Arrival Of The Exiled Chapter 1!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was under a dark, rain filled sky that officer Gregg Ackerman came across the child, mutilated almost beyond recognition. The playground stood vacant. The sand caked and monkey bars slippery. Water made the jungle gym glisten. Some of the play set had fallen into disrepair but neighborhood children still came. This was where the little boy had likely been taken.
Gregg walked through the crime scene, kerchief in hand. The New Los Angeles police department had the entire block barricaded but that didn’t stop nosy neighbors and reporters. Nothing ever did. He waved them back, was met with a half dozen phones pointed in his direction.
“Anything to get the shot.” Ackerman spat. He glanced over at the beams and slide, the swing set that sat inert, too still as if frozen in place. He found himself shuddering.
“It’s not the cold is it?” officer Ross Martson asked beside him.
“A different kind of cold maybe.” Ackerman said with a humorless smile. “My insides are chilled.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Will you talk to the press?” Ross asked. “They’re starting to gather.”
“This place is a crime scene.” Ackerman growled. “That little boy just had his insides ripped out. I could care less about the goddamn news networks.”
“I’ll talk to them.” Ross said, a tone of frustration in his voice.
Ackerman turned back to the body, began taking pictures. He felt macabre, like the body wasn’t actually real but a wax dummy. Something you’d find in an art house museum. The child’s head had been turned all the way around. So although he lay on his stomach, the boy’s terror filled eyes stared up at the clouds. His mouth was open but a bloody mess where his tongue had been taken. Ackerman bent down and inspected the face.
“Has the kid’s tongue been found or did he take it with him?”
Ross looked at the playground. “Nothing but the rain and sand might have it covered. Parts of him are everywhere.”
Ackerman sighed, ducked under the crawl tube. He shimmied forward until he was under the big toy and let his eyes adjust to the shadows. He heard the rain bash onto the tube and it reminded him of a bass drum. His attention came at last to a smeared word written on the side of the equipment in sharp, angular script. Lamia.
“Anything?” Ross asked.
“Yeah.” Ackerman shambled up and to his feet.
Silence held them as crime scene investigators entered the perimeter. Each of them took a look at the body but didn’t let their eyes linger too long. It seemed sacrilegious, Ackerman knew.
Ackerman staggered back to his patrol car, felt the impact of the boy still on him. He fumbled with a cigarette while retrieving his phone from the glove box. He dialed quickly. 
“Yeah.” A familiar voice said after the first ring.
“Hank. Gotta minute?” Ackerman asked.
A slight pause. “What’s up?”
“You ever heard of Lamia?”
“Is it a food?”
“An autograph on the side of a playground crawl tube.”
“Is there a body?” Hank asked.
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“Pretty sick. Kid missing body parts, gutted bad.”
“Don’t say anything to the press, I’m on my way.”
Thirty minutes later, Hank Dolan dipped his head under police tape and was immediately blocked before he could get a look at the crime scene.
“You can’t be here, Dolan.” Ross said. “You’re not a cop anymore remember?”
“Talk to Ackermann. He called me.” Hank growled.
“Fuck that. I’m talking to you. There’s still a lot of cops that remember what you did last year. You can’t turn your back then come back like nothing happened. You killed cops asshole. Get the fuck out of here.”
“What’s the matter Ross? Were you on Pious’s payroll too?”
“Fuck you-”
Just then, Ackermann grabbed Hank by the arm and spun away from what was quickly spiraling into a physical confrontation.
“I hate that guy.” Hank said.
“Oh, he knows it.” Ackermann said with a grin.
Hank tried to push the memories of last year out of his mind but it was impossible. He couldn’t just forget how close he had come to getting himself killed while trying to protect Sadie Fuller. Then to find out Sadie herself was the most dangerous woman in the city had complicated things further. A splotch of red on the underside of the crawl tube brought him back around. He swallowed hard and looked at his feet. There were patches of wet clothing and was that hair? He stepped away from the tube and stared out at the playground. It took a few seconds before he realized what he was seeing. There were body parts strewn here and there. They were scattered as if the victim had literally been torn apart and his limbs just strewn wherever.
“It’s a wild animal attack.” He said.
“No, it’s not.” Ackermann responded. “Look.”
He led Hank back underneath the tube and together they stared at the word Lamia scrawled in blood.
“What the fuck is Lamia?” Ackermann asked.
“I would guess a name.” Hank took out his phone and punched up the Internet. “Goddammit.”
“What?”
“It is. This one is Descended.”
Ackermann looked out at the playground and shook his head. “Sure?”
“A hundred percent. It’s Greek, Descended with the others.”
“Same as last year?”
Hank’s mind flashed to Sadie Fuller. “No. This one is different. You guys are gonna have your hands full.”
“You’re gonna consult right?” Ackermann said sharply.
“I’m not a cop anymore. Ross is right about that much.” 
“You’ve had experience tracking these things. Hank, how the fuck do I go about catching a Descendant that eats goddamn children?”
“I’d start by checking missing persons reports and the morgues. Good luck, pal.”
“Are you serious?”
Hank held up his hands in a pacifying fashion. He backed up and ducked under the police tape.
“Don’t come back.” Ross smirked.
“Tell the Church of Man I said hello.” Hank responded without turning his head.
“Fuck you, Dolan.”
Hank jumped into his Sedan and looked back at the crime scene that was quickly being cordoned off. He felt a chill all the way up his spine. For the first time in the past year, he was relieved to be a private investigator. This case was sure to get ugly and he wanted no part of it. 


Lilac and Lemon. Sadie Fuller woke up at the Lotus. At least, that’s what it used to be called. Now it was a sea of yellow flowers swaying like feathers in the breeze. She could smell them. But these weren’t lilacs. They were some kind of daffodil or tulip. The grounds used to be maintained, back when the Maharishi-ten, Japanese Descendant goddess, still lived.
Sadie closed her eyes and let Kali come forth. She felt pressure as the Indian goddess stretched her arms. Kali bit her tongue. Hard. Sadie winced as blood gushed into her mouth. Kali looked out through Sadie’s eyes and breathed in the mountain air. “Does this look familiar to you?” She asked. Kali inspected the bear statue that marked the entrance to the Maharishi-ten’s compound. It was dull gray with fangs. Parts had started to chip off as though the demise of the goddess was now signaling the end of her images and symbols as well. Kali kicked at the pebbles on the ground. She is a stranger to me. Sadie nodded, pushed the goddess deep inside once again.
They had started to take walks. All around the estate, Sadie would walk with Kali, acquainting herself with the goddess that had caused her to kill thirty or more the previous year. It wasn’t my fault. Sadie thought. Somewhere she heard Kali snicker.
She dipped her hand under a tree branch and sat cross legged amongst the flowers. She was soft, careful not to crush the pedals. At the horizon, the morning sun bathed the estate in shadowy purple. She picked out a blossom, held it to her nose. The fragrance made her feel light-headed. Perhaps it was residual grace from the goddess that had planted it.
The sound of footsteps walking down the dirt driveway caused her to look up. And there stood Nephthys. Descended Egyptian Goddess, she had been looking after Sadie since her stay began. Sadie assumed she was there to make sure Kali didn’t kill anybody else. Although she had pangs of resentment, she understood. Kali had been an unstoppable force of nature.
Nephthys stopped just short of the blossoms and glanced around. Her dark eyes measured everything as if she were a falcon taking in what lay below.
“You coming up for breakfast?” She asked.
Sadie smiled. “Yeah, I’m starved.”
Nephthys came close, put a hand on Sadie’s head. She felt pressure as the goddess squeezed her scalp ever so lightly. Sadie sighed weakly.
“The caretaker comes today.” Nephthys said.
Sadie glanced up the driveway beyond the blossoms toward the three tiered pagoda that lay a mile up the road. Her back stiff, she took a deep breath and noticed her fingers clenched.
“You know how I feel about visitors.”
“This can’t be helped. It’s his generosity that is allowing us a respite from the city.”
“But Kali.”
“Kali will have to be controlled.” Nephthys sniffed. “The goddess can only exercise her will if you allow it.”
Sadie gritted her teeth. I will not be invisible. She felt her head swim, closed her eyes. “You know that’s not true.”
Nephthys looked into Sadie’s eyes. “She must be made to understand.”
Sadie swallowed. “Oh, I think she understands. She just doesn’t care. It’s compulsion.”
Nephthys nodded, running a hand through Sadie’s glossy black hair.
Out in the distance, a car was making its way up the driveway. A cloud of dust rose up in its wake.
Sadie leaned forward, squinted. “That’s him.”
A hush came over the estate as the pair walked toward the pagoda. Sadie looked directly ahead, her jaw tight. Again, Nephthys ran a hand through her hair, this time giving it a playful tug.
“Hey now.” Sadie said, trying to sound annoyed.
“Sorry Mama.” Nephthys teased. She glanced back at the freshly washed Lexus winding upward. The car skidded to a stop. Fudo San invisible through the window tint.
Nephthys smiled and waved. “Stay calm. Whatever you do, keep the Indian goddess at bay.”


She awoke in the dark. She looked down at her hands. They were milky. She stretched each finger. She reached up, felt her face. It was warm. Heated. Her fingertips felt the contours, the shape. She knew her name. Hecate. But she didn’t recognize her body. The body was a stranger, something fleeting, ghostly. She could still sense the bodiless. They were here too. But they were silent, quieted. She probed out. Yes. They were there but she felt them as if, like her body, they were not hers.
I am Hecate. She thought. Of the Titans. 
Hecate stood. She ran her hands through red woven silk, straightened her back, felt a popping in her spine. A wetness settled on her face. She felt it drip down, warm against her skin. She raised her hands slowly, collected the wetness on her finger. The wetness came from her nose as well. She sniffed. But the world was blurry now. Hecate wiped at her sockets.
She squinted at tawny leaves that had collected around her. She wondered how she’d found herself there. Had she been taken? Staring at the moon, she heard howling. First one or two then a whole chorus. She smiled. But there was a crashing sound as well. She tasted something on her tongue. The orange and brown tree leaves were just an assemblage of many. Perhaps ten to twelve large oaks had all deposited leaves in a disarray. Tree branch shadows spun outward like cold, misshapen fingers. Hecate looked past them and saw the dark churning. A rolling rhythm with beads of white crashed outward, downward. The ground underneath her feet suddenly felt flaccid. Hecate shivered. She watched the ocean waves blast onto the shore for five minutes. She felt them as if they were polishing the surface where they crashed. She looked at the glossy sand and walked out to it. She knelt. It’s cold! She looked right then left then spied a pier a short distance away. She felt a pull towards it. It was a tug somewhere in her psyche. The structure was speckled in lights. From where she stood, they were tiny orbs. They reminded her of stars, like the ones above her head. She wanted to reach out to them. But even more than that, she wanted to taste the ocean.
Hecate slipped out of her simple, sheer garment. She felt it fall down her back and onto the feet. She heard a whistle from somewhere close and observed a mortal man also at the water’s edge. He stared at her, his head slowly shaking.
Hecate’s attention went back to the water; It’s icy grip at her ankles, she waded in. A crash sent the taste of salt onto her tongue. She knew the current was strong, already she was shoved this way and that. She rocked as the waves came on. She jumped headfirst, felt the violent jolt as air was forced out of her lungs. The wave rolled onto her, she felt it like a cutting palpation on her back and legs. She gasped in neck high water, danced back to the water’s edge.
Again Hecate felt the pull and glanced at the lights to her left. She swung left and picking up her dress in stride, headed towards the pull. Hecate plunged down the beach at almost a gallop. She stopped to slip the dress back although she couldn’t really say why. Her nakedness didn’t matter. She found after a few minutes, her legs tired. They trembled and she had to sit. But still that pull called out to her.
What is it? She thought.
Hecate stared up at the full moon and began to mumble an incantation. Her wet hair in her face, she brushed it smoothly back with the back of her hand. Her body shook in the breeze. She spoke aloud but her voice trembled. Quickly she realized her words were having no effect. Nothing was manifesting. Her words might as well have been meaningless. Oh no. She tried again, then again. Nothing. Hecate hesitated, probed out to the bodiless. They were there but faint. They would come but were powerless? Was that true? She felt the power in her lingering. A potential as yet untapped but couldn’t call out to it fully. It was as if her magic was only a vestigial spark of what it had been. She wanted to cry out, rage at the churning black in front of her. She seethed through gritted teeth. The bodiless were apathetic. Their shapes darker than the surrounding night. They waited. What are you waiting for? Help me! But like her magic, the dead existed in abeyance.
Hecate found herself breathing hard and tried to calm herself. She looked out at the pier, it was closer now. She could be underneath it in a short time. She headed towards it, ignoring the cuts on her feet. Soon she looked up at cross beams and smelled rotting wood. Above, she heard others passing by. Their voices echoed off the girder, booming down. Hecate felt the pull again. It was like an itch.
“You shouldn’t be here.” A voice said in the dark. Hecate startled, she hadn’t noticed the man sitting at one of the giant beams to her right. He dipped his head in measured civility. His eyes never left her though. Even in the dark, she felt them on her.
“I’m allowed passage anywhere.” She said.
“Nah. I don’t think so. Not wearing that.”
Hecate looked down at the dress that clung to her wet skin. She saw breasts pulling the fabric tight, her pubic area doing the same. The man took a step forward. He tried to smile, rubbed at his lips. He had dark, glittery eyes and a hard, lined face. His wiry frame gave him the appearance of a cricket.
As he got close, Hecate backed further into the dark, toward the adjacent beam opposite to where he had been sitting. She walked back deliberately, turning to her left and then left again. The man followed slowly.
“You shouldn’t have come down here.” She heard him say. “It’s not safe.”
Hecate ducked behind another beam, crouched and took a few paces back towards where he had approached her. On her hands and knees, she crawled forward. Again her mind was pulled by that strange sensation to head further down the water’s edge.
A hand came down and gripped her by the hair. Hecate was thrown back into a beam. She felt warmth where her skull had cracked against the wooden support.
“Fucking bitch!” The man punched her hard in the stomach, then laid atop her, his hand on her mouth.
“You dirty fucking hooker. You meeting a john here?”
Hecate squirmed underneath him, felt hot breath on her face. His other hand on her breasts, he gyrated his hip into her, grinding against her until she felt him hard against her inner thigh.
“Don’t you make a fucking sound.” He whispered. But it was too late. Hecate smashed the rock she had been holding into his face. He screamed as blood spurted from his nose. Hecate felt it spray onto her face and tasted it on her lips. She brought the rock and thrashed him on the side of the head. He toppled back, against the pier beam and gurgled something incoherent. She brought the rock down again. Then again. Hecate leaped toward him, strode silently to stand within kissing distance then brought the rock down multiple times in quick succession. It was a savage array of blows. As she looked down at the mess at her feet, she felt the itch again. She closed her eyes tight until it passed.
Hecate bent close until she was at the man’s ear.
“Bodiless.” She said quietly. “I need answers.”
She sat him upright, his wet, glazed eyes stared up towards the bottom of the pier. Hecate frowned. She turned his head towards her.
“Can you hear me?”
She waited. The man didn’t stir. Hecate stared down at him, chewed at her lip.
“Bodiless!” She snapped. “You will liaise with me!”
Again she waited. They felt faint, just out of reach. The man coughed. Blood sprayed out in a mist. Hecate jerked his chin forward until she was looking into his eyes. “What has happened? Is this the Titans seeking retribution?”
The corpse in front of her gurgled softly. His mouth moving faintly. Hecate bent her ear to his mouth.
“Tell me departed, what is happening?”
The man’s mouth widened as if he was going to take a bite of an apple then a voice that hadn’t been his in life uttered. “You are in front of the veil.”
Hecate gasped and stood quickly. Of course. Why hadn’t she discerned it?
She looked south, felt the itch come back. Hecate went back to the water’s edge and washed her hands and feet. She ducked her head for good measure. The veil is asunder. She thought. Slowly, in ankle deep water, the goddess Hecate began to walk south.

Hecate and Sadie chapter excerpt

Sadie stepped into the nightclub and immediately felt closed in. After the wide spaces of the Lotus, a dinghy, hazy filled room with almost no light felt too much like the Basement. Her mind went back to that fateful night over a year ago and shuddered.
Nephthys took her hand and led her to a corner away from the blasting speakers.
“I’m going to get us some beers. Stay here.” She said.
“What are we doing here?” Sadie moaned.
“Until we can get a hold of Hank, we need to be someplace public.
With that, the Egyptian goddess looked towards the front door. Afternoon light seeped in from the sides and bottom making the entrance look otherworldy in the darkened club. She pulled a compact out of her backpack. Sadie leaned in involuntarily. Nephthys scowled at her face in the mirror.
“Do I look that bad?”
“Like somebody just kicked the shit out of you.” Sadie said with a weak smile.
“Look who’s talking.” Nephthys smiled then grimaced.
“Yeah, but I took his eye.” Kali said through Sadie’s mouth. Nephthys glanced at her friend. It was always a mystery with Sadie just how much control she really had. Sometimes it felt like talking to a marionette.
“Got anything else in that bag?” Sadie asked.
“Take it to the bathroom. There’s probably a half a gram left from the other night.”
Sadie licked her lips and snapped the compact shut. Nephthys watched her while scanning the room. “Try Hank again.” She said. “I don’t want to stay too long here. It will look weird.”
“I don’t think anybody could possibly be weirded out by us.”
She was right. The club was one of those goth inspired places that boomed with black lipstick and industrial rock music. Across the main floor, dancers strutted their wares in cages. Most were heavily tattooed and pierced. They shook their asses while men fumbled around slipping tips through the steel bars. Sadie thought of Freya and pushed the image of her friend out of her mind. She watched as Nephthys took a small staircase down to the bar floor and motioned for the barkeep. Still watching her friend, she auto-dialed Hank’s phone for the third time.
No response. At the sound of his voice message, she put a hand across the phone to shield it from outside noise. “Hey, it’s me. We left the Lotus.***** came.” She paused. “He messed me up pretty bad, baby. Call me.”
She put the phone away and watched a small group, maybe ten or fifteen people began converging near the center of the room. They were young, no older than herself, both men and women. All wore black, some robes that must have been breathtakingly hot. Her attention shifted shifted back to Nephthys who had just gotten two beers and was also staring at the crowd as she approached the corner booth.
“What is it?” She asked.
Sadie shook her head. She took a long pull off the beer and put it against her cheek. The coolness seeped into her bruised skin. She sighed and rubbed it on her forehead and eyes. In the center of the room, the small group had now grown to twenty or more. They made a ring, enclosed within one another. Some of the women were serpentine, slowly moving their hips around each other. As Sadie watched, an inner circle began to move opposite the main giving an eerie living effect, as if it were undulating or pulsating. To Sadie, they looked like a murmuration of birds, shifting from a circle to an hourglass shape and back. Both circles thickened like skin or maybe scales as the moving bodies coalesced into a single unit. Then from the outer circle, four stepped out. Each faced in a different direction. One for north, one for south, one for east and one for west. Then each pulled out what looked like a silver blade.

Hecate tried to visualize her friend as she stepped into the darkened room and squinted to see better. She had worn a white tank top and cutoffs and immediately felt stupid when she saw the ocean of black attire. It’s emo. She thought and debated leaving already. Stephanie would never come here. This isn’t her type of place. But was it? Her friend had been showing changes recently. She had refused to be subservient in their bedroom. The bed ties had been ignored. Hecate didn’t like it, she felt a pang of jealousy. At the very least she could say if there was a new boyfriend. Hecate strode to a booth and sat down hard. She willed the bodiless to her but knew immediately that something was wrong. Although she could see the greenish black hue of their silhouettes, they seemed reluctant. They were troubled. She willed them again and again they wanted to refuse. “What the hell?” Hecate pushed harder, letting her mind visualize the entire club. They would come to her. They would come when summoned and depart when banished. Then she heard a voice in her ear. Out of the corner of her eye, a hazy shade was near. No, my priestess. What? Hecate turned her head towards it.
“What is the matter?” She said irritably. Something is here. A Darkness. The bodiless said. A void. We won’t go near it.
“A void.” Hecate repeated.
Yes, my priestess. We cannot see through it.
 “I’ll avoid nothing.” Hecate said tersely.
As she said this, she noticed a mass of bodies in front of her. They began to move in rhythm. Not unlike the people at the roof top market, they came together in Eros as one. She knew it was her. Her presence was all that was needed for the residual grace of her title. As she watched, she felt her skin vibrate, the hairs on her arms stood on end. She was electric fire. She was the red wand, a lioness. She was blazing summer, mercurial, creation manifest. Her head began to get heavy, she wondered if her eyes were bleeding.
“Is it the coven?”
But the bodiless were gone. They had fled. Hecate darted her head left and right. Nothing. Her bodiless had left her. Then off in the corner, on the other side of the room, she saw a solid darkness.

Sadie took Nephthys’s hand into her own as she watched the swirling bodies change shape into what appeared to be arcane symbols or letters of a long dead language. She stood in awe as it morphed suddenly then changed direction.
“It’s like it’s alive.” Nephthys said softly.
“Yes.”
Sadie saw bursts of green shadow. They would ignite then disappear in random places. They were flecks of hue, tiny illuminations that revealed shapes. Somewhere inside, she felt Kali tense. Sadie felt odd, as if she had accidentally witnessed a crime being committed. Then something moved adjacent to the swarm of bodies. A woman had stood up from the booth nearly directly across the room and was staring right at her.

Hecate stared into the darkness and swore it was staring back at her. She felt it thick as fog and just as blinding. She squinted and began to make sense of what she was seeing. It was a woman, tall and ebony skinned. She had a lithe build and curly brown hair. She’d be beautiful if her face didn’t look to have been beaten. But there was something else. Standing next to the ebony was a veil of blackness. It was a caul of darkness. Hecate stood and stared as it began to reveal itself. A body! Somebody else was there and the darkness had disguised it. As she watched, the veil momentarily slipped and she saw her. Hecate gasped. It was the woman she had seen both in dreams and waking life. Aside from the blue skin and tongue, it was her.
“You!” She screamed.

Sadie felt Kali lunge forward and nearly tumbled. Nephthys had a hold of her arm and began to pull. Sadie felt herself in a reverie and shook her head. Kali, stop! She looked out at the crowd. The woman had screamed and was pointing at her. Sadie felt Nephthys pull her towards the back of the club. Her arm hurt where the Egyptian goddess was squeezing and she tried to pry her fingers off. She stumbled and fell, her knee cracking the wooden flooring.
“What is happening?”
“I don’t know!” Nephthys screamed. “But I think she knows you and I’d bet she’s Descended!”
Sadie veered hard into the wall and again the Descendant flashed before her eyes. She saw broken glass and bloody screams.
Nephthys grabbed her by the shoulder and steered her toward an exit sign at the back of the club. Sadie glanced back to see if the woman was following.
And she was.
“She’s chasing us!”
Sadie screamed as she burst through the dark club into the light of day.

Hecate stopped at the exit sign and watched the women flee like terrified kittens. It didn’t matter. She had seen her. She knew the mortal face and also knew something Descended lay underneath. She willed the bodiless around her. They came albeit reluctant.
“You will follow them.”
We will not. 
“You will.”
No, goddess we cannot. 
“Why?”
We will not. 
“Why are you terrified?”
But there was no answer. Hecate scoffed and walked back into the club.

Hank inhaled, smelled the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. It was rich here, the cemetery a bouquet of purple and yellow flowers, their petals dipped in new paint. It didn’t seem real. As if the grounds were beautified all at once. New Los Angeles cemetery wasn’t the only one of its kind in the city but it was the most expansive. Located underneath the Bay Bridge, it’s ground covered miles and was meticulously maintained.
The girl had agreed to meet but insisted on it being here, amongst the spirits. Hank shuddered involuntarily and stepped further in. He was almost apprehensive, a fetid claustrophobia settled into him. He felt like he was being swallowed. 
Then, as the church bells began to toll, she stepped into the open. Hecate. A Descendant. She looked the same as when she barged into his office weeks earlier. Her dyed red hair was pulled back into a pony tail; Her tiny arms and small waist drowned in the black t-shirt she wore. Hecate’s face was borderline beautiful. She had put on burgundy lipstick that matched her hair and a shade of eye shadow that was the color of pinot noir. To Hank, her eyes were the most expressive. They were large, almost too large for her face and spaced a hair farther apart than was usual, giving her an exotic look.
She stepped up to him, took a sniff.
“Hello Detective.” She said.
“Hello Descendant.” He replied.
She blinked at him, her thick eye lashes gazed up curiously.
“You’re not afraid?” She asked him.
Hank lowered his head, stretched his neck. “I’ve met other Descendants.”
“Oh, yes. I heard that. May I ask which ones?”
“You may not.” He answered. I’ve seen much worse than you though honey. His mind flashed to Sadie Fuller in the blackness of a barn.
Hecate frowned, like a daughter that had just been told no for the first time.
“Are you gonna find Stephanie?”
“I’m going to try.”
Hecate motioned for him to follow and they moved past a row of oak trees that had probably stood for a hundred years. Hank heard a dog howling somewhere close and wild bird flapping above.
“I need to know what happened that night Hecate.”
“Have you talked to Deanna?” Hecate asked quickly.
“I have.”
“Did she tell you what I told her happened?”
“She said I should ask you.”
“Figures.”
Oh, there are issues there. Hank thought. “Is Deanna a problem?”
Hecate laughed. “Not to me. She’s a total fucking cunt to Steph though. But whatever. It’s not my business.“
She stopped. As if unsure to continue or perhaps second guessing what she wanted to say.
“Uh-huh.” Hank prompted. He cleared his throat. “Is it about Ray?”
Hecate looked quickly at him. “How do you know about Ray?”
“I’ve been interviewing people around the neighborhood.”
Hecate smiled devilishly. “Ray’s a con and piece of shit. He tried to fuck me so what does that tell you?”
Holy shit.
“That Deanna has shitty taste in men.”
“That’s for sure.”
They stopped at a gravestone. Hank saw that it was old, the chiseling faint, rubbed out. It would disappear entirely one day. It read: A. Winters.
“Did you know this person?” He asked.
But Hecate’s attention was elsewhere. Her dark eyes focused on something in the distance. As if a memory had surfaced that would have been better off staying submerged.
“Was it Ray?” She asked.
“What?”
“Do you think it was Ray?”
“I was going to ask you that question.”
Hecate turned away, her forehead scrunched up. “I don’t know.”
“Hecate, What exactly happened?”
The trees rustled overhead as Hecate shivered and put her hands in her pockets. Avoiding his eyes, she stared at the ground. Hank led her to the shade and there they sat. He heard a low hum and sat up straight. In the corner of his eye, he saw shadows moving about. Her residuals. He thought.
Hecate stared at him smiling.
She’s doing this. 
He looked her in the eye, both knowing that it was she causing the disturbances in his mind.
“Stop it, Descendant.” He ordered.
“I thought you knew more of us. Surely, you’ve been subject to our grace before?”
“It’s not grace.” He said in a dry voice. “Not anymore.”
“Maybe not. But you don’t look so well Detective.”
“Stop it!”
Hank jumped up and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. “Tell me what happened or I drop this goddamn case right now.”
Hecate shook his hand off of her. “Fine! Don’t touch me again.”
Hank felt that some threshold had passed between them, that he had passed some test he didn’t know she was administering. It was like that with the fallen deities sometimes. You never really knew what they were thinking. It was like being around a tiger, the potentiality for ferocity was always there. He knew whatever he had said or done had been right.
Hecate moved to the cemetery fence and turned to face him. Her back to it, she leaned back. He heard it creak under her weight. The sound unsettled him.
I saw your deck.” She almost whispered. “At your office. The tarot deck. Do you know that I’m the priestess.” She looked up at him, her lips parted just slightly. “I’m she. I could tell you everything. The magic behind the veil.”
“Well, you could start by telling me where your fucking friend is.” He said. Hecate stopped short, looking away dejected.
“It was here.” She said. “We were here when she came.”
“At the cemetery?”
“Yes.”
Hank turned toward her, noticed for the first time the piercing in her bottom lip. How did I miss that?
“Do you like it?” She asked sweetly.
Hank stepped forward. “Stop fucking with me!”
“I think you do.” She said leaning forward.
Hank raised a finger to her face. “What happened?” He demanded.
“She showed up out of nowhere!”
“Who did!” Hank shouted.
Hecate shook her head violently, her tiny fists balled up, eyes blazed up at him. “I have no idea! Some woman. An old lady, grayish.”
“That describes everybody over forty. Got anything else?”
“She was blind.”
Silence.
Hank stared at Hecate, his eyes swept over her near perfect features. “She was old and blind?”
“Yes.” Hecate whispered. “Her eyes were whites, covered in cataracts.”
“And this old, gray, blind woman-somehow managed to overpower two young women and carry Stephanie off in her fucking-old-person-wheel-chair-chariot?”
“Fuck you. I don’t care if you believe me.”
This Descendant is drug addled. Hank thought. “Perhaps you’re confused.” He turned his attention toward the cemetery exit. “I thought you wanted to find your friend. Or perhaps you don’t, I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
Hank studied her, debating how far he could push her. He turned to walk away.
“Are you saying I had something to do with this?” She asked.
For the first time, Hank felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Her ferocity was evident, threatening to spill out violently. He took two steps back, his eyes not leaving her even for a second.
Hecate spoke slowly, the pitch of her voice low, raspy. “Don’t do that. I told you. It was an old woman. She was graying, wrinkled, stooped.”
“What was she wearing?”
“A nightgown I think. It was sheer, like, I could almost see through it in the moonlight.”
“How late was it?”
“Not too late. Ten maybe? Stephanie was picking flowers. And she was just suddenly there.”
Hank stared at the Descendant goddess and his doubt began to melt away. Hecate looked haggard. Her eyes were troubled as if the truth was hard for even her to believe. She recoiled when she caught him staring.
“Hecate, would you be willing to undergo hypnosis?”
“Huh?”
“Sometimes in a trauma of this kind, memory isn’t always accurate. Sometimes the mind changes certain details to make it easier to cope. I think this might be what is happening to you.”
“You want to hypnotize me?”
“Not me. I gotta gal that will do it.”
“To see if my mind is playing trick on me.”
“There’s a chance that how you remember it isn’t actually how it happened. Is that OK?”
“I guess.”
“I think it will help.”
Hecate smiled at him. An alluring smile that again made him feel unsettled. She whirled away in one swift move, like a dancer in a routine. She looked back as she exited the cemetery and crossed the street, hailing a cab with a short whistle.
Hank still hadn’t moved.


Hecate felt a sense of quickening as she entered the office of Dolan’s hypnotist. She had tiny limbs, pearl white teeth, saucers for glasses. She sat poised. Does she know I’m Descended?
Sevier smiled but it wasn’t contrived or silly. A natural smile. She cleared her throat, wrapped her scarf a little tighter. Hecate could tell it was handmade, probably by the Doctor herself.
“I’m Dr. Clarke Sevier.” She said simply. “Please sit.”
Hecate couldn’t remember feeling so tired. She absently wondered if the hypnosis had already begun. She sat heavily, her arms to her side. She looked out the window at a blue house. The cloud filled sky would soon succumb to the dark blot of nighttime.
She waited.
“Now then.” Sevier began. “Hank tells me you want to retrieve some memories.”
Hecate stared into space for a short time. “Yes.”
Sevier nodded. “I can help you with that. Have you ever been hypnotized?”
Hecate shook her head. Her brittle expression stared back at Sevier. “I’m not like most people. This probably won’t work.”
Sevier smiled, a sweeping motion with her whole being that made Hecate’s chest pound. The Doctor knows.  
“I’ve met others like you.” Sevier said.
“Is that OK? Is any of this safe…for you?” Hecate asked.
“It’s certainly fine. It seems to me that your kind, like mine, just don’t want to feel alone. That, my dear, is our commonality. We don’t want to feel alone. And that’s why I’m not afraid. Loneliness is the most universal, the most human characteristic you’ve inherited while Descending. I am sorry for that.”
Hecate had never heard anything like it. The mortal woman had imparted a great secret.
“I’ve interacted with Descended before. Believe me.” Sevier said softly.
Hecate studied the woman then turned her head to Hank. “We can begin.”
Sevier nodded, sat up straight in her chair and focused on Hecate. She gazed as if absorbed in Hecate’s features. Hecate wondered what the maiden form of this mortal had looked like. She would bet the Doctor had been ravishing in youth. Sevier lifted her hands in a gesture.
“I want you to take deep breaths.” Sevier said. She took a deep breath and motioned for Hecate to try. The goddess inhaled deeply through her nose then exhaled through parted lips.
“Good.” Sevier cooed. “Just keep breathing in regularly, deeply, and focus on my voice.”
Hecate felt her muscles dissolve into the couch. She felt like soft ice cream and wondered if she’d simply fall asleep.
“I want you to stare at the back wall behind me. Do you see a picture?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Hecate heard the ticks of a clock on the wall. She turned towards it, Sevier followed her gaze.
“The picture on the wall is of a tiger but I’d rather focus on that.”
“The clock?”
“The ticking.”
“Do it.”
Hecate felt wisps of her hair settle onto her forehead. Soon, the tiny ticks were thunderous in her ears. They boomed like large fireworks. Dolan remained silent. His eyes revealing nothing, he simply sat immobile.
“I want you to relax your head and shoulders.” Sevier said. “Relax them wholly, completely.”
Hecate obeyed. Her eyes half shut, she loosened her muscles, rolled her shoulders until they were pliable as dough.
“Now your chest.” Sevier said. “Good. And now your arms and hands.”
Hecate felt as if her body had been submerged into the warm blue. She was in Greece again. She was in Thessaly. She was in the womb. She stretched out until her face was exposed then closed her eyes and let the water come over her head. She drifted down. Down into the warm blue. She heard Sevier’s voice but it was far away. She was in the warm blue again. She was home again.
“You’re on a staircase Hecate” Sevier said. “I want you to imagine yourself at the top of a staircase.”
Hecate nodded.
“There are ten steps. We’re going to take each step one by one.”
“Into the warm blue.”
“Yes, Hecate. Into the blue. With each step you’ll become more and more relaxed.”
“Yes.”
“Take the first step, Hecate. I’m with you. You’re getting more relaxed. Can you feel it?”
“Yes.”
Hecate felt herself beginning to lose herself. It wasn’t sleep. It was as if she were drugged or in a trance. Her limbs were driftwood on a river.
“I’m being carried away.” She said.
“Good. Now a second…and the third.”
Hecate was swallowed by a whale. She heard Sevier from far away.
“The fourth.”
There was a blackness at the bottom of the staircase. It was the night having become the texture of polished onyx. It was shining. Hecate gasped. “The night is shining.”
“Take the fifth. Now the sixth.” Sevier said.
The dark was close, entrails of shadow seeped outward like fingers. They probed from the blackness.
“The seventh.”
Hecate was close.
“The eighth.”
She was almost at the radiating darkness. She could feel it vibrating, a low hum.
“The ninth.”
She was there. Hecate stepped just outside the mass.
“The tenth.”
Hecate stepped inside. This wasn’t the warm blue it was something else, something darker. Hecate drooped, felt as if she were plunging into the mass. Was she falling? She heard Sevier’s voice. “I’m going to ask you a few questions about the day Stephie went missing.”
Hecate tried to swallow, to orient herself. She squirmed in the blackness, heard a hissing come from somewhere in front of her.
“Hecate, what happened in the cemetery?”
“The alley.” Hecate corrected. Hank looked from Sevier to Hecate then back to the Doctor. He leaned close, took out his notebook and began to jot rapidly.
Hecate looked up the staircase, the light was fading. “There was somebody there. A man. We heard tapping on the street.”
“From his shoes.”
“Yes.”
Hecate heard hissing again. A whisper came from the dark in front of her. “Mara.”
“What did he look like Hecate?”
She shook her head. “He was our height. He had a rag. It smelled. He put it over Stephanie’s face.”
“Mmmmmaaaarrrraaaaaa.” The whisper in the dark got louder. Hecate winced and stuck out her arms protectively.
“We need to stop.” Hecate said.
“We’re almost there honey. Just a little longer.” It was Hank.
“Tell me what his face looks like.” Sevier coaxed.
Hecate squinted but couldn’t see him. “It’s in shadows. I can’t see it.”
“Is he taking Stephanie?”
“He has a rag over her mouth. She’s struggling at first then goes limp. He’s taking her! Oh no! He’s dragging her away!”
“I am she who is black.” The voice whispered in Hecate’s ear. I am the sheath.”
Hecate screamed.
“Where is he taking her Hecate?”
“He’s taking her away!”
Hecate spasmed in the dark. The blackness gleamed and reflected back onto itself. It was a fog, something dense. Patches of shadow wrapped around her legs and torso. Se heard it again.
“I am the sheath.”
Then Hecate saw a face materializing out of the dark. It had been no more than inches away the entire time. It was a woman. She had a bluish hue, large  black sockets. The face was beautiful in its terribleness. She opened her mouth to show fangs and then unfurled a long, dripping tongue. Hecate froze, momentarily paralyzed. But the night terror revealed more. Hecate saw a necklace of small skulls, felt a blade tip on her midsection.
She tried to call the bodiless, reached out with her mind but the dead weren’t listening or no longer cared. The soot oozed up her chest and shoulders, melted into her skin until she was as black as the darkness around her. The staircase! She turned to run but the thing in front of her grabbed her by the left forearm and yanked her back.
Hecate yelped as cold water was thrown into her face. She blinked a number of times.
“Hecate, wake up!” Hank screamed.
She was on the floor. Sevier was standing in the corner of the room in a defensive posture. Her eyes stared in fright.
“What happened?” Hecate asked.
“You began screaming and writhing on the couch.” Hank said. “You had a goddamn fit.”
Hecate began to remember things as is through an aperture. Things were getting smaller, less defined. The gap was closing.
“Did you get what you needed?” She asked.
Hank shrugged. “We got some insights into the truth.”
“You were wonderful, dear.” Sevier chimed in quietly. “I should have woken you earlier. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s OK. I don’t remember much.”
“It’s probably best.” Hank said.
But it was true. Hecate remembered walking down the staircase or at least the first few steps. Then a face. A face in the dark. She wondered if the bodiless had caused her to fit. Somewhere she thought she heard a shrill scream. Was that my own? She tilted her head back. Why was I screaming?

A warning. Neon Gods II: The Coming Of The Exiled

‘Lilac and lemon’. Sadie Fuller glanced down at the garden spade caked in sludge and pursed her lips. The sun was warm today, bordering on hot. She felt perspiration on her forehead and the back of her neck, her pony tail swayed in the soft breeze. ‘It’s coming along’. She thought.
“We should head inside.” Nephthys said beside her. “Fudo San doesn’t want us being seen.”
“We’re far enough removed.” Sadie said evenly. “Couldn’t be farther from the city.”
“Still.” Nephthys insisted.
“Fine.”
Sadie bent to her lilacs and touched the delicious purples and rouge reds. She felt furry bristles on the petals. A softness like Kleenex. The garden had bloomed triumphantly in the past few weeks. Lilacs of every sort erupted in a twenty foot tapestry just outside the main entrance of the Lotus estate. Sadie supposed from above  that it resembled a postage stamp swimming in the ocean of yellow that marks the estate proper.
She plucked a stem and tucked the floret behind Nephthys’s right ear. Her almond eyes swam for a second, her breath caught.
“Thank you, Sadie.”
“It wasn’t me.” Sadie replied. “Not this time.”
Nephthys took a step back. Her ebony skin had a slight sheen. Her eyes lowered as if unable to look Sadie in the eye.
“Thank you, Kali.”
‘The Egyptian is beautiful.’ Sadie heard in her mind. ‘She is kin, yes’?
“She is now.” Sadie said out loud.
“What?” Nephthys asked.
‘She is Mahakala?’ The voice boomed in Sadie’s head. Kali raised one of Sadie’s hands and touched Nephthys’s face. She stepped closer. Sadie gritted her teeth.
‘Stop it.’ She thought.
‘No.’
‘Now!’
Sadie stepped away as Nephthys watched her angle strangely towards the pagoda.
“She says your welcome.” Sadie said.
Nephthys bent and placed the spade and shovel in a lock box bought specifically for Sadie. She turned the master lock, securing the potential weapons safely. Sadie glanced back at her. Nephthys smiled sheepishly.
“Just in case.”
Sadie nodded. “I get it.” ‘Get what mortal?’
‘Nothing’.
‘Say it again.’
‘Why’?
‘Say it’.
Sadie sighed. ‘Lilac and lemon’.
Kali purred in her mind. ‘I like it’.
‘So do I!’
Sadie popped open a beer and rested the bottle against her cheek. The coolness spread across her face, numbing the left side.
“The situation is getting easier isn’t it?” Nephthys said. She took a long look at Sadie, her hands on her hips.
“I guess you could say that.” Sadie said. “She is so strong though. Sometimes I wonder if she’s just biding her time.”
“Playing coy?”
“Waiting for the right moment.”
“I don’t like that you have a terrible goddess inside you that wants the dissolution of all time and lap the blood of her victims.”
It was said in playful jest but Sadie knew that a tinge of fear was attached. ‘Say it again’. Sadie sat hard on the floor and breathed deeply. What she wouldn’t give for the delicious warmth right now. Just one line or maybe two. Especially after such a good day in the garden. The delicious warmth would ignite her soul, focus her troubled thoughts.
But that was lunacy. Any drug now was wrought with the potential of ceding all control to Kali. That she couldn’t do. A passing thought of Nephthys bathed in blood swam into her mind. She shut it out quickly.
‘What was that’? Kali asked.
‘Nothing. Go to sleep’.
‘Say it again.’
Sadie licked her lips and willed the thought clearly. She let it dance in her mind, embroidered it with all the colors of the garden. ‘Lilac and lemon’. Kali purred again.
A soft knock rapped at the pagoda door. Sadie recognized the cadence. Her stomach rumbled inside her. Nephthys opened a series of locks and peeked outside.
“I have rice for you.” A voice said softly.
Sadie’s stomach rumbled again. Once or twice a week Fudo San had made sure fresh food was delivered to the pagoda. Most often it was rice and vegetables. Sometimes smoked fish or berries. Nephthys took two containers into her arms and bowed.
“Are you new? We haven’t seen you before.” Nephthys said.
Warning lights went off in Sadie’s mind. “What is it?”
She stepped to the door and spied a tiny man, hunched over slightly. He had bright, hawk eyes and a shaved head. His stubby arms and gait belied the confidence in which he stood. Sadie wondered if a muscular disease was hidden beneath the simple, gray robe.
“I am.” He said slowly. “I just recently arrived at the monastery.”
Sadie knew the monastery was a retreat still within the city limits. It harbored monks as well as anybody else that needed solace from the ‘Descendant’ situation. Fudo San owned the monastery as had the Maharishi-ten before him. She knew the monastery was safe. Still. She hadn’t seen this man before.
“Well, thank you.” Nephthys said and closed the pagoda door.
Steam wafted from the top container. Sadie’s mouth watered at the mixed aromas of rice and vegetables. She took the top container and lifted the lid.
“Oh, lordy.” Nephthys said from the kitchen. She rummaged through a cabinet, produced two plates and silverware. “That smells so good.”
“You bet!” Sadie said.
She dipped her nose in the container and breathed deeply.
“What’s in the other one? They never bring us two.”
“Don’t know yet mama.” Sadie chirped. She carefully placed the top container on the floor and reached for the bottom. As she lifted the lid she knew something was wrong right away. No steam or odor emanated from it. Suddenly, she lurched back as if pulled forcibly from behind. Sadie screamed and kicked out, knocking the container sideways. Nephthys was beside her instantly. “What is it?”
Then she saw it. Ambling out slowly, its pincers snapping open and its tail in the air, a scorpion crawled out and into the open.
Nephthys gasped. “It cannot be.”
“Oh no.” Sadie said softly. She knew what it meant. They both did.
“He can’t have found us.” Nephthys stared in horror at the arachnid. Sadie’s eyes blinked with tears. She put her face in her hands.
“He knows. My husband knows we are here.” Nephthys stared out the window at the sprawling estate. She placed a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “We have to call Hank right now.” She said. “Set knows we are here.”

Hecate Descends

She awoke in the dark. A dark sky. She looked down at her hands. They were milky. She stretched each finger, inspected blood red fingernails. She reached up, felt her face. It was warm. Heated. Her fingertips felt the contours, the shape.
She knew her name. Hecate. But she didn’t know the body. The body was a stranger. Her body was like a passerby, something fleeting, ghostly. She could still sense the bodiless. They were here too. But they were silent, quieted, She probed out. Yes. They were there but she felt them as if, like her body, they were not hers.
I am Hecate. She thought. Of the Titans.
Hecate stood. She ran her hands through red woven silk. She straightened her back, felt a popping in her spine.
I must think carefully on this.
A wetness settled on her face. She felt it drip down, warm against her skin. She raised her hands slowly, collected the wetness onto a fingertip. The wetness came from her nose as well. She sniffed. But the world was blurry now, Hecate wiped at her sockets. She squinted at tawny leaves that had collected around her, on the ground. She wondered how she’d found herself there. Had she been taken? Staring at the moon, she heard howling. First one or two than a whole chorus. She smiled. But there was a crashing sound as well. She tasted something on her tongue. The orange and brown tree leaves were just an assemblage of many. Perhaps ten to twelve large trees had all deposited leaves in a disarray.
Hecate looked past them and saw the dark churning. A rolling rhythm with beads of white on the top crash outward, downward. The ground underneath her feet suddenly felt flaccid. Hecate shivered. She watched the ocean waves blast onto the shore. She felt as if they were polishing the surface where they crashed. She looked at the glossy sand and walked out to it. She knelt. It’s cold! She looked right then left then right again and spied a pier a short distance away. She felt a pull towards it. She turned to stare at it. It was speckled in lights. From where she stood, they were tiny orbs. They reminded her of stars, like the ones above her head. Or perhaps fixed fireflies frozen in time. She wanted to reach out to them, hold them in her fingers. But even more than that, she wanted to taste the ocean.
Hecate slipped out of the sheer white dress she had woken up in. She felt it fall down her back and onto her feet. She heard a whistle from somewhere close and observed a  man also on the water’s edge. He stared at her, his head slowly shaking.
Hecate’s attention went back to the water. Its icy grip at her ankles, she waded in. A crash sent the taste of salt onto her tongue. She knew the current was strong, already she was shoved this way and that. She rocked as the waves came in. She jumped, headfirst, felt the violent jolt as air was forced out of her lungs. The wave rolled onto her, she felt it like a cutting palpitation on her back and legs. She stood in neck high water. She gasped, danced back to the water’s edge.
Again Hecate felt the pull. She glanced at the lights to her left and swung left, picking up her dress in stride, headed towards the pull. Hecate plunged down the beach at almost a gallop. She stopped to slip the dress back, although couldn’t really say why. Her nakedness didn’t matter. She found after awhile, her legs were tired. They trembled and she had to sit. But still that pull called out to her.
What is it? She thought.
Hecate stared up at the full moon and began an incantation. Her wet hair in her face, she brushed it smoothly back with a shaking hand. She needed the heat. The water had numbed her.
She spoke aloud, forcefully, but quickly realized that her words were having no effect. Nothing was manifesting to her will. Her words might as well have been meaningless. Oh no. She tried again, then again. Nothing. Hecate hesitated, probed outward to the bodiless. They were there but faint. They would come but were powerless? Was that true? She felt the power in her lingering. A potential as yet untapped but couldn’t call out to it fully. It was as if her magic was only a vestigial spark of what it had been. She wanted to cry out, rage at the churning black in front of her. She seethed through gritted teeth. The bodiless were apathetic. Their shapes darker than the surrounding night. They waited. What are you waiting for? Help me! But like her magic, the ancient ones existed in abeyance.
Hecate found herself breathing hard and tried to calm herself. She looked at the pier, it was closer now. She could be underneath it in a short time. Soon, she looked up at cross beams and smelled rotting wood. Above, she heard others. Their voices echoed off the girder, booming down.
Hecate felt the pull again. It tugged at her mind. It was like an itch. But she was here. She was at the pier, still it pulled.
“You shouldn’t be here.” A voice said in the dark.
Hecate startled, she hadn’t noticed the man sitting on one of the giant beams that support the pier. He dipped his head in measured civility. His eyes never left her though. Even in the dark, she felt them on her.
“I’m allowed passage anywhere.” She said.
“Nah. I don’t think so. Not wearing that.”
Hecate looked down at the dress that clung to her wet skin. She saw the breasts pulling the cotton tight, her pubic area doing the same. The man took a step forward. He tried to smile, rubbed at his lips. He was of a middle age, perhaps half a century. He had dark, glittery eyes and a hard, lined face. His wiry frame gave him the appearance of a cricket. But she didn’t want this one to chirp too loud.
As he got closer, Hecate backed further into the dark, toward the adjacent beam opposite to where he had been sitting. She walked back deliberately, turning to her left and then left again. The man followed, as if he were hunting.
“You shouldn’t have come down here.” She heard him say. “It’s not safe.”
“What is it you want?”
Hecate ducked behind another beam, crouched and took a few paces back toward where he had approached her. On her hands and knees, she crawled forward. Again her mind was pulled by that strange sensation to head further down the water’s edge. To go south.
A hand came down and gripped her by the hair. Hecate was thrown back onto a beam. She felt warmth where her skull had cracked against the wooden support.
“Fucking bitch!” The man punched her hard in the stomach,then laid atop her, his hand on her mouth. “You dirty fucking hooker. You meeting a John here? That why you came fucking naked?”
Hecate squirmed underneath him, felt hot breath on her face. His other hand on her breasts, he gyrated his hips into her, grinding against her till she felt him hard against her inner thigh.
“Don’t you make a fucking sound.” He whispered. But it was too late. Hecate smashed the rock she had been holding into his face. He screamed as blood spurted from his nose. Hecate felt it spray onto her face and tasted it on her lips. She brought the rock up and thrashed him on the side of the head. He toppled back, against the pier beam and gurgled something incoherent. She brought the rock down again. Then again.
Hecate leaped toward him, strode silently to stand within kissing distance then brought the rock down multiple times in quick succession. It was a savage array of blows.
As she looked down at the mess at her feet, she felt it again. South. Hecate bent close until she was at the man’s ear. “Bodiless.” She said quietly. “I need answers.”
She sat him upright, his wet, glazed eyes stared up towards the bottom of the pier. Hecate frowned. She turned his head towards her.
“Can you hear me?”
She waited. The man didn’t stir. Hecate stared down at him, chewed at her lip.
“Bodiless!” She snapped. “You will liaise with me!”
Again she waited. Something was wrong. All of her gifts had waned. They felt faint, just out of reach. The man coughed. Blood splayed out in a  mist. Hecate jerked his chin toward her.
“What has happened? Is this the Titans seeking retribution?”
The corpse in front of her gurgled softly. His mouth moving faintly. Hecate bent her hear to his mouth. “Tell me departed, what is happening?”
The man’s mouth widened as if he was going to take a bite of an apple than a voice that hadn’t been his in life uttered: “You are in front of the veil.”
Hecate gasped and stood quickly. Of course. Why hadn’t she discerned it? Or had she and was merely experiencing mortality like a newborn?
She looked south, felt the itch come back. South.
Hecate went out to the water’s edge and washed her hands and feet. She ducked her head for good measure. The veil is asunder. She thought. Slowly, in ankle deep ocean water and under a bright moon, the goddess Hecate began to walk south. 

Hecate

The hallways were ash gray this time of night. An exit sign on either end spilled an ethereal neon glow onto the floor. It was silent save for the light hum of the air conditioner. Hecate could feel the slight breeze coming from the vents on the ceiling. As her eyes adjusted, the pristine walls were slick like varnish. She smelled linen. The New Los Angeles Hospice Center was in its sleeping hours. To Hecate, it was as if the Center were itself convalescing, readying itself for the big sleep.
She made her way down the corridor, then turned right and continued onward. As her slipped feet shuffled past, she squinted to make out the door number. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three…
There were so many. So many souls she would aid in passing. Most were ready, some not. It didn’t matter, she would aid them anyway.
As she got to room twenty eight, she stopped. She put her left hand onto the door and slightly pushed, slipping in. The old woman, Margaret, lay on the bed sleeping. Her shallow gasps and wheezing drowned out the sound of the ventilation system above.
Hecate walked to the bedside, her hand brushing the regulator that Margaret had been using to administer medication for the respiratory disease that was killing her. As the devise toppled to the floor, Margaret’s eyes shot open. At first she didn’t recognize her hospice nurse standing over her, Hecate waited until recognition came and the woman tried to sit up. Hecate smothered a shiver as the old woman shook her head at the death she knew had come. Even if she wanted to stop it now, it was too late.
Hecate put a finger to her lip, indicated quiet. Margaret was too weak to scream anyway. Soon, her shaking limbs succumbed and she lay stolid in her bed. She watched as Hecate’s small fingers picked up a syringe and moved to the far cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened the glass, plucked the small bottle of Nembutal off the shelf and returned bedside. Margaret wanted to protest, shaking her head again. Hecate leaned in and heard the old woman whisper, “Wait.”
“It can’t be helped.” Hecate said out loud. The sudden volume crashed into the room like cymbals. She plunged the syringe in the Nembutal and pulled back on the plunger. Margaret’s face crumpled as she watched her nurse prepare the cocktail. Her knuckles white, she gripped the bed rail and wheezed loudly. Hecate waited, her face composed as Margaret thrashed in her bed.
“This was you.” Hecate said. “You cannot turn back now.”
Margaret wanted to roar, her hands in fists in front of her. But her body had long past given in to the ruin of time. Hecate was reminded of the Dylan Thomas poem. ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’. Hecate advanced until she hovered over Margaret, noting the old woman’s frantic trembling, the look of disdain in her eyes as she stared up. Hecate could tell she was having trouble focusing the dark. She blinked as if blind, gazing on something  behind and to the left of where Hecate stood. Spittle ran down her chin and Hecate wiped it clean. The woman violently turned her head.
‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light’. Hecate placed her right hand on the woman’s forehead, felt the perspiration.
“Did I not tell you this would be how it is?” Hecate asked. She felt Margaret shudder, swallow hard. Then, Hecate felt them. She whirled as the bodiless filled the room. Their shadows blacker than the night cast opaque silhouettes onto the walls and floor. They were a mass, a solid black. They couldn’t be touched yet still they took up space.
Margaret didn’t see them. She didn’t have to. The creases in her forehead formed tight lines as she stared outward. Hecate sunk the needle into her left arm and pushed the plunger, sending the Nembutal coursing through Margaret’s circulatory system. Slowly, she withdrew the needle, placed it in her smock pocket.
“How long?” Margaret gasped.
“Not long.”
Margaret nodded, her lip quivered. The bodiless took notice. They moved as if dancing around the room. Margaret spotted them this time. She is betwixt and between. Hecate thought. Margaret looked up and around as the bodiless performed a kind of waltz around the bed. Her leathery face split into a smile.
“Do you see them?” She whispered.
“Oh, yes. Often.”
“Do they leave here with you?”
“They have always been with me so I suppose.”
Hecate felt the silence now surrounding her and knew the bodiless were returning to where they reside until called upon. It was a special kind of departure, like a warm breeze or the patter of a dog’s paws walking in front of you.
“Don’t be scared.” Hecate said. “When you get sleepy, just let the sleep come.”
“It’s not yet my time.”
“It is.”
“You did this to me.” Margaret said, a wail in her voice as it cracked. “You, lady death. This is you.”
Hecate slid her hand across the bed, onto the blanket and pressed her palm against the woman’s hand. She felt the little strength that Margaret still had, sensed her disappointment. Margaret pushed herself up into sitting position, a sharp wheeze, the hoarse cough as she gripped Hecate’s hand.
“I know your secret.” She said.
“It’s not a secret.”
“You’re Descended. A goddess without grace. Is that why you do this? Why this is you?”
Hecate found that she couldn’t wait to get out of the room.   
“You speak truth.” She said “Now lay back.”
A clarity filled Hecate’s mind as Margaret settled into the bed and closed her eyes. She glanced left and noticed again that the bodiless had returned.
They’ve come back. Hecate thought. But why?
Her eyes darted around the room as the discarnate shapes moved to and fro. Back and forth. Their spectral forms inky in the darkness. She watched as they gathered closer, Margaret’s breathing slowed. She choked out a laugh.
“Silly goddess.” She said.
Hecate frowned, the bodiless circled the bed.
“What?”
“The secret is not lost on either of us, Titan.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I’ve known your secret for quite some time.” She giggled. “You’re Descended.”
“So, I’ve stated.”
“Yes child, but so was I.”
Hecate felt the air leave her lungs, heard herself gasp. For a second, she stood struck dumb, unable to process the grief she was experiencing. Her personal awareness stared back at her, as if from another body. Margaret’s face in repose, Hecate stared down at the mottled skin on her arms and hands. Even in the dark, she could make out the splotchy purple and red covering the old woman’s body. She wondered vaguely when the mottling had taken hold. Usually it’s within the last few days but Hecate had just seen Margaret yesterday and no mottling had been apparent.
She knew. Hecate thought. She knew that death was coming long before I even stepped through the door. Hecate reached down and pulled the bed sheet off of Margaret’s feet. There it was. The mottling had begun in her feet and spread to her hands all in one day. Yes. Margaret had known. But that wasn’t what disturbed Hecate. She heard once again the woman’s iron voice in her head. So was I. Margaret had been a Descendant. She too had woken up in a mortal body. But which? Which goddess? She had Descended into an aged, silvery-haired body. A crone.
Hecate stepped back violently and nearly tumbled. She covered her mouth. A Crone? She lurched forward and stared into the face of Margaret, looking for similarities. A mole, or cluster of freckles would confirm her worst fear. It couldn’t be. She thought. She had often spied in other women evidence of her own facial structure, wondering if her triple form had Descended right along with her essence. She knew she was the maiden form but there was a chance that her mother and crone forms had Descended as well. If they did, were there other, older versions of herself in the world?
Abruptly, Hecate touched Margaret’s face, traced her cheek bones. She had known. The old woman had known all along.
Wasn’t that evidence enough? Hecate gritted her teeth, shaken by the knowledge that Margaret had imparted on her death bed. As she gazed down, she wondered if she had, in truth, just administered a deadly jolt of Nembutal to herself. Was she now staring into the face she would become? There was no way to know for sure. Still, it was a long time before she could shake off the naked emptiness and leave Margaret’s room.

Hank and Ray

The smile dropped immediately from Hank's face as he walked into Ray Perry's property and looked around. He spied the side door that probably served as the entrance to Deanna's on again off again fuck toy to the left. The house was dilapidated, grimy shingles and flaked paint. It had once been sky blue with large sash windows. An ornate set of trees and shrubbery decorated the outside. Overall, it had the makings to be cozy. Now, half of the visible windows had been boarded up giving the appearance of scars. The landscaping had long been abandoned. Overgrown weeds and grass were unkempt. Hank lifted his boots, stepped over a pile of dog feces, glided past an old bicycle, its front tire missing, handlebars a crooked smile.
What am I doing here? He thought.
He approached the side door, gave it three knocks. His grated nerves chafed and aching, he stretched his back, willed his teeth to unclench.
"Yeah!" He heard from the inside.
"Hi, I'm looking for Ray!" He called out hoarsely.
"What about?" The voice snapped.
"It's about Stephanie Montgomery. I'm working a case."
"You a cop?"
"No."
"Then get the fuck off my property."
"Look Ray, Deanna sent me." Hank lied.
A full minute passed before Hank heard the click and clang of a dead bolt being unlocked. When the door opened, Hank put on a plastic smile, held out his hand.
"Hi. I'm Hank Dolan. I'm a private investigator hired by Deanna Montgomery. Can we talk?"
Ray Perry was exactly what Hank expected. He had a lanky, sloven appearance, suspicious eyes, sloppy except for carefully maintained facial hair. Hank spread out his hands as the door opened and stepped inside. He was led to the kitchen, sat down at the head of the table.
"You want some water?" Ray asked, not turning from the sink.
"I'm fine, thanks."
Hank smelled something burnt, turned his attention away from the rat traps set up behind the front door and near the fridge. He forced his lids onto Ray who stared clumsily, a smile that said nothing on his face.
"I don't know where she is."
Hank took out his notebook. "I'm trying to piece together Stephanie's last moves before she went missing. When was the last time you saw her?"
"The last time? Oh, I wager it was a few days before. Me and her mom had a row I remember. Always accusing me of this or that."
Hank felt a cold breeze coming from a vent above the refrigerator. Did he just turn on the air in November? "You guys argue a lot?"
"Me and Deanna? Oh, no more than most I suppose."
"What were you arguing about?"
"I thought you wanted to talk about Stephie. You interested in me or her?"
"Yes, of course." Hank said drily. "Do you have any idea where Stephanie may have gone? Are there friends, a boyfriend maybe, that Deanna doesn't know about?"
"I know most of her friends. Including that one who claims to be Descended. But Stephanie don't date, so's far as I can tell."
A tight smile crossed Hank's face. "Yes, I know of Hecate. So Stephanie doesn't date at all? She's pretty. I'm surprised by that."
Ray shrugged. "She's a piece of work though, just like her mother. Got an ass on her."
"What? How do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. Got that tight little pretty ass and attitude to match. Ain't surprised no man wants nothin but a quick tap then move on."
Hank wiped at his eyes, noticed a definite chill in the room. He looked back at the vent near the ceiling. Ray had turned on the air conditioner. It was clear that he didn't want guests and would freeze them out if he could.
"So you've never seen a guy over there?"
"Nah, not really. She shows the interest I guess. I don't know a boy who's seeing her."
Hank felt uneasy. He was unsure how far he could continue this line of questioning. "Well, she is what seventeen?"
"She turns eighteen next month." Ray finished.
Hank accepted this with a nod. "So you two close at all?"
"Me and Stephie?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, I don't know. I party with her sometimes. Me and Deanna both."
"How do you mean?"
"The girls can't buy liquor yet so every once in a while we'll spring for a case of beer, let the girls join in."
"Uh-huh."
Hank turned away, feeling something cold in the pit of his stomach. He had interrogated many sexual deviants on his time with the force. Most often they showed lack of empathy, emotional maladaption, and hostility. Ray Perry certainly was giving off the creeper vibe.
"You know what though?" Ray leaned in close. "I wouldn't be surprised if pretty Stephie just up and gone."
Hank weighed his words. "Pretty Stephie?"
"That's what I used to call her."
Past tense? Hank mind cataloged everything Ray was saying for later.
"-You know, cause it rhymes. She thought it was cute."
But it doesn't rhyme idiot. Hank thought.
"Right,-"
As he said this, Ray's left arm shot to the kitchen counter and grabbed a half full coffee pot. In one long arc he brought it down smashing into Hank's skull. Hank crumpled onto the floor, blood pouring from a shard of glass on the base of his head.
Ray was running now. He fled the kitchen, stumbling over a bag of trash near the door. On the floor, Hank picked himself up, checked the damp spot and blood that was flowing from his head. Everything was fuzzy, a hazy gray. He stood in foggy shock. When the screen door banged shut, he felt the apartment rock and tumbled outside. He smeared his forehead, coughed hard just as Ray turned left at the base of the house and disappeared.
Goddammit. Hank climbed to his knees then feet and burst into a sprint. He made a left, whipped past crippled siding, an old dog house. He sped past the side of the house and spotted Ray leaping over a back fence. He shot through the back yard, noticed the gate had been left open. He followed Ray onto another property, noticed the cold burn on the top of his head. I'm gonna need stitches.
Hank stopped at a shed, its rusty metal thudded then banged. Catching his breath, he moved to the side. Again, something clanked inside. Oh Ray, you complete dipshit. He picked up a tire iron that off to the side and tapped the shed twice.
"Come out asshole."
Nothing.
Hank stood back and waited. The throbbing in his head was like blue fire and he wondered vaguely if he had a concussion.
"Get the fuck out here now!"
The shed door squeaked open. Ray slowly stepped outside, his eyes wide and glassy.
"That's not how I take my coffee Ray."
Hank turned toward him, smearing more blood across his cheek and forehead. He brought his hand down and gripped the tire iron like a baseball bat.
"You're gonna answer me." He said.
"I don't know shit!" Ray screamed shrilly.
"Who would want to disappear that girl Ray? Was it you?"
Ray stepped back, fear visible on his face. Hank looked squarely at him, took  a deep breath.
"Shit, it was probably her Mom!"
Hank noted the bitterness in Ray's tone. He sounded like a jaded lover, somebody thrown to the side. A discarded piece of garbage.
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean they fight all the time!" Ray gasped. "Deanna probably did her herself."
Hank side stepped past the shed, holding the iron up and in Ray's field of vision. He swung it cautiously, observing Ray's wild eyes and stilted pose. "Let me get this straight. You think Deanna caused Stephanie to disappear? That's you on the record."
"I'm just saying they bicker constantly. And Deanna has a drug issue. On the wrong day..."
He let the words trail off. Even without a coffee pot to the head, Hank would have thought Ray the equivalent of human sewage. He emitted a short, sarcastic scoff.
"I think you're full of shit." He muttered.
"Whatever. But you don't know those bitches like I do."
"What does that mean?"
"I lived with her! Seen them in all their bullshit!"
Hank forced a smile. He dropped the tire iron, letting it clang at his feet. As he walked off, he heard Ray cursing. It sounded panicked. Had Ray and Stephanie been fucking? He asked himself. He could sense that something was wrong in that household. Had Deanna found out and made her daughter disappear? Or Ray?
Hank walked back to his car in fading daylight. He noticed the buzzing of a streetlamp overhead. As he started up the Sedan, he took another long look at Ray Perry's shack and wondered if Stephanie was somewhere between the walls. He could almost hear screaming. 

Hecate's Triumph

A faint smell of incense and herbs penetrated the smell of animal fur at the outdoor spice market on 32nd avenue. It was a pleasing smell, one that conjured nostalgia into Hecate. Still, the feeling wasn't the same as before the Descending. A rooftop market, the open air and warm breezes made her think of Thrace but it wasn't the same. How could it be? It was not yet time for the ceremony. She knew they wouldn't start without her but she hated to make the Africans wait, even if her witchcraft was ineffectual now. She would still try.
A drumming could be heard over the conversation of patrons going about their shopping. Every kind of herb and spice available. Some sellers carried candles, snakeskin of every species were displayed in a number of areas. The bodies of chickens and monkeys hanged in a few. Everything the Sangomas might need was available here. Hecate knew that her white painted face and braided hair was a shock. She saw it in their eyes as she made her way to the far corner of the rooftop where her rite would take place.
Hecate sighed. Before Descending, she had been the goddess of all witchcraft. It was no surprise that she'd partake in South African magic. Now, she stuck out and felt almost ridiculous. They were welcoming, yes, even if they had no conception of who she was. But there was a weariness in their eyes, a holding back.
She wondered what others would say if they were to witness the ritual she was about to perform. Many would say it was horrifying and cruel. A savage throwback to a forgotten time. Hecate knew better. The calling of the ancestors was a powerful ceremony that could just work. Who was to say?
She heard murmurings as she walked past and kept her gaze low. She heard a few whispering, the words 'pale trumpet' audible a few times. She knew why. The trumpet was the screams of a dying goat as its throat was cut during the ceremony. The trumpet to awaken the ancestors. Other animals could be used but the Africans preferred a goat. For whatever reason, its scream was the correct intonation.
She thought again of the pale trumpet and swallowed hard. Was this nickname something more sinister? Was she herself the trumpet? She knew that humans, especially tiny children had been used in these sacrifices before. She had personally presided over many, of many peoples, before Descending. It had been what it was and it had been in sacrifice to her. She loved the bleating, the cries and drumming and rattles. For months I've been here now. She thought. And the closest I can find to my beloved magic is a rooftop in New Los Angeles. Not surrounded by Thracians or Greeks but Africans who haven't forgotten the old ways.   
"Pale trumpet."
A voice said from behind her. It was a man she had seen before. Dark and sinewy, he looked out of place in his dress clothes as if he were attending Sunday school.
"Hello."
His large hand motioned for her to follow and she did. As they walked, he put on a bulbous hat that covered his unusually large ears. A large tent opened and Hecate entered. Incense filled her nose. She was directed to a chair in the middle of the area and surrounded by three attendants who would be indispensable when the ritual began. She unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, handing it to one of the attendants. The nakedness was also essential, to excite the male ancestors as they awoke. Her red hair was pulled and smoothed back with warm water til it shined like the head of a puff adder native to these peoples home. She flicked her tongue and let her eyes bore into them. Did they know who she was? Unlikely.
She sat and felt the air pressure drop. Her ears popped and she smiled. One by one the attendants began to chant, some stomped their feet, others whooped and screamed.
Hecate closed her eyes, let her essence billow out like the incense. Dogs that had been brought to the rooftop began to howl. She felt weightless as if she'd been picked up and placed on a cushion. Her equilibrium strayed and she began to lean to the left. An attendee righted her with hands on her head and shoulders. Hecate felt herself succumb and her mouth parted.  She leaned her head back, rolled it to the side. A bursting green glow filled the tent as if accent lights had been placed on the floor. Through the clouds of smoke she saw shadows standing here and there. The bodiless. She thought. The ancestors of these people. She didn't even need the trumpet, they had come, were probably evident as soon as she arrived at the rooftop. Hecate tasted ash on her tongue and spied the small fire that had been built in the tent. More coal colored incense was being added as the bodiless moved back and forth. Each time she blinked they appeared somewhere else. One was off to her side in one instant then inches from her face the next. She gritted her teeth, felt sweat form on her forehead. It was carefully wiped away. The green glow persisted, deepened, took on a pungent hue. It was now almost blue, thick like syrup. The bodiless stretched across the tent until they were all one shadow. A dark mass, a shape. Outisde, she knew the moon had just been uncovered by cloud. But it was a new moon. She felt it. It was delicious and cool. Hecate let her awareness fan out, let it grope all who bore witness. And it was there. And she rose into the bodiless.
The rooftop was now chaos as the howling had gotten crazed, uncontrollable. Gusts of wind blew incense and oils onto the ground. Sellers tried to stake down the tents only to see them picked up and blown like newspaper. The greenish hue spread across the rooftop causing some to scream in terror.
Hecate felt hands on her head and shoulders, chanting in her ear. The tent flaps blew outward a a gust from inside threatened to topple the enclosure. She stared up at the bodiless who were above them all. They spun and spun, tighter as Hecate's magic drove harder and harder.
"The ancestors have come!" She screamed.
Her attendees screamed and she heard the goat pulled within arm's reach. It bleated, it's fur soft on her hand. She was given a knife. The bodiless were now moving through the tent in quick, jagged, bursts. They whipped across her face as she drew the knife across the goat's throat and heard the trumpet sound. A silver bowl was brought to catch the blood as it poured onto the ground and onto Hecate's bare feet. She felt its warmth running between her toes.
"Sangoma!" The man from before said beside her. "Have the ancestors come? Whom do you see? What masks do they wear?"
The moon is the key. She thought. The gate of resurrection. She smiled up at the man with the bulbous hat.
"There is a budding morrow in midnight!" She responded.
"I don't understand witch! Have the ancestors answered?"
The magos persists. She thought.
She sensed it, not nearly as powerful as before Descending. But there was a residual clarity, an awareness of the bodiless and gestating undulation of the magos itself. Hecate slumped off the chair and onto the rooftop floor. She felt blood on her calves and thighs. An attendee stood over her and leaned her head back. Her mouth opened, her tongue extended. Bile from the goat was poured into her mouth and she gagged. Her eyes watered as she swallowed. To her right, she blurrily saw others quickly shearing the goat that had bled out. They worked furiously, four or five hunched over it. They brought a bangle to her. A necklace fashioned of the sheared goat fur, it went around her neck. Smaller ones were placed as bracelets onto her wrist.
"Sangoma!" The man said from beside her.
Hecate was given a large plastic cup of beer. She guzzled it, tasted the bitterness as her senses blurred.
"Sangoma!"
She was given another cup, then another.  Her shoulders softened. She looked up and saw the moon slowly realizing that the tent had been blown apart. She looked down at the ground and saw small streams of blood. The bodiless were still present, great darknesses here and there. Hecate's face darkened, she drank more beer. The man pulled at her arm. Somebody stepped in front of him.
Hecate saw what he was doing, felt his hands on her waist, trying to take her from here.
Her attendees stood in front of him, waved the knife in his face, threatened to cut him. He backed away.
"Sangoma!" He screamed. "Sangoma!"