I stayed in Lazarus's home for the next couple of days. It was a nice enough place with wide windows and good airflow. In addition to the vineyards, there were olive trees growing near the house providing an abundance of shade. They had a gardener who tended a small plot of wildflowers, a bald man with a broken nose who had enough affinity with me that I could possess him. By staying here I could ensure that nothing worse befell Mary, Martha, or any of Lazarus's family.

Or so I hoped.

Part of me wanted to flee to Mikal, to spend every moment in her company, but the rest of my mind knew better.

First and foremost, I needed to think, to figure out what I was really doing. I owed Jesus a great debt, there was no question of that in my mind, but that didn't mean I was ready to go completely over to his side. I still believed God was wrong to allow any suffering and was committed to the demonic strategy of proving to him how unreasonable that was, both in this life and the one to come.

In truth, we weren't enemies of God as much as debate opponents. Of course, our power was nothing compared to his, and if it came to a straight-up fight, we were certain to lose. But winning wasn't about battle. The Big Guy needed to be more accountable for the mess he'd made.

Yet, despite that, I would work for Jesus--at least for a while. Given what he'd done for Mikal when he, by rights, should have destroyed her to gain vengeance against me. Even if not for the sake of vengeance, he should have upheld that ridiculous Mosaic Law. Instead, he'd helped her, cast both his right to hurt me and his job in upholding sacred traditions for the sake of one prostitute.

Almost, I loved him for it.

Yet what kind of foolish course was I on? Where else could it lead me but a prison near the bottom of the Dark Stair?

Somehow, I had to have a convincing strategy for helping Lazarus, as well as the other aid I wanted to provide. When the abominations called me, I had to have an explanation ready or I'd be no use to anyone.

While I was there thinking, Martha came out to me, smiling in that way she had that made you feel like you were not only one of her children, but her favorite. She handed me a flask of water and bade me take a break from my labor. I did so.

The only way forward was to claim I was pretending I was on Jesus' side, trying to gain his trust so that, when the right moment I could betray him. But betray him how? What exactly would I be in a position to do? How could I convince them that Jesus would actually trust a demon?

Whatever I was going to come up with, I probably didn't have long.

As I sat there, mulling over what I was planning to do, I saw a crowd approaching. I shielded my eyes to see who approached, but the gardener's eyes weren't good enough.

I left him, flying rapidly over the ground.

It was Jesus! He, and his multitude of followers, the twelve, Mary of Magdalene.

And Mikal. She was still in his company. I knew when I saw her that there was a good chance that the pondering and planning I'd been attempting was at an end. There was a lightness to my being as I approached, a feeling that somehow, despite the horrible mass of suffering and pain in the world, that things were going to be all right.

I drew my darkness around myself, and gathered my glamor about me. Once I thought I looked sufficiently powerful, allowed myself to become visible to her.

She gave me an odd half-smile and slowed her pace, falling behind the others.

When there was some space between her and the crowd, she said, "I'm sorry I killed you."

"Oh, that," I said. "It was Cassia--a demoness of my acquaintance who did that."

Mikal paused. "I didn't feel like I was possessed. I didn't throw myself or scream or try to jump in fire or anything."

"That only happens when the demon's soul is a poor fit for the human's soul. There has to be a certain compatibility."

She frowned. "Does--does that mean I would have tried to kill you anyway?"

It was a logical question, one I'd not allowed myself to consider. "It might," I agreed, reluctantly.

"You're done being terrible, aren't you?"

The question caught me off guard. When had I shown her anything but tenderness and affection? Well, the answer to that was easy. When I'd first acquired her, I'd thought she was little more than a carnal pastime. I'm not sure how or when that changed.

"I tried to be good to you," I said, trying not to sound defensive.

"I was practically your prisoner, you killed or beat many of the other people I knew." Her voice cracked.

How had I failed to see that she would care for other people? A short time ago, I might not have understood--but with Cassia's torment ever before me, I only understood too clearly.

What had I done? She could never love me the way I loved her, not after she'd seen who I truly was. I let my glamor fade and my darkness drift away.

"There you are," she said. "That's the spirit I saw on his knees, begging Jesus for my life."

I stopped. "I--you saw that?"

I was pretty sure I'd not willed her to see me until after that moment, not until I was dark and fearsome with flaming sword held threateningly toward Jesus.

"Even then I was unsure, but Jesus said there was hope for you."

I snorted. "Hope for me? The Warlord of the Dark and Deep? There's about as much hope as me as there is for old Lazarus."

At this Mikal looked down. "Jesus wept when he heard the news his friend died."

That caused me to burn, darkness and flame radiated from my spirit and Mikal took a step back.

"Sorry," I said. "Jesus left him to die, slowly and painfully. We both know if he'd come here, he could have healed the poor guy. When he made it clear, I came her and put the man out of his misery. After that, I stood by his spirit and guarded it until it could be guided to the so-called Bosom of Abraham, one of the few, relatively nice parts of sheol."

Another time, Mikal frowned. "Jesus told me he sent you ahead to prepare for our arrival."

He sent me? "I assure you, my Beautiful One, Jesus is not my master. He does not command me--though I do find myself wanting to help him."

I weighed my words. Could I explain how I felt about this strange man to Mikal? Would she understand.

Before I could speak, Mikal spoke up. "Look, is that the tomb where they placed him?"

I had not noticed, but as we'd been walking, Jesus had apparently met up with Mary and Martha and we'd all been walking the short distance to the tomb where Lazarus lay. Two men were rolling back the stone that covered the tomb.

What was he thinking? No one paid last respects to a man from inside his tomb after he'd lain there for several days. The smell would be worse than many places in sheol.

"Father!" Jesus shouted. "I thank you for hearing me. I know you always listen, but I say these words for the sake of this crowd."

That was about the weirdest, lamest prayer I'd heard anyone make. Was there a kernel of arrogance in it? Although I wasn't looking for weaknesses in Jesus, it was hard not to notice a possible opening like that.

"Lazarus," Jesus said. "Come forth!" Upon saying these last two words, he punched toward the sky.

The swell of power that moved through the world at that moment was unlike anything I'd experienced since the plagues of Egypt or the parting of the Red Sea.

Even from this distance, I could feel the dead flesh of Lazarus coming to life, vibrating with the power of the First Song. He did not simply rise from the stone on which he lay mouldering, he lept into the air, glowing with life and physical strength, bounding out into the light with a smile.

I glanced at Mikal. Even with her merely human, dulled senses, I could tell by the way her thoughts shone that she understood the magnitude of divine might that had just been displayed.

Yes, a few prophets had raised the dead in ages past, but never had I seen anything like this.

What did it mean that Jesus had performed a sign like this? Was the end of the world upon us? It did not seem so.

"See Darius?" Mikal said. "There is hope for you."

Though I doubted her conclusion, I did not dare to argue again.