Five of them were gathered about a table at the Black Ram, playing cards as they usually did on a weekend.

"Ugh," Robert laid his cards on the table and then shoved his chips towards Jared. With his long, spiraling horns, greasy black wires of hair and long, fetching grin, he looked especially like the illustrations of old. Robert wondered if he liked that about himself. His skin was green, not luminous, as if he had suffered from a severe case of gangrene with spots of his skin looking black.

"Hail to the king!" Jared laughed and leaned back in his seat, sinking in deep to the seat of his chair with a satisfied grin.

Nate rolled his eyes, flicking one of his chips at Jared so it shot him in the chest before he spoke, "If only we could all flourish upon greed as you do."

"Careful, or your envy may make you match me more than you might like," Jared's tongue rolled over his teeth before he looked at Sybil, expecting her to say something cutting. Instead she frowned and made a curt gesture of her hand to move her chips in Jared's direction. He made a kissing motion at her before he collected them.

"I'm out," Robert clapped his hands together as if dusting them off before he stood up, going to the bar for another drink. When he left the game Sybil, Nate and Chris seemed to disband from the table to likewise get refreshment.

"Oh come on!" Jared crowed as he gathered his winnings, "Just because I finally get a hot streak doesn't mean all of you have to get so sour about it."

Robert shook his head, leaning an elbow on the bar. To the bartender he ordered a whiskey on the rocks before he turned to see that Sybil had taken a lean on the bar near him. Her eyes were bright blue, the sort that was unnatural and told anyone with common sense she was out of sorts and far from human. How did any of the men miss that? Beyond her eyes, he supposed, it was just an attractively clad human-looking body with an arrogant strut. Maybe they were too busy looking elsewhere to actually notice her.

"Sybil." He said, taking a swallow of his drink as soon as it was there. Lately he had gotten the impression that she'd been wanting to say something to him.

"Doesn't it bother you, Robby?"

"Does what bother me?"

"All you ever do is observe people. You don't actually do anything." The latter part of her sentence sounded innocent and snide all at once. He wasn't sure if she was trying to coax a reaction from him or if she really meant to have a conversation.

"You're right," another swallow before looking at her, "I'm not doing all the jobs you are to get by. Hand jobs, blow jobs..."

"Ouch!" Nate hissed, peering at the conversation and then to Sybil, "What's it matter to you how Robert gets by?"

Sybil turned her head, looking like she meant to bite off part of Nate's lips when she spoke, "Nothing, except Robby here doesn't have to do anything like we do to get by. He could find himself a nice plump boring demon girl and buy a little house on the outskirts of a funeral home and sip on the woes that come in from the tide of those that mourn. Meanwhile, we're all trying to get by." She rolled her eyes, "He's a complacent little wallflower while we have to fight to get our dues."

"Complacent? Please, most of humanity thinks you're doing them a favor."

"Yes," she hissed, turning her head to him, "but when was it that you did anything to anyone?"

Robert chuckled, taking another swallow of his drink, "I haven't had a reason to. Were the mortals especially bad tonight? You're so agitated."

"I'm not agitated," she looked at the bartender, who gave her the dirty martini she usually ordered without question, noting her sour look, "I'm hungry and it's been serious work getting anything to eat."

Nate wrapped one of his arms around her waist, "You could always find yourself a human high school... full of young boys who would wet themselves at the thought of you."

Robert almost choked on his drink. Sybil grabbed his wrist and peeled his arm off from around her, turning to look at him, "You know better than to mess with me."

"Yea?" Nate stared.

"Hmm." She stared back.

Then a simultaneous grin took them all and they laughed.

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At the Paris hotel in Vegas, the one with the large fake replica of the Eiffel tower going through it, they were playing their hands. Demons, humans, saints and sinners, everyone mingled. Long ago Vegas was considered 'no man's land.' It was rough and smooth, beautiful and ugly all at once. Every demon and Nephilium needed to know it at least once in their life. Fights would break out, but no one took sides on it. It was Vegas.

Friday night and Jared was smoking the tables. Robert didn't mind that his hands were treading water, the despair of the man next to him was so thick that he thought he might not feed again for days. Sybil had gone to the Caesar's buffet with Nate, determined that the line was worth the food. That, or she was just going to eat enough that the wouldn't complain about the price tag.

"Congratulations, Sir," the dealer said, sliding Jared his winnings. He slipped a chip towards the dealer and then pocketed the black chips with a grin to Robert, "Want to go play some pool?"

"Is there a table?" He twisted, tapping the side of his chip on the table in thought before collecting his chips and going with him to investigate.

"There used to be tables here or..." Jared made it around a corner of slot machines, his chips in a cup tucked against his chest, and frowned, looking at Robert, "I guess that people don't play pool like they used to."

"Not at the Paris Hotel, anyway." Robert chuckled. In his chest he felt something which caused his attention to turn towards the entrance. It was Sybil and Nate, looking unhappy as they walked towards them.

"What's the matter?" One of the cocktail waitresses handed Jared another vodka and cranberry, winking at him after she passed.

"I ate too much." Sybil and Nate said in unison, holding their stomachs as if they were discussing a pregnancy.

"I like you when you're kinda bloated," Jared said to Sybil, grinning as he took a sip of his drink, "You look all awkward and not so super-sexy-I-am-seducing-you like you normally do."

"I'm a succubus so... yea, I always look that way you throwback to the Dark Ages."

"Actually," Nate interjected, though he did so begrudgingly because he was so full he'd rather be sleeping it off in the room, "Jared's got the most traction and popularity out of all of us. The devil look is back in. Me and Rob? Well, we look like boring humans but Jared's back in fashion like an original Ramones t-shirt."

Sybil hissed, "And what's that make me?"

"Given your history of being sexual and attention-getting I would say," Nate tilted his head to the side, eyes going from Robert to her, "Madonna."

"Seriously? You give me Madonna but Jared get's the Ramones?"

Robert nodded in agreement with Nate, offering with a low voice, "He is a rebellious classic."

"I'm back on top, Baby," Jared pushed his chest out, arms pulled back in a show of being proud before he looked at Robert, "Want to hit the Caesar's buffet?"

"Actually, the one here is supposed to be good."

"Fiinnneeeeee. Someone call Chris and tell him to get his hungover ass out of bed and to the buffet. Oh, and to brush his teeth because that man's mouth is heinous."

Sybil groaned, "You're the ones going. You call him."

They parted ways. Sybil and Nate went to sleep off their food coma in their separate hotel rooms while Nate, Jared and Chris went to dine on as much food as they thought they could eat for eighty bucks a head.

Down the strip of Las Vegas they ambled, arm in arm, as they passed major hotels and city lights. They crowded in a narrow walkway, dipping into something that felt like a funnel due to one building being under construction, bringing them together due to the scaffolding. Nate swore as he looked back at the hotel, his eyebrows lowered, "On the map it's only one block but you have to walk five to get to the cross walk. Complete deception!"

"It's Vegas! Plus, you didn't think that there would be cross walks at every block, did you?" Jared grinned, his arm slung around Sybil as she looked upwards. The shadows of the scaffolding made her eyes seem bio-luminescent.

"No, but you could at least walk the street?"

"And what?" Jared smirked, "stop traffic constantly? Traffic is bad enough already."

Robert turned his head to look forward, "Do you feel that?"

"Yea," Jared was tight lipped.

Over the stone crosswalk, the one that looked Roman in its architecture, a group of people were passing. They stood out because they were dour, their lips seeming to frown though the expression wasn't completely so. As their group started to approach their's, Robert felt something hot at the back of his neck.

"Nephilim." Jared said the word like it was a stab. His arm tightened around Sybil, "Just keep walking straight and don't look at them." Robert was surprised at how readily they took his guidance when they were under pressure. Jared had been through a lot more than the rest of them and had survived.

Robert pulled on his cigarette and exhaled. The grey of his cigarette crossed to his left, into the path that the Nephilim would be taking. Both sides, the demons and the half-angels, appraised one another as they crossed. Robert thought something reached in and grabbed his heart. It was fear. He had never felt so afraid before. Las Vegas was no-man's land, though, they wouldn't attack them. Still, it was a group of about six of them passing by, which was a formidable quantity.

Both groups gave one another looks from the corners of their eyes. Then they passed on, going about whatever business it was that both had in Las Vegas. They pretended to see one another the way people notice debris on the side of the road in Detroit.

"Jared, you're hurting me," Sybil rolled her shoulder to release his grip, "It's just some stupid Nephilim. We're in Las Vegas so they can't touch us anyway."

Jared's chagrin was deep, "But they're here. It's like seeing a nun at a strip club. It... makes you wonder."

Sybil rolled her eyes, "We're not even major demons to worry about. We don't really even do anything to people so it's not like they're going to come looking for us. As far as demons go? We're small fish to fry." Demons that didn't require death or manipulation, but fed off of the system that was humanity, could almost be seen as benign parasites.

Jared's lips turned down, "It doesn't matter our type. We're demons, they're Nephilim. There's no room for grey areas or debating it. Doesn't matter if you feed on dust or consume souls-- we're on their naughty list."

"Oh, am I ever!" Sybil was grinning, which caused Nate and Robert to roll their eyes at her. Jared humored her with a half smile, his arm giving her another squeeze.

Robert shook his head and took another draw of his cigarette, changing the serious tone of the conversation to something more agreeable, "We should hit the black jack tables. I'm feeling lucky." He didn't want them to spend anymore time than they had to worrying about the other group.

"Oi!" Nate said, giving Robert a flat tire, "No using those illusions to win the game."

"I wouldn't!" He stumbled forward, spinning around on his heels to grin at the rest of the group, "I don't like to win a card game through deception. That would be boring!"

"Oh yea?" Sybil said as if prepared to give contrary evidence, "How would you win it, then?"

"It's all about the bluff," Robert smiled, flicking his cigarette over the bridge and onto the road, where traffic would crush its life out, "and getting your opponents to do each other in before you do any of the work."

The. Last. Step.

Nate was already dead, he was probably the first and didn't see it coming. He was still seated, crumpled forward on the table with his cheek pressed against it. A pool of red grew out from under his face and spread over the cards that were still scattered on it as though he had been shuffling the deck. Chris' body was slumped and motionless on the floor five feet away. Robert had seen plenty of people and demons dead before, but never anyone he knew as intimately as them. When people spoke of how the dead did not look like the living he finally felt that he understood what they meant. Those bodies could not have been Nate and Chris.

Seven Nephilim. On numbers alone they were outmatched. Beyond that, none of them made it a habit of carrying weapons. Robert thought his feet had been sealed into place. He wanted to move, to say something, but he couldn't. There weren't words or motions.

"Damn it," Jared said. He was with Sybil, corralled into the corner of the Black Ram. One of his hands splayed behind himself, instinctively protective of her. Normally she would had spit on any man for doing that but with Jared it had ignited something. When he looked to her and said, "Go through the window, I'll get this."

She said, "The Hell you will. We always fought together and that's not gonna change."

The Nephilim felt like soldiers that were indistinguishable from one another, except that two of them were female. Their arrival had been one for battle. It wasn't a uniform that they wore, but it looked similar enough that anyone could have called it that. Five of the seven were circled around Jared and Sybil. The other two were making quick work of the demon who had been the bartender.

When Jared's eyes ticked up to see Robert. He shouted, "Get out!" Then he looked at Sybil, managing a smirk, "You ready, hot stuff?"

"I can kick your ass any day of the week," she said, smiling at him with a knowing gleam in her eye, "After I'm done, you know..."

Jared took her by the back of the head to kiss her. It was brief and as passionate as three seconds could allow. Rolling up his sleeves he looked at the nearest Nephilim, his dark-nailed hands motioning him to dare to come close, "Let's get this over with."

Jared moved quickly. Not so quickly that the Nephilim's blade didn't sink into his forearm when he made and upward block, but quick enough that after the block he was able to set his hands to the Nephilim's arm and give it a jerk and a twist. There was a tearing and popping sound, like what Robert had sometimes heard when people enthusiastically twisted pieces of fried chicken from the main carcass. There was a scream and the arm of the Nephilim fell to the ground.

As did Jared's severed head.

Sybil slipped forward, far more stealthy than Jared. One of the Nephilim shouted, "Don't let her touch you!"

He took a swing but she had managed to slid past it with a smooth dip of her body. Her hand caught the back of the Nephilim's, the one that gripped his blade so tightly she could feel the bones of his hand under the muscle. She smiled and leaned into him, her eyes glowing. When their lips connected she drew from him, the ghost of something ethereal dancing between their lips. It was only for mere seconds before the others came upon her. The circle of men, the penetration of their blades into her flesh, made her back straighten before her control over the Nephilim, like her life, slipped away.

Get out.

Robert vaulted over the bar, making a break for the back entrance. The two Nephilim that had rendered the bartender into cubes of flesh looked up. Upon seeing him they wiped their blades off on their pant leg and pursued.

The kitchen didn't seem familiar. Nothing did. Robert only knew speed. Only knew running. Whatever he could grasp and throw behind him he did. Through the back door of the bar were the dumpsters and the flood lights meant to illuminate it and keep it safe from thieves. The honest truth of the matter was that Robert wasn't fast enough. There was a pressure at his shoulder, twisting him and then throwing his back against the dumpster.

"I didn't--" he began to explain, looking at the Nephilim as he leaned in closer. It felt like a pinch between his ribs at first but then it spread and became searing when he realized it was a knife. When he looked down and saw the symbols on the blade his eyes lifted to meet the gaze of the one who meant to kill him.

His face was blank when he stared at Robert, so much so that Robert wondered if he knew what he was doing, if he was paying any attention at all. He found himself wishing that he could see anger, joy, or even something smug there. Something, anything... anything more than that blank, detached expression. Both of his hands went to his side as he gasped. The only reason the blade hadn't jerked across him to disembowel him was because it had been caught between two of his bottom most ribs. He could tell that the Nephilim was trying to decide if he needed to pull out the blade and thrust again or wait for the others. Robert felt like a bug that was being put on display, fixed into place with a single pin. The man had a mark on his arm, just at the wrist. It looked like a sort of tribal tattoo but Robert didn't know what it meant and couldn't shake the image of it from his mind.

Robert squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a sudden, fierce some image around him. A frightening monster. It was gruesome and startling because to the Nephilim it had seemed to come from nowhere. It had the affect of an unexpected horn blaring from a car. The Nephilim jerked back from him, enough space established between them that Robert caught him with his elbow and then peeled off the side of the dumpster and sprinted. He could hear steps behind him and concentrated everything, all that he had, on confusing and misleading his pursuer. He made multiple images of himself echo and head into different directions. The false dialogue of his voice came from different directions like a madhouse.

In the end, Robert had somehow gotten away.

When Remmy pulled her old Toyota up to the Black Ram, Robert pointed to the side of it. It would be better if they parked behind the bar. It would keep people from immediately being able to see that they were there. Behind the bar there were no cars and there was caution tape marking the entrances of the Black Ram. Overnight it had become an abandoned building. The air and mood about it had changed so much that Robert thought he only recognized the look, and not the feel, of it.

?This is your home?? Remmy wrinkled her nose as she looked at it and then to him, ?I should call Sybil. She?d help you if she knew you were hurting.?

?Sybil?s dead, Remmy.? His curt response left her stunned in the car while he pulled himself out of it. One of his hands pressed to the side of her car as he shut the door. His hand returned to his side, which was generously and tightly wrapped by her grandmother. Blood was starting to appear in droplets on the bandage. The wound had remained just as active as it had always been.

Her car door opened and she stood up. He remembered her dark hair with its loose curl getting tussled in the wind. He remembered how hurt and beautiful she looked at the same time, ?What? Sybil?s not dead. I just talked to her yesterday.?

?Yesterday and? no more.? Robert looked at the back entrance of the Black Ram and started towards it slowly. He wished that he had a cane, or Remmy, to support him when he walked.

She sounded angry when she spoke, as if she needed to blame him, ?Sybil is not dead. I don?t know what you?re trying to pull, Robert, but you have a shitty way of showing someone gratitude.? Yet when she looked at the bar she seemed more apprehensive of it than she had before. There was a fear of it starting to grow inside her. She stared at it for a minute before trotted up to his side, putting her arm around him as they walked.

?Sorry, Remmy.? He reached out, catching the caution tape at the center of its crossing point and pulling it off. The door, surprisingly, wasn?t locked. It opened with a familiar groan of its hinges.

Once they had gotten inside they went for the office that was beside the bathroom. There, she sat Robert in the chair before pulling out her cellphone and dialing.

It rang. And rang. Then the voicemail picked up. It was Sybil?s voice, but the pitch of it was higher on her voicemail, seeming more flirty than when she talked normally. This is Sybil, I am sorry I missed your phone call but I?m sure we?ll be in touch. Please leave a message.

?She?s not going to answer.?

?Shut up.?

Remmy opened the office door and then looked down the hall. She saw that the bar was abandoned, marked off like a crime scene. It began to dawn on her that if Sybil had died last night that this might have been where she died. Her skin became like gooseflesh before her eyes turned on Robert, ?Was it here? Did Sybil die here??

?Sybil, Jared, Chris and Nate. And the bartender.? Robert slouched deep in the chair, looking at where she lingered between the office and him. There was a deep, knitting sensation in his side that felt like the pain someone got from running too long. Healing. He could feel his body wanting, trying, to heal itself. When he swallowed his nostrils flared. The scent of old demon blood, lingering on the floorboards and the air, was all around them.

?Jared?? She remembered Sybil talking to her about him. How the two of them had finally started dating after months of a distant and strange courtship. She had seemed so excited about it. Sybil had thought that Jared might be someone who could really be ?okay? with her. Dialing Sybil?s number again it rang and rang until it went to the same voicemail.

?Remmy? I can?t stay here.?

?Robert?? He could hear the crack in her voice that told him she was going to cry. When he looked away from the walls of the office that were pinned with all sorts of notes and reminders, he met her gaze and saw that it was glassy.

Softly, ?I know.?

?You have to stay here,? she sniffled, reaching in her bag for a tissue. There was a morbid curiosity, a draw she couldn?t fight. Remmy slowly walked from the office doorway to the marks on the floor. There were outlines of bodies on the floor, dark impressions that were pools of blood. Robert watched her leave the office room and did not follow her. Eventually she came back to him, her eyes puffy and her nose red from crying.

?Just,? she said, shakily, ?take a nap on the f-floor and then we?ll go or something.?

They had set him up on the floor and after sleeping on it for two hours, the two of them were ready to leave. When they got to Remmy?s car she looked at his side and then back to his face, ?We?re going to need to bring you back here again, aren?t we??

?No.? Robert stared at the dumpster where he had been pinned to it by the blade. The memory of the Nephilim?s mask-like face came to him so vividly that he thought he was looking at him again. His hand rested over his stomach before he looked back at her, ?I?m not ready to heal from this, not yet.?

?I can? I think I can do something to keep you from bleeding. So long as you don?t stress yourself too much it should work.? She blew her nose on a tissue and tried to call Sybil again.

This is Sybil, I am sorry I missed your phonecall but I?m sure we?ll be in touch. Please leave a message.

Robert drove. He took I-10 out of New Orleans and stopped when he hit Houston, Texas. It was easy to forget how incredibly large Texas was until there was a map in front of him. He went as far as San Antonio before he drove north and spent a day in Austin. The cities in Texas varied much from one another. The Lone Star state dominated three days of driving. He took I-35 up through Austin, to Kansas and then onward. The route had changed this time on his way home. He had more purpose, now. There was less meandering and back tracking though he did not always take the most direct routes. The states ahead of him sprawled on with a great emptiness that was filled with fields and flat ground.
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During the drive he would call their voicemails because it felt reassuring to hear their voices. Over and over he dialed them and listened to their eternal, unchanging response. A few times he left them voicemails, which inexplicably made him feel better. It was as if they had received it. He said nothing incredible, he offered them no revelations. Admitting out loud that he missed them, that life was different without them, felt good.

It was in Wyoming when he dialed Nate and Chris? numbers, that he no longer went to their prerecorded voicemails. It went, instead, to something generic. The subscriber you have dialed is unavailable. Please try again later. Robert started to consider how incredibly improbable it was that he even could call and hear their voicemails. It had been a year and a half, now, and somehow all their phones had been operational, had preserved their voicemails?

Now they were disappearing. The next day, in Montana, Jared was no longer telling him that he would get back to him whenever the hell he felt like it. There was one voicemail that hadn?t been turned off. Sybil?s. Her phone was still activated, but who would do that?

Two days later he was back in Seattle, but he didn?t go to the Black Ram. Instead he went to the camp grounds he had seen before that was a circle of RVs and mobile homes. The grounds had long ago been abandoned, maybe only weeks after he left town.

He texted Remmy that he was in town. She told him ?Meet me in Olympia?s Farmer?s Market tomorrow.?
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The farmer?s market was just like any other you might see. There were bins of fruit and vegetables and even a row of vendors selling their handmade goods, most of which catered to women by being jewelry or purses. Earlier that day he had paid to have his truck meticulously cleaned since it had gotten more use than a mattress. It was starting to feel like the world was getting new again. There was food and people and he wasn?t seeing it through the bottom of a bottle anymore. It was at a pile of pomegranates that he looked up and saw her.

She was thinner than when he saw her last and he wasn?t sure that he liked it. Her eye makeup was a little heavy but it seemed like the only makeup she wore. When she saw him she smiled and embraced him. He could smell the minty punch of Bert?s Bees on her. Her bracelets and dangling ear rings chimed when she moved. There was a bag weighing down her right arm, full of produce she had picked up.

?I didn?t think I?d ever see you again.?

?Is it good to see me??

She looked at him thoughtfully and then nodded, ?Yes. Have you eaten? I?m making Chiftele, I think you?ll like it if you?ve never had it. Plus, bunica would like to see you again.?

?I haven?t eaten since eight.? Robert found that he was smiling and that something about that smile hurt, ?You think she does? I won?t disappoint her.?

He went with her to her car, which was different from the old Toyota she had before. Now it was an old Chevy Nova. He looked at her as he climbed into the seat, ?New car? New to you, I mean.?

She smiled and put her bags on the floor next to his feet and started it up, ?Yea, my brother got my other one. The guys love it. There?s something about a Chevy Nova that makes their heads turn. It?s like I have some sort of nostalgic, classic car without the classic car price.? She grinned, shrugged her shoulders and then put the car into gear.

They drove outside the bounds of Olympia, stopping in a more rural area where a familiar circle of trailers seemed to wait for them. The grandmother, her bunica, was standing in the open door of her trailer, smoking a cigarette and staring in their direction. She looked as though she had been expecting them though Remmy had never called her to let her know. It was an uneasy feeling but Robert smiled and got out of the car. A few of the kids didn?t recognize him, but the older ones elbowed them and indicated, using a mix of Romanian and English, that he was a demon. Who forgets seeing their first demon? He left a strange impression on the children, who seemed to think that he should have been red with a tail or at least appear more dramatic than he was.

?Bunica! I got the groceries. Robert?s gonna help me and I?ll get it started.? She smiled to the grandmother whose old, leather face turned up in a slow smile.

?You st-hill aren?t resolved yet, are you?? She didn?t waste time with small talk when she saw Robert. Her eyes narrowed and though she did not move, the warning in her voice made the smile seem like a snarl, ?You do not breh-ing your trouble to my family, you understand??

Robert didn?t know what she meant, but he didn?t think he could argue with her. He stiffly nodded and felt Remmy?s hand slide into the crook of his arm to steer him towards her trailer that she shared with her cousin? Sister? Someone. Once inside she shut the door and started to clear off the counter. As she unwrapped the meat she spoke to him, ?Sorry about grandmother. She?s a little old fashioned so sometimes you need a thick skin.?

?It?s all right, I?m a little old, too.? He stepped to the wall, looking at the pictures she had mounted there. They looked to be glued into place, which made sense to him when he thought about how often the trailer moved and that it must have kept from getting lost or damaged. The inside of her home was messy, but not disgusting. There wasn?t any spoiled food or unsanitary conditions, but there were clothes and some jewelry and other things spread about the place. It was lived in and looked used.

?How? umm,? she stopped and looked at him, ?How old are you, anyway??

Robert looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, seeing that she looked uncomfortable asking, ?Older than bunica. I?m not? exactly sure of my age anymore. I can?t remember my birthday except that I believe it is in September or October. I can?t remember much about being a child, or being young. But I remember always having a squash pie for my birthday, like a pumpkin pie, because they were in season. Refined and processed sugar for cakes wasn?t available until later.?

?Isn?t that weird? I mean, not remembering??

Robert shrugged, ?Do you remember teething? Do you remember losing your first tooth? There are a lot of things you don?t remember. Is that weird??

She smiled and then washed her hands, leaving the balls of meat on that cutting board before she drew out a fresh board and different knife for the vegetables. She was mid-sentence when she spoke, ?What made you look me up after all this time? I am glad you did but I don?t understand wh--?

Robert was sitting on the couch that was her bed. Past the small arm rest was a table, which had a basket glued onto it. When he looked in the basket he saw that it had Chris, Nate, Jared and Sybil?s cellphones in it. He reached over, picking up Sybil?s phone and opening it. The cold pressure of her hand on his wrist came instantly but it wasn?t jarring. Remmy had crossed over to him from the kitchen, a three step journey, and was holding onto his wrist like he meant to steal the cellphone and she was telling him no. Her hand was still cool and wet from when she had washed it seconds before. He looked at her hold on him and then to her face, which was distraught with a tangle of emotion behind it.

?I couldn?t let her go. I couldn?t keep paying the other cell phone bills. But I can keep her?s and it?s all I have of her anymore. It makes me think she?s still alive by hearing her voice. I know? you?ve been calling them.?

He reached for her, suddenly, and drew her close. She smelled like the raw meat and vegetables she had been handling over the scent of Burt?s Bees she was wearing. He had expected resistance, for her to draw back. Instead, she kissed him and crawled onto his lap. Their exchange became more feverish, more wanting. It ached like he wanted to devour her. Something in him felt angry and needing release. He pushed up her skirt and she worked his pants open as they kissed. Intense and aggressive, it felt like the sort of sex a couple had after a long argument.

Afterwards they lay with each other, sloppily redressed and smoking cigarettes together. It made a small cloud against the ceiling which showed a discoloration that told him she had smoked inside plenty of times. The couch was so small that she had to lay partly on top of him so that she wouldn?t slip to the floor.

?What will you do??

?Kill them.? Robert pulled on his cigarette, one arm drawing her closer. Her lips still burned from kissing him. He was like cinnamon, sweet but potent when she got more than just a hint. He reached overhead to tap his ash into an empty cup that was there. Remmy did the same. ?I just need to find out more about them.?

?Are you? really going to do that? All by yourself??

?Yea.? Robert nodded a few time and pulled on his cigarette again.

?Won?t you get killed??

Robert?s lips pressed in a thin line before he spoke, ?Probably.?

The sheets of his bed were twisted around her when she sat up, looking at his desk and then smiling ove her shoulder to him. It was three am and the sun couldn't have been further away from them then it was at that moment.

"Do you think I'll see her again?"

He was on his back, his eyes moving up the curve of her body, along the ditch where her spine was. His attention lifted to her face, catching her gaze as she looked at him, "Maybe her pictures. Maybe the idea of her. But not her."

"I mean," Remmy tucked her dark hair behind her ear, turning so that she faced him, "I'll see her after I die, right?"

Robert smiled sadly but shook his head no. Naked, he climbed out of his bed and pulled on a pair of underwear and pajama bottoms. His fingers climbed through his hair and pushing it out of his face, "I need to get to my shift at the hospital in a few hours."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that I won't see her?" She sounded like he had insulted her.

"She's dead, Remmy, what do you want me to say?" He sighed and looked away from her, out the window and then back to her when the rest of what he wanted to say came to mind, "We're demons. We don't have souls and go on to be in heaven or hell. When we're dead... when we're gone, that's it. I know I look like you, but God created us differently. It's more than just the physical form." He thought about Mahishasura at the library, touching his hand and somehow going through his flesh and striking, instead, who he was instead of what he was.

"So, what, she's just gone?" She snapped her fingers, "Just like that and everything about her is gone?" He could hear her voice start to crack. Remmy pulled the sheets in closer to her, stood up and shot over to his dresser. She picked up Sybil's phone and held it tightly to her chest before she sat on the edge of his bed.

His expression softened before he sat beside her, "No, she's not gone." He kissed her temple, wrapping one arm around her. He thought if he had tried to pull the phone away from her protective grip that she would bite him. "You have an immortal soul and you carry her with you. She'll always be around, always be somewhere, because of you."

"Yea?" The threat of crying had become a real one. Her eyes were shiny pools that had spilled down her cheeks, "I'll always keep her safe with me." Sniffing, she smiled at him gently, "I'll keep you, too, Robert."

"Thank you," his arm around her loosened so that he could reach up and brushed her hair so that all of it fell along her back, "I don't mind you keeping me."

The moment should have been one where she smiled and kissed him, but it wasn't. Something became less about her smile. Something became colder about her. She pushed the tears off her cheeks and forced a smile before she stood up, "I should get back to the camp before bunica has a fit. You don't want to see what she's like when she's mad."

"Aren't all of you leaving Olympia next week?"

She nodded, drawing her hair back into a loose ponytail before getting dressed. After her underwear was on she pulled her shirt overhead and looked at him, "I won't be very far from you, though. The drive will be about the same, we'll just be further east instead of south of you."

"I'll see you on your last day in Olympia to bid the site farewell. I'll even help you pack." The latter comment was meant to be a joke but neither of them laughed.

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Her skirt was on now, her feet with the toenails painted dark red slid into her leather sandles.

"I haven't seen your brother or grandmother in a while," he stood up, going to his jacket to get his cigarette pack with the lighter tucked between the carton and the plastic sleeve. He drew out one cigarette and tucked it behind his ear.

"Don't be silly. Ohhhh, I want one." She tip toed over to him, kissing him when she pulled it out from behind his ear, "I'll stay with you for one more cigarette and then I gotta go."

He followed her out of the apartment, sitting on the cement ledge outside of his apartment. Sucking on his cigarette, he looked up at her. She moved like she was restless. One of her hands played with her multicolored skirt as she blew a line of smoke from her lips. It seemed like she wanted to say something to him but never quite did. The words finally came out from him, "Why are you only seeing me when everyone is asleep or gone?"

Remmy's eyes became guarded. He could tell that she didn't want to have the conversation. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had turned without a word and got into her car. She used the need to take a draw from her cigarette as an excuse not to answer him immediately. Her response was offhand, "I'm not doing that. It's just the only times I can catch you."

"No, it isn't. When I talk about visiting you there's always a reason not to. I haven't seen you at your place or anyone you live with since the day we met at the market. Remmy... it's been months."

"Yeah," she looked away from him and then back, biting on her lower lip before she spoke, "it's just you're an outsider, you know? And a demon."

"And?"

"Bunica would never let me be with you. I need to marry a nice Romanian guy that is either in our camp or a camp that we're allies with. It's really hard to tell her no and I didn't want you to know."

Robert looked up at her, feeling like she squirmed as she played with her skirt. He put the filter to his lips, barely made a pull and exhaled. His tone had gotten flat, "So you need to marry a Romanian?"

"Yeah. She wants to set me up with this guy named Malcolm, but..."

Robert noticed that she wasn't looking at him when she spoke, though he stared at her without flinching. It wasn't a firm stare, just one where he watched the details of her carefully. The dark spirals of her hair, the curve of her stomach and the swell of her body beneath the clothes. It occured to him that it might be the last time he saw her this way. Slowly the words formed, "You've been using me to pass the time?"

"What? No, it's not like that." Now she looked at him. Her expression showed shock. She might have even been relieved to find some outlet in the conversation that allowed her to feel indignant, "I like you, Robert. You're the only one that knows what I'm going through. It's just..."

"It's just...?"

"Sometimes I think that we spend so much time holding onto them, Sybil and the others, that we never go forward with our lives. We keep staying in the day that they died and you were at the footstep of my door. Robert, it was over two years ago and I still pay to keep her phone on cause I need to hear her voice. I..."

"You what?"

"I think I need to let her go. Not forget her, but let myself... I don't know." She put her cigarette out under the tread of her shoe, "We'll talk more about this later, okay? It's really late and I gotta get back."

She bent down to kiss him, but he looked up at her and said, "You should probably get back before anyone notices you were gone."

Her lips pursed. She kissed his cheek, anyway, "See you later." Then she got into her car and drove off.

It was night, in a neighborhood that looked like the suburbs. The sort of place that someone moved to when they wanted to build their family or belong to a community. Remmy?s Chevy Nova was sitting four blocks down from the house. She watched her rear view mirror, worrying her lower lip as she waited. The gate that was beside the house leading to the back yard opened. Robert slipped forward, shut it behind him and walked calmly down the sidewalk towards Remmy.

He opened the passenger door and got into the car. She put it into drive, but couldn?t say anything to him for the first five minutes that they drove. He was peeling off his plastic gloves but there was blood on his wrists past the cuff. It was night, but she saw it from the corner of her eyes when he pushed back the sleeves of his hoodie and used the alcohol wipes that were in the first aid kit she kept in the glove box.

?This isn?t you, Robert.?

He didn?t look up at her. His hands were still cleaning off the traces of dried blood on him. He spoke like he hadn?t heard her, ?There?s only three to go.?

?You?re not this person,? she frowned. Her elbow was on the edge of the car door where the window was rolled down. Her hand holding the cigarette went to her forehead while her other clutched the steering wheel. ?You?re a good guy, you know that?? Her tone said she was irritated but her eyes said she was hurt, ?You?re nice and you?re kind and you?re not this person who sneaks into someone?s home and kills them in their sleep. You?re not a killer. If you don?t stop you?re going to become something else.?

?I am something else.? He reached into the pockets of his hoodie where he felt the heavy weight of the five inch switch blade. ?I?ve been someone else since the day we met.?

?Are you proud of yourself for doing this? Does it make you happy??

?It?s something I need to do.? Robert pressed his lips in a line and then looked at her before he explained, ?They are like an army, Remmy. They belong to an organization. If I attack it outright I am out-manned and outnumbered and then I?m dead. I?m not a powerful demon, I can drive someone mad with illusions, but I cannot truly change things. I only change someone?s perception of it. I have to be careful and patient or I?ll get killed. It wasn?t like? we were ready, or prepared, when they attacked us.?

?It?s been four years, Robert. Let the other ones go. You killed some of the ones that did them wrong but it isn?t going to bring them back. It hasn?t made you feel any better and? maybe you don?t get the drop on one of them. Maybe you end up getting killed. Is this worth dying for??

?There?s only three to go.?

She didn?t know why she was crying, but she was. The rest of the car ride was silent. They smoked cigarettes, changed the songs that played on the radio and made short comments to each other. By the time she parked in front of his apartment she had stopped crying and had felt hardened. She swallowed, both of her hands were on the steering wheel as if to brace herself before she spoke, ?It can?t keep being like this. Christ, the drive alone just to see you takes hours. I feel lonely and I miss you and then when I?m with you it?s all about this,? she motioned to the air around her as though it described the Nephilim he was killing. Her tears were starting up again and she lifted her hand to keep him from speaking so that she could finish what she had to say, ?You either let this go, or you let me go.?

She didn't expect to feel him kiss her. While it was reassuring at first she quickly realized it was gentle, slow, like an apology. Her eyes squeezed shut, she reached to keep his lips against her?s longer. He pulled away from her, ?Goodbye, Remmy.?

?Robert, just let them go. We could be happy, we could be together. Don?t do this.?

?And bunica? Are you going to let that go? When am I going to stay with you and your family??

?That?s not fair.?

?Neither is what you?re asking me to do. I?m not letting go and neither are you.? He reached down, opened the car door and got out. After he shut the door behind him he didn't look back at her. Like a soldier he kept his eyes forward, studying the cement and metal stairs that led to his apartment room. The door sounded hollow when he shut it behind him. He leaned back against it and sighed, not turning on the lights. The kitchen table had pictures and books pushed all over it. He went to the table, examining the pictures of various Nephilim. He shut his eyes to try to recall what they looked like.

Sometimes the face of the man that stabbed him was hard to recall. Robert pressed his hand against his side, remembering what it felt like to be pinned like an insect to the side of the dumpster. He remembered the tattoo on the man?s hand and the detached expression on his face. Looking at the images on the table, none of the faces there looked like him. He spoke absently to himself, ?Where are you??

Five months later.

His hands were shaking, he could feel his heartbeat pushing through his veins faster than he thought it could and thought that the veins might give out under the pressure. Had his heart stumbled in its own race to keep up with what his body needed? It wasn't until he was inside his apartment with the door shut that he coughed, his hands on his knees and his ribs jumping out from his chest. His mouth was watering for the need to breath.

"You've done well for yourself, Robert."

The cold, prickling sensation, met with fear, grabbed him by the shoulders. When he looked up he saw the demon with the head of a water buffalo and a human-looking corpse sitting at his two person kitchen table. He was so large that his knee was almost touching the bottom of the table. For the first time Robert wondered why he didn't smell like rotten flesh-- why hadn't he been able to smell that he was there before he heard him? Then he thought it must have been what the demon had said to him before. He was closer to the ethereal plane with the angels than the corporeal one that Robert was rooted in.

His panting seemed rude. He swallowed and tried to quell it by directing his breath out his nose. The demon, Mahisah... what was his name? The demon raised his hand as if telling Robert that he didn't need to struggle with muffling his breaths.

"Sir, what can I do for you?"

"You've been successful, so far, Robert. You've killed six out of the seven that you wanted but it is the seventh... the seventh... that eludes you, still. That must be frustrating. It's taken six years of your life and you still can't reach it."

"Yes... I'm frustrated." He stood upright, watching the demon and realizing that he thought the lips of the water buffalo moved, though they never really did. The demon lit a cigarette and began smoking, which looked odd. With the enormity of the animal head and the thick, dark lips, a cigar would have seemed more appropriate. The cigarette stood out, its white paper in stark contrast to his fur and wet, round eyes. It looked small and thin like a Virginia Slim or something.

"Your work hasn't been bad, in fact," the rotten-looking corpse hand took the cigarette from his lips, "you've don't quite well for yourself. You're not a powerful demon, but you don't have to be to kill someone. The Nephilim haven't even realized that the murders of the six are connected. You've killed them in different ways over time and this last one, well, it looks like an accident, doesn't it?"

"Yea." He swallowed. When the demon motioned for him to sit with him at the small, intimate seating of his kitchen table he was reluctant to do so, but he was even more reluctant not to obey. Taking the seat he was struck, again, by the size of the demon. He had to be eight feet standing. The thickness of the water buffalo horns must have been the same as his forearm.

"Your methods aren't going to work anymore, Robert. You've reached the end of the line for that part."

"What do you mean?"

The demon leaned forward. There were pictures on the table top. He squinted at one, the image of the seventh Nephilim, and used the tip of his index finger to push the image away from the others, "You cannot reach this one."

"I've reached all the others." He didn't want to argue with the demon so he tried to make it sound like he was stating a fact.

"Did you know," The demon paused after he started speaking, putting his cigarette out on one of the pictures on the table. It made Robert cringe and the strange smell of the chemically treated image on shiny photo paper slipped in the air and then disappeared. Then the demon continued with what he had to say, "The Nephilim are part man, and are therefore subject to the problems of man. Mortality, a human life-span, as you know. Also, they have the mind of a man. You are a demon, entirely, yet are more bound to this corporeal realm than I because of how you've adapted. You were born on Earth, I was born prior to there being Earth. These Nephilim are, almost entirely, like a man in how they are locked within this corporeal plane. Given more generations, more interbreeding, they will simply be humans with a small flare of 'other.' No different than a genetic mutation."

"Sir, I'm not sure what this has to do with finding the seventh."

"The Seventh, Timothy Reaux, lost his mind not long after he met with you. You have to imagine, Robert, that a human mind isn't meant to handle things of a demonic or angelic nature. Humans portray angels as being children with wings but all passages int he bible will tell you that the sight of an angel is overwhelming. Men have fainted, fallen to their knees. They are beyond what a human can imagine. Poor Timothy just saw too much, it's not an uncommmon Nephilim ailment, given their type of work."

"So... he's dead?"

"No." The demon snorted, which was a powerful gesture because of the size of his nose. It conveyed his annoyance with Robert perfectly. He grew quiet and let the demon continue, "When a Nephilim loses grip on his mind, he does things which damage the image and purpose of his order and then he must be contained. To kill one of their own, even sick as he is, would be like putting to death a POW for having PTSD. It would be killing those who had paid the ultimate price for the cause. Timothy Reaux is in a highly protected and hidden facility, the likes of which you will be unable to reach by yourself."

Robert leaned back in his seat and sighed, his arms crossing over his chest as he considered the news.

The demon's large index finger, which now seemed to have a nail again, tapped on the table top, "You have done well, Robert, misleading, redirecting, and drawing out the Nephilim one by one to kill them on your own terms. You will need a new tactic if you're going to get to this one. You cannot rely on anyone, you cannot get near the facility, and Timothy Reaux may never recover enough mentally to rejoin the population."

"Sir?"

The demon's black eyes blinked slowly. Robert wasn't sure how he knew that the demon looked at him since the iris, pupil and cornea all seemed to be black. There was, perhaps, a slight rise where the iris and pupil were that made the wet shine of his gaze adjust, telling him that the demon was regarding him carefully when he spoke.

"I am honored that you would share so much knowledge with me, and I am honored that you would take time to visit someone so low to you as I am, but I do not understand why." An echo of Remmy's warning to keep to himself, to stay closed, sounded off in the back of his mind.

It was impossible to say if a water buffalo could smile, only that he got exactly that impression, "I like you, Robert. You're like... watching an ant try to crawl out of a sink. Something about seeing your tiny little arms and body struggling makes me want to reach a finger down and help." As if to demonstrate, the index finger of the demon touched the back of his hand. It caused the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck to rise. Something inside of him stirred uncomfortable. Then the demon's index finger lifted away, "Beyond that, you're entertaining to watch and you've been more capable at dispatching Nephilim than actual, demon soldiers I have known. You take your time, you study, you do it quietly. But... you are starting to stagnate. You've been looking for that seventh for five years and it was time someone gave you a clue. Not that it will be much help."

The demon stood up and he thought he might hit his head on the ceiling of his cheap apartment. It compelled him to stand up as well, not wanting to feel as dwarfed by the demon as he did, "Thank you, Sir."

"Beyond that... I fed on revenge, and hate. You do not, it's a slight perversion of your nature to pursue this as you have. And though your struggle is small, it is potent, it is personal." The water buffalo yawned.

Then he was gone, as if he'd never existed at all. Robert swore, sitting down at the table and staring at the pictures. The demon was right. He had given him a clue, but all the clue said was that there was little chance of getting any further with this one. Robert frowned and dialed the private eye.

"What's so important that you had to tell me right away, but also had to wait until we got to my apartment?" Robert was excited about the message from the P.I., but he wasn't ready to let himself be excited. Not until he saw something worth quickening his blood.

"You have to see it. If I tell you you'll think I'm nuts but you have to see it." The demon was almost stammering. When they got into his apartment he went to lay things out on the kitchen table, only to find it covered. He rerouted himself to the couch and laid several packets on top of the coffee table.

When he sat on the couch, Robert sat next to him. He picked some things off of his coffee table, putting them aside to give the investigator a little more space. The packets of paper were in yellow envelopes, held together by a metal clip that splayed open to keep the flap in place. He pinched up the metal and started drawing out handfuls of photos.

"There's a connection, Robert. It took me a long time to see it but when I was looking for your Nephilim I spent a lot of time looking at a lot of Nephilim. I feel like I know more about them than I should."

"Did you find Timothy Reaux?"

"Not exactly," the demon held his hand up to keep Robert from standing or getting impatient, "but I think I found a lead. Look."

The demon started to spread the pictures out along the face of the coffee table. With a red marker he started to circle something on them as he spoke, "I keep seeing this come up. This symbol. It's not on all the Nephilim, but it's on the one you're looking for. I think it means something."

"What, that they're best friends? Friends will often get similiar tattoos, as a sign of bonding." Robert remembered seeing the mark on the Nephilim's hand when he had stabbed him, the metal of his blade cutting into the dumpster his back had been against.

"No," the investigator said, sternly. He lifted up the photo and pointed at it, "It's like they're the black ops of Nephilim or something. They're definitely not friends or all bachelors that went to the same wedding. This is a symbol of their language, it has meaning but... I'm not sure what. Timothy Reaux isn't just a Nephilim, he's a Nephilim that was part of something else."

"So?"

"SO!" the investigator shuffled some photos around and laid out three, "These are the Nephilim that also have that mark. One of them was here, in New York, but I can't find him anymore. The other one recently passed away but I'm still looking. I think the only way you're going to reach Timothy, or have any way of getting to him, is gonna be through that guy." The demon tapped the top of Crispin's photo where the symbol on his neck was circled.

"He's not going to help me," Robert frowned, putting his elbows to his knees as he looked at the photos, "It's just another dead end."

There was something cold, a pressure in the air and then the voice, "Maybe I can help."

http://i296.photobucket.com/albums/mm189/wordsburieddeep/mahishasuri_zpsoon3le4i.jpg

The investigator, a demon of a caliber no more or less than Robert's, stammered at the appearance of one of the originals. The demon with the head of a water buffalo and the elongated corpse body of a man. He was sitting in the lounging chair that was angled towards the coffee table, his legs crossed. It looked as if he was so large that his hips were tightly tucked between the arm rests.

The shiny black marbles of his eyes went to the investigator, who he dismissed with a wave of his hand. The demon bowed several times, groped for his bag and sped out Robert's apartment. Seeing that the other demon was so afraid of...Mahisu... this original demon, reassured Robert that he hadn't been overly cautious when he felt the unease in his stomach.

"You... want to help me."

"It's been three years, Robert. Your struggle up the side of the sink is beginning to lose its potency for me. You had been like a port wine to me, now you are watery and weak like an amaeteur trying to make wine. You need to be pointed in the right direction."

"Sir... the right direction?"

"Rhy'Din."

"Rye...den?"

"Yes. This is the Nephilim you want to pursue," he leaned forward, picking up Crispin's photo, "Though it won't be easy." He looked over the photo and to Robert, "He's stronger than you, he has a developed network of not just friends, but other Nephilim. The odds are stacked against you."

"The odds were always stacked against me, how is this any different?"

"You want a Nephilim to help you find another Nephilim so you can kill him?" Mahishasura let out a laugh, which seemed to fold and wave under the thick lips of his furry head. He pointed across the room to the kitchen table where Robert's pack of cigarettes were. Robert stood up and crossed the room, getting his pack of cigarettes. He moved to stand in front of the original, put the cigarette between the demon's lips and light it before he sat back down on the couch.

"I don't know." Robert frowned. He had only ever had to kill the Nephilim that were his targets, not work with them. The Nephilim didn't work with demons, that was a fundamental part of the fissure between them.

"Robert," the end of the cigarette glowed before be continued, "the Nephilim isn't going to care what you're looking for or why. He's just as soon not be involved and shrug at you. There is always torture."

Robert frowned, "I don't torture people."

"You kill them?"

"It's... different. What I do is quick, purposeful. I'm not trying to slowly draw information or confessions out of them. I know what they did, there's no debate and I don't need to hear that they're sorry or that they were just doing their job."

"That's fair," Mahishasura uncrossed his legs only to cross them again, this time with the other leg taking the top. Robert hadn't noticed until that point that though his rotted body wore old, beaten clothes, he was barefoot. It looked like dried patches of blood were there, along with various knicks and marks through the callouses built from walking. That seemed strange to him, he had seen the demon do very little walking but his feet were worn as if it was what he did all day.

"So..." Robert folded his arms across his chest, leaning back into the couch, "I could just explain, he might sympathize."

The head of the water buffalo snorted, "It's his job to kill demons, he's not going to give a shit if some feelings were hurt along the way. That's the nature of the work he does. You have two options, Robert. You can try to convince or persuade the situation so that he helps you find that Nephilim, or you torture him until he tells you."

"Maybe he can be persuaded."

The ear of the water buffalo flapped as if Robert had said something that was unamusing. The large, bulging eyes narrowed on him. He thought he heard the lion's tail squish against the floor thoughtfully before the demon spoke, "It's not... impossible. He is in Rhy'Din." His inspection of Crispin's photo ceased, he set it down, "Rhy'Din is riddled with your kind, along with vampires and werewolves. The whole gambit. From what I know the Nephilim there aren't killing on unprovoked principle like the ones you're used to dealing with. That means he's been having to review demons case by case."

"He could be different. If he knew what I knew about Timothy--"

"Stop it." The demon snorted, his annoyed gaze turning on Robert, "He isn't going to help you. End of story. If he helps you it will be because he is doing something that he wants to do, that he wants to correct or look into. If he feels the cause is his, he will take it up. At the very least he may show you where Timothy Reaux is being kept if his curiousity is piqued enough. But he won't be lovingly linking arms with you as you skip to that destination. You will not be allies, or comrades, and he may kill you anyway at the end of it."

"He may?"

"I'm not a mind reader," Mahishasura's ears relaxed. He drew on the cigarette, which still seemed impossibly small near his lips, and breathed out, "I'm a demon who feeds on anger and revenge. I know that Nephilim," he pointed to the image of Crispin on the table, "because of it. But I don't know him. It is no different than people who rubber neck to see a car wreck. I see the wreck. It looked bad. I don't know if anyone is dead or why it happened, just that it is."

"What should I do?"

"Hope for the best, plan for the worst. That's what this generation says, right?" Somehow the head of the water buffalo smiled at him. Robert watched him as he put out his cigarette in an old glass that had tea in it from before. The demon opened up his palms in the air, the same way people do when they're testing for rain, "Be careful, Robby. You're alone, and that's good because it keeps things simple. It is bad because... you're outnumbered. The other demons are betting on the outcome. I've bet that you will live. Most of the others think you will die."

Robert swallowed, trying to keep himself from being impatient, "Yes but how do I plan for the worst?"

"The worst would be you having to torture him until he told you where Timothy Reaux is or where they house the unstable Nephilim. Both locations are something he would be considered traitorous for telling you. Learn how he handles a battle. If there's a problem, see if he shows up alone or brings someone. See what happens if he's sick and acting weird. Who helps him... how much will they help? Does he still kill demons for money? Learn about him, you will need every scrap of inforrmation you can get if you're going to try to capture and torture him."

"I don't want to torture anyone."

"It's a perversion of your nature. At the very least, the sorrow in him should make you comfortable around him."

Robert looked out the smalll window over the kitchen sink. The view wasn't beautiful. It overlooked the parking lot. He sighed, "I just need this last piece."

"He has it. Maybe you can magically get him to give a shit about your problems or what Timothy Reaux has done... but it isn't likely."

"What do you think will happen?"

Mahishasura snorted again, leaning back in the chair. Robert thought that it creaked so much, as if the fabric and wood meant to crackle under his weight. He found that he was holding his breath as he waited for the demon to respond. Moments passed and then finally he said, "I think you will try to appeal to him, and he will reject you. Because he is aware of you, capturing him will become sloppy and difficult and his friends and small network of Nephilim in the Rhy'Din area will be too much for you to contend with. You may have him for a hour, maybe a day, to torture, and then you'll realize that you tortured him in the wrong way and that he'll never tell you what you wanted. Then his friends will descend and you will be dead."

Robert swallowed, looking from the parking lot and back to the demon, "Tortured him the wrong way?"

"Crispin is like you in that you both prize your loved ones very much, but can tolerate and accept pain and death for yourself. You should never torture him, he will be okay with the pain. He might even think he deserves it. Torturing someone he loves... though..." Mahishasura shrugged.

"I couldn't do that."

"It's time to decide, Robby, just what you're willing to do to wrap this up."

"I'll find a way, I think... I think I can." He swallowed, unfolding his arms so that his hands gripped his knees, "I think I can get him to show me where Timothy is."

The eyes of the water buffalo regarded him without humor, then the demon laughed and his hands motioned through the air, "I certainly hope you do. At this point I'll be winning all the bets placed against you, which are quite numerous. And Robby? What if you can't persuade a Nephilim... what then?"

He looked at the demon and then down to the photos, "Hope for the best, plan for the worst."

(mahishasuri's image was made using work from Wayne Ramsy)

This is the end of Robert's thread. His story picks up in the Dragon Spine, in Ave Atque Vale, "The Good Times are Killin' Me." See below.

Click here to read.