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Kianna's stolen car careened into the driveway, helmed by an anxious Michael. The teenager spilled out of the car, sweating profusely, his breath short. He dragged himself along its bodywork and hurled himself towards the door.

Donnie opened it. Greetings were short-lived as he spoke:

“You need to come inside."

“Donnie..."

“Mom wants you."

Michael straightened up. His brother took him by the arm and led him inside. He felt the grim hand of his demon claw at his heart, scratching inside of him — frantically trying to coerce him to the side of sin. “I can't—"

“You say something?"

“What? No, no...it's nothing."

Donnie turned to face him. “What did you do to piss mom off!?"

He searched for an answer. “I...I don't know."

“Yet."

Michael looked at Donnie confusedly.

His little brother's eyes rolled. “You don't know what you did...yet."

Michael followed him. The pain of decision ate away at his mind, fraying the edges the closer he came to the epicentre of the growing lust within. There was no doubt in his mind that was Uma. His mother's powers had doubled — nay, tripled — in the time since he saw her last. Pressure swamped and crushed him, the marks of demonhood surrounding him...choking him...

“Mikey! Bro!" Jacob approached. Cynthia tailed him. “You made it. Beginning to think you'd chickened out an' run away."

“Not off the cards yet," he muttered to himself.

Cynthia rushed over to Donnie, wrapping him in a big hug. Michael could tell she was changing — a predatory glimmer escaped her guarded expression. No smile could hide the wickedness she wore. Their embrace turned into a rough fondling, lips touching, the sound of their kiss irritating Michael.

Jacob clapped his hands. “Okay, you two, with me...there's work downtown that requires our attention." He fingered Donnie and Cynthia, escorting them past Michael, who caught a glimpse of Donnie's face. Worry, fear in his eyes. Fear of what he's becoming. Fear of what mom had become.

“What about me?" he asked.

Jacob nodded to the left. “Upstairs."

As the door closed, and whatever chatter his three siblings generated erased itself from earshot, he felt alone. Upstairs...

* * *

Each dull clomp of his shoes on the staircase brought him a second closer to confrontation. He felt torn; split between desiring his mother...her curves, her taste, her flesh...and a noble need to stop the curse. Shed the so-called 'demonskin'.

He ushered himself inside, through the half-open door. Into Uma's bedroom.

Then...

He saw her...

Uma stood at the window, peering out onto the street, a simple smile curling in the corner of her mouth while she watched her children depart. One hand leaned on the windowsill, the other held in mid-air, fingers rubbing together. A fiery crackle ripped through the room — a flock of sparks visible to the naked eye orbited her hand, spinning round and round. Like birds they dispersed, back to nothingness, when she spied her son enter.

He remained at the threshold, wide-eyed.

“Thank you for coming, Michael." Her soft expression calmed his nerves, though he still knew what she wielded, what she was...

“Got to admit," she continued, “I've a lot to say to my middle son."

Michael took one step. She did the same.

“Where are they going? Jacob and the others?"

His mom sighed. “Never mind that, sweetie, mind this—"

In a blinding flash, she disappeared. Only a handful of ashen flakes danced in the space once containing his mom. Michael gasped. His chest tightened.

Behind him, a burst of flame transported her back to the world. Uma materialised from the infernal display — heat licking his spine — caressing him. Her hands wandered, gliding across his chest. A low rumbling purr coated his skin with goosebumps.

The prickling pain, and the heat that sourced it, died gradually, leaving Uma and her son to parlay.

“M-mom..." Michael gulped. This was beyond his understanding. Magic and mystery, more real than ever!

“Do you think you can hide from mommy?" Her coy voice sent tingling sensations through his frail form (frail in comparison to her immense strength). “I see everything in Carlyle now — nobody's tricking me with lies and pitiful falsehoods."

He tried to talk. Tried. The very oxygen he breathed seemed a pestilent fume when every inhale brought a rush of delirium straight to his head.

Uma, tired of teasing, left his side and sat on the bed. Michael looked at his mother. She was as perfect as ever; the image of matronly beauty he could not stop craving. Hard to believe there was such power behind that suggestive figure, but the violet glow in her eyes betrayed the truth to him. She was a demon. Just like the rest of them.

Michael opened his stubborn mouth: “mom, I'm here to—"

“So you went to see Kianna?"

He froze.

“Don't give me that look baby. I could sense it. Your soul, and hers, entwined. And if that wasn't enough, her car parked outside is a dead giveaway," she joked.

“I can explain."

“Really? You're going to explain away sleeping with the enemy? I can dress it up in flowery language but it's all the same. Fucking." Pausing, she looked to the side. “You've seen a piece of my true power," she said, “does it appeal to you? Do you want to wield it too?"

Leaning forward, her body shifting sensually, she rose and gifted her wayward son with a full kiss.

“How did she taste?"

“Mom!"

“Don't 'mom' me, son! Act your age." She drew a finger across his chest. Her low-cut top barely contained the heaving bosom pressed against his arm. “Was she loose? Tight? Hot? Boiling? Soft? Rough...? There's so many flavours, I'm sure you can work it out."

“I only went to her house to find out more about this curse." At the word 'curse', Uma chuckled, an acerbic look in her eye. “Listen mom, we can stop this. Stop the madness." He desperately wanted to save her and his siblings — to do something noble. At least, he thought he did. His body...his emotions...said otherwise...

“Madness?"

He struggled to stay on track. “Yes m-mom! This is wrong, and weird, and totally messed-up...and all Kianna's fault. There's no reason to keep going. No reason to— tuh—" he shuddered as she slid her hand across his stomach, dallying dangerously close to his groin.

“Silly boy, there's no changing me, or your brother. We'll have two more very soon — three if you know what's good for you."

“I don't want this!"

“Your body says differently. I think you're having trouble deciding. Let me weigh in..." Uma craned her neck, coming close to his ear. She begun to whisper: “I felt like you, when the first stage of the transformation started. Frightened. Agitated. Listen to your breathing, Mikey, and tell me you're doing okay. No, it's eating away at you, the allure of the demonskin. We aren't mindless beasts, drunk on sex and sin. We're gods."

“Mom—"

“Or demons. Whichever term you prefer. It seems best to use the closest analogue."

“MOM!!!"

“What now?" Uma snapped.

“Please...I want to go back to the way things were..."

“Aww, baby, I'm sorry. Mommy's sorry she made you upset. But you have to learn the truth, it's better that way. I am a goddess — never mind that bitch Kianna! You'd do right to stick with your mother, like the others. The more we change, the more powerful we become. Yes, I enjoy mating...fucking...availing of the fruits of the good life, but there's so much more! I can heal from any wound; disease withers in my body, never taking hold; and to top it all off, my beauty is unparalleled, and I'll stay this beautiful, never seeing another sign of aging." Michael's surprise was to be expected, as she detailed to many advantages signing her pact produced. He was naive. Young and content with his old life. There was no turning back the clock, Uma knew, on the magic she'd unleashed. Kianna filling his head with rebellion, she scowled, I ought to pay her a visit.

“But maybe it's not the physical benefits that entice you," she remarked, her tone thick with slavish fancy, “maybe my baby wants more than sex with mommy..."

“I don't—"

“Don't lie, Michael. How about control? You could make people love you, desire you...even die for you. How does that sound? Better? Or worse?"

Michael wanted to scream. To roar and shout and cry 'I don't know!' over and over again, until the whole world went deaf. Uma's touch excited him; his nerves tingled as she ran her deceptively delicate digits across his skin, teasing satisfaction from his flesh. She knew by now he was conflicted, and loved every minute of torment. Her words teased. He was no further to an answer than when Kianna trapped him in her sensual net.

He'd fallen for his mom. Many days had passed since their night of passion, but he remembered it in vivid detail. Sin called to him, called him to return home...to the place he had been...

“No! No-no-no! This is an infection! You're infected with God-knows-what! It's not you...the real you, no matter what you or Kianna say!"

And then it hit him...

...her bombshell.

“I want you, Michael." Uma moved to his front, a needy look in her eyes. He stammered a reply but it got lost somewhere between brain and mouth. “I want you, more than anyone else."

His resistance faltered. “Even Jacob?"

“Especially Jacob. I love him like I love all my children, but there's arrogance in his heart. I feel drawn to you, not him. Nights in his arms were fleeting, passionate affairs, but they weigh heavy. When I first committed our sin I was alone, and sad, and he was there. He's a good boy, but you are too. Our sin was perfect. I felt zero guilt after bedding you."

Michael flushed red. He let his jealously escape his clutches — all too easy for her to identify. And stoke.

“I know you want me. I know you can't stop thinking about me. At home, when you avoid everyone, even our servants, I know you're thinking...fantasizing...about me. About the pact. About demonskin."

“I want you...mom. I r-really do."

Uma smiled. “There-there! I can be yours. If you choose, we'll stand side-by-side, King and Queen. There are many who'd kill for a taste of my power, and many candidates I haven't yet thought about...but you have first choice."

Michael crept away from his mother, nervous of her intensity. He refused to commit, afraid it would damn him forever. When his hesitance was made audible, she became slightly angry. Agitated at his indecision. An annoyed look crept across her face, subtly telling him he should reconsider.

Uma turned away, presenting her rear to her son. She shuffled forward, grinding her ass against his crotch, her point proven as his rock-hardness could attest. “You know you want it. There's no cure for this, baby."

“I'm not ready!"

“No — no excuses son! You must decide."

Michael grimaced. He'd fought the influence for so long, it felt like an eternity just holding back the tide within. Sin. Lust. Desire. They pounded at the gates of his soul, seeking to break it down and consume him. Just like his mom, and brothers, and sister.

Cold feet.

Time to warm them up.

“Please," he coughed, “I need more time."

“For what, baby? You're only gonna whittle it away in a panic."

“Please mom, just let me go — I'll promise I'll have an answer soon." Michael tried his best to hide his true intentions. A relapse of sanity as the torrent of lust flowed through him gave him an out...a cry for help, one he intended to make real. A window to attempt last-ditch change.

The disappointment on Uma's face was obvious. She released him from her sensual clutches, frustrated. Michael remained still, standing idly as she moved from him to the window. She sighed.

A day.

She'd give him a day to make his mind up.

* * *

The librarian — Smitty — sat at the front desk filing away when who of all people should burst through his door? Michael, the young man from before, who expressed such an interest in the more sordid elements of the town's past. Smitty looked up from his work at the teen storming towards him, purpose in that young, bright face.

A lot of books and reference material had passed between them, and Michael always seemed hungry for more. Now, though, he bore intent of a different kind.

Arriving at the desk, he stopped his brisk walk by slamming his hands onto the hard wood. “That stuff you told me," he said, out-of-breath, “those stories about witchcraft in the town."

“The Delmonde stories?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Quite why this young man was in such a hurry piqued his interest. “Foul murder and fanciful tales of black magic, yes...what about them?"

“They're all true!"