In which Dema Culver becomes the Lamia of legend.

In the ancient Carpathian mountains, a grotto lies buried under millennia of dust. In this grotto there was once a shrine, guarding an opening into the abyss, womb of the earth mother. It was in the cavern below that the legend of the Lamia began...

-1-

Dema Culver swung her rental car into the Philadelphia Police Department lot. She crossed oil-stained pavement and climbed chipped granite steps to the entrance of the old brick building. She thought she detected a faint odor of coal dust, still lingering from days long past when such buildings were heated by coal dug out of the nearby hills. No frills here. Somehow the thought pleased her.

She pulled open one of the big wooden doors, waved good-morning to the desk sergeant, and climbed an age-darkened wooden staircase to the second floor, occasional creaks remarking its long years of use. Once there she entered an office that had Drug Enforcement Administration stenciled on the door.

She was early, wanting a little extra time to review local DEA case files. Only a few desks were occupied. Heads turned as she walked away from the file drawers carrying a stack of folders to her temporary desk. 

She affected not to notice that Jeff Strauss's eyes followed her all the way, watching the way her wavy chestnut hair brushed against her dusky cheek as she nodded to him and smiled. He brightened visibly and smiled back, then returned to his work as she sat down at her desk and began reviewing the files.

These were local drug victims. She was looking for common threads that might link them to the gang she was there to help track down. Dema had learned to remain detached from these victims as she went through their records, so she was not prepared for the sudden emotion that engulfed her as she opened the next one from the stack and saw the photo clipped inside the cover.

It's Kore, she thought, I've found Kore!

In the next second she knew it wasn't true, and the momentary thrill of elation collapsed into another emotion entirely. The resemblance to her lost sister Kore was striking, but this girl was a recent victim, and Kore had disappeared a decade earlier. Dema's eyes lost focus as a deeply buried heartache surfaced and a rush of remembrance took her back to the townhouse in Chicago where she and Kore had grown up...

Kore comes into Dema's room and sits on the bed, rumpling the patterned coverlet that Dema had carefully smoothed. Dema worships Kore, but she knows something is very wrong. They are both in their mid teens. Kore, two years the older, has taken to spending nights out on the town. Kore is a master of dramatic make-up, and Dema has learned from her. To Dema's eyes Kore's bold features are perfect, and Kore has taught Dema how to use make-up to subtly enhance those features, not mask them. 

But tonight Kore's eyeliner is too heavy, the eye shadow above her big hooded eyes too dark, the lipstick smeared on too thickly. The heavy auburn hair is barely brushed, and she has splashed on far too much perfume. Dema looks past the make-up and sees that her sister's dusky skin has no life in it, the cheeks sunken and the pale green eyes bloodshot and puffy.

"Kore! Something's wrong! What is it?"

"Stay away from drugs, Dema," she croaks. "Whatever else you do, stay away from drugs. And stay away from the people that use them and sell them. They may look like they're having fun, but it's all sick, shallow pretense. If you let them suck you into their world, they'll kill you."

"Kore, what are you telling me? Is someone trying to hurt you? We can call the police!"

"No Dema. Listen to me. It's the drugs. They mess up your head. It may be too late for me, but not for you. Just don't do what I've done because you want to be like me. I made a mistake. It looked like fun, so I tried it. I thought I could handle it." She looks away, and her voice trails off to a hoarse whisper.

"Now I'm not so sure. They mess up your head, the drugs and all the people that use them and deal them. They are all sick, and everything they do is only a mask, a way of trying to hide their sickness from themselves. I've seen things, ugly things. I don't want you getting sucked into this too. Just stay away from that whole scene, Dema, that's all I ask."

Dema looked up to see Jeff Strauss leaning over her desk with concern. She knew her emotion was naked on her face, enough to have drawn him from across the room, and she made an effort to pull herself together.

Jeff said, "One of them got to you, huh? It happens to all of us, I guess. We hide it as well as we can, but we care, or we wouldn't be here." He looked down at the photo in the folder. "Wow, Dema, this one could have been your kid sister!"

Dema took a deep breath and forced a smile. She normally didn't mind talking about her past, but she was in no condition at the moment to go there with Jeff. "The picture reminded me of one I knew years ago," she whispered, her voice almost catching. "One I couldn't help." She closed the folder and put it on the stack.

Jeff went back to his desk. The other desks were filling up now, with stragglers coming in carrying morning coffees. Captain McNeal came out of his tiny office and stood with his broad back to the door, ready to review the day's assignments. Dema only half followed his words, her mind drawn back to the remembrance of her lost sister...

She rushes to her sister's side and throws her arms around her, afraid for her, but not really understanding. "Who is it, Kore? Who wants to hurt you? Tell me! We can stop him!"

Kore allows her head to rest on Dema's shoulder. "Dema, Dema, it's not that simple," she says, her voice still low and husky. "No one is after me, and even if they were, locking them up wouldn't help. It's me, Dema. I'm sick. I used the drugs, and now I can't stop. It hurts too much." Her voice cracks and she pauses and swallows before continuing, still in a whisper, her head still on Dema's shoulder.

"My body won't let me stop. There's nothing I can do. Sedna keeps saying we are strong people, but I'm not strong enough for this. I thought I was, but I was wrong. It's too late for me. Just don't you do it too."

"Kore, if you're sick, Mom can help. Grandma Sedna can help. Let's go see Grandma Sedna right now!" Dema springs up and grabs her sister's hands, trying to pull her to her feet, but Kore doesn't move. Dema sits down opposite her. "Please," she says, "Please, Kore, come see Sedna with me." Tears are streaming from her eyes.

Kore looks sadly at her sister. "If only you were right. If only Sedna could help."

Dema grabs her sister's hands again. "Of course she can! Sedna knows all kinds of things. Magical things. If Sedna can't help, no one can. Come see her with me, Kore."

"Okay," says Kore, with a hint of resolution. "I'll talk to Sedna." Then her eyes lose their focus. The spirit seems to drain out of her. "But not right now," she says. "I have to go out for a little while. I'll see her later." Kore gets up from the bed and leaves the room. Dema, still fretting, calls anxiously after her, "Don't be too long!"

That was the last time she had seen her sister.