After my first meeting with the Son of God, I fled to Bethlehem where I searched for Mikal--for that is where her brother lived. Though I visited his dwelling in spirit on several occasions, I did not see her. On the third day, while following him around, a neighbor asked him. "Didn't your sister come to visit you?"

His response? He spat on the ground. "I beat that whore and drover her from my sight."

Only a year earlier, this very brother had come to me, full of self-righteous anger, and, leading a mob of about twenty men, attacked my camp, claiming that he was trying to save his sister from me. Of course, I killed everyone who was with him, but because of Mikal's tear-filled pleas, I spared his life.

I'd assumed he cared about his sister. It's easy to misjudge the motives of humans.

Well, he'd misjudged as well. I possessed the body of a mole viper, a tiny venemous snake, and bit the brother as he was coming to the top of flight of stone steps, carrying an herbal tea to his sick mother-in-law. He screamed, toppled, and rolled, scalding his left leg with the tea, receiving painful injection of venom in his right ankle, and breaking an arm on a rock. The string of curses and blasphemies he uttered was music to my demonic ears.

All in all, a fine effect for such a small effort.

On my way out, I heard the mother-in-law shrieking for the brother to get his worthless carcass up the stairs. Somehow, I had the feeling his torment was just beginning.

I sighed. Hurting him didn't make me feel as good as I hoped.

On the following day, I possessed a body only to fill it with alcohol. It took me a long time to find someone suitable. Most people think that demons can possess anyone they want, but usually have to work to find someone compatible with our spirits. About one person in a hundred will work.

Once in possession of my host, I proceeded to get plastered. Toward evening as the body I possessed was numbed and slumped against the wall I overheard a conversation. Possibly not one of my finest moments.

"Are you going there tomorrow, Martha?"

"I am."

"It's been thirty years, surely, your dead son has enough prayers by now."

"It is not for me, but the child Jesus that I pray."

"Jesus?"

The name caught my attention--thought it was a common enough one and probably not the being I was assigned to tempt.

"Yes. The one that Herod sought to kill when he had my little one murdered. Old Simeon said he would one day save Israel. I pray that it will be so," Martha said.

At once, I got up, leaving the body I'd worked so hard to inebriate, and followed the two women. They were quite old and walked far too slowly for my taste, but at length they led me to a small patch of ground where one of them, Martha, stayed to pray. I stepped up beside her and pushed my spiritual feet through the dirt.

The spirits buried beneath this ground were all children of poor families, about a dozen of them, from a newborn to one two years old. Martha's little one had been less than a year old. Given the way that the ghosts had aged, I knew them to be about thirty years old. So that would mean the Herod in question was probably Herod the Great.

I'd assumed that the Son of God had only recently put on his body of flesh. Now I knew he'd been born into the world as a baby, and had lived all these years in the fashion of a mortal.

Why?

I turned at once to Herod's tomb, a massive structure about three miles away. It was a beautiful building, with a race track and a pool and other things.

But I was not here to admire the architecture.

"Herod," I called. "Come and speak to me."

Light shimmered upon the ground and a foul stench filled the air. The spirit rose, clad in corruption so palpable that even I stepped back. The man's essence was fed upon by countless smaller, lesser ghosts--the spiritual equivalents of maggots.

"Go away!" Herod flung one of the things from his body at me.

I swatted it away.

"This place is mine," he insisted. "Built for me, in my honor."

"I'm not interested in haunting this structure," I said. "I'm a demon."

"You can't fool me," it shrieked, and flung two more of the ghosts feeding upon its essence toward me.

Frustrated, I drew my sword, slew the two minor spirits, and pinned Herod's ghost to the ground.

"I'm here for answers. What do you know of Jesus, the Son of God?"

Upon hearing the name, Herod quivered. "He was prophesied to take my throne. Me. After rebuilding the temple and creating such fine works, God planned to make another ruler in my place? No."

So, this Jesus did plan to take his glory and rule as king, even though he refused my temptation that he throw himself from the temple only days before. It seemed he was only waiting for the right time. I might be able to work with that in future temptations.

"Tell me more about this prophecy."

"My advisors said he would be born in Bethlehem, so I had all the children two years and under killed there."

"Yes, yes, and you failed to kill your target. I know about that. Tell me something that will help me to tempt this Jesus. To bring him down. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I twisted my flaming sword and Herod shrieked.

"I know nothing else except that he came to this place when he was about fifteen-years-old and prayed for me. For one day, these tormenting spirits withdrew."

I considered that. Why would Jesus offer a single day of mercy, no more and no less, to this wretched soul? Absently, I twisted my sword again.

"He told me that I should repent and leave my mausoleum, but I was onto his plan to take my beautiful buildings. I chased him away and haven't seen him since."

On hearing this, I released the poor soul and went out into the desert to think. Jesus had shown mercy both to me and this Herod. Excessively empathic people were vulnerable to their own special temptations. I could use that, I was sure. I just had to figure out how.