Thursday 5th November 1992- Ash

Ash sat alone, and as himself. The spent shell of the police officer lay discarded on the floor in the hallway. He'd thrown it off like a pair of uncomfortable shoes. The girl, Lauren, was upstairs lying prostrate on her bed, still lost to her world. Gammick and Strickeon were out and he'd told them not to return for a while. For now, he had peace, well, what he regarded as peace these days, if one ignored the perpetual screams of the lost souls below — the soundtrack to his and every demon's life.

He looked through the blackness of the room towards the infernal ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Time ticked away with every swing of the pendulum and he wondered why humans were so keen to possess objects which only served to remind them how short and futile their little lives were.

Time, for Ash, was a concept long forgotten. There was no then, now or soon. Time just was. On the exceedingly rare days that he chose to reflect on the past, watching the Stones play at Carnegie Hall in '64 seemed no more recent that observing the Siege of Sevastopol in 1855, or witnessing the brutality of Genghis Khan in the 13th Century. Everything in his mind he was pushed away, not to be revisited, except for those few events that refused to be forgotten, and it was one of those exceptions that was bothering him now in the early hours of the morning.

She has the stone.

The prospect of having a Fragili in his grasp was one that should have had him eager and excited. After all, wasn't that what he'd wanted all this time — access to a great power that he could finally use to elevate himself to the position he craved, he deserved? So why then, was he sat on his sorry ass in the darkness, brooding like a moody teenager listening to Morrissey?

Of course, he knew the answer to that. Discovering one Fragili was the rarest of gifts to a demon but finding two! What dark magic was it, or what had he done that was so bad to warrant this kind of torment twice? He shivered.

The feeling was unfamiliar and unwelcome. He'd messed up so badly the last time, a mistake for which he'd be endlessly punished, if not by them, then by himself. How many years had it been now? He barely remembered, for it felt like yesterday. The wanting he had then had never really left, had it? Wanting so much, wanting it so badly. Wanting her. She burst into his mind — her soft pale curves, her glossy hair, her eyes as dark as the space where his soul should be, her taunts, her cries, her screams for more. His mouth watered as his eyes did the same.

It'll be different this time, he told himself. I'll be different this time.

With that thought, he stood up quickly, shaking himself off and went towards the portal. Unable to bear the thought of going back into the human shell, he stretched out, his neck cracking as did the bones in his hands. He looked down at his empty palm, his sight always better in the absence of light, and saw, not for the first time, the ghostly image of her hand — her fine, delicate fingers wrapped around his real hand, not the hand of a human shell. Gnarly, scarred and hooked in shape. He remembered her acceptance of him and how she didn't flinch, pull away or even tremble as she'd led him to her bedroom, leading him to a place more beautiful than heaven was rumoured to be, and yet opening the doors to a hell all his very own. A hell so terrible, not even a demon should have to suffer it.

"Update."

Strickeon and Gammick looked at each other, clearly neither of them wanting to speak first.

"One of you."

Gammick sighed then spoke first.

"The girl returned this evening and went straight to her room. She was visibly distressed."

"Good."

Ash turned to Strickeon.

"And what of the Reverend?"

Strickeon paused before speaking, looking a little nervous. "Sire, he is quite possibly the dullest person you have ever had me follow. He spent most of the time at Church House in meetings and in the evening, stayed in a bed and breakfast, never leaving his room. He ate a kipper and two slices of bread, washed down with a cup of tea."

Ash put his head in hands. "If you tell me what he had for breakfast, I might very rip your head off."

Strikeon, lowered his eyes away from his master's boiling stare.

"He doesn't have to be interesting in order to be royal pain in my ass. When you say, 'most of the time,' what do you actually mean?"

"Sire, it appears that my sources might have...mislaid him, but only for a short time."

Ash took a step towards him.

"You mislaid him? For how long exactly?"

Strickeon looked down at the notepad he was carrying. "Not for long, sire, an hour, three at most."

"Well that's all right then. It's not like we missed anything then, is it?"

Stickeon's body seemed to relax a little. "No, sire."

Gammick took a step back, just as Ash's hand shot out, grabbing Strickeon by the throat. The naïve demon's eyes bulged in their sockets as Ash squeezed tighter.

"Tell me, how did you lose him?"

Strickeon gurgled, his bulging eyes now rolling in their sockets.

Ash released him and Strickeon fell to the floor.

"He...gasp...disappeared in the... wheeze... underground station at ... choke...Westminster."

"When you say disappeared, what do you mean?"

"I mean, one minute he was there, the next he wasn't. I had three tailing him too, but it was very busy."

"Cloaking."

Strickeon looked puzzled, but Gammick nodded at Ash.

"What about the search of his home?"

"We found nothing, Sire, nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. In fact, there was barely anything in the house. Papers relating to church business, but that was pretty much it. It seems he isn't one for clutter, except for a few photos."

"Very well. Go back to the house and stand guard, but first remove the man. He has been gone long enough now to potentially cause us an issue. Do it discreetly."

Strickeon bowed and left quickly, rubbing at his neck.

Ash turned to Gammick. "What of the rumours?"

"They are growing. There is talk that a Fragili has been discovered and that several members of the order flew in two nights ago on a private jet from Geneva. There is much nervousness, Sire. They remember what happened the last time... how many we lost."

"Any idea of location?"

"No there wasn't, but there is now; a little misdirection never hurt anybody. So, what of the girl, Sire, is she the Fragili?"

Ash looked long and hard at Gammick. He wasn't ready to reveal what he'd seen through the shop window the previous evening.

"I'm not sure. I need more time."

"Sire, time is not something you have. Word is spreading. How long will it be before the others come calling? Lucifer isn't the only with his ear to the ground."

"Well, we'd better get on with it then."

Ash cautiously peered into the girl's room from the confines of the portal. Her light was still on, giving him little in the way of cover. He looked over to the bed. She was asleep yet fully dressed and huddled into the corner, her cheeks still glistening with recent tears. To her chest she hugged a photo frame and in her right hand she gripped the necklace tightly, the stone dangling in mid-air. The purity of the stone looked magnificent, except for the few small splinters of black. His mind jolted back to the last time he'd been so close to one of them. He remembered watching from a distance as the last chink of light splintered away and the stone turned pitch black, a darkness so absolute, he could almost feel it pulling him in. Oh, how he'd initially delighted in that gradual colour change and all the misdeeds and schemes it had taken to achieve it. But at the end, he would have done anything to stop it, but the Custos had intervened and it had been their good intentions that did the final damage.

Ash suddenly stepped back further into the portal with a worrying realisation — nothing made sense. Here was a girl, clearly a Fragili, in a house with little to no protection from him and his kind, where even her guardian, the blessed Reverend had left her alone for a couple of days. Where were her sworn protectors, how had he even been allowed to get this close, and more importantly, why?