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“Mikey—we—"

“Shut up! Shut up Donnie! Don't think about it."

Michael glanced nervously over his shoulders, his little brother alongside him. He fidgeted, fingers flexing furtively as he waited. Two seconds...three, since he rang the doorbell. After what they'd seen, what they'd done...

“Are you sure he's the right person to see?"

“Yeah...he knows about the curse."

“He does!?" Donnie exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Shush!" Michael waved at his brother. Don't yell until we're inside. Then let loose. I just might...

“Cool it," he continued, “stay calm."

The door swung open. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper streaks in his hair squinted at the two teenagers calling to his door. His expression: unreadable.

He recognised Donnie. “You know my son, don't you?"

Donnie nodded. The man turned to view Michael, and he saw the glint of a cross peeking from between the buttons on his shirt, obscured behind his coat. “What's your business with him?" the man asked of Donnie, pointing at Michael.

“He's my brother."

“And your family's...affliction?" he muttered, looking at Michael.

“It's spread."

The man went quiet. Then, after a minute spent thinking, he grunted. “Come in." He turned from the pair and walked into his house. Michael stepped forward, about to follow, but Donnie held out his arm. “You didn't tell me it was Zach's dad!"

Michael drew a blank. His mouth opened slightly, primed to supply an answer he couldn't provide in time.

“Zach. My friend! What if—!?"

“Look," Michael interrupted, “we have one last chance to straighten things out Donnie. I've looked into the curse, I know it can be altered — played with. We might be able to stop it from consuming us." His hushed words came quick and fast. Donnie struggled to keep up. Zach's father remained out-of-earshot.

Michael swore the man looked at him funny. Like he could tell something was off about their appearance. “You should've come to me sooner."

“Well we're here now."

“Not good enough," he coughed, leading them into his front room. Donnie found himself walking towards the stairway — his brain on autopilot from the times he visited Zach at home. Quickly, he caught his error and took the right path to his brother and his friend's father.

“Sooner is still better than later," the older man chewed his lip, making a sound that mixed tutting and sucking, “our neighbourhood librarian called."

Smitty? “He did?" Michael inquired.

“Despite being a non-believer he's passed on his concerns about the Delmonde's legacy and your family's exposure to it. Corruption and possession are a big deal in my faith."

“Huh..." I guess he believed me after all.

“We came as soon as we could," Donnie blurted out, “thing's hadn't got so bad yet..." Michael silently encouraged his brother to pipe down with a few non-verbal hints. Donnie let his older brother do the rest of the talking, seeing as their host was more eager than ever to hear their tale.

Zach's father narrowed his gaze, his stare piercing straight through Michael. “Why..." he said with a touch of hoarseness to his voice.

“...what happened...?"

A single bead of sweat formed on Michael's brow.

* * *

Uma reclined on a single-seat sofa as if it were her throne. A grotesque arrangement of dead slaves littered her floor, several more since having met their untimely end to feed her burgeoning power. She licked her fingers, tasting the sparkle of their life essence before it dissipated. They had struggled. Deliciously. She'd relaxed her control, to savour the moment of the kill — and the sensation of her body surging with energy. Closed eyes heralded her pleasure. The strong, sublime tingle of her sated afterglow.

Long had she waited to introduce her children to the full extent of their gift.

She opened her eyes, casting them over the wretched piles that once called themselves human. They are such loyal playthings, she thought, mine to treat as I see fit. As my family sees fit.

Uma paused. She looked over her shoulder, past her wing, at the door. “I know you're hovering out there," she said loudly, her voice resonating through the house. Cynthia and Jacob entered.

“My children, will you rid me of these empty vessels?" Uma pointed to the corpses of her mind-slaves, withered and dry.

“Of course mother," Cynthia replied, giving a short curtsey as she stepped to the mark. Her slender tail coiled around her ankle, its obsidian tip reflecting light from the smooth black flesh. Revelling in her mother's tutelage, Cynthia eagerly complied with the order. Jacob joined her. They laid hands atop one another, and concentrated, summoning a burst of flame. It incinerated the remains. Cynthia gasped while she exerted herself. Uma smiled, pleased her daughter was taking quickly to their new ways.

Roused by the commotion and the heat, Axel plodded into view. The demon-hound tracked across the floor, sniffing at the mess of ash blasted throughout the room — the only remaining evidence of their sinister feast.

“Are you sure you didn't want seconds?" she asked with a wicked smile, ignoring Axel nuzzling her toes as he explored the varied scents of hellfire. Her two children smiled in unison, and laughed.

“Shall I summon more?"

“No mother," said Jacob, moving to pat Axel, “there's no need."

“I'm so full," Cynthia added, rubbing her bare belly for effect, “I never knew how good it felt to feed!"

“It is a pleasure we can all share," their mother said. She looked around the room. “And what of Michael and Donnie? Have they enjoyed it as much as you two?"

“I don't know," he said, “they left pretty quickly. Didn't get a chance to talk to them."

Cynthia turned to her brother. “Where did they go?" she asked, holding her tail in hand as it squirmed and flexed like an escaping snake. “I want to experience our first time in our demonskins soon."

“My dear dear daughter," Uma rose from her seat and embraced her, “they'll return. Donnie's always seen Michael as the better brother to be with — no offence to my firstborn..."

“None taken," Jacob grunted.

“...and that bond is strong. You mean something different to Donnie," she said, brushing Cynthia's hair and caressing her cheek, “love beyond family. Don't worry, they'll be home soon."

“You know where they've gone?"

Uma looked away. Her face gave nothing away to the pair. “I...have an inkling. A thread I learned of from whispers deep in Michael's soul, but didn't follow up on." She sighed. “Never mind. With Kianna reduced to a whimpering bitch none of us need worry anymore."

The succubus queen escorted her son and daughter towards the door, Axel trotting along loyally in tow. Uma stopped, feeling the press of her sole on the now-dusty floor, embers still smouldering in nooks and crannies. She looked up, following the seam between ceiling and wall — surveying the scope of her living room. Her chamber...no...

“Hmm."

“Mom?"

“Nothing..." Uma paused, thinking. I need bigger — a palace fit for my majesty.

I've paid my wage of sin, earned my place in this world anew. I deserve better than a suburban home.

She stroked her stomach, drawing her clawed hand from waist to chest. In her demonskin she felt real. Hiding her true self had been such a chore! The energy expended to wear a mask, a glamour, to walk the town and cavort with the townsfolk; her vast well of power was now free to be used for other purposes.

She breathed in the ashen air. Life sustains me. The taste of burnt bodies struck her tongue as she held slack her mouth. I am Queen.

Uma glanced at her children. Nary a second had passed since she indulged her inner monologue. Her words hung on the tip of her tongue: nothing...

“Well," she began, “not nothing."

Cynthia wore an expectant expression. Jacob's neutrality could not be penetrated. She wondered how they'd take to her suggestion...

“My children, I know we've only just moved here, but..."

But...

She held back for a moment, weighing her options. Eventually, she finished with a cheery flourish:

“...what do you think about a little more house-hunting?"

* * *

“Dear Lord in Heaven! Murder!"

Zach's father recoiled in horror at the tale Michael wove. He stared at the teen, debating whether to flee or stand his ground. Some details were omitted — the more...sexual ones — but what he heard had been enough. The blight of the Delmondes had returned. And it had returned in force.

Michael spoke: “so you are going to help us?" Donnie watched his brother, standing back. Unsure.

“I...I can't—no! I will."

“You will?"

“Yes." He breathed, holding it in for a couple of seconds. “I never thought — not in a million years — that the Devil was coming to my corner of the world!" He rushed to a cabinet, pulling open drawers and tossing out all manner of peculiar paraphernalia.

“Lord have mercy..."

Michael felt an itch beneath his skin. Already he was starting to reject his human disguise. No, not now! he scolded himself, another ten...twenty minutes! Please...

He saw the same turmoil on Donnie's face. A slow-building agony that crawled 'neath their skins. Right now it was manageable, but what'll happen next? Neither of them knew anything about their demonic forms. Only Uma, and Michael didn't feel like explaining why he needed to remain human in appearance to her of all people.

“Your mother, brother, and sister are all cursed, yes?" their host asked. Michael answered positively, refusing to make him aware that those in his presence were also compromised. Was that a bad decision? He couldn't tell — addled by the gnawing pressure he faced to hide his demonskin.

Gold artefacts struck the floor, bouncing as he searched. Stuff that really belonged in a tabernacle, not a chest of drawers: wine cups, for the Eucharist; crosses, precious metal beams laid over one another and fused, with no representation of Christ. Plain and Protestant. These and more spilled out, thrown haphazardly left and right, in sharp juxtaposition to their supposed holy status.

Donnie watched Zach's father, and the gathering 'equipment'. He had no idea what was going to happen, or what Michael meant by lifting the curse, and it hurt him. He should feel happy — relieved that they could escape. But a part of him didn't. A part of him that roared and screamed into the void, desperate to feed...to indulge itself...

Zach's father muttered something, and slammed the drawer shut. “Forgive me for my anger but I don't have everything I need."

“What else do you need, maybe we can help?" Michael offered.

“I-I-I...let me think!" he shouted.

“Listen," Michael stepped toward him, “you believe us, right?"

“I do."

“Are the others who can help? Who'd also believe us?"

“Not many," he sighed, “some among my congregation...but they are loyal, and will remember everything I ever did for them. I intend to ask them for help. Help to fight the demon within."

Donnie separated himself from the ongoing conversation. The godly man's house gave him chills. Arduous, ever-present discomfort nibbled at the fringes of his sanity. This is a bad place, he realised, bad for me and Mikey.

He sensed something. It wasn't good, and it wasn't evil — it was too sides, both seeking dominion. The petty concerns of human morality never once factored into the equation. Donnie saw that now. He and Cynthia were inseparable, and the more he ruminated on their relationship the more he felt it was right. The pull of his demonic side was strong, and lust was indeed a powerful temptation.

This place — this house is full of light. And order. And obedience. I don't like it here!

He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“You okay?" Michael came over to his brother, seeing his pain, and leaned in to whisper: “I know what you're going through. I can feel it too. Part of us is fighting this. I know. Just stay in control — we can fix this! Mr. Walker and I talked once before; he wasn't keen on listening to me, but I managed to talk him into helping us if it ever came to that. Just one meeting, that was all needed to get his trust. I'm asking you, Donnie, for yours now."

Donnie sniffed, then nodded. He cautiously eyed the room, its heaviness crushing him. He didn't feel welcome here, only ever venturing inside on occasion with Zach to distract him. His friend made the home feel normal. Without him present, he sensed the supernatural in another form. This stranger...this interloper...how dare he intrude! His pain turned to rage...anger...at the man who talked of God and holiness, and the demon that cursed them. He wasn't cursed! He was the same as ever, only better. Fuck this!

Michael was taken aback by his brother, who stormed past him and out of the room. Donnie found a bathroom and shut the door, hanging his head over the sink.

He panted. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Rage boiled within. His tight grip on the ceramic bowl almost fractured it. He could scarcely stand another minute within these walls. Please, he wheezed, please Mikey...I know I want things to be normal, but I can't stop thinking about sis, and mom, and you, and Jacob too...

Too afraid to leave, wrapped up in his own doubts, Donnie began to cry. He was so mad, furious even, and couldn't help it. His emotions weren't like they used to be.

Mikey...I'm sorry, but...

...

I don't think this can be stopped!