Monday 2nd November 1992- Ash

3:20 a.m.

"How was it?" Gammick asked.

Ash kicked out at a large stone. Patience was not his strong point.

Gammick didn't press him further and looked back up at the house and the small window upstairs.

Ash fiddled with his face, trying to reposition the fleshy mask to a more comfortable position. He was never more irritable than when he was in human skin.

"You've also been summoned to appear before Belthegor," Gammick whispered, hesitation evident in his voice.

"This week just keeps getting better."

First Mammon, and now Belthegor.  An audience with two of the self-proclaimed princes of darkness in one week! How long would it be before the other five members of the Council would be on his case?

"Have you told then about her?"

Ash looked up at the small window.

"Because if they find out ..."

Ash grabbed Gammick by his collar and pushed him back into the trunk of large tree.

"We'd better make sure they don't, then."

Stepping out into the small room, his own skin prickled beneath the human mask. Although, the vicarage was just a house and the ground unhallowed, it had very recently been blessed and so the irritation was mild, yet still annoying.

Ash surveyed the room. The bed where she slept, was positioned just beneath the window. Across from the bed, a small table held a few cosmetics and a small television set atop. Other than that, the room had little on display to suggest a teenage girl lived there at all. Ash turned and examined a pile of boxes next to the bedroom door. He opened the top one and found it to be full of records, a few CDs and books. He moved it carefully and found the boxes beneath to be equally filled. So far, their research into the girl had discovered little, just that she'd come down from Manchester to live with her Uncle after her father had died. Given that her life appeared still to be contained in these unpacked boxes, it was obvious she didn't yet consider this to be her home. That kind of uncertainty could prove useful.

The age of the property was such, that he chose to levitate towards her, rather than risk a creaking floorboard or two. Levitation was always preferable to walking when possessing a body. For some reason, possessed human hosts often managed to sometimes gain control over their legs, long before any other function; the sheer act of walking would sometimes become a little too Monty Python for Ash's liking. But levitation wasn't without its issues either as the process was consumed great amounts of energy. His stunt at the old people's luncheon the day before, had left him quite drained and he'd had to retire to his temporary lodgings nearby, to recharge. And thanks to Mammon and his demands, that rest had been interrupted.

Oh, how he hated that greedy monstrosity. Not dissimilar to Jabba the Hut, the demon spent most of his time gorging on the energy that demons, like Ash, were forced to provide. And just like the human condition, unused energy tended to store itself as fat on a demon's body. This probably explained why Ash was rakishly thin. But at least Mammon occasionally moved. Belthegor wasn't called the demon of sloth for nothing. That was unless displeased, then was anything but slothful in his retribution.

The girl suddenly kicked out at her bed covers, whimpering. It always amazed Ash how a soul knew of imminent danger long before the human consciousness did. She turned onto her side, facing away from him and slowly, her breathing leveled out. He sniffed the air. She had a rare, delicious sweetness that he'd only smelt a few times. If asked to describe it, he'd have said it was like a stick of candyfloss, yet sweeter, more floral.

"No, no! Get away from me. I said, get away."

Barely holding onto sleep, she began thrashing around in the bed, and he shifted back a little.

"I hate you," she screamed, "I hate you."

He felt the energy before he saw it. The atmosphere seemed to crackle as small splinters rose up from the blanket, into the air. When a collector, like himself wasn't around, these splinters often absorbed back into the body, but most times they just dissipated into the ether. However, tonight he had other plans for them. Calling to them, his hand outstretched, the splinters were typically disobedient. Even in their smallest of state, they knew not to go when summoned to the dark. They tugged anxiously away from him, but this effort began to use up their energy. There was a fine balance here to be struck. Exert too much energy in the gathering and the rewards just replaced the energy that had been lost trying to gather them. But exert less energy to catch them and the splinters would begin to burn themselves out in the process. Either way, Ash would be left with very little. And then that would have to be shared out among Mammon and his cronies.

Ash increased the pull, and now too tired to fight, the splinters came to him in a stream of twinkling light. As the first one approached, it put up a last-ditch fight, so he beckoned to it with his finger. The sparkling fragments came closer and he opened his mouth and inhaled. The effect was immediate, and a feeling which began in his toes coursed up though his entire body. They were an elixir, temporarily banishing the overwhelming, crushing exhaustion he'd felt for almost an eternity. The familiar reaction from his human host occurred, it too buoyed, by the new energy. The forty-eight-year-old car salesman, whose body Ash had taken possession of, used the invigorating energy to fight against his containment, but Ash quickly pushed him back down.

As the last splinters entered his being, Ash closed his eyes, just like he had two previous nights. It was exactly how he'd remembered it, yet better, if that were possible. In Ash's experience, no two souls were ever enjoyed in the same way. Like fine bottles of wine, their differences went beyond mere taste, texture and aroma. French wine experts even had a unique term for this—terroir; a term which singularly described the soil of a region, the climate and other aspects of the vineyard which helped build the unique character of the wine. Ash liked this concept very much. Every soul was unique, enriched by the life the person had lived. Inhaling a splinter was like getting to experience their being as a whole; where they'd come from, what they'd experienced, what they'd won, loved...lost. Ash shivered. If souls were wine, then he'd just drunk a bottle 1811 Chateau d'Yquem. Quite simply, it was inexplicable perfection.

The lure of her energy made him thirst for more. He longed to consume the larger splinters, he intended to soon take from her. The urge to rush the process was great, but he had rushed the last time and look where that had got him. No, this time, he would be as patient and keeping that in mind, he let one of his real nails pierce through and elongate, till its finely- honed point was visible. He located the wound on her wrist, he had already punctured the night of the rave and inserted his nail, sending a small amount of his venom coursing through her veins. This served two purposes. Firstly, it allowed him to sense her whereabouts and most importantly, it messed around with her memory, just enough to render her confused. Human psychosis was a brilliant tool to use when splintering a soul.

The floorboard outside the room squeaked. Ash floated backwards as the handle turned quietly and the door opened into the room, until he was completely obscured by the portal. He watched as the girl's uncle carefully crept across the floor until he reached her bed. The man stared down at the girl for a moment. The blanket and top sheet had dropped a little, exposing her bare arm. He gently pulled them up, tucking them in a little and then dropped to his knees. In a barely discernible whisper, he began to pray. Ash was grateful for the protection of the portal, for had he been in the room, it would have felt like he had hives. The hushed prayer went on for several minutes and then, just as carefully, her uncle crept back across the room. Almost at the door, the man stopped and looked toward the portal where Ash was concealed. It was no more than a fleeting glance, but Ash wasn't entirely sure that it was unintentional. The uncle then glanced once more at his niece on the bed, then left the room, closing the door behind him. Ash was left with a fleeting sense of unease, like what he'd experienced, the first time he had seen her at the bar.

"Gammick, I want to know more about her, specifically the Reverend Stokes with whom she lives," he said as he entered out into the cool night air. "There is something amiss here."

"Like what, Sire?"

"I don't know...something."

"And what of today?" Gammick asked.

"I think we'll leave her alone today. Let her think it was all a strange dream, remember the harder the fight she puts up, the greater the reward. This will also give you time to find out a little more about her, while I visit with Belthegor and see what that that lazy ass wants now. We will begin in earnest tomorrow."

"Ashmadalak, my dear friend, come join me."

Ash approached cautiously, not used to being called friend by anyone, least of all, Belthegor.

"Take a look at what these silly humans have come up with now."

The room in which Belthegor resided was rather unspectacular, especially when you compared it to Mammon's lair, who had typically filled his place with every appliance, decoration and gadget available. As he approached the demon of sloth, Ash could hear irritating music, with ringing and zipping sounds every few seconds.

"Look at this! I am quite addicted already."

Belthegor lay sprawled across a golden daybed, his immense gut spilling over the edge.

"It's called Sonic the Hedgehog. I have to get that little chap with the spiky hair to collect these gold rings." He pointed to the television screen.

Ash rolled his eyes.

"It's not released for another couple of weeks, but I managed to get my hands on it early. Drat, you've made me lose my concentration."

Ash shook his head and inwardly seethed. Every time he visited with Belthegor, it was always the same with the demon lounging around like a lethargic teenage boy.

"So, do you have anything for me?" The demon flicked his wrist and the television and game console turned off.

Ash knew he could have lied and said no, but it wasn't worth the grief. They always knew when someone was trying to pull the wool over their eyes; they could sense it. That, and the fact they had their spies who kept an eye on everything going on above.

Ash closed his eyes and held out his hands. He visualised a Soul Sphere and once it had formed in the palm of his hand, he slowly gathered up the energy from his being and forced it into the sphere. As he did so, he could feel the exhaustion returning, as the girls vibrant energy decreased. When he felt he'd passed on enough to satisfy the demon, he opened his eyes. The glass-like ball now swirled with the misty, pulsating energy. Following agreed conventions, he moved forward, bent down on one knee and offered it up to the demon. "My Lord."

Belthegor grabbed at it with his pudgy hand and gave it a shake. "I hope you don't think this meagre amount is acceptable. Next time I expect more."

Ash nodded. Didn't he always?

Belthegor cracked the side of the sphere against the edge of his game controller, as if it were an egg. Separating the two halves, he gulped down the cloudy contents, throwing the remains of the ball to the floor. For a moment, Belthegor was frozen in an expression of sheer unadulterated bliss but then his eyes shot open, focusing in on Ash. He too had felt it.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, my Lord."

"That didn't feel like nothing."

"Ah, that. Well, I was in a train station a couple of days ago and I gathered that one by chance. Before I'd even realised its quality, the person had moved on. I have associates staking out the station in case they return."

"Well, make sure you find them and then come straight here. Nowhere else, am I clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now be gone and leave me to this game."

Ash's nodded once, obediently and as he backed out of the room, an inhuman voice came from the television singing the word, Sega.