Chapter 9

After the ladies left - ahem, after he kicked them out - it took Chris a while to shut his dumbstruck mouth. Long enough that the sun set and twilight settled, leaving his cottage shrouded in shadows. Only then did he blink back to reality.

What had happened with Isobel and her sister stunned him. Sure, magic existed. He'd seen enough evidence to believe, and he knew there were strange things in this world, creatures and events that science couldn't explain. However, what he'd done, shoving Isobel and her sister out of his house with a simple command, he'd never done that before.

I have power!

Fucking epic.

Now if only he could do it again.

No amount of concentration, outreached hand, or channeling his inner Luke could open that fridge and fetch him a beer.

Bummer. Just like Isobel having left was a big bummer. In retrospect, he wished he'd shoved only the annoying older sibling out the door. A sister who was a fucking witch and walked around with a broom.

A bitch who'd cock blocked him.

So unfair. He'd come so close to getting Isobel to drop her panties. He would wager he was only moments from getting some oral. Him or her receiving, anything would work. The level of horniness afflicting him would probably require only the simple touch of her hand to make him explode.

However, Isobel wasn't here to touch him, and despite his earlier need, his hand seemed like a rough substitute. No matter. He knew where to go when he needed some uncomplicated pussy.

For those wondering, a sexual partner could always be found, and he didn't pay for it, mostly on account he tended to be tight-fisted with his cash. There was also no need to pay. A never-ending supply of pussy awaited a guy who knew where to look.

Grocery stores tended to offer a wide variety, from married women seeking a little something on the side to single moms needing a quickie before the kids demanded their attention. Gas stations often provided transient bathroom sex, as did restaurants.

Everywhere he looked, there were always lonely women looking for excitement and no-strings sex.

The problem was, no matter how much he trolled that night, Chris didn't find a single woman that appealed. Not at the coffee bar. Or the tavern. Even the blonde cashier at the grocery store who was good for a pop on her break didn't give his dick a twitch.

I'm broken.

Good God. The witch had cast a spell on him and broken his cock! He needed to find her and have her fix it. He needed to hunt down Isobel and -

Hold on. Thinking of Isobel definitely saw his cock waking up to say, "yes, go find her."

It couldn't be. . .

He closed his eyes and imagined Isobel in even more detail. Her lips parted, her tongue licking that lower -

Schwing. Definite erection. The mighty sword remained whole, and yet, none of the other women he saw could evince even a slight interest. What did it mean?

Don't tell me I like her.

Oh, ew. Not the L word.

The L word was for morons who didn't know how to give out the wrong phone number and make an excuse about not spending the night.

I can't - No, he wouldn't even think the word. Nor did he dare contemplate it. He had a destiny to fulfill. Casual sex was all well and good, but when he ruled the world, he'd need a powerful woman by his side, not a cute girl with a button nose and a witch for a sister.

But what if he wasn't destined for greatness?

Isobel and her sister seemed pretty sure that Lucifer never had a son. If the demon did exist as they insisted, then what did that mean? Why would Satan ignore his own son?

What if I'm not Lucifer's son or the Antichrist? Then his whole life was one big fucking lie.

Surely, he wasn't one of the pretenders. He could feel the greatness within him. What about his new special power? Surely it meant he would rule the world?

Me. No one else. I am the Antichrist.

Or so he'd believed until now. What if I'm not?

Only one person could answer that question.

It took a hefty baggie of joints - freshly rolled from the stash he grew behind the oldest mausoleum - plus another bag full of 'shrooms - the magic kind - to bribe the guards at the penitentiary into letting him in to see his mother.

He'd done this a time or two before, so he knew how it worked. He'd also promised them a place in his kingdom when he finally ruled it. Although he wasn't sure how much they believed him, given they were sitting on the floor, surrounded by pot smoke, so high that even prison food tasted good.

The guards allowed him to meet his mom in one of the private rooms meant for legal counsel. As he waited for them to bring her, Chris drummed his fingers on the metal table, securely bolted to the floor.

Depressing place with no attempt to brighten it. Unrelieved gray walls, industrial tile floor, and a white, perforated ceiling with a fluorescent light glaring brightly from behind a cage provided a somber backdrop. It made a man want to spill blood just for some color.

The thick metal door hummed and clicked before it opened. In shambled his mother, ankles chained together with only enough slack for a shuffle. Another chain ran from her ankles to her tethered wrists. It might seem like overkill, however, the guards knew better than to leave her hands free. Dear old Mom knew how to hurt, and maim.

The orange jumpsuit covered her from neck to ankle, baggy around her slight frame. They didn't feed her enough. Her blonde hair had gone to gray and hung loose around her face. Her features appeared gaunt, but the delight in her washed-out blue eyes shone brightly.

"My lord, you honor me." Ever since he'd turned eighteen, his mother now deferred to him, insisting on calling Chris, "lord." He kind of missed the days when she'd proudly called him son and hugged him, whispering about all the great things he would do when he ruled the world.

"Mom, you don't have to call me that."

"It is my pleasure, my lord. Look at you. All grown up now and such a handsome man." The praise almost made him blush.

"Ah, Mom." A wave of affection for the crazy old girl washed through him. Yeah, so she'd killed some people. She'd done it mostly for him. When he ruled the world, he'd make sure to give her a nice place - and plenty of goats so she didn't sacrifice the staff.

He waved her into a chair. "Sit down. I bought us an hour of time. I wanted to have a chat."

But his mom wouldn't sit in his exalted presence and chose to drop to the floor on her knees, head bowed.

In the past, he'd thought this amusing, his mother bowing to him, but for some reason, today, when he needed her to be an actual mother, it irritated. He'd come for help, not ass kissing and simpering.

"How can I serve, my lord?" She didn't look at him as she asked.

"You can start by sitting your damned ass in that chair like I told you to." He might have put more force than necessary into the words, but it did the trick.

As if jerked by an invisible string, with a lurching motion, his mother moved from the floor and plopped into the chair. Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked at him, not in anger. Never anger at him.

Pride shone in her gaze. "My lord has started coming into his power."

"Stop it with the lord stuff." Because the only thing he lorded over was his cemetery, and even then, it didn't belong to him. Nothing belonged to him but the clothes on his back. "I came here to talk to you because you're the only one I trust."

His mother had raised him to believe that people would try to kill him if they knew who and what he was. Those looking to gain entry into Heaven and curry favor with God would do their best to kill the Antichrist, or so she claimed.

Isobel didn't try to kill me. She and her sister laughed.

His mother's gaze dropped. "Surely my lord doesn't need the guidance of an old woman."

"What I need is the advice of my mother."

"Then you've come to the wrong place. I can't help you."

He sighed. Every year, his mom got crazier, which made him wonder what he thought he would accomplish by speaking with her. But he had no one else to turn to. The members of the cult had long since disbanded, and he didn't know more than their first names. Not enough to hunt them down and make them talk. There was Madame Sauvage, but her attitude during his last visit had really pissed him off. Perhaps it was time to find a new fortuneteller.

In the meantime, given he might have caught his mom on one of her bad days, he started simple. "Who's my father?"

"The Dark Lord in Hell, the Master of Sin, the King of Lies."

"His name, Mother. His real name."

"Lucifer is the most common one on the mortal plane. But he goes by many names."

So far, so good. These were things he'd heard before. "Where did you meet him?"

As in the past, she refused to say. Her lips clamped tight. She stared at the table.

"Bar? Restaurant? Club?" He named off the most common places people hooked up, and with each query, she remained still. He kept going. "Grocery store? Church?" He slammed his hands on the table. "For fuck's sake. Surely one of those rings a bell, or were you too drunk to remember?"

"I remember everything."

"Well, then, where did you meet him?" When she still refused to reply, his temper rose, a hot and angry thing inside him that tired of the half-truths. "Where. Did. You. Meet. My. Father?" The words exhaled from him, and he could almost see them smite his mother.

Her head snapped back, and he could see the strain from the way the cords in her neck tensed. "No." She shook her head. "I can't speak. I can't tell. I am sworn to secrecy."

"Fuck the secrets. Tell me." He shouted the words, and she flinched. It caused a pang in him. Probably indigestion from the hot dog he'd grabbed on his way from that vendor with a cart by the bus stop where he had to switch routes.

His mother's mouth opened and shut, and eventually, words spilled from her. "I know not where your parents met. I was not privy to the details."

His drumming fingers froze. "My parents? You speak as if you're not my mother."

"Of course I am." Said so quickly with her gaze averted to the side.

She lies. He couldn't have said how he knew this with certainty, but he did. He could sense it.

"Are you my biological mother?" he asked her directly - and forcefully.

She squirmed in her seat, and her face twisted, a spasm of muscle pulling at her features. "I - I - "

"Tell me the truth."

"No." The word burst out of her.

"Did you adopt me?"

"You were gifted to me."

The revelation stunned him. "Someone gave me to you? Who?"

"I cannot tell you." For a brief moment, her gaze met his, a gaze nothing like his own, but he'd always assumed it was because he took after his absent father.

"Who is my mother?" His voice emerged in a low growl as his life, his childhood, everything he knew, suddenly collapsed with her words. "Who, damn you!" he shouted, and the force of his demand lashed out at the woman across from him.

For a moment, her body stiffened and her head thrashed from side to side, but she couldn't fight his compulsion. All the muscles in her face straining, she said, "Your mother is - "

Zap.

A bolt of electricity arced from the light overhead, a jagged lightning streak that shattered the bulb and rained glass down. He raised his arm to shield his face, but not before he saw the bright line of electricity hit his mother, halting her midsentence, frying her in her seat.

The room plunged into darkness. The smell of singed hair filled the room - and he had an urge for roasted chicken.

In the darkness, something whispered. "Run. Before she comes."

"Who? Who is that? Show yourself." But there were no more replies. No answers, just a steaming dog pile of questions.

An alarm began to wail, never a good sign in a jail. Probably an indication that he should leave.

Chris rose from his seat and stood for a moment, staring at the shadowed spot he knew his mother had occupied. No, not his mother, just a person who'd cared for him because his true parents had abandoned him.

Still, he couldn't help but feel sad. Despite her craziness, Clarice -

No, her title is still Mom, she deserved that much from him given how much she'd loved him in her own twisted way.

I'll miss her.

Something rustled in the darkness.

"Mom?" A part of him knew it couldn't be her. Not a living her at any rate. Not with the smell emanating, and yet, he suddenly got the sense he wasn't alone.

Of course, I'm not alone. I'm in a locked room with a dead body.

This was also the part in the movie where the ominous music played.

Screek. Metal against metal, a jingle of chain links. Not a good sign. It made him wish for a shovel. All he had was his fists.

Fuck.

He moved to the door and turned the handle, but it didn't budge. Locked.

More chains jingled as something moved behind him.

To think I wished for zombies because I was bored. Could he now wish that dead things would stick to being dead?

A variation in the air had him whirling and thrusting out his hands. He hit a body, sending it flying hard enough that it crashed.

Something moaned. "Ssson. . . "

Perhaps he'd been mistaken. Maybe his mom hadn't died.

Before he could check, that same voice cackled. "Oh, baby boy, come to Mama."

Like hell.

He turned and beat on the door. "Let me the fuck out!" Because he really didn't want to stay inside with whatever his mom had become.

Bang. Bang.

Rattle. Rattle.

He shoved his shoulder into the door and didn't expect it to open. To his surprise, it did, and he stumbled into the corridor past the guard who'd opened it for him. The emergency lights in the hall shone brightly enough to illuminate the inside of the room, enough for the guard in the opening to exclaim, "What the fuck?"

Cats might be curious, however, Chris preferred to not see.

He didn't turn around. He pushed past the guard and went into the hall where the wailing siren muffled most noise but not enough to block out the guard's final words. "What did - argh!" The scream managed a strident note that would have shattered glass anywhere else.

Chris ignored it. The guard probably deserved what he got. He was one of the fuckers who liked to taunt his mother.

Except she's not my mother.

Who am I?

Thump. Rattle.

He strode up the hall, refusing to look behind him.

"Sssson." The sibilant whisper followed.

The door at the end of the hall opened just as he reached it. A pair of guards rushed through.

"Hey, you," started a bearded one. "What are you - Holy fuck. She's loose."

By she, they could only mean one person.

Still not looking.

He went through the door and left the guards to deal with her. The thick portal, even though closed, didn't entirely block their screams. More guards and more doors. He absently noted them as he kept putting distance between him and the thing.

The thing that called him son.

Not my mother.

As he went through the final portal, passing by the guards he'd bribed who now appeared eager to have him leave lest they be caught with him inside, he heard the distant sound of a gunshot.

Then another. And another.

He stepped out of the building into brilliant sunshine. He tilted his face to it, soaking it in, knowing without really understanding that whatever he'd encountered inside wouldn't follow.

At least, according to movies, things that thrived in darkness feared the light of day. And movies were all he had to fall back on now that his world had turned upside down.

He kept walking, past the visitor parking lot - because he still didn't fucking own a car - and past the gate. Only outside, across the road, standing at the bus stop put in especially for this jail, did he finally dare to glance back at the jail.

The faint wail of the alarm abruptly cut off. A missing hum, that of electricity, suddenly returned, and the gate he'd just walked through rolled shut.

He stared at the place he'd visited once a year or more since he was ten. A true hellhole. Funny how some people called Hell a place with flames and eternal damnation. They'd obviously never visited a federal jail.

A jail he'd never have to visit again. His mother was gone.

Not my mother. A stranger who'd raised him to believe Chris was someone special.

And who says I'm not? Look what happened when Clarice had tried to reveal the name of his actual mother. The electrocution hadn't occurred by accident. The woman he'd called Mom all his life had been murdered.

Something killed her rather than let her speak. Someone didn't want him finding out the truth.

For the first time in his life, he felt motivated to discover it.

But then he spotted a bar on his way home and got drunk instead.