My new strategy was to sow dissension among Jesus' followers. As long as Jesus had everyone on his side, he was emotionally stable. Even ordinary men were hard to tempt in that circumstance. Stress, fear, and anger played a part in almost anyone's downfall.

What if I could use Mikal?

It was a gamble that I was unsure about. I'd used Cassia to send Mikal to Jesus for healing. He'd said he wanted to hear more of her thoughts, but she had, if anything, stayed farther away since then.

He could help protect her, but the price might be that she'd become forever out of my reach.

I sat with her and some of the other prostitutes who followed Jesus. None of them were practicing their trade. However, after chasing the pigs into the ocean, we'd picked up a few more.

One of the new girls approached Mikal where she sat stripping petals from flowers.

The new girl was probably sixteen or so, with a sly seductive smile and almond eyes. "What are you doing?" She nodded toward Mikal's pile of flower petals.

"I like make little pictures with them by arranging them on the ground. It's just something I do to pass the time." Mikal shrugged.

"My name is Athirat. I saw the demoniac in the market, clothed and in his right mind. It was--" she shook her head. "I've never seen anything like it."

Mikal looked off into the distance. "He does many signs and wonders. And the things he says--he makes you think."

Athirat licked her lips. "Does he lie with the women who follow him?"

A wistful smile shone on Mikal's face, disconcerting me. "Not with anyone, woman or man. He--once or twice I caught him looking at me. He says that we are worth more than the pleasure our bodies can give, that we should think about the kingdom of God and not earthly things."

They were silent for a time.

"It must be nice, not having to sell yourself every night, to be used or beaten."

Mikal hesitated. "I guess. Lots of people give us money and Jesus asks Judas--he's in charge of the money--to buy food and wine. They often disagree on what to buy and how much to spend. Judas tries to be thrifty, but Jesus never lets him. 'Where are the honey cakes for the children?' Jesus sometimes asks when Judas comes back with nothing but meat and bread."

By this time, Mikal had a good-sized collection of flower petals. She began to lay them on the ground, sprinkling them. Quickly, the shape of a man's head formed beneath her skilfull fingers.

Would she make another image of me? I wished she would. If I could only find a way back to the way things were before this terrible assignment. Human life could be so precious and so short. Who knew how much of her existance we could hope to spend together?

"I feel bad sometimes, living on money people donate. Jesus tells us that we are doing a great work and that we need to eat, but what good am I? I help with cleaning pots and washing garments, but I'm not good at either thing. I'm not strong, I'm not holy or wise." On these last words, her voice became a whisper.

The face she was painting with flower petals took shape. It was Jesus himself. I could see the beginnings of love and devotion in the gentle curves and shades of the image.

At once, my spiritual flesh began to burn. I paced. My demonic power rose, flowing through me, readying itself. It had been okay when Mikal still worked as a prostitute. None of those men had mattered to her beyond the coin they could provide.

"He sounds too good to be real," Ahirat said.

Mikal sighed. "He is. In so many ways. You know, I had a man I sort of loved once, but he was brutal sometimes and very possessive. I was his property."

I had little doubt she was talking about me. I slowed my pacing, focused myself on her words. Her thoughts and emotions glowed. They were like the first rose in spring or a shaft of sunlight after a raging storm. Was she thinking about me or Jesus?

Petals drifted from Mikal's fingers, forming a smile on her image. "I've done many bad things, but Jesus sometimes makes me feel like I matter. No one had one that for me before."

"I made you feel like you mattered," I bellowed.

She flinched, though I knew she couldn't hear the words directly.

"Where is this Jesus now?" Ahirat asked.

Mikal raised her eyes to a line of trees. "Off praying. He does that a lot. He won't want you to disturb him, but he won't yell at you if you do, either."

"I'll wait along the way. I must see him."

I watched the woman go.

For some reason, the lightness of her step and the hope in her eyes bothered me.

There was a time when I'd had many girls in my care. None of them had gone hungry or thirsty. I'd rarely beat any of them. Never had I laid a hand in anger upon Mikal. What did she mean when she called me brutal?

I stared down at the image of Jesus wrought in flower petals. Not long ago, she'd formed an image of me. Was I being replaced? Was I ever in her heart or was I only her master? I'd always thought that--no, I'd always known I was a fool.

"Do you know how hard I've worked to protect you?" I said. "Do you think you have ever stopped being mine?"

She flinched again. Was I still radiating anger?

"Please, Lord," she whispered. "Accept this picture as an offering to you. Help me to feel like I belong with these good people and put my old life behind me."

The energy in me coursed brighter and hotter. "Was your old life so bad?"

A tear spilled down her cheek. "Please, Lord, give me some sign that you are worthy."

I watched that small salty drop of water streak down her cheek.

Had she ever cried for me after Cassia had used her body to murder me? I tried to remember. She must have. We had mattered to each other.

"I spared your brother. Could you not weep for me."

"Please, Lord," she said again.

How had I ever thought it was good to have her following Jesus. He didn't care about her. Not really. Not like I did. Mikal was all I'd had in my long bleak existence. I wasn't going to give her up that easily. Especially not to him.

I howled and blew, raising a dust devil in the midst of the calm and threw it at her, scattering her flower petals.

Mikal jumped to her feet and took several steps back as I erased that beautiful but terrible work she had created.

With an upraised fist, I called a scorpion to stand in the place where the image had been, pincers upraised.

"Let this be the sign you asked for," I growled.

She sobbed, her body shook, and she turned and fled.

My energy and rage calmed, then.

What had I done? Would she be better off away from Jesus?

I tried to tell myself it was true, but I was unsure.

Could I count the tears she now cried as mine?

Brutal.

No, I'd not been brutal with her, had I? Yes, I'd caused her to weep more than once while we were together but--but we had a bond. Even now, stronger than any love of this Jesus. Whatever happened from her on out, I would protect her and see that she was provided for. Me. And I'd find a way to tell her, too.

Even while working to undo Jesus, I'd let myself be seduced by his miracles and ministry. No more. The Warlord of the Dark and Deep would not be so easily defeated.