed at his feet. The immortal stood over the beast and stabbed him again to ensure death. And then he stabbed again. And again.

The strikes continued raining down on the bear's corpse. Cain's face was a mask of homicidal fury that bordered on glee. Life had long left the bear, but the blows continued. For Cain, he saw nothing but white-hot rage, completely lost in the moment. Everything was just a blur of red, the screams of the past echoing in Cain's mind.

And then, it just stopped.

Cain dropped to his knees in the puddle of gore that he'd turned the bear into. Blood dripped from his machete and stained his furs and face. The moment was gone and he felt a tingle come from the Mark. It was satiated, at least for now.

Once Cain had pulled himself out of his state, he found his hat and began his trek back through the forest to his home. But he paused and glanced around the area. He felt a distinct impression that he wasn't completely alone here. Cain waited, watching for some sign of other activity in the forest.

Nothing came. Though Cain wasn't completely satisfied with what his senses were telling him, he accepted it and continued on his path.

* * *

Cain's suspicions were more than simple paranoia--he was being watched. Once he'd departed, one of the trees seemed to come to life. Something split off from the rest of the tree, stepping into the forest. It was a man of sorts, or at least it had the appearance of one. Tall, broad, and with pale skin that held a wooden texture, with hair like that of leaves. His eyes were round and dark with a reflective surface.

The strange being walked over to the remains of the bear and knelt down by the side of the corpse. He laid a hand on the bear's lifeless head, long, branch-like fingers gently touching it. The plant-like man closed his eyes sensing the lack of life within the bear. It was no surprise, of course, but there was still a feeling of a kind of loss in the creature's passing.

There was a rustle of leaves, but the tree-man wasn't concerned. He soon felt a lithe hand fall on his shoulder.

"You okay, Dex?" asked a soft voice.

The being called Dex raised his hand and touched the soft, human fingers on his shoulder. He sighed and stared at the bear's remains.

"He did nothing. He was no danger. Why?"

The young woman with her hand on Dex's shoulder looked down at her friend. "It's the curse he's walked with all his long life. It's why he's out here on his own."

"Why are we here, Maya?" asked Dex.

"You know why," she replied. "Cain is too dangerous to be left unattended to. Even after all these centuries, no one has been willing to address his situation. We're the ones who are going to change that, once and for all. Before he causes any further damage."

Nestled on the banks of the Cape Fear River, Southport exuded a tranquil coastal charm. The town's streets wound past well-preserved colonial buildings. The waterfront sported a marina filled with boats swaying in the harbor. Seagulls glided overhead in the early morning rays of the sun as shops and cafés were welcoming visitors either on vacation or on their way to work.

But for Cain, none of this mattered. He stood on the docks of the marina with a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses shielding his face from the sun’s summer rays. He’d spent weeks running down leads only to hit dead end after dead end. The latest one led him to this coastal town in North Carolina. Despite the heat, he still wore a light jacket. The temperature didn't affect him, but a jacket hid his weapons.

“Anything yet?”

The voice of Maya Thacker came through the Bluetooth earpiece he wore. Although she couldn’t see him, Cain still shook his head reflexively. “Goose egg. This better not be another bust.”

“This is the job, Cain. We wait, we watch, we investigate. Once we get the intel we need, then we move.”

“I’m more partial to the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach.”

“Yeah, and you ended up in a morgue drawer, or have you forgotten?”

“For the record, I woke up before they put me in the icebox.”

“Details. Point is, your approach didn’t work, and you agreed to follow my lead on this.”

Cain bristled when confronted with his own admission. Their current situation resulted from his refusal to obey orders in Seattle. It resulted in a failure to recover Kelryn, the missing pixie they had sought to rescue. Dexane’s capture made the situation even worse, causing Maya to become more angered as he was her partner.

A zealot named Robert Lynch now had both of them. As far as the public was concerned, Lynch was just the charismatic, media-friendly leader of Purefire Ministries. But Cain and Maya’s investigation found he was also involved in Humanity Front, an extremist militia that sought to eliminate all supernatural beings. They were the ones that took both Dex and Kel captive. The reasons were still a mystery.

Cain reached into his pocket for the phone and checked the image again. They were after Richard Sturbridge. A figure who’d grown to some prominence in Humanity Front and had been photographed in Lynch’s presence in the past. He likely had knowledge of where Dex and Kel were taken. Tracking him had proven difficult, though, and had taken them to half a dozen cities across the country before ending up here in Southport. Cain couldn't forget the image of the blond man with a goatee and bright blue eyes, having checked the photo repeatedly.

Cain had been observing a small office building registered to a shell company associated with Purefire. Despite the uncertainty, it remained their most promising option. Cain's watch paid off when three individuals emerged.

“I think I’ve got eyes on Sturbridge,” Cain said into the earpiece.

“Stay back, don’t engage yet,” said Maya. “They know you, they know your face.”

“But I’m wearing sunglasses and a hat.”

A pause filled the air, and Cain detected a sigh through the earpiece. Then finally, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Stay back, stay out of sight. Follow them, but keep your distance. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Cain wanted to object, but he held his tongue. “You’re the boss.”

“Good, now tell me what else you see.”

“There are two people with him, guy and a girl. The guy looks young, maybe mid-twenties. White as can be, with brown hair and one of those stupid soul patch things.”

“Ugh, I thought that trend had died a well-deserved death. Clearly, he’s evil incarnate, so he dies first,” said Maya. “What about the girl?”

“Short, dark hair. Hispanic features. Probably about the same age as Soul Patch.”

“Send some photos, I’ll see if the Black Lodge has any info on them.”

Cain reached for his sunglasses. To any passersby, it seemed he was just adjusting them. But there was a camera built into the sunglasses and linked to his phone. He took pictures of what he saw. He double-checked the images on the phone and then sent them to Maya.

“Got it, thanks. Now watch them while I try to see what we’ve got.”

The trio started walking down the street from the office. Cain left the marina and discreetly followed them across the street, maintaining a safe distance. With their backs turned, he safely crossed to their side of the street. They stopped in front of a small coffee shop and Sturbridge’s followers stood outside as Sturbridge himself went in.

“Cain, I’ve got some info on them,” said Maya. “They’re both known members of Humanity Front. The guy is Lucas Blackwood. He’s got his own show streaming on one of those YouTube knock-offs. He’s about as unpleasant as you imagine. The girl looks like she might be Isabel Sanchez, another online influencer.”

“They’re not from Southport, are they?” asked Cain.

“Nope, they’re out-of-towners, just like Sturbridge. Which means they must be here for some other reason and we have to find out what.”

Cain looked back at them and he saw Lucas staring right in his direction. Cain abruptly turned away and set off walking in the other direction. “Shit.”

“What?” asked Maya.

“I think Blackwood spotted me.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m moving away.”

“You didn’t move too quickly, did you?”

“Yeah, I turned right around and started walking away.”

“Goddammit, Cain!”

“What?”

“That makes you look even more suspicious!”

Cain groaned. “So, what do you want me to do?” He glanced back over his shoulder. Blackwood and Sanchez seamlessly picked up their conversation. “It’s fine, he’s not looking at me anymore.”

“Just…just go around the corner or something. Stay out of sight, don’t be conspicuous.”

Cain turned and waited around a corner briefly. He took the sunglasses off and held them down by his side, the lenses pointed toward the coffee shop. In his other hand, he held his phone to monitor the camera feed. Sturbridge emerged from the coffee shop with a small tray and three cups. Sanchez took one cup.

“Wait, where’s Blackwood?” Cain muttered to himself.

His supernatural senses snapped into action, and Cain felt a presence. But he was too slow to move before he felt a knife slide between his ribs. Cain looked up and saw Blackwood smiling at him.

“Thought you were so clever, huh?” asked Blackwood as he twisted the knife. “Let’s see how clever you are when you’re bleeding out.”

Cain grabbed Blackwood’s hand and gazed into the young man’s dark eyes. He squeezed Blackwood’s fingers as he pulled the knife out of his body. Blackwood’s sneer turned to panic as he felt the pain of his hand being crushed.

“Joke’s on you, kid.” Cain’s fingers gripped Blackwood’s hair and then slammed his head into the side of the building. “I don’t bleed out.”

Cain slammed Blackwood’s head again and then thrust him back. The knife clattered on the ground and Cain picked it up. He held it up so Blackwood could watch as Cain snapped the blade off, then tossed the two pieces over his shoulders. He reached under his jacket and drew his own blade, with runes and sigils set into the metal.

“This here’s what a real knife looks like. And I’m gonna show you how it works.”

Blackwood backed away from Cain, his body sliding into the shadows cast by the building. Cain lunged for him, but Blackwood vanished completely, disappearing into the shadows. Cain hit the building and steadied himself, glancing around.

“What’s going on?” asked Maya over the earpiece.

“Thanks for letting me know that Blackwood’s a shadow walker,” said Cain.

“What?”

“He just disappeared into the shadows.”

“That’s…” Maya paused as Cain assumed she double-checked her files. “We’ve got nothing on him having any powers.”

“Some intelligence…” Cain muttered.

He took a deep breath and centered himself, focusing his senses. Cain couldn’t allow his anger to get the better of him. The background noise of Southport faded into the background. His attention was now limited to supernatural entities, including Maya and a few others nearby.

“Maya, keep an eye on Sanchez. I’m getting some readings off her,” said Cain.

“What the hell? We’ve got nothing about that.”

“You also had nothing about Blackwood.”

Cain detected a surge of supernatural energy, unexpectedly coming from behind him. He waited until the last possible instant and then spun on his heel. His hand reached out and gripped Blackwood’s throat as he materialized from the shadows. Cain suddenly threw him from the shadows into the street.

Horns blared and cars swerved and skidded to stops to avoid hitting the young man that had just entered their paths. Cain strolled into the street, ignoring the honks and the screams. Grasping Blackwood's collar, he dragged him to the opposite side of the street, still under the sun.

“Can’t shadow walk if there aren’t any shadows for you to use,” said Cain. “Maybe you should’ve stuck to a more gloomy city, you fucking idiot.”

Cain felt an intense heat surrounding him. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and falling into his eyes. His clothes dampened. And the smile on Blackwood’s face told him it wasn’t natural.

“Thought you got the drop on us, didn’t you?” he asked with a sneer.

Cain glanced over his shoulder and saw Sanchez approaching. Her eyes were burning like red-hot coals and her fingers were outstretched, pointing in his direction. And then, Cain’s jacket suddenly burst into flames.

Cain jerked away from Blackwood, tearing the coat from his body. He locked eyes with Sanchez, who spread out her fingers as she gestured her hand towards him.

“Burn, motherfucker!”

Under his jacket, Cain had dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, both of which had now spontaneously combusted. He ignored the flames and walked towards Sanchez. She seemed surprised by his continued approach.

“I said burn!”

Despite the intensifying flames, Cain remained undeterred. He revealed the concealed holster under his jacket as he reached for it. In a quick-draw motion, Cain pulled the enchanted pistol from the holster and aimed it at Sanchez. He squeezed the trigger, firing off several rounds. Despite the flames, Cain's sudden movement caught Sanchez off guard, leaving her unable to react to the gun. Each bullet struck its mark, and she collapsed, lifelessly on the sidewalk.

“You fucking monster!” Blackwood screamed before charging at Cain. He jumped onto Cain’s back, pounding his fists against the back of Cain’s head.

“What is this, a temper tantrum?”

Cain reached behind his back and grabbed Blackwood, then slammed him onto the sidewalk. He put his foot on Blackwood’s chest, but then realized that the bastard was still sneering.

“What’s so funny? I just killed your girlfriend and now I’ve got you dead to rights,” said Cain.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” asked Blackwood.

Shit, Cain thought to himself. In all the chaos of fighting Blackwood and Sanchez, Sturbridge slipped his mind.

“Maya, you copy?” he asked.

* * *

“This is why I told you to stay back,” said Maya.

“Gimme a break. They attacked me,” came Cain’s reply over Maya’s earpiece.

“They wouldn’t have even noticed you if you’d just kept your fucking distance.” Maya groaned and then took a beat. “Okay, just forget it. I’ve still got eyes on Sturbridge. You just keep Blackwood incapacitated.”

Maya never lost sight of Sturbridge. She scrutinized him, aware that he was the big fish. So while Sanchez and Blackwood were dealing with Cain, Maya followed as Sturbridge left the area and tried to move in secrecy.

Sturbridge climbed into a car and drove off. Keeping up with him on-foot wasn’t possible, but Maya figured she could throw up some mystical blockades to slow him down. Her mastery over magic was far from being as solid as she’d hoped, but some simple probability spells could impede his escape. She focused on the flow of traffic, using probability magic to increase the likelihood of Sturbridge catching red lights. As long as he was trying to keep from drawing attention, that left him vulnerable to traffic laws.

Stoplights enabled Maya to keep pace, though she still trailed behind by a good distance. Too much magic would reveal their presence, and Sturbridge would summon reinforcements. They already had enough to worry about after Lynch had exposed Cain on a live broadcast.

For weeks, Sturbridge had the advantage. They’d never gotten this close, and Maya refused to let him escape again. Drastic action was called for. And so, Maya used probability fields again to increase the likelihood of the car suffering a blowout.

The rear left tire burst, and the car careened across the lanes of traffic. Sturbridge swerved and slammed on the brakes, the car sliding to a stop right in the middle of an intersection and causing irate drivers to slam on their horns and skid and swerve to stops.

Maya moved towards the car, quickening her pace. Sturbridge stepped out of the vehicle and spotted her coming towards him. Swiftly, he broke into a run, leaving the car behind.

“Shit!”

Maya ran after him, charging into the street. Many cars had stopped thanks to the blowout, and she climbed over the vehicles blocking her path, earning several curses and horn-honks from the drivers. Maya reached the street's end and saw Sturbridge turning a corner.

She charged down the sidewalk, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Maya took a sudden, sharp turn around the same corner Sturbridge had turned. But he was out of sight.

Undeterred, Maya ran down the street. He couldn’t have gotten far was what she reasoned. He didn’t have any supernatural abilities, but the Black Lodge’s files also said nothing about Blackwood or Sanchez. Therefore, determining the accuracy of their information was impossible.

Maya rushed up the street, peering down each turn, alley, and crevice. His whereabouts were crucial; finding Dex and Kel's location depended on Sturbridge.

Eventually, Maya peered around a corner and there she saw Sturbridge lying unconscious. She ran over to him and kneeled down beside his body. She only hoped he hadn’t had a sudden heart attack or some other calamity.

“Relax, he’ll be fine.”

The voice that echoed down the alley had a deep baritone cadence. Maya looked to the source, though she’d already recognized it. Emerging from the shadows was an older man in a trench coat, his long, silver hair and beard each styled into single plaits.

“Qarhan?” asked Maya, surprised to see the old wizard here.

“My friend’s still missing. I was getting impatient,” said Qarhan. “So consider me part of this game starting now.”