Herod the Tetrarch's face was ashen as the head of John the Baptist was brought into the room.

He knew what he'd done.

And I knew what I'd done, purchased a horrific, meaningless death for John the Baptist. His death had been a spectacle. Worse, instead of serving a great cause, it had been a side effect of lurid court politics.

The guard carried the gruesome to Salome, who brought it with a smile to her mother.

To my surprise, Herodias threw up and left the room, shrieking and tearing her garments.

Now to face Jesus. I wanted to be there when he heard the news. I didn't know what this would do to him, but I had hopes it would anger him.

As I drifted over the countryside on my way to meet him, I could not help but notice the beauty of creation and to feel a pang of loss that I could not remember the First Song.

Maybe I would one day, if my side ever convinced God of his wrongdoing in allowing pain and suffering in the world. I had to hope that, to comfort myself with the thought that what I'd done to Jesus' cousin could be the deciding blow in that great metaphysical struggle.

But Jesus had surprised me and defeated me many times before.

There was also a good chance this would be the end for me. As I thought this, I noticed a city street below where Mikal stood, seeking customers.

If I could, I'd be with her one last time.

It was usually easy for me to possess a man who wanted to buy her. The affinity, I suppose, was our attraction for Mikal. The man I entered was physically fit, though not wealthy. He had a handful of coins. Enough, I suppose.

What can I say of the way she looked? The feel of her hand in mine as she took me and led me down a narrow alley and through a door that was no more than a ragged piece of fabric? It was like hearing the First Song again. To be here, in this place and time, to touch her, to feel her fingers squeeze gently--there was a poignancy to this moment.

Somehow, it was all the more powerful because I beheld, at the same time, Cassia's torments. Life and death, pain and pleasure, meaning and meaninglessness stood in sharp relief.

Mikal and I went back to the small room where she stayed and crawled into her straw mattress together. I took her the way a dying man takes his last meal, with slow reverence, with a knowledge that this one joy might be the last I'd ever experience, with an awareness of how fortunate I was to have this one shred of happiness.

When it was done, I put a small stack of coins in her hand. More than what she bargained with me for. A smile lit her face.

"I am the demon Darius," I said. "I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to be with you again, but I want you to know that I love you."

It took a few heartbeats for my words to sink in, but when they did she got to her feet, threw her robe on, and fled.

What other reaction could I expect? In truth, none.

What was it in me that hoped for anything better? But I knew. It was that half-remembered First Song.

I thought I'd undone the grace Jesus bestowed on me when he'd forgiven me, destroyed it and thrown it away. Now I wondered if it still remained, slowly poisoning my soul.

Well, we'd see. Soon he'd realize that I was truly his enemy and then we'd discover together if he truly believed that pacifistic nonsense he preached.