There are pathways, dear reader, that defy understanding. They worm and wind through the gaps in reality, tunneling in and out like maggots feasting on the corpse of a dead God. To travel on these roads is a terrible thing, dear reader, for they belong to old things and elder magics that predate humankind itself. One can never know what arcane horror might lurk in the passages. It was through one of these weirding ways that the demon prince Soneillon traveled on his dread mission for the sorcerer Thorm Athow. Drunk on the ghastly magic of the ritual he performed with the lifeblood of Melinda Athow, Soneillon made his way through these passages brimming with stolen magic so much that he was able to ward off the predatory monsters that feast upon unwary travelers of these lines.

Bursting out from the shadows, Soneillon walks leisurely toward the exhausted girl at the other end of the room. Stepping lightly, he skips over the prone figures of a giant metal tigress and a black figure holding a dagger. With a snigger, he kicks the black figure before making his way across the room. Then, with a grand and mocking bow he says to the apprehensive Eldritch slumped against the wall facing him, “Hello!”

Weakly, she looks up at him with bleary eyes and asks in a tired voice, “Who are you?”

Soneillon pauses to think for a minute, cocking his head to the side and stroking his chin. Then he smiles and replies, “Soneillon. Demon prince of hate.” He then extends his hand out and continues with, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Belinda Athow I presume?”

Staring at him for a full ten seconds, Eldritch is speechless. Then, she leans her head back and laughs until she snorts. Carefully letting her head rest against the wall, she answers with a laugh, “Nope! You got the wrong girl. So you can go back to Hell please.”

Frowning, Soneillon cocks his head to the side and mutters to himself, “So the wizard lied? Or...” trailing off, he leans down at the waist until his head is eye level with Eldritch. Then he grabs her chin and forces her to meet his gaze. The two lock eyes for a minute, Soneillon searching for something in her blue irises.

Abruptly, he stands upright and blinks a few times. Then he says with a chuckle, “Well isn’t that interesting?”

“Isn’t what?”

Waving away her question, Soneillon begins to pace and talk to himself for a minute before stopping, doing an about face, and urgently asking Eldritch, “You aren’t possessed, are you?” his voice lilts upward at the end with a hopeful tone. But before she has the chance to reply, he adds, “Because that would be a real shame. I was lead to believe that the spirit of the dagger, the spirit I made a deal to hunt down, was actually present on this plane of existence. But from the smell of you, you’re no blood relation to the wizard. And if you aren’t a blood relation then I can’t kill you, and if I can’t kill you then I can’t uphold my end of the bargain. Which would be a real let down, because I was looking forward to all the free time I would have after you were dead. So have you got any spirits knocking around in your head? Because if you don’t then I should be able to kill you.” Soneillon ends expectantly, waiting for Eldritch to answer.

Instead, she simply stares at him for a minute before bursting out into another round of hysteric laughter. “God!” she exclaims as she throws her hands into the air, “why me?!”

Blinking owlishly, Soneillon answers slowly, as if talking to a particularly stupid child, “Because I made a deal with the wizard Thorm Athow to kill all his living relatives. The magic that I’m using to track them down led me to you. Ergo, I must kill you, fulfil the terms of the deal, and then I will be free to fuel the rise of a new wave of hate-inspired terrorism and violence that will consume this nation.” Shaking his head, Soneillon mutters, “Keep up, will you?”

Eldritch leans back as if to laugh forlornly once more, but then her head jerks forward and she stares up at the demon with intense eyes. Urgently, she asks, “All of them? Am I the first?”

Distracted, the demon waves his hand and replies flippantly, “Of course not. Why would I start in America, kill you, go to Europe, kill her, and then come back to have fun?”

“No,” whispers Eldritch in a strangely adult voice.

“Yes,” muses Soneillon as he paces back and forth.

“Melly…”

Snapping his fingers, Soneillon raises a finger and says in a triumphant tone, “That’s it! I can just force you to bring out whatever spirit is possessing you! Then I can kill you and get on with inciting a pogrom!” Rubbing his hands together, he turns back toward the grieving Eldritch.

Tears running down her cheeks, Eldritch whispers, “Goddess, I’m so sorry Melinda.”

“Don’t be!” says Soneillon in a perky voice. “She suffered.” Then he cocks his head to the side and says, “Or do humans say she didn’t suffer? I always forget which one is better.” Soneillon contemplates this for a few seconds, stroking his chin before shrugging and saying, “Well I suppose I can just show you, since it’s the same ritual killing. So would you mind bringing out your spirit? I’m in a bit of a rush, you see there’s a gathering of Klansmen I’d simply love to hop in on. They’re going to hunt down a n-”

Suddenly, Soneillon stops. Then he twists his head to the side, peering intently at Eldritch. Leaning over suddenly at the waist, he bends down to bring himself eye to eye with the sitting girl. Then he inhales deeply and shivers, his eyeballs rolling up and into his skull. “Now you smell just like her!” He exults in a cheerful tone as he runs a finger along her cheek. “Goodness you are just brimming with the smell of sorcery, aren’t you?” He leans back up, snapping upright with a sudden motion. “I’m tempted, really I am just tempted,” Soneillon intones happily with a shake of his head and a wag of his finger, “you smell like the whipped cream on fresh pie!” He then bars his teeth and says, “I could just eat you up.”

On the ground, Eldritch shifts, her facial features moving and taking on a more youthful cast. Her expression turns from grief to impetuous anger. With a snarl, she says, “Get in line! Becca already took a bite, and if she couldn’t take me down neither will some half-rate spawn of the underworld!”

“You faced Becca?” inquired Soneillon in a fascinated tone. “My that’s intriguing. Is she as beautiful as they say?” Before Eldritch has a chance to reply, he hushes her and says in a reverent tone, “No! Don’t tell me.” Leaning away, Soneillon covers his eyes with the back of his arm and throws his head back in an exaggerated fashion. Then he leans forward as if to confide in Eldritch and says in a conspiratorial voice, “She’s one human I feel much safer avoiding and if you tell me I’ll be tempted to search her out.” With a pitying expression, Soneillon sighs and says, “But my oh my, that is one diabolic babe!”

Then he leans back down and takes another inhale as if trying to slake himself with the scent of Eldritch. When he does, however, a confused expression flits across his face before he straightens up with a puzzled look. “You smell different,” he says, cogs turning in his head. “Almost like you did when I first got here, now that I think about it.” Circling around the sitting girl Soneillon paces while studying her. Then he asks. “Are you trading places with whatever spirit is possessing you? That’s just fascinating! The level of trust and harmony it would take to willingly offer up control like that is practically unheard of!” Then he leans in, bringing his face right up close to Eldritch again as he asks in an expectant tone, “Do you mind answering a brief survey before I kill you? This is a stellar opportunity for me to gather some data for the university back home. My old professor would kill for the chance to experiment on you!”

Bemused, Eldritch murmurs, “I have to admit, you are nothing like what I expected a demon to be, and yet you are exactly what I expected.”

Taking a seat on the downed figure of Ginger, Soneillon steeples his fingers and says with a laugh, “Well I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. Eternity is too boring without a little passion.” He flips his hand upward in a fanciful motion as he finishes speaking and pauses, staring at the girl with a wide grin. Then he sits down again and scoots closer to Eldritch, saying, “I find myself rather fond of all this,” he motions to her whole body, “mortal eccentricity.”

Eldritch gives him a feral snarl as she spits back, “I’m going to end you, do you hear me? I am going to send you back to Hell and lock the door.”

Ignoring her, Soneillon continues unabated, “So here’s my offer, I won’t kill you.” He pauses, then waves at Eldritch and says, “Well, I can’t kill you, but my offer is directed toward the spirit in your head. I won’t kill either of you in fact. Instead, I’m going to have fun with this city, shake things up and whip up the congregation, so to speak. We’ll see how dedicated you are to this hero thing when they start tearing you to pieces.”

“Heroine.”

Soneillon frowns and looks down at her asking, “What?”

“I’m a heroine,” says Eldritch, her voice rising. “Not a hero. And the people in this city won’t play along with whatever sick game you’re planning.”

“Well,” Soneillon replies with a shrug, “you know what they say, ‘hate springs eternal.’”

“That’s hope,” corrects Eldritch, “and I don’t need to make deals with demons, I can beat you whenever, wherever.”

Springing to his feet, Soneillon claps his hands together and squeals saying, “Good! Good! That’s exactly the kind of spunk I want to see in you. I’m looking forward to this.”

With a wave of his hand, Soneillon reopens the weirding way and makes his way to the shadow portal. Turning back he adds, “It looks like you’ve had an exciting day. Athow’s been waiting an eternity to escape his prison so I don’t think a week or so will really be that much of a delay. I’ll give you a week to rest up and prepare before I start making moves in earnest. Ta ta for now!” He then snaps his fingers and vanishes.

Staring at the place where he vanished, Hailey says aloud, “Bel, I think we’ve got a problem! It’s time for us to have a conversation about your family, particularly the parts about your cousin and this wizard, Thorm Athow.”

A conversation that will have to wait until next week, dear reader, for the police would like a chance to lock up the wayward king and his subjects, the queens, who lay defeated upstairs. That and Rabbit has a tail (or is it tale?) to tell regarding the fate of the second witchy book retrieved from St. Cecilia high! A story reserved for next week… “In the Pale Moonlight!”