Pazuzu's Girl

By Rachel Coles

JournalStone San Francisco

Copyright ©2012 by Rachel Coles

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

JournalStone books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting: JournalStone 199 State Street San Mateo, CA 94401 www.journalstone.com The views expressed in this work are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. ISBN: 978-1-936564-36-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-936564-37-8 (ebook) Library of Congress Control Number: 2012930068 Printed in the United States of America JournalStone rev. date: February 10, 2012 Cover Design: Denise Daniel Cover Art: Philip Renne

Edited By: Elizabeth Reuter

Among the many people to acknowledge, most of all I'd like to acknowledge my daughter, Rosa. Without her urging me to write down 'scary stories', this book never would have been written. This book is dedicated to her. I'd like to thank my husband Adam, for endless hours of reading, critiquing, and encouragement. I'd like to thank the Denver Fiction Writers Critique Group also for their expertise and time in critique. Good critique is priceless. I'd like to thank my Mom, the exEnglish teacher, for the continued grammatical and literary review, without whom I would almost certainly be illiterate. Finally, I'd like to acknowledge the persons and cultures responsible for the ancient tablets and myths from which some of this story was derived.

Check out these titles from JournalStone: JournalStone’s 2011 Warped Words: 90 Minutes to Live Joel Kirkpatrick The Traiteur’s Ring Jeffrey Wilson Jokers Club Gregory Bastianelli Ghosts of Coronado Bay J.G. Faherty Any Witch Way Annastasia Savage That Which Should Not Be Brett J. Talley Reign of the Nightmare Prince Mike Phillips

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Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two

1 Morpho shook out her brilliant blue hair in front of the mirror behind the door of her pink room. She threw on her torn leather jacket over a ruffled pink sock that passed for a mini-dress. She flounced down the stairs, grabbed her Tinker Bell backpack and the peanut butter toast her father’s servant had left, and plopped her skateboard on the tiles of the front porch. One of them dislodged as she jumped the board down the steps. A loud chatter emerged from the thousands of grasshoppers that hid throughout the partially eaten lawn and manicured bushes. She heard them as though they spoke in English. I know you’re mad at me, but was that really necessary? Lugal just fixed those. Are you angry with him as well? A couple of grasshoppers fluttered after her and hitched a bumpy ride on the strap of her pack before crawling up to her shoulder. She rolled her eyes and did a rattling jump just for their benefit. “No, Dad. I’m not mad at him. And not everything I do is just to piss you off.” Her lips set in a grim line and she rode in silence. The grasshoppers twittered and hung on as she took the curbs as hard as possible. Then to what do we owe your sunny mood? She glowered. “I’m a freak. We are freaks.” She whirled her finger in a circle to include everyone around her in freak-dom. You dyed your hair blue. That’s generally not what people do when they are trying to avoid attention, her dad gently reminded her. “I’m laying my cards on the table. We have to replace the lawn and shrubs every couple days because you eat everything in the yard. And everyone thinks Lugal is your love slave. Our differences aren't exactly ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ By the way, we got another fine from the stupid housing association. They’re threatening to send pest control.” The grasshoppers chirped. “I’ll deal with them. And I thought you liked Lugal.”

“I do like him. But you might want to let him know everyone thinks he’s your boyfriend, partner...whatever.” She flipped her board up and stormed into the school hall, late for class, as the grasshoppers flitted away. * * * Thousands of grasshoppers emerged from nooks and crannies throughout the denuded sod in front of 248 Rowan Street, Ken Caryl, Colorado. As they flooded into the hallway of the house from the moist April breeze outside, the swarm of glittering wings and golden-brown bodies condensed into the figure of a tall thin man with golden eyes, black hair and slightly canine features around the mouth. Pazuzu, Demon of the Air and the Southwest Wind, stalked into his suburban home to deal with the four-hundredth letter from his homeowner's association and ruminate on how to handle an angsty teenage daughter. Lugal, an equally tall, sturdy man with dark features and a hawk's nose, dropped to his knees and bowed his face to the floor as Pazuzu entered. His palms flattened on the ground in obeisance. His right hand was marred by rough white scar tissue across the palm and wrist. “Lord, what is your will?” Pazuzu motioned the man to his feet. “I accept your loyalty,” he nodded, “but you have not bowed to me since the first time we met, except when you have done something you knew would displease me. What have you done?” He glowered. Lugal raised a carefully-groomed eyebrow and his eyelid twitched for a moment. “I have not seen such a look on your face for many years. I thought you might benefit from an old formality.” Pazuzu's lips curled up in a smile that looked like a grimace. “Did you see Morpho's attire? We are supposed to maintain a low profile!” Lugal's white teeth flashed and the other eyebrow rose. “Forgive my impudence, Lord, but have you seen some of the other children at the high school? She is fitting in.” Pazuzu met the dark man’s eyes and they both burst into deep rolling laughter. Pazuzu sank down into the tasteful but nondescript kitchen chair and picked up the HOA letter. He took the content in at a glance and tossed it back on the table. “She told me about this.” “What will you do?” Lugal brought pungent-smelling cardamom tea to the table.

“I will be the indignant homeowner at one of their silly meetings. They have been fining us since we arrived more than a year ago. It gives them something to do and makes them feel important, happy with their power. Happy neighbors are quiet neighbors.” “But they have threatened to hire extermination services.” Lugal sipped his tea, watching Pazuzu warily. Pazuzu leaned forward slightly, and his golden irises lit from within, then faded. “I will dissuade them.” Lugal was silent for a moment. “Has there been any sign of her? Of the Scourge? My spies have detected nothing yet.” Agitation distorted Pazuzu’s lips into a snarl, making him look more canine than ever. “No. Not aside from the usual events in the news lately. The bombings, the shootings, in many of the nations near the old kingdom, near Uruk. I see nothing direct, only her influence.” “She is subtle. That is how she gained her power before you left her. What will you do should she find Morpho?” Pazuzu’s eyes flashed and a rasping breeze lifted in the room. Lugal quietly placed his scarred hand on the napkins to keep them from skittering off the table. Pazuzu’s voice was like the sound of a million furious, buzzing insects as he answered, “I will protect my child.” * * * Morpho scowled and pulled a ring pop from her hair that the student seated behind her had hung there. She reached backwards across his desk as the teacher’s back was turned and dumped her thermos of still-warm coffee in his lap. He shrieked and leaped out of his seat. “You freaky little bitch!” “Oh man, I’m so sorry! I thought I had a good hold on it but you know these new thermoses. They’re kind of slippery. Here, let me help you.” She took the wad of paper towels that the teacher had bustled over with and jammed it into his crotch. He yelled, swatting at her. Before the fight could escalate, the teacher grabbed both of their arms, and propelled them out the door to the principal's office. Carl Haglund, Head Asshole of the Lollipop Guild, glared daggers at Morpho as they were pointed to their seats on opposite sides of the office foyer. “I’m going to get you and your little dog too, you little witch. They used to burn weirdoes like you at the stake.” “First you would have to figure out how to light a fire, Captain Caveman,” she shot back.

“Both of you in my office now.” Mr. Agresti, the principal, motioned them in. Carl vied to go after Morpho but she sidestepped and waited. The principal said, in a soft voice that boded more trouble, “Now!” He stared each of them down as they went in. The principal sat back behind his desk, his hands in front of him and his spine ruler-straight. “What happened?” “He stuck candy in my hair.” “She spilled hot coffee in my lap and then punched me in the nads!” “I slipped! I was helping you clean up the coffee.” “You're full of sh—” “Mr. Haglund! That will be enough from both of you.” Mr. Agresti’s gray eyes darkened to a storm blue. “Carl Haglund, I’ve been watching you since you started here, and this is your last warning. Bullying is not tolerated here. Ever since you started varsity sports, your behavior has slid. This will threaten your status on the team. If I have to speak to you again you are out a game, maybe the rest of the season.” “What about her?” Carl gestured at Morpho. “So she gets to do whatever she wants—” “No, you are both in detention for the rest of the week. Morpho, pouring hot coffee on anyone is dangerous behavior. Retaliation will also not be tolerated.” “It wasn’t retaliation! I—” “Save it. Violence is grounds for expulsion. Since you have not been in trouble until now, this is your single get-out-of-jail-free card. You are both dismissed to return to class. Report to detention after final period.” They trudged back to class, avoiding each other. But Morpho could feel Carl’s eyes on the back of her neck. * * * In detention that afternoon, she plopped down into the graffiticarved chair next to JD, one of the burn-outs who hung out in shop class. Carl, her nemesis, scowled on the other side of the room. Morpho ignored him. The teacher set a pen and paper in front of her. “Write why you’re here and what you regret about it,” Mr. Johnson said. The tired, graying man leaned back against his desk and adjusted his cardigan, like Good Neighbor Mr. Rogers twenty years past retirement. “And don’t give me some sop about being

misunderstood and stereotyped. This isn’t The Breakfast Club. Get over yourself and think about your responsibility for why you're here. You are all staying here until you do.” Morpho began chewing the end of her pen. “Hey, Tinker Bell, those plastics aren’t good for you.” Her new neighbor-in-crime nodded at the pen. “They could cause cancer,” JD whispered, winking at her. Morpho rolled her eyes, “My name is Morpho. And what have you been sniffing in shop class that’s so much better?” “Whoa, no need to be hostile, Morpho. That's a cool name. Like the butterfly. Did your parents name you that or did you change it?” Morpho sat up straight. He knows what my name means, she thought. No one ever knows what my name means. “My parents. My mother. She was—”Suddenly wistful, she cleared her throat to get control again. But it drew Mr. Johnson’s attention. “JD, Morpho, stop talking and write, or you get another detention added onto the list.” They put their heads down for a few minutes. Then JD’s hand slid over to the middle of the aisle with an inked word on his palm. Was? Morpho nodded. JD nodded back. I'm sorry, he wrote. She smiled and scribbled aimlessly on her page. “Me too,” she whispered. * * * “Hey, Butterfly Girl, wait up!” A panting voice came from behind her. JD ran up as he straightened his leather coat, and the plaid flannel shirt underneath, to no effect. He still looked like someone had run him through a dryer without a fabric sheet. She rolled her eyes and sped up on the walking path, the back way home. “Morpho! Why can’t you just call me Morpho. What’s with all the funny little names people give you that they think are so cute! Morpho Morpho Morpho!” He held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry! It’s a very cool name. Even if it wasn't a butterfly, it’d be cool because it sounds like it could be a bitchin’ super-villain name. Dr. Morpho plots the demise of Barbie in her underground lair.” She smirked, kept walking and flipped her hair. “Okay. That is kind of cool.” She eyed him. “I guess you’re used to nicknames, JD. So what does JD stand for?” He sighed. “It’s not a cool name. Trust me.”

“No, you’re not chickening out now. Man up! What does it mean?” He rubbed his face with his hands and glanced at her sideways, “Jmmms.” “What?” He grimaced. “Julius. Julius Dorgan.” She choked back a snort at ‘Dorgan.’ Instead she said, “Julius as in ‘Caesar?’” “Julius as in, ‘a small runny-nosed kid who eats paste’. I didn’t used to be nearly as awesome as you see me now. They used to call me ‘Dorkin’ or ‘Dunkin Donuts’ in grade school.” He gave her a lopsided grin. She grinned back. “Well, Caesar, maybe someday you’ll own all who mocked you.” “I can beat ‘em in a drag race for sure.” “Show me.” His jaw dropped. “Really?” “Yeah.” “Okay, come with me. I’m parked back in the lot.” She followed him to a banged up Z-28. He held the door open for her and then got in, starting the engine. It purred like a happy lion as they rumbled out of the parking lot. He grinned at her again and pulled onto the highway. The wind blew through her hair, caressing her face. Something about the wind always made her feel free. She closed her eyes, as it ruffled her eyelashes. JD just left her in silence, letting her enjoy the ride for a while. They pulled onto Route 6 toward Bear Creek and then into a Burger King parking lot about a mile along. “Want anything?” She shook her head. After a few minutes, he returned with a couple bags. “In case you change your mind. Which you will once you get a whiff of this fried greasy goodness.” She poked her hand in the bag he gave her and snagged a couple fries. “Thanks.” He pulled back onto the highway, checked for cops and radar guns with his detector, then sped along for a while. “So what happened to your mom? You never got to say, before we got the smack-down from ‘Mr. Rogers'. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” “She died when I was born. Not much to say. I just wish I knew her. I know my Dad loved her, like crazy. He had some psycho ex-wife

before her and I think he blames her for my mother’s death. But he won’t talk about his ex. He won’t even say her name.” “Wow, do you think she murdered your mom?” “Since my mom died when I was born, I think I’d probably be dead too if that were the case. But I suppose it's possible. He thinks she’s going to try to snatch me, like I’m a baby that takes candy from strangers. I’m not scared of her!” She shuddered. “Though...I guess the whole thing with her could be a little creepy. But not surprising. My family isn't exactly normal.” “What's ‘normal?’” He said understandingly. “So you live with your Dad then? I saw him come to the school once. Tall, stocky, dark. Are you Greek? The name Morpho is Greek.” “You know Greek?” she queried, looking him up and down. “I know bugs.” “I’m not a bug. Chat up girls often, do you, Jack Daniels?” “No, but what if I told you that the morpho butterfly was an expression of Aphrodite. You know who she was, right?” “I’d say you were a perv.” But she hid a pleased look in the flap of her coat. “I’d say that hanging out with a brainiac bug expert was definitely not what I expected.” “Is that bad?” She gazed at him, at his hopeful chocolate brown eyes and longish sandy hair, and his grin. “No, not bad.” His smile widened. “So where is your dad from?” “Oh, that guy wasn’t my dad. That was Lugal. He lives with us. I think he's Iraqi, from the desert around there.” “Oh.” JD was quiet for a minute. “Lives with you...like your dad’s partner?” She shook her head and snorted. “No. I think Lugal is family, like some cousin removed or something. He’s always been around, since I was born. What about you?” A cloud of gloom passed briefly over JD's face and then he smirked. He waved his hand. “At least your dad’s interested in protecting you from psycho ex-partners. My dad’s gone and my mom’s boyfriend is the psycho.” She cocked her head. “What's he do?” He waved one hand. “Ah, no worries. He’s just a drunk.” All of a sudden, she took in the almost-faded bruise above his eye and remembered seeing him in the hall on the way to class a couple days ago when the shiner had been livid and fresh.

He turned and gave her a distracting grin. “Watch this!” He flicked a switch under the steering wheel, punched a button and floored the gas pedal. She whooped and stuck her head out the window to catch the blasting wind. When she pulled her head back inside he was flicking the switch compulsively, muttering, “Crap! Not now! I just fixed the pulse generator...” “Everything okay?” He looked up sheepishly. “Yup! Great! Just fiddling. I rebuilt this engine. It’ll go way faster as soon as I'm done.” “Cool!” She stuck her head back out the window. “Punch it!” * * * Pazuzu strode into the HOA meeting exuding indignation and confidence. His suit was pressed into razor-sharp lines, almost as sharp as his features. He took a seat near the door in a position of dominance, where he could see the whole room. He knew that seat was occupied by the chair, who had gotten up to use the bathroom. The chairman, Mr. Hobart, glared at him when he returned and took a seat in the rear of the room. He said nothing other than to call the meeting to order. “Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” Pazuzu interrupted firmly. “I cannot stay long but I wish to address the problem of an unlawfully issued fine. I believe you issued this.” Pazuzu held up the letter and concentrated on keeping it from bursting into flames from his irritation. “Mr. Wilson, there is a process here and an agenda. You need to…” “I’m sure there is but if you issue such a statement as this, you must be prepared to answer to it if it is illegal. Failing to respond to it will not work out well for you.” “It isn’t illegal; it is within the boundaries of our by-laws. Are you threatening legal action, sir?” The lights in the room were still lit but any warmth or comfort they provided seemed to be sucked into Pazuzu’s flaming yellow eyes. “If you wish. I would prefer other means…less acrimonious.” He continued into the shocked silence. “Your by-laws, which I have read, only state that the lawn must be well-kept and contain only certain types of plants. With this I have complied. The lawn is well-kept. Our shrubs are even manicured.”

“They’re dead half the time. Well-kept means well-watered. And you have pests that need to be controlled. That’s why your lawn is always dead. That poses a threat to the other residences.” “Grasshoppers, Mr. Hobart. Not filthy cockroaches or poisonous centipedes or bedbugs. Grasshoppers. Have any of the pests affected the other residences at any time you can identify?” “That’s not the point—” “It most certainly is. There is nothing in the by-laws that state how pests must be controlled, only that they are. If you can point to no instance in which other residents have been affected, I do not see how you plan to enforce this. I could enlist the ACLU for discrimination.” The gathered handful of people started murmuring. The chairman snorted. “Why, because you’re homosexual?” “Because I am botanically-challenged. Homosexual?” Pazuzu almost faltered, puzzled by the idea. “Where in Earth or Heaven did you come by that notion?” “Your partner is always doing work around the yard.” Pazuzu blinked and then recovered. “Partner? He is my relative. He lives there for work. You admit then that work is constantly done on the yard. You cannot fine me for my lawn being eaten, if I am taking actions to keep it green.” With that, he slipped the letter into his briefcase and walked to the door, holding it up. “I expect we will repeat this little exercise next month? Good day, gentleman, ladies.” He felt the emotions in the room with little effort as he left, smugness and righteous indignation from the Chairman, apprehension and uncertainty from most of the others. That wasn’t rocket science or demonic senses. It was common sense. He wondered if the threat of the ACLU would keep nosey inspectors off the lawn. The organization seemed to cause a stir whenever it was brought up. When he arrived back at the house, he maintained his human form for a little while longer. He shut off all the lights. Lugal noted the look on his face and silently went to his quarters in the back room. Pazuzu stood in the darkness in the center of the living room. A bright blue flare pulsed up from his outstretched palm. A beautiful woman with brilliant blue, green and violet butterfly wings emerged in the flames. Her eyes sparkled with a smile that lit up her whole face and body. But she didn’t see him. His beloved Etain, Queen of Butterflies. Her light faded and the memory winked out. He’d taken out this memory more and more often lately, as often as when she’d first died.

Over the millennia, his ex-wife had taken many victims. And he had even protected some, beseeched by tribesman and lavished with offerings. But Etain, Morpho’s mother, had been the first victim he really cared about. His hand shook and he clenched down on his empty fist, as if he could have kept the vision from leaking away. His whole body quaked. A wave of darkness rolled out from him as he burst apart into a million swarming locusts that took the doors off cupboards, chewed the paint off walls and ravaged every edible bit of material in the first floor of the house in minutes. A whirlwind of insects blew through downstairs windows, through the chimney and the doors and into the starlit sky. In the cool air, they rose up among the trees and spread out across miles before settling down in the expanse of woods and prairie as their fury cooled. The ground seethed with the slowly calming grasshoppers, secure in the dark that their indiscretion hadn’t been noticed. Televisions and computers were visible through the windows of distant houses, and people at their dining tables. Something else watched the insects from the empty prairies, something that didn’t belong there any more than the locusts. Most people wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing a dog here and there. So many families had moved out into the foothills for space to run their animals. In the dark, the differences weren’t visible. But these were no retrievers or beloved family mutts. Their eyes glinted with scarlet light that didn’t come from the moon. Their fur and unusually long claws were crusted with blood. As they crouched in the tall grasses and among creaking pines, they moved like lions. At the edge of Two Horse Gulch, they faded into the darkness. The weary grasshoppers finally fluttered back the way they had come.

2 Just after ten at night, Morpho ran into the house, her skateboard slung over her shoulder as JD's Z-28 revved away. The ‘study session at the library,’ complete with a dime bag of weed twenty miles from the library, had obviously been less eventful than whatever storm had hit the house. She knew exactly what storm that was: her dad’s temper. As soon as she saw Lugal sweeping up glass, her breath caught in her throat. She began cycling through alibis in her head. He didn’t even look up. “Your father is not here. He went away to calm down, so as not to attract attention.” She swallowed hard. “Uh...” Lugal looked up then, pinned her with eyes as black as the night sky, and smiled. “It had nothing to do with whatever you were not supposed to be doing tonight.” She let out an audible sigh. “No attention, huh? That’ll work until daylight. Any idea when the Master of Subtlety will get back?” She picked her way to the empty cupboard and spied some debris on the floor. An empty peanut butter jar with the plastic half-eaten poked from underneath the door. She moaned, rescuing the jar, and dredged the last of the peanut butter from the bottom with her finger. “He couldn’t leave me the peanut butter? He doesn’t even like peanut butter! So what happened to piss him off this time? Oh, the HOA meeting?” She asked with her finger in her mouth. Lugal shook his head. “No, though he was in a foul mood when he returned. It is complicated.” He continued cleaning up. “‘Complicated’ meaning about my mother. Or about his psycho ex-wife. Grown-up stuff, god-stuff he’s all secret about.” She started sweeping up the glass, found a big chunk and picked it up. Lugal took it from her and put it in the plastic waste basket. “Yes. Complicated.” “He’s getting worse, isn’t he? This is the third time he’s lost his cool like this in two years. The last time, we had to move.”

Lugal didn’t say anything. Pazuzu walked into the kitchen, his face tense but composed. Lugal nodded and continued sweeping. “So did you hear from the harpy?” Morpho asked her father. He glowered. “You know I’m not a kid anymore. Why won't you even talk about her? I can handle it,” Morpho said, hand on her hip. “No. Go to bed. I will deal with this.” Pazuzu flicked his wrist and some of the debris in the room whumphed into flames. Morpho grabbed the extinguisher next to the stove and buried the beginning fires under powder. She turned to her father, waving at the smoking dust. “What the F! Lighting things on fire is not dealing with them.” “I was disposing of some of the debris.” “Don’t help.” She put the canister down, picked up a powdercovered, charred chair and sat down. “So if she’s psycho, why don’t you just get a restraining order? This girl Michelle at school, her dad got a restraining order against her last boyfriend. He kept showing up at their house, playing a ukulele outside her window and blasting the radio with their favorite song.” Pazuzu covered his eyes with his fingers. “Don’t tell me things like that. And don’t sit down as if this is a discussion. You have school in the morning. Go to bed.” He pointed to her room. “Do I still have a bed? Why do you get to throw temper tantrums but if I—” Her commentary withered when her father glared at her. She glanced nervously at Lugal. He returned her gaze evenly, without a blink. She swallowed. “I’m going.” She wandered past the message machine on her way to the stairs. If there had been a call from school, it had been taken and cleared. * * * Lugal nodded toward her room. “You have to tell her soon.” “What can she do against a demoness? Knowing what stalks us will only terrify her.” Lugal answered in a dry voice. “Have you ever known her to be terrified by anything? Not even by you.” “But she can do nothing and she shouldn’t have to. I am her father. I protected the children of countless tribesmen for the price of a goat or oil or a prayer, and then I failed her mother. I already failed my

son. I will protect my daughter!” The last statement was a growl that shook the remaining wood cabinetry. His dark servant gave him a calculating look. “Master, the witch is much stronger now. You do not have...the hold over her you once did. Trying to even find her is like following smoke, gone when we look closely. The Tablet that used to bind her is missing and her power grows. She may even have the blessing of Enlil.” Thunder built behind Pazuzu’s yellow eyes and then he slumped into a chair, surveying the half-demolished ground floor, his own altar to his weakened position on Earth. “Might I suggest fighting the battles you can win today, Master Anzu?” Pazuzu straightened with interest. Lugal continued, “The school called. She was sent to detention for pouring hot coffee on another boy and punching him in the…manhood.” “Which he no doubt deserved,” Pazuzu looked proud. “No doubt, but then she was seen willingly getting into the vehicle of a different boy and drag racing down the street. She also smelled of marijuana when she came in, which she tried hiding with car air freshener. I think this boy is a suitor and he is influencing her in unwise behavior.” “Ah.” Pazuzu scowled. He had been god of many things, but never impotence. Why was he now finding himself helpless against the exploits of a teenage girl, his own daughter? Once upon a time he had raised another offspring. It hadn’t seemed so complicated then. Maybe because it had been a male and not so human. Except, he recalled with chagrin, he hadn’t done so well with his son either. “Who is this suitor?” “My sources indicate that his name is Julius Dorgan. He is poor in his studies and has not dropped out of the school only so he can use the shop. However, he uses it to construct advanced models of...bongs. Those tubes used to smoke the marijuana I smelled on Morpho.” Pazuzu marveled at Lugal’s uncanny capacity for gathering information. It had even grown in past years with the man’s passion for detective dramas. “What is this boy’s location?” “He lives on Yosemite Street. Near 8th Avenue. Number 336.” Pazuzu strode to the window and was gone in a flurry of coppery wings. * * *

As the bulk of the locusts reached a small run-down house on Yosemite Street, the sound of crashing came from inside. Pazuzu’s first instinct, as a father and a demon, was to swarm in and devour this influence on his daughter. He’d have the unique pleasure of consuming the foolish boy’s flesh as the scoundrel screamed and denied everything. Much more satisfying than a shotgun, he thought. But someone had beaten him to it. An older male voice accompanied the crashing. “Lazy stoner drug addict! I told you not to come in here reekin’ of that shit!” Crash! “I told you what I'd do!” “Because alcohol isn’t a drug, you sloppy hypocrite!” A loud report cracked through the air and a shriek. “Next time, I’ll use more’n BB’s, if you ever goddam mouth off to me again like that!” A couple locusts peeked over the top of the open window sill at the scene unfolding inside. A grizzled man in a stained, sleeveless teeshirt, with straggly hair that refused to stay in its comb-over, swung the butt of a Daisy Air rifle at the head of a teenage boy. The boy dodged the stock, pulled a chair between himself and the weaving drunk, and escaped into the kitchen. As he ran, the man aimed the muzzle at the boy’s retreating backside. A shot rang out as he pulled the trigger and a bottle shattered on the counter, spilling acrid amber liquor down the worn cabinet face. Soft feminine sobs came from the main bedroom but were ignored. The grasshoppers watched the ensuing chase through the house dispassionately, waiting for the boy to be properly punished for his insolence. The man caught up to the boy in his room, pistol-whipped him in the face again with the stock of the gun and grabbed him by the hair. “And if I find out about you screwin’ that little whore you were with tonight—” Now the man would have to be punished also. This piece of human rubbish would not defile his little butterfly with a drunken tirade. The swarm boiled through the windows and right into every opening in the man's foul-smelling body. He yelled until the insects choked off his throat. The watching boy screamed. The scream got the insects’ attention. They left the man on the floor, squirming and batting at his face. As one entity, they seethed toward the boy. The buzz of the locusts vibrated in unison, “You are Julius Dorgan.” Julius kept screaming, backing against the opposite wall. The swarm condensed into Pazuzu’s angry grimace. “You were with my daughter tonight.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Not with her, not like that, I swear! I didn’t do nothing! I just, we just talked!” He held his hands in front of his face and dashed sideways for the grimy bathroom and brandished a can of Raid. Pazuzu laughed a deep rumble. “Really? I am a god.” A blast of searing-hot air pinned Julius to the shower door. Pusfilled boils blossomed across his face, ten times worse than the antiacne- pictures on the television commercial droning in the background. Julius felt his face, shrieked and dropped the can of Raid. “Please, sir! Please!” He fell to his knees before Pazuzu. “Please don’t kill me. I swear Morpho’s just the way she was when we went for a ride. I-I like her. I would never do anything bad!” Pazuzu said nothing while Julius sobbed at his feet, babbling. “She talked about you. She said you were different. I didn’t know what she meant. I just liked talking to her. Please don't kill me!” Pazuzu felt only disdain. “Rise.” Muffled sobs continued at the demon’s feet. Pazuzu snarled and grabbed the boy by the back of his collar, throwing him into the wall. “I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry!” Julius cried, continuing to rub at the eruptions on his face. This pathetic human was harmless at least. Morpho, whatever her poor decisions, was in no danger from this boy. He could easily be frightened into obedience. “You will not consort with my daughter.” Nothing more needed to be said. Pazuzu could smell the released urine as he began reverting back into the swarm to leave. But before the demon’s human shape disintegrated, Julius stood shakily to his feet. “You’re Pazuzu, aren’t you?” Pazuzu’s teeming form almost stopped still in astonishment. This little bag of pee was still talking. And it had guessed his name. How in the Heavens did this sniveling idiot creature know his name? All the locusts whirled around. Julius gulped, backing himself against the shower door and squeezing his eyes shut. Pazuzu surged back a foot to study the boy. “How do you know my name?” Julius kept his eyes shut. “You’re in Dungeons and Dragons?” His voice trembled. “What?” The insects vibrated with confusion and Pazuzu’s face emerged from the mass for a moment. The rest of him almost solidified. The shimmer of small wings shifted across his form here and there. Small sets of antennae twitched.

“Dungeons and Dragons. You’re one of the demons, from Mesopotamia. In the book, you have all these strength points and magic points and you can cast plagues.” Julius’ voice cracked on the last word. “Plagues are the dominion of the winds,” Pazuzu admitted, but continued, still confused, “Dungeons and Dragons? What book? Open your eyes. Show me.” Julius peeked out. When he saw the demon as something more man-shaped, he pointed to the floor of the dingy room, to piles of clothes and papers. Pazuzu watched while Julius shoved the piles aside and picked up a dog-eared book. Julius flipped through it with shaking fingers, stopping on a page with a drawing of Pazuzu in his most demonic incarnation, a winged man-beast with the face of a dog. Pazuzu gazed at the page. Hundreds of little beady insect eyes flickered at the image of himself on the paper. “This is a game?” Julius nodded. Pazuzu grimaced, making an approximation of the face on the page. “That doesn't look anything like me! Why was I not summoned? Where are the sacrifices?” Julius swallowed nervously. “It's just a paper game. We weren’t trying to summon anyone, it’s just pretend. You know, imagination. Most people don’t even know you’re real.” Pazuzu coagulated fully into a human form and stood for a moment, pensive. Julius grew braver with a human shape in front of him and kept explaining. “Besides, people don’t do sacrifices anymore. PETA kind of frowns on killing animals. And uh...we can’t kill people or we go to jail.” He paused, choking down a cough. He stammered, “Hey, instead of sacrifices, you could contact TSR games to pay you royalties. Those are kind of like sacrifices. TSR is the company that made the game. Since they’re using your image, you could probably get money every time they do. I think it's a law or something. You could probably get something from the guys who made The Exorcist too. You were in that.” Pazuzu paused, trying to mask his confusion. “It's a movie.” “Ah.” Julius had grown bolder as their conversation veered into the mundane world. “Um, do possessed people really barf pea soup?” “What?”

“Like in the movie.” “I did not see that movie. But I hate peas.” “What about—” “Stop talking,” Pazuzu barked. “I will spare your life. Stay away from my daughter.” He growled, dissolved into the swarm of locusts, and flowed out of the window before anything else could go wrong. A couple insects remained behind, dangling by threads on the grungy curtain. They stared at the chatty teenager with twinkling black eyes. Then they were gone. The fugitive demon of the winds slunk back into the wrecked kitchen of his home, puzzled by the strange encounter that had not at all gone the way he’d planned. Like so much that happened these days. Lugal interrupted his master’s sulk as he came in with bags of groceries, among which were cases of malty microbrews, their favorite. After stowing the perishables in the miraculously still-working fridge, he popped the top on one of the beers and handed it to Pazuzu. * * * Morpho thumped down the stairs the next morning and into the kitchen. Her father and Lugal were asleep. They slumped in the ragged blackened chairs with a four foot wide tower of empty beer bottles stacked on the table between them, in the shape of a ziggurat. Her father stirred and muttered, “Hail to Ninkasi, Mistress of Beer.” He stood, wobbled slightly and tried to place the final bottle on the top. She cringed as the whole structure came clattering down. Lugal just snored. Her father’s face looked dumbstruck. She almost felt sorry for him, in spite of last night’s argument, but she wasn’t cleaning up their mess. She rolled her eyes and mounted her skateboard. After glancing around irritably at the wreckage, her dad wisely didn’t comment on her boarding in the house. She hurried to class, late again, and passed JD in the hall. His face was slathered in what looked like an entire tube of cream and he smelled like benzoil peroxide. “JD! What the hell is all over your face?” “Can’t talk, Morpho! Gotta run. Late for class!” “What, wait! Since when do you care?” “Hey zit-face!” A tall girl hollered as she went by. “No plague victims allowed!” She snorted with laughter. Morpho pulled a flyer off the wall, wadded it up and threw it at the girl but she was already gone.

Then the girl's comment struck Morpho. Zit-face. He hadn’t had those yesterday when he dropped her off. Dad! “Wait, JD.” She grabbed his arm. “Did my dad show up last night?” One look at his expression was her answer. “Hey Morpho, I gotta go.” He slipped out of her grasp and disappeared. She roared in wordless frustration and turned, storming out of the school. Screw detention! Dad! I’m never speaking to him again if he ever pulls this Sopranos crap again! She scarcely noticed the scenery as she boarded home, or the two cars that blared their horns as she zoomed across the street against the stop light. “Daaaaaaad!” she howled as she hit the driveway, with thunder in her face. The susurration of wings whispered at the edge of her hearing and a brief flicker of motion caught her eye in various crannies of the lawn. Little jeweled eyes observed her. “Daad, I know you're there!” She stomped her foot, threw open the door, and then slammed it shut again. She kicked a bottle half-under the pantry in the kitchen, then hopped up and down from the pain in her toe. Wind rustled behind her as she crouched on the floor, nursing her foot. Pazuzu grew until his wings touched the ceiling and brushed the floor. The room dimmed as though it was night. Her breath misted in the air, while she contemplated the wisdom of her outburst. His voice froze the water dripping from the sink, chilling her blood. “You will not make such a spectacle again. It is imperative that we remain hidden here. Such impudence will not be tolerated.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could grab them and stuff them back in. She was too angry. “Hidden, like giving my friend boils? Hidden, like wrecking our house and getting drunk afterwards? Whatever Lugal is, I’m not your slave! I’m your kid. I could call Child Protective Services and have your ass thrown in jail for abuse or endangerment or something!” “And then what?” His dark silhouette shrank as she watched and the anger in his face warred with something else. Shame? Sadness. His wings folded out of sight and he stood regarding her. “And then you will be found. She...” His voice petered out and he looked down, at a loss for words. “She! Psycho ex-wife lady wouldn’t be such an issue if you wouldn’t be a doormat and stopped running from her. I’m not moving again. If you want to move again, I’m getting emancipated and staying here. Get a restraining order. Get a gun and shoot her. Sic the plagues

of Egypt on her and eat her. But I’m done with this!” She shook as tears slid down her face. He looked helplessly at her, the sadness in his face more than she could stand. She found herself wishing he would turn into ‘scary demon’ again. At least then she had an enemy to fight against. So she screamed at him, “Do something! Something besides terrorizing the only person who's ever tried to understand me! Stop staring at me like you're the victim! I hate you!” He said nothing, his face now a careful mask. She broke into sobs and rushed past him, up the stairs and into her room. She banged the door shut behind her and punched her hand into the drywall. Everyone else was wrecking the house. Now it was her turn. She grabbed her pillow, yelled as loud as she could and threw it at the door. She followed it up with her jewelry box and a few sets of shoes, which made more satisfying clunks. Then she flopped on her bed, threw the comforter over her head and resumed sobbing. After a while, her outburst subsided. There was a little flicker. A grasshopper relocated itself to her bedside table to avoid the swish of the comforter as she turned over. She thought for a second about chasing it away. But it chirped a long, mournful sound she’d never heard before. Among the many powers given me by Enlil, good communication was not one of them. But I must say this. You can take it as you wish. I am sorry that you are in so much pain and that this has all been so hard for you. For that I am sorry. Perhaps it was foolish of me to scare your friend Julius. But I am your father. I am trying very hard not to think about what went on between you or I would have killed him. In my day...well, never mind. I sincerely hope that he proves to be as true a friend as you seem to think. If not, I will do as I see necessary. This is not a threat, it is a fact. And if you ‘emancipate’ yourself, I will follow you. You can hate me if it gives you pleasure. But I care about what happens to you. You are a smart girl. You know that my exwife is like me, you must know that. The truth is she is something worse now. I cannot tell you more than that. You must take this seriously. I will do whatever I have to do to protect you, even if I do it poorly in your eyes. You are young and angry and nothing is as simple as you imagine.

The insect hopped under the door, before she blinked. The light was turning sea-blue in the room when she got out of bed and looked at her tear-streaked puffy eyes in the mirror. She heaved a sigh and started to open the door but a motion in the mirror caught her eye. There was a flutter of white near her shoulder. She peered around but nothing was there, and nothing moved in the room. She viewed herself in the mirror. A small cluster of ghostly white paper moths floated, dancing around her. She rubbed her eyes. As the darkness in the room deepened, they disappeared. * * * Pazuzu gazed at Morpho’s sleeping form. He looked like a statue, his face half-feral like the figures of stone dug from sand cities deep in Canaan and Iraq. But transfixed in his expression was an emotion that never made it into the ancient idols: sorrow. ‘I hate you!’ she had wailed. Her hatred burned in his chest and he swallowed it, but kept watching her from the shadows. No battle in thousands of years had ever prepared him for those words, not from someone who mattered. No one had ever mattered that much, until her mother. And none of it could compete with the growing terror of a threat to his child, another emotion new to him in recent years. I cannot protect her, he realized, not from everything. And there is no one to pray to, no one listening. I am alone. Failure is...unthinkable. The nightmare images of what failure would mean cavorted at the edges of his mind. He stood in the shadows until they lightened into dawn and then he slid away. * * * Across Somalia, Sudan, the Congo and four other regions, through wadi settlements and camps, a strange dampness rose. The humidity was seductive; it traced misty spirals across the hot skins of men as they tossed and turned in sleep. Shadow fingers crept across continents, issuing from bloody valleys in seven war-torn nations where the bodies of armed men, civilians and refugees lay slain. Sliding among the corpses in every village and camp was a creature, a ghoul with the face of a jackal and

the claws of a bird in one second, the jaws of a lion an instant later. They were seven identical hags in seven killing fields. In one field in the Congo, blood ran down the ghoul’s bare front as she drank of the carnage. Her shadow fingers like snakes stretched across miles and stroked sleeping men into fever. Beasts faintly resembling packs of wild dogs and boars barked, howled and snorted like phantoms, beyond the ghoul in the mist. They were the rabisu, her minions. They smelled of shit and misery. They slavered for the souls of the creatures they consumed. A hulking rabisu approached the hag, its fur matted with blood. It retched a spectral image into the air before her. Then the image oozed into foul plasma, soaking into the dark soil at her clawed feet. The wheezing laughter of all seven hags rolled across the valleys, slipping into the nightmares of every sleeping being that heard it in the wind. The ephemeral image before the hag had been a grasshopper.

3 It was half-past six on Wednesday morning and all was well. Ninhab Agresti had the perfect life, the perfect wife, the perfect job and the perfect house. Everything, including the neatly-cut chestnut hair he scrutinized in the faculty bathroom mirror, was in its place. As principal of Ken Caryl High School he made certain of that. He returned to his office and flipped through finished grant applications, the rolls of students and other documentation. Just like every day. Except it wasn’t. All the forms in his inbox were in order and everything to his eye was as it should be. But he could feel it, a wiggly feeling like a nest of worms in his gut. Something was wrong. He’d had that feeling before, the niggling anxiety that surfaced every so often that not everything was right with his world. There was something missing, something out of place. So every day, he went through his rituals of straightening and putting things away, labeling things so that he knew where everything was. But there was a knowing in his mind, that something was gone, something that should be found. He allowed himself his customary five minutes of net-surfing for this morning as he ate the oatmeal he’d had every school day for twenty years since he’d taken the job. Articles on Yahoo News this morning had taken a turn for the dark, with AP accounts of civilian massacres by Chechen rebels, attacks on Rwandan and Darfurian refugees and insurgent attacks in Afghanistan. The death toll seemed unusually high. Though they were all separate events, their simultaneous presentation made it seem as though the violence was escalating. The wormy knot in his belly writhed and turned over as he skimmed the articles, and cold fingers traced a line across his neck. He

brushed his hand over his collar. A breathy whisper exhaled his name in the tiny perfectly-neat office. He checked the door but no one was there, or in the front office. He returned to his desk. Then he shook his head and made a note to himself to forward some of these bookmarked articles to the history teachers for an extra credit project on social responsibility. Just before he closed the link, a strange distracting pop-up fluttered across the screen. It was a pale silver moth, the color of moonlight. It was mesmerizing, but he hated pop-ups. He snorted in irritation and dragged the arrow around the page for the close button. There wasn’t any that he could find. Then the pop-up flitted off the edge of the screen and didn’t return. * * * Conversation was subdued in the Pazuzu/Wilson household the next morning as Morpho said even less than usual. She grabbed her peanut butter toast without looking at her father and left. He didn’t even comment on the mini-miniskirt she wasn’t supposed to be wearing to school. Lugal cleared his throat into the pregnant silence after she left, buried himself in the Denver Post and sipped his cardamom tea. Two long thin fingers pulled down the top of the paper, to reveal Pazuzu’s frustrated visage. “Say it.” “Say what, Lord Anzu?” Lugal had always persisted in using his god’s formal name instead of the demon name with which he had been cursed. It seemed a small consolation to Pazuzu, one which often served to tame his frustration a little. “You are being smug. Just say it and be done with it.” “I have said nothing. I do not know what you wish to hear.” Pazuzu banged his hand down on the table and then sighed. “That I handled the situation badly.” Lugal surveyed the wreck of the kitchen. “To what situation do you refer?” “All right, stop that. Coyness does not become a warrior. To all of them. To Julius Dorgan, to my ‘ex-wife,’ as Morpho calls her, to all of it.” Lugal poured Pazuzu a fresh cup of tea. “Master, perhaps I might not have destroyed the house, since we do have to live here. But if some boy like this Julius had tried to court my daughter without consulting me, I would have killed him with no regrets. That is

however, not the law of the land here. And as you say, our discretion is our best defense for the time being.” Pazuzu shrugged, as close to satisfaction as he was going to get that morning. And then the phone rang. “Mr. Wilson?” “This is he.” “This is Rhonda Jorran, the school secretary. I’m sorry to have to say, but I am sending your daughter home. She has been suspended for skipping school without excuse yesterday and she has shown up today, once again wearing attire that was clearly banned in the last school announcements. I know it’s not my business but I wanted to ask if everything is all right at home. She has been at the center of a growing number of incidents. She is a very smart girl and we would like to provide her with the education she deserves. But she cannot continue to be a disruptive influence.” Pazuzu put his face in his hand and concentrated on not snarling. “Yes, I understand. I will deal with this. She has been upset lately. I think it is a boy. Female issues, you see.” “I beg your pardon?” “Do you have a female teenager, Ms. Jorran?” “No, none of my own. I understand some teenagers are challenging. Can you come in for an appointment with Mr. Agresti? He wishes to meet with you and see if there is some way to assist your daughter in…adjusting to the curriculum and the school-day.” “Yes of course. When?” “After school today.” “I will be there.” “Very good. See you then.” The line clicked. He realized that he’d been pacing like a caged lion and sat back down at the table to wait for Morpho to arrive. Lugal had left on errands. Now alone, Pazuzu rehearsed the conversation he’d have with her when she returned. He knew about all of her recent misdemeanors at the school because he’d been the cause of at least one of them. And he hadn’t stopped her in any of this. Why? Because he was afraid of hearing those words again: “I hate you.” Three little words had taken away more of his power than Enlil ever had for far greater crimes. They hadn’t been such terrible crimes anyway, he rationalized. As he ruminated, the jagged peaks of what were now the Zagros Mountains in Iraq rose in Pazuzu’s mind. His memory of the day he lost the Tablet, his last day as Anzu, a god of Heaven, was as clear as

the day it had happened thousands of years ago, when the ancient cities between the two great rivers had been young. * * * Master Enlil immersed himself in the glacial pool. The bracing cold dimmed his Heavenly light as he sunk beneath the surface for a moment. Outside, waiting and watching at the edges of the entrance of the cavern, Anzu saw the flickering light on the walls. When the light seemed almost dark, Anzu entered the cavern. The Tablet of Destiny, the terrible stone that controlled the fate of everything and everyone, lay at the edge of the pool, within a second of Enlil's grasp. And who would dare to attack the Master of the Great Gods? Certainly not his own servant. It is time to write our own destinies! To liberate ourselves from Enlil, who uses it to choke us with its chains of fate, Anzu thought, as his heart thundered loud in his ears. Light danced just below the surface of the clear water. Anzu leaned over the water and called out, “Absu Ancient Water, I am here! Help me now!” With a rush and a chill, the water froze in one instant and trapped shining Enlil below. His shifting light went still. Anzu seized the Tablet of Destiny and fled. The stone throbbed in his talons. He reached the night air outside the cavern and burst into the sky as Enlil roared in his ice prison. The earth rumbled and the cavern collapsed behind Anzu. He glanced behind him. Jagged planes of rock thrust into the sky above where Enlil struggled, entombed. The terrible god did not emerge. The Ancient Absu held him fast in the glacier, for a little while. But as Anzu reached the mountain forest, a shadow darted into the sky in the distance. Anzu the Swift fled into the valley to evade his pursuer, but at the next glance, the shape was closer. It was Ninurta, the plough god. Why was he giving chase? Where had he come from and how had a simple bumpkin gained so quickly? He must have been empowered by Enlil, to plan for this eventuality. But Enlil couldn’t have known what would happen… Ah destiny… Anzu’s thoughts were interrupted as a flaming arrow blazed past him. The glimmer of salt domes flashed pale in the darkness as Anzu dodged the flight of arrows that followed the first. The arrows were almost swifter than he and as they touched his feathers, his feathers

caught fire. The fire was white-hot like the lightning bolts of Enlil. They burned him even after he plunged into a freezing lake below to rid himself of the missiles. Anzu sank in the frigid water, trying to cool his great iridescent wings. His talons still clutched his heavy prize as it vibrated with power. Deep in the water, Absu Ancient Water, god of chaos, god of beginnings, stirred and crept upward. His tendrils encircled his descendent Anzu and quenched the fire. Thanking him, Anzu churned his wings and lifted. He was cloaked for a few moments by a cascade of dark waters as they fell from his wings. Anzu whipped tornadoes of liquid and air around him as the barrage of projectiles began anew and Ninurta’s pursuit resumed. As Anzu fled, he felt the power emanating from the stone Tablet. Unable to resist, he pulled the essence into his great claws. Why not use it to unmake the arrows? He twisted en route in the air. He threw back his long scaled neck and trumpeted a clarion call into the sky. “Shafts, back to reeds! Bow, back to tree! Bowstring, back to gut! Feathers, back to birds! Arrowhead, back to earth! Fire, back to the one who sent it!” The missiles that streaked toward him came apart and scattered into the raging winds, each piece returning to the material from which it was made. The fire of the arrows returned to the god who had sent it. Ninurta, close in pursuit, shrieked as lightening arced back, crackling around him. It suspended him in a coruscating ball of electricity. Anzu held more tightly to the pulsing trophy he had stolen, hovering in a pocket of calm near the encased and tortured god. “Why do you chase me, Ninurta? For Enlil? The Anunnaki did not even notice you until they wanted something from you. Return to your grain and fields. Or I will kill you.” Anzu shrieked through the wind at the farmer god. The nut-colored creature shook his head, shuddered with the fire and croaked, “The stone is not yours. You have no right to it.” “And what is Enlil’s right?” “He is king.” “Only because he held the stone.” “Anu Ancient Sky will intervene.” “Maker Anu has never intervened. He doesn’t care what we do. Or who rules us. And the other Ancients will not help Enlil either. Absu made the bonds that trap Enlil.”

“Why?” “Freedom. My destiny is written in here and so is yours. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to have the power to change that?” Anzu felt the power coursing through his claws and legs, through to the very tips of his wings. It consumed any doubts he had about the wisdom of his plan. Each little particle in the air woke to his mind’s touch, waiting to be bidden to his will, as the stone fully awoke. The figure in the lightning writhed in agony. Ninurta’s wings emerged and flashed in the electrical field, as he changed to his godshape. His golden lion’s body thrashed with his mane aflame. His magnificent features sizzled and burned as he cast a last bolt at Anzu from a gilded mace he had hidden. Anzu had not noticed the weapon. He had been too lost in the stone. The lance from the mace pierced through Anzu’s chest and he dropped the Tablet. He plummeted to the rugged peaks below, smashing into the face of the mountain. His waning power washed through the land and drained into the rock, turning the faraway forest of trees to ash and the buried fossils to oil. There, what remained of Anzu lay for centuries, nursing the life he had left. He drew food from the rotting vegetation and from the winds that scoured the peaks. As the land was cultivated by successive groups of humans, grasshoppers fed on the growing grains which were nourished by the soil in which he hid. Soft prodding rhizomes caressed him. The insects sang him into consciousness with gentle clicks and warbles. But he was weak, so weak. He could barely stir the frost around him. His heat was not even enough to thaw the pockets of ice crystals in the spring. Human groups came and went, ignorant of his presence. Then, one day in the spring, as a new group of humans settled again in the high fields, the fungus in the soil grew into slender long female fingers. Wide, rounded mushroom caps filled with flesh, pale milk-white breasts and the gentle curves of hips and buttocks. Fungal threads in the soil thickened, turning into a rich ebony mane of hair. Lovely hazel eyes watched him from the maiden’s face that had formed next to him. She nestled against him. “Hello, mighty lord. I am Lilitu.” He just lay for minutes, staring at this vision of loveliness. She couldn't be real. He couldn't even move to stroke her flesh and see if she was a dream. Though he could sense that he still had some body parts, they didn’t seem the same as they had before. Before he could

worry about that, she took his hand and guided it against her. ”I am real, lord. I am a handmaiden of Inanna.” Ah, servant of the goddess of love and war. Maybe his luck had changed, except he couldn't move. Perhaps this was a curse instead. It would be typical of Enlil to place a beautiful maiden within his reach and make him unable to respond, the epitome of male vengeance. But she responded for him, moaning softly in the back of her perfect white throat. He uttered, “Where did you come from? Why have I never met you before among the Anunnaki? I was a servant of Enlil.” “I know who you are.” She moved against him and he felt the half-frozen soil melt around him. Then she climbed on top of him. As she moved with him, he felt the ice in the lake nearby, turn to lapping water and start to boil. An eternity of time later, he grabbed her, blazing with his own heat. She threw back her head. Her guttural cry of ecstasy echoed through the peaks above them. She curled into the curve of the humanoid limbs that should have been his wings. He panted, finding that he could not muster enough energy to be troubled about his seemingly disfigured limbs, for the moment. She put her fingers on his lips, then kissed him. She murmured, “Shhhhh. I will give you strength.” She rose above him so her breast was at his mouth. He moved his neck, rolling his head away from this strange encounter. Breasts were for infants. But she took his head gently. Drops of liquid ran against his tongue. It was pungent and electrifying. He drank until he couldn’t drink any more. As he did, images flashed through his head, distressing images of death, decay, and new growth emerging from the slime of decomposition. Some of the images were violent. He withdrew quickly and found that he could move on his own. So he backed away from her, staring at the lovely flushed maiden. “Who are you?” She smiled, her teeth glinting ivory. For a moment, they seemed pointed. “I told you. I am Lilitu. I am Life in Death. I am daughter of Anu.” He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “You serve Inanna. Why have I never seen you?” ”You have. I wander where I wish.” Her voice took on a slightly petulant tone, but it was so melodious he wanted to keep asking her questions just to hear her speak.

He gazed at her form and his eyes were drawn to her rounded high breasts again. At the sight, he felt a yearning. The arousal was accompanied by a disturbing pang of hunger, which he shoved to the back of his mind. “Why me?” He almost buried his head in the ground again as the foolish words slipped out. Who cared why him? As long as she chose him. She laughed with a sound like velvet. ”Because you and I are alike. What you did, to steal the stone and take charge of your own will? I liked that. I like you.” That was enough. * * * Pazuzu shook himself from the vivid memory. It pushed into his thoughts every time something went poorly that he could blame on the loss of the Tablet. He remembered those events every time he thought of the fateful marriage he had entered into, that had turned from a dream into a nightmare. He returned in his mind for the hundredth time in as many days, to the moment he had lost the Tablet of Destiny to Ninurta. That’s when it all went bad, wasn’t it? The world delivered into the hands of an adolescent farmer god, he snorted. But all’s fair when you want to rule the world. Except that Ninurta didn’t have the Tablet. He’d lost it somehow. The incompetent plough god had lost it and had then been banished to the human world, feeble, forgetful and transient. And then everything had gone somehow more wrong, beyond his own fate. The world of humans was now going wrong too. Pazuzu took a beer from the refrigerator, drained it, and slammed the bottle down on the table. How could I have foreseen that the little moron would lose it? It’s not my fault! Now Morpho hated him too. After everything he had been through, Morpho hating him should have been the least of his problems. Everyone hated him and he didn’t really care. But her words hung like a weight in his chest. He sat and picked at the crispy fauxleather of the seat. Pazuzu dematerialized and waited in the front lawn for Morpho. It seemed easier sometimes to talk to her that way. Perhaps it was harder to stay angry at a handful of bugs with beady black eyes and

twitchy little antennae. He’d heard someone describe grasshoppers, at least individually, as ‘cute.’ He worked on looking ‘cute.’ Morpho was not the next one to arrive. A truck pulled up on the street with ‘Bug Busters’ painted on the side next to the caricature of a termite and a roach. It was an exterminator. They will be trespassing if they set foot on this driveway. I will not tolerate this flouting of my authority on my own property. And the stink... The chemicals couldn’t hurt him. But one time, an overzealous tiler working on the house had taken liberties and set a hidden bug bomb. It had taken weeks to get the smell out of his hair. Both Lugal and Morpho had gone into sneezing fits for two days whenever he was around. These men went instead to his next door neighbor’s lawn. He could see her squinty little eyes peering at his house from behind her curtains. The heavier of the two men surveyed Mrs. Dow’s lawn, walking up and down and around the edges. Then he knocked on her door. She answered. Her dyed blonde hair spilled around a flowered shower cap, while she adjusted her pressed pants. The older man extended his hand. “Good day ma’am. Bug Busters, I’m Kin and this is Phil.” He indicated the little man with mutton chops behind him. “You said you had a bug problem?” She pointed surreptitiously to Pazuzu’s house and ushered them inside. Fifteen minutes later they came out. The woman was wringing her hands, pointing to Pazuzu’s house. The two men were shaking their heads. The older one spoke, running his fingers through his shaggy gray hair. “Ma’am, I didn’t see nothing down there. I know some of these types of insects can be sneaky, but even bed bugs leave signs. Your house is clean. As for locusts, we don’t do locusts. Once they’re mobile, it don’t do any good anyway. And you can’t just spray permethrin all over the place. That’s a restricted substance. You gotta be certified. We couldn’t do his yard without his consent, ma’am. We’d get sued.” A lawyer would be the least of your problems, Pazuzu thought. But he was relieved that at least the exterminators knew their boundaries. Mrs. Dow huffed and closed the door after them, as she ran her hands over her arms to brush off insects not even Pazuzu could see. The men shrugged and walked down her driveway toward the truck. Muttonchop Phil huffed, “I think she’s batty. She sounded kind of crazy on the phone. You see what I was saying that she’s obsessed

with this evil neighbor of hers. She was convinced his house was just a den of pests, you name it. You heard her. She was even trying to pin the New York bed bug situation on him too.” Kin shook his head, “Well, one less thing to do today. Early lunch.” Phil unlocked his door on the passenger side next to Pazuzu’s lawn. Pazuzu kept still. But the sun must have caught a shimmer and these were trained experts at spotting insects. As the little man glanced at Pazuzu’s yard, unable to resist his curiosity about the crazy neighbor’s imagination, he saw a grasshopper. Once he’d seen one, he saw the rest of them. “Holy Moly! Look at this! Look at all of ‘em!” He stepped onto the lawn. Pazuzu fluttered aside to avoid the foot. A shout came from next door. Mrs. Dow came out of her house and ran toward the men, cap trailing and flip-flops slapping. “See! See, what did I tell you? Vermin! They’re a plague! Get them! Get them!” Oh shit, Pazuzu thought. He couldn’t turn into his human form and he couldn't predict what the men would do. In his consternation, he went up in a cloud of locusts. He looked back. The men were gazing at him and rubbing their jaws as an apoplectic Mrs. Dow gesticulated, hopping from foot to foot. “I’m sorry ma’am,” he heard Kin say. “We’ve seen swarms before. They happen sometimes. But they’re already airborne. There’s nothing we can do. Like we said, it's his property anyway.” She waved her fists in the air as they got into their truck and drove away. Fines were just the beginning of the harassment. How is that for predicting destiny? Is anonymity worth all this? He rested in some neighborhood trees and watched the unfolding debacle. Mrs. Dow paced back and forth in front of her yard, talking on her cell phone and glancing fearfully at his house. It was going to be a long day. * * * Morpho spotted JD cowering around the corner of the hall as she walked towards the front door of the school to go home. She ignored him to see what he would do, jerking the back of her scarlet skirt down as he strained to catch a glimpse. Her heart sunk as he turned to go back to the shop instead of following her. As he turned, he tripped on his shoelaces and planted his face into the concrete wall. He left a smear of cream.

Morpho turned in his direction, advancing like a cyclone. She shoved him and he fell back over his laces the other way. “Chicken shit!” She yelled. “I thought you were my friend!” “Hey, cut it out! What are you, crazy?” “Pissed! How did you think I’d react when you suddenly stopped talking to me? I just…I really liked your car and, and…” She stood, her hands at her sides, staring at his shoes. “Morpho, your dad tried to kill me with an Exorcist-sized case of acne. How did you expect me to react? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole live D&D demon thing is cool and all. And you’re really hot. But I don’t want to end up as a news story in the Daily Star, ‘Local Boy Killed by the Fourth Horseman. Next Story, Are Aliens Among You?’” He paused for a giggle from her, a snicker, a smirk, anything but the boiling rage in her eyes. He stammered, “I really do like you, but at least wait until your dad calms—” Her eyes filled with tears. “Forget it. You’re not worth it. Tie your shoelaces, Dumbo.” Dad. He’ll follow me, he said. He’ll always be the stone around my neck that keeps me a single boyfriend-less loser. I bet that’ll thrill him. She whirled on her heels, hitched her backpack on her shoulder and ran for the back-woods path. * * * Morpho hadn't arrived home by the time Pazuzu came down from the trees and left for the school, around two-thirty. He sighed heavily. Perhaps she had stomped off in another huff and was avoiding him. But a needle of worry edged into his mind. He shoved the thoughts aside of where else she might be and strode into the front office to deal with the problem at hand. The first issue was to make sure she didn't get herself kicked out of high school. He walked up to the counter. A short, stocky, thin-lipped woman nodded to him. “Rhonda Jorran, administrative assistant. You are?” “Efrem Wilson, Morpho's father.” “Ah, yes. Morpho.” Her lips all but disappeared and she gestured to a seat in front of her, clearly reserved for miscreants. He examined her for a moment and sat down with a careful smile. She gave him the same smile back. He noted that not even Enlil could have made him feel as thoroughly rebuked as this sharp-eyed matron with a cropped iron buzz cut. He hadn’t even been the one misbehaving.

Under her superior regard, he edged back in his seat as he waited for Mr. Agresti. As he did so, he noted the labels and lists everywhere on everything. When Ms. Jorran looked away at the ringing switchboard of her phone, he pushed a pencil caddy sideways on the cabinet next to him, so it was cockeyed. While she spoke to whoever was on the other end, he discreetly peeled a label off and crumpled it in his palm. She looked back up and his smile grew into a grin, from which she shrunk a little. “Mr. Agresti will see you now. It has been nice to finally meet you, since you were unable to find the time to come to the parentteacher conferences, or the fundraiser, or the recent dance.” “Thank you, Ms. Jorran. A pleasure to meet you too.” He stalked past her desk to the door at the back of the foyer, saw the principal, and froze in the doorway. It was Ninurta, the god who had stolen back the Tablet of Destiny and then lost it again, the god who had shot him and left him to die in the Zagros Mountains so long ago.

4 The loud clock on the wall ticked away sixty long seconds as ‘Mr. Wilson’ and Mr. Ninhab Agresti stared at each other. Mr. Wilson stood silent in shock and Ninhab tried to remember where he had seen this unusual man before. It wasn’t at the school, because he had meticulously marked down which children’s parents never showed up for school functions or meetings. That might be part of the problem that needed to be corrected here, he noted. Ninhab recovered, “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson, I am Principal Agresti. Please call me Ninhab.” He extended his hand. Wilson took it and a strong electric shock zapped both of their palms. Both men jerked their hands back, staring at them as they did. “Sorry,” Ninhab apologized. “Dry weather.” “Yes, of course.” Mr. Wilson scrutinized him and nodded. “Efrem. Efrem Wilson.” “Won’t you please have a seat.” Ninhab motioned to ‘the hot seat’ directly in front of his desk. He tugged at his sweater in a nervous gesture. That niggling feeling was back, much stronger. It seemed almost as certain as déjà vu that he was supposed to remember something and that nothing going on now was as it appeared. He pulled out his file on Morpho, concentrating on the concrete things he could address. Wilson was giving him a strange look. The way the man watched him reminded Ninhab of a bird of prey watching which way a mouse would jump. But the tall thin man with unusual yellow eyes sat down gracefully and without comment. Ninhab cleared his throat and began, “As you know, Morpho has been getting into some trouble here. I realize that some of that may have been adjustment. She only joined us last year. For teenagers that can be disruptive all by itself. But her behavior has persisted and she does not appear to be making any progress toward socialization. She mostly sits by herself and the relationships she does have do not appear

to go beyond acquaintance. I do not think she means to isolate herself, but she is, and I am concerned.” “I see. Is she failing to complete her work?” Mr. Wilson asked. “No, she does quite well academically. She is very bright. I’m more concerned about her behavior. As you know, she skipped out on school. And she assaulted a boy, though I understand that he has been provoking her. His missteps are being addressed as well. I do not tolerate bullying here. But in addition to her run-in with this boy, I am fairly sure that she has been smoking pot with the one friend she has been interested in.” The bruised and now scabbed face of Julius Dorgan flashed across Ninhab’s mind and he frowned. In the past, he had sent child protective services to the home address provided to the school. But the only thing that came of the visit was finding out the boy's mother had used her relative’s address to send him to a better school than her district provided. Ninhab had kept this tidbit from the school board so far, since it was his opinion that children should not be denied good education because of where they lived. He brought his thoughts back to Morpho. “I cannot tolerate violence or drugs. I don’t mean to pry but is everything all right at home? I understand Morpho’s mother died when she was very young. I do not mean to bring up unpleasantness, but she is a teenage girl, and girls are often close to their mothers.” “An infant. She was an infant.” “That is a shame. Your wife was ill?” At this, Wilson opened his mouth and then paused. Ninhab was overwhelmed with a chill, like the imagined sensation he had felt earlier when he'd been alone. Wilson continued, seeming to choose his words, “Yes… It was a sudden illness. Morpho herself was at risk. Fortunately, she was isolated and recovered.” Ninhab nodded but he knew enough about body language to see that this was not the whole story. “I’m sorry to hear about your troubles.” He paused, hesitant to bring up the next topic, “I also have heard from the students that there is an ex-wife involved. She is not Morpho’s mother?” Ninhab frowned, as what appeared to be a glowing spark lit in Wilson’s eyes. Ninhab shook his head, closing the shades a little more to cut the light from the window.

“That is correct. She is a very dangerous woman. She is not permitted to see Morpho. The woman is homicidal.” Wilson eyed Ninhab. The feeling of wrongness was undeniable now, as though Wilson were just playing a part. On the other hand, some cue Ninhab had seen made him certain that the man was telling the truth. A ripple of the hairs on his neck told him that the danger Wilson spoke of was far greater than had been revealed. Was this girl safe? “I see.” He let the silence go on for a few more seconds. “Mr. Wilson, is Morpho in danger now? It is our responsibility to keep her safe.” Wilson just sat regarding him with those piercing golden eyes, while a war went on across his face: anger, need, fear, shame and pride. This man was proud. He would never ask for help, even if it was needed. The principal knew his next step should be to call protective services, if he suspected a child was in danger and the parent was not equipped to handle it. That was county policy. But it was not his policy to separate kids from their parents or from familiar people in the most vulnerable time of their lives. And it was clear to him now that this man, while stubbornly proud, was not the danger. He was just overwhelmed. In this day and age, who wasn’t? “Mr. Wilson, I don’t know what exactly is going on but I really do want to help. I am not a threat to you or to your status as her father. I give you my word that I will do whatever I can to keep your daughter safe.” As he said the words, it was as though something in him settled into place. He shivered, recalling from a forgotten nook in his memory that in some cultures, the power of an oath was tangible. The tension in Mr. Wilson’s face eased and he seemed satisfied by that answer. “I will tell you this: I have no female friends currently. If a woman you do not know comes to the school for Morpho or approaches her in any way, contact me immediately and do not let that person touch my daughter.” “We have lock-down procedures. Can you provide me with her name and any aliases she has used?” A derisive smile flashed across Wilson’s face and then was gone. “Of course. But I do not know the name she is currently using.” “What about past aliases? The more information the better. A photo would be helpful.” He scowled. “Not in this case it wouldn’t. She looks different every time I have seen her. And as I said, I do not know the names she is currently using.”

“Is there nothing you can give me about her?” The man paused. His eyes glittered with hatred and a brief flash of fear. “She revels in pain and death. She is aroused by it. Whatever she does, she will seek the most destruction possible, in ways you cannot stomach. It is why I left her. And perhaps, why she seeks revenge. I am sorry you have to get involved.” “Yes, well, that description isn’t specific enough for me to give to the police. Are you intimating she will attack the school?” “I would not put it past her. The police will be of limited value. I told you she is a very bad woman, Mr. Agresti. I am not exaggerating.” “Well, without the law, what is it you think I can do? I have to call this in to the authorities. Do you know of a clear and present threat?” “Not a specific plan, no. Only that she will come for Morpho at some point and the death of children is her specialty.” Ninhab rubbed his face in his hands and gazed at Wilson, unsure how to take this information. It was clear that the man believed the gravity of this woman’s threat, but there was nothing concrete to report. There’ve been so many school shootings at this point. My school is not going to be the next one. My kids are not going to be victims, dammit! But what do I do? I can’t have everyone living in fear all the time either. I didn’t want to turn this school into a prison. How are kids supposed to learn in such an environment? Well, they won’t learn anything if they’re always afraid of crazy people coming in and shooting them or blowing them up either. And what if someone actually tries... It's time for metal detectors and guards, Ninhab thought. “All right, Mr. Wilson, I'm making a call today to the Department of Education and the police, and informing them of the situation. This is a good opportunity to drill our lock-down procedures anyway. I'll have our existing security increased. No one is allowed on school grounds unless approved by proper authorities. If any suspicious activity occurs, I will contact you for more information. Now, can I count on you to work with Morpho on adjusting her behavior in school? As I said, I will not tolerate drugs or violence. If she needs to talk to someone about whatever she is going through, I can recommend counselors--” “She does not need a counselor! She is young and angry, not crazy.” “I wasn't implying that. Counselors—”

“I will address her behavior. It will not happen again. Thank you for your assistance.” Wilson rose abruptly, peered at Ninhab for a few seconds, as if deciding something and then he was suddenly gone, from one blink to the next. Ninhab shook his head to clear the intense conversation from his thoughts and the strange effect he had just seen. He pulled out the new budget to identify any areas that could be trimmed to allow for the purchase of metal detectors and a heightened security presence. Any changes would have to be presented to the school board, so he made a note to call them after he addressed the immediate procedures. He contacted the local district police and reported the conversation, requesting additional drive-by presence of officers. Then he opened the binder with the school’s lock-down plan and notified the teachers of an emergency conference on safety. * * * The shadows lengthened and the spring air turned to gusty winds as Lugal came home. Mrs. Dow, the nosy next door neighbor, had progressed from inquisitive to downright intrusive. She hovered at the edge of the property, watching him. She glanced up at her porch, where a video camera was mounted at the edge of her lawn. She turned slowly, and went back to her stoop where she stood, crossing her arms. Oh good, he thought. Because we were so discreet before. He probably should hold his razor tongue but if he hadn’t managed that with Pazuzu, this harridan had no chance. “Very good, Ms. Dow, for thinking of our security. Now we’ll catch that rogue gang of landscapers for sure. And I will absolutely let you know if I see anyone smoking that devil weed marijuana.” She huffed in indignation, calling after him, “All the police need is evidence, Mr. Lugal. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want here. And this isn’t a suitable home for a little girl. She’s turned into one of those gang-bangers. I’ve been watching her too.” Pazuzu wasn’t home, nor was Morpho. He popped a top on a beer and went into the secluded back yard to recline on one of the lawn chairs he had righted after Pazuzu's outburst.

Ah, Holy Beer, he mused as he took a long pull from the bottle. You’re welcome for that, he thought to the long tracts of Western civilization in the distance, ignorant of the divine gifts of his people. He was polishing off the dregs of the bottle and savoring the yeast when something caught his attention. What was it, a smell, a sound, a motion in the verge of trees in the distance, he couldn’t say. His muscles reacted with alarm and he froze. A distant glimmer, like a moving set of red eyes, winked in and out of view in the darkness of the woods, just visible over the fence. He slid off the chair slowly, watching the woods with his peripheral vision. He stretched his arms as though nonchalantly retiring and went inside. Once inside, he grabbed his cell phone from the counter and rushed to the basement. He pulled open a hidden compartment near the crawlspace, hauled out an Uzi, a belt of armor-busting grenades and motion sensors. On another belt was a bronze war axe with a worked handle and a stylized lion’s head at the end. The head of the axe sparkled with a faint golden light. Last, over his shoulder, he slung an ornate bow and a quiver. The arrows shone with the same light as the axe. As he went back upstairs, he pressed a speed-dial number on his cell and spoke in Arabic. “It’s time. I have seen her minions. Deploy the ‘Tablet.’ Make her hunt to find it.” He went upstairs, unloaded and went outside to place the motion sensors on the periphery of the yard in the back, then in the front. Mrs. Dow had not tired of her vigil. Well good, maybe she’ll be the first course for the beasts when they come, he thought sourly. “I know your kind,” she remarked. “You’re from the Middle East, aren’t you? You’re a terrorist sleeper cell, aren’t you? You and your boyfriend are workin’ for El Qayida. That’s why nothing makes sense at your house. It’s all a front. You’re radical Muslims and you hate America.” He had to stop at that. “I thought I was gay. Islam doesn’t permit homosexuality.” Then he shook his head. Wait, I’m not gay... Oh by the girdle of Inanna, why am I wasting my time! But he kept arguing, “And if we were Muslim, Morpho wouldn’t be going out with so little clothing.” “I seen Muslims drink and have prostitutes too. You keeping that little girl as a prostitute? I’ll call Homeland Security!”

He indulged in a short daydream of her being eaten by the rabisu. He would happily have forfeited his own life for that. “Good night, Ms. Dow.” * * * JD kicked a rock in front of him and muttered to himself as the sun sank lower, hours after Morpho had told him off. "Why I always gotta get the nutty ones? Hot but nuts. And the ones with nutty daddies. And it can't be the ones with guns or knives. Not just like a Mafioso dad. It can't just be goons who'll bust up my knees with baseball bats. I gotta get a dad that can possess me and send me to Hell." Another rock skittered from his kick. He brought out his pipe and peered mournfully into its empty little hole, still wondering if there had been a little something extra in last week's batch of weed. It was supposed to be medicine quality. But as he picked at the eruptions on his cheek, now scabbing over, the ‘LSD in the weed’ theory vanished. This was real. Judging by the demon’s reactions, he'd guessed correctly about his identity. Pazuzu, the demon of the Southwest Wind, of Locusts, of Famine and Plague. The encounter had been everything he’d expected from the terrible Pazuzu. And yet nothing he'd expected. That this infernal creature could have a hottie daughter who seemed to really like him for himself wasn’t expected. Though he’d gotten a face full of grasshoppers and boils for his eagerness. He sent another rock bumping into the brush and kept ruminating. There was a good side to this. If he died at the hands of Pazuzu and wound up in the local gossip rag, he’d be immortalized in Dungeons and Dragons. If you had to go, what a cool death! Standing up to the God of Plague for dating his daughter. Faint voices reached him through his reverie. There were laughing and hollering male voices. He recognized one, Carl Haglund, the boy Morpho had pegged in the jewels after bathing him in coffee. That was now school legend. There were a couple of the guy’s friends from football. Another higher, angry voice reached him: Morpho’s. Pain and fear were in her tone. He’d heard that sound enough times in his mother’s words to know what was happening. Usually he’d barge in and get beat into snot alongside her; and as the times when he'd heard his mom in trouble, anger flashed through his nerves, keeping him from

ignoring the noise. He dropped into a run toward the sound coming from the gulch nearby. He tumbled down the slope after snagging his foot in a dip. Fury boiled in his belly when he rolled into the gulch and saw what was happening. “Bitch, you want to punch me in the junk, let's see how you like it now!” Carl had Morpho pinned on the ground. His arm pressed across her throat and his knees pinned hers to the dirt, apart. His buddies held her arms and yelled, jeering as her shouts died into a muffled choke. Carl’s other hand reached for her pink underwear. With a yell, JD barreled into Carl. Carl pitched JD past him over his back. JD stumbled to the ground into a patch of prickly dry bushes. The motion was enough to loosen Carl’s bar across Morpho’s throat and distract Carl’s buddy into loosening his grip on her arms. The next thing Carl saw was her fingers in his eyes. JD let out a cheer until the other boys’ fists pounded into his face and their boots found his ribs. JD gasped, flailing his arms. They circled around him, laughing. “You're dead, pus-face stoner!” Through one swelling eye, he saw Morpho buck Carl off of her and kick at his chest. Well, she has a demon for a father! She’s a super-girl, he rationalized. NO, he thought, a girl is not going to beat up these guys by herself! I don't care if her dad is Satan! I’m done just being the stoned wuss! He’d taken enough beatings and was no stranger to pain. He steeled himself, standing against the blows, grabbing one of the guy’s boots, twisting it. The boy lost his balance and fell. JD planted his own sneaker in the guy’s face. As soon as the boy went down, the world around JD was encased in a blizzard. Ice crystals scoured the skin of the attackers as JD hunched down, unharmed and stunned. Morpho, also untouched, crawled frantically to a dark frozen bush behind her. JD struggled against the wind to run to her. He put his arms around her before he realized it would probably be his last act on Earth. The ice storm vanished, and a twister of locusts stripped the flesh from the boys in seconds. The vortex slowed and then cleared. Scattered bones rested across the ruined vegetation. JD had never seen death before. He could see the texture of the bones, and smell iron. He and Morpho stared at the boys’ remains. Her jaw hung down. Her gaze was dull and distraught.

He closed his eyes against the sight for a second, as a wave of bile coated his throat. His fingers shook as he touched Morpho's face. ”Hey, snap out of it.” She didn’t seem to recognize him. “Uh...” He put his hands on either side of her frigid cheeks. “C’mon Morpho, don’t go away on me. You’re the tough one.” Then Pazuzu stood behind him. JD turned slowly around and stared at the demon with dread. Pazuzu’s face was hideous with yellow eyes and a canine jaw. Morpho whimpered. Despite the horror of the approaching demon, JD briefly turned back around and scanned Morpho’s expression and pale green pinpoint eyes. She looked through him at Pazuzu and screamed. JD snapped. As terrified as he was of Pazuzu, he’d been helpless to stop bad things from happening to his mom, and now he was about to fail the girl he liked. He pulled her to him in defiance and waited to get turned into a sack of bones. But the monster stopped, as it sunk in that Morpho was shrinking from him, not JD. His canine face settled into a very human recognition that he’d just done something terrible and he couldn’t take it back. Morpho’s scream wound down in her throat. “Morpho, my daughter...” “She’s in shock, Shadow Man. If you're going to kill me, get it over with. But Morpho’s going bye-bye in her head. I’m calling for help and getting her out of here!” “She's my daughter! I spared your life because you fought for her.” “Look at her, your Demonship! You can’t help her!” She huddled in JD’s arms, straining away from the demon. Pazuzu’s face visibly constricted. The remaining wind died down into a mournful croon. His face and voice were human now. “She has never seen…the extent of my powers. Not really. She is like a human, frail, weak.” He gazed at her cringing form with dismay. “People don’t like seeing other people die, not even people they hate.” JD took off his plaid shirt and wrapped it around Morpho’s shoulders, steering her around to face away from the bones. “I’m calling 911.” He dialed the first number. Pazuzu barked, “No. You cannot call the authorities. She will be in great danger if others know what happened here. I will take care of the remains.”

JD gestured at the charnel with his cell phone, “They’re dead. You can’t hide this! And she needs help neither of us can give her!” The wind kicked up as Pazuzu boomed, “You do not understand, human.” He hesitated and then continued, “Something hunts us. Hunts her. If the nature of what happened is known, the creature may find out she is here and the police will not be able to protect her.” He took a deep breath, sucking the oxygen from around him. As the air current rushed back in, his proud features drooped. ”And I may have led the demoness here.” “Demoness? The sound of this just gets worse and worse.” ”She is my ex-wife, as you would think of it. Her name is Lamashtu, once known as Lilitu. You seem to know a great deal about our kind. Do you know her, Julius Dorgan?” Pazuzu spoke softly. The atmosphere darkened as Pazuzu uttered her name and JD’s stomach sunk into his shoes. Lamashtu: Killer of mothers and babies in their beds. Shifter of Seven Faces, Bringer of Bloodlust and Insanity. Great. “Well what am I supposed to do then?” He clutched protectively at Morpho. “You will take her away from here. Hide her. I will fix this. Go, before it is too late!” Pazuzu's yellow eyes drilled into JD’s. JD thought about what might show up besides the police. “Just do what you gotta do. I’ll keep her safe.” Pazuzu nodded. When JD looked back, he was gone. A small flame had started in the dry brush but was spreading quickly. As the two reached the road, a grasshopper watched from the brush.

5 The rabisu muttered to each other in the pines, waiting for the plague god and the butterfly girl, as twilight deepened. Only the warrior could be seen around the house, peering into the darkness. A faint aura of divinity glistened around him and the weapons he concealed near him. But the demons’ mistress was stronger. They licked at the putrid milk she’d fed them from her rotting body. The milk made them ravenous. They tasted the air, full of the smell of warm bodies in thinwalled houses, so close. They would feast after they devoured the warrior and the girl. The two would just be tidbits to start. But an ebbing started in their bellies, like a dark tide going out. Their mistress was pulling them back with her will, withdrawing them from their vigil. They faded until the pine copse was empty. * * * Morpho woke in a strange bed. It smelled like dirty laundry. She opened her eyes and stared up at the day-glo Led Zeppelin posters stuck on the paneled wall. On the ceiling above her was a poster of a naked girl with cherry red lips and a red guitar. Then she sat bolt-upright as she remembered what had happened in the last few hours and realized that she was in someone else’s bed. She started trembling. Where am I? Wanna-be rapists don’t bring you home afterwards, do they? She dragged herself to her feet from the sagging mattress and nearly tripped on the straggling mound of laundry strewn across the

floor. But her clothes were still all on, the right side out. JD wedged open the door, juggling mugs of hot chocolate. He spilled some down his sleeve, handed Morpho a mug, and sucked on the wet cotton. His face was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. “Ew. That’s gross. Haven’t you ever heard of a napkin?” she shot. “Hey!” He smiled. “She’s back, smart-ass mouth and all.” She sat down dejectedly on an amplifier, as the preceding events unfolded in her mind. JD grabbed her hand, “Hey, hey, don’t go bye bye on me again. That was really weird. I like it better when you’re snarking at me. For a second back there, I thought maybe your Dad was going to throw his voice through you, like in the movies.” She poked at a mini-marshmallow. “My Dad…” She put the mug down and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I know what he is, I’ve always known, but…” A little gasp escaped her lips. JD took her shoulders, then wrapped his arms around her. She couldn't keep her horror in, and girlish weeps forced their way out of her throat, to her further humiliation. Crying in front of a boy from her school? This day absolutely couldn't get any worse. JD let her cry for several minutes. “Your dad. Your dad scares the shit out of me. But you know what? He stuck around. And however terrifying and hellish the thoughts are running around in his brain...I can’t believe I’m saying this...I think he means well.” At this, Morpho pulled back and pinned JD with a sour glare. “No, I’m serious. I've been thinking about this. Your dad is from a different dimension. He’s not even close to human. You can’t change that. But all the fucked-up shit he’s done has been because he wants you to be safe. You matter to him so much he’s willing to wreck everything else on the planet for you. Holy crap, Morpho! My dad couldn’t even put a child support check in the mail for me.” Morpho gazed into JD’s suddenly intense face. He continued, “I’m not saying it’s okay to go around slinging plagues and eating people. I’m just saying, for now, give him a little bit of a break ‘cuz of why he did it.” She pondered for a few seconds, then shrugged. “What now? I mean, those guys are dead,” her voice wavered. “Couldn’t have happened to nicer guys.” “Ripping their dicks off is different than killing them. I never meant for them to die.”

“They were trying to rape you, Morpho! He’s your daddy! There ain’t a girl’s daddy in the world who would blame him for killing them. I’m not your Pop and I still thought about it.” “So, so what if it’s my fault?” “Self-defense. I saw the whole thing. You didn’t kill them.” “But I wanted them to die! I thought about it, I wished it so hard! What if I made it happen too? What if it wasn’t just my dad? I was always so pissed because I have ‘special’ parents but I got nothing. No special powers. I was always just an ordinary kid. You heard my dad. He said I was weak.” Shame seeped across her face. “But now things are different. What if I have that darkness in me too?” “So that’s what you’re really skinned about? Because I saw you fight. And I know you’d want to mess them up if they were alive. We all have parts of us we want to shove in a closet, Morpho. Haven’t you ever watched the Jerry Springer Show?” “Not reassuring.” “The point is, do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about murdering people? You weren’t the only one imagining their deaths. And believe me; I’ve cooked up stuff in my head that would make your dad grin. But I haven’t done any of those things and neither have you. Wishing doesn’t make it happen, unless you’re a god. As you said, you don’t have powers.” He squeezed her shoulders again. “Which doesn’t make you weak either, your dad has a screwed up view of the world. Look at Batman. He didn’t have super powers.” “He had gadgets.” “You want gadgets? I can make gadgets. I rebuilt that Z-28. You should see the bong I made last year.” “I’m tech-impaired. And I don’t think a giant bong is going to help in this particular situation.” “It might.” He pantomimed a lengthy drag on a pipe. She grinned and gave him a shove. “Look, look at what I invented!” He dug into a cardboard box in the corner. “I’m going to market it to defense companies when I can get a patent.” He brought out a contraption that reminded her of Marvin the Martian’s ray gun. It had a gun stock, a long tube that looked suspiciously like a bong and a short plate of fins that looked like the fins from an ionizer used in offices to purify the air. “Is that a bong, JD? Are you going to aim it at people and get them stoned?”

”No, it started out as one but it’s post-bong technology. It’ll be the new rage in non-violent warfare. It gives people the munchies you get after you get stoned.” “What?” “You know how distracting and compelling the munchies are? I once spent four hours searching for an open pizza joint, at three in the morning, when I knew I had a paper due in class at eight. Didn’t you ever see Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle? The idea is that when people are sprayed with this mist, they will stop caring about whatever their mission is and hunt for junk food instead.” “You’re insane.” “But it doesn’t project generalized munchies. You know how addictive junk food is? It’s based on that, not just on pot munchies. I got the idea from that movie where the guy ate only McDonalds for a month.” “You are living proof of the dangers of watching too much television. The inside of your head must look like a cartoon.” “No, seriously, I’ve distilled the chemicals from particular foods that make them so addictive. There are three different varieties of Munchie Mist, that’s what I'm calling it: Big Mac, Doritos nacho flavor and Hostess Cupcakes. Once the person breathes the mist, they feel an immediate need to get those specific foods.” “The poor schmucks stuck at the drive-thrus and checkout counters aren't getting paid enough. How did you distill it?” “I was stoned and me and Jonesy started talking about war and wouldn’t it be cool if we could solve the violence thing. Distilling stuff isn’t hard at all. A crap chemistry set from Big Lots can do it. I made something else too! Booger Blaster! The other day, I woke up with the worst allergies ever, after my run-in with your dad. My eyes were swollen shut with mucus, you know, gunk, and my nose was all goopy—” “That’s enough detail for a clear picture, thanks! So do you blow dog fur and pollen at people?” “Close. This other formula stimulates histamine production. You just turn the ionizer to this setting here. So it doesn’t matter what people are allergic to, peanuts, dogs, pollen or whatever. They turn into walking snot-wads. I got the idea after Jonesy called me a snot-wad.” He was so eager, she had to smile. “That’s very clever. Disgusting, but clever. I don't think it will help us, but maybe it'll get you into MIT.” She inspected the fins for a minute. “So why didn’t you

tell me about being a mad inventor? Why don’t you have stuff in your car, like the Batmobile?” “There is stuff in my car. It just doesn’t work yet, not the way I want it to. I’m having some problems with the pulse generator. And I thought you'd just make fun of me and blow me off if it didn’t work right.” “I’m still gonna make fun of you. But I wouldn’t have blown you off.” Morpho walked her fingers through his so they were interlaced. His cheeks and neck turned a bright shade of red. She trailed her fingers thoughtfully along the gadget, and went to find the bathroom. The light was burnt out, so she cracked the door and maneuvered by the sliver of hall light. As she was rinsing her hands, she surveyed her pale face and leaped back with a start. Ghostly silver moths fluttered in the mirror in front of her. But there were no moths visible outside the mirror, in the air. She waved her hand before her reflected image and the moths in the mirror moved aside for the picture of her hand. Then they alighted on the image of her arm and shoulder. She felt a slight tingle where the moths landed. She quickly brushed her shoulders and arms in a panic, though there was nothing there. As her trembling hand reached the door, a faint female voice whispered her name, pleading. “Morpho, you know me.” “How do you know my name?” “I named you. I am your mother.” The words dropped into a well of silence around Morpho. Her mother, the beautiful woman she had seen occasionally in the palm of her father’s hand. It was the only time she had seen her Dad devastated. She knew that the projection he pulled out in the dark, when he didn’t think anyone watched, was a memory. Blood rushed in her head and drowned out the whispers. What if this was his ex-wife? She had never seen either one in person. Her knees were watery with the idea, but she knew that this was her only chance to get some answers. “I don’t remember you.” “You were too young when I died.” “What happened?” “Your father never told you?” “No. He said you got sick.” Assuming this is my mother… she thought nervously. “Did he have anything to do with it?” A terrible fear lurched in her stomach at the new prospect. Though it didn’t fit with

the anguish and need she had seen on his face when he talked to the likeness of the blue woman. “I imagine that he feels as though he did. But it was Lamashtu. I-I am sorry. If there was any fault it was mine. I did not heed his warning about her. I have faced jealousy before from women. After surviving so long, I was arrogant. I lost my first husband because I underestimated the vengeance of another woman. After that, I had been through this kind of persecution before so I should have seen it coming this time. But I did not understand what manner of creature Lamashtu was, or how much strength she had. I suppose I was always optimistic that our love for each other, your father and I, would be enough to protect me. I made the same errors as with my first husband. This time, I bet on our love being able to protect you and I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Morpho had a sick feeling. “Lamashtu, the one who you said killed you. She’s his ex-wife, isn’t she?” “Yes.” “What did she do? How did she kill you?” “She laid her hands on me and sucked my breath away when I was still weary from delivering you. Fortunately, Ereshkigal had pity on me and allowed me into the Underworld despite Lamashtu’s touch. She would have stolen your breath but your father hid you.” Morpho shuddered as her imagination filled in all the blanks, and there were a lot. “So, she’s like Dad?” “Much worse. You must heed your father about this. Trust no one except whom he trusts. Promise me.” Morpho argued with the moths instead. “I’m not promising anything to you. I don’t even know you. I don’t trust you either. Everyone keeps trying to hide things. What are you, a ghost? I can see you and sort of feel you.” “Now, yes.” “Were you a goddess? I’ve seen your image with Dad. He takes it out sometimes and looks at you. He misses you.” Her voice was wistful. “No, I was not a goddess exactly. I am of an ancient people. The Irish called us by many names: Sidhe, Tuatha de Danann, elf. We are just people. We are much longer-lived I suppose, if we are not killed. And we have magics that humans do not. We are all different. Some of us can change shape, like me. Many of us who change have a specific form. Mine is butterflies.” “What happened with your first husband?”

“As I said, I underestimated his ex-wife. She made him forget about the world around him, about me. He sits in his fort, deep in the hills and sees only her. He consumes twigs and dirt and drinks mud, believing it to be the finest mead. He sees the terrible creature before him as the beauty she once was. She made a pact with a monster to hide their abode and kill all who approach. On All-Souls Night, you can see the entrance to his prison.” “Why doesn’t anyone try to rescue him?” “Because at some point, he chose his fate. He stopped fighting her. He eats her food and drinks her poison willingly. He was given a chance to escape many years ago and didn’t take it. That is how I know of him now.” At some point, in the telling of the woman’s life before her dad, Morpho realized that she did believe this woman or fairy or whatever she was. Nothing about her matched the horror she had seen in her dad’s face when talking about Lamashtu. She also found that she didn’t want to hear any more about this first husband or any other rival for her mother’s attention. “Well, what about Dad? If you can visit me, why don’t you visit Dad? Are you mad at him because of his ex?” Her apprehension resurfaced. The moths were silent for a moment. “No, I'm not angry. I don’t know. It’s complicated.” “Meaning parent-speak for ‘You’re too young and stupid to understand.’” “No, meaning his ex-wife found me with him and I lost my life, and you almost lost yours. If you had lost your soul to her, I would never have forgiven myself, not even in death. I do not know how he will react if he sees me and I do not know how I will react if I see him. I do not want to make things worse.” “How could they be worse? You’re dead and he’s losing his mind!” “You could die, you insolent child! Do you understand that? I don’t want you to die because of my mistakes, our mistakes. Better that we don’t provoke her, until we have more power against her.” The voice wavered slightly. “So, are you going to abandon Dad?” “No.” “I don’t believe you.” The moths' silk wings and light feet gently touched her head, tickling her hair and cheeks, like kisses. They sighed, “I will show you more. Will you trust me then?”

“Maybe.” The dim walls of the bathroom dissolved into the wilds of a desert. A youngish man with ginger hair and crystal blue eyes wandered in the ruins of the ancient city of Babylon. In the transferred memory, Morpho knew it was her mother’s son with a human lover, from long ago. He was dressed as an archaeologist as cover, but he was military. He had been left there after the end of World War Two, the Great War, to do surveillance on a new ‘renaissance’ socialist movement gathering from Syria, called 'Ba’ath' in their tongue. Tonight, he looked lonely. It was All Souls Night, the night after Halloween. That meant nothing to the local Iraqis but it meant everything to Etain. She hadn’t seen him in ten years, since the war. His face was worn from the things he’d seen in battle and couldn’t forget. The smudges around his eyes seemed coal-dark as he sat in the ruins and thought about what it might have looked like in ancient times. Etain came through the veil of her world on this sacred night, in front of him. He looked up at her, surrounded by what were then butterflies, mystic under the twinkling stars. “Mother?” “Conor? You were doing so well! You had a woman after the war. You don’t look well now. Are you ill?” His mouth sagged in grief. “Things fell apart,” was all he would say. She rushed to him, gathering him into her arms. They sat as he cried, with his head in her lap as the stars wheeled by. Finally, he rose, pulled her to her feet, hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mother.” “For what? I did nothing. I missed you. Can I help? You are so closed now.” “No, you can’t help. Things are what they are. I love you.” He turned and went back through the scrub and sand. Etain didn’t follow him. He had kept her at a distance for years, especially during the war, stoic, silent and even more cryptic than her own people. Her alien manchild. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. A shadow moved in the gloom and she jumped. It resolved into the shape of a tall man. She knew right away that he wasn’t human. He was a denizen of whatever had occupied these lands before humanity. Morpho in the memory recognized him instantly as her father. He spoke in a deep voice, his syllables thick and strange. “He is your boy?” “Yes.”

“Do you cry for him or because of him?” “Yes.” He threw his head back, his laugh echoing against the low hills. There was a reverberating buzz underneath the laughter. She flicked her wings in irritation, wiped the tears from her face, and glared at him. His voice softened. “I am sorry for your unhappiness. I meant no disrespect.” She shook her head. “He was unwell." The strange man nodded in the direction her son had gone. The tears threatened to come again. “How do you know?” As she peered into his bright golden eyes, she got a clear vision of locusts, sand flies and suppurating sores, covering hundreds of men, soldiers, tribesman, caravans. “I am a demon of plague,” he said simply. She gasped, knowing the truth in what he said. With a roar, she rushed him. “You poisoned my son! I will see you dead!” But he dissolved into a swarm of locusts, then re-formed behind her. “His illness is not mine, beautiful firebrand. If it were, I could heal him. I am sorry.” Errant locusts flickered around her. Her shoulders drooped. “I recognize his illness, divine beauty. It is in his soul. His healing is harder. He must find succor on his own. He must find hope. Without that, no god can help him.” She buried her face in her hands. “Will he die?” “Someday, not today. But he desecrates his flesh and takes poison into himself from the poppy flower. Someday, it will be the instrument of his death, yes.” “How do you know? Is it certain? Is there nothing to be done?” “Not by you. I see things in people when they are sick. But I cannot say anything for certain. I do not know his destiny.” The god blinked and his voice grew rough with some terrible emotion as he spoke of destiny. “Thank you for being honest with me.” Etain bowed her head. The butterflies rested on her as she moved toward the portal. The locust man was next to her before she stepped through. He returned her bow. “I am called Pazuzu. Call if you have need of me. You are not alone.” She touched his face, which felt warm and rough, almost human. “I am called Etain, of the Danaan."

He smiled. It was a dark smile. She looked into his eyes and saw something that made her shudder. She would not let Morpho see what her memory held secret. But Morpho could feel her mother’s passion as her horror turned into a shiver of intrigue and lust. Etain quickly pulled away from the thought. “Hey!” Morpho barked and put her hands to her head. Now she knew they were hiding things. “Morpho, you okay in there?” JD’s voice came from the other room. “Fine.” The moths lifted off and floated away. “You are not alone, child.” She reached into the air to beckon the insects to return. “Come back! Mother?” But the apparition was gone for now. * * * The rabisu didn’t attack, but Morpho and Pazuzu hadn’t returned by the time the sun set. Fire trucks caterwauled in the distance. Lugal paced. Something had happened. He turned on the television to a news station. As he did so, a rustling came from outside and the motion detectors blared. Zapping and fizzling sounds replaced the rustle. Tiny squeaks and the smell of burnt chitin drifted in the crack in the window through which Lugal pointed the muzzle of an Uzi. Grasshoppers lit tiny sparks as they flew into the electrical field Lugal had rigged. A singed and smoking Pazuzu materialized inside the front door. Pazuzu’s black hair stood on end. Wisps of smoke curled into the air above him. “What has happened? Have there been signs of Lamashtu?” Lugal nodded. “I spotted her demons in the woods beyond. I have taken precautions to warn if they approach.” “Those precautions could have killed Morpho had she come upon them unawares.” Lugal shook his head. “I have been calling her cell phone. The field is not strong enough to do more than startle her.” Pazuzu just stared at him, as the smoke drifted from his hair. “Yes, Master.” Lugal said as he disabled the field. “Where is Morpho?” “Safe, I hope. There has been an incident.”

Lugal raised his eyebrows, grabbing his weapons, concealing a smaller gun underneath his clothes. “What do you plan to do with that, old friend? Hardly discreet.” Pazuzu pointed to the bow, axe and matte black machine gun. “The incident was one I have dealt with, or rather...caused.” He gestured toward the sound of the sirens. Lugal coughed. “What have you done now, Lord Anzu?” “Morpho was assaulted by boys from her school who assumed they could take liberties. I defended her.” Lugal frowned. “Is she all right? Is she...” “No. She isn't all right. Physically, yes. But she...she cannot bear to be around me after seeing what I did to her attackers.” Everything about Pazuzu visibly drooped, and he lapsed into sullen silence. “You did what was necessary. At least she is alive, and whole. Where is she now?” It was Pazuzu’s turn for exasperation. “Her friend, Julius Dorgan, had come to her rescue as well. Not much of a warrior but a stout heart when it mattered. She went with him.” Lugal's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “You trust him?” “He may not be much of a fighter but he will not harm her. And he will do what he can to protect her. I don’t see many other options. The deaths will attract attention.” “A fire?” The sirens were closer. They wound down within blocks of the school. “It will burn hot enough to obscure any remains. I gave it some extra assistance.” “A great fire will not attract attention?” “From the authorities, yes, but brush fires and forest fires happen in Colorado. Young hooligans being consumed by ice and insects are not as common an occurrence. I will accept police attention over that of the Hag. And Morpho has gone to ground, just in case.” “Then she knows of Lamashtu?” “She was not in a position to hear anything when we parted. I told Julius. He will convey the information.” Pazuzu's voice was hoarse with misery. He grabbed all of the beer from the refrigerator, popped the tops on all of them and started draining them, one after another. “Her principal also knows there is a great danger coming. He has sworn to protect her.” Pazuzu sneered.

“That is a good thing, isn’t it? An ally.” The look Pazuzu gave him could have boiled leather. “Her principal is Ninurta, the farmer god. But it seems now, that in addition to being a naïve yokel, he is also a human. The Anunnaki were even harsher in their judgment of him than they were of me, for losing the Tablet. And he has no memory of what he was.” Lugal grabbed a beer and joined him. * * * On the morning of the second day of Jumada al-awwal, Thursday, April 7th of the Julian calendar, in the sandy ruins of the walled city that had once been mighty Uruk, 2773 kilometers southeast of Baghdad, a chamber opened. There were no bodies of prospectors or treasure-seekers decorating the way in, no murals or runes to mark its existence. There was simply a door hidden in a fall of sand where there had not been one before. An archaeology intern brushing dirt off the edge of a piece of Ubaidian pottery nearby saw the opening. He yelped, called hurriedly over his shoulder in Arabic, and hopped the quadrant marker to get a better look. He slid down into the opening. The chamber he saw appeared to be made of seamless stone, of a construction and type he couldn't identify. It was circular, as though it had been hewn into the rock rather than fitted from larger pieces and he could not see any joints. But there were no chisel marks either. The walls, from where he stood, looked unusually smooth. A wave of humidity breathed against his face, evaporating instantly in the outside aridity and heat. A giant statue of a goddess faced oddly inward at the mouth of the entrance, as he slipped gingerly into the chamber from the sand-fall behind him. What made this odd was that most shrines had statuary facing out, protecting. She had an eight-pointed star on her breast and held a carved, twisted knot of reeds, the symbols of Inanna, goddess of love and war. The ruins had been her city. Another statue loomed toward the back, almost lost in the gloom, also a goddess. She stood in the center of the vast room behind a midnight pool of water. She faced the entrance toward Inanna, larger by at least a third. Something about this statue, the features, the lack of other symbols, made him think that this did not represent Inanna, but a different goddess. And as he studied them, the attitude of the statues seemed almost adversarial. Given that revelation, the chill of the

chamber felt colder as he realized which goddess this was likely to be. It was not a shrine to Inanna because it appeared now that it was a shrine to her enemy, the one who had stolen her power, her sister Ereshkigal, Mistress of the Underworld. He pulled out his notebook and began scribbling notes. Imagine, a shrine to Inanna's enemy under her own city. He hollered to get someone's attention and then tried to send a text, but there was no signal. He absolutely refused to leave until he had looked at everything. Around the pool, a sinuous form snaked. It appeared to be made of black stone. At first glance, it looked like a serpent. When the archaeologist peered at it, it seemed more like an amoeba with multiple long pseudo-pods wrapping around the surface of a stone lip. It was hard to determine where it ended or began. A dais rose in the center of the pool to about a third of a meter above the water. The dais appeared to be flat and empty, but there was a depression in the center with cuneiform markings that had been scored or seared into the stone. When the intern refocused on the black snake at the edge of the pool, it had shifted, almost fluid. The water rippled slightly in the hot breeze that was drawn into the opening. The ripples gave off slight winks of greenish luminescence, a strange trick of the sunlight in the shadowed area. The head archaeologist stumbled down to the door despite a clumsy attempt at care, clutching his cap which had slid off. He stood behind the intern with an open mouth before he spoke. “Water. This must have been hermetically sealed.” He visually surveyed the room, examining one of the walls with a magnifying glass. Then he took photos of the stone effigies with his smart-phone since his camera was topside with the other equipment. "I do not know what to make of this. It doesn't look like anything else from the Uruk period in this complex. This stonework is advanced. More advanced than neo-Babylonian or Assyrian." He ran his hand down the seamless curved wall. "This is more advanced than some modern architecture. But I cannot see how this could have been created recently either." He craned his neck up at the statue of Inanna. “Do you have sample containers on you? We need samples for dating.” The intern nodded. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the black stone snake. But it still seemed to have moved, even though he hadn’t seen it. The water undulated though the air had become still. It was mesmerizing. As he got closer, he could almost hear faint whispers coming from the pool. He pulled a small tube from one of his vest pockets, put gloves on and dipped the tube in the liquid. As his fingers

touched the water, the energy drained from his hand in a rush and he collapsed. The archaeologist yelled, running to him. “Are you all right? Insha' Allah!” The young man’s eyes were open but empty. He was dead.

6 Ninhab finished talking with the police, though there hadn’t been much to tell them about the missing boys. Two days before, Carl Haglund had left school after what was to be his final detention, for this week at least. And the parking lot guard had seen him heading out in his car. The next morning, Thursday, the police had come to say that his parents had reported him missing. Now, last night, charred human bones had been found at the site of the fire. The crews were still investigating the area. According to them, it had burned very hot, though no accelerant had been found and a microburst had come in and dumped about two feet of water on the entire area. It had created flash floods a mile away in the washes. That had brought the fire under control in a half an hour. But evidence collection was a mess. Results on the bones wouldn't be back for a couple of days. The buzz of the town was that the bones belonged to the boys. But Ninhab believed in hope. He powered on his computer and went to Carl’s Facebook page to see if there was any indication that could lead them to an idea of where he might have gone. He skimmed several pages of inane sports and girl-related posts, and rubbed his forehead. If I had a daughter, he thought, I’d ground her till she was thirty to keep her from dating this boy. But Carl was a student and he was a responsibility. The boy deserved to be found, if only to give him a chance to grow out of his idiocy. Ninhab caught a few irate posts about Morpho on the afternoon following the incident, but there was nothing after that. He gave up after a little while. He was unlikely to get any further information until later in the day. So to give his brain some time to work on the problem in the back of his mind, he switched to a news engine to do his morning reading. It was set to World News but before he could click on the local stuff, he caught an article posted on Yahoo about a new find in southern Iraq. It was in the ruins of Tell al’ Warka, the ancient city of

Uruk. It had been a great city-state dedicated to Inanna and had been occupied from at least 6000 BC, and been classifiable as a city from at least 5000 BC. What caught his eye was the tabloid nature of the article. The tone was fairly typical for some of the dreck posted on internet news, but as irresistible as goggling at a car wreck. It read like the Weekly World News meets Indiana Jones. "Curse of Ereshkigal kills an archaeologist." He snorted at the guilty pleasure and kept reading. “Baghdad, Iraq — A breakthrough in archaeology has been made! But at what cost? An underground chamber was discovered yesterday by Dr. Tafiq Abbas, Director of Archaeology at Baghdad University. According to his comments, this could be the site of an early temple to Inanna, earlier than previously ever found. However, it also had unusual features that led archaeologists to consider another goddess who could have been worshipped there, the deadly Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld, and rival to Inanna. “The professor confirmed that the temple had never been opened since initially being sealed. Yet, in a desert climate, it maintained a pool of water. Artifacts seen around the pool were reminiscent of portrayals of the Underworld and surrounded a stone tablet with cuneiform markings yet to be deciphered. Before the tablet could be reached, or testing could be conducted, Abbas' assistant reportedly came into contact with the water. The nature of what happened next is uncertain, but he died instantly, according to the professor. Could it be toxic gas, accumulated and released after all these centuries? The professor remained healthy, though he was in the same room. Could it be poison, an academic rival or ancient booby trap? Or something darker, the hand of an ancient curse reaching from the goddess once worshipped there, now abandoned?” The article continued, but Ninhab skimmed the remaining details. Though American and British scientists were petitioning to get to the cuneiform and statues, the Iraqi government had quarantined the area, ‘until the curse could be lifted,’ the article couldn’t resist adding. He guffawed but that unsettled feeling was back again, that something was wrong. As he perused the description of the markings, he’d gotten the strongest feeling of déjà vu he’d ever felt. Because déjà

vu is so scientific, he scoffed to himself. Jan’s the one who gets into crystal and aura readers, airy-fairy snake oil rip-off artists! This article reminded him of the last time they had gone on vacation. His very gullible wife Jan had dragged him into one of those shops in a seedy corner of a little village in Spain, for a palm reading. He had felt ridiculous, but accommodated her. He smiled at the thought of her wide eyes, sparkling with her newest foray into spirituality or philosophy or some other interest she was eager to share with him. But the bejeweled and glitter-scarfed palm reader had grabbed his hand, before he could explain that it was Jan who wanted the reading. The woman had intoned dramatically. “You lost your destiny.” “Isn’t the definition of destiny something pre-ordered? How can you lose it?” Jan elbowed him in the ribs. “What? I’m just pointing out that the statement is etymologically impossible,” he had protested. The woman was undeterred by his skepticism. “Destinies can be lost. Nothing is certain. Anymore. I can help you find it again,” she pressed, in her tobacco-laden husky voice. “Of course you can, for fifty dollars?” He politely took his hand away, under Jan’s glare. “You’re being rude!” she’d exclaimed. “No, I’m not. I’m being practical. If you want to do this, fine. But I think only one of us coarse American tourists should be spending money on the talents of this very lovely enterprising business woman. Thank you very much.” He gave an acknowledging bow to the woman, a placating smile to Jan, and left the shop to wait outside. He could feel the reader’s gaze follow him all the way out. Now, sitting in his office, he ignored the jittery feeling. It had been an amusing memory, but now just rankled on his nerves. He had a lot of work to do with the CSAP tests approaching. His school must rank in the top five at least. As he was reviewing the current requirements, a flock of silver moths danced across the computer screen obscuring the print, and a whisper filled the room. “Ninurta. Do you see me?” He went to the door. Rhonda wasn’t here yet. He frowned and went back to his desk. The moths were back. It must be some kind of a computer program. Maybe one of the kids had planted it. Every single one of them, including the ones on the verge of dropping out, were more computer-savvy than he or anyone from his generation. He just watched to see what the program would do next.

“Ninurta, you must listen to me. I must speak with you.” There was his proof. It was random speech, some of which didn’t make any sense. It used a name that wasn’t his, probably that of the programmer. “Ninhab Agresti, I know you can hear me.” Okay, that got his attention. It had accessed his files. He called IT. No one was there, so he left a message. “Hello, it’s Ninhab Agresti. My computer appears to have a virus of some kind. I’m doing a hard shut down now. Please address this as soon as you get in.” He pushed the power button on the computer. But it did not shut off. He squeezed under the desk and unplugged the power strip but it remained on. A chill went down his spine. The moths remained on his screen, gently fanning their wings. “I am Etain, mother of Morpho. She is your student, yes?” He didn’t answer. This wasn’t possible. He picked up the keyboard but there was nothing under it. Then he poked at the buttons on the monitor, as if he’d even know what to look for on the computer to fix it…if it were plugged in. He dropped his head in his hands. Then he stuck his tongue out and waggled his fingers to see if he’d had a stroke. But at least his motion appeared normal. His heart pounded. Perhaps his simple obsessive-compulsiveness had blossomed into something more ominous, like mental imbalance. “Stop trying to find an explanation. It’s not the computer. Your brain is fine. You are not hallucinating. I am quite real.” The soft voice was insistent. As he contemplated his situation, he thought back to one of his heroes, John Nash, and how the schizophrenic genius had bested his hallucinations by ignoring them. “Since you will not talk to me, I will talk to you. My daughter is in great danger. You can help me and you can help your student.” He resumed reviewing the CSAPs. The hallucination kept talking. “I know that you do not believe this is happening but I will keep talking until you pay me some mind. I can enter you, you know.” She did. Suddenly, the moths vanished from his computer. It shut down, with a crackle of static. Now the voice in the room came from inside his head. He let out a short yelp, covering his ears with his palms. But she kept talking. He recited every prayer and partial prayer he could recall. But she kept talking. He steeled himself, thinking of the imaginary figures that prowled around the harried John Nash. He would

get a handle on this. He was stronger than any disorder. But she kept talking. She talked through his entire day. She talked while he finished reviewing CSAP requirements. She talked while he called his physician and asked for a referral to a psychiatrist. She talked about everything: the weather, his love life, his job and then she just sang and hummed. She began with lilting songs that sounded Gaelic in origin. They were almost enchanting. By the end of the day, he lay in bed, after his wife had finally huffed and cleared the dishes in frustration at the fifteenth time he said, “Uh, I'm sorry, Honey, I didn’t quite hear you. What did you say?” The voice was still singing, except she had moved on to Britney Spears tunes that he hadn’t even known he knew. Though her song was velvet and much more seductive than Britney’s, it was still annoying. It rapidly got more annoying as she cycled through every pop and teenybopper tune that had ever been played ad nauseum in his school halls. He jammed a pillow over his head, counting until he fell asleep. And then he heard the damned songs in his sleep. In the wee hours of the morning, he flounced out of bed and powered on his computer, determined to get some household filing done for next year’s taxes. His passenger had resorted to keening Miley Cyrus’s ‘Can't Be Tamed’ over and over. This, he realized, was exactly why those poor buggers with schizophrenia eventually threw themselves off of buildings. It wasn’t the creepy hallucinations telling them to do unspeakable things. The voices only had to be supremely irritating and the unfortunate victims would gladly do unspeakable things on their own just to shut them up. “All right, Ninurta.” Her voice finally stopped singing as he stared doggedly at his spreadsheet. Good, I'm getting a handle on this, he thought. The voice continued. “Since you are stubborn and won’t listen to me, I’m forced to use other means.” He felt a rush of blood through his body, into a stronger erection than he had ever had in his life. He glanced toward the bedroom. “Oh,” he said to his hallucination. “You’re going to give me a hard-on. What a terrible punishment,” he continued dryly. “I can hardly bear it.” “Wait twelve hours.” He paused and just stared at his pants, thinking of Jan. She whispered, “I can keep this up for days. I was married to Anzu of the Perpetual Hard-On. But I don’t think you will last that long, human farmer god. I believe that humans call this priapism. Look

it up on your internet. The results seem lovely now, but in the end are quite nasty." She went silent while his head jerked up and he pulled up the term on WebMD. He skimmed the article until he came to the word ‘gangrenous’ and then all the blood drained from his head. He almost lost consciousness. It did not, unfortunately, drain from the rest of him. He peeked down into his boxers. The shadows there made it hard to see, but it seemed to look a darker shade of purple than it had a few minutes ago. “Oh God. Why are you doing this to me?” He sat down gingerly. “It’s not God, it's just me, Etain, the ghost of your student’s mother. Do I have your attention yet or do I need to wait until it falls off?” He sighed in defeat. She exclaimed, “Good. Men are all the same, god or human. Go into the bathroom. And listen to everything I tell you.” He went to the bathroom, resolving to check himself into the hospital as soon as this episode was over and he had control of his nether-regions again. Until then, there was no way he was going to call attention to his...unique situation. The bathroom was dark and silent in the early morning. Jan slept like a log. The mirror shone the hall light back at him. He stepped inside cautiously. He felt something leave him through his ears. His erection relaxed. He breathed a gasp of relief. The long mirror reflected his image. Then it shimmered and turned black. Ghostly white shapes floated in from the dark and alighted on the side of his reflection, fanning their wings. “I speak to you now at the will of the Queen of the Dead. Before you get obnoxious again, shut up and listen, you stubborn deluded bastard.” He gulped and listened to the voice, as instructed. “Have you never contemplated why you are the way you are? You label everything obsessively, as if you are afraid of losing something.” “It’s called OC—” “What did I say about shutting up?” He stopped talking. “Once upon a time, something was stolen from you. Something you were supposed to return to the great gods. They punished you by taking your immortality. Everything has led you to this. Now you need to wake up and remember. You need to help me or your kids will suffer.”

“Are you threatening them?” He stood very straight. “No. I want you to help me fight the monster that is. My husband already warned you about what stalks my daughter.” “I’m not killing anyone because a voice tells me to. And how do I know you’re not her, the creature he warned me about?” “Because you would already be dead.” He snorted, “How menacing. Coming from a voice that can’t possibly be real. Doing what you did to me doesn’t change that, doesn’t make you more real. It just makes me a danger to myself.” She acceded. “You’re right. On some level, nothing I do will change what you believe. Nothing that happens to you will change what you think is true. We are all prisoners of the reality that we create. So even if this monster were to come and kill you and inhale your soul, you could decide to spend your last breath in this world believing that you would wake up from a dream. Until you didn’t. And still, you would not believe. If that is the case, you cannot help me, because you cannot even help yourself.” He stared at the rippling shiny surface and considered what she said. Her tone was infinitely sad. For the first time in many years, he wondered if a world in which magic was a part of reality was really as crazy as he’d thought. And for the first time in the past several hours, he wondered if the reality this voice was insisting on might be important enough to risk sanity for. “I’m listening,” he said. “Touch the mirror.” He reached out to touch it. It rippled slightly with his touch and he felt a tiny pull at his fingers. He quickly recoiled. “What on Earth?” “Not on Earth. The portal is open for now, should you accept my request.” “The portal to where?” “The Underworld.” “'Underworld' as in where dead people go?” He backed up until he bumped into the wall behind him. “And live people who are granted entrance.” “Assuming this is real, getting in is fine, I’m sure. What about getting out?” “The Lady has granted safe passage as long as you follow the instructions. You are a school principal. Surely you know how to follow directions.” “Why? What does she want?”

“Ninurta, son of Enlil and Ninlil, I beg of you to hear this petition—” “No, excuse me. You need to explain what is going on first.” “You were once a god, Ninurta of the Plough. You once retrieved something called the Tablet of Destiny, which was stolen from Enlil. But it was stolen again from you. You were punished by being cast into humanity. And you have been born again and again into human lives.” When she mentioned the Tablet, he knew that it was the truth, as insane as that sounded. It shivered in the hairs on his arms, in the pit of his stomach. “Okay, for the sake of argument, what happened to this Tablet? Who stole it?” “The first time? My husband Anzu. You know him as Mr. Wilson. The world knows him as Pazuzu, Demon of the Wind and Plague, of Famine.” “Oh good, this just gets better and better.” “The second time, it was stolen from you. By whom, no one knows. It has never been recovered.” “So you want me to retrieve it again? If I couldn’t keep track of it the first time, what makes you think I’ll be able to get it again? And if I got it from your husband, what leads you to believe I’m going to give it back? He’s a felon, a supernatural felon, no less.” “I do not know that you can retrieve it again. But since it has disappeared, Lamashtu, the monster of whom I spoke, searches for it, for limitless power. And her power continues to grow. My husband cannot control her anymore. I must take steps to protect my daughter. I cannot fight her as I am, so the Queen has agreed to help me if you will attend to her. She offers you an audience.” The mention of the Queen was intriguing but instead he went back to that name again, Lamashtu. It sent a jitter down his neck. “Who is she, this monster?” “She was my husband's wife, before me.” “Sounds like a charming relationship. Where did she come from?” “She is daughter of Anu, He who helped create the world with the other Ancients. None of them interfere in the world of men any longer.” “So she just runs wild?” “Now, yes. She was always willful.” Ninhab rubbed his eyes, “Okay, so why is she like that?” “Why does the tide move the water? She is what she is now.”

“Now? But she wasn’t always like this.” “No. As Pazuzu was once a god, the one you hunted to retrieve the Tablet, so she was once a goddess, Lilitu, handmaiden of Inanna the Great Goddess. She was a mistress of war but also of the life that comes from decay. New life. Now she only consumes it.” “But why did she change?” “Who can say? She always had the seeds of darkness in her.” His head was spinning. “Back to this Tablet of Destiny, could that have had something to do with any of this?” “It may have everything to do with it. What choices people or gods make when they are free.” “What is this Tablet?” “In it is the power to control the will of all things, to write their history, their destinies.” He queried. “How are you going to help your daughter if I don’t get you this destiny stone?” “The Queen wishes to see you.” “Who is the Queen?” “Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld, sister of Inanna and one of the more powerful of the Anunnaki. You have passed through her realm many times in the past centuries and you have found favor with her.” “Favor? As in sexual interest? I don’t like where this is going. I’m married to a live woman.” He recalled old tales in which an immortal of some culture or other took a human lover. The stories never seemed to end well. “The Queen returns all favors.” “I have everything I want. What could she possibly give me?” “Your godhood back. You could rule the Underworld at her side.” “As a god of the Underworld? That doesn’t sound appealing. And I don't miss something I don't remember having. I like being human.” “Until you die. And the next time around, what if your lot in this world is as an abused homeless person, plagued by illness?” “Is that a threat?” “No, merely pointing out the possibilities. Humanity may not seem so appealing then. You like consistency. Sharing your life with an immortal and becoming one yourself would be an eternity of consistency.” “So you mentioned that you made some deal with her.”

“I will be lent power from the Queen to act against the demoness, for one moment.” “So if I agree to ‘see’ her, you get superpowers.” “Yes, at least a portion of power. To protect my daughter.” “You’re dead. Why can’t Anzu help her? I know you said Lamashtu’s stronger now, but why can’t he go to the Underworld to meet the Queen? He is Morpho’s father. That has to be a more compelling argument than anything that can come from me.” “Ereshkigal does not like him.” “It must be his warm and fuzzy personality. So what are you going to do to protect her when the time comes? Will you be stronger than Lamashtu?” “No, I was not as strong as her when I died. And Ereshkigal was taken advantage of once. She does not part with power easily.” “So what are you going to do?” he insisted, having still not received a satisfactory answer. The room fell into silence and the moths were still. “You have no idea, do you? If a god of famine and plague can’t kill a demon, what are a bunch of butterflies going to do? Did you even plan this out?” A doleful sigh floated outward. He shook his head. “I don’t blame you for not having all the answers. I understand. But I’m not taking a trip to Hell, when there’s almost no chance that you can do anything useful to protect this girl. I swore to your husband, ‘Mr. Wilson’ that I would do what I could to guard her. And I think I can do a better job as a human from this end of Wonderland. Or are you going to give me Viagra-dick until I agree?” Anger crept into his voice. The moths sunk back into the darkness, almost unseen now. “No. I cannot force you to honor this request. That decision and the journey must be done with your own will.” “I’m sorry, no.” Without another glance at the mirror, he walked out. The bright hall drove all the weird images from his head. He took a deep breath and headed back to his workstation. The computer screen was dark. As he curled up in bed next to Jan, a little twinge of melancholy turned over in his chest. * * * Lugal reviewed his recent instructions to his spies the day before. “Will your clearance with your government’s police be enough?

Set it up as we designed. There can be no chances. It must go off precisely as triggered. No one would survive a mistake. Wait until she has reached the target. The portal will do the rest. It is the only thing that will finish her.” He hated using cell phones for this. It just didn’t seem secure, but there was no other way. He went back to waiting and keeping vigil, while Pazuzu paced. * * * Now that JD had hidden Morpho for safety, a day and a half after her attack, Pazuzu moped around Morpho's room, feeling useless. He pulled open her laptop and turned it on. After he punched at several buttons that did nothing, the screen popped up and then reverted to a password login. He just stared at it, flummoxed. Then he typed, “Boys.” Nothing. “Skateboard.” Nothing. “Jerkwad,” her most common curse, at least around him. Nothing. “July121994,” her birthday. Nothing. He gave in to impatience. “Lugal! What passwords would you use if you were Morpho?” Lugal’s deep voice floated up from downstairs, “What? Oh, the password is ‘Julius.’” “Balls of the Anunnaki, you’re kidding me! We will never be rid of that boy, will we?” “We will if she never speaks to you again.” Pazuzu just sat for a moment, his face twitching. Slightly contrite, amused words floated up the stairs. “I apologize, Master, I spoke without thinking. She will come around.” “Sure.” Suddenly, the computer went blue, with an incomprehensible message that began with ‘This computer has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down.’ “Lugal! Has she been running guns on this computer or selling pot? Or importing manly porn?” There was a pause from downstairs. ”Of course not, why?” ”This screen just said that the computer has performed an illegal operation.” ”Not that kind of illegal.” “What other kind is there?” “The kind that means the computer has, what was the word Morpho used, ‘shitty’ software and will need to be restarted.” “Oh. I see.” “Would you like me to come and restart it, Master?” “Yes. In the interest of keeping Morpho safe, of course.”

“And prying into her affairs.” Lugal appeared in the door, looking much too smug. “How else would I get information?” He pointed at Lugal. “You were the one to supply me with her password.” “I never described prying as a negative thing. How else would I have gotten her password?” He restarted the computer and left Pazuzu with Morpho’s personal profile page. It was littered with a baffling combination of kittens, hearts, black pentagrams, and pale fanged boys who sparkled. But her blog posts, as he read, revealed an erudite young woman he never knew before. She talked about not knowing her mother and wishing she had, about how hard it was to move from one home to another repeatedly, about how angry she was at him for making them move and for not controlling his temper. Those things he had known. What stopped him in his tracks was an entry written just three days ago, the day he had attacked Julius. It went: “I finally met a boy who isn't a jerkwad! He doesn’t seem to care that I'm a freak. At the same time, he doesn’t care that I’m nothing special. He likes me for me. I wish I could feel that way at home. At home, I’m nothing. Dad has his powers. I haven’t seen Lugal’s powers, but I know he’s more than he seems. I don't know why they care about me. My mom is gone. She was beautiful, I know that much. But when I look in the mirror, all I see is the worst of both my parents." Pazuzu sat and stared at the words, puzzled over how she could think what she was thinking, about him, about her mother, about herself. Had he said something to make her feel this way? Guilt overwhelmed him. The pink and purple lights in the room dimmed. Morpho’s body spray bottles all froze. He flopped his head down on the keyboard and the computer pulled up a number of text boxes and tool bars that did confusing things. He snarled and poked at the keyboard until they went away. He heard Lugal talking on his cell phone downstairs, making some kind of arrangements. The frustrated father ploughed at his face with his hands and moved the little arrow around aimlessly. It switched to a page that said MSNews. There was a brief article on a death at an archaeological dig with a significant find, in southern Iraq, the seat of his homeland. He breezed by the news of the scientist’s death and focused on the ancient stone markings found at the site. After reviewing the article, Pazuzu leaped up, knocking the chair over. Those markings could be any number of things. But he knew, down to his last fiber, that they were only made by one thing, the

Tablet he had lost. He was as certain of this as of his own divinity. The computer screen went blue again. He slammed the computer shut irritably and clambered into the hall. By the time he reached the front door, he was a surging cloud of dark fog and wings with glaring yellow eyes. It was time to retake his power. * * * During the beginning of the fifth day of Jumada al-awwal, in the deepest hour of morning, a mist that stank of corpses percolated from the sand. It oozed over the posted sentries by the new archaeological chamber site. Where it passed, the men gave guttural barks, crouching over as their skin blistered. Their eyes reddened and they turned on one another, tearing into each others’ flesh with darkened teeth. Out of the mist, the hag Lamashtu crept into the chamber in the sand to claim her prize, the Tablet of Destiny that she now knew had been hidden there. She saw the stone face of her mistress Inanna and hesitated. But the Tablet of Destiny beckoned. Its markings scintillated with power. She crept to the pool and reached for the dais. Her emaciated fingers turned into black stretching strands. In anticipation of the power, she laughed softly, exhaling foul vapors into the air that wafted across the pool. Just as she realized the energy she felt was only a remnant left from where the Tablet had once been, the vapors touched the triggers of explosive charges on the ceiling and walls that had been recently set. They detonated and the explosives blew shrapnel everywhere. The stone amoeba that had been at the edge of the pool pulsed, lashing out for Lamashtu’s closest fingers. Chunks of stone wall slammed into her, splattering pieces of her across the stones. Some were buried under the collapsing rubble. But none of her severed flesh reached the pool. In minutes, nothing could be seen but sand, broken stone and the putrid wetness of the hag. Soldiers buried in some of the fall twitched, crawling out from under the blast as they were able. But before they could radio for help, a shriek split their eardrums as a red whirlwind blazed out of the sand from the buried chamber. It congealed like blood into the form of something that had once been a goddess and was now a ghoul. As the fingers of wind touched the legs of a struggling soldier pushing debris off himself, the skin from his legs withered and turned black, as his screams went hoarse in his throat. The

howls and barks of the rabisu cut through the air, as they prowled beyond the perimeter of sodium lamps which sparked before going out.

7 Lugal watched as his god rushed out the door, and almost let him go. Seeing him restored to his full power would have been truly awesome. Pazuzu had waited centuries. But that was the past and the Tablet of Destiny would never be reclaimed by anyone. Lugal had seen to that. In the moments before he called to Pazuzu, he reviewed his long life of service, in his mind’s eye, and realized he had no regrets regarding the fate of the Tablet. He remembered the earliest days of the great city-state Uruk, in what Morpho’s history books informed him was around 5000 BC, and his first encounter with the god Anzu. The Zagros mountains of the Iraq-Iran border ascended in his mind. They didn’t look the same anymore, of course. The Iranian plain where Aratta had lain was now peopled with brightly-lit cities. The fertile land of Uruk, in the great crescent, was dry, deserted except for explorers, scientists, and a few tribesmen. * * * The lines of soldiers climbed the steep terrain to cross the mountains southeast toward the Aratta Plain. The campaign against the Lord of Aratta should be a quick one, Lugalbanda thought. Inanna, goddess of war, was on his side. She had transferred her loyalty from Aratta to Uruk. Lugalbanda, officer in Enmerkar’s army, the greatest army of the greatest city in the world, watched as his men went by on the trail. Then he followed them. As the altitude rose, a band of searing pain bloomed across his forehead and chest. By the time they reached the apex of the winding path, he was gasping for breath. He clutched the hilt of his lion axe as he fell. The world spun as his men rushed to his side, trying to figure out what strange ailment had come upon him. His world went black and he drooped in their arms, his lips chalky.

The next time he opened his eyes, he thanked Inanna that he was able to do so. It was dark but he could see that he was in a rock enclosure. It was a bleak place, with jagged granitic walls. Funerary items surrounded him, and his heart, which was still beating, lurched in his chest. Was this the entrance to Irkalla, the Underworld? While bleak, it didn’t seem gloomy enough to be the ‘actual’ Underworld. His axe and shield were laid respectfully by his side. When he called out, only his voice echoed back. He had been left for dead and the warriors had gone on to battle against great Aratta, with its mountains of riches. He rose unsteadily, stumbling from the cave he had been laid in. The frosty track went off in opposite directions through the rock and scrubby pines. He took the track south as the sun measured, toward where it indicated should be the plain of Aratta. After the sun had moved a quarter of the way across the sky, he realized that the track had shifted or diverged and no longer led south. Was it the same track that doubled back or a different path? The trees suddenly looked strange, looming with mottled, bronze black leaves, and bark that looked like swirls of pitch. He slowed in uncertainty as his passage was overgrown by briars and tufted grasses, crowded in by the bizarre foliage. It was so thick that he didn’t see a sudden drop that yawned by his feet. He teetered and went over the precipice. In the breathtaking moment when he realized he would die in the next minute, his flailing limbs met a snarl of branches. They tore into his flesh. His stomach slammed across a larger branch and he vomited its contents in a long stream that couldn’t be seen or heard when it hit the floor of the valley far below. When the pain of the impact ebbed, his stomach hurt, but it was a dull ache. If he had ruptured something, it would take longer to die than plummeting to a much harder, more abrupt death. He clung to the branches with every fiber of muscle and climbed to a higher, more secure perch. Something was watching him. He turned and met the puzzled jewel-eyed gaze of a baby bird the size of a chariot. It had bright eyes the color of carnelian. It blinked at him. Its ruffled crest popped from the top of its head like a fan. It opened its sharp beak and squawked a note that went up at the end, as if it was asking what kind of creature had just crashed into its tree. Lugal looked a long, long way down the rock face and then squeezed his eyes shut for a second. The scent of the bird’s strong musk was dizzying. He took a deep breath and slid cautiously along the

branch, away from the nest, and tried not to disturb the thing any further. The creature’s beak was razor sharp. So were the talons it used to mount the side of the nest, as it squawked again and followed him. Oh by all the Gods, he thought. It extended its neck and cried as he got farther from it. It scrabbled along the branch after him, flapping its awkward wings. He stopped, and it stopped, cawing to him. Lugal thumped his forehead into the branch in frustration. Was his fate to be nursemaid to this monstrous bird? “It’s all right, little bird. Are you hungry?” Maybe feeding it would keep him from eventually looking like food. The bird seemed to understand him. It bobbed its head up and down. Okay, he thought, well, that I can do something about. He reached slowly to the bag slung across his chest with funerary food that had been left for him and drew out some strips of dried meat and a sweet bun. He extended it to the bird, keeping his fingers far back from the dangerous beak. It snatched the morsel and gulped it down in a few swallows. It cawed and bobbed its head again. Lugal drew out a few more strips of meat and another bun, and the bird danced from foot to foot in excitement, gobbling up the offerings. It made a contented sound. It edged closer to Lugal, its scent wafting over him, drowning him in heavy musk. He swallowed and tried not to breathe through his nose. “Hey, baby bird. Would you like a bath?” He drew out a vial of scented oil, a remnant of what had been used to anoint his head by his comrades when they left him. The bird tilted its head and stared intently at the offering. Lugal realized, as the beak darted forward, that the bird’s only experience of him so far had been giving it food. It snatched the bottle, missing his hand by the width of a child’s smallest finger. The glass shattered in its powerful jaws, the oil spattering across its neck feathers. The startled bird rubbed its neck in an attempt to preen the strange smelling liquid. Then it lifted its head and looked at Lugal, puzzled at why it had been given such an odiferous offering. At that moment, a roar filled the air and a powerful wind whipped around Lugal. He looked up to the terrifying sight of a giant scaled bird with wings that were at least a hundred cubits in length. It carried an entire bull in its beak, which it dropped into the nest with a branch-shaking crash. Talons the length of his arms extended to snatch him. Before he let go of the branch to fight the creature, the baby bird leaped, tottering in front of him, and faced its parent. The giant bird

retracted its claws and shrieked, hovering in the air. The baby bird cooed a few long notes and then backed up against Lugal. The parent hovered a moment longer, then flew up and over Lugal, landing on the cliff’s edge, behind him. It spoke in a mellifluous deep voice, a male voice. “My child tells me that you cared for him while I was hunting and anointed him with oil. He does not understand and wonders why you fed him such strange water. Thank you for honoring him. What is your name, warrior?” Lugal tried to crane his neck around and figure out how to turn around on the branch. By Inanna's girdle, I hate heights! He thought. “Uh...Lugalbanda of Uruk.” He shimmied toward the larger bird backward. Not the best situation, but at least Father Bird was not threatening at the moment. He climbed up to the cliff edge and stood in front of the creature. He looked into golden leonine eyes that shimmered with silver streaks. The creature pricked its wolven ears atop his great head and flexed iridescent wings that were longer than the span of a river barge, and the colors of the rainbow. His face was a mix of canine, lion and bird attributes. Lugal realized that he stared into the face of a god. He dropped to his knees and bowed his forehead to the ground. A musical laugh filled the air. “Rise, Lugalbanda of Uruk. Since you showed respect to me, and my offspring, I will show mercy to you. Choose your reward, warrior.” Lugalbanda gazed up at the towering form. “Yes, Lord.” He thought, Riches, riches beyond what we go to war for: gold, silver, carnelian, precious stones. He said instead, “I wish to rejoin my brothers in battle. They have gone to fight for King Enmerkar against the Lord of Aratta. I would win honor for Uruk.” Or instead of instant riches, I could go to war and claim the spoils like a man, he thought bitterly, as he contemplated throwing himself off the cliff for his stupidity. “The choice of a hero,” the god said. “So be it, Lugalbanda of Uruk. I give you the attributes to find your comrades.” An energy filled Lugalbanda’s body, like liquid silver throughout his limbs. His thighs trembled with pent-up energy and he longed to run and run, with the fresh air of the mountains coursing through his lungs like delicious water. He heard the clash of armies and the battle far beyond the mountains across the plain of Aratta. He bowed again to the god. “Great Master. What is your name that I may honor you all my days?”

The god dipped his head and replied, his voice dulcet in the breeze, “I am Anzu, Lord of the Wind.” * * * Lugal’s thoughts returned to the present and he rushed out the door after his master, calling to the now seething mass before it disappeared into the sky. “Master Anzu, wait! Where are you going?” He hissed, “Mrs. Dow is watching.” He jerked his head toward the camera. “Discretion is no longer necessary. I will reclaim my destiny. The Tablet has been found.” Pazuzu flooded around the camera. It shattered in tiny pieces of sparking electronics. Mrs. Dow ran out her front door, but stopped abruptly. Her jaw gaped as a vortex of black wind faced her. Pazuzu’s most demonic face, combined of lion and wild dog with bilious yellow eyes appeared in the miasma in front of her. It gave a leer. “Boo!” the face said and stuck its black tongue out. The tongue went on and on as it wrapped around her and licked the aperture of her ear. She screamed. Lugal grimaced. At least Pazuzu hadn't killed her, though she clutched her chest as though she might be having a heart attack. ”No, Lord. What you have learned is not what you think. You must wait.” Pazuzu bellowed a laugh and whirled into the sky. He ignored Lugal. Lugal yelled, “The Tablet is gone. You will never recover it!” The tornado slowed, sinking into a mist that floated through the air and shrouded everything. Pazuzu's eyes hung in front of him. “What do you mean? Speak, Lugalbanda of Uruk!” Lugal’s knees wobbled but he kept his voice steady. “Not here. Inside. Please.” Since no local authorities would be able to help him, he would just as soon not be humiliated in the death Pazuzu would deal him. He went inside surrounded by fog. Then, he turned in the kitchen and faced the floating orbs. He thought about the weight of the grenades in the belt under his clothes, but knew they would do nothing except betray his oath. If he failed at everything else, he kept his word to serve, as a warrior must.

“The Tablet is gone. What remains is only a remnant of its form. The remnant has traces of its power, just enough to lure the demoness there. The imprint of the Tablet was guarded by a minion of Absu Ancient Water at an entrance to the Underworld. My men rigged the chamber with explosives that would push her into the entrance of the portal. You know how Ereshkigal treats those who enter her world without an agreement from her. Even Lamashtu could not have survived the Queen of the Dead.” Pazuzu's face formed around the eyes as he waited for Lugal to continue. It contained a mix of emotions, none of them pleasant. “And the Tablet? Where is it?” He advanced until Lugal could feel the buzz of Pazuzu's agitation. Lugal stared straight at his aggressor. “I destroyed it, long ago. With the blessing of Absu.” Pazuzu’s roared. Insects swarmed into Lugal’s ears and nose. The heat of the desert wastes blistered his skin. “Why?” Pazuzu hissed, waiting until he heard the explanation to finish off his traitorous servant. Lugal choked one word, ”Freedom.” Pazuzu pulled back. The insects melted and trickled down Lugal’s throat in a bitter draught. “You had no right!” Pazuzu hissed. “The right you didn’t have when you took it from Enlil? The right Enlil didn’t have to control everything and everyone? That right? I thought you more honest than that.” Lugal gasped, not caring what happened next. Pazuzu paused. Lugal had been his servant even after he had been exiled. The warrior spoke in a raspy voice, through seared lips. “You took the Tablet to have your own destiny and not what Enlil would have given you. Humans are no different.” “Why did you not keep it? You could have controlled the world, had limitless power.” “That’s why. I wanted it. Everyone wants it. I could not have kept it. If you could take it from Enlil, what chance did I have to keep it forever? If we humans had turned ourselves into gods, it would have made no difference. It would eventually have been stolen by another human-god who wanted it. And we would have set upon each other as you did. No one can have it. The only chance for any of us is freedom from its existence. Each to his own destiny.”

“You felt its power.” Pazuzu whispered. Lugal shook his head. “Not entirely, no. I know you, my Lord. I know what you were and I know why you stole it. For the same reason as I. And look at you now, clamoring after it like a pirate after a piece of gold. You were better than that. You are better. I saw the hunger in your face when I found you again; I saw the change. No. I was given a piece of cloth from Irkalla that allowed me to touch it without feeling it.” “Given from whom?” “Ereshkigal. She thought I would give it to her in return for godhood.” “You defied the Queen of the Dead? Everyone thought I was foolish for what I did to Enlil.” Pazuzu let out a short breath of laughter, as his anger evaporated in surprise. “Yes, well, I was immortal, young in my own head and thought that I’d never have to face her. Foolish, yes.” “Why did you not accept her godhood? She is surpassingly beautiful, from what I have heard.” “I have had my share of women. Even an immortal one who could rut like Inanna’s chief temple whore on a love potion cannot induce me to commit to a life of eternity in that dark place. At least at the time I thought so.” “And now? Do you regret angering her?” Lugal shrugged and slumped against a wall of the kitchen. “I cannot see the future and I am too tired to try anymore.” Pazuzu, fully human in appearance now, sat on one of the ragged chairs. “How did you destroy it?” “The Irkallan cloth lay between my hand and the Tablet. It numbed my senses so that I could not feel the stone when I held it. In order to steal it, the Queen gave me a potion from the lotus flower that confused Ninurta’s senses. I sprayed it into his face with a reed. I escaped from him just long enough to watch him fall. Then I wrapped the Tablet in the cloth and fled to the nearest portal. I believe humans call it Lake Baikal now. I called Absu to take it and flung it into the portal. Absu got there before Ereshkigal. He cannot be controlled by the Tablet. None of the Ancients are affected by it. He swallowed it.” He clenched his slightly-scarred hand, long ago healed. “You never spoke of how you got that scar.” Pazuzu murmured. “The cloth took some of my hand with it when it dropped back into the portal.”

Pazuzu stood. “You are the bravest human I have ever met, old friend. And until now, the most loyal. I chose well when I found you. I suppose that I can understand your choice to destroy the Tablet. Absu would certainly find it an opportunity to pull the world closer to the Void of Chaos. But we are different, you and I. I did not let it go when I had it. Why did you tell me of this, instead of letting me go to find the remnant? I might never have known of your betrayal.” “If the trap fails, Morpho will still be in danger.” “You still keep your oath, little king.” Pazuzu’s voice held a hint of admiration. Lugal's cell phone rang. He held it away from his swollen flesh as he answered. He listened to the yelling voice on the other end for a half a minute before it ended abruptly. A roaring sound filled the line, then the connection went dead. Lugal never took his eyes off Pazuzu. “The trap failed.” * * * Morpho took another hot chocolate from JD. She felt her face and imagined the light touch of the moths. She’d been happy to skip school with him yesterday and play computer games all day. But now, with another day gone, half the weekend, she was starting to get stircrazy. They still hadn’t heard anything further from her father about their predicament or about his stupid ex-wife. JD picked up a bottle of liquor and held it out to her. “Supplement?” She shook her head. “No, I have enough trouble with reality as it is.” He sat on the edge of a box that served as a clothing container and put the bottle down as he sighed. “I guess you're right. If I am supposed to look out for you, being sauced won't help, especially if I can’t even fight when I'm sober.” He slumped on his perch. Morpho put her hand on his shoulder. “You did fine. I never thanked you.” “I got my ass kicked.” “I wouldn't be here if you had messed up that bad.” “No, that was your dad. He rode in on his bug wagon and rescued both of us.” “But you tried. That's what counts. I don’t think anyone outside of my family has ever been interested in sticking up for me like that. And who knows why they really do anything.”

He started to protest but she held up her hand. “I know. He loves me, you said. I guess I just feel like none of this would be happening if it weren’t for his dirty laundry.” “Morpho, he made a mistake before you were born.” “So, he would never approve anyone I wanted to date. Why shouldn’t it go both ways? He hasn’t made good decisions either. Why does he get to make decisions for me?” JD snorted. “Because you weren’t born yet, he couldn’t ask you. And he doesn’t have to, he’s the parent. That’s the deal with being a parent. Life sucks and you grow up and make stupid decisions for your own kids.” He grinned but his smile was dark. “My mom is the queen of stupid decisions. Your dad, while more dramatic in a Roman Catholic scary kind of way, is not much worse than the shitheads my mom’s brought home.” He gazed at the door toward the kitchen, where his mother was moving around. Morpho sighed, “I know. I’m just so angry at him, at everything! I feel like I’m drowning and I can’t get a handle on anything. And then, just when I settle down and get used to things, we move again and everything that complicated my life moves with us. He’s what complicates everything. I do love him, I just can’t live with him.” Tears dripped down her face. “Yeah, welcome to families everywhere. Save it up, get drunk and throw stuffing at people on Thanksgiving. Light the Christmas tree on fire. That’s what family holiday get-togethers are for.” They both laughed and she almost choked on hot chocolate. She pinched her nose to keep it from spraying out. He grabbed a napkin and handed it to her. “So what now? I can’t put my whole life on hold until my dad’s mess goes away or until she gets tired and goes home. She’s immortal, she’ll never get tired. I can’t stay here forever.” “Why not?” He hugged his knees and gestured around the clutter. “My mom likes you.” A worn gray-haired woman wandered in, carrying a plate of spam sandwiches. She gave Morpho a gap-toothed smile and left. “You're the nicest girl I've ever dated. Uh...we are kind of dating, right?” Morpho took a sandwich, tried a little bite and resisted spitting it out into her hand. “Uh, yeah, I guess. You did defend my honor after all.”

“If having my face punched in counts.” He tried to wink at her with the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “How's the sandwich? It’s my favorite. Spam and cheese whiz with mayonnaise.” She coughed and forced herself to take a tiny nibble. “Great, thanks!” “Awesome! We can have it every day!” Morpho muffled a groan. “I uh, need to get outside for some air. I haven’t been out since I was...attacked.” “Do you think that’s safe?” “I don’t care.” She headed for the door. He hopped to his feet and followed her, but she turned and pushed him back with two fingers against his chest. “Alone.” “But—” His protest died in his throat as she pinned him with a look reminiscent of her father. It was night. She peered out into the front where circles of orange light spilled into a deserted street. Then she slipped around to the small backyard among the litter of car parts. She was restless, but not crazy enough to walk around this part of Aurora by herself at night. She wandered among the discarded junk and sat on an engine block. She fiddled with the feathery tufts of weeds poking skyward near where she sat. The stars twinkled and she thought about how simple they made everything seem, spinning balls of fire in the vastness of the void. They had no needs, desires or wills, just jumping atoms and quarks and whatever else scientists had discovered. Feeling insignificant somehow made her feel safer now. She saw a brindled moth hiding among the brown coloring of the weeds and realized that she’d almost missed it. What amazing camouflage insignificance could be. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of the void between the constellations dwarf her, the moth in the weeds, one grasshopper among thousands. Her head started spinning. She lost her balance and fell to the ground. When she opened her eyes, tall stalks stretched past her toward the sky. The backyard had gone away. Or had it transformed? She noticed a behemoth black edifice that had been the half dismantled engine block she had been sitting on. A riot of scents filled her head. The strongest was petroleum oil and the fragrance of the grass pollen. Bright blue wings flowed out behind her, bordered with shimmering black. Slender antennae dipped down in front of her eyes. She reached up to touch them in disbelief,

noting that she had two more limbs than she had before, graceful and without hands. She stroked her wing and silvery powder came off on her leg like fairy dust. Wow, she thought excitedly, I turned into a butterfly! Is this real? Like my mom? Can I fly? I bet I can fly! She climbed clumsily with her extra limbs to the top of a weed and looked down. Crap, that’s a long way! No, this stem is only a foot tall. Except I’m an inch tall, so yeah, it’s still a long way! Okay, I can do this. If bumble bees can fly with their big fat asses, I can fly! I just have to concentrate. She teetered on the fronds of the weed, refused to look down again and then leaped into the air. Screw all this shit, I’m gonna fly! Wheeeeee! The world shook itself this way and that, as the movement of her wings jolted her slender body in one direction after another. The ground rushed up and then jerked sideways. She finally caught a draft. It lifted her up above the sea of weeds and across the yard. She screamed, extending her wings as she felt the wind. Exhilaration flooded through her. Nothing else mattered as she drifted on the breeze. All her problems were whisked away for the moment. And she finally had a power, sort of. She had turned into an insect. Not a swarm, not a fearsome insect, just a single fragile butterfly that could get taken out of the air by a bird or a cat or a careless swat of a hand. But for a few minutes, the wind was the only thing in her universe. She whooped and twirled, bobbed and weaved on her new light wings. Then she smacked right into JD’s window pane with a bonk and fell to the ground. There she waited until her head stopped reeling. Fortunately, a patch of grass had cushioned her fall. She hadn’t broken anything. The wooden steps to the back porch were a million miles away and as tall as skyscrapers. But if she could learn to steer, she could fly there! The screen door opened and JD surveyed the yard to check on Morpho. She launched into the air and flapped for JD’s gargantuan form. He frowned, not seeing her, then came all the way onto the porch. He called her name, “Morpho? You there? Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Morpho?” I’m here, JD. Look, I can fly! Look, dammit! Morpho flopped back and forth in the air in his direction and finally wobbled close enough to throw herself against his arm.

He looked down, his eyes widening as he saw her. He held out his hand and she made an attempt at landing, but missed. She fluttered back up to his hand and clung to the side. He tilted his arm so she was upright. “Morpho? It has to be you. Guess flying is kind of a trial and error thing, huh.” Bite me, monkey! You try flying! Oh, that’s right. You can’t because you don’t have these awesome wings! Hey, can you hear me? My dad used to be able to talk to me. Hey! He lifted her up to his mottled face and ruffled her wings with his chocolatey cheese whizzey breath. “If it’s you, open and close your wings three times.” She sighed. Guess he can’t hear me after all. Maybe I just learned to hear my dad. I’ll have to change back. She concentrated on being human. Nothing happened. Oh shit! she thought. She stared at JD’s legs and imagined growing a pair. Still nothing. Bright panic suffused her body and mind, as she flapped against his hand. JD just breathed on her in wonder, “Hey, it’s okay. Are you okay? Wow, is that really you? How totally cool!” Arrrrrrgggghh! “Was it on purpose? Flap your wings three times if you did it on purpose.” I’m not playing some stupid-ass game of charades! Oh fine! she yelled and flapped her wings, as requested. Better to be understood than continue this one-sided conversation. “Are you really Morpho or am I slipping off the deep end?” Oh, for Pete's sake! She couldn’t even sigh in exasperation. So she fluttered up his front and sat on his nose, beating at his face with her wings. Then she realized in alarm that she couldn’t smell as much as she had before. She remembered from somewhere that butterflies smelled with their feet. If she wasn’t careful her senses would be flooded by the leftover cheese whiz and spam from JD’s hands. Not a smell she wanted to be stuck with. She also remembered, noting the dust on his nose, that like mythical fairies, once the dust was gone, she was screwed. She floated carefully down to the ground. Her wings drooped in despair as she thought; I’m going to spend the rest of my life as Tinker Bell! I liked her look, but I never wanted to be her!

“Hey, it’s okay. Why do you look sad? Come on, let’s go inside where it’s safe.” Her legs waved in the air as he carefully picked her up by the powder-less undersides of her wings and carried her through the door.

8 Morpho sat on the box on which JD’s lamp was perched. He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, set her down on the counter gently and started pulling his pants down to use the toilet. Morpho thought, Oh, hell no! She fluttered out the crack in the door, and landed on the chipped Formica kitchen counter. “Sorry, babe!” JD called. “I just didn't want you to wind up in a jar or something.” The toilet flushed and he opened the door, blushing. “I forgot, with you the way you are.” A rattling came from his room. The screen of the window was covered with grasshoppers. They melted into smoke and curled inside. Pazuzu rose, scoping around him at the piles of laundry and posters. He frowned. “Where is my daughter?” JD froze. “Uh, sir, well, she...here.” He beckoned and walked into the kitchen. He gestured to the counter, where Morpho rested. Pazuzu blinked. “She...transformed?” “I think so. She needed some time to herself and she went into the backyard. When I came out a few minutes later, this butterfly pretty much stuck to me.” Pazuzu's voice was sharp. “You let her outside alone? With what awaits?” “Sir, really?” JD gave him an incredulous look. “What did you want me to do, put a GPS anklet on her?” Pazuzu raised his eyebrow, held up his hand and acceded. “All right.” Pride suffused his fierce features. There was a flash of fear too, as the god gazed at her delicate wings. Morpho flicked her antennae as anger washed over her. I'm not a baby. I don't need a babysitter. And I'm standing right here! He doesn’t think I’m strong enough. I’m just a butterfly, not a swarm of angry locusts, not a plague. He said I was weak. “Morpho?” Her father waited for some response.

She ignored him. I’m not weak. I’ll figure this out on my own. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to rescue me from everything! ‘Let me outside?’ Screw you! She turned and walked to the edge of the counter, the farthest point from him. Then she kept walking right over the side, under the ledge. Her feet gripped the rough underside of the Formica. Cool, she thought. She listened, feeling more empowered now that they couldn’t see her, even though they knew she was there. Her father continued, “There is something you must know. Things are worse.” “Than now?” “An ill-conceived trap was set for Lamashtu and it failed. She was distracted for a while. But she will be back now, powerful and angry.” “Ill-conceived? You mean someone screwed up again?” JD needled. Bold, she thought. My boyfriend has a pair and he’s willing to use them. “The trap was mined. The mines could not have killed her, but were supposed to force her into the trap.” Mines? Trap? What the hell is going on? To her astonishment, her father had just ignored JD’s impertinence. Then she recalled the fear in his face when he had looked at her just now. She had seen many looks on his face, but not fear. His ex-wife had been nothing more than a remote detail to her until now, an inconvenience. She kept listening. The hairs on her thorax rose as they spoke. JD almost yelped, “What! Did they watch too many Mission Impossibles or something? Are you kidding me?” Pazuzu’s words crackled with tension. “We will make certain to consult you as soon as you graduate from high school. Now, you must take Morpho and find someplace Lamashtu will not look. Someplace safe. We will seek help in the fight against her.” “Are you going to call the rest of the super-friends?” “We will seek help from gods long silent in the world of Men.” “Wicked.” JD grinned. Morpho twitched with curiosity. Super-friends? Other gods? She’d been alone for so long that it had never occurred to her to wonder about the others like her father. Like who? Like Thor from the comics? She heard a rustle. Her father had gone. JD's face poked over the side of the ledge. “Hey Angry Girl, you heard him. Let’s get you somewhere safe until the cavalry gets

here. And before you twitch your wings at me, he’s right. Neither of us can fight this bitch without help. It’s just being smart to hide out until we have a plan. Let’s see what your dad can come up with.” His big hand descended on her and picked her up by the undersides of her wings, letting her down on the cloth of his t-shirt, on his shoulder. He wandered back through the door of his room and flopped down on his bed. Hey, watch it! Morpho hollered and flew away from him until he was done tossing his body around. She landed on a game book on the floor. On the cover was a winged fairy that reminded her of her mother a little around the eyes. “I don't know though,” he said slumping his shoulders. “‘Find someplace safe?’ Where is ‘safe’ from something creepier and more powerful than him, outer space? If we had a million dollars, we could launch to the moon.” Now would be a great time to find a magic doorway to fairyland or wherever my mother’s people came from. She fanned her wings up and down, hoping for some inspiration from the mystic lady. JD stared at her, then slapped his forehead. “That's it. Fairies!” I just said that. Do you have some kind of magic ring or fairy iPhone to call them or something? I don’t. “Well, not fairies exactly, but other butterflies. If this chick is after you, we’ll hide you in plain sight.” * * * Ninhab jumped as Jan’s hand traced along his shoulders. She put a cup of tea in front of him. “You’re twitchy tonight. Any news from the police on what killed those kids? You talked to them yesterday again. Did they say they’d get back to you?” He shook his head, morose. “I haven’t heard much else from them. I heard from Joe B. in Denver Fire, that there were indications of animal or insect activity and some other strange anomalies, nothing specific.” “It wasn't your fault.” “Carl Haglund's death was. He never reached home from school. I had him in detention. If he had gone—” “That doesn't make it your fault. You said they found him in a gulch with the other boys, where the fire started. You don’t know, they might have set that fire.”

“I don't think so. Carl and the others have done foolish things, but they were raised in Colorado with the constant danger of wildfire. I don’t think they'd be that stupid.” “These are teenage boys we’re talking about.” He let out a great sigh. “Look, whatever happened had nothing to do with detention. If they went home the same way as always, then it was just a matter of bad timing. If they went home a different way, that’s not because you held them at school later. You’re connecting events that aren’t related. You always make fun of me for being flaky, Mr. Spock, but here you are linking things that have nothing to do with each other. You just want to blame yourself. Stop!” Jan put her hands on his face and glared into his eyes. He pulled away. “I still have another student’s evil stepmother to worry about. That harrowing little conversation happened just before all this. Carl and this girl were in detention because they got into an altercation.” “Could she be behind it, the girl?” “I thought of that. While she has a temper, she doesn’t seem the type and I don’t see how she could have, given what the police have found so far.” He paused. “They asked about Morpho, the police. I had to tell them about her fight. I imagine they’ll be questioning her, but I know she didn’t do this. If I had to put money on some kind of involvement around this girl, it would be the stepmother. What I heard about her…” “Do you think it's her? Do the police know?” He said quietly, “They know as much as I could possibly inform them. I promised the father I’d keep his daughter safe but I didn’t do so well with those dead boys. Maybe that was a promise that I couldn’t keep in reality.” “You can’t keep track of them once they’re off school premises, unless you plan on implanting them all with microchips.” He frowned and said nothing. “No. No, you can’t implant them with chips, Honey.” She put her hand on his. “Why not, if it’s to keep them safe?” “You can’t be serious. I was teasing, you know.” “I don’t know. I increased security. I’ve spoken with the police. I never thought this could happen to my kids.” Jan took his hand and sat in his lap. She turned his chin up to her with long slender fingers. “Lover, you are the most protective man I

have ever met, often to the point of being irritating. But you are a great principal. I don’t have any doubt that you have done, are doing and will do whatever needs to be done to keep those kids safe, with the exception, of course, of invasive bionic surgery. This girl’s father will know that too. Nothing more is going to be served by beating yourself up over something that you couldn’t have prevented. I love you.” She kissed his nose, slid off his lap and padded into the bedroom, calling back, “I understand why you’re worried. But for now, there’s nothing you can do. Just don’t stay up too late. Take one night off from worrying about things you can’t change.” He sat in the kitchen for a long time after Jan went to bed. Her empathy and confidence in him normally made him feel invincible in the face of the Board of Education or incensed soccer moms. Tonight, it just depressed him. ‘Couldn’t prevent,’ ‘nothing you can do,’ ’I have no doubt you’ll do everything you can to keep those kids safe and the father will know that too.’ Her uncanny words circled his brain like sharks around a sinking boat of bleeding cows. He couldn’t get the soft voice of the moths out of his head, or the chill of the rippling mirror. The things Etain had told him were insane. But he knew down to the roots of every hair that they were true. There was something he could do. And he had made a promise to do all he could, not just for Morpho, but for all the kids. He drank his Assam black tea and ruminated. I couldn't even tell Jan about the worst of this. How do you start a conversation with 'The evil stepmother is really a demon?' This sounds crazy to me too. I would commit me to a mental hospital if I said that… He sighed again. I should have asked for a higher salary. How on Earth am I supposed to defend these kids against mythical monsters? They didn’t cover this in my social work degree and my super-powers took a vacation thousands of years ago. Great. He poured almost a quarter cup of sugar in another cup of tea. The Zombie Queen might give me some help if I give her an interdimensional…'booty call' as the kids would call it. What is she going to do if I refuse? What is she going to do if I accept, and don't live up to her expectations? A parade of B-movie creepies cavorted across his imagination. He glanced toward the bedroom. Jan is a good woman, but I need help that she can't give me. He finished off his tea and cleared his mind. Then he crept quietly into the bedroom he had shared with Jan for nineteen years and kissed her bronze head. She murmured, reached

out, stroked his hand, then rolled over. Her soft snore resumed. He sat and listened to it for a few minutes. He retired to the kitchen to make a comprehensive list of all the things that he might need for his sojourn. He grabbed a bag from the closet and began gathering utensils that could be used as weapons, meticulously checking off each item on his list as he stowed it carefully in his bag, as though packing for a one-bag-a-flight airline. When he was done securing his items from the kitchen, he moved back to the bedroom and gathered clothes. Then he brought them into the art deco living room to change. Since his encounter, he had boned up on his reading about Sumerian gods. The one myth he remembered most of Ereshkigal was the journey of Inanna, her sister, to the Underworld. At each gate, Inanna had been required to shed an item of clothing and with it some of her power. Apparently, Ereshkigal had been the founder of strip poker. At the end of her journey, Inanna had her head cut off and her body was hung on a hook in Ereshkigal's court, sibling rivalry at its worst. As a goddess, Inanna couldn’t die and eventually escaped, after replacing her head. But Ninhab had no such talents. It was a balmy Colorado spring night at forty degrees. But Ninhab decided it was prudent to follow the old myth in how he approached the Underworld. Inanna had worn all those clothes for a reason. If they got taken away, well, at least he had something to start. He piled on three undershirts, three dress shirts, a sweater and a light wind-breaker before he started sweating like a polar bear in the Bahamas. He put on a pair of Speedos, two pairs of boxer shorts, a pair of jeans and an over-pair of nylon parachute pants, left over from the 80s that he now used as ski pants. He added a bandana, a ski hat, goggles and a Gryffindor scarf a student had knitted for him. One never knew how cold the Underworld would be. He pulled on his light boots, wrote a note to Jan, strapped his backpack on and clomped into the bathroom. “All right, Etain. If you're listening and I suspect you are, I’m in. I’ll meet with your queen.” He stood and waited. Out of the corners of the mirror, ghostly white motes floated into view. They resolved into the shapes of tiny moths as they drew closer. “You have reconsidered, Ninurta?” “I’m Ninhab Agresti now. I’m principal of Ken Caryl High School. And I’ll do whatever she wants on the condition that she’ll help my kids.” His jaw set and his eyes turned flinty. The dark surface began to ripple.

Gentle laughter tittered through the air. “What are you wearing?” “Insurance. I know what she did to Inanna and that was her sister.” The giggles continued. “Are your clothes magical then?” “Well, these parachute pants did win me a couple dates.” “I don’t think so.” The moths landed gently on the mirror and created their own ripples. “Come through.” “Just like that? No boarding pass to keep me from becoming a permanent tenant? No offerings or sacrifices to the ghosts?” “Just like that. Though you should bring a gift for Ereshkigal.” He thought. “Just a second.” He walked out and surveyed his living room, then edged back into the bedroom. The jewelry he had given to Jan was sacred to her and he wouldn’t touch that. How do you shop for the girl who has dead people? He looked around at the chotchkies and went back into the living room. On the mantle above the fireplace was a chunk of pitted rock so dense that it looked like it might sink through the wood. He picked it up and stowed it in the deep inner pocket of his jacket. He went back into the bathroom. “I’m ready.” And he stepped through the glass. The void slid around him like Stygian water. It was so cold at first that every appendage tingled and began turning blue before the moths lit on him. They were little sparkles of warmth. After a moment the tingling went away. His skin returned to a normal healthy shade. He warmed as they flitted around him, creating a bubble of normality. A gentle current moved them through the black space. In what direction, he couldn’t tell. After what seemed like an ice age of aimlessly floating in this space, they approached a couple of terrifying creatures. They were each the size of his tool-shed. One had the face of a cuttlefish with long tentacles masking a razor-tongue, with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle. The other had the head and chest of a tyrannosaur with the body of a bull and a mane of vipers that snapped at him as it spoke in a bass rumble. “You are alive,” it sneered. “Disrobe. Show respect to the Queen.” It nodded at his backpack. “Nothing but offerings are permitted in her presence.” His breath died in his throat as he thought about the prospect of being strip-searched by those things, or worse, eaten. Spots swam before his eyes as shortness of breath stole his ‘oxygen,’ or whatever he was miraculously breathing. Talk! Do something! Don’t just stand

there or you’ll be lunch! Oh God, I’m not taking my clothes off for those things. He pulled the pack off and dropped it, hoping it would stall them long enough for them to forget that he was not undressing. Cuttlefish Face pulled the pack toward it and the bag shredded in the beast’s sharp grip. A bunch of utensils clattered out, skewing the alphabetical order they had been stowed in. Tyrannosaur grinned and chewed up the collection of knives that spilled out. Cuttlefish Face grasped a battery-powered corkscrew. “What were you going to do with this?” it hissed. Ninhab just stared. He didn’t even have a logical explanation for that one. “She does not have one of these.” It secreted it in a pocket of flesh around its neck. He wondered briefly what purpose this creature could possibly have for the implement and then shuddered. “Uh...” He shut down his impulse to comment that it needed double-A, and realized this was not the time to be precise. “Disrobe.” The creatures loomed over him. His heart almost stopped and he yammered. “Uh, I don’t have any powers. Getting naked isn’t going to do anything to me.” He just shook and waited. The creatures hissed and withdrew slightly, with a snicker. They considered for a moment. Tyrannosaur studied him. “Give us tribute. I want the glasses.” He took off the goggles quickly and tossed them over. “They’re for skiing.” Shut up! he screamed at himself. His epitaph wouldn’t just read ‘Killed by dinosaur creature,’ it would read ‘Killed by obsessivecompulsive stupidity.’ Tyrannosaur took the goggles with its tiny hands and centered them over one eye. The edges of the lenses shifted and reformed into a shape matching the curve of its eye socket. The eye flared, gleaming coal-red as it peered around at things in the dark Ninhab couldn't see. “The Eye!” it cried. “I can see into your soul, little man.” It turned its terrible gaze back to Ninhab. Cuttle-Fish reached for the monocle. Tyrannosaur took it from its own eye with a gruesome sucking sound. Ninhab watched, trying not to flinch as the lens separated from Tyrannosaur’s socket. It gave the monocle to Cuttle-Fish. The lens attached itself to the nearest of the creature’s glassy black eyes. It gazed at him. “Yesssss. Very interesting.”

Ninhab swallowed, his gaze pinned on the creature. “You may pass, little man. Please the Queen and you will return with the life in your breast.” Tyrannosaur exuded foul breath toward him. Ninhab slid back in the air and caught a current he couldn't see. As he floated away, his memory was dominated by the gleam of its jaws and the other creature’s tentacles. He went limp with relief. The moths had been silent. They clung to him as they tumbled through the un-air. “Those were the first guardians of the dead, Ninurta. You have passed their test.” “Because I gave them souvenirs from my kitchen? And what the hell is wrong with you? You didn’t warn me about them!” he yelled in the void. Anger flooded him, partly at the lack of warning and partly just because it was better than being terrified. The moths ignored his outburst. “Because your heart is pure and you allowed them to see,” the moths whispered. He snorted, grabbing at his hat which had flown off his head and was drifting away. “I couldn’t have stopped them.” “There are six more.” “Are they all as charming? Who hired them, TSA? Can’t you vouch for me or something?” “I could keep you from dying when you passed the entrance but the Way is still dangerous, and the Queen wishes to see you pass the gates.” Ninhab persisted, still infuriated, “You might have mentioned that little detail.” “Would you have come?” He took only a moment’s hesitation. “Yes. I’ll do what I can for my kids. But I don’t like people withholding information.” “Get used to it. There’s no time now. I will tell you what you need to know when I can.” The papery wings brushed his face in a gentle gesture. He shot back, “Great, you and the White House Press Corps.” Then he gasped, churning his arms and legs in the draft that carried them onward. Something had touched his arm that wasn’t the brush of Etain’s wings. For a second, he thought he couldn't feel her. His heart thundered. Please don't leave me! “I was just kidding,” he said weakly. Never piss off your Underworld guide, he reminded himself. That reminder seemed too late when he realized that what he felt had been a hand. Another brush from the other side had been feathery and more substantial than the light trace of moths.

Etain was silent, but fluttered slightly to let him know she was still there. Something kept touching him, all over his body, or many somethings. “What the hell!” he yelled. He had always prided himself on controlling his language, but what he had just been through warranted cursing. “Etain, please do something. Talk to me at least.” The moths silvery wings slowly began to emit a glow that illuminated a few feet into the inky black. Shifting faces passed in gray vapor as they touched the moth’s silver light. Every once in a while, a hand or feathered wing of varied color would materialize, reach toward him and fade away. “Ghosts?” Her voice was soft. “Yes, ‘gidim.’ The lonely dead. They sometimes visit the living, who feed them. Most of these are the young ones, who have not yet gotten used to being apart from their families. As we go deeper, they are older and most have withdrawn from the world of men. And some are not so good.” “And that means what?” “The Underworld is for the righteous. But what the gods view as good is not always the same as your kind.” He shivered despite the circle of warmth provided by Etain. He looked behind him. The ghosts crowded at the edge of the shadows. Their faces shifted between humanity and bird beaks. Their arms sprouted feathers as they bowed and dug at their feet, in something suddenly solid, dark and wet. “What do they eat when they’re here?” “Clay. Earth. Blood of the sacrifices made by their relatives. They try to restore their flesh with dirt, but the fire of their creation has separated from their bodies and cannot be replaced. The hunger consumes them at first.” “No one makes sacrifices any more. PETA would sue if they heard that. What do they eat then?” The silence of the moths drifted down as heavy as the darkness, before she answered. “Some people still make offerings of your food, but it is not the same. They go hungrier now.” He closed his eyes, but the brief image he’d gotten of dark fields of birds stretching into the vastness beyond them froze in his memory. He swallowed hard as the next gate approached. He could now see figures on either side of a hole that seemed to pull at him. Its guardians were not gargantuan, barely even human-sized. But they were humanoid.

One looked australopithecine, possibly female. Its heavy brow almost covered dark, deep-set eyes. The other seemed a cross between an early prosimian, like an aye-aye, and an amphibian. It had holes for a nose and coarse scales across the face and scalp instead of fur. Its legs were all prehensile with opposable thumbs. The creatures stared at Ninhab with blank, unmoving faces. Only their eyes tracked him as he approached. He waved against the current and slowed, stopping in front of them. “Uh, how do you do? May I pass?” They watched him silently. “Do you want tribute? What do you want?” The primate pointed to his boots. He sighed, took them off and started to hand them over. It reached farther to touch his hand, but the moths went up in a flurry around him. The guardian’s hand withdrew. “Don’t let them touch you!” “It wasn’t my idea! Why not?” “They began as the most ancient of gidim. The First Ones. As the First Ones, they are strong. Their power is ‘erasing.’ If they touch you, you will forget.” “I’ll forget what I’m supposed to do.” “No. Everything. Who you are, what you are, that you are human. I told you that the deeper we go, the older the gidim are.” He shuddered and dropped the shoes at the australopithecine’s simian feet. He closed his eyes and darted past them. They did not reach out again. The tug of the hole caught him and pulled him into an invisible undertow. As he was carried in the stream, he glanced back. The guardians had turned around and were watching him with hollow eyes. They each had one of his shoes on their right feet. He turned back around. “This place is nuts. What did they want with my shoes and why are they wearing them like that instead of two on one of them?” “In ancient city-states, shoes were a symbol of civilization, of wealth and power.” “Why did they reach for me?” “Because they know you. They have touched you before.” The soft voice of the moths dropped that bomb into the flow of current that whistled past his ear. They had touched him before, after all his past lives? After his big fall from grace?

He brooded as the darkness around him grew colder. He could feel the chill through the protection offered by the covering of moths. It was hard to miss an existence he couldn’t remember at all. He supposed that was the point of the ‘erasing.’ But dammit! Godlike talents could come in handy right now, he sulked. Whatever denizens kept vigil in the layer between the First Ones and the next gate stayed out of view and silent as far as he could tell. That was one thing for which he was grateful. He noticed with some measure of detached biological interest that it was as though he were sinking into an eternal ocean. The ghosts closest to the living were clustered at the surface like reef fish. The deeper into this primal world he went, the queerer and farther from any semblance of humanity or sentience the creatures would become. True to his estimation, the next guardians he floated toward didn’t resemble humans or any of the higher families of animals. They resembled giant bleached worms, glowing with a sickly greenish hue. He didn’t particularly like worms. He had no trouble spearing them on a hook on his fishing trips. The sheer size of these creatures was intimidating. When he stopped in front of them, he could see rows of milky eyes. The creatures moved around him as though they were blind and were using something other than sight to sense him. Before he could even ask what kind of tribute these guardians could possibly want, they opened mouths that were not much more than wide holes in the end of their bodies and aimed toward him. “Cover your head and eyes, now! Unless you want to be blind and deformed!” The moths flew up around the heads of the worms, dispelling some of the vapor they projected toward his body. Whatever acid or venom was in it melted his windbreaker and parachute pants. He screamed and swiped at a small burning patch on his cheek, covered his head and kicked his legs furiously in the air to swim past them. A short distance away, he struggled out of his still burning clothes, down to his boxers. At the last second, he saw a lump covered in melting fabric spinning away from him, his gift for the Queen. He grabbed it and the skin of his hand reddened, sizzling. The white heads swung towards him, seeking, but the stream he had been riding pulled him away into the next portal. He shivered and the moths lit on his bare skin, warming him again. Just before the worms disappeared from view, they stopped at the discarded clothes, sucked them into their yawning mouths and returned to their watch.

The next gate came much more swiftly. The portal and space around it were clouded with strands that clung to him and the moths. The moths struggled through the sticky grey threads. Where he brushed them off his hands, the skin was shiny with cottony rhizomes rising from the denuded stripes. The strands reduced his boxers to rotten fabric in seconds. He yelled, covering his Speedos, and brushed off the fungi furiously as he plummeted through the hole and on to the next gate. What primeval horrors would await him there? Once again, anger flooded him, in place of more rational fear. But he was tired of surprises. If Ereshkigal zapped him out of existence for expressing himself, or did something terrible to him, at least it wouldn’t be a surprise. In any case, he was done with bullies and their manipulative winged assistants. “You called me here, so stop messing with me!” he yelled across the vast space. No sooner had he called out when two shadows, blacker than the space around him, rushed up from the depths. They swarmed around him, wrapping him in their dense coldness. He could see winking points of yellow light in their depths that might have been eyes, and every once in a while, the impression of a mouth with long white teeth. But they never made a noise. They simply encircled him in long dark sinuous curves and sucked him through the other gates so fast that he couldn’t see what guardians kept them. It seemed as though he had been drawn into the event horizons of progressive singularities. He opened his mouth to scream but no breath came out. Then they let go. He floated, motionless in a black so complete his eyes kept trying to make images just to break the monotony. His heart roared in his ears. But the silence crept in and his pulse slowed with his breath, as the stillness pressed in on his lungs. Wherever they were was like the doldrums at the center of the ocean. The currents that had led him here emptied into the beginning or end of the universe. “Where are we?” he tried to mutter, his lips thick and numb. The moths, motionless against him, didn’t answer.

9 Ninhab didn’t lose consciousness in the stillness. Instead, his lungs kept filling and emptying slowly. His heart pumped, though it felt like he was listening to the thump over a long distance. His mind formed images to fill the space around him. The darkness took on a sultry velvet feel around his skin. Then the space in front of him lightened until he could see a shimmering obsidian throne. It burned with opalescent inner fires that reminded him of nebulae. Draped over it in various places were lush fabrics in deep reds, purples and blues. A woman’s voluptuous body was the last bit of drapery he saw and he could look no further. Her hair fell around her in black cascades with blue pinpoints of light, like baby stars. Her skin was rich olive and almost luminous. Her irises, as she looked him up and down, were ringed around her pupils in violet, silver, and black around the edge. Her pupils at the center were so deep that they seemed like tiny black holes that could suck the light from a room or the soul from a living person. This was Queen Ereshkigal. At her feet languished all manner of creature, including humans. The humans were regal in their bearing. Some had armor or jewels. It seemed unlikely they were servants since they relaxed by her, with food and drink. The smell of pizza with garlic reached his senses, from somewhere in the cluster of reclined servants. It was a scent he remembered from his childhood. He’d smelled it from the corner pizza joint on his block in Champagne-Urbana every time he was sent out for an errand by his parents. He’d started earning a few dollars when he was seven, which he always reserved for a slice. When he was a teenager, he’d met his friends there in the long hot Illinois afternoons. In his most current life anyway. He savored the aroma and then his eyes returned to Ereshkigal. She regarded him with amusement and tilted her head. A smile lifted

the corners of her perfect full burgundy lips. She nodded at his Speedos. He felt dizzy. “I see you came to me in style, Ninurta.” Her contralto voice melted into his ears like syrup. Why on earth had he worn the Speedos? He didn’t even like them. He clenched his jaw. Because they were a gift from Jan, he thought. Jan, his wife, whom he was not going to abandon in the face of this immortal beauty. He looked down. His manhood didn’t agree with him. He dropped his hands in front of his underwear and hunched. In one hand, he still clutched the gift he’d brought for the Queen. It felt like the rock had fused to his palm from the exudate of the worms. He grunted with pain and peeled it from his skin. At least that distracted him from his dilemma. He held out the meteorite. He went down on one knee hitting something solid that seemed to shore up his feet for the moment. “For you, my Queen.” In one fluid motion, she came to him and took the gift. Her long fingers brushed his and he felt an electric sensation where they touched. She fingered the mineral fragment. “You offer me a rock from the dark between the stars? Is this a jest?” Her features shivered as a shade of indignation flashed across them. His stomach lurched. “I meant no offense, my Queen. I have little that might interest a powerful and beautiful goddess such as yourself. The only thing I could think of was a token of something that reminded me of you, from a place normally beyond the reach of humans. Meteorites like this helped to shape our world as it is. They remind us of the stars.” She gazed at him silently, her great eyes shining. “You are more talented with your words than your wardrobe, farmer.” She graced him with a smile that took his breath away. “I think most of my students would agree with you. But your minions apparently thought my clothing was quite tasteful. Tasty, actually.” She bit her luscious lips on another smile and waved her hand. At the gesture, the creatures that reclined near her vanished. Ninhab blinked. He started to ask where the assembly might have gone and then decided he didn’t want to know. “Who are they?” “They are servants when I need something. Otherwise, they have earned a place close to me. I reward them for lives well lived, and afterlives.”

That information could be useful, he thought. “How may I, uh, be of service,” he stuttered. It had been twenty years since he’d chatted up a woman. She drifted closer, her eyes heavy-lidded. The moths, forgotten, fluttered away. Ereshkigal drew so near that crackles of dark energy zipped back and forth between them. The goddess said nothing as she reached for him. He was mesmerized as the pinholes of her pupils expanded like quasars that pulled his soul into their gravity. As their bodies drew together like magnets, her wet lips met his mouth and bound him to her. The only sensation left in the world was her rich darkness, as though he were swimming in heady coffee. He was being consumed at the beginning of the world, at the end of the world. She caressed his body. He felt her every movement. He felt the expanding and contracting dance of the universe. He reached out and felt something impossibly dense, like the black hole at the center of the galaxy. It pulled at him. As he touched the density at the heart of the galaxy, he convulsed and split into shining rays that sprouted a lion’s mane and the powerful muscles of his ancient form. Then he exploded into her darkness like a new galaxy, the particles cascading through every cell of his body or every corner of the universe. Slowly, painfully, the energy ebbed away into a great void, the still center of the ocean he had fallen into when he had arrived. He felt his own limbs and realized with dismay that he was human again. Ereshkigal had let him go. But a tiny flame pulsed inside him before rising to his cheeks in a warm flush, like the parting breath of a star, a last kiss. He held onto the memory of that. He had touched the cosmos or the black before the cosmos, and it had been the most real thing he had ever felt. “My kids,” he murmured, trying not to forget what he came for. “Stay with me,” her voice whispered in his ear, from within his own head. The feeling of power slipping away was a deep ache that brought tears to his eyes, if he had had the energy to cry. He still didn’t have a clear memory of his past and knew now that he never would. Instead, he had the singular instant of divinity that had surfaced. That memory alone burned him. “I feel you: your sorrow, your need, my little god.” “That need wasn’t there before I came to you. I had no memory of what it felt like to be something other than what I am now. I can forget again.”

“Why should you? If you stay with me, you can be a god again.” Every inch of his body and soul ached to give in. One word, ‘Yes,’ and he would feel her around him again. Buyer beware. Etain and the myths said she is mostly bound by the Underworld. If she makes me a god it will be here. And the rules of this place will be the same for me. If she was not the one to take my former life away, how can she promise anything back? What she offers is not what it seems, he warned himself. Like a desperate customer on the day before Christmas, he began to ask what she meant when she said he could be a god again. But he choked the words in his own throat. If she told him what he wanted to hear, he would never leave. Whatever he had been, he had come here to complete a mission, without betraying the people he cared about. That was who he was now. What was the point of any of this if he failed to get what he came for? He gritted his teeth and said quickly, “No. I mean no disrespect, Great Queen. I cannot hide how much I want you. Though I must find a way to defeat Lamashtu and keep my kids safe, I have a wife. She is good. I swore a vow to her and I have already violated that by coming here. Such is your power over me. I cannot deny that either. But I will not leave my wife.” A flash of fear ran through him as he realized, too late, the ghastly surprises that might wait in the dark bedroom one night, if Ereshkigal decided to get rid of her weak human rival. Though her powers were mostly limited in the living world, he didn’t know anything about the exceptions to those rules. So the boundaries weren’t a comfort now as he sensed the darkness around him and remembered the creatures he’d seen. She sighed disappointment that twanged through every nerve in his body. Her voice was not angry. Instead, it held a hint of admiration. “Humanity has humbled you. You are a man of your word, Ninurta, a man of honor. I suppose I will wait, for now.” He moaned in anguish as he felt his humanity settle on him. Even the soaring vastness he had felt inside her disappeared from his mind like a dream. Only a vestigial memory remained. “Will you help my kids? I swore an oath to Mr. Wilson that I would protect Morpho. Julius is in trouble too. Three of my kids have been murdered, I’m sure. Etain wants the power to help her daughter. Will you help her?”

“As one of the shedu, Etain is free to wander the Earth at certain times. I will give her power to act against the demon for one night. As for the murdered children, they are beyond your help. They belong to me now. Do you seek vengeance for their deaths?” He affirmed. “Always.” “Then it shall be done.” “Lamashtu and her demons will be punished?” “I do not want them. Ekimmu and rabisu do not belong here. This world is for the righteous dead. She and her brood are wicked and doomed to wander forever.” “What about justice for the dead kids? Can’t you take away Lamashtu’s powers?” “As was done to you, my lion?” She laughed softly and the sound burrowed into his mind. “What do you wish for me to do with such as her? Her wickedness poisons everything around her. I do not want her. Let her wander, caught between worlds.” But he persisted, determined that something go right on this trip, that his infidelity not be for nothing. “But she’s already wandering. That’s not a punishment for her. She has a smorgasbord of people to murder. We don’t want her either. And the more she stays in the world above, the more people she’s going to be sending down here. Eventually you’re going to get overcrowded.” Her voice hardened. “She will not send anyone here. Unfortunately for your people, those she kills become ekimmu. They do not enter my realm.” He clenched his jaw in frustration and disbelief. “I beg your pardon, Queen, but are you saying that people who are her victims are doomed? You are a great Queen. These are your people, aren't they? They’re dead and some of their crimes may only have been bad luck.” Her tone held an edge now. “The souls of those dark ones are lost, corrupted. I cannot make them whole again. That is not within my power. It is not within anyone’s power once it is done. And I cannot let hordes of ekimmu run rampant here.” “Then why doesn’t one of the gods of the living world do something to stop her? Why is this allowed to happen?” “I do not know, little god. The thoughts of the gods of Heaven have always been closed to me. I am sorry. I truly am.” “Okay, what about these ekimmoo? No one has ever escaped being cursed? What did you mean that their souls are lost?” “I have only known of a few instances of redemption or escape. Your friend Etain is one. She had protections from her people that kept

her from the corruption. Though she is not god, she is not quite human either.” “So it is possible.” “Perhaps.” He filed that away in his head for later. “Okay, if you won’t keep Lamashtu here forever, will you detain her for a while? A million years?” Silence reigned in his head for a moment and then, “One thousand years.” “One hundred thousand?” “Ten thousand. That is my final offer, little farmer. And you will have to trick her to come. My power is limited under most circumstances in the world above.” “Will she be punished for her crimes?” A terrible fire burned through every cell in his body, obliterating any coherent thought. He screamed in agony. Then it stopped. “A mild taste of what she will endure every second of her time here.” The voice in his mind rumbled through his bowels and he almost lost control. “Okay then. Well, I guess you’ve got that covered.” He doubled over and threw up. The vomit vaporized into the heavy blackness. She purred in his ear, “Poor little wounded god.” A feeling of warmth suffused his body, relaxing him. She withdrew and then he was alone. The twin shadows that had brought him here flanked him. They wrapped him in their dark coils until he thought he was suffocating. He felt a more solid cold at his back. He opened his eyes to the ceiling of his bathroom. The tiles of the floor chilled his bare buttocks and he sat up, disoriented. Had this all been a dream? He looked down at his nakedness, knowing for certain that he had bundled up to come in here. I have no pants on. If it is a dream, it's one of those dreams where I have no pants. At least I'm not at work naked. A dull ache drifted into his awareness and he lifted his right palm. There were no grooves on the surface where he’d held the burning rock. He took a second to review what else his memory held of his time away. Then the sensation of his joining with Ereshkigal flooded his body with a surge of intensity so sweet that he almost bit his tongue as it began to fade. He squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped his arms around his chest and fought back tears as he chased the last of the event in his thoughts. What have I done in coming back? Was 'my honor' worth it?

He rolled his eyes and pushed off the floor, disgusted with himself for mooning over another woman he couldn’t even prove existed. That’s a problem of teenage boys, not grown men, dammit! he thought. “I feel so violated,” he muttered. He tiptoed into the living room, unsure of what time of day or night it was. The rock on the mantel was gone. And people’s fingerprints didn’t just disappear from their hands while they slept. His aching palm had been injured by something that wasn't here. What happened had to be real. He took in a long breath, Jan. What about Jan? The darkness in the corners of the rooms seemed darker and restless. He rushed into the bedroom. Before he opened the door, he could hear the loud buzz of her snore and was never more grateful for her deviated septum. He peeked in. She was asleep, in the same position he had left her. Her rib cage went up and down in her thin nightgown. He blew her a kiss in relief. He had gone into the bedroom around 3:10. The digital clock on the headboard read 3:15. Was that 3:15 on the same day? He checked the TV satellite. It was the same date he had left. Impossible. That meant that the whole journey had taken less than five minutes. How on earth did time work there? Maybe it worked however Ereshkigal decided it should. A chill shivered through his spine as he remembered his bargain with her to hold Lamashtu. How would she count ten thousand years? How would that work here? Assuming they could even trap her, how long would the world be Lamashtu-free, ten thousand years as humans counted, or ten years, or one second? What if all this was for nothing? He sat down at his kitchen table, brewed more tea and began stewing in his thoughts again. * * * Pazuzu sat in the quiet house. Morpho was safe for now. The boy had kept his word. And she had changed, whether permanently he could not say. She was like her mother, he thought with pride. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the little blue butterfly on the counter, vulnerable and silent. She reminded him more than ever of Etain. A wave of grief overcame him, both for his loss of his wife and for the fact that Morpho refused to even look at him. His whole frame shook and rustled. He put his head in his hands and felt something wet. He pulled his hand away and looked. It was water. His eyes were blurry. The water was coming

from his eyes. Human tears. What was this nonsense? This matter must be ended soon, he thought, before I devolve further. He called to Lugal, to see if anyone was home. The hero had betrayed him, after taking service with him. By all rights, Pazuzu could have killed him. But the man had put up with Pazuzu’s abuse to help his children, both of them. The thousands of years that had passed since they met seemed like days sometimes. * * * The strange grizzled man stood before him in the frosty mountain air. He called himself Lugalbanda, an officer in Enmerkar’s army. This warrior had found his child vulnerable, while Anzu had been hunting for food to feed him. The warrior could have killed the young baby. Despite his fierce appearance, the infant bird was innocent and clumsy. The warrior, though weaker, was skilled. But he had fed the child when he saw the young one was hungry and tried to honor him with his own oil. He had treated Anzu’s offspring like the god the baby would become. Now, all he asked was not the riches that Anzu could easily have provided, but instead to be returned to his king and country to risk his life in their service. This was a human worth noting. Lugalbanda flexed his legs, smiled and ran to find his comrades. Anzu watched as the new strength in the human’s legs carried him through the mountains to his troops and his lost friends. He observed Lugalbanda with keen sight from the peaks, as the warrior used his new gift in service of his king and sped untiring through the mountain pass to relay a critical message to troops in his own kingdom. He observed as Lugalbanda became king after Enmerkar died. Finally, years later, Lugalbanda sired his own line. Anzu watched the child Gilgamesh from a distance. On Gilgamesh’s sixteenth birthday, Anzu found Lugalbanda in his royal quarters, polishing his trusted lion’s-head axe in preparation to give to his son, weeping. “Your son is a fine strong, warrior. Today a man. Why do you weep?” Lugalbanda looked up at the winged god. “He has survived to adulthood. I weep for joy. He will succeed me as king of Uruk. Enmerkar had no such heir. I was lucky enough that he chose me. My son will make Uruk the greatest city in the world.” Anzu eyed Lugalbanda as the man mopped his red face. “But...” the god prompted.

“But, sometimes, I miss my little boy, the way he put his head on my chest if he had a bad dream. I used to be able to protect him. He will be a king now. Dangerous times are coming for him. I dream of it.” “He will be powerful. He will be a hero. And the boy is far from helpless. You taught him to fight and to win. Do you doubt his abilities?” “No!” Lugal set the axe down and put his head in his hands, conflicted. “But I still think about what could happen to him. And in the middle of all that, I sometimes miss…him needing me. That doesn’t make any sense does it? I have been king so long and father. I don't know what to do now. Do you ever feel that way about your child?” Anzu nodded. ”Yes. I know exactly what you mean.” The giant god folded his wings and sank down next to Lugalbanda. “You have been a father longer than I. Does that feeling ever go away?” “No.” They sat in silence for a while as Lugalbanda grunted and finished polishing the axe. He stood to go make his presentation to his son. “I will return, Lord Anzu." He started out the door and then turned. “You know, I have all of this because of you. We won the war. I was promoted. I have the son that I have because of your gift.” Anzu dipped his head in acknowledgment. “You were a good soldier. Then a good king. And now you are a good father.” Lugal smiled and left. Later that night, Anzu pondered Lugalbanda’s words. Lugalbanda was a warrior, a leader. He needed to be needed. Anzu slipped into Lugalbanda’s quarters and found him consuming what had to have been enough beer to fill the Buranuna River. Anzu knelt down and partook in a long draught from the vessel. “Lugalbanda, I have an offer for you.” The warrior looked up, through what were clearly beerdrenched eyes, at one of the servants who came to replenish the drink. “Focus, warrior. How would you like to be immortal?” Lugalbanda started laughing. “Is that a serious question?” Anzu spread his wings. “Of course. Many of the gods have no sense of humor and though I am one of the few who does, I would not jest about that. You treated my child with compassion and dignity. You have fought with valor and ruled with competence. These are all qualities I would have at my side in the courts of the gods. I am not one of the Anunnaki but as a servant of Enlil, I control the winds.”

Lugalbanda stuttered. “M-My Lord. I would be honored to serve you.” * * * Thousands of years later, in a non-descript house in the suburbs, Pazuzu found as he sat that he really didn’t feel much anger at his servant. The man wasn’t any more to blame than he was himself. In fact, he found that he just couldn’t muster the godlike wrath at this mortal that had once been just a reflex. He felt the tides of time and probability wash around him, loose and unfettered. Infinite paths through that time were possible for everyone now, gods and humans. He realized that the destruction of the Tablet meant that Lamashtu would never get it. Whatever power she held could be defeated. The rough healing face of Lugalbanda appeared around the corner of the kitchen. “What now?” “Now we petition the Great Goddess, Lamashtu’s mistress, Inanna.” “Will she agree to see you? She is almost as powerful as Enlil, if not more. I thought she didn’t like you. Lamashtu left her to be your wife.” “Lamashtu was still her handmaiden. She is still connected with her in temperament and idea if not in actuality anymore. Inanna might want to control the damage. When Lamashtu acts, she may still be seen as acting in the name of Inanna.” “Yes. Exactly. What if Lamashtu’s power is Inanna's will?" Pazuzu drew a long breath. “I will have to take that chance.” “Do you wish me to accompany you?” “Are you certain that is wise? Didn’t Inanna try to kill Gilgamesh when he was king? Your family does not have any better track record with her than I.” “Good point. I’ll stay and gather information here.” No one could miss the sardonic tone. Pazuzu flew out the door toward the Pathway. * * * Over the next few days, a silent, swift plague spread out from where Lamashtu had been tricked into going after the stone. Her attacks became subtle. The plague seeped into people, anywhere they touched

the ground or another infected person. It whispered through the air in mist that smelled of iron and blood. The first sign was irritability, and then homicidal rage. On the sixth day of Nisan, Yonatan Peretz ordered another glass of wine at the pouring station of Anavim G’dolim Wine Shop on Shuhada Street in Hebron, on his way home from work. The wine was full-bodied and fruity in his mouth and he savored the bouquet. After finishing, he boarded the bus to the old quarter in H2 district. As the bus turned and passed into a stretch of Palestinian neighborhoods, he felt his stomach twinge. It was close to the curfew and most of the streets were deserted to avoid clashes with the military. But a few men remained. They stood and finished their last cigarettes, gazing at buses that went by to the old quarter. They looked disgruntled. The twinge in Yonatan’s belly increased to a roll. But he swallowed and told himself he was being silly. He wondered what his friend Khalid was doing now. The two had started a promising friendship the previous year when Khalid had come into his shop with a permit to seek work. He liked Khalid. The guy was hard-working, funny and sharpwitted, smart with a good business head, and a good father to two adorable kids. His acquaintance with Khalid and his family had been the first time Yonatan had ever regretted the restrictions on Palestinians. He had nothing against most of them personally, but this was a city of Jewish antiquity. It was one of their holy cities. His family had never allowed themselves to be bullied out of their heritage before. He was not going to start now. However, Khalid had changed everything. Last week when they finally got into the conversation they had been avoiding about politics, though they argued passionately, they both ended up smiling and laughing. Khalid laughed so hard he snorted soda and Yonatan wound up almost inhaling his drink. It felt like being back in primary school. As they cheerfully wiped up the mess, Yonatan began to realize how much this city meant to Khalid’s family too. They revered the Hebrew patriarchs entombed here as holy men and their own ancestors, even if they had a quarrel with another branch of their current descendants. And Khalid’s family had regularly visited the nearby Cave of Patriarchs from the town of Ajjur before it had been destroyed in 1948 and replaced with a Jewish settlement. They had moved to Hebron and had lived here ever since. Just last Thursday, Khalid’s eyes

had lit up with awe when he spoke of his childhood visits to the Cave with his father. I can’t remember the last time I felt that kind of wonder at anything, Yonatan envied as he watched the scenery go by. Maybe someday soon if the restrictions are lifted, we can all visit the Cave together. Thuds shook the ground and the bus stopped. Suddenly soldiers were everywhere urging Israelis to safety and advancing on alarmed Palestinians, who ran for their houses. As he exited the bus, he saw the flames in the old Jewish quarter ahead. His heart thundered as he thought about his family. Near him, he heard glass breaking and saw angry settlers smashing the windows of a Palestinian home. * * * Lamashtu herself reached out her deadly grasp to mothers and infants. In Old Cairo, the same day as multiple riots broke out across the sea in Israel, Shoab’s hand drifted protectively to the swell in her belly as she rolled over uncomfortably. Bye-bye sleep, for the next eighteen years, she thought half irritably, half amused. She savored the hearty kick in the ribs the fetus gave her to remind her who was boss. She had to pee again and she moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed but found she couldn’t move them. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw motion to her left on her side of the bed, where there should have been empty space. A shadow faced her on the wall. It was a long black hand with abnormally long thin, skeletal fingers. It flexed, stretching its fingers out and then began slinking toward her. She rolled her eyes back to the long lump under the blanket that was Najur, her husband. He was sleeping on his face with his hands under him. There was no one else in the room. When she glanced back at the hand, its fingers had elongated even more, creeping toward her and stretching along the covers. She watched in horror as more phantom hands wriggled, slithering at the shadows of her wrists and the blankets at her ankles. She felt pressure on her limbs as though the hands were real. The shadow hands kept her from moving. She tried to scream as she spotted dark fingers at her throat on the wall, but she choked. As the touch reached her belly, she felt an excruciating pain as the suffocating infant writhed. Everywhere that people died, their corpses rotted within a day. From every rotting body, an ekimmu rose, a dark spirit unable to enter

the Underworld. Within three days from Lamashtu’s rise from the rubble, the number of ekimmu grew from a few enraged phantoms into legions.

10 JD spent another day planning, while Morpho flapped around and tried futilely to convey suggestions. She was mildly grateful that they were missing the crappiest school day of the week, Monday. But since there were no flowers to try sucking from, she was starting to get very hungry. The soda JD poured into a bottle cap just got her proboscis irritatingly sticky and tasted terrible. Finally, he ushered her into an empty travel mug he poached from the sink where his mother had deposited it. At least he’d washed it out. Traveling seemed to take an eternity as Morpho hunched down inside the empty travel mug in JD’s bag and tried to concentrate on anything but the nausea from the lurching motion of his gait, and from the overwhelming smell of coffee and whiskey. She wondered vaguely what butterfly puke would smell like on top of the other scents. Just when she thought she’d pass out in the confined dark space, the tube righted, the top came off in a blast of fresh air and JD’s nose appeared. “Okay baby, come on out! We’re at the Butterfly Pavilion! She won’t be able to find you here. And you’ll have lots of friends to play with.” I turned into a butterfly, not a pre-schooler, jackass! She scrabbled her feet along the smooth sides and flapped her wings. But she couldn’t get enough momentum in the tiny space to propel her body up to the light or at least to where she could see his nose hairs. Get out of the way! He frowned when he saw her struggling, the kind of face people made to an infant who couldn’t get a spoon in her mouth by herself.

When I’m a human, I’m going to punch you. Just get out of the way! He tipped the cup slowly over to let gravity help her out. Nononononono, ahhhhh! She slid out into the open air and dropped. She began flapping as hard as she could and almost crashed into a Viceroy fluttering by. It was a male. Hey! Watch where you're going, he muttered. What? Huh? Did that butterfly just talk to me? He turned around and danced near her, wiggling his antennae, Waaatch wheeere yooouuuu're goooing. He drew his meaning out like she was retarded. You don’t have to be a dick. I’m new. You just hatched? You seem older to me. The Viceroy flashed his colors at her. Thanks. Did you just hit on me? Yes. Want to have sex? He bobbed nearer. Thanks, but I think my boyfriend might object. And my Dad. And you don’t want to piss him off. Your what? The scent of confusion drifted over her. Uh, never mind. No thank you. It’s sweet of you to offer. If you change your mind, I’m over by the magnolias. He danced away. Wow. That was surreal. She realized that she was flying effortlessly through a patch of long tubular flowers hanging from a wide palm-like tree and JD was looking after her with a forlorn look on his face. She flew over and lit gently on the tip of his nose, extending her tongue to touch his skin in a faint kiss. Thank you, baby. I won't cheat on you. * * * As Pazuzu crossed the globe, he saw with dismay that Lamashtu had begun more extensive forays that were spreading across the Middle East and North Africa. There were already more ekimmu than he had ever seen, scattered throughout multiple areas. He sped on toward the portal to Heaven. As he crossed into Iraq, he noted with slight relief that the Zagros Mountains were much as he remembered them. He drifted down from the icy clouds toward what was now the Zard Kuh peak. He could still see where Enlil had finally broken the bonds of the ice and thrust the peaks up in his pursuit of the Tablet, millennia ago.

The lake where he as Anzu had first fallen was dry, since his ancestor Absu had withdrawn deep into the earth. He hesitated as he passed Baghdad and Tell al' Muqayyar, ancient Ur, following a faint glimmering line that could not be seen by mortals. Then he coasted down on the high wind to Tell al' Warka, to the desert complex that had been Uruk, near the great Buranuna, now known as the Euphrates. He surveyed from high above for Lamashtu. They were not ready to encounter her yet. He flew cautiously for the last stretch. He slipped past a few clots of roaming ghosts to the sacred enclosure of Eanna, the remains of the White Temple of Inanna. He paused for a moment as he circled, to admire the brief works of Man. They had built their temple somehow as a mirror to what was already there, even though they couldn’t have seen it. Perhaps someone had, one of the architects. The worn steps that still existed led to a platform next to the stairs. On the platform, phantom stone-works rose hundreds of feet in the air. At the apex, golden door lintels glowed. Pink sky and shimmering rainbow clouds were visible beyond it. Two ghostly alad guarded the entrance. Their ornate headdresses stood regal in the high breeze. Their beards were curled and oiled, while their human faces were full-lipped, swarthy-skinned and handsome. Their wings extended behind them about thirty cubits and their powerful bull’s bodies rippled with muscle. They simultaneously turned their heads and watched him approach with dark inscrutable eyes. They spoke together, as though with one mind. “Pazuzu, Demon of the Winds, why do you seek entrance? You are exiled.” He had forgotten how creepy that had been every time he had passed the gates before his exile. “I seek an audience with Inanna.” “Has she summoned you?” “No. But this is urgent.” “You have no summons, you may not pass.” “All right, so give her the message. Ask her to see me between suitors. I must speak with her. Please. I would not be here unless it was of the utmost importance.” The alad looked at each other and then at Pazuzu. “We will convey your information and tell if she wishes to see you.” One of them vanished into the entrance. The other stood absolutely still, watching him. Not even its chest moved in or out. Pazuzu stared back, resisting the urge to fidget.

Sometime later, the other alad returned. “Inanna will see you.” They separated to either side of the door. Pazuzu strode past them, stepping, for the first time in thousands of years, into the vault of Heaven. He stopped, deeply inhaling the honey-scented air as a pang of nostalgia hit him so hard he fought to keep from sinking to his knees. But he remained upright. This was not a homecoming. He paused, thinking about his approach, and decided to keep his human form. Inanna was an arrogant goddess and he was more likely to get a favorable response by catering to her pride and showing his humility. He stepped onto the golden barge at the rainbow river, the closest path near the entrance to the human world, and floated along it into a shining green glade. Cataracts spilled from jeweled cliffs and cast prisms into the air from the breath of Utu the sun. Lush fruit trees, bent with figs and dates and heavily-laden grape vines, bowed their leaves toward the barge. Wide palm leaves cast cool violet shadows and breathed soft moisture across the surface of the water. The forest sparkled with bright-colored birds, the river flashed with the glimmer of damselflies. Deep in the glade, the goddess reclined in a fluffy bed of moss, sipping amber nectar. She had black shining hair that drifted around her like a halo. Her eyes were brilliant green and gold. Her skin was the color and scent of fresh dates in milk. And she was naked. Her elated expression soured when she laid eyes on Pazuzu, who stood in the barge, staring lasciviously at her beauty. She snapped, “The alad told me this was important. What do you want, demon?” Pazuzu struggled to remember what it was he wanted as his male god parts clamored to give him a different objective from his original mission. “Uh…” “Oh by the testicles of Anu!” She snarled and threw the moss around her body, reached for her silken tunic, and glared at him. Pazuzu shook himself out of his fantasy. “I mean no disrespect, Great Lady. But you are the goddess of love. You were naked. And you knew I was coming.” “Don’t flatter yourself. I agreed to see you because brother Utu thought you might come here with something of interest to me.” She cast an annoyed glance back at the distant orb of Utu the Sun. “I hope so, Great Lady. I did not come here to quarrel with you.” “Then state your purpose.” Pazuzu held his breath a moment and then spoke frankly. “The world is in peril. Your handmaiden Lamashtu is on the rampage.”

“She is no longer my handmaiden. I severed our ties when she chose you as husband.” “But you still hold power over her.” “And?” “She has let loose a plague of violence and sickness.” “You are a god of plague. Are you getting squeamish? What do you care for these mortals?” Her lips curled in a cruel smirk. “I live among them now. And as exasperating as some can be, I never did anything on such a scale.” “So bloodshed and devastation are fine if it’s you doing it and if she’s less powerful than you.” Pazuzu hung his head, fighting to keep the growl from his voice. “No.” Inanna waved her hand at him. “She’s your wife. You were the one who controlled her.” “Ex. Ex-wife.” “So you want me to clean up your love life?” Pazuzu sighed. “No, Mistress. I know that you never approved of our union. But I can no longer control her.” “Control her, like a good husband? Oh, yes. You are weak now, I remember, after you thieved from Enlil.” She looked down her nose at him. “Once again, demon, why should I care about your failure at marriage or the feeble, ungrateful world of humans?” “It’s not just about any human.” “Ah, now we get to the truth. You are not the altruistic sort.” “Morpho has never done anything to anyone. She is an innocent child.” “So have been many of your plague victims. Humans are fragile. So? I am supposed to help your family? For what?” He realized just then the futility of his errand. He’d known she hadn’t liked him but the force of her antipathy was greater than he’d thought. Still, he’d had to come and address her because Morpho meant more to him than anything ever had, and it wasn’t just her. He had grown fond of that bumbling boyfriend of hers, JD. And after thousands of years of humanity, he was used to the humans. He would miss that world if it went away. Not the housing association. They could rot. But as he stared into Inanna’s inhuman green eyes, he also realized that he truly didn’t belong in her world anymore, and never would. He had nothing in common with this completely alien creature and had nothing left to say. “Never mind, Mistress. Thank you for your time.” He turned and left.

The goddess watched him leave. Utu, her brother, watched her from the sky. The irritation in her face transformed into confusion and something no one had seen on her face in a long time: doubt.

11 The weight of the Desert Eagle hand cannon under Lugal’s clothes was almost as reassuring as his bow and axe, and far less conspicuous. Desert Eagle. It was efficient and deadly. Even the name was perfect for a proper Sumerian warrior. And best of all, the weight of the steel felt business-like, reminding him of his manhood. He kept this particular gun so well oiled it gleamed in the light as he checked the magazine. He didn’t think it would stop the demoness but it would make some satisfying splatters. Morpho had been hidden for a few days, but he was nervous. Especially given the news of the epidemics and riots that were being reported in the Middle East and African bloc. Lamashtu was on the move now. And he had no idea at this point where she was, exactly. He knew where JD’s house was, and so a check on Morpho’s status would be prudent. As he was loading himself with weapons, he heard motion outside, small surreptitious rustlings from several places around the yard. The house was surrounded. He drew the Uzi into his hands and backed up next to the window, where he could see outside but could not be seen. If he fought some of the demons here, that forced them to fight on his ground. And it still left him a chance to retreat, since no one else was here. From where he could see, there were no demons. Instead there were men with guns. As he backed away from the window, heavy footsteps passed the motion detector and there was a sharp knock at the door. “Denver Police. Open the door.” Lugal froze. Mrs. Dow. Anzu should have swallowed her eyeballs, he thought acidly. He realized two things in an instant: that the rustling might only be police, in which case he was in trouble with the law. Or except for the pair on the stoop, there could still be demons surrounding the house, in which case, the police were in danger too. In either scenario, he couldn’t fight without the humans getting hurt. And his chances of protecting Morpho dwindled every moment he

had to spend engaging the local authorities. The humans needed to be away from the house or they would be caught in the crossfire. He would have to face the authorities and resolve the issue as quickly as possible, by whatever means that would keep them from confronting him. There was no time to hide the weapons, so he didn’t even try. He got out his wallet with the permits and decided on the frank approach. Having been a former soldier, he had always appreciated an honest confrontation. He opened the door to two officers. They were dressed in black Kevlar vests. Behind them and ranged to the sides of the yard, probably around it, he noted at least six gunmen in SWAT gear, rifles trained on him. He wasn’t overjoyed, but at least they weren’t demons. That was a start. “What can I do for you, officers?” “Sir, we have a warrant to search the house for illegal weapons. Please step outside.” The tallest man handed Lugal a paper. “On what grounds?” “Illegal firearms.” Lugal felt his stomach sink. Gods damn Mrs. Dow. “I have permits.” He stepped outside and handed the permits to one of the officers, while another couple officers passed him to search the house. “Please stand against the wall and place your hands on the wall, sir.” “Am I under arrest?” Lugal complied, and the shorter man began frisking him. The frisking officer found the Desert Eagle and the grenade belt. “Holy Cow! This guy’s loaded! These are live explosives." One of the SWAT team motioned to the tall policeman from inside. The man barked, “Down on the ground! Get down on the ground!” Lugal glanced around and knelt while the two arresting officers pushed him down by his arms and shoulders. This is going well, he thought acerbically. He didn’t have to have eyes in the back of his head to know that Mrs. Dow was watching the whole thing from her window, probably with a bag of popcorn. If the demons came now, there was nothing to be done but fight. The smaller man cuffed him and the taller one read him his rights, while a couple more black armor-clad police entered the house. The tall officer pulled him to his feet, leading him to a squad car. Lugal turned to catch his eye.

“You’re under arrest, sir, and you answered that you knew your rights. Duck your head.” He started to guide Lugal’s head down to the open car door but Lugal interrupted him, though he didn’t resist. “Wait, Officer, listen to me. Find whatever you need in the house but do not stay or your men will be in danger.” The tall officer bent down so his head was level with Lugal’s in the back seat, his hand on the door. “What does that mean? Is the house rigged? Are you telling me there’s going to be an attack?” The man’s craggy face had gotten hard, his pale eyes flashed with intensity. But the man and his partner had been fair, done exactly as they’d been ordered and no more. Despite the risk of complicating the situation, it didn’t seem right that he not warn them of the peril. The officer would almost certainly think he was mad, or up to something, but there was nothing left but the truth. “Not as you imagine, but yes. There are dangerous forces watching this house. I had the weapons to defend against their attack. It will come. I do not know when. Get your men out of here. They do not deserve to die and they cannot fight what is coming for anyone left in that house. It is possible they will come for me, regardless of where I am. But they are watching the house. That much I know.” “Who? How many? How well-armed?” “I do not know how many. They are not armed with conventional weapons. They are demons.” The officer's face went carefully blank as he closed Lugal’s door. He said nothing further to Lugal but spoke out of range to the young officers who were transporting him for booking. They got in the car and pulled away from the house for the station. The driver was a young man who looked barely old enough to drive. His partner was a fresh-faced young woman with auburn hair, also painfully young. Lugal struggled to remember if Uruk had employed city guards this young and realized they probably had, he was just too old to recall clearly. As the male officer cast a disdainful sneer behind him, the warrior remembered with a touch of chagrin the same ‘I’m going to take over the world’ look that Gilgamesh had at that age. “You from Al Qaeda?" The male officer barked into the back seat through the barrier. “Al Qaeda's not a country.” “Don’t get snotty with me! You think you can come into this country and blow people up for Allah? They’re going to send you and your friends to Guantanamo.”

“How do you even know I’m Muslim? I’m not Muslim.” “You got a Middle-Eastern accent and a beard just like them.” “That doesn’t mean anything. Beards are for men. And isn’t Guantanamo closing?” Shut up, Lugal, this isn’t helping! he reminded himself. “You saying I’m not a man? You’re going to be a woman in prison! We still have plenty of places in the country to lock up terrorists, don’t you worry about that. You people are unbelievable. You come to this country and then think the laws don't apply to you. You use our own freedoms to try to kill us in the name of jihad. Well, you’ll get yours!” The young man was working himself up as if he hadn’t even heard anything Lugal said except as a flashpoint for more ranting. Lugal might just have ignored him, but motion outside the dark window caught his eye, a blur, a flash of red. There was no more time for jingoistic nonsense. “Listen to me. Do you believe in demons, Officers?” The man snorted. The woman looked at her partner, smirking. “You mean like The Exorcist?” Lugal paused at the irony. “Well, not this time. That was just Hollywood. We are in great danger. There is a demon hunting us, one of the most wicked, or several. You must let me out or—” “Not a chance, Osama!” “Then at least speed up! This is a police car! I know it can go faster.” “Don’t tell me how to drive!” “Wait, so you think we’re being chased by demons?” The woman turned to her partner. “Katelli, I heard him say something to Burnett about demons too. I think this guy’s on something.” “Muslims don’t drink or do drugs,” Katelli replied. “I'm not Muslim!” “Or maybe he's nuts. We should contact Denver Health about him,” she proposed. “We have him on felony weapons charges, at least. Homeland Security and CBI are already waiting for this guy. The psych ward’ll have to get in line and go through them.” As he spoke, he slowed to take a turn. “Do not slow down!” “Shut up.” Katelli barked. But a frantic note in Lugal’s voice made the woman turn around. She spoke in a placating voice. “Nothing is going to get to you in here. There are no demons.”

A hulking and clearly non-human silhouette with red eyes appeared in front of the car. The male officer jammed down on the brakes; they skidded, then slammed into something. “Jesus Christ. I think we just hit a dog,” the female officer said. “I’ll check.” “It wasn’t a dog.” Lugal said. “Do not get out of the car or you will die. It is one of them.” “Okay, Sir. I thought you said a demon.” “There are likely to be more than one. There are minions that serve her. This is one of those. You must let me help you.” “So now we’re supposed to uncuff you, right?” Katelli snorted. “I’ll go see about the dog.” He opened the door but Lugal noticed he kept his hand on his gun. Lugal said nothing because he knew the man had made his decision. But his heart thundered and the strength Anzu had given him so long ago surged through his entire body. He began pulling at the links between the cuffs. Blood ran down his hands into the seats as the metal bit into his wrists. He kept pulling, straining to remain silent in spite of the painful effort. The male officer drew his gun, creeping cautiously around the car. At least something Lugal said had made an impression. The female officer gasped and pointed at the air vents. Blood was leaking from the slits. A fine rust-colored mist was seeping into the interior. The officer let out a curse and leaned back against the seat. “Now do you believe me? Cover your face! Don’t let it touch you!” She did as he ordered and threw open the door. A throaty yell came from behind the car where Katelli had disappeared. The sound of gunshots cracked through the air as a massive shape with gleaming teeth and crimson glowing eyes loomed over the silhouette of the officer. He roared back to her, “Karen, take the guy and get out of here! I’ll hold it off! Get out—” “Run!” Lugal yelled, as he worked at the links. He was almost free. “Run, now! There are more of them. I will fight! I have fought creatures like this before!” Karen shook her head then jerked open the back door. “I’m not leaving you here to die!” she yelled. “Turn around so I can unlock—” Another dark shape rose behind her, half the size of the vehicle with the muzzle of a wild dog, a ridge like a wild boar and hellish eyes. Its talons plummeted across her shoulder into her abdomen under the edge of her Kevlar.

Lugal’s cuffs broke. He lunged at the shape, toppling the officer under him. She screamed, clutching her belly as blood bubbled from between her fingers. She had risked and maybe given her life to save him. He marshaled the greatest surge of strength he had ever used and slid himself between the creature’s claws and the woman, leveraging a space between them. It moved again as fast as a blink and emerged behind him. Knife-like teeth slashed down toward his neck as he lay on the ground on top of the officer. He thrust his feet into its body. It skidded back a few inches but rushed in again. He felt sticky wetness at his back where Karen, the officer, pressed against him. Her breath rasped in his ear. A shot went off and the thing shrieked as black mist sprayed from its chest. He felt the heat and the chamber of the gun as Karen emptied it next to him. A hot casing landed in the waistband of his pants. He yelped and squirmed. He put his arm out as the demon's wound sprayed black ichor. But they’d just made it mad. Its teeth and claws grew as it sliced the skin of Lugal’s arm to ribbons. He punched into the side of its head with his other fist. Its teeth reached the end of his nose and its black tongue dripped burning fluid on his chin. Suddenly, the back of its head dissolved into fire. Lugal pushed over, covered Karen and rolled out from under it. He kept rolling to extinguish the flames that had ignited his sleeve as the two humans tumbled through the scorching mass. As it died, the demon lashed out with its claws but something snatched them high into the air. Karen sagged in the flying creature’s talons as Lugal twisted to combat the new threat. He gasped as he realized that they were high in the air. They would drop if he killed this thing or freed them in mid-flight. As he turned, a long beak yawned at him, with little puffs of fire. The creature’s head was turned slightly to avoid his face. It was yelling at him. “Lugalbanda! I am your friend! Stop squirming or I’ll drop you.” His mouth gaped and he hung, uncertain how to react as their new ally flew. A high croaking roar followed them as the other demon finished consuming the bloody mess that had been Karen’s partner. She was either unconscious or dead. He squeezed his eyes shut as the distant ground rushed by and the wind whistled past his ears. “Do you not remember me, warrior?” The beast called down to him, its voice clear through the wind.

“Uh, I’ll take another look once we are on the ground. Thank you for the assistance,” he called back. It sailed down on the roof of the Qwest building. Lugal rolled out of its grip. He came up at the edge of the roof and peered over. Then he cursed at himself for his self-destructive curiosity and crawled away from the edge. He came to rest at the taloned feet of a giant bird with the ears of a wolf and golden lion’s eyes. He sat up, staring. “Yes. You remember me now. It has been many years, old friend.” Anzu's first child had grown into a god in his own right. Lugal peered at him in shock. He remembered the baby bird’s scent and could clearly smell a remnant of that now. “Gallursa. How are you here? You weren’t exiled. And you haven't been out of Heaven since you first joined the court, since Anzu left. Where in the hells have you been?” “A fine way to speak to a god.” Gallursa opened his beak in a grin. “I am very glad to see you. How did you know to come?” “I’ve been watching. Lamashtu is out of control. You need allies. I had a debt to repay for your kindness so many ages ago.” “Your father saw to that.” “I pay my own debts.” he scowled. “My father does not speak for me any longer.” Lugal sighed. “Not you too. I don’t have time to play family counselor right now. This brave officer is gravely wounded.” He scrambled over to Karen as she regained consciousness and began moaning. Pooled blood smeared beneath her and trickled through her clasped fingers. Her face was creased in pain. Lugal stroked her hair. “Thank you for trying to free me. We must get you aid.” “Why did you help me? I'm from your enemy nation.” “You're from Aratta?” “The West. America.” He felt a headache coming on. “Miss, I live here. I'm not a terrorist.” She screamed, trying to scramble away and reach for her gun, as the shadow of Gallursa fell across her. Lugal put his hands on her shoulders to calm her. “No, no, this is my friend. He helped us escape. He is a god.” “Howdy.” Gallursa waved a wing. “That is how Americans say hello. I saw that when I learned about Americans.”

She winced as she doubled over and collapsed back onto the ground, her hands across her belly. Lugal shook his head. “Gallursa, she must get help soon. She has a gut wound. It will fester and she will die. Mortal medicine may be too late.” Gallursa moved closer and peered at her stomach. Her face and hair were drenched with sweat. Her pallor was pasty white. Her skin was clammy to Lugal’s hand. And there was smooth bloody tissue visible through her laced fingers. “She is going into shock.” Gallursa shook his feathered head, twitching his ears. “I fear we are too late.” Lugal looked at him. “Is there nothing? Gilgamesh found a plant that extended his life on his quest for immortality. It did not confer immortality as he had hoped. But it healed him of all wounds and illnesses for many years. Is there another such plant anywhere?” He gazed at the gashes on his own arm and felt the demon’s burn on his face. Already the wounds had begun to heal. But he could not confer Anzu’s gift of regeneration to others. The god gazed at him sadly. “There is not.” He furrowed his brow in thought. “One leaf of Gilgamesh’s plant was given as an offering to Utu, the god he loved most. Perhaps Utu will part with it.” “You will help us?” Lugal asked. “For you, friend, yes. Put her on my back and climb on.” Lugal’s complexion went a greener shade of olive. Gallursa laughed. “How else did you think we would get there, you coward? How have you faced great armies and you are afraid of a little flying?” “It's not the air that’s a problem.” Gallursa snickered with a clicking sound. “Yes, I know it's the collision with earth at the end. Coward.” Lugal lifted Karen with no effort onto Gallursa’s back as the god kneeled. She grasped Lugal’s hand. He squeezed it back. He muttered at Gallursa as he mounted up after her, “I’m not a coward! You’re a bird! This is natural to you. But people don't generally fly.” “And the airplanes you humans invented?” “I hate those things. They weren't my idea. Now that I always get searched, I hate them even more.” “Old warriors never change.” Gallursa pumped his great wings, and lifted into the air. His scaled and feathered neck shimmered in the moonlight that had emerged from the clouds. A man sneaking a smoke

on an adjacent rooftop saw Gallursa and his passengers, and dropped his cigarette on his shoe. The wind carried Gallursa’s voice back as he craned his neck around. “So didn’t this warrior and her partner have you imprisoned? I saw that much before I could get to you. Why help her?” Lugal peeped one eye open, looking down at the top of her auburn hair, feeling the pressure of her fingers through his dizziness. He yelled into the whistle of the wind. “She defends her land and her people as an honorable warrior, as her partner did. They knew only what they’d been told about me. She risked her life to free me instead of letting me die a prisoner. I will do what I can to save her. And if she dies, I will honor her as a warrior. When I can, I will honor her partner. Now can you please, great navigator, watch where you are going?” Gallursa hooted through his nostrils and turned his neck back around to see in front of him. Lugal felt eyes, and looked down. She had twisted slightly and was peering up at him. “You’re not Muslim?” she whispered. He pursed his lips in exasperation and spoke into her ear to reduce the wind. “You don't listen very well, do you? No, though most of my descendants are. A few are Hebrew, a few Christian. One is Mormon. One I cannot figure out. He began as Presbyterian, then became Wiccan. Then he joined some kind of commune where he wears no clothes and eats no meat. He calls himself a Vegan.” “Vegan isn’t a religion.” She giggled and then grimaced. “Well, all I know is that I can understand the gods of many religions but I cannot understand his lifestyle. It is just not satisfying to wrestle a broccoli to the death. Give me a strong bull, the best of the herd, and I will fell it with my own hands.” His face lit with the ferocity of a primal hunter. “Though I have become rather fond of your firearms!” She erupted in laughter and then covered her gut, but the smile remained on her face. “You’re nuts, but you’re funny.” “Most war is not fought because of religion, regardless of what god is named. It is fought for power, land, riches. So choose whatever gods make you happy. My son Gilgamesh followed Utu. That is the god we go to see now. He is a fair god.” “Utu. What a bizarre name. What’s your name?” “Lugalbanda of Uruk.” “That’s a strange name too. What’s Uruk?”

“The greatest city in Sumer. It now belongs to Iraq. Sumer was long ago.” A note of sadness crept into Lugal, high in the air. It had been hundreds of years he realized, since he had shared his thoughts with another human. Karen’s sharp eyes searched his face. He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. He wasn’t sure if it would bother him now if she didn’t. “What god do you follow?" she asked. “I used to follow Inanna. It was her city in which I was king. But Anzu awarded me special powers, helped me become king and took me into his service after my son was grown. He was generous. Anzu was Gallursa’s father.” He gestured towards their pilot. Her eyes widened. “You said he was a god. You were serious?” Lugal gazed back at the lights of Denver that had receded into the distance and realized that his fear of plunging to his death had been forgotten as he spoke with her. “Quite.” “How old are you?” “Very, very old.” She stroked his chin in awe. “Your burns are almost gone. Are you a god?” “No. Well, I am part divine. I was granted immortality and certain abilities in the course of my relationship with Anzu, so I heal quickly. But I can still be killed. Especially by him. I try not to...what is the phrase...piss him off.” He caught her hand and kissed it. “You're a dirty old man then. I must be half your age.” He humphed. “Far less than half. Dirty and old, yes. Not dead.” She didn’t pull her hand away, but her grip was weakening and her eyes roamed behind her closing lids. Hours later, lights twinkled here and there in the sea of night as they crossed the border into Mexico. Lugal brooded about Morpho. The demons had been watching the house. Hopefully, the boy had hidden her somewhere far. Perhaps Utu would help with that situation, if Lugal groveled exceedingly well. He slitted his eyes into the wind and tightened his arm around Karen’s shivering body as they flew.

12 Lamashtu felt the demon that had attacked Lugalbanda as it was consumed in divine fire by Pazuzu’s first-born. She felt its waning power as a hole torn inside her. Her scream was so piercing it shattered glass for miles. The people in Ergdan, Turkey, a small village on the Mediterranean, choked in a red wind as she passed their village. They gasped, struggling for breath. Then they began tearing out their own eyes and clawing at the people around them. She flew west toward the domicile of the warrior, her cursed husband and his new brat. She would savor devouring the sweet breath and flesh of the simpering girl. Weak blood from his weak, dead mistress. The world he had adopted would be soaked in the wrath of her vengeance. He would see that only blood was power. * * * JD sat sweating on a stone bench in the Butterfly Pavilion as the misters sprayed warm water into the air. The butterflies drifted around him like large spots of confetti blowing in an invisible breeze. The bells of the bright flowers exhaled their fragrances and birds twittered. Morpho sat on a stem near him. He inhaled deeply. “You know, it's so pretty in here, you could almost forget there’s a crazy demon chasing us.” Thanks for reminding me, she thought, flashing irritated colors at him. It did nothing to stop the next moronic comment. “You know if we do die, this isn’t such a bad place to do it. Though one of those topless booby beaches in California would be rockin’!” Morpho didn’t even know what colors to flash that would be appropriate to the profound stupidity of that remark.

“Oh, I just said that out loud, didn’t I. Cuz you’re not just like a butterfly.” Oh, for God's sake, please let me turn human. I have to get my humanity back, please. Okay, I'm going to do it now... She concentrated with all her might. Now! A cricket chirped in the underbrush and a bird dove for it. Maybe a magic word will do it. Alacazam!... No. She fluttered down to the soil. Abracadabra... No... Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!... I don't know any other magic words... Abracapocus, Hocuscadabra... Crap! She started feeling like Merlin in the Bugs Bunny cartoon. “Closing time in five minutes.” The speaker reminded the wandering patrons. JD frowned. “Uh-oh. I didn’t really think of closing time.” Morpho ducked her head into her first set of legs and folded her antennae down in frustration. Then she flew up to his coat and started crawling under the edge of his shirt but he caught her and brought her out again. “No, hey, hey, you have to stay here. It’s the safest place. I’ll just hide.” He set her down on a flower, then glanced around for a good hiding spot. There was a bridge with running water under it. He looked for a better spot. There wasn’t one, so he waded stealthily into the stream. He bent down, folded his tall lanky body into the curve of the underside of the bridge and gasped as the water soaked his pants. “Shit, that’s cold,” he whispered. Morpho wiggled her antennae in amusement. The thought of everything he was doing for her made her flush. After another minute, the pavilion was empty of everyone except the workers. The lights dimmed. JD flashed her a double thumbs up but stayed hunkered down. Morpho’s stomach started pinging, reminding her she was hungry. The last food I had was yesterday, a few bites of, ugh...Spam and Cheeze Whiz sandwich. How do I do this thing, is it like a slurpie? She poked her head in a sweet-smelling flower and extended her long tongue as the honey taste got stronger. Her tongue stuck into a well of nectar. It was like a blast of every piece of Halloween candy she had ever eaten, all in one drop. God, this is good! If I ever go back to being human, Twinkies just aren't going to cut it anymore. She leaned her head farther in, slurping the last molecule of nectar she could reach. She spent the next hour gorging on every flower she saw.

Then she felt another butterfly approach and alight on a petal beside her. It was the Viceroy from earlier. Hi. You smell nice. Want to have sex now? Still no. Thank you. I have a boyfriend. Huh? I don't understand. JD squelched as he tiptoed up to Morpho on the path behind her. He left a trail of water. Fortunately, the pavilion was now deserted. This is him. She flashed her wings toward JD. He grinned. “Hey, did you make a little friend?” The Viceroy twitched up at him. But he is one of those giant smart monkeys. Yes, she said. But you are like me. You can't have sex with him. You can have sex with me. She blew air threw her spirules in a sigh. I wasn't a butterfly yesterday. I used to be like him. Oh. Hey! Another blue morpho flew by, a male. He flew almost on top of the Viceroy and then danced away displaying his bright wings. Hey blue morpho female, look at me! My colors are brighter and you're more like me than him. Have sex with me instead! The Viceroy angrily chased the blue male away and then returned to Morpho. Morpho flashed, I'm not having sex with anyone! Look, I only turned into a butterfly because we're running from a monster who will kill us if I don't hide. The Viceroy edged closer to her. He smelled of curiosity and alarm. A predator? I will protect you against a predator. Something worse. I can't explain. And you don't have to do that. You can't fight her. Trust me. Something worse? What is worse? I will help you escape the predator and hide your eggs. I don't have any eggs. Are you doing this because you think I'll have sex with you? You might change your mind. Arrrghhh! * * * A great pyramid in the depths of the jungle on the Yucatan Peninsula shimmered faintly in the darkness. Gallursa landed in the

brush at the base of the pyramid. Lugal dismounted, pulling Karen with him. He kneeled down to the earth with her in his arms and thanked any gods listening for the solidity of the ground. There was a rustle in the ferns by the base of the pyramid. Two enormous scorpions faced them. They were half the height of the pyramid and had human faces. Their stinger tails were poised, dripping with venom. Karen, in Lugal’s arms, reached vaguely for her absent gun and then lost consciousness again. Lugal pulled her back into the foliage, shielding her from the hovering stingers. Gallursa raised his broad wings and stretched to his full height. “Halt, Guardians of the Sun! We mean no intrusion. We seek help from Utu.” The scorpions said nothing and didn’t move, except to shift their tails and pincers forward. ”I don’t think they're interested in diplomacy, Gallursa.” Lugal muttered. “My son encountered them long ago, on his voyage to find immortality.” “What did he do?” “He always skipped over that part in favor of telling about his sojourn with Siduri, the Mistress of Wine.” “Not helpful.” Gallursa’s wings sagged as he backed up. Lugal laid Karen behind a log and put some moss under her head. Then he crept cautiously forward. “Shouldn’t they be responding to you as a god?” he asked Gallursa. “Ah, well, now I recall.” His voice was sheepish. “I think they are supposed to be impartial. Since Utu is the Arbiter. I heard that they respond to no one but him, not even to Enlil.” “Thank you for remembering. Divine timing,” Lugal growled and turned back to Karen. Her skin was sallow. Her pulse was thready. “She is dying. She will be dead in minutes, unless Utu lets us in and gives her the leaf my son gave him.” The plants grew up around the scorpion people. They vanished as the jungle turned light and the scenery around them changed. Bright rainbow birds flitted through the greenery. Utu hung in the sky, a brilliant burning orb. Lugal kept his eyes down so Utu’s brilliance would not blind him. Patterns of the plants were imprinted on his retinas in the searing light. A single green serrated leaf fell onto Karen’s chest by Lugal’s hand. A three-toned tenor voice spoke, sounding like a trio of wind

instruments. “Put it under her tongue. If she is strong enough, she will recover here in time. And then she must leave.” Lugal cradled her head, opening her mouth gently with his other hand. He slid the leaf under her tongue, hoping she wouldn’t wake up disoriented and bite him. “Lord Utu? You chose to help us.” “In what measure I can. I do not play games.” “I thought we had to deal with the scorpion people.” The light around him shimmered, as though the sun was traveling. “They are not there to test, only to guard against those I do not choose to see.” “What happens if you choose not to see someone?” “They consume their prey.” Lugal swallowed. “I'm glad for your decision.” The light on the leaves grew steady and brighter. “Once I knew what you were here for, I had no reason not to help you. You came to help her, not for yourself. That is worth something. She is worth something to you.” “She saved me.” “After arresting him to take him to jail,” Gallursa interjected. “You are as complicated as the god you serve, Lugalbanda,” Utu noted with a hint of wryness in his strange voice. Lugal sighed. “You are not fond of him either. He does not seem to have very many allies. I agreed with him in his quest that got him exiled, you know.” “I do. And I have no rancor toward him or you. That is not why I carried out the exile.” “It was you.” “I uphold the Law. He broke the laws of our world. But that is not the entire reason I decided as I did.” “Why?” “Is he the same god you knew when you found him, after he reawakened in his new form?” Lugal's brow furrowed and he thought about that terrible day so long ago. “No. He became a demon, but not entirely. He is more...human now. So this is part of the punishment.” “Do you think of being human as punishment?” “When he rewarded me with divinity, it seemed an improvement, yes.” He paused. “Living with humanity does seem to have helped him in some ways. It kept him from turning into a monster completely. I suppose he is different now than he was at the beginning of his exile.”

“As are you. Everything in the universe changes, even gods and demons.” Utu said softly. “He is bent on becoming himself again, becoming a god of Heaven.” Utu’s light flickered. “He will fail.” “Because I destroyed the Tablet that controlled fate.” Gallursa's great head swiveled to Lugal and his beak dropped open. “No.” Utu's patient voice chided as though Lugal was a recalcitrant five-year old. “He will never be the same again because there is no such thing.” “That doesn't explain, other than him breaking the Law, why you exiled him.” “The Anunnaki are set in our ways. We believe that we are unchanging and eternal. We have scorn for the fleeting nature of humanity. More than many of the greater gods, Anzu and his line,” the light wavered toward Gallursa, “have the power to become something else, something new and to fully accept that. He evolves, like humanity, and while he fights it at first, he ultimately accepts his evolution. There are precious few of us who are so unique. Ninurta is another. Anzu was too bound by us. And he would never have left on his own.” “He became a god of plague, pestilence and terror.” Lugal could not keep the bitterness from his tone. “What he becomes is up to him. He sought freedom, now he has it. Mortal scientists call it the uncertainty principle. Uncertainty has always existed but we used the Tablet to cheat it for a while. The Tablet was a crutch, for all of us.” “You agreed with him.” “After a fashion. But the Law is the Law.” “Can you help us protect his daughter? If he loses her, it will destroy him in any way that matters.” “Lamashtu belonged to Inanna, my sister. I cannot interfere in this if she does not. I am sorry. The she-demon is beyond my realm. Anzu was within our world. Lamashtu is within yours.” “Ain’t his jurisdiction is what he’s saying.” Karen muttered, coughing weakly. She had survived the first few minutes after swallowing the leaf at least. “Technically, yes. That is as good a way to put it as any,” Utu admitted. “If there is a way to help you, I will. I must resume my journey now. You must go. Your friend may remain here until she dies or becomes well.”

The bright light above Lugal’s head turned buttery, then orange. The dewy plants around him faded in darkness as Utu moved through the sky of the other world. The scenery of the mortal jungle returned and he and Gallursa were alone in the darkness at the base of the pyramid. Gallursa gazed at him with a confused look in his carnelian eyes. “You destroyed the Tablet?” Lugal nodded. “Why?” “For the same reason as Anzu. I didn't want my destiny written by anyone but me.” Gallursa peered at him more intently. “You have the marks of my father’s anger still on your face. Why do you remain loyal after such treatment?” “I destroyed what might have given him his old life back. I heard what Utu said but I know what your father’s old life meant to him.” “He lost it because he was a thief.” “So was I.” “That’s different.” “Why? Why is it acceptable for me to have stolen it and not him? He didn’t want his fate controlled.” “No, he wanted to be the one to control everyone else's.” “It wasn’t that way at first. But it had so much power. That’s why I destroyed it.” “It didn’t change you.” “You don’t know that.” “I know my father.” “No, you don’t. Not anymore. After you reached the age of your ascension, you went to the realm of the gods and once he was exiled, you never spoke.” “He never tried.” “You don’t know that either!” “Yes, I do. I watched and waited, and waited. And he never came back. I thought they killed him but then he was alive after all. I was so happy to hear that he’d survived. But after he was turned away from Heaven, he went to Inanna’s whore and never looked back. He went on a rampage against humans because he couldn’t get to the gods in Heaven. And he never looked back.” Now Lugal didn't know if Gallursa’s protest was against his father’s transformation into a plague demon or because he had failed to

see his son again. “First, you are wrong about that. He did look back, many times. He just knew that wouldn’t change anything. Second, you came for me. What stopped you from going to him? You weren’t a prisoner in Heaven.” Lugal stopped pacing in the wet foliage. “Ascension doesn’t mean you grow up and know everything. You don’t get to be omniscient just because you’re a god. Why didn’t you go to him if you needed something from him?” Gallursa muttered, pawing his giant talons in the loamy dirt at his feet, in a gesture that reminded Lugal of Morpho, and Gilgamesh, when he’d been a teenager. “It’s been thousands of years, child. And in all that time, whose voices have you heard? Only those who condemned him. Even Utu the Arbiter has shown you that their side is not the only one that matters.” Gallursa was silent at first, staring at some spot on the jungle floor. “So you forgive him.” “He’s my friend. I’m a warrior, Gallursa. In Enmerkar’s various campaigns I saw my friends beaten down on the battlefield beside me or cleaved down in gouts of blood, protecting me or each other from our foes. Friends are hard to come by. I do not throw them away lightly. I’ll tell you something else, young god.” Gallursa waited. “You never saw the look on his face when Morpho rejected him. You never heard him talk about you or heard the sorrow in his voice when he knew he’d lost you.” Gallursa's ears pricked but he said nothing. “Until you are a parent, you will never understand what it means to have your child say, ‘I hate you.’ If he didn’t try as hard as you think he should have it's only because you never needed him as much. He has never stopped needing you.” Gallursa sniffed. “Well, he is lucky for such a stalwart companion then.” He kneeled to let Lugal on his back. The two flew in silence for a long time. * * * Pazuzu returned from his unfortunate visit with Inanna as the moon rose from the Front Range. He knew now that there was no help from the Anunnaki, at least not from the goddess who would most likely have stopped Lamashtu. As he approached the house, he could see that something was wrong. There was yellow police tape around the yard. He scattered his

insects throughout the trees. His heart thudded in his many chests as he reviewed the possibilities: Someone had killed Morpho, someone had killed Lugal, Lugal had killed someone, Morpho had been arrested for something, Lugal had been arrested for something. The first two possibilities sunk a hole in his mind as he even considered it, so he controlled his shaking wings and blew off the nervousness in a long chatter that made the neighborhood sound like a concert of cicadas along the Mississippi. If Lugal killed someone, it would complicate things but it lent him a small amount of satisfaction since it was likely to be one of the nosy neighbors. If either of them had been arrested, that would also be a complication. Morpho’s arrest would lead to a great deal of heartburn and ire before it was resolved, considering the reasons she was likely to be arrested. At least imagining such things kept his mind from the possibility of her death. A few grasshoppers slipped inside. There were some officers and a couple of plain-clothed specialists with cameras, tagging weapons. “Think the guy’s a sleeper? With everything going on over in the Middle East right now...maybe this guy’s connected, trying to start a version of that here. We just deployed some troops. Those bastards know we’re vulnerable. Homeland Security just upped the threat level. This axe would bring a fortune from the right buyer. That could finance a lot of operations. This bow is, well, I’ve never seen anything of this quality outside a museum. It has to be a replica.” One of the detectives stroked Lugal’s bow with a gloved hand. Her eyes slid over the elaborate working with obvious envy. “Regular citizens don’t have an arsenal like this. I suppose he could be a weapons nut but his papers say he was born in Iraq. So he’s not a home-grown crazy. So either we have a terrorist or a foreign gun nut. I’m voting for terrorist at this point.” A tall, thin young man, the other specialist, glanced at his partner. The uniformed officers said nothing, but nodded in agreement as they waited. “We haven’t found any other evidence that points to a sleeper cell though. No contacts, no religious materials, nothing but the weapons.” “He was arming himself for something.” They continued combing through the house. After packing up the weapons, about twenty minutes later, they left with a couple of the uniformed men. A couple of plain-clothes officers remained outside the house in an unmarked car down the street. Just before they pulled

away, their radio declared an emergency. Pazuzu listened from his perch in the trees. The transporting officers’ car had been found and gory remains had been discovered near the vehicle, in addition to the rotting body of an unidentifiable animal. The junior officer, Karen Frankel, and the suspect, which had to be Lugal, were missing. The men could be heard cursing as they sped away. Pazuzu sent a few grasshoppers with them to learn more about the attack, to see if they would lead to Lugal. A few insects flew in the direction where the car had been found, and the rest crept into the house. It was now empty. Lugal had been arrested. And it was clear that a demon had attacked him while in custody. He filled with an urge for vengeance, but suppressed it. It wouldn't serve him at the moment. Was Lugal still alive? Pazuzu had done terrible things now and in the past, and Lugal had stayed with him. In all that time, Pazuzu had never raised his hand to his friend, until now. The fact was, no one understood him or stuck with him as Lugal had, not even his own son. The memory of their reunion after his fall from Heaven made him cringe in shame, but he couldn’t chase it away. * * * Anzu crawled from the mud of the alpine thaw and inhaled the pungent scent of fungi, decaying moss and delicate flowers rising from the valley floor. What was left of him. His wings and their beautifully iridescent feathers had been deformed as they ignited and burned in the blast of energy from Ninurta’s lion-headed mace. He was cadaverous after hundreds of years of lying fallow and feeding only from the dead things in the soil. He raised hands that were tipped with filthy claws and felt his face. His skin had grown back. But he felt different. He lay back in the mud, exhausted by even that little effort. The beautiful maiden he had made love to the last time he had woken lay next to him. Her long pale fingers traced along the front of his leg. She hadn’t been a dream. Their conversation hadn’t been a dream either. Lilitu, Handmaiden of Inanna. He turned and buried his face in her flower-scented lap. On her skin, the mud made spirals that seemed somehow sensual. Tiny delicate white flowers dotted the surface like stars in the night sky. The touch of her fingers pulsed energy into his tired body. He rolled her under him. Her voice shook the pebbles loose from the ridges and the snow from the peaks. After their lovemaking, he leaned back into the mud. A great thirst overtook him.

Slowly, he inched toward a clear lake, dipped his head in the frigid water and drank deep. When he pulled his head from the water, he saw his face in the ripples and gasped in shock. No longer was he the majestic lion-bird. His eyes were still the golden eyes of a lion but everything else had changed. An elongated humanoid jaw with long fangs grimaced at him from a greyish face. Canine ears pointed up from his furrowed brow. The light in his eyes had a hellish quality. He flexed his back and four dark, insectile wings rose behind him. He could feel decay and rot in the soil, in the air for miles around. He was a part of the substances that had fed him. He closed his eyes to his image in the water. Even with his reflection gone, though, he knew in the pit of his stomach that he had a new life and it would be nothing like the old one. He could hear the chittering of insect voices and knew they were locusts. More disturbing, he could feel their ravenous hunger. He could sense a family in a mud dwelling a few miles away, eating barley bread harvested from their small plot. The man would die by summer's end. He smelled the sickness in him. It was a fascinating sensation, like poking his beak into a hole full of worms. Except he didn’t have a beak anymore. There was this empty place in his soul where the Tablet he had held so briefly used to be. All he had wanted was freedom from fate, until he touched the Tablet. He looked down at his grimy mud-crusted hands and choked down a wail of anguish. But the Tablet was lost and there was no getting it back at the moment. First he had to figure out where to go from here. There was no chance of returning to his former master without groveling. No, he was done with that. The Ancient Absu had supported his ‘liberation’ of the Tablet. Maybe some of the other gods might be allies too? He stood, feeling out his new body. With the contraction of unfamiliar muscles in his back, his new wings vibrated and lifted him into the fresh mountain air. He flew over gnarled evergreens until he reached the place above the normal tree-line where the black and bronze trunks had grown, where he had raised his son. In the dark forest’s stead was a blasted place of barren rocks and scrub, a desert. He sank down to the ground and just stared. After a while of gathering his thoughts, he rose high into the cross-wind and whisked down to the temple of Inanna in Uruk. The temple was still in use but they used strange names for the Mistress of War and Love. The people in attendance there now were not the people of his Uruk. Their language and dress were different and they carried

differently-styled weapons. They called their nation Assurayu. He slipped unseen into the temple enclosure and rose to the portal. The alad that flanked the opening fanned their wings across the entrance as he approached. Their eyes flared malevolently. “There is no admittance to any except the gods.” “I am a god.” “Not of Heaven. Take what you have and go.” “I was a servant of the Anunnaki.” “Was. You betrayed them. You are nothing.” “I freed them.” “From your own master? You are lucky to still have your life. Go.” Blue lightning crackled around them. A charge built that Anzu felt in all of his bones. He turned and launched into the sky behind him, leaving the alad in their growing force-field. The sick tremble in his belly turned into a hot rage. The hunger of the insects, the death he felt around him in the air pulsed in his veins. He consumed it all and dissolved into a whirlwind of black fog and locusts. The shocked people of Uruk ran for cover as he descended upon the fields and houses of these strange folk, stripping the tissue from every living thing in the streets. “Pazuzu! Plague!” A woman screamed as she reached her house, only to see her husband devoured a few steps behind her. When Anzu’s fury was exhausted, he lay sprawled across the rocks in the desert outside the city’s bounds. He remembered a little of the past flight, but his thoughts were drowsy and shrouded with a deep ache of rejection. The alad had shamed him. He rolled onto his back and stared at the vault of Heaven that was barred to him now. The stench of death blew over him from the city. He sat up and saw with horror the swath of devastation that ended where he sat. Then he leaned over and vomited human flesh from his engorged stomach into the dust. He had killed before but never like this. “My mighty husband.” A soft voice whispered in his ear and was gone with the next breeze, stroking him as she blew away. He recognized the touch as belonging to his luscious Lilitu. She must have wandered after him. He wondered briefly if she had seen his shame. But then other urges intruded. Her arousal in this context was troubling. Even more troubling was his own. He shook himself in the face of this terrible scene, as another voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. “Master? By all the gods, Lord Anzu, is that you? I thought you were dead!”

Anzu turned to see his servant, Lugalbanda the king, approaching from the road to the west. He looked rougher than he had at their last meeting near the palace in Uruk. Lugalbanda’s face twisted in horror at the sight of the devastated city, the carnage that led to where Anzu stood. “Ereshkigal’s Eyes! Did you do this? What have they done to deserve this?” Anzu realized with sinking depression, that not only had he slaughtered countless humans, but he also destroyed his friend's own city. “My friend. I—I did this.” His voice was thick with remorse so profound he could do nothing for the next several moments but stare at the ruins. Lugalbanda said nothing. Anzu turned to his old servant. Lugal’s gaze went from the city to Anzu’s face. His eyes were sick and angry. “You are not the god I swore to serve. Anzu would never have done such a thing.” The man turned and was gone over the rocks. Anzu sat for a long time, not moving, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. He sat for days, as still as a stone idol, and watched the survivors of the devastation come out of hiding and clean up the remains. They looked toward the desert, toward him, in fear. Then the soft whispers began again, laughter on the wind. Lilitu flowed around him out of the rocks and the things that grew under them. She drew her fingers across his skin until he yearned for her. Then she turned her attention to the city. She slipped in on silent feet and entered a broken brick house at the outskirts. Inside was the sound of a shrieking infant. A few moments later, she emerged from the dark hole of the entrance. The shrieking had stopped. Her long white fingers and full lips were tinged with blood. Anzu rose from his vigil with a start as he realized what had just happened. His agitation whipped the wind into a whirl of sand around him. He swept in from the wastes and blasted into the next damaged home he saw her enter. As her pale hand reached for the infant and mother, he grabbed her wrist. Sand burned into her, and his fangs grew as Lilitu shrieked. His voice was the roar of the storm. “You will leave this family in peace! They are mine!” The terrified mother curled into the corner with her baby against the wall. Mother and child both wailed as Lilitu howled in defiance. Anzu held on to the goddess. Her wrist grew slick with her own slime while she tried to escape him and reach the mother

hunched around her child. He rose huge and feral, his dark wings beating her back. She screamed out of the house and vanished. Anzu stood silent. The wind ebbed, sinking in the house. He never looked at the sobbing pair, and left them untouched. He slipped into a nearby cave. For days, he didn’t move. All he thought about was where the nearest portal to the Underworld might be so that he might throw himself into it and beg sanctuary at the feet of Ereshkigal. The faces of his son and Lugalbanda flashed through his mind, as the real loss of his exile sunk in. He drifted into a miserable sleep and dreamed of death. On the fifth day, he awoke and the bloodthirsty maiden lay once more beside him. He leaped back against the cave wall. She purred, “Prudish Anzu. Why do you run from me? You can feel death. Why do you deny it? From death comes new life. You cannot deny what you are. You are mine now.” Her gleaming white teeth grew more pointed as she caressed her sinuous curves. “You made me a monster.” “You made yourself whatever you are,” she sneered. “You were a man to steal the Tablet, only to go back to being a boy, squeamish, shrinking at power.” Her fingers like white tendrils ensnared his hands and lower body. He sank to his knees on the floor of the cave. Her pink wet tongue slipped into his ear. “Whatever you decide to be, you are still mine.” He lay on the floor of the cave for several more days after she was gone. Then he rose and went to the entrance, flying to a rock outcrop above it. He could see the city from his perch. The streets were clear, families and workmen toiled to restore the houses and buildings. At many doors were laid offerings. Near a few of the gifts were small clay idols. A few bronzed statues were propped at the entrance to houses, symbols of protection. They bore his wings and his face, contorted by the anger he had shown in the streets. They whispered of Pazuzu in terrified and respectful tones in equal measure. They spoke of Lilitu in hushed desperate voices, begging the terrible plague god to save them from the scourge of infants and mothers, if only they assured proper offerings to him. Her name, in their tongue, was Lamashtu but he knew it was his lover. He curled back against the rock he stood on. This was not how he wanted to be worshipped. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the corner of his eye. He looked, raising his wings in alarm. It was Lugalbanda. The lines of fury had softened in the regal man’s face and stance. “Lugalbanda, king of Uruk,” Anzu said softly.

The solemn man shook his head. “Just Lugalbanda now. Uruk is gone as I knew it. Those are my walls but not my people. I am just a guardian of the river now…and still your servant.” “You forgive me then?” Lugal looked toward the houses and their offerings to Anzu. A bitter smile passed over his lips. “I heard what you did. There is hope, for both of us, Great Lord Anzu.” Anzu curled his lips in a smile that never reached his eyes. “I’m glad you believe that. I think perhaps I have made a grave mistake, graver than that which sent me to the human realm. After I fell to Earth, I was raised to life by a beautiful maiden.” Lugal tilted his head, amusement drifting into his severe features. “And this is a bad thing?” “She is daughter of Anu, handmaiden to Inanna.” “Exceedingly beautiful then. Still not seeing a problem.” “I think she corrupted me with her breast milk.” “What?” “She describes herself as death in life. And she feeds on infants and mothers.” “The she-demon who struck the city!” “Yes.” Lugal’s serious face became darker. “That well is poisoned, my friend.” “That would have been helpful knowledge before we joined. It is too late.” Lugalbanda approached Anzu on his perch and slammed the butt of his axe onto the ground. “No. You are not in the Underworld and you are not in the Void. It is not too late, Lord Anzu.” Anzu’s voice cracked with despair as he replied, “Perhaps, but as you are not king, I am not Lord Anzu anymore. These people have given me a new name: Pazuzu. And I have earned it.” * * * Pazuzu remembered the first killings and how sick it had made him feel. Something sunk further in his chest as he realized that he had stopped feeling that sickness. He had stopped feeling anything at all, except for when Lugal talked with him. He always brought Pazuzu back from the black hole into which the demon disappeared in his mind.

He allowed himself one more moment of brooding and then shut the past out of his mind. The insects had reached the site of the attack. They tasted the human remains a few meters from the car. The blood did not belong to Lugal. So at least he had not died there. But the rotting carcass had been one of her demons. The other specialists’ car was lost in the buzz of mobilization to find the missing officers and suspect. They didn't know anymore than he did for now. The handful of grasshoppers burrowed into the corners of the police station floors and listened. Back at the house, he had no further news of Morpho from JD, since he’d left after warning them. Nothing had ever felt as empty as that house. He looked in the refrigerator and grabbed a beer, then drank it. Then he grabbed the rest of the bottles, poured a libation into the sink for Ninkasi, and drank them. He tried to think about where he might look for Lugal or Morpho. But first, he raised a bottle to Lugal. “May the gods protect you my friend. I am sorry that I did not treat you as I should have. I will come for you when I can.” He transformed back into the full swarm of locusts to survey the land as far as he needed, to find his friend and daughter. After several little hiccups, the beer-soaked locusts broke apart and surged out the windows. One of the agents in the car dropped a carton of noodles in his lap as he watched the stream of strangely uncoordinated insects flood out of the house into the sky.

13 It was Tuesday morning, not even light yet, and Jan had a project deadline to make so she was up earlier than usual, earlier even than Ninhab. It was an in-service day, so the kids were not in school. He had instructed the admissions director in the trainings today, which left him some time to figure out what to do about the Underworld. He started by reminding himself that he had the most amazing wife ever, and that he shouldn’t screw it up by cheating again, especially not with a goddess of death. He made her breakfast, her favorite, kashi and organic Greek yogurt, and set a bouquet of flowers from the garden on the table. He rubbed her feet as she ate. She laughed with delight when she saw the flowers, then sat in the chair he pulled out for her and dove into her bowl with zest. “To what do I owe this extravagance?” “Just for being there to talk to.” “Oh, you’re so sweet. But don’t think I didn't notice that you never listen to me anyway. You never came to bed last night. You can’t burn the candle at both ends like that, you’re not immortal, you know.” He swallowed hard. About that, Honey… “And you’re not in college anymore. In fact…” Jan squinted at him. “You don’t look so good, babe. Like death warmed over, actually.” Not funny, he thought. “Okay, that’s it. You are going to bed right now.” She put down her spoon, took his hand. “No, I can’t, I have to facilitate the trainings, and get some of the new contracts—” “You have perfectly competent staff for that, Mr. Obsessive Compulsive. Everyone except you takes sick days every once in a while. Stop being a freak, and take some time for yourself. Go to bed.” Brooking no argument, she yanked his hand so hard, he was jerked

after her into the bedroom like a rag doll. She shoved him onto the bed, took his shoes off and threw a blanket over him. He started getting up. “Jan, listen. There's something you need to—” “Zzzzt. Not now. Now you need to get some sleep. Going back over what happened again to those boys is just going to make you crazy. Tell me when I get home. I’ll be late for work.” She put her hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back. “But—” He began, and then her lips were sucking his lower lip as her tongue caressed his teeth. After a couple minutes, she slowly pulled away. “I’m serious, teacher, I’m going to check on you at lunch and you better have been in bed until I get here. Otherwise, your detention is going to come with handcuffs and a pillow.” She batted her lashes at him, licked his ear and flounced out of the bedroom, her computer bag bumping against her very firm rear end. He put his head back down on the bed, counting to fifty to calm his heart rate. He realized then that in these nineteen years, she’d really been his flame and he hadn’t ever taken full advantage of that. He’d always appreciated her passion as a side thought but he’d relied most on her relationship stability. She’d always attracted him and he always reciprocated but his mind had often been occupied with other things; his career, his routines. He’d never just let himself go. For the first time in twenty years, he didn’t fire up the stove to make the eggs and bacon that he had every weekend. Instead, he grabbed a package from Jan’s stash of Twinkies and wolfed them down, poured himself a beer and drank it. After stewing all night, he knew that what had happened in the Underworld had been real. The more he talked with Jan, the more he was certain. Now he had to act. His students were in danger and he understood what would happen if they were killed. What about Jan? She’d be in danger from Lamashtu also and it was unlikely that the Queen would do anything to protect her. Information is power, he thought. If she knew the danger from Lamashtu, it would give her the instinct to move when she heard that bump in the night. Even if only in the back of her mind, she might feel the questioning fear she’d need to keep her alive when they came in the dark. She needed to be afraid of the dark. He got a paper and pen and wrote the hardest things he’d ever written, telling her in every detail what had happened. He suspected that for all her tolerance and encouragement, once she realized that

he’d had an affair, especially with a goddess no human woman could surpass, the love of his life would be gone. He wouldn’t blame her. But she’d be somewhere else, alive. He wrote down everything that had happened, for himself, so he could formulate a plan. If you were going to save a girl from a babyeating breath-stealing monster, you needed a plan. No one else, including her parents, seemed to have thought of one. After about a half an hour of scribbling, he went into the backyard, pulled his old target from the shed, set up straw bales and pulled out his bow. It was the one thing that relaxed him and the only thing he seemed to do well when it came to sports. It was also possible to practice at home, unlike rifle-shooting. After a half an hour of target practice, he put his equipment away and pulled his .30-06 rifle from the lockbox in the basement and carefully cleaned it. He’d bagged an elk with it two years ago. Maybe it could stop a demoness too. He finally went back inside and stared at the notebook. His official plan consisted of the brilliant tactics of 1: Find the girl and make sure she’s safe. 2: Find the demoness. 3: Trap the demoness in the Underworld. Fantastic. This was why he always lost at Risk. He went into the bathroom, left the light off, splashed water on his cheeks and stared at his tired mortal face. He spoke into the darkness. “If you have any brilliant ideas right now, I’d love to hear them.” He stood up straight and waited, glaring meaningfully into the recesses of the room in the mirror. Ghostly moths floated in from the corners, his ally in incompetent rescue operations. “I can guide you, my champion. Since she killed me I can feel where she is sometimes. She is drawing closer, that much I can say.” “Great, will a rifle help? What about garlic and holy water? How do I fight this thing?” “The rifle may slow her minions. It will do nothing significant to her.” “Well, I'll take it. Minions with holes in them are better than nothing. And I'm a man. Guns make me feel better. Anything else that can hurt her?” “In the long ago, amulets of Pazuzu were used to ward her off. He protected families from her scourge.” ”Pazuzu? Yeah, well, he’s just as screwed with her as we are now. So we are actually all screwed unless we can find an Achilles heel.” She was silent. The multitude opened and closed their wings.

“Nothing?” “No.” She paused. “It is very likely to be a suicide mission. I do not know if we will succeed. But she is my baby. I must try. I will understand if you choose to walk away from this.” He closed his eyes and his fists. “You know I can’t do that. You know I won’t. Besides, apparently I’m recyclable. Tell me where to go.” * * * A couple hours after the sun sank Tuesday evening, after the swarm of disoriented locusts had buzzed away, red-eyed animals slunk across lawns on Rowan Street near Morpho’s house, following behind the rusty mist that crept through the neighborhood. It left a stain everywhere it drifted. Mr. Hobart, chair of the HOA, peered from his window. On his computer screen was a report he’d compiled to the Colorado Information and Analysis Center about his neighbor who was engaged in a terrorist insect experiment. He glanced through the blinds toward the man’s house with a look of supreme satisfaction. Yellow crime tape festooned the circumference of the yard. Two men in an unmarked car watched from nearby. As he was closing the blinds, something large and black passed through his yard. He ran out into his driveway. A light mist smelling of iron and dead flesh drifted down and beaded in tiny droplets on the hairs of his arms and on his face. As the droplets melted with the heat of his skin, the flesh began to bubble. He screamed, rubbed his hands all over his skin and ran back inside. Screaming continued inside his house. Then it stopped. The watching agents burst from their car, drew their guns and edged toward Mr. Hobart’s residence. They sniffed at the air, motioning to each other that something smelled foul. As one man reached the stoop and extended his hand to knock on the door, they began rubbing their arms. They blinked at the breath of fog that drifted down and then began yelling, brushing at their hands and faces. They ran for the car and climbed in. They grabbed radios, masks, gloves. But before they could don them, they began screaming. Dark shapes came from the hedges beyond the pooled lamplight. There was a thump, a tinkle of safety glass and a complaint of bent metal and cracked plastic. Gunshots split the night. Then everything was quiet. A couple of limbs and heads in

the mouths of hulking silhouettes dragged red traces through the glistening grass. The shapes moved like shadows. Mrs. Dow sat on the floor of her bedroom with all the lights on. She cocked her head, listening to the rustles, squeaks and growls that grew closer, coming from everywhere. She clutched a wooden cross in one hand that she had taken down from her wall. Arranged around her were several ceramic bowls filled with water. Crosses had been drawn in the bottoms with a magic marker. The water was muddy with garlic powder. In her other hand, she brandished a turkey baster filled with makeshift holy water. Occasional barks split the silence from somewhere outside. Then the screaming started…and stopped. The lights went out all over the street as the mist settled outside of her window pane. Two glowing red eyes appeared in the bedroom door. A low inhuman laugh rippled from the dark shape that moved toward her. She screeched and stabbed the turkey baster in front of her. It sprayed water that turned to blood as the demon covered her. Its laughter melted into crunching. Along the dark deserted street, myriad sets of fiery orbs slunk from the pooled darkness. The sound of breaking glass echoed in the quiet as they entered Pazuzu’s house. The wail of sirens started in the distance. Creatures roamed the empty premises and then exited when they didn't find anyone there. Near the border of Aurora and Denver, a clot of dark entities picked up the scent of powder flakes from a butterfly wing that was not entirely what it seemed. They followed the remnants north from the brush and scrub toward Westminster. * * * It was early morning, still mostly dark outside. The sky through the overhead light was a deep periwinkle, lightening to gray. There was only another hour or so before people started showing up for work. The butterflies began stirring in the leaves again, flocking to Morpho. She rested on JD, ignored the constant requests for sex from the male butterflies, and concentrated on changing. JD, lying on the ground on a patch of leaves, lit a joint and blew the smoke over her. “Hey, you gotta relax. Maybe you’re just putting too much pressure on yourself. It’s like when you can’t think of a word. You smoke a bowl and the word pops in your head.” Oh, what the hell. I can't do any worse than I've been doing, unless I change into a cockroach. And I don't think butterflies get lung

cancer. She inhaled the smoke deeply through her spirules and let her thoughts drift. She floated through the areas in her mind where she felt comfortable. She realized her thoughts had taken her home, to her room, with her music blasting. Her father and Lugal were downstairs watching television, drinking beer and talking about whatever they talked about. Then her memories wandered to JD’s room with the smell of hot chocolate and the faintly oily, but not unpleasant, smell of his skin as he put his arms around her. She transformed in the moist plants on top of JD. He laughed as she sprouted a heavy human torso on one of his shoulders, with her naked legs across his neck. He still giggled as she moved closer to his face. She yelped, realizing that she was naked, and smacked him on the side of the head. She crawled off of him and scrambled behind a bush, grateful that he was smart enough not to say anything about the view she gave him. She just crouched there for a minute, on the soggy soil, reveling in her tingling human limbs. JD peered around the bush. “Hey,” she yelled, covering herself. “Sorry.” He disappeared. A plaid shirt flew over the bush and landed on her head, followed by ratty sweatpants. “I brought clothes. I figured that if the Hulk lost his clothes every time he changed, you might too.” “Where are the things I was wearing before? I changed in the backyard.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, well, I didn’t go into the backyard. I thought you’d look cute in my shirt...” She rolled her eyes. Then she pulled on the shirt and pants, stood, and brushed herself off. As she came around the bush, he was peeking around the other side. She snuck up behind him and shoved him, her foot on the back of his jeans. He fell over. “Serves you right, perv.” She held out her hand. “Thanks, JD.” He grabbed it, pulled himself up and kissed her fingers. “Well, I always share my stash.” “Dork. I mean thanks for everything, for helping me. You got my dad’s pox standing up to him. You got beat up by the guys at school for me. And you could die helping me now. You do know that, right?” He grinned and started to make a joke but she interrupted him. “JD, I'm serious. You could die. I've kind of gotten used to you being around.” He put his arms on her shoulders. “I know, I kind of grow on people, like a wart.” There was the grin again, but his face grew

serious. “Life sucks Morpho, and then you get cancer from smoking, or cancer from the sun, or cancer from the chemicals in junk food. Everything is bad for you or will kill you, sooner or later. Might as well have fun and leave a great story for comic books. This stepmother from hell has had us on the run and she’s done all she could to terrorize your family. I don’t like bullies. I don’t like being scared. I spent too much of my life getting knocked around by assholes that liked intimidating me. We might be hiding now but this bitch is going down. I don’t want you to be afraid anymore.” He flashed his finned invention at her from his messenger bag he had strapped to his side. She started a wise-ass comment about his weapon but grabbed him by the arms, pulled him to her lips and kissed him. Butterflies fluttered around them, confused males. JD saw them congregating and started laughing. “What?” “Well, it looks like you've got a fan club. They’re waiting for you to show your butterfly booty again.” “Augh!” She shooed them away. They scattered for a minute and then reassembled in a cloud around her. “I’m not going there a second time. Even if the nectar was like crack.” “Never? Why not?” “Because it was almost a one-way trip.” “That's just because you didn’t have the manual. Now you know how to change.” “That could have been a fluke.” He put his hand under a dancing butterfly. It flitted away from him, crowding close to Morpho. “You have this amazing power, Morpho. You’re just going to ditch it because your pilot flight was a little bumpy? Come on, you’re my X-Men girl!” She pushed away from him and the butterflies followed her. “This isn’t a comic book, JD. Changing into a butterfly isn't an X-Men power. It’s lame. It’s useless. The flying is great but I can’t really do anything, except hide. I don’t want to hide my whole life!” “Your mom changed into butterflies. She was a hottie, so I’ve heard. She wasn’t lame.” Morpho kicked at the ground and yelled, ”She’s dead, JD. She’s not hot, she’s dead. Because all she could do was turn into something weak and helpless.” JD hollered back, shaking his hand at the cloud following her. “You don’t know anything about them, do you? About butterflies, about flying. Nothing that flies is weak. The proportion of strength to

body mass that it takes to fly is nothing close to weak. That’s just your dad talking.” “Well he was right!” “No, he wasn’t! And you know what? He doesn’t think he was right either. I don’t even think he meant what you think he meant when he said that. He was just worried about you, that Lamashtu could take you away from him, like she did your mom. He’s scared because she can kick the shit out of him and he’s a god.” “How the hell would you know about him!” “Because, Angry Girl, I saw him when he was in my kitchen, watching you. I don’t know what you saw when you looked at him but he was proud of you. He wasn’t thinking about how many people you could eat. You’re not like that anyway. Do you think he wants you to be a little replica of him? He scared the crap out of you. Do you want to scare the crap out of people? Would that make you better, stronger?” She glared at him as she shooed away her insectile suitors. He kept going. ”Maybe what you saw him do to those guys should have scared you. He told me he hid the worst of his powers from you until now. Why do you think he did that?” He followed her as she stalked up and down the path. “He did it because he didn't want that for you. Parents hide things they don’t want us to see when they know they’ve screwed up. He doesn’t want you making the same mistakes he’s made. It’s his version of telling you not to become an alcoholic while chugging down his tenth bottle of Night Train.” She gave a sullen huff but the anger drained from her face. She held out her hand and butterflies lit on it. In minutes, she was covered in shifting wings. She reached for JD. Before their fingers touched, a drop of dark scarlet landed on the pavement next to him. It looked like a blood clot in the dim light. They both gazed upward to a darkness seeping across the canvas and glass ceiling. The lights went out. In the strange gray halflight, red glaring eyes moved swiftly through the entrance, like burning coals thrown into a blast of wind. “Change, now!” JD yelled. She picked up a rock. “No, change!” He grabbed his Munchie Mister from his bag and showered the demons that bounded into view, with his concoction. A nightmare combination between dog, boar, lion and no biology on earth, they snarled, descending in a rain of claws toward JD, as Morpho threw rocks at them. She launched herself forward after tripping on a log.

The claws skimmed his jacket and bag as they catapulted over him. But instead of ripping him apart, they crashed into each other, looking bewildered as they landed. Long lolling black tongues came out of their jaws and they snuffled the air. As quickly as they had come, the creatures vanished in search of something cheesy or sugary. “Change, dammit!” JD screamed as he swiveled his head around, looking for more attackers. Morpho dropped a log she had brandished from her shaking fingers. She thought about the butterflies and felt their gossamer touch on her arms and the world grew larger. She flapped her wings and landed in the golden leaves on the floor of the glade near the concrete path. A scarlet whirlwind with a skeletal phantom in the middle shattered the skylight and tore the roof from the pavilion, demolishing most of the walls. JD snatched one of the other blue morphos and yelled into the maelstrom, “Fly!” and threw it into the air as if it were her. He chambered another cartridge into the mister and aimed one blast at the rusty shroud that surrounded him. Then he erupted in a shower of blood that was sucked into the whirlwind. JD! JDJDJDJD! He’s dead! That bitch killed him! Oh God! Even as she thought the words, nothing seemed real. He couldn’t be gone. All of this was just a trick. But the meters-tall apparition reached for the butterflies with fingers like strands of fungus and belched poison fog that turned the leaves of the trees black and slimy. At that moment, Utu the Sun broke out of the eastern gate of the Other World for his ride across the sky. The force of his entry into the living world hurled a stream of wind across the Colorado Front Range. The fresh breeze blew around the tornado, lifting green, golden and red leaves into the air in high swirls as they were whisked away. Morpho was lifted into the air on the wind. Birds of all kinds shot into the sky and rode the current away from danger. She realized that her blue wings would be spotted in an instant. She thought about the moth she had first seen, lost in the grass at JD’s house, and thought about the colors around her. Her wings turned golden. She was blown into the stream unseen as she clung to a tumbling yellow leaf. The current buffeted her as she held her breath and waited for the demon to come shrieking after her. But there was only the whistle of sun-kissed air. As she was whisked away from the tornado, flocks of butterflies whirled up around the bloody storm, in their own rainbow tissue-paper funnel cloud. Then they were consumed in the breath of

the demoness. One perfect Viceroy wing fluttered down onto the back of a crow as it fled, a half mile away. The butterflies were gone. JD was gone. She gripped the leaf and trembled, not caring for now where it brought her. Nothing would ever be the same. Changing back to humanity wouldn’t put anything back to the way it had been. Her thoughts were just a whirl of leaves, without any color. Except for one thought that circulated over and over, JD's dead, and it's all my fault. I didn't help him when he fought. All I did was throw rocks and then run. She bowed her eyes to the leaf so she couldn't see anything but its veins and shut the world out.

14 Gallursa coasted above the high current and surveyed the landscape from Aurora to Lyons. As they approached from the south, Lugal shielded his eyes with one hand, peering in the distance to get a sense of where to go from there. Finding Morpho and seeing her safe would be the first step. As they approached Denver, Gallursa spotted a dark column in the distance past Denver, towards Westminster. A whiff of putrid flesh and the bright copper scent of blood passed briefly on the current. Alarm flashed through Lugal’s body. Gallursa had smelled it too, because he dipped without warning and dove almost on top of a solitary crow. A butterfly wing, caught in the feathers of the fleeing bird, trembled in the breeze like a colored flag. The crow dodged left, speeding up. It glanced back at Gallursa, rolling down and away. Lugal scrambled at Gallursa’s feathers to keep from pitching over the god’s head and into the thin air. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Gallursa! I can’t fly!” “Sorry. That bird stinks of fear—“ “You dropped on top of it, of course it's terrified!” “Not of me! It’s escaping something else. And look, there’s a butterfly wing!” “Morpho?” “I don’t know.” “She’s your sister.” “I never met her.” Gallursa let out a long keening cry aimed at the fleeing bird. The animal circled around. Gallursa slowed, allowing it to come to rest next to Lugal. It cawed and gave a series of chirps. Then it lifted off and dived into the tops of the trees far below.

“Translate,” Lugal demanded irritably as they flew toward the reddish cloud on the horizon. If he never flew again it would be too soon. And there was a feather poking somewhere uncomfortable. Gallursa had picked up speed, his feathers ruffled in distress, which worried Lugal. ”It escaped a death cloud. That was what it said. There was a storm that smelled like blood, predators it had never seen on Earth, and a terrible spirit like that of a moving corpse. It came from the butterfly home to the north. Many of them died. It does not know how many, it did not stop to see. It fled as fast as it could.” “It said all that just now?” “I’m paraphrasing. It was very frightened. It warned us away. It is going to seek council with the spirits of this land, from its ancestors.” “Will they help us? These spirits?” “It is their land. The crow said they are angry. They have a long history of responding to invaders. They will act when they can and the time is right. But Lamashtu is out of control. Only the Anunnaki were so strong before. But they have weakened over the past few hundred years, as have these spirits. " “Why?” “I do not know. I do not think they do either.” “Do we have a plan?” “Fight. Find my sister. Do you have any other ideas?” “No. And my last attempt regarding her failed, so I'm not the best person to ask. I'll settle for finding Morpho alive.” “In that?” Gallursa nodded to the dusky column. His voice trembled. He had never known her and maybe now he never would. His peregrine eyes flashed in shame. “It’s not your fault.” “I never spoke to my father. I didn’t even know I had a sister. I'm an elder brother. I should have known.” “Well, now you do and we’re going to find her. Or die. Today is a good day to die, my friend,” he yelled into the god's ear. Gallursa nodded, pumping his wings, shooting toward the noxious miasma. But as they approached, it dissipated. By the time they arrived at the edge of the swath of destruction, there was no sign of the demoness, except miles of dead, torn and half-dissolved butterflies and birds, and a few human bones. Gallursa taxied in, surveyed the area and landed just beyond the perimeter of decayed vegetation. He folded his wings, dropped to his knees and let out a piercing cry. Lugal clapped his hands to his ears

before his eardrums could burst. As he surveyed the devastation, the scattered body parts, horror and sorrow overwhelmed him. He sunk down next to Gallursa and just stared at the massacre. * * * Ninhab slowed the car in the early morning just after dawn, behind the back-up on Highway 36. He was armed with a ghost in his wife’s compact make-up mirror, his hunting rifle, ammunition, a small can of pepper spray and a lot of anger. Etain had guided that ire to Westminster. She had felt the presence of the demoness approaching from the southwest. But too many people were getting on the highway from the entrance ramps, so traffic slowed to a stop-and-go crawl. His phone began beeping. When he answered it, Allison, the director of enrollment, and his deputy in their emergency operations team was on the call, slightly out of breath. “We’re being evacuated, Ninhab. There’s been a chemical release.” “What!” He almost slammed on the brakes. But when he looked ahead and behind him, there was no way of getting off the road. “Wait, before you get worried, we’re all fine. We practiced this when Ready Colorado came to the school last year, and it’s going smoothly. They don’t know what it is yet, but said so far that we will be safe. And all the kids are out, so it’s just us to evacuate. I have to go; I’ll update you in half an hour.” The signal was gone. He dialed into a local radio station. The station had been coopted for emergency messages for Denver and surrounding counties. The wail of the alert siren signaled for evacuation because of what appeared to be chemical releases. He noted as he listened, that one of the evacuations was near the school, but the news didn’t offer more detailed information. At least his kids were with their families instead of holed up at school, but he needed to know the rest of his staff was all right. He resisted the urge to call Allison again. She was a good incident manager. She would give him more information when she could, he reminded himself. In the meantime, let her do her job. He still fidgeted and picked up the phone, before tossing it back on the seat in frustration. He thought about that neighborhood. He knew there were no chemical plants or factories anywhere in the vicinity of that

neighborhood, no routes for chemical transport through that area. So that left intentional release. Why on Earth would anyone pick that area? he wondered in the back of his mind. They wouldn’t, he knew. It wasn’t terrorists. It was the demoness. She was hunting. Now he was caught in the throng of frightened people. He thumped his head on the steering wheel, accidentally honked the horn and waved at the person’s middle finger in the car ahead of him. “Sorry, accident!” he called. As he leaned out of the window to placate the aggravated motorist, he saw flashing lights ahead. The traffic wasn’t just outflow, it looked like there were police ahead. And then he saw the plume, or rather, the dissipating whirlwind. A soft voice called urgently from moths in his rearview and side-view mirrors, “Cover yourself! Move quickly, if you want to live to fight her!” “Shit!” He halted the car on the shoulder and thanked the gods for the emergency preparedness training he had brought in for the school. They had assisted everyone with assembling car ready-kits, paid for by the Department of Ed. He had made sure that their school was the first to sign up for the training. He ran to his trunk and got out his ready-kit, with a tiny twinge of smugness, and pulled out the N95 mask and extra coat and blanket. “Cover your face,” she demanded, whispering from the pocket where he kept the open make-up mirror. “With what?” He looked through the kit and passed over his pull-down ski hat. “That." “So I can look like a bank robber or a terrorist? Those are police up ahead. I have a gun in the car. This isn’t going to go over well.” “The police will not strip your skin from your flesh with a breath. You choose.” “Bank robber costume it is then.” He put the N95 respiratory mask on, then the sunglasses. Then he pulled the hat over his head and face, over the mask and glasses. He choked in panicked laughter as he caught a glimpse of his image in the rearview mirror. A couple of very slowly passing motorists took one look at him and got on their cell phones. The moths fluttered in the mirrors as he pulled back onto the road.

“Get out of the mirror please; I’m having a hard enough time seeing through these sunglasses without your wings in the way.” They had agreed that rather than drift in and out of his world as had been her habit with him, she would remain on her side. They needed the advantage of surprise against the demoness. So Etain would remain hidden and unreachable until she chose to reveal herself and use Ereshkigal’s powers. The compact mirror provided a lens through which she and the mortal could talk. But the limitations of this arrangement were getting on both of their nerves. “Sorry.” The moths drifted out of sight. “You still there?” “Yes.” No sooner had she spoken than a waft of air passed through the vents that began condensing rusty droplets on the plastic fins, as the ebbing plume descended. Screaming began in all of the cars along the line and then stopped. He slammed on the brakes, trying to figure out what to do. The car in front of him slowed to a halt and jerked crookedly half-off the shoulder. The car in front of that one rear-ended the car before it. He felt a jolt as another one thudded into his bumper from behind. He stopped and looked back. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. The other passenger in the front seat was turned around to the back, so he couldn’t see any details. He got out and approached them. His stomach convulsed as he saw them up close through the open windows. The woman in front was turned with her hands clutching at her two kids in the back, a teenager and a tweener. Her skin was raw and melted. Her eyes were red balls of blood. The older of the two in the back was frozen in the last act of clawing at his eyes. None of them looked alive. He looked up and down the line of cars with dread. No one moved. He ran back to his car and grabbed his first aid kit and his phone but Etain’s voice cut insistently through his concentration. “Stop! You cannot help them. And you must leave here now. Or the dead will find you. You must find Morpho and the demoness. It is the only way. She has left where we were headed.” “I’m not leaving all these people. Some of them might be alive and I’m CERT trained.” “There are none.” “You don’t know that!”

“I am shedu, I am a ghost! I am close to the surface of the Underworld. I do know. There is no one. And there will be many, many ekimmu here very soon. Leave here and find my daughter. Please.” He slammed down the kit, stayed on the phone, and glared at the mirrors. 911 answered. He spoke loudly to get past the muffling effect of the masks. “Hi, I’m headed northbound near…the 145 mile marker on Highway 36. There has been a terrible incident. Most if not all of the motorists are dead, from some chemical or something. I have a mask on, so I’m okay. Someone please help.” As he finished the last sentence his voice cracked in despair. “Sir, we’ll send teams in as soon as possible. You are calling from a cell phone. But I have your approximate location. Can you shelter in place until we get to you? Stay in your car and do not remove your mask.” “I can’t.” He hung up. He gathered whatever supplies he could comfortably carry from his kit. He slung his gun carry case over his back and set off on foot toward the site of the plume. Etain whispered from the compact mirror ajar in his pocket. “Be very careful. What she touched has been poisoned and the ghosts she made will be drawn to you in their hunger.” “If Morpho is not there, we might be able to get an idea of where to look or at least what happened exactly.” “I did not feel her cross over.” But Etain’s voice was uncertain and she said nothing more as he continued on his course. In about fifteen minutes, panting and sweating in the mask and extra gear, he arrived at a spot where the edge of the hot zone was visible. He almost dropped from lack of air through the mask and layer of knitting, but remembered what Etain had said about the contamination. So he just put his hands on his knees and gasped. A sound split the silence that almost ruptured his ear drums through the fabric. It was a wail of anguish. That much he knew. He also knew without question that it had not come from anything human. He ran toward the noise, skirting the toxic area, a quarter mile away in the scrub, outside the hot zone. He faltered when he saw the figures kneeling on the ground. The first one was a creature like those he saw in the Underworld, something that had obviously inspired myth. It had the body of a bird of prey. It was about twelve feet tall standing on legs ending in talons.

Its yellow-eyed head was tipped with wolven ears. Its great iridescent wings spanned the length of a Greyhound bus. The other figure was human. It was a man he recognized, one of Morpho’s guardians. His name was Lugal Wilson, if he remembered correctly. Ninhab had assumed that he was Morpho’s father’s partner. Now though, he knew this human was not whatever he had seemed. The bird creature’s wings drooped to the ground in grief. Oh God! No! He ran toward them and then stopped when both of the figures looked at him in alarm. Then he remembered he resembled a terrorist and he was carrying what was obviously a gun across his back. He called to them, “It’s Morpho’s principal, Ninhab Agresti. Do you remember me? What’s happened? Have you found something?” His legs shook as he waited for their answer. They looked at each other and the man spoke. “Mr. Agresti? No, we have not found her. We do not know if she is here, but…” He gestured around him to the long trails of butterfly parts. “Jesus,” Ninhab murmured. A gasp came from the mirror. Etain confirmed with relief, “She is not here.” “She isn’t here.” He walked up to them and held out the mirror for them to see. “Her mother has been guiding me.” The two both visibly sighed. The god’s breath rattled the brush, yards from where they stood. Its scream is what Ninhab had heard. He looked a long, long way up as the god rose above him to its feet. “How is it you aren’t dead after this?” He gestured to the destruction. “Well, you I understand, but you?” He turned to Lugal. Lugal gave a grim smile. “We arrived after the cloud swept away. I am susceptible to poison, but I think it is safe here.” He nodded at Ninhab’s mask. Ninhab pulled off the masks with a huge inhalation. “Hello, Ninurta.” Lugal said softly. Ninhab nodded. “All right, what are you? I know who Morpho’s father is.” “I am Lugalbanda, former King of Uruk, Guardian of the two great rivers, and now I am adoptive father to Morpho. No, I am not her father’s boyfriend. I am just a protector. And this,” he indicated the god, “is her elder brother. Gallursa, first born of Anzu.” The god inclined his great feathered head. He had his father’s eyes. “So how long have you known about me?” Ninhab scowled.

“Recently. Anzu recognized you. I did not. You looked too human for me to tell. He has other senses.” “One tends to pay more attention as a fugitive,” Ninhab remarked snidely. Lugal ignored the barb. “Do you have your great bow, warrior? Or your lion-head mace?” “No, but I have a rifle. It took down an elk. I have pepper spray. That’s it. By the looks of it, even if I had some magical bow, it might not be enough. You?” Lugal shook his head. “Speaking of fugitives...I was taken by the police from the house. I have nothing.” Ninhab raised his eyebrows. “Need I ask? Never mind. We need a plan.” “Any ideas, servant of Enlil?” Gallursa boomed to Ninhab. “Find Morpho. Find the demoness. And I really don’t think I like the tone of ‘servant’ very much. Something about teaching the Bill of Rights for years.” Gallursa laughed. “Anything a little more detailed?” Lugal snorted. “I have an agreement from Ereshkigal that if we can trap Lamashtu in a portal, she will hold her for ten thousand years." Both Lugal’s and Gallursa’s eyes widened. Lugal asked, “You spoke with the Queen?” Ninhab nodded and remembered the details of their ‘agreement’ with a blush that crept up his face. “Uh, yes.” Lugal peered at him, amused. Gallursa was silent for a moment and then hooted. “Ah. This sounds promising…and familiar. And what was the price for such an agreement?” “Oh, you know exactly what it was, so why are you even asking?” “For details, as Lugal said.” Gallursa blurted. “These details seem particularly important,” he added hopefully. “Well, just use your imagination. What now? Morpho isn’t here. Do you have any magic toys anywhere that might be useful?” “If the police have not found them, I have more weapons at the house. I have not been there since I was taken. Gallursa rescued me from her demons on the way to the police station. The police who were with me did not survive the encounter with her minions, at least one of them didn’t. We have been on our own mission, to see Utu. He cannot help us, but he said that he would try if given the opportunity. He

cannot intervene openly because of Inanna. Anzu has gone to see Inanna.” “He’s still gone?” “Yes. Unless she had him banished to the Underworld. Then you will hear from him before we do,” Lugal finished with a smirk. “All right, enough, thank you.” “In any case, we cannot remain here.” Lugal gestured toward the sound of chopper blades and the tiny dots near the horizon getting closer. Gallursa knelt. Lugal climbed on and beckoned to Ninhab. Ninhab stared uncertainly at the giant bird. “Hurry!” Ninhab frowned, grabbed Lugal’s hand and pulled himself up behind the massive man. Gallursa launched into the sky, gave the helicopters a wide berth and headed toward the house to see if anything could be salvaged. * * * After leaving the house in the night and taking some time to think about his next step, in his favorite gathering area by the stream in Two-Horse Gulch, Pazuzu sent his locusts into the eight directions and scoured the countryside throughout Colorado. A few insects at the edge of Westminster spotted a very strange incident. Near I25 on 104th Ave in Broomfield, two of Lamashtu’s rabisu had a luckless Seven Eleven clerk pinned behind the counter. But they weren't trying to eat him. They weren't even paying attention to him. They had crashed through the front window of the store, scared away the other customers, and were devouring all of the boxes of Hostess Cupcakes and any product that resembled them. They had already knocked over the shelves with all of the nacho chip-flavored snacks and eaten them. The shelving lay broken across the floor. Stray crumbs of chips were scattered over everything in the store that had somehow escaped the creatures' slavering tongues. Pazuzu watched them in bewilderment as they studiously licked nacho powder from the floor. The tile bubbled gently under their cheese-coated tongues. When the last molecule of orange powder was gone, the creatures burst through the back 'Employees Only' door, taking half the wall with them, and attacked the stock boxes of chips and cupcakes. The boxes, including the cardboard, were consumed in minutes.

Pazuzu congealed into human form in the store. The poor clerk went into another bout of shakes, dropping the cell phone in his hand. “Oh God! Oh God, I swear I’ll never do 'shrooms before work again. I’ll just never do it again ever, how about that? Just let me live through this. Please don't kill me, demon guy! Are those your hell hounds? Please, I'll do whatever you want!” He peed his pants. “Oh God, I’m sorry!” Pazuzu felt no small amount of pride that he could still terrify with a glance, but took pity on the young man. “No. They’re not mine. They’re from something far worse than I and she’s probably not far behind. Go, get out of here. Run!” The young man ran his hands through his already rumpled mouse brown hair, pulled at his lip ring and ran for the door. But the minions were done feeding on whatever was in the back and they bounded out of the hole in the wall, tackling the kid. Pazuzu realized as he moved toward them that they still weren't eating the boy. He stood by and watched out of sheer disbelief and curiosity. The clerk was struggling to breathe as their claws held his chest and torso down. They bathed his pants with their tongues, like golden retrievers dosed with radiation. They were licking the nacho powder he had wiped on his jeans. Their attention was slowed only by the thick coating of powder that caked the inside of their mouths, making them stop and smack their tongues. But the boy's thick jeans were disintegrating, painfully close to his family jewels. Pazuzu choked back laughter. He didn’t know what they would do when they had finished their ministrations, so for a second time he showed mercy. He dissolved into fingers of black wind that threw the demons through the glass door. “Run, Fool!” he yelled to the pantless clerk. His voice was the freight-train sound of a tornado, as he stretched into a dark towering funnel. The roof of the store collapsed as half of the structure cracked, then rose into the sky. The boy ran. And then one of Pazuzu’s distant grasshopper eyes saw the red death rise into the sky from several miles to the west. The insect saw the first rays of Utu the sun reach and lift a whirling spiral of golden leaves just ahead of the tendrils of poison fog. It saw a flash of brilliant blue for a fraction of a second. And it saw the death of the butterflies. He moved toward the red wind. People fled before him, escaping the swath of cracked trees and buildings. He followed the trail of golden leaves, the flash of blue he had seen in their midst before it

vanished. Every one of his grasshopper wings trembled with hope and fear. Morpho? Morpho? Please let her be alive. Please let her be here. If I can ask for nothing else in my wretched existence, let her be alive. I will do whatever the gods want, I will do anything. Just let me find her. He didn't dare hope but the hope was there anyway, that she was safely hidden somehow. His locusts followed and turned over every single leaf they saw. One of them found a pretty golden butterfly clinging with bowed head to the back of the farthest flung litter of leaves. It was Morpho. Pazuzu pulled himself into his humanoid form and dropped down beside her, weeping. His tears dripped onto the ground and he wiped them away to prevent getting her delicate wings wet. His hands shook as he dried them on the grass and cupped his fingers around her as gently as he could, resting his hand lightly over the top so she wouldn’t fly away. He looked into the burning copper disk of the sun rising and said, “Thank you. I am in your debt forever.” Pazuzu never wanted to take his eyes from the butterfly again. He drank in the sight of her fragility and shimmering powder, the soft downy hairs by her thorax and her long slender antennae. Her head was still bowed. “I'm here, little girl. I won’t let her hurt you. My daughter. I am so proud of you. I love you.” The tiny butterfly raised her head and stared at him with her black eyes, let go of the leaf and fell into his hand. * * * As soon as he set foot on the ground, Ninhab’s phone rang. It was Allison. “Hi, Ninhab. We're all evacuated. Most of us can return to our homes, and those that can't are bunking with the rest of us for now. I’m writing up a situation report. Is your home affected? Can you get to your computer?” “Not at the moment. Send it to my phone. What about the substance? What do they know about the attack? Do any of our student's families need shelter?” “They still don’t know the chemical. But we have the call-down list and are checking on the families. I’ll update you again soon. Everything’s fine. How are you?” She was using her placating voice. “Fine. Send me the report. I’ll get to you when I can.”

“Take whatever time you need. It's all under control.” After hanging up, Ninhab hoped that somewhere in the wreckage of the house was a weapon that could slow down a demoness. Viscous patches coated the walls, floor and furniture here and there. They all avoided touching them. Lugal stood next to Ninhab. He sighed heavily at the brand new but broken and slimy wooden butcher-block countertop. “I just had that fixed. The house was going to be perfect, just like on HGTV.” Ninhab cast a sideways glance at him. “You know, it's fine if you and Wilson are together.” “Shut up.” “I mean, I don’t have anything against—” Lugal grabbed Ninhab by the front of his coat, then let go and swatted him across the side of the head. “I’m going to get the weapons, Farmer God!” A choked twitter came from behind as they both turned to Gallursa, who was chortling into his chest feathers as he ducked his great head under the ceiling in the entrance to the kitchen. Lugal snorted and disappeared through a door to the basement. Ninhab followed him, keeping his distance. The large man pushed a secret panel in the far right wall next to the boiler. A space opened. From the hole, he pulled out an ammunition belt, a couple Uzis and a great war axe. It had a bird with a cruel beak crafted into the end. “The police confiscated some of my weapons in the attack but I always keep back-ups. I wish they had not gotten my bow and my favorite axe. They took the one that my son had made for me after I gave him mine. Axes have always been my favorite choice. I am closer than with a bow, to hear the satisfying thud of my enemy as they fall before me.” His white teeth shone in the gloom. Ninhab took a step back. “Well, great. Do you have everything now? Does that weapon have a demoness setting or a laser beam or something?” “We are doomed, young farmer, no matter what weapons I have. I set the witch free with my mistake. But we can help the girl and we can go down in battle.” Ninhab frowned in confusion. “What mistake?” Lugal slung the Uzis over his shoulder and hefted the battle axe. “I stole the Tablet from you before you returned it to Enlil. I destroyed it so no one could determine Fate. It was I who cost you your godhood and your future.” He gripped the axe but didn’t move.

Ninhab stood still in shock. Then he watched the heavy sharp axe edge carefully. He warred between the satisfaction of ramming this condescending man into the wall behind him, and the pain of getting his gut hacked open. Restraint seemed the more prudent option. Lugal was twice his size. Ninhab’s eyelid started twitching. This man was responsible for his thousands of years among humanity, his frequent flier miles through the Underworld, his dalliance with the most astonishingly beautiful woman he could ever imagine, who let him touch the center of the galaxy, his marriage to his still wonderful flawed human wife, his job that he loved, none of which he would have had otherwise. He’d lost godhood, he could feel that now, if not really remember it. He ruminated on everything that went wrong, as this smug bastard watched. He was doomed to humanity because of his mistake, his loss of the Tablet. Doomed to see teenage kids every day of the week, to watch them screw up, watch them do ridiculous things in the course of maturing...watch them graduate, watch them come back occasionally as adults to visit the teachers who helped them become the adults they wanted to be. Even if Jan left him now, he had been doomed to come home to her freckled face every day, her smile, the curve of her hips and the softness of her lips in the morning when she woke him. No matter how his planning brain raged at the destruction of order in his life, his thoughts kept returning to Jan and his school kids. Yes, it was a terrible existence. Whatever I was in a past life, he thought, I remember this one. And this one really is enough. And if it changes, there isn’t anything to be done now. There are bigger things to worry about. His eyelid stopped twitching and he just stared at this dark mysterious man. “Why?” Lugal lowered the axe and cocked his head. “You are not angry?” “I guess I would have been more pissed if I had been reborn as a crack addict. If I come back as a mentally-ill homeless guy, we’re going to revisit this conversation and it’s your couch I’m sleeping on. You didn’t answer my question.” Lugal rested the head of the axe on the floor and leaned heavily on it. “I was tired of following a script that had been prepared before my birth. I wanted freedom, for myself, for my people. I guess I wanted to see what might happen next if we all truly made our own decisions. If we could rise above or fall below where we were born.”

Ninhab smiled. “The first democrat. That’s fair enough. Do you feel different now that it’s gone?” “I can’t tell. But I fear that Lamashtu would not be what she is, now that she is no longer bound by the role the Anunnaki cast for her. Maybe it’s different for gods.” “I don’t think so. That's the beauty of making your own decisions. She’s making hers.” “Then she is evil. She chooses to be a monster.” “There are humans who make the same choices and tell themselves they have no choice. Welcome to the price of freedom. That doesn’t make everything your fault. Life is too complicated for that.” Lugal put his burly hand on Ninhab’s shoulder. “It will be an honor to die with you, farmer.” Ninhab squirmed uncomfortably under the black-eyed gaze and the grip that apparently hadn’t weakened in a few thousand years. I bet he doesn't even work out, meat-headed jock! Ninhab thought uncharitably. At least he's well-groomed. “Great, can we have a plan B? I’m not thrilled about the Underworld security procedures and don’t really want to go through that again. Their damned administration could use a visit from Wiki Leaks!” Lugal threw his head back, laughed and passed by, while tossing him an Uzi. Ninhab caught it in a fumble. “Is this legal? Never mind. Don’t tell me. At this point, I’m not sure I care.” He looked up and the big man was staring at him again, with a pensive gaze. Then the warrior turned and climbed the stairs. Ninhab slung the gun over his shoulder and followed him. He stood in the kitchen and slung the deceptively light machine gun next to his rifle on his back, then swung it back around and into his hands, where he peered at it. He ran his hands along its black length. It was a very nice gun. It would be hard to part with. Then he realized he was likely to die shooting it. He grimaced but kept running his hands along it. Gallursa watched him from his vigil in the hallway. The bird looked uncomfortable with his head bent under the ceiling. He opened his beak and let out a caw of laughter again. “So it is true about human males and their weapons. By the look on your face, I would have thought you were thinking of sex with a woman.” Ninhab rolled his eyes, put the gun down on an unslimed part of the table and wandered into the backyard to think.

* * * Gallursa was still snickering when Pazuzu walked in, carrying Morpho. The father stared at his elder son. They stood motionless for a minute before Pazuzu whispered, “Gallursa.” “Father.” Gallursa said coldly, his feathers ruffling. “You’re here. You left the court?” “Lugal was in danger.” Pazuzu turned to the welcome sight of Lugal, who was surveying their weapons. Lugal glanced between father and son and added, “It was the police. They decided I was a terrorist. You know how things are right now. But the witch’s demons followed me. They have been watching. We lost them for now.” Pazuzu swallowed. “I’m sorry I was not there.” He said it to Lugal but his eyes returned to Gallursa. “It’s not your fault, you were on a mission. As were we.” Lugal gave Gallursa a hard stare as he asked Pazuzu, “How went your request of Inanna?” Pazuzu shook his head but he held out his hands and opened them to the small butterfly. His face was a mask of relief. “I found Morpho.” Lugal immediately put down the weapon he held and came to see her. “She is all right then.” “Yes I think so,” Pazuzu affirmed. "My son, this is your sister. Her name is Morpho.” “I know.” The bird peered down at her. “I told him a little about her on the way to see Utu. A friend needed a miracle only the sun could provide. I also asked the Arbiter if he could help us.” Pazuzu blinked. “He agreed.” “In a way. He said he could not intervene directly because of Inanna but he would do what he could. How did you know?” “He already has. I think he helped her escape Lamashtu.” “And Inanna?” Lugal probed. Pazuzu shook his head again, his face impassive. Gallursa frowned at his father, his feathers creasing at his brow. “What did she say?” “That I was a thief and she had no intention of interfering in the affairs of humanity or helping ensure Morpho survives.”

Gallursa sniffed through his horny nostrils. “She is one of the most powerful of the court. She won’t help humanity at all? It is her servant who is running wild.” “Not anymore.” Gallursa scuffed at the floor, his expression thoughtful and dark. * * * Most of the fence was still intact, though there was no one around to see Ninhab. The neighborhood had been evacuated. They only had a short time before authorities monitoring the area would notice them. There was enough trouble without adding Homeland Security now. A motion caught the corner of his eye and he whirled around. A translucent figure wafted over the debris, from the gate. It was a phantom. Ninhab could see the wooden slats through the figure. He was a man in his mid-fifties wearing a brown UPS uniform and he carried a white elongated object wrapped in cloth that was wound through with shining gold threads. Ninhab's jaw dropped and he stuttered, “W-what?” “Delivery from Ereshkigal.” “You’re joking.” “I worked for UPS, what else would I be here for?” “You’re dead.” “You're observant. I run errands sometimes. Old habits and all. It’s not actually from the Queen. Utu the Sun left it for her to deliver when he was passing through last night, on his way to the living world. He thought you might like it back, given the circumstances.” Ninhab took the package carefully and unfolded the cloth. It contained the most splendid golden bow he had ever seen and an equally impressive quiver, with arrows that shone like Utu’s own rays. And there was a golden war mace with a lion's head. It was light and moved into his hand as though responding to his thoughts. “This is mine?” “It always has been. He said that because of your alliance with the Queen of the Dead, his other sister, he can give you what is already yours.” He held the bow and ran his fingers along its graceful curve. “Thanks. Do I tip you or something?”

“You can leave an offering of food on my altar for me to eat. That might be nice. I haven’t had coffee in a while. The nice expensive stuff, but no pansy mocha-chino frappachino nonsense. Just coffee.” “Okay. Anything else?” “Fettuccini alfredo and tiramisu. My wife never let me have it because she said it'd give me a heart attack and it wasn't good for the diabetes.” “Will do. So, I go to your grave and leave it?” “Yep. 73rd and Ward Rd. Bartholomew Carlone. Make sure you light it on fire. Thanks.” He floated purposefully to the gate. “How did you die, if you don’t mind my asking? You have a UPS uniform on. You didn’t get hit by one of the trucks, did you?” “Nope. Heart attack. When I was lifting a box. So much for workman’s comp.” “Oh...did you lift with your legs?” “Piss off. Thanks for the food. Have fun with your toys.” He vanished with a sardonic smile. Ninhab laughed and looked down at the weapons. It's like a Tim Burton Christmas morning, in the middle of April. He picked up his toys and went inside. Pazuzu was standing in the hallway with a delicate yolk-yellow butterfly cupped in his hands and a brilliant smile on his feral face. “Hello, Ninurta.” Ninhab glowered. “Anzu. This isn’t really a good base of operations. We need to leave soon. Any news on Morpho?” “She is here.” Pazuzu held out his hands. Ninhab didn't say anything, just took out the compact mirror and opened it. “Etain, your daughter is safe... She’s a butterfly. I’m assuming this is normal?” He held up the compact. “Anzu, your late wife is here. Maybe you two should talk.” Pazuzu’s eyes widened and he took the compact from Ninhab. Milky white particles of fog trickled out of the mirror and flowed like a river into the shadows of the hallway, away from the bright sun cascading through the kitchen. The fog settled into the floating form of a beautiful woman with cobalt blue hair, rippling behind her like the waves of the Arctic Sea. Her eyes were like sapphires and her skin was like ice sprinkled with sparkling frost. Behind her trailed twilight butterfly wings. She ran long slender white fingers along Pazuzu's thin cheek. Her fingers traced through his skin. “My love. It has been so long.”

Ninhab, Lugal and even Gallursa just stared at her. Lugal’s eyebrows were up near his hairline. “I had forgotten how lovely she was," he muttered. He reached over and nudged Ninhab. “Close your mouth, my friend.” Ninhab closed it. She smiled gently. Pazuzu stared in shock. She turned to her child in Pazuzu’s hand. “My baby. I am so proud of you. I wish I could hold you. Why can I not hear her speaking?” Her lovely face contracted with grief that she couldn’t release in tears. Her sorrow brought out her husband’s concern. “She hasn’t spoken since I found her. Before, she was angry with me. Now...She was with JD and I did not find him.” A pang of regret crossed his face. “I did not stay to look for him. He was protecting her.” He looked down at Morpho. “Is JD all right?” Morpho’s wings drooped. She tried to hide in the folds of his hand. She walked to the edge of his fingers and under, clinging to the underside. He swallowed hard. “I think that may be a ‘no.’” Ninhab took off his coat, spreading it on the floor and motioned to Pazuzu to lay her down. Pazuzu put his hand to the floor and laid her on it gently. “Morpho. We are all here. Has something happened to JD?” The air around her wobbled and shimmered in dizzying shifts. Then Morpho lay naked, her arms wrapped around her head. She sobbed and curled her arms around her body. Ninhab averted his eyes and started glancing around for something to cover her. Lugal ran upstairs, returning a moment later with jeans and a long-sleeved rock t-shirt. She curled up in a fetal position. “He’s dead. That bitch killed him. He saved me, again, and I couldn’t do anything but watch him get killed. It’s all my fault!” Pazuzu kneeled next to her, turning her face to him. “No. None of this is your fault. What could you have done? I will destroy her.” His voice was buzzing. Ninhab dropped onto his heels on her other side, still keeping his head turned, but trying to distract Pazuzu from his own clearly growing wrath. “Morpho, listen to me. You are not responsible for what this woman does. That’s why we’re here, okay?” Even to him, his reassurance sounded lame. He ran his hand over his face in frustration.

“Mr. Agresti?” She gazed at him through her tears. “What are you doing here?” She climbed into her clothes. “Morpho?” Pazuzu interrupted. “What happened?” She looked down at her hands, her eyes filling again with tears. She picked at her nails. “Her dogs attacked when we were in the pavilion, arguing. He had this weapon spray he made and it seemed to work because they ran off instead of attacking us. Then she came. I threw rocks at her, so lame. And then he yelled at me to change. Then she just...just evaporated him. I don’t know what she did. He was there yelling, and then, he just dissolved into, into...” She covered her face again, transfixed with horror. “I changed. I escaped with the leaves. And she was gone.” Etain and Pazuzu exchanged worried glances. Then Morpho noticed the ethereal beauty floating by her. “Mom?” “Morpho.” Morpho’s face was awash with wonder. “I’ve never seen you like this. Just in Dad’s memory recording thing and what you showed me.” Etain's fingers brushed her cheek. “I wish I could feel you.” “Can’t you? I can sort of feel you.” Etain shook her head. “Not in the way of someone alive. I can feel you as a force, a field, but that is all.” “What was that thing you did before? Where I saw your memories, where I felt you?” “That is not a good idea,” she said sharply. “Why not?” Morpho tried to touch her mother back. Her fingers dispersed the image of Etain’s hand as though she were made of light. “Because when I do that, when I am inside you like that, I want to stay.” The hairs on Morpho’s arms went up. Ninhab shivered at the dangerous note in the ghost's voice. Etain floated closer. “Only for a moment.” The ghost’s hand disappeared into Morpho’s hand. Her head disappeared into Morpho’s head as the woman leaned forward to touch her forehead against her daughter’s. Morpho’s face relaxed. After a moment, the two separated. Morpho’s face creased with agitation again. “I told you it was my fault. You saw.” “What I saw was a girl with some common sense. Your young man was brave.”

“And I wasn't. And now he’s gone.” She dissolved into sobs again. “Morpho, listen to me! Do you remember what I told you? In the bathroom, when I saw you? This creature is poison. Your father...I...none of us can face her alone. You are a child. No one expected either of you to face her as you did. It was unfortunate that she found your hiding place, but she outmatched you. That is why we are trying to protect you.” “I’m not a child anymore. JD wasn’t a child either. I made no account of myself. You said that you left your first husband because he didn’t fight his ex.” “That’s different.” “Why, because he’s not your kid? He was somebody’s kid too.” Etain sighed. Morpho turned around to the men and noticed Gallursa. Her jaw dropped open, her tears forgotten. She stared at the feathered form hunched uncomfortably in a corner. “Hello, little sister.” She stuttered, “Y-You’re related to me? You’re a giant bird. What the hell are you?” “I’m a god.” “Of what?” “What?” “What are you god of? You must be god of something.” He opened his beak and then closed it. “Uh, I guess wind, birds maybe. Sort of. I never thought about it. I’m younger than most of the other gods.” Ninhab redirected them. “We need to come up with a plan. We have weapons. So we need to know where Lamashtu is and work on setting a trap...one that will work.” Lugal scowled. “And you never said why you’re here, Mr. Agresti. Did Dad tell you about his ex?” Morpho persisted. “Yes and that's a very long story for now. I will explain later but we need to discuss the current crisis.” “There is something else to consider.” Lugal said. “The ekimmu she is creating are multiplying and it will not be safe here.” “There are none close right now,” Etain remarked. “But we should not linger long.”

Ninhab looked puzzled for a moment but continued. “Ekimmu. I remember Ereshkigal mentioned them.” Pazuzu returned to something Morpho had said, “You said JD had a special weapon? What was it?” “He called it Munchie Mist. It makes people want to eat junk food, like cupcakes and Doritos.” A wide grin broke across Pazuzu’s face, and he laughed so hard it took several minutes to catch his breath.

15 When JD awoke in the wreckage that had been the dome of the Butterfly Pavilion, the world was cold. He gazed around, wondering where exactly ‘he’ was. At first he couldn’t get a good idea of where he had fallen. Then he realized with a sick jolt that he was scattered everywhere. Whatever he was seeing with were not eyes. He seemed to be floating as mist from the spatters of crimson that coated wherever Lamashtu had flung him. His Booger Blaster had failed the trial run. No patent for that one, he thought, oddly detached. He felt foggy and couldn’t quite grasp what was going on around him, like the morning after smoking a really fat bong. He distinctly remembered the demons that had attacked them were diverted by the Munchie Mist. So that was one success at least, though he’d have to follow up to see where they went. That didn’t promise to be a fun evening. Oh. Except...I appear to be...dead? I can't be, I'm still thinking. God, it's freezing in here. It was like freaking Florida in July in here before. Oh, well there's no ceiling anymore. That might explain it. He looked up at the open sky and saw the wind whistle around him from the plains, shaking the few leaves left alive. Then he realized that all he felt was cold. He had felt no wind. He looked down. As the fog cleared in his mind a little he realized that he still couldn’t see himself. He got a wobbly feeling that wasn’t quite anchored to something as solid as legs or a stomach. So he just stopped thinking for a minute to calm down as panic rose in whatever was left of him. Okay, well, suppose I am dead. Suppose I’m a ghost. Then everything's in my head, and I can control it, right? He pictured the weird bald girl from The Matrix, bending the spoon. 'There is no spoon. There is no spoon.' Just remember, 'There is no spoon.' He let all thoughts empty from his mind. At once, he was slammed into the last memory he had before waking up. He

remembered his body dissolving. His light and heat and whatever had intangibly made him alive had been sucked into the demoness' cavernous chest. What was left of him now had to be a shell. He had a memory of pain, the indescribable feeling of his soul having been ripped from his body. He stared into nothingness, transfixed by that irrevocable, terrible moment. Then, with growing horror, he felt a deep hunger as bottomless as space. He looked down and saw hands. They were shadows of his hands. He noticed with dismay that the hungrier he was and the more he focused on that hunger, the more solid his hands looked. He gazed around him for something to ease the feeling. Maybe I got some of the Munchie Mist on myself. Even as he thought it, he knew that wasn't what he was feeling. He could see the energy shining off living things around him. Lamashtu had left fewer living things here than in the distance but there was still sparse life along the ground. As he saw the energy, he realized with almost electric attraction that he wanted to absorb it. Oh God. Am I a vampire? But I don't have a body, how can I be a vampire? He looked at his phantasmal fingers in the overcast daylight to see if they sparkled and was relieved to see they didn’t. He could see the ground through them though. There was a bright moving spot almost underneath his arms. As he peered closely, he saw it was a beetle. He reached out to touch it but his finger wouldn’t meet the surface of its hard shell. They went through it into nothingness, like trying to touch a 3D image on a movie screen. He thought about the bright light surrounding the bug and was overwhelmed by a surge of hunger. The light drained into his extended finger. It slowly dimmed in the beetle and then went out. He felt a tiny wash of energy run through him. It warmed him for a moment and then he felt cold again. The lifeless insect lay motionless in the dirt. There was no energy field around it. He stared aghast as he realized that it was truly dead. He had actually sucked its life. He backed away and revolved in a circle. His hunger could kill everything. And there was a horrible part of him, the part that whispered from the freezing depths, that didn’t want to stop it. * * * As the adults argued over where they should set up a base, Morpho studied her mother’s face. She looked worried. The adults

were all nervous. Did they think Lamashtu had tracked them here? Morpho fidgeted. “Mom?” She reached out to touch the shimmering form and watched her fingers pass through with a sensation like a slight breath of wind. “You can touch stuff and move things?” Etain smiled. “Sometimes. Small things.” Mr. Agresti scratched his head. ”Well what about Ereshkigal’s UPS man?” “UPS man?” Etain looked confused. Ninhab opened the white linen package and revealed the weapons. Morpho’s jaw dropped, along with almost every other in the room. “Holy moly, Mr. Agresti! Cool!” Etain explained. “Ah, the person who delivered those was stronger in the physical world because that was his errand, his task. He was given specific abilities by Ereshkigal. You must have pleased her well. And as far as this ghost, it had been his job in life to move things, so it was easier for him to do the things he had known.” “So if you're dead and you need something delivered, you still call the UPS. Except instead of twenty bucks an hour, you light up a few pounds of hamburgers and fries in the graveyard?” Mr. Agresti remarked. Morpho smiled weakly. “Something like that,” Etain said, amused. “Can all dead people visit their friends or just some of them? Can JD visit me, like you?” Morpho asked, hope fleeting across her face. Etain clucked, drawing her finger through the tear that escaped and rolled down her daughter's cheek. “All gidim can visit the living.” A little of the lump in Morpho's throat went away at the possibility that she might see JD again. But Etain’s voice was sad as she continued, “It's not that simple. The Underworld is home to the fortunate ones and to the worthy ones...” “Fortunate ones? To go to Hell?” Mr. Agresti interjected. “Ninurta, do you remember nothing of what the Queen told you? Or nothing from your past?” she said softly. “Do you think so little of me? I belong to that world.” Mr. Agresti nodded. “Right, she said that the Underworld was for the righteous dead. That the cursed may not enter, and...oh, hell.”

Lugal stood up and fiddled with his axe, glancing uncertainly at Morpho. Pazuzu said to Mr. Agresti. “Yes, you see now. She must know. Better that we are all here.” Her principal argued. “That's wrong. He’s blameless.” Morpho’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘he’s blameless.’ What does that mean?” Dread filled her limbs. Mr. Agresti said nothing, just glared at Etain, furious. Lugal continued with a deep breath, “The Underworld is not Hell, Morpho. It is where the dead belong.” “So then JD went to the Underworld.” Lugal averted his eyes. A burn started in her chest, spread to her head and she fought to keep from screaming at someone, anyone, to tell her what was going on. “Why not? He was brave! He saved me.” “Apparently, it doesn’t always work like that,” Mr. Agresti said, his face grim. “I’m sorry. Those who are killed by this demoness become ‘ekimmoo’ or ‘rabbitsoo.’ They are not allowed to enter the Underworld. They would cause too much trouble for Ereshkigal.” “Too much trouble? They’re dead, how much trouble can they be?” she protested. “They're not just dead. They are cursed. They devour life, just as she does. That is what makes her so much worse. She creates monsters.” Lugal said. His voice fell into a well of shocked silence. “How diplomatic!” The principal shot at Lugal. “Protecting her from this information will only cripple her. Would you prefer that?” The big warrior watched her reaction. “So, so what are you saying, that he’s a monster now? Cursed? JD’s not a monster! He would never do that, never! I don’t care what you think about the other ghosts. You’re wrong about him! He’s never done anything worse than smoke pot, get speeding tickets, and maybe skip school! This isn’t fair!” Her voice rose to a shriek. She stormed into the kitchen with her fists balled, grabbed the edge of the table and up-ended it into the wall. Pazuzu moved toward her to put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed. “I’ll show you you’re wrong. I’ll find him!” She ran for the door. A great wing blocked it. Gallursa spoke, sorrowful. “No, sister. Please. I know of what they speak. He could kill you, and we only just met.”

“I don’t care if he kills me, at least I have some faith in him!” She swung around to her father, pointing her finger at Pazuzu. “You always hated him.” He shook his head and moved around her to block the doorknob. He didn't look like the horrible creature that had wasted the boys who attacked her. He looked weary and haggard. “At first, I thought he was an idiot. You’re my daughter. It’s not my job to be your friend. It’s my job to protect you.” She thought about lighting him on fire with her mind. She couldn’t even twitch, she was so angry. And he kept talking. “But I did like him. I didn’t want to, but he... he protected you when I couldn’t. That does count for something.” He broke off and moved so close that she couldn’t avoid him. “I give you my word that when there is a chance, I will do what I can to find him and if there is any way to free him from Lamashtu, I will. I give you my word.” “That goes for the rest of us, as well. I think we all agree.” Lugal said. They nodded. Morpho looked around at the men who surrounded her, and at her mother. She fought the sobs that threatened to erupt from her chest. No more protection. She was tired of protection. Stop crying, you wimp! She railed at herself. This is what makes them think they have to protect you! Get pissed off, throw things, slice someone with a sword, just don't cry! She squeezed her fists again and asked her mother. “You were killed by Lamashtu but you're not a brain-sucking zombie or whatever. Why is it different for you?” “I was not a human. And I would have been turned into a demon, a rabisu, but for my people’s charms against the darkness. I had enough magic to avoid that fate. Ereshkigal was generous and took the chance and let me in. She was in another quarrel with Inanna and was inclined to be more generous to her servant’s victims at the time.” “So if he can prove to this Ereshkigal that he won’t eat people, then he can join her party? Fine. Why shouldn’t I go find him now? If you are serious about your word, you’ll help me.” She insisted. Mr. Agresti spoke, as her father began shaking his head. “We can’t focus on him right now, or everyone everywhere is hosed. Do you understand? It isn’t just about JD anymore, or even you. This thing has to be stopped. Now.” She paused in astonishment at the colloquial language her prim principal had used. He didn’t seem the same person she had seen in the halls every day.

She paced and then indicated the Uzi on Lugal’s back. “Give me one of those. I’ll fight her too.” “You don’t know how to use a gun...do you?” Pazuzu queried. “Absolutely not,” her mother exclaimed, glaring at Pazuzu. “Why not? Then teach me!” Morpho begged. Lugal looked proud. Mr. Agresti barked at the warrior, “You're not giving a minor a machine gun!” “She's ripping apart my life and you just want me to sit here and hide? Screw you!" she yelled. She jabbed her finger at Mr. Agresti. “You said this wasn’t just about me, that everyone is going to die if we don’t stop her. Well then, let me fight her too. I’m not a baby! And I’m not going to sit around and let you control my life, or my death! She killed JD. Either teach me to fight her or I’ll go find him anyway and you can all piss off!” Her eyes hardened. She put her hand on the doorknob and jerked her chin at the group. “My daughter.” Pazuzu backed off. His brow furrowed as fear and pride warred across his face. Etain looked down, her eyes closed and her face creased in anxiety. Gallursa offered. “I will teach you whatever I can, little sister.” Lugal spoke slowly, “Well, Gilgamesh assumed the throne at the same age she is now.” “Good!” She let go of the knob and pointed at the gun. “I want a gun.” “No. We’re not running a child soldier camp,” the principal protested. “Well that’s exactly what I need to be.” “She is right, Ninurta, Anzu,” Lugal said. Morpho pushed at her father's indecision. “Look at what happened every time you tried to protect me.” He took a deep breath, put his arms around her and didn’t let go for a minute. Then he held her at arm’s length. “No, I cannot protect you.” His voice was thick. Etain threw her arms up and flourished her wings. “Excuse me! I am her mother and I don’t want her having a gun!” “All right, why don’t we leave the assault rifles in the hands of the legal adults for now. There are other options.” Mr. Agresti held up his newly returned bow. “A bow is a bit more of an acceptable weapon for a minor. I will teach you how to shoot this. I have a feeling that

these arrows will be more effective anyway. And if we survive any of this, we won’t go to jail for turning you into a child terrorist.” Morpho looked skeptically from the Uzi to the bow. But as she perused the golden bow her eyes lit up. Lugal and Pazuzu watched her with slight smiles. Her mother frowned but said nothing. * * *

The hunger grew. It was hard to look at anything alive without thinking about draining the energy from it. He knew he shouldn’t do it, like laughing out loud in class. He wanted to do it desperately but knew it was going to get him in trouble. Every fiber of him filled with dread as he thought about Lamashtu and the slime that spread from everything near her. He knew, on a much smaller scale, that was what he was becoming. I'm just like a crack baby, he thought as he huddled away from anywhere he could see the life-light. He floated in the middle of the blasted circle where he had died. The problem was he could feel life energy too, tickling at the edge of his senses like the smell of steak on the grill in the middle of June. He could feel it near him. Small things had survived her blast. He covered his head with his arms and cowered, trying to shut out all sensation and felt himself dissolving into a non-entity again. Oh great! So either I'm a freaking psychic vampire or I go away forever. Are those really my choices? No, that can't be it! He'd spent his whole life living on the edge of having what he needed. He and his mom had always wondered if there’d be enough food for the next week, or money for rent. Things had always worked out though. There was always a way, it just never showed up till the last second. Think, JD. You've gotten out of all kinds of jams before. There's always an answer. But this time things were different. He felt it in his depths. This might really be the end. If it was, what then? He knew he had to make a decision in the next few seconds because his mind was getting foggy again and he didn’t have much time before he couldn’t think anymore. I don't want to suck the life out of things. That's not how I want to be. God, I don't want to die. I don't want to stop existing. But it's not like I'll feel anything anyway. I'll just fade away maybe. That's better than turning into what killed me. I guess I would rather die for real

than be a monster. He realized that fact with an absolute certainty that felt as concrete as anything had felt since he had awoken. When he looked down, his hands looked a little more solid. He returned to that certainty and knew without looking at his body that he was staying together. He thought about the other things in his past life that were without doubt. An idea popped into his head and gave him a tiny thrill of hope. Maybe it isn't the hunger that keeps me here. Just like I thought at first, it's about keeping my mind right or at least focused on something. But I have to have a plan. I have to have something that I can think about so strongly that it takes over my mind more than the need to feed. He thought about what mattered to him a lot. Pot? No, it was just more fun than school. Then, his teenage instincts made a statement as solid as the desire not to be a monster. Sex. He let his mind run through the most recent internet porn flick he'd downloaded. He felt something other than his hands becoming solid. Yippeeeeeee! Wooohooooo! Then he thought about Morpho. She easily slid into the role of the internet porn star, as the woman’s face in his imagination became Morpho’s. He almost felt ashamed for seeing her that way, but not really. Morpho. He froze in a sudden wash of fear. Is she okay? Did she get out? Oh God, please let her be okay! I have to find her. Dammit, I’ll never shag her now. Well, maybe we could cross that bridge when we come to it. I still have to get out of this creepy field. He realized something else with another wave of ghostly testicle-crunching nervousness. The hunger wasn’t gone at all. He could feel the motion of little things crawling in the soil and their fear of whatever had happened to expose their homes. He still wanted to eat them. The pull of hunger remained. It just wasn’t as strong as the other things in his mind. But what happened when he got near a person, whose light had to be like the sun compared to a candle flame of the beetle in the dirt? What about Morpho? And what would happen if he lost control? * * *

Throughout that day, the numbers of ekimmu grew from scattered isolated ghosts to thousands. Reports began trickling in from international and local news sources of not only a heightened number of violent conflicts in many different countries, but the formation of strange dead spots. There were zones in which the local flora withered and died. There was a pattern in the regions where they appeared. Extreme rioting in the area or nearby town often prefaced the formation of the blighted spots. The news announced that chemical weapons were responsible for some of the barrens. In addition to the death of the animals and insects, reports of lost people who ventured into these dead regions slowly began to rise. Some of these barrens formed in what had previously been highly populated areas only weeks or days before: the old Jewish neighborhood H2 and the surrounding neighborhoods in Hebron in Israel, old Cairo in Egypt, Hargeisa in Somalia. Governments struggled to understand the areas and contain them. Israel claimed to have intelligence indicating that agents from Hamas were responsible. Egypt, under martial law, indicated that Coptic or Muslim extremists might have been responsible. Reports came from Somalia that local para-military groups began forcing dissidents and refugees into the contaminated areas, making an example to their villages as punishment for resistance. In the state, the Colorado Bureau of Investigations, local incident management teams, medical reserve corps and disaster mental health teams were deployed to assess the nature of the local release, assist survivors and keep people calm. In the Denver metropolitan area, masks of all kinds, water, medications and duct tape had emptied off the shelves before businesses started closing. Public information advised people to listen to the radio for more information and told them to shelter in place. * * * John, star employee of the demolished 104th Street Seven Eleven, and clean from all substances for three days, didn’t try to hold on to any duct tape or medicine or masks for himself. He knew better. He knew it wasn’t terrorists. It was demons. They’d trashed the store and he’d been there when they did it. His boss, Manny, thought he was nuts because according to him, it was definitely terrorists causing weird

weather patterns. But Manny hadn’t had the hell hounds lick his pants off either. * * * About four hours after JD gained at least temporary control of his hunger, he realized he wasn’t alone. The winks of light in the grasses were going out. He hadn’t dared to venture into the rest of the pavilion yet. He wasn’t quite ready to test his new resolve to resist devouring life. He filled with trepidation at the thought of his first encounter with any human survivors. But his first encounter was far from what he expected, and it wasn’t with anything that could be called human any longer. He floated around the remainder of the arboretum, expecting to feel and see bright stands of trunks or glowing spots in the stream where there might at least have been fish. Nothing moved, everything he saw was a dirty gray, black or rust. Holy shit! Did Lamashtu do all this or did I suck the life out of more than the bug? The latter thought distressed him far more than Lamashtu’s destruction. He didn’t feel evil. Then he saw what had caused this. In the corner near the door to the adjoining building were three shadows. They were like holes torn in the air, with humanoid faces carelessly painted in gray swipes. Their gray faces were distinct and mostly recognizable as the people they had once been, but now distorted into bestial masks of avarice. He recognized one as an old attendant from the front desk, the one who always released the butterflies and gave speeches on their biology. He assumed the other two entities were also unfortunate employees. “Uh, greetings, fellow ghosts.” They turned their dead faces to him and he felt the force of their hunger reaching out. Then he felt life forms approaching. Five bobbing lights shone in the distance beyond the wall, coming from the parking lot, four men and a woman. The ghosts in the corner drifted swiftly, like sharks, near where the living people would enter the perimeter of the ruins. The holes of their vacant eyes and open mouths gaped. They held out gray hands that had black vapor wafting off of them like dry ice, as the hapless victims wandered close. JD hunched over. What on earth the people were doing there, he couldn't imagine, but his hunger swelled. The cold of the void in him burned for relief.

He thought frantically and then struggled to envision the juiciest of the recent porn flicks he had seen. He let loose with every fantasy he ever had of what he’d wanted to ask a girl to do to him and never dared. Then in the last fantasy, the little dark-haired girl’s face became Morpho’s. When he looked up again, an indeterminate time later, he realized that he’d regained control of his hunger. The wraiths covered three of the human forms yards away, sliding back and forth between them. The people's lights were no longer shining bright. Every one of them was almost out. The surrounding darkness clung to the ghosts, deeper, more cold. “No! Nononono!” He realized with a shock, that they were feeding and he rushed to the seething figures. As he approached and tried to wave them back, they turned from the dying people, yawning wide black mouths. Their rage blasted through him. Their strange substance had melted into the flesh of their victims. They pulled out and advanced on him. He screamed. “No, wait! Wait, Mr. Butterfly Guy, listen, I remember you. I know you! Don’t do this!” That was as far as he got before they chased him. He didn’t know what the effects would be if they caught him. Fortunately, they only pursued him about fifteen yards before they turned as one and floated back to the bodies to finish feeding. He watched in horror from a corner of withered foliage near what had been the entrance to the dome, and wondered if he should have done more to stop them. He got the impression, after watching them drain the humans, that the energy he’d taken from the beetle had made the need worse. So what happened when you took a person? Or many people? He shuddered, sneaking through the front of the butterfly enclosure to avoid the ghosts. He’d gone no more than a half mile when he saw them. From the rolling hills by Highway 36, crowds of specters amassed, dozens of them, large and small ones, even tiny ones. They paused every so often and fed on animals or insects. More of them came from the highway, where he could see a line of abandoned cars in both directions for miles. He just stared, thinking, This is very, very bad. * * *

Etain’s urgent voice interrupted Morpho’s continued and impassioned argument about fighting. “We must leave. Now! Ekimmu approach. Probably the ones that were killed near here. They are here. I can sense their hunger.” “I didn’t see a good base of operations anywhere as we flew in.” Lugal remarked. “Me neither. We need someplace defensible, secluded and clean.” Ninhab looked around. “We must move on her soon. There is ample parkland to the west,” Pazuzu said. Gallursa rumbled, “Well, three of us can fly, so you have...what did you call it, Lugal? Air reconnaissance. I could carry the humans.” “Cool!” Morpho exclaimed. Gallursa opened his beak in a snicker and pricked his ears. Pazuzu nodded. “Son, I will go with Etain. I am better suited for gathering intelligence than a twelve-foot tall feathered god. Stay hidden.” Etain stroked at Pazuzu’s face, forlorn. “I will not come with you, my love. I should return to the other side and do my own watching from there. I will remain close, in the mirror Ninurta carries. If I am too much in the open, I could draw attention from Lamashtu too soon.” His expression darkened. “I understand. I miss you.” he said. “I feared...I feared she had made you a demon. I am glad that you are with the Queen.” “I was afraid to see you. I didn’t know what to feel. I was angry.” The lines in his face deepened. “I did not protect you as I should have. I’m sorry.” “It was not your fault. I don’t think I was angry at you. I just couldn’t see you and Morpho, knowing that I couldn’t really be with you anymore. I am sorry to both of you.” She touched Morpho’s hair, then streamed back into the compact that Ninhab had taken out. “Do we get a meal onboard the flight? I’m starving.” Morpho perked up at the prospect of flying on a giant bird, just like in a movie. “Move, all of you! They’re coming!” Etain hissed from the mirror. Ninhab was packing first aid supplies neatly into his ready bag. Lugal grabbed it, dumped the rest in, handed it back to him and shoved him out the door.

They ran to the backyard. Gallursa kneeled and Morpho clambered up before anyone could hoist her. Lugal climbed up behind her with Ninhab in front. Gallursa pumped his wings and heaved into the sky. Pazuzu split into a cloud of insects and scattered. In the street and the yard next door, ghosts trailing gray and black tatters of mist stretched their fingers toward Gallursa’s retreating tail feathers. Morpho gazed around her in wonder, as the objects on the ground rolled by far below. After several miles had gone past, Ninhab and Lugal both yelled in concert as Gallursa banked into a sharp turn and dove into a slow roll. The two adults both clutched the god’s feathers white-knuckled, hollering, while Morpho screamed in delighted laughter. He flicked his ears back and laughed. Lugal yelled forward to Ninhab, his face green and his eyes murderous. “Children!” he growled. “Gallursa, can you do this one move I saw on Firefly, when they were escaping the Reavers? They stopped in the air and threw the ship around and…” “No! Now that's enough, both of you!” Lugal snarled. “This isn't a television show and you aren't a spaceship! Just get us to the damned park!” Gallursa and Morpho erupted into howls of laughter and then petered down. Gallursa glanced around at her as her face slowly fell back into a mask of grief. She wiped away a tear before either of the adults saw it. She glanced at Gallursa and saw his great eye on her. Her lip quivered for a second before he winked, then rolled into a dive that sent the adults hollering again. They banked and glided over a thick patch of woods. “We must eat soon. I am very hungry.” Gallursa called back. “All right, there's a gas station. I’ll see if it's open. Stay behind the tree-line, where we won’t be seen.” Ninhab pointed ahead. Beyond the wood along a main road, about a quarter mile in the distance, was a gas-n-go joint. It looked deserted. Gallursa landed through the trees with surprising grace and silence. There were no observers visible. Ninhab slid down, wobbly-kneed, and growled, “If you ever do that Evel Knievil nonsense again, I will drug you and forklift you into the middle of a hunter’s convention during turkey season! I don’t give a crap if you’re a god.” He straightened his shirt. “I’ll scout out the place we saw. It may not be safe. Stay here, and when I say stay here, I mean no joy rides, no ‘helping.’ Stay put!”

Lugal hefted his bag and slid down, ready to scout. Ninhab blinked. “An adult needs to stay with them, we can’t leave a couple of teenagers here by themselves…however old and…feathered one of them is.” “Good, then I’ll return in fifteen minutes.” Lugal strode through the trees, silent. “Wait, this isn’t—” “I led seven campaigns against the enemies of Uruk and countless scouting parties over the course of hundreds of years. Who do you think will make the better scout?” “I…well…all right then.” Ninhab crossed his arms over his chest and fidgeted. When Lugal returned, he was loaded with an entire forest of paper bags. Ninhab sighed and climbed up. Lugal handed the bags up and climbed behind Morpho. “How much do I owe?” Ninhab asked, craning around. Lugal looked at him like he was insane. “Nothing, it was empty.” “What, so you just broke in and shoplifted? Chaos is no excuse for looting! In fact, it is doubly important to be good citizens in a time like this. Did you at least leave something on the register?” “Shut up and eat your egg roll.” He slapped Ninhab in the shoulder with a bag, gave another bag to Morpho, and held onto Gallursa’s bag for landing. Ninhab peered into the bag and wrinkled his nose. Gallursa lifted off and headed for the Chatfield State Park.

16 JD faced the meandering phantoms and realized there was nowhere to run. He wondered briefly what they could do to someone already dead. He sure didn’t want to find out, but they were all around now so it was likely he wouldn't have much choice. He panicked for a few minutes, then remembered he was having this conversation with himself, and not slavering for life energy or brains. So if his personality had survived, then there might be others like him. Friends seemed like a good thing to have in this situation. He wanted to watch them to get an idea of what he was facing but if he just stood there like a moron, then they would eventually see him. This didn’t really make sense to him when he thought about it. He was a freakin’ ghost. One of the few advantages of being a ghost, at least in the movies, was being invisible. When he’d watched Poltergeist the first time, in the beginning, he’d had a hilarious little fantasy about what he could do to his mom's boyfriend if the sloppy asshole couldn’t see him. How could he become invisible to other ghosts though? I almost disappeared before. I was fading away. What if I can control that, stay right on the edge where I can think but have no image? The thought of dissolution made his ‘knees’ watery but he breathed deeply and imagined the smoke from his bong. He thought about how the marijuana always made him feel. Being stoned wasn’t so different from the psychic hazy feeling he’d had when he’d been ebbing away inside the pavilion. He looked down and around. Look Ma, no hands! Heeeeeeeheeeeeheeeee. My body's around here somewhere. Oh well. It'll turn up. His thoughts wandered everywhere and a niggling little voice in his mind pulled him back. Find Morpho! Bad ghosts coming. Don't go away. The voice was his own. He had gone a little too spacey. But now, another ghost was about ten yards away. In his alarm at the sight of the

other translucent figure, his hands started forming in a shadow image under his nose. He was swinging back the other way, too much solidity. It turned toward him, floating nearer. Its face was a shady grimace. He concentrated on feeling stoned and his image faded. The ghost drifted to a stop in front of him. He could feel its hunger, its confusion. It slowly floated away without sensing him. As he stared at the retreating entity he realized that it was getting easier to control his own movements. The phantoms spread out across the grassy rolling plain between him and the Butterfly Pavilion. It looked like they had come from the highway. But it didn’t look like there had been an accident. He could see the cars and the bodies turning bloated and marbled. The fender benders hadn’t been what killed them. Maybe they exploded from road rage, he thought, distracted. It must have been the Wicked Witch of Mesopotamia. He could see that some of the bodies had been children. How terribly sad. He watched one of the little ghosts. It grabbed for everything it could, sucking the light from everything around it as it went...just like a hungry child let loose in a candy shop. He sunk down, overwhelmed by anger and pity. Kids being killed was bad enough but there was no way this child would be able to control itself. When a toddler was hungry, he or she ate. Except now, eating had turned them into monsters. That bitch is going down, he thought, if it's the last thing I do! He pulled his attention away and focused on the adults. One halted in front of a police car, after the light of the animal it killed had faded. It crouched over the grass, which began to lose its luminescence, turning from green to brown. JD floated toward it. When he approached, he could see that it was puzzled. Its edges were blurry. Then they solidified into a sooty shroud as the circle of wasted grass and insects widened. “Fight it!” JD concentrated and materialized in front of the creature. If this ghost was struggling, now would be the time to step in. “You can fight it! Think about your wife, or husband, or boyfriend or whatever! Think about the stuff you really like, or maybe something that makes you really mad. Just concentrate on something.” It looked up at JD. Its eyes were caliginous hollows that burned through him. He felt the voracity, and something else. Desperation. It opened its mouth: “Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

An incoherent scratchy sound like a knife across a blackboard came out. “Fight, fight! You decide who you are, fight!” “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The screech went on, then faded. The grass stopped dying. He felt something indistinct wiggling around in the air between them, maybe the craving in its mind trying to escape the creature’s slowly growing will. As its will won, the phantom solidified into a more human shape. It had been a man. His face formed and while hunger still marred his expression, it was definitely a human face. He had been Hispanic, with cropped black hair, Mayan features and sharp, dark brown eyes. He had also been a police officer. He looked down at his hands and up at JD in confusion. “Díos Mio! I'm dead, aren’t I?” Shock was the next emotion that seeped across his face. “Yep. Sorry, man.” “Well, risk of the job. At least we had life insurance. And the department’ll help with my wife and kids. There’s a slain officer's fund we put together.” “Wife and kids? Wow, sorry.” As the man thought of them and talked with JD, he became more substantial. “Sucks. I lived longer than my Papi though.” “You’re kind of young, how old was he?” “Twenty-five. I’m thirty-five.” “Holy crap! What happened to him?” “Drug dealers shot him in Nogales. That’s why my family moved here. The dealers are all crazy. They run many of the towns. People stand up to them and...” He made a gun to the head gesture. “That why you became a cop?” “Sí. At first. The money’s not bad either, at least for the state patrol.” He pointed at the police car. “Glad I’m not a Westminster cop. They get paid shit.” Then vexation pinched his features. “Oh, well, when I was alive anyway.” “You okay?” He nodded slowly. “I think so.” Grief clouded his eyes. “I just miss my wife, man. And my kids. I was looking forward to seeing my youngest, after my shift. Carmela said he was all excited to show me how he could write, in English and Spanish too. Of course his favorite word is ‘poop.’ He’s five. His name is Ishmael. I thought he’d want to show me that he wrote his name, but no. Carmela said the first thing he

wrote was ‘poop.’” He smiled. “What about you? Your family? You miss anyone special?” JD nodded. “Morpho, my girl. She’s way cool.” “What kind of a name is Morpho?” “She was named after a kind of butterfly.” The man blinked. “Her parents some of those Boulder commune people?” “Nope, not even close.” The man watched the other ghosts warily. “It was really bad. I wanted to eat everything, just suck everything dead. I used to see people addicted to drugs. This must be what it felt like.” He recalled, “When I worked for the Denver Police, I busted a lot of those guys and I sometimes gave them a hard time about it, especially when I knew they had kids. Maybe this is my penance for that, for not understanding what it was like for them. Or maybe I should have gone to church more.” “I don’t think it works like that. I don’t think you're being punished. I think you were just unlucky.” JD pointed to a small ghost wandering in the distance. “That was a kid. Do you think that kid did something to deserve this?” “No. No.” The policeman shook his head and surveyed the corpse-filled cars. “Díos...” he exhaled. “What’s your name, anyway?” “Juan Delgado.” “JD? My name’s JD too.” “What’s that short for?” “JD.” Juan laughed. “Okay, JD. So you in here somewhere?” He nodded at the cars. JD shook his head. “No, I was in the Butterfly Pavilion. We were attacked.” “By what, the same thing, the chemical?” “It wasn’t a chemical.” “What was it?” “All right, do you believe in demons?” “You going to tell me a demon attacked you?” JD gestured to Juan’s image in front of him. “You're a ghost, dude. And you just resisted becoming a monster like her, like the demon. Are you going to tell me your idea of reality hasn’t changed even a tiny bit?”

Juan considered this. “Okay. So what is this demon?” “Her name is Lamashtu and she’s like this Sumerian bad-ass bitch that sucks the breath out of infants and mothers and causes bloodlust and insanity. Now it looks like she’s expanding into other departments.” “What’s she doing here? Where’s Sumeria?” “Iraq. She’s looking for her step-kid, to kill her. She’s pissed that her husband left.” “Oh, he got a new lady?” “Yep, Morpho’s mother.” “Your girl? So they’re really not from a Boulder commune. Okay. Old lady kicked to the curb, that’ll do it. In the academy, we learned that if you dig deep enough in most crimes like murder, you’ll find sex, people messing around, or a grab for power.” “She’s also looking for this stone that controls the fate of everything.” “See? What now? We need to find her.” “Easy, officer. You going to arrest her?” “No, I’m going to kill her. I don’t have to worry about paperwork anymore. She killed those kids.” He indicated the cars. “And she hurt my family. How am I going to send my kids to college now?” “Well, we better have more than handcuffs and a gun. And there’s a lot more of them than us.” He turned to the fields of revenants. “If we don't bring more of her ghosts back to being human, they’ll all be lost. The more you eat, the hungrier you get. They’re eating. If they eat a person, I don’t know if they can come back from that. A buffet is flying in right now.” A black helicopter slowly flew toward them on the horizon, and a handful of living people in full Hazmat suits picked their way toward the cars from the highway exit. “Ay!” Juan shuddered as they approached, their light shining so brightly it obscured the white of the suits. The craving raged across his face, turning his strong features feral. “Focus, Juan!” JD croaked as the thirst for energy washed through him. “Think of your job, think of your kid writing your name!” JD hunched over, turning his attention from Juan to his porn images. Juan interrupted JD’s mental mantra. He had turned and was staring with an incredulous look. “What the hell are you doing?”

JD realized he had been thinking out loud and making kissy faces. “Concentrating, thank you. Shut up and let me concentrate! You have your thing, I have mine!” Juan dissolved into rolling laughter. JD ignored him and by the time Juan had stopped laughing, the humans had passed on their way to the pavilion. They wouldn’t make it though. The ghosts were converging on them, their mouths inhaling life from the very air in anticipation. Juan moved swiftly toward the knot of first responders, his authority as a police officer the most prominent thing about his demeanor. “Hey, hey—” “Juan, be careful! They can eat you too, I think. There are too many of them.” “I’m a cop. I’m not standing by while a crime is committed.” “You’re dead and you can’t help them if you’re even more dead.” Juan ignored him. He rushed to the Hazmat team. The shades clustered, surging around one man. The worker gasped as cold fingers slipped into his suit. He choked and clutched at his throat. His eyes were wide with fear. The other people were gasping, collapsing as they were preyed upon. Juan tried grabbing hold of the apparitions but his fingers disintegrated. And the phantoms weren’t any more corporeal than he was, so they slid right through. Then the one he had tried grabbing, attacked him, screeching with rage. The phantoms' mouths opened like chasms of black water, and enveloped him. He screamed and struggled for a few seconds, then began disappearing into them. Shit! JD streamed into the melee. It was a confused mass of fading life-light, flashes of Juan’s ghostly form, and churning inky sheets of mist feathered with red. “Juan! Juan, are you still in there?” He stood helpless as the humans’ lights went out. One of the revenants turned to him from its feeding frenzy. JD felt a jolt of freezing void and his own fear. Then he lunged at it. He could still feel the police officer. The cop’s ‘body’ image had gone but his signature energy was still there, dispersed among the cluster. Unfortunately, JD could sense that Juan’s hunger was back. So was his own. Red spots swam in his vision as he felt Juan begin to feed on some of the human energy like the other ghosts.

JD gave in. He couldn’t stand it anymore and took a deep drink. Bright golden light rippled through him. His hands became dark misty tendrils that stretched through the air like a net, grasping for more. He was devolving. In a last act of defiance, he pictured Mel Gibson in Braveheart. He yelled as loud as he could, “Freeeeedooooom!” If he went down, it would not be as a murderer or a thief of souls. The absurdity of the yell pulled him back from the abyss for a moment. In that second, he pictured Morpho in as much vivid detail as he could. Through his ravenous haze, he pictured the backs of her thighs as she pulled her red dress down. Life, I want life, he thought. The light he’d swallowed from the humans was so bright, so lovely. He screamed and pictured Morpho's blazing eyes when she’d been mad at him and heard her calling him: ‘Dork!’ I love you, he thought. I'm sorry I screwed up. Then he squeezed out as much of the stolen human essence as he could and let himself dissolve. Better suicide than losing his soul. It was hard to think now. He couldn’t remember Morpho’s face anymore. Then he couldn’t remember if there was someone who he was supposed to be thinking about, a fleeting image of a beautiful girl with blue hair. A moment later, the idea of what you were supposed to do with a girl seemed foggy. As blackness filled his mind, a Mayan face appeared and started yelling at him. “Amigo, come on, man! You're not going out on me now! Come on, little stoner! I know you got more juice in you! Get your ass back here!” He had the vague impression that this was a person, an authority figure. Someone that he might have avoided at some point in the past. The voice started again and wouldn’t stop. “JD, JD, oy chicito, little boy! You gonna run away now, like a little chicken shit! Oy, little chicken shit! I’m not leaving you alone. I’m gonna be in your face every second, mí hermano!” The Mayan face was above a badge this time. A cop. He was a cop! Oh shit, JD thought. I'm in interrogation! I've been busted...for what? As he panicked, he realized that he could see the policeman’s face. He knew the officer. His name was Juan. Juan! JD’s memory flooded back. He resumed consciousness with Juan’s ghostly face a few inches from his. The man’s outline was vague and the lines of his image blurred into JD. Juan heaved in relief as he pulled away. He withdrew from JD with the feeling of blood being drawn...from veins

he didn’t have. JD floated above the grass and looked down at his ethereal body. Juan was pallid with exhaustion. “You done being stupid, amigo? Don’t do that to me again. I almost lost you!” “Uh.” Juan continued, “Snap out of it, man. You’re back now. Okay? I need you.” JD just nodded, his thoughts still muddled. “Think of your girl with the freaky name and the crazy stepmama. Let’s get moving. I don’t think we got a lot of time!” Wraiths spread across the plain, in the midst of desolated vegetation; next to them were the limp silent bodies of the Hazmat team. “Let’s do what you said before. See if any of the other ghosts can be saved. We’re going to need more than just us. My gun didn’t make the crossover to the other side.” “It wouldn’t have worked anyway. I did make something that stopped her demons or at least distracted them for a while. I was hoping to make a lot of money selling it to police departments for non-violent defense. It’s called Munchie Mist.” Juan raised his eyebrow. “You smoked a lot of marijuana, didn’t you.” JD kept silent. Juan rolled his eyes. “I’m dead. I can’t arrest you.” “Oh yeah. So—” “Pitch it later. We need some more of us now. This is getting crazy...more crazy. If we don’t get to some of them, it'll be too late for any of them and we’ll be surrounded.” Many of the ghosts no longer resembled anything human.

17 After they set up camp and had their meal, Morpho nagged until Ninhab agreed to begin training her. But he began with the most 'boring stuff': how she stood. Holding the great golden bow taut, she squirmed with impatience as he corrected her stance for what felt like the millionth time in the past hour. He fixed her drawing fingers on the string, straightened her elbow and taught her how to sight down the arrow to the target he had set up on a tree in a deserted region of the park. It was a wooden board with two bull’s eyes painted in dry erase marker within a picture of Lamashtu. One target was the head and one was the body, rendered as a stick figure with fangs, cartoon snakes for hair, and stick arms with claws. He was not an artist. On his count of three, she released the bow string. The arrow flew to the target. It smashed into the wood and exploded in a crack of lightning that splintered the trunk and showered them with fragments of bark. Ninhab grabbed Morpho and dove to the ground, rolling. They came to rest as Morpho yelled, “Holy shit! It fires exploding arrows! Wicked cool! That’s way better than an Uzi!” Ninhab lay on his back, stared at the sky through the unburned trees and sighed. “Please keep your voice down.” The huge face of Gallursa appeared over him, blocking out the sky, his voice full of mirth. “You didn’t remember what your bow did?” “Nope.” Ninhab stood up and brushed himself off. Morpho was already hopping around. “Let’s do that again! I need lots of practice!” Lugal was leaning on a non-blasted tree nearby, munching on Ninhab’s cheese puffs, his face turned away in laughter. “You knew though,” Ninhab remarked to Lugal.

“Yes,” Lugal said through a mouthful of puffs covered in cheese spread. “Stop stealing my dinner.” “I thought you hated ‘junk food.’” “I do. Stay out of my food. What happened to yours?” Lugal sauntered over and handed him the bag. Ninhab swiped it back and went to see the arrow. It lay shining, yards behind what was left of the tree. Its golden head was still intact and glowing. He picked it up gingerly, though it didn’t appear to be emitting any heat. “All right, warrior, is this thing radioactive?” Ninhab looked at Lugal. “Not precisely, no.” Lugal shook his head, a smirk still on his face. “It will not give you cancer, little man, if that is what you are worried about.” Ninhab just glared at him and said to Morpho, “We can’t shoot the arrows for practice. They destroy the target with...some kind of explosive. As much fun as I know that is, it will attract too much attention, not to mention wreck a lot of trees.” “So how do I practice?” He frowned, rubbing his forehead. “Well, you can practice your stance. Posture and draw are a lot. If you have bad stance, your arrows won’t go where you want. Practice that and sighting. That will help.” She rolled her eyes, picked up the bow again and started practicing. “After you get bored, we’ll practice fighting.” Lugal commented. “And you better practice too, teacher. You’ve done nothing lately, I imagine, except wrestle papers.” Ninhab picked up his mace, reluctantly. Lugal drew his axe and hastened toward Ninhab. “Defend yourself.” “What? Wait!” Ninhab scrambled away. “You haven’t used that mace in thousands of years. You don’t even remember what your weapons do. How are you going to use them? By drawing doodles of yourself hitting Lamashtu over the head? Fight with it!” “Against you?” “Me, or Gallursa, if you prefer.” Gallursa raised his head from devouring the last of the soggy convenience store egg rolls, and then the cold hot dogs. He flexed his giant wings and talons.

Ninhab looked back to Lugal, tugged his disheveled shirt down and gripped his mace. “Bring it, warrior.” Lugal roared, darting forward in an obvious frontal assault. Ninhab waited until Lugal was a foot from him. Then he swung the mace low at the warrior’s knees and sidestepped to bring himself out of Lugal’s charge. The burly man grinned in a last-second feint and dodged to the side, behind Ninhab, planted his knee in the small of the slight man's back and shoved. Ninhab sprawled into the grassy weeds with a whump. Lugal commented, “A bit out of pract—” Ninhab had risen and tackled the big man in a football grip around the warrior’s narrow midriff, as his foot hooked the rear of Lugal’s knee. Lugal, caught off guard, went down onto his back under the smaller man and they slammed onto the ground, throwing up a fountain of dirt. Morpho lowered the bow and watched with a disbelieving grin. She glanced over at Gallursa who was observing nonchalantly while emptying the last of Ninhab’s and Lugal’s cheese snacks. He looked back at her and shrugged. “That’s my principal,” she said incredulously. “Did students ever misbehave?” “I’ve never seen him like this. I never knew he could fight. He was always so...prissy.” “He was a god.” She squinted in disbelief.” He’s Mr. Agresti.” “But once he was Ninurta, lion-god of the plough. Perhaps he needed some inspiration to remember.” She chuffed. “Is everyone around here a god except me?” “He is not a god anymore and may never be again. That does not matter. He is doing something. You are a demi-goddess. You were born of gods.” “But I can’t do anything. Yipe!” She leaped out of the way as Lugal and Ninhab barreled past her, struggling and grunting. Ninhab was clinging to Lugal’s back with his legs wrapped around his waist and two fingers hooked in his nose. Gallursa ignored them. Morpho stepped back to where she was and sulked. The bow dangled from her fingers. Gallursa continued, “You are learning to do powerful things. Give yourself time. Whatever your talents, you are standing up and doing something. A person is a god by birth or by the grace of another god. A god is made by another. You make yourself a hero. A hero does

what needs to be done. Your teacher…” he nodded toward the pair, who had now flipped around so that Lugal pinned Ninhab to the ground. Ninhab struggled while frantically trying to wipe his fingers that had been in the warrior’s nose, on the grass. Lugal barred his elbow across Ninhab’s forehead and rubbed the fastidious man’s cheek in the dirt. Gallursa snorted a laugh and continued, “Your teacher is a hero. Or he will be when it is time and when Lugalbanda finishes schooling him.” She looked at them, bursting into laughter. Then her face grew pensive. Her eyes filled with tears. “JD was a hero.” Gallursa nodded solemnly. “Yes. He was.” He stood, dropping a shower of fast food wrappers, boxes and bags. “Come, little sister.” He began walking into a copse of cold trees draped in long deep green and purple shadows. “Let us go honor him.” He grabbed a chocolate milk bottle from the grass with a swipe of his wing. She propped the bow carefully across her shoulder and ran to catch up. He wrapped his huge wing around her as they reached the trees. Lugal and Ninhab stopped struggling when they saw the pair go. Lugal pulled Ninhab up by the hand, brushed off his clothes and clapped him on the back. He jerked his chin toward the siblings. The two men followed them to the corpse, silently watching. Gallursa cleared out a small patch of ground under the graceful branches that budded with new leaves. He gathered stones, one at a time, in his beak and laid them in a pile to the right side of the space under the trees. He turned to Morpho. “Have you anything of his to lay to rest?” A tear slid down her face. She shook her head. Then a few seconds later she exclaimed, “Oh, I have the sandwich he gave me. Spam and cheese whiz. I couldn’t eat it but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” She brought out a rumpled napkin. “All I have is this...” More tears chased each other down her face. “Lay it here on the ground, sister.” She put the package down reverently. Gallursa began moving the rocks, one on top of the other into a small cairn over the edible offering. He intoned in his deep voice, “Great Queen Ereshkigal, accept this young hero into the Underworld, that he may receive his just reward and sit at your feet.” Then he took the chocolate milk and poured it on top of the rocks. “Does he like chocolate milk?”

“I haven’t seen any food he didn’t like.” “Good.” Gallursa breathed fire on the thick liquid until it smoked and sizzled into char on the rocks. “Now he will know we are thinking of him.” Morpho burst into sobs, her hands over her face. Gallursa wrapped his huge wings around her so she disappeared under his feathers. He bent his great head, his ears twitching in agitation. A small gathering of grasshoppers rested unseen, high in the needles of the surrounding evergreens. They twittered into the high wind, a keen that sounded like a prayer. Lugal and Ninhab closed their eyes. Each said their own prayers or thought their own thoughts for several minutes. Then they backed away quietly, leaving Morpho and Gallursa to the silence of the grave under the trees. * * * JD suddenly stopped in the midst of surveying the grounds. Juan called to him, “What?” “I just got...got a taste of something I never thought I’d taste again! I’d know that anywhere. It’s chocolate milk! How the hell did that happen?” Juan looked skeptical. “You tasted chocolate milk? Just now? How?” He stuck his tongue out, feeling around. “I have no idea. But maybe chips’ll come next. Dunking chips in chocolate milk was the best!” “Yeah, I liked that too. Carmela thought I was crazy. You know what I really miss? Her tamales, green chili with pork, cooked in fat. Mmmm. You never had tamales until you had hers. She used to bring them to work and sell them by the dozen. Until the administration told her she couldn’t anymore.” “Why not?” “They said no one could sell anything from their own kitchen, that it might not be safe. Please! That was such insulting bullshit. You could eat off our floor. She was so clean. She came home after they talked to her and cried for an hour.” “Well, I’d eat her tamales.” JD said. “Me too. That sounds really good right now,” the new guy piped in. They’d stumbled upon him almost immediately in their search for recruitable ghosts. He’d been nearby when the fight with the others erupted. He’d been coming closer to feed but sensed Juan materializing

from the void, then JD. He’d stopped in shock and mustered enough will to just watch, listening to what they said. Then he concentrated, screaming to keep himself from succumbing to the void until they found him. His name was Dale. He’d been evacuated and, while stuck on the highway, saw a weird guy who had left his car and pulled on sunglasses, a dust mask and a ski mask. So Dale had gotten on his cell phone about a terrorist. But while he was on hold, the poison cloud had swept through. Dale floated to JD. “You know, strong memories seem to help. Like you said. We can feel things when we’re in the blackness. Maybe some of them can’t, they're too far gone. But some folks just need a jolt or a pull to get them to come back, like me. You were the first one of us. Juan told me what you did with him. Maybe you could call them here. It’s a lot quicker than looking around like this. When I was in the service, we learned about triage situations. If we weren’t behind hostile lines, you just called for anyone who could walk to come to the evac point, to follow your voice.” “But maybe we are behind hostile lines. Look at this place.” JD swung his arm around at the dreary spirit-dotted plain. Juan shook his head. “Your demoness isn’t here anymore. And we’re trying to get these ghosts to hear us. The ones who can will join us. If this demoness is hunting your chica, we may not have a lot of time.” He glanced at the sinking sun. “And we don't know how much harder this will be after dark.” As soon as he said that, the very air seemed more menacing and normal shadows looked deeper. JD gauged the area around them. They were completely surrounded. If he could have hyperventilated, he would have. Dale piped up again. “You guys got to me. There’ll be others.” He hoped so. “We were taught to do standing triage. ’If you can hear my voice, come to the sound of my voice.’ That's what we learned to say when I did neighborhood CERT.” Dale added. They began calling. Their voices sounded loud on the bleak hillside. The spirits drifted across the hills like low dirty rain clouds. One by one, most of them within a mile began listening and watching. JD could feel the weight of their attention, their hunger. This was the only chance they’d ever get. “Think about the most important thing in your life. What makes you angry, sad, happy? A terrible monster did

this to you. Fight her! You have a choice. You can choose what you’re going to be. Think about anything that ever mattered to you!” They were still watching. “Think about your families! The one who killed you will destroy your loved ones! You can protect them if you think about them now. You can avenge them!” he yelled, thinking about the things he would never get to do with Morpho. Some of them were oscillating in distress and confusion. Slowly ghosts here and there stopped feeding. Their human faces began to emerge. Juan, JD and Dale waited. After about ten minutes, a small knot of human ghosts inched toward them, uncertain of their reclaimed humanity. They halted in front of JD, and waited for him to tell them what to do now. “Um, hi. Sorry you’re dead. But there’s something really important you need to know. There’s evil in the world, this demoness that killed you. And she’s going to kill a lot more people. We might be able to help stop her. If we can keep her from killing your families, friends or other people like you, then we didn’t die for nothing. I know the hunger is hard to fight. But you have to believe me, the more you resist it the easier it’ll get. So, are you with us?” He wanted to smack himself in the head. What a lame speech! That's why I hung out in the shop instead of joining the debate team. Give me power tools so I don't have to talk. But his audience was still listening. The stunned glaze slowly left their faces. “Okay, so maybe we should get to know everybody. Kind of like a twelve-step program for...for uh, life energy suckers. I’m JD, that’s Juan and this is Dale.” He pointed to his partners. “Why don’t we start with you?” He motioned to the closest ghost, a matronly woman with a long, dark braid down her back. The woman gazed around, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed from the effort of controlling the hunger. Her form became more substantial as she spoke. “I am Maria Espinoza. I lost my kids. I saw their bodies in the car. I don’t know where they are in this or what they are now. Lupe, Marisela and Jesús, the littlest one. He likes dinosaurs.” She let out a soft sob. “I'm going to find them and make them okay. I’m going to get the puta that killed us. You want help. I help you.” She nodded savagely to the next ghost, a wiry man with glasses. He began with a stammer, but as he spoke, his outline sharpened and his voice got stronger. “I-I'm Jim Keller. I’m an accountant. Was an accountant. I don’t have kids.” He tilted his head at

Maria. “I don’t even have a wife. When you said to imagine the things that you felt most strongly about, I didn’t think that I could come up with anything. I spent my whole life buried in numbers. I never got involved in anything or did much that was out of order. People are messy, emotions are messy. Ironic that I had to die to care about anything. I don’t like murderers. I don’t like the idea that people can do what this person… demon did and get away with it. I also realized that though I never knew what I wanted to be, I just knew it wasn't this. I guess it’s the first real choice I ever made. I’m in.” They went around the group of about twenty people. As they scanned the hills around them, there were hundreds of still-lost ghosts. Twenty out of hundreds. Still, it was a start and more than they’d had a half hour ago. “We got a handful on the first pass. Maybe we keep trying. There are more of us now then there were. If we branch out we can get more people back. And there have been incidents all over the Denver Metro area. The other evacuations, those were her too, weren't they?” Juan asked. JD nodded. “So there will be more ghosts other places.” He nodded again. “All right,” Juan continued, “we split into recruitment teams. How many places has she hit, do you know?” “No. But if I had to guess, I’d say she’d go to Morpho’s house and maybe my house looking for her.” “I’ll take a team of six ghosts to the girl’s house; you take a team of six to your house. Dale will stay here with his team and spread out to see if he can get any more people signed on.” “Okay. I guess that makes sense. But be careful of her other demons, her minions. They’re real nasty. They look like pig-dog-jackal movie werewolf things. And I don’t know if they can see us or not. But I do know that they were affected by the Munchie Mist. If I can pick things up physically, I’ll load up on some more of that when I'm home. Except I lost the Munchie gun. Maybe it'll work to just put the distilled liquid in water balloons and peg them...” He speculated, but Juan interrupted. “Hey, work out the physics on the way, MacGyver. You don’t even know if you can hold something like a gun. What's your girl’s address?” “248 Rowan Street, Ken Caryl.”

Dale interjected, “Oooh. High class. Nice job. Hey, I was a sergeant when I was in the service so I can rally people pretty well. And I’m good at some tactics.” Juan straightened proudly. “I know criminals, so I can figure out this demon.” “She’s a demon, not a drug dealer,” JD protested. “Doesn’t matter. She's a criminal. People who do the things she does have the same mentality everywhere. She thinks the world owes her and if she’s pissed, then the world is going to pay. She thinks she’s better than everyone else and that there are no rules for her. She thinks no one else is worth anything except for what she wants. Does that pretty much cover it?” Juan replied. “Uh, yeah. I think so. How did you do that?” “I’m a cop.” He grinned. “Maybe it doesn’t matter if you're a god or human. It’s all the same kind of thinking.” “Yeah, or maybe being a god makes you even more likely to act like that.” JD remarked. “Still want to be a god?” “Yes, of sex.” Juan threw back his head and laughed. “Who doesn’t?” Dale grinned. “Count me in for the sex god thing too. So, we ready?” Everyone nodded. His grin got wider. “Back in the Army!” He turned to the crowd and yelled in a very good sergeant voice, “Okay Ghost Fighters. We're going to split into teams so we can recruit more people. And then we’re going to get back together at the base and plan our tactics for finding and eliminating this bitch.” The ghosts stood up a little straighter, floated higher. A few yelled back, “Sir, yes Sir!” JD guessed they were ex-military. “Where's our base of operations going to be?” Dale leaned over to JD and Juan. “It should be away from the main action.” Juan nodded. “She’s already hit here, and the living can’t see us anyway. We’ll need the detail that stays here to see if they can keep the un-turnable ghosts from taking any more lives when more first responders show up. And they will. How about we meet at that warehouse after we’ve done everything we can here?” He pointed to a white metal structure about a half mile away. “What if something happens? How do we communicate?” JD asked.

Juan replied. “Maybe there's a way to sense each other. I kind of think there might be. We sensed each other, when the Hazmat were being attacked. Maybe if we could do it then, we can keep tabs on each other now.” “Not that strong. I’m not sure it will work over miles and miles.” “Maybe if we do that joining thing again?” Juan suggested. “I don’t know, you're kind of challenging my idea of manhood here.” JD teased. “Aren’t you a macho cop?” Juan snorted. “Wiseass! What manhood? You’re like twelve.” “Sixteen. Okay, I’m ready for ‘joining’.” JD held his phantom arms out, “‘Gimme some sugar, baby!’” “I'm gonna punch you.” “I would love to see you try.” Juan, Dale and JD focused on their arms blending, becoming mist and letting the essence of the others drift into them. JD could feel the other two and he knew they could feel him too. Then they focused on separating, becoming solid apparitions again. They each tried to hang on to a small kernel of the essence of the other two ghosts. “Did it work?” Juan asked. “I don’t know. I think we’ll just have to test it.” Dale barked orders to his new troops. “All right, count off in threes! Ones are Red Squad, twos are Blue Squad, threes are Yellow Squad. Red Squad with JD. Yellow with Juan. Blue with me! Blue Squad stays here! We meet in four hours at that warehouse! Blue Squad, come to me for briefing on our assignment.” He drifted away with his group. Juan and JD surveyed their own groups and then headed out.

18 Pazuzu swarmed across Colorado and went east to the Atlantic Ocean. He looked for the extensive areas Lamashtu had hit, to get a sense of her strength, to scout where he might gain allies. He lifted into the atmosphere on the airstream and flew along the Mediterranean. Lamashtu’s influence was everywhere. In Eritrea, Sudan, Somalia, her rabisu prowled at the edges of ghost towns and despoiled villages that had been bustling with life only days ago. The West Bank of Israel collapsed into violence and then was struck by an epidemic of a strange toxic syndrome. Israel and the surrounding nations went into a state of emergency, including martial law, to quell the violence. Iran, Lebanon and Syria threatened to bomb Israel into the stone-age to end their martial law, but mostly in fear of contagion. The United States, Turkey, England and Germany threatened to respond with deadly force against the nations threatening Israel. The land of the Israelites, the city of Jerusalem, the favorite city of Enlil, fell under mass rioting from Palestinians, and Israeli settlers retaliating against the Palestinian revolt. Iraq, Pazuzu’s old land, dissolved into madness. The fragile democracy crumbled into internecine fighting between Shi’ite and Sunni, between Kurd, Arab, Mandean and Circassian, in the face of the pandemic, violent weather, and incidents of terror. And his new home, America, was being affected as well. He recalled the report this morning on the economy. With its policies so closely tied to its investments in Iraq and Afghanistan, the economy was eroding under the myriad pressures, as the market dropped several points from the previous three days of Middle Eastern crisis and instability, the devastating losses of troops and resources, and the reports of terrorism. The fear of a pandemic added to the tone of panic and threat of collapse, following the burgeoning incidents. Now, with presumed terror attacks surfacing in Colorado, state and federal

resources ran short within 24 hours. Colorado laboratories conferred with the CDC and Homeland Security to predict future chemical attacks, while law enforcement struggled to maintain a perimeter around the affected areas. Hospitals and hotlines were flooded with visits or calls from worried people who feared they’d been exposed to something. Anti-government riots broke out in Detroit, Chicago and New Orleans. Pro-government demonstrations were staged in St. Louis, Mobile, Dallas and Portland, bolstered by anti-terror groups. The demonstrations quickly turned violent, with confrontations against prominent liberals or Middle-Eastern-derived communities. Even unaffected cities stank of anxiety. Now, as he surveyed the planet, there did not seem to be one single place from which it would be advantageous to strike her. He had the powers of the storm and of disease, but nothing on this scale. He had waited too long. Together with allies, they might have a chance, but he saw now that her powers were far beyond what he had felt in his nightmares. With his son, Lugal and Ninurta, they might be able to force a stalemate. It wouldn’t be enough. With the surreptitious help of Utu and the fickle help of Ereshkigal, they might have a rest. But that was, for the moment, the best they could hope for. None of the other gods had stepped forward, including Absu. Not in any way significant enough to matter. Pazuzu recalled Lugal’s unflattering prediction that the gods, as always, would not get involved until something of theirs might be lost. If they saw there was no one left to revere them or that no one left would pay them any mind, then they might rise to defend their subjects. Until then, humanity could suffer. Pazuzu felt the familiar burn of anger throughout the wings and limbs of his swarms. But this time it felt strange, because it was in response to the human annihilation and the apathy of the gods. What is the world coming to when a demon of plague thinks that human catastrophe is too harsh? he wondered. And then he realized that he’d felt that indignation before, long ago, the first time Lamashtu dedicated herself to slaughter against the citizens of Uruk. At the shock of that revelation, his swarms, wherever they were in the world, almost stopped in the air. The locusts fluttered gently down to the closest solid surface and sat for a moment. Then they rose again into the sky to resume their reconnaissance.

The last thing he noted was the ghosts. In fields around the plague-ridden areas, droves of ekimmu were growing: hundreds, thousands of apparitions with hollow eyes. He coasted above the partly reconstructed ruins of the city of Babylon. He settled into human form at the lintel of the gate where he'd first met Etain. It didn’t look as it had when they’d met. The reconstruction had begun shortly after and then halted. During the recent Ba’ath government, the reconstruction had been oriented toward tourism. He landed near a stone proclaiming that Saddam Hussein, the latest of the Ba’ath leaders, was the heir of King Nebuchadnezzar. Pazuzu rolled his eyes, spat a gout of fire and blasted the stone into flaming shards. Heir to Nebuchadnezzar, so what! I’m an heir of the Anunnaki! That and a dollar will buy me a stint in the Underworld hung on a spike! He slumped down on the worn remains of the steps. He could almost see the ghost of Etain there. Except that he knew she was at the edge of the Underworld, peeking through Ninurta’s makeup mirror in his pocket. Damn Ninurta! Pazuzu flushed at the memory of her ghostly fingers slipping through his face. It looked like she was back for a while at least, even if only as a phantom. All that mattered for now was that he could see her again. He didn’t begrudge Ninurta the past pursuit of the Tablet, despite the cost to him. That was fair. He had been sent to retrieve it. But as Pazuzu traced his cheek where his beloved had touched him, he vowed to shove every plague on Earth down Ninurta’s throat if he stole the ghost of Etain from him. As he sat there, he thought about what all this had cost her. After thousands of years of life she had died because of Lamashtu, because of him. He frowned at the sky while he savored the thought of her touch and ruminated over her reappearance. It still puzzled him why she had chosen him as a mate when she could surely have had any god of her own people. Though he knew there wasn’t much time, he spared one last minute, remembering how he’d met Etain here, not long after WWII. It had been after a terrible plague, one of the last true scourges that he had caused. * * * Bodies with oozing sores lay prostrate in their tents. The nomads' breaths were labored, and a steady trickle of people came from

the desert. The sand never stopped blowing. It was a hot wind, a plague wind. A stricken man screamed to drown out the sound, and kept screaming. The local tribesmen prayed fervently to Allah, muttered and cast their gaze into the distance. “Demon Wind,” they called it. Allah had banished the demons into the desert. But the lingering evil of the German’s war had roused the darkest of them from the empty places, after the planes had gone. Deep in the scrub and wasteland Pazuzu seethed. His whirling storms blew plague-ridden sand, and his flies swarmed through every camp they encountered, spreading the rotting sickness. The flies gorged on cankered flesh. He savored the taste of death in the lesions that festered on the sick. After he was sated, he shifted into human form outside the camp. His belly was heavy with the taste of humans. Lamashtu laughed in his ear. She began licking him everywhere with hundreds of tongues. He choked back shudders, threw back his head and howled. His voice stripped the skin from animals scurrying nearby. It had been so long since he had succumbed to this urge. Even as he reveled in the blood power he had consumed, he felt a flood of shame as he pictured Lugal’s face. His friend would leave now, would he not? He would lose his longtime companion because of this putrid bitch! Almost as bad a thought was Lugal not leaving, and instead revealing the depth of his disappointment. Lugalbanda had seen the first massacre, Pazuzu's descent into darkness. Pazuzu had decided then that he would not commit such atrocities again. Until the next time Lamashtu whispered into his ear and stroked him. And the next time. After each plague, Lugal had found Pazuzu horrified, engorged with human flesh. The human king's spells of silence had begun with anger and finally ended with resignation. Yet he never left. He always tried to help. He talked Pazuzu out of the dark moods that followed a plague. But the silences between them were growing. The demon burst apart into a sand squall to dispel his lover’s unwanted wandering fingers, but her wind mingled with his. He flew high into the air, racing across the desert, but she pursued him. Finally, she gave up the chase and drifted off to find another camp. A brief glimpse showed him the form she sometimes displayed to the mortals: a grotesquely distorted woman, with a goat’s head and pendulous

breasts on which hung a baby pig and a dog. Her claws gripped and sometimes blended into the back of a donkey. He knew what she would do when she got to the next unlucky camp or town, but he lay face-down in the dirt, exhausted from her game. With a great inhalation he pulled the scorching sand over his head, until he could collect his thoughts. Something light fluttered against his back. This touch was different. It was not Lamashtu. He pulled his head from the ground in a shower of hot grains. The being who stood near him gasped in shock. It was the intriguing butterfly woman he had met months ago, Etain. He was near old Babylon, where she had come into this world to see her son, the night he’d met her. She was startled, staring at him with a mix of aversion and horror. “What is happening here?” she asked, her musical voice shaky. As he gazed at her, his face pulsed with life, the deep energy of earth, of things that eat rot. He said nothing. Instead of screaming, she swallowed hard, scrutinizing him. “There are such creatures among my kind.” He extended his arm, a projection of sand flies, toward the wastes from which he had come, from the pestilent camps. She flinched. “That was you.” But she remained standing before him. “I am wretched. Why do you seek me?” His voice was the buzz of the swarm. Her brow furrowed. “I don't know. After we spoke, I wanted to see you again. You are not just a pestilence demon. You are something else. Or you were. I know that the way that my people know things.” “No longer.” “No, you're wrong.” Her voice gained in strength. “Something of what you were is still in there. And something yet to be, beyond the trappings of this place.” She gestured around her at the desert. “Beyond that place too.” She nodded at the sky, at Heaven. She turned her sapphire gaze back to him. Her eyes reminded him of the Great Sea, the Mediterranean. She put her sparkling white hands on his vibrating flesh. Her touch calmed the flies, calmed the rage. He felt the wash of clean salt water and felt the bright sunlight on butterfly wings. He felt his face and body solidifying into human form again. He sprawled on the ground as she kneeled over him, with her hand on his cheek. Under her caress, his skin felt wholesome again. He

stretched out rough fingers to touch her twilight-blue hair. “Why? Why did you help me?” “You are honest, as you were when I met you. You are what you are. I live in a world of glamour, where people show the face they want others to see.” “I broke my promise. I fed on the mortals again, regardless of their innocence or guilt.” She took a deep breath. “I have heard of you. You have done terrible things. You also protected many families, from the infant scourge.” “The scourge is my wife.” His voice began to buzz with despair and his skin to boil, teeming with pestilence. A foul wind lifted. Etain sighed. “Always the broken men. Why do I always fall for the broken men? At least you keep trying. That's more than the last man.” Her strong fingers weaved through his hair. Then again they smoothed the roughness of his face, back into a semblance of humanity. The wind died down. She looked down into his eyes, as her pale face warred between infatuation and frustration. He took her hand in his and pulled her down to him. * * * He shook himself from the memory. She was not here now, in the ruins. He could ill afford any more time. But this place, despite centuries and the works of man could still take him back to that moment with her, the meeting that had most changed his life until Morpho. It was the one location that reminded him of hope, the first area he had been able to escape from Lamashtu's grasp. It might be the last time he saw this place. He put his hand on one of the old stones in the ground and closed his eyes. The feel of Etain, where she came into this world, was still there. He took dirt from the ground where he had lain with her, and smeared it in a line down his forehead. Then he flew for Tell al’ Warka, old Uruk, and landed near the temple of Eanna, Inanna’s ancient temple. He stood in contemplation at the abandoned archaeological site, once one of the greatest cities in the world, Lugal’s home. The lushness of the Great River had long since dried up. He spit on dirt beside the threshold of the temple ruins. You want to come after me for irreverence, Mistress, then do it. It's not going to matter anyway. And at least I will have gone down

fighting, caring about something other than my own worship. I am not sorry to be here in the world and banished from yours. I no longer want to live where you are. If this is what godhood means, standing back and watching, then I don't want it. Only the rasp of dust in the breeze answered him. The alad watched him, motionless, from their great height. He nodded to them and launched into the sky, realizing with a sinking feeling that his little symbolic gesture of rebellion might swing Inanna from inaction, to allying with Lamashtu. I did it again! I get angry and act with foolishness. Only this time it will almost certainly get everyone I care about killed! I really am the most terrible father who ever lived. I cannot even be trusted to simply gather information. I never learn! In the midst of a cloud of recrimination, Pazuzu flew for home. It was time to gather together. * * * After a long evening of talking with Gallursa, and filling him in on life in high school, and a cursory education on the most bitchin’ bands out right now, Morpho fell asleep against Gallursa’s feathery chest while Lugal and Ninhab planned. The next morning was a very rude awakening, as Lugal nudged her ribs with his boot and piled discarded candy and chip wrappers on her head. “Get up, little girl. You want to be a warrior, it’s time to train! You can’t just push a button and start the game over. You must learn to fight for real.” “Mmmfff.” She muttered and rolled over against her brother’s down. The damned boot dug in under her last rib, near her ticklish spot. “The next thing going on your head is the rest of your soda.” A trickle of sticky, freezing liquid dripped into her collar. “Agh!” She leaped up and whirled around to face Lugal, who was already in a fighting stance. He threw the rest in her face. She yelped in outrage, wiping her face, and lunged at him. As she rushed him, he grabbed the back of her head, guided her down by the neck, and planted her face in the dirt, effortlessly. He continued to pound on her for the next few hours, mitigated only by the brief periods he took to beat up Mr. Agresti. But Mr. Agresti kept getting up, and she noticed during one of her breaks nursing a purpling shiner, that it was getting

harder for Lugal to toss him around. When am I going to get better at this? It's my turn now! She thought with dismay. As if reading her mind, Lugal turned to her with a sneer. “You’re just a soft little girl. You can’t fight. You need men to protect you.” “Arrrgghhhhh! You smug, misogynistic piece of shit!” She ran at Lugal once again, if only to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face. As with the other billion times she had tried to fight him, he stepped to one side, redirected her punches and kicks and threw her into the dirt. “Ufffff!” She landed again on her back. “Less passion, more thought.” He leaned on a tree. “But you keep saying things deliberately to piss me off!” “Yes. You are facing a monster that killed someone very close to you. Don’t you think that will piss you off? And how well are you fighting when you do it consumed by anger? A warrior can use anger to fuel his or her capacity to keep going when all else is lost, but it should not drive your tactics. You must train, use physical instinct, and think, not react. If you always react, the enemy will always have an advantage. Rise and fight.” She pushed herself to her feet, feeling her whole body groan. She glanced over at her principal who was sitting against a trunk with a can of soda on a small bump on his head. He gestured to her. “Kick his ass, Morpho.” “Cuz you did so well.” “Exactly, and before you get snotty with me, remember that I'm a thirty-nine year old crotchety educator with no coordination. You’re a sixteen year old pretzel with the youthful delusions of invincibility. Oh, and I’m your principal. Eventually you have to come back to school. Which reminds me...” He rose unsteadily, to check his phone again. He’d been looking at it every hour, to see any updates regarding school after the evacuation. It had still not been cleared to resume. At least I don't have to be in school yet, she thought. Lugal looked unimpressed. “Enough talk, both of you. And stop texting, teacher. Isn’t that what you tell your kids? You’re in my class now.” Morpho grinned. “If you’re so interested in commentary from the sidelines, you’re well enough to fight. Attack me, both of you.” Lugal dropped into the fighting crouch they had both come to dread.

They looked at each other. Then Ninhab stored his phone carefully in his sack, brushed off his pants and advanced. He left his mace on the ground. “Grab your weapon!” Lugal boomed. “No. It’s too dangerous to practice in a melee.” Morpho tried to circle around behind Lugal. He grinned and slipped away to put Morpho between himself and Ninhab. “Sneaky, good.” Ninhab moved right and then dodged left, coming low at him by Morpho’s left side. As soon as Ninhab engaged the warrior, Morpho leaped at Lugal to pinch him from the other side. She dived toward Lugal’s knees. As he kicked out toward her, she leaned back to avoid his foot and caught it as she had seen JD do with Carl’s friends, and she twisted. Lugal flashed a smile of approval but dropped and rolled right into Ninhab. Then all three of them were flattened to the ground by a great weight, a mass of feathers. Gallursa had spread out and landed on all of them in a flop. “Gallursa!” “It looked like fun,” he said from overhead, his talons carefully retracted. “Get off! You’re crushing me.” Ninhab coughed. Lugal’s reverberating laugh rolled out from under the feathers. A chirp came from behind them. “Are you all done with the free-for-all? Has any actual training taken place?” Pazuzu stood there, resignation in his eyes. Lugal pushed out from under Gallursa’s bulk first. “Morpho has the beginnings of a promising warrior. And this one isn’t tripping over his feet anymore.” He clapped a brotherly hand on Ninhab’s shoulder. “He is regaining some of his former prowess.” Gallursa sat up and helped Morpho to her feet. Ninhab stood and spit out a tiny feather. Morpho looked around at the debris of branches, furrowed dirt and shattered pieces of target from the earlier smashes of the mace. “Wow. We trashed the place.” Lugal asked, “What have you found?” “She has been very busy. Some events you will hear on the news. Her plague has hit Israel, Palestine, Bagdad, Mogadishu, Somalia, Eritrea, Morocco and a dozen other places. The other nations are beginning to deteriorate. Our own government is in...well, more

trouble than before. I found no specific weakness or base from which she is operating. There is no motion surrounding Inanna’s portal. If the great goddess is involved further, I do not see it. Though it is possible that will change.” Pazuzu's voice was full of chagrin. Gallursa hung his head. “I do not understand why the Anunnaki are not acting in some way. They have never been so apathetic. I don’t remember them taking so little interest.” Pazuzu coughed. Lugal was curious but ignored the strange sound, remarking, “That’s because you are young, relatively speaking. Usually, it is cranky old warriors like me who end up pining for ‘good old days’ that never existed. But this is not new.” “You can’t say that. You have never spent time in the Heavenly court.” “No, but I never stopped being human. I’ve had centuries to see the apathy of the gods in this world.” He shrugged. “Look, young god, I am sorry that you are disappointed. But it’s just not useful to think about how things used to be. Things are as they are. Is the frustration at their inaction going to help us fight?” “No.” Gallursa sighed. He stared at Pazuzu, who just stood watching him. “I’ve often wondered where you were after you were exiled and if you ever regretted your decisions. If you ever wanted to go back and change things to the way they were.” Pazuzu answered quietly. “I regret a great many things. I thought about those events constantly, obsessively even. I reflected in my mind and played them over and over. I got angry, enraged about my exile, the loss of my powers and anything else that infuriated me. But I guess when it came down to it, I never did regret taking the Tablet. I only regret that I let the Tablet take me in the end. If Farmer Bob,” he nodded at Ninhab, “had not taken it from me, I would have become just another version of Enlil. That wasn’t what I wanted when I took it.” Gallursa stared at him, a tightness in his face around his brow and ears. Pazuzu continued, his words almost lost in the breeze, “I regretted that my punishment cost me you. I regretted leaving you. And not trying harder to find you again. I regretted that the most.” Gallursa took a long breath. The tension around his eyes relaxed and he nodded. “So what now? There is no help coming, except the pact with Ereshkigal.”

“There is no time left to wait.” Lugal said wearily. “We’ll have to act with what we have. If we wait any longer she will have created too many forces. The ekimmu are everywhere. We will have to contend with them as well. Individually, they would not be as troubling. But there are entire populations now.” Morpho’s face dropped. “Those dark ghosts? Did you...do you think?” Pazuzu didn’t look away from her when he spoke. “I did not see him. That is a good thing.” “Do you think that he might have gone somewhere else? Like where good ghosts go?” Pazuzu started to answer, but Lugal interrupted. “It is unlikely, Morpho.” Pazuzu’s eyes flashed bright but Lugal continued, “I know you would like for that to be true. But the middle of a battle is no place to learn his most likely fate,” he spoke as much to Pazuzu as to Morpho. “And if it isn’t?” Pazuzu said. “Then that is a happy accident. But that hope will not serve her in this, only endanger her when she must fight. And this path, fighting with us, is what she has chosen, my lord.” Morpho’s head hung, but her jaw was steeled. “So now we have to lure Lamashtu into a trap, right? So Mr. Agresti’s girlfriend can hold her in the Underworld.” “Not my girlfriend. But yes. That is the essence of what I was told.” “It is not always the essence but the details that are important with Ereshkigal. Did she give you any indication of where to set a trap to open a portal? The one in Iraq is not accessible,” Pazuzu said. “Well, maybe we should be consulting the expert.” Ninhab pulled out the compact. “Etain, you're our resident ghost. Where should we set a trap for Lamashtu?” “The Queen can make her own portal in a number of ways, over a deep lake large enough to trap a goddess.You should focus on where she is most likely to show up next.” Lugal agreed. “This will give us the advantage of surprise, if she comes believing that it is she who is hunting us. As long as she is unaware of Ereshkigal’s aid.” “But let me point out one little wrinkle. Your brilliant plan to trap her last time didn't work. Won’t she be more wary now of writhing pools of Underworld space?” Ninhab reminded them.

Lugal nodded. “Perhaps. It was foolish of me to attempt it as I did. I should have seen to it myself. But if I had been there in that place she would have sensed it was a trap before she did. And there is nothing that can be done about that now.” “JD would use one of his gadgets. Maybe we should see if there are any in his house that he stowed away. Like the Munchie Mist.” Pazuzu tried to keep irritation from his tone. “I appreciate the boy’s enterprise and creativity but I’m not sure that these will help us. Unless he has left an instruction booklet, they’ll be worthless.” “Well, I could probably figure out whatever we find,” she persisted. “The boy was clearly resourceful,” Gallursa murmured. “You said he vanquished a couple of her demons. Perhaps we will get lucky. We could look there just to see what may be found. His home is as good or bad a place to make a stand as any. Do you not think?” “He has family there. We should at least warn his mother and send her to safety,” Ninhab added. “If Lamashtu has not already been there,” Pazuzu said. “Thank you, Captain Cheerful. We should make sure,” Ninhab replied. Pazuzu inclined his head. Lugal pulled Ninhab aside as they were cleaning up their site. “About your deal with Ereshkigal. She offered you godhood, didn’t she?” Morpho’s ears pricked and she listened as she gathered trash. Ninhab sighed. “Yes. She gave me one moment of my past back.” “Will you take it?” “No. I'm married. I told her I’d stay with my wife. After I die, who knows? Why?” “It is an offer she does not confer lightly, unless she really wants something or unless she is lonely.” Ninhab stared at Lugal for a moment before a light dawned in his face. “She made you the same offer, didn’t she?” “Long before you were a seed in your father’s loins, at least in your current incarnation.” “So why didn’t you take her up on it?” “I love life. I love food and beer and living women.” “But there’s all that down there too. It looked like she could just conjure everything out of the air.”

Lugal’s face contracted in a mirthless smile. “Illusion, memory. She cannot create life or give you back exactly what you lost, Ninurta.” “Was she lying when she said she could make me a god at her side?” “Not precisely, no. She can, but you would not be a god of life.” Morpho kept listening. “I suspected as much. You’re immortal, so I guess it doesn’t matter for you,” Ninhab muttered. “I can be killed. I just don’t age and I heal quickly from most things.” Ninhab’s eyes were sharp. “What did she want that she offered you godhood in return?” “The Tablet of Destiny. She helped me capture it from you. I was supposed to give it to her. But I gave it to Absu to destroy instead.” Uneasiness flashed across his face as he cleaned up around the area, removing all traces that they had been there. Ninhab’s eyes widened. “You went back on a bargain with her? What did she do?” “Nothing, for now. She will wait. Sooner or later most mortals and gods come to her realm.” Ninhab just stared at the man for a minute. “I'm sorry,” he said simply. Lugal laughed. “Ironic that you apologize to me, though I am the one who stole from you.” “I saw enough when I was there. I wouldn’t wish her wrath on anyone.” Lugal said nothing as he checked over his weapons, his expression unreadable. As Morpho finished cleaning up, she watched Lugal and Mr. Agresti. They were here in the middle of nowhere, and now she knew just what this might cost them. Her principal had been offered what for some would be the ultimate reward, and turned it down, for now at least. It didn’t matter that it turned out to be a scheme. He stayed and was helping her. And Lugal. She had always known him and her father as the only two persistent people in her life. She had never known how high the stakes were. Ereshkigal was one of the Great Queens, the Queen of the Dead, and Lugal had pissed her off. Morpho didn’t need a lot of imagination to envision what was likely to happen to him if he died now. Yet he was still going to fight. She just stood, watching him for a couple minutes.

He’s thousands of years old. No wonder he never told anyone his birthday. He just smiled when I used to ask him. It wouldn’t have mattered. They always got me stuff, but I never got them anything. She walked up to Lugal and tapped him on the shoulder. When he stood up from packing his sack, she hugged him. He looked startled for a second and then hugged her back. “Thanks. For everything,” she said quickly, staring at her feet. Lugal nodded and smiled. “Of course, little one.” His voice was gentle. She glanced over at her dad and started to walk toward him. He stood, impatiently watching Ninhab and Lugal pack, surveying their surroundings. He looked frayed. She stopped before she reached him. Maybe later. What if there isn't a later? I was such a bitch to him. JD was right. Everything he’s done, he’s done for me. Lugal interrupted her reverie. “All right, we should go.” Gallursa kneeled and Morpho hopped onto his back as though she’d traveled that way her whole life. Lugal sighed, climbing on behind her, and Ninhab pulled himself up in the front. Thin coils of mist leaked from the compact Ninhab held in his hand, cracked open slightly. Etain emerged. Her long graceful white fingers stroked her husband’s face like a breath and her face formed in front of Morpho. “I know you never got to know me, little girl. But I loved you before you were born. Please be careful. I will do everything I can to protect you.” Morpho nodded with wide eyes, as her fingers slipped through the image. Etain turned to Pazuzu. “You too, husband.” She withdrew into the mirror again. Pazuzu faced the others. “Lamashtu is a demoness of plague and corruption. I can’t control her anymore but I have enough power to protect you against that aspect of her for a while, just as I protected the people of Babylon and Canaan. Come close. You might want to close your eyes.” None of them did. “You don’t have any surprises left for me, old friend,” Lugal said. Pazuzu smiled ruefully. His arms melted into a web of fumes that coated them: their faces, exposed skin, and hair. Morpho and Ninhab held their breaths. “No. Inhale.” They did. Morpho started gagging at the taste and smell.

“Good. Keep breathing.” The greasy, bitter effluvium filled their lungs, nasal passages, and entered their blood. Droplets floated down to the ground. The grass glistened with a sick sheen and began turning yellow. Ninhab saw, exclaiming, “What the hell? Is it doing that to our lungs, our insides?” Pazuzu held out a hand that solidified from mist. “No. It will protect you. My powers can be used in different ways. There is no time to explain it now. If we survive, I’ll regale you with a dissertation, if you wish.” Gallursa lifted off, bearing them to battle, as Pazuzu scattered into the rising wind in the treetops.

19 When JD got to his house before dusk, it looked just as disheveled and dirty as it always had. Whatever mess there was hadn’t been made by Lamashtu. He melted through the walls to find his mom. She was sprawled on the sagging little couch in front of the daytime soaps, passed out. A mostly empty bottle of ‘JD’ lay on the floor next to an overflowing ashtray. He heaved a sigh of relief that she was alive, mixed with a violent surge of hunger that brought him to the ground. I’m not going to eat my mom! This time he didn’t need porn images to focus him away from his hunger. Though a halo of light shone from her, it wasn’t healthy and bright like the earlier humans he’d seen. The glow was dim and there were patches around her body that were darker, over her chest and stomach. He knew what that meant without a stretch of imagination. She was dying, slowly, had been for years. Killing herself cigarette by cigarette, drink by drink, blow by blow as she let assholes knock her around. His hunger was replaced with a flood of fury and frustration. He rose, floating over her body. He tried to pull the ratty quilt hanging off one of the sofa’s arms up to cover her. His fingers touched the cloth when he concentrated. He could feel the field of pinging electrons and atoms that made up its matter. But when he pressed to lift it, they slid through. He backed away; the urge to feed grew, the closer he was to her. He turned to go but his new allies were clustered behind him, staring at her with rapacious expressions. “That’s my mom! Get away from her!” Shame crept across their faces as they repeated their own mantras to banish the hunger. “Sorry, man.” Kyle, a large outspoken ghost he’d recruited, muttered, “You know, she doesn’t look so good.”

One look from JD and Kyle dropped the subject. He jerked his chin toward the street lights outside. “Hey, there aren’t any bad ghosts around here but there is a lot of live bait. Looks like this neighborhood wasn't near the chemicals, but people are staying home. We should probably get what you need and get out of here before we slip off the wagon.” Kyle hunched his massive football-player shoulders. “That might be a problem.” JD slipped through the ghosts to his room where he put his hand on the pulse generator he had been working on for his car, before he had brought Morpho here to escape. As he clasped his fingers around the metal, they sunk into it. “I can’t pick anything up. I can’t really touch anything, not enough to manipulate.” “Well, wait a minute. Do that again.” A slight young woman with dark short curly hair pointed her finger at the generator. Myra had been an engineering student. “Do that again.” JD tried again to pick up the object but watched, disheartened as his hand melted into it. But Myra perked up with the kind of enthusiasm that JD recognized as a Eureka moment. “You can’t pick something up but you can get inside it. Well, think about it for a second. Maybe we don’t need physical weapons after all. Maybe the better weapon is getting inside. All of the most devastating weaponry doesn’t manipulate large things, but the tiniest things, the atom, the electron, smaller. You’re going the wrong way thinking big. Think of the fusion bomb.” Kyle stared at her with wide eyes. “Remind me. What were you when you were alive? An evil scientist?” She grinned. A smile slowly spread across JD’s face and through the other ghosts. “So maybe we can get inside her. Or at least her minions.” “Aren’t they demons?” a ghost at the group rear piped up. Myra nodded. “But they have to be made of something, maybe some kind of temporary matter. We know they can affect matter and rip things apart.” “Hey, it’s an extra weapon. I won’t say no to that. And I can’t come up with anything better.” “Amen to that,” Kyle rumbled. “I do remember going inside someone when I fed, that once.” He repressed a shiver at the memory of his near-damnation. “I guess, after coming back from that, I didn’t really want to think about doing anything that might lead me there again.”

The ghosts all muttered in agreement. “But maybe if we practice, we can get better at control. Start with little things. We have a squirrel problem in the yard.” JD moved into the backyard and everyone followed. “I’m surprised that’s the only thing you have a problem with. This place is where machines come to die. And I’m the evil scientist?” Myra inspected the yard. A ballsy squirrel darted across the dirt two feet from them, stopped and scolded another squirrel on the roof. JD moved quickly, wrapping his hand around and then through the squirrel, feeling the molten touch of its energy. He resisted letting the essence into himself, picturing a wall around the boundaries of his image. But the sense of its light was so seductive, he began to absorb it. He shrieked and let go. The squirrel staggered. After a second, it recovered and bolted, squeaking. The second squirrel came down from the roof to chase it. JD rallied his strength and stopped trying to grab it physically. Instead, he went back to the feeling he’d received from the first squirrel, its energy signal. He steeled himself and pictured the things that smelled or tasted disgusting to him, lima beans, slimy salad bar lettuce, cat shit that his neighbors never cleaned from their yard. The memory of revulsion seeped through him. The hunger receded, even when he passed through the light of the second squirrel. He dissolved, flowing into the squirrel’s twitching little ears and into its body. He kept its own energy from being sucked into him by the force-field of repulsive memories. The images in his mind hardened into the sights and sounds from the squirrel’s eyes and ears. It was very weird, like going trick or treating with an awkward mask that didn’t fit. He kept feeling the tantalizing energy pulsing through its veins, in its cells. He could feel its terrified mind slithering around him, trying to regain control. Nuts! Food, seeds, nuts. Hungry. Squirrel threatening my territory! Get out of my yard or I’ll bite you, challenger! The squirrel’s thoughts chattered at the edge of his own. He pulled out of the confused animal, then stood and stared at the squirrel as the squirrel stared back at him. After a few moments, the creature’s strange memory of the food-dropping giant in its mind faded, and it scampered back to defend its perch on the roof. “Hm. Well, that was interesting,” JD said and turned to the crowd.

“You disappeared into it. But I could tell you were in there. Could you control it?” “I think so, if I’d thought about it. It was just really weird.” He turned back to his yard. “It’s going to be hard to control your hunger the first time. But I found that when I remembered eating or smelling things that grossed me out, that kept my mind off feeding, at least for a little while. Okay, everyone, grab a squirrel.” The ghosts fanned out. One sounded peeved as she went by. “I was a vegetarian because I didn’t want to be cruel to animals. So much for karma.” “Well, the idea is not to eat them, just control them. If it makes you feel better, give the little bugger a nice dream about lady squirrels when you leave.” About half an hour later, a ring of six squirrels gathered in an empty patch in the yard. Not only had they not given in to the energy hunger, they had learned to control the animals enough to satisfy a more living kind of need. Most of them had found human food from the surrounding neighborhood. Two collaborated to drag an entire burger from the nearby alley behind Griff’s. Another one was doused in creamy pink shake and was licking her fur. “Want some?” the foodie squirrels chattered to JD. “We can taste everything! It tastes like it did when we were human. A little less sweet.” He shrugged his furry shoulders. “Sure.” Soon all of the squirrels were muching on bread and burger, except the vegetarian. She satisfied herself with licking strawberry shake off of the sticky pink squirrel. A squirrel he identified with Kyle called out to the vegetarian, “You sure? It was barely touched!” “I’m fine,” she slurped. When their squirrel bodies couldn’t eat another bite without popping, they sat back on their haunches and reviewed their adventure. “So this is cool! I’m liking this.” Kyle slowly chewed on the last of the meat in his cheeks. “I can still get the taste of food. And I wonder if the female squirrels would go for me? I could get laid too.” Myra slapped him in the head with her tiny paw. “Focus, jock. This wasn’t meant to be a chance for an orgy. We’re supposed to be learning to control our new abilities. Maybe you can possess Brad Pitt later on, if we survive this.” “He’s still together with Angelina, right?”

“So,” JD interrupted them, “You think you can control these bodies easily now? What about bigger ones, intelligent ones. What about people and demons?” Maria, the older Hispanic mother of three, squeaked in distress. “You want us to possess people? Just like the Devil?” “Well, what if we start with chimpanzees or dolphins?” Kyle suggested. “They’re intelligent.” “Unless we take a field trip to the Denver Zoo, how do you think we could find one? There are no dolphins swimming in Cherry Creek. And my neighbors are all human, within certain definitions of human.” JD pointed out. “Any neighbors you don’t like?” Kyle asked. “Aghhh!” Maria spat on the ground and rubbed her hands. “Kyle!” Vegetarian squirrel barked. But JD twittered a laugh. “Yeah actually, there’s a big time gang-banger down the street. I know he beats his old lady and sells meth to the kids at the school nearby.” “I’m on it. Where’s he live?” “Third yellow house on the right. Number 342. See if you can read addresses with your squirrel eyes too.” Kyle started scampering out of the yard, against the protests of the female squirrels. But before he cleared the area, JD called, “Wait!” Kyle stopped, flicking his whiskers. “What’s up, Bro?” “I’ll train on the drug dealer. I need you to do someone else.” “Who?” “See if you can make my mom stop drinking.” Maria shrieked. Kyle’s whiskers and face went wild in a frenzy of twitching. “Dude! I’m not possessing your mom! Are you kidding me? That ain’t right. You didn’t even want me near her earlier. And you were right!” Even Myra clicked in shock. “JD!” “It’ll help us find out if we can leave something lasting. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work, and if it does… Then she’ll stop being such a mess.” Kyle padded back to JD and looked him in the face, his beady eyes steady. “She’s dying already, dude. You saw that, we all did.” “Maybe this’ll give her a little more time.” “I’m not going into your mom. Why you askin’ me? Why don’t you do it yourself if you really think it’ll help.”

JD scuffed the dirt with his paw. “Because she loves watching those cheesy soaps. What if she’s thinking about her loser boyfriend? Who am I going to go to for therapy after that?” Kyle crept close and put his nose near JD’s. “That ain’t what this is about and you know it, man. You don’t go from wanting to keep us away from her, to wanting us to possess her just like that. Go say goodbye to your mom.” He backed up and turned around to complete his mission to the drug dealer’s house. “Don’t worry, I’ll give your gang-banger boy a time he’ll never forget!” He scrabbled away. Maria regarded JD. “You really think this’ll help us fight that demon bitch?” “I don’t have any other ideas.” “Neither do I.” She crossed herself with sharp little claws. It was a very strange gesture in a squirrel. “Jesus forgive me.” She began to follow Kyle. “All right, I find that dealer bastard’s girlfriend. Maybe I get her to leave him and go home to her mama.” One by one, the squirrels scattered to find people. Finally, only Myra was left. She just looked at him for a minute, not saying anything. And then she went in search of a target. He was alone, with his mom inside. He pulled out of the squirrel and felt the dizziness of being disembodied again. He drifted into the house. He hovered, staring at the aura around his mother for a long time. Then he slipped inside her. The first thing he felt was constant pain. Everywhere. It was so grinding that it trampled the bombardment of hunger he felt into a tiny buzz underneath the sensation. In her lungs, it was like breathing shards of glass, when he could even inhale at all. Breathing deeply felt like coming up against a wall. In her belly, it was like a slow burn in her gut. Every joint ached. Her thoughts were fuzzy from alcohol, but she was aware that the pain would come back as soon as the fuzziness went away. He felt something else sliding around her mind as she surrendered to him without any resistance: a deep fear that he was gone. My boy’s been gone so long. He stays out sometimes. But he’s a good boy. He ain’t never been out this long. I’m such a shitty mother. Why don’t I go out an’ look for him? Everything hurts. I ain’t got the juice in me anymore to go out after him. I never protected him. Why didn’t I ever protect him? On and on, her self-deprecating thoughts swirled around him, mixed with nausea and suffering.

He leaned over in her body, every nerve protesting, and vomited all over the floor, unable to help his own reaction to her thoughts and senses. Oh God, Mom. I never knew it was like this. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Her eyes filled with tears. He slumped over the edge of the couch and cried, wracking her already aching belly. JD, baby? Is that you? I’m dreaming a nice dream for once, she thought as she flopped back down. She had heard him, heard his thoughts as separate from his own in her body. I’m so tired. I wish I could stay here in this dream forever, talking to my boy, she thought, half to him and half to herself. JD fought misery. She could clearly sense whatever he felt, so he had to control his reactions. But there was no mistaking her thoughts next to his. She was wishing for death. And he knew, with a sinking feeling, that he could give it to her. He could give her what she wanted. In the next few seconds, he fought back the scream in his mind harder than anything he had ever fought, even his own death. He fought the impulse to give her what she wanted most. The hunger was back. He was as aware of it as he had been of breathing when he’d been alive. I can’t kill my own mom. She’ll have to ask someone else. He thought into the gray swirls, Hi, Mom. JD. Are you okay? I was worried about you. I know, Mom. I’m okay. Where you been, son? I can’t explain that right now. Look, something really bad is coming soon. It’s very dangerous. You need to get out of here, okay? Can you go to Uncle Jay’s in Kansas? That son-of-a-bitch? Why? What’s going on? What a strange dream… she murmured in her mind. I know you don’t like him but you’ll be safe there. Please, Mom, just promise me you’ll go when you wake up. You like his wife, or at least you don’t hate her. Let her take care of you. What about you, baby? I’m okay. Trust me. Do you promise? Mom, make me that promise. I never asked you for anything like this before. Please? Okay, baby. But what’s going on? I can’t explain right now. Short story, there’s a demon. She’s pissed and going to come for you. Oh God! I sinned!

No, Mom! It’s not because you sinned. She hates humans. I got to go now. Just do what I tell you and you’ll be safe. I was wicked! I didn’t help you when I should’ve. I— No, Mom! It’s got nothing to do with that. I’m not mad at you, okay? I’ve seen wicked and you don’t even come close. You did the best you could. Do you believe me? Do you hear me? I got to go, Mama. Listen to me, Mama. I love you. Sobs shuddered through her body and he couldn’t tell if they were his or hers anymore. He blocked everything else out of his head and concentrated on picturing a little stream he had played in when he was young, five or six years old. He and his mom had stopped at this little picnic area next to a stream near the Raccoon River, on their way to visit Uncle Jay. He’d spent the whole time playing in the water instead of eating his sandwich. He had stared at his feet on the sandy bottom and wiggled them, feeling the fresh icy water sluice through his toes. He’d never seen water so clear, like liquid crystal. Mom was just sitting and eating her sandwich, her fair thick hair shining in the sun. A smile full of healthy teeth lit up her whole face as she watched him. He picked glassy stones from the bottom of the creek to give to her and wished the afternoon would freeze that way in the buttery sunlight forever. Now, as a ghost, he guided her thoughts to the memory and shared it with her. And then he left her. As he began forming again, he heard and felt a whisper in his mind. Juan’s essence came through his thoughts as though calling down a long tunnel. He felt a remnant of the cop’s energy run through him. Hey kid, you okay? What just happened? Your mom okay? No worse than before. Come back now. All right, kid? JD felt a trickle of concern. Whatever. On our way. He shut the link out of his mind. The other ghosts, now disembodied, were gathered outside when he emerged from the house. Myra’s attention weighed on him. “You okay?” she whispered. Kyle’s eyes locked on his but he didn’t speak. JD just nodded and flitted toward the base where they were supposed to meet and report. No one said anything else until they got there. * * *

An army of at least fifty new recruits had gathered at the base when JD’s Red Squad returned. A sea of diaphanous spirits formed into new companies at Dale’s barks. Every face was marked by concentration on staying whole and human. A few clusters were practicing joining with each other to share their ability to communicate across distances. As JD’s group approached, Dale yelled, “Form up!” He grinned as they all stood at attention. Juan stood by Dale, visibly concerned. JD’s eyes were dull but the formality elicited a little smile from him as he offered his report. Army dudes saluting for a pothead, he thought. “Cute. We didn’t encounter any more bad ghosts but we did discover some very cool abilities. Myra and Kyle helped to develop some promising tactics.” As he talked, the nightmare of his recent possession began to fade a little and the ache of depression eased. “We figured out possession. We’ve each tested sliding into an animal and a human. We talked about how the possession went in the squirrels. But we haven’t had a chance to, uh, debrief yet on our human experience. Kyle, you wanna go first?” “Sure. I thought it’d be hard to overcome the hunger, for something powerful like a human. But I thought it was a lot easier to resist them if I focused on how much I hated the guy I was possessing. It was like having a face full of chopped liver or brussel sprouts. I got a drug dealer, see? I ain’t never done drugs, never will. And you could feel it in him, and I know if I ate him, I would’ve felt the drugs too. But with possession, I could leave his body if I didn’t like something. Even better, I could make him do whatever I wanted, like bang a hot chick instead. And since he was a bastard, it was really kind of fun to make him walk up to the local patrol with a bag of meth, wearing lipstick and fishnets for when they throw his ass in jail.” A rolling snicker swept across the companies. A knot in JD’s center relaxed. “JD? You wanna tell them about yours?” “No. I don’t. Not right now.” Myra slid a thought into his mind. There were no words, just a feeling of her being there if he needed her. Juan frowned at JD. JD reviewed what he had found without going into any details. “I found that you can communicate with your host, not just control them. You need to be careful because if you feel something strongly, they can hear you. I don’t know for sure how lasting the effects are.”

He wondered if his mother had woken up yet and if she had decided his warning was real. “You can feel everything in your host’s body too,” Myra added. “Any luck with moving things?” “Not from the outside. Only live things from the inside. And we don’t know if it’ll work on a demon.” Juan said, “I think we’ll find out soon. We better get ‘em trained. And I don’t think we should give up on moving things.” But they had almost run out of daylight, and the hungry wraiths were beginning to throng nearer to the building they’d chosen. Many were nothing but shrouds with cavernous mouths. “Maybe we better call it a night and find shelter until morning.” “Where?” JD asked. “Well, now we gotta think of the bigger picture,” Dale said. “Mostly they’re not after us, we don’t have life. So, if we just stay out of sight, they might go away.” JD saw Juan scowl at that. “No, Dale’s right, Juan. I know it’d be great if you could throw all of them in the slammer, but if we get sucked away too, or turned back before we even get to face this bitch, then what was the point of any of this?” “So what do we do?” “We hide. We’re ghosts. Isn’t that supposed to be what ghosts do best? Until we want to start throwing chairs and books and stuff?” JD shrugged. “And if someone gets into trouble?” Juan crossed his arms. “Well, we linked to go to the house, so we’ll all just link. If one gets attacked, we'll know and we can come deal with it then. It worked when we met and you tried to get those first ghosts that ate those people.” JD reminded Juan. The Hazmat corpses still sat in the center of the distant field like an unholy beacon. And JD wondered if their once-owners were among those who would be roaming to devour other people tonight. He still felt a shiver of cold across his spirit-skin as he thought about them. They dispersed, and the new companies melted into the gloaming around the vicinity of the building. During the night, a few came close to discovery, but once the company ghosts were still, they were no longer very interesting to the dark ones. So they rested until the sky was gray. In fact, the drifts of hungry phantoms were fewer, as they wandered away in search of life.

Once the companies were assembled again, Dale called across to the waiting throng, “Ghost Fighters! Are you ready to train? Are you ready to take back what she took from you? Are you ready to banish that crusty slut back to the ninth ring of Hell?” “Woohoooo! Let’s make that bitch choke on pea soup!” someone yelled. Juan paused to think about that for a second. JD slowly smiled. “Okay, commence Operation Pea Soup!” Dale hollered, “One person from Red Squad in each platoon to teach possession! Companies have four hours to train in possession techniques, distance communications and physical object movement. Report back to base at 2000 hours…uh...” He glanced at his phantom watch that didn’t tell time anymore. “When the sun is...uh, two fingers from setting, come back here for testing!” “What about resistance to torture? I mean they are demons. What if they catch us and stick a fat chunk of energy in our faces? Or if they do something to increase the hunger?” JD gestured to the receding ghosts. “I mean some of them are probably still close to the edge. That kind of thing could turn them right back.” Juan looked thoughtful. “In my town in Mexico, the drug lords would get the kids and women addicted. The men would break into the homes and force the shit into them. Then they had power over them.” Dale agreed. “We’ll talk about that when they get back. I think they need more successes at control first, before we throw that kind of shit at them.” “What if we don’t have that long?” JD said. “We probably won’t, but they need hope right now more than anything.” “They know what they’re getting into.” Juan nodded toward them. “Vengeance or courage, who cares which. I’m glad they’re here.” JD held out his fist. “To Operation Pea Soup.” Juan and Dale put their fists into the circle. * * * Over the next few hours, as Pazuzu’s family lifted into the sky from the campground, rumbles started in the sky and earth. The epicenters were near areas of strife, where the evil goddess had begun her campaign.

Suffering throngs in Haiti withdrew into muddy shanties with sheets put up against the weather on the outskirts of the ruined towns. They hurled Catholic and vodun prayers into the dimming sky as the ekimmu, the hungry dead, rose. The saints who had protected the people from slavery for centuries, raged against the ekimmu, rabisu and their growing power. Damballah Wedo, the Serpent, wrapped his long sinuous curves around the fetid vapors rising from the ground. He swallowed the miasma in shining light and then choked on the darkness that kept coming. Erzuli Danto, the Protector of Children, rose from masses of phantoms. Young children clung across her back as she slashed through the fog of ekimmu like a pirate queen. Her eyes blazed with fire in her dark, scarred face. Still the darkness rose. Desperate rioting crowds of people clutched their throats, choked and died as a hag of Lamashtu erupted in the sky and laughed. Rabisu devoured the dying. In the Congo, the army went mad and began eating the tribespeople in huts they raided. The vapors rose from the floor of the jungle. After the last victims were dead, all that remained of the soldiers were strange creatures that yelped and bayed, with eyes that glowed red. Their jaws snapped through the meat and bones that littered the dirt floors of homes. In the small town of Tubas, near the disputed border of Jordan, the streets were silent. Littering the roads, yards and shops were the mixed bodies of Palestinians, Israeli citizens, and soldiers. Their machine guns were empty, the butts covered in hardening brown blood. Fires still dotted the buildings here and there. Shards of glass twinkled pink and pretty in the gory light from the dirty sky. Nothing moved but the ghosts. They had forgotten everything but their hunger for the life energy in the once-lush orchards and banks of the nearby river. Elsewhere, other storms were rising. The great cenote at Teotihuacan bubbled and the algae-coated sides froze into a green slick. The bottom of the pit couldn't be seen. A waft of grave air exhaled into the sky. The leaves of the trees within a half mile withered and disintegrated. As detritus was sucked into the cenote, there was no sound as it failed to hit any bottom. A cold so deep it had no measurement crept across the pyramid complex from the hole, and all motion stopped as the animals of the jungle were frozen in a moment of time.

A few miles away, the water in Dos Ojos cenote bubbled and boiled through its subterranean tunnels. Then the deep streams went as still as glass when their clear water sunk below zero. The eyes of Ereshkigal, Queen of Entropy, Queen of the Void watched everything from mirrors in the earth. Opposite from Ereshkigal, on the other side of the Earth, a sandstorm the color of blood began building in the Rub al Khali. Sand blasted from the sky above the Eanna enclosure at the ruins of Uruk, from the ghost of Inanna’s ancient ziggurat. The alad were gone. Ancient volcanoes pummeled ash into the sky over the Zagros Mountains. Fire rained from the sky as Inanna walked through her old land to meet her handmaiden. The puny arrogant plague demon was defending the pestilent little humans and defying her. It was time for a reminder of how much greater were the gods of Heaven than a miserable outcast. Her black hair was a river of lava; her green eyes blazed with unquenchable flames. The Anunnaki were rising.

20 The small group felt the air pressure drop as the Anunnaki rose. Gallursa tumbled a few feet. His passengers clung to his back. Morpho’s stomach lurched. Though she had shrieked in delight on her last flight, this time her legs were watery with dread. Gallursa hadn’t been showing off as he wobbled in the air. It was starting. Etain whispered from Ninhab’s pocket, her voice blending with the roaring wind. “The trap is there. Ereshkigal is waiting, near the ancient temple at Teotihuacan. Change course. Meeting Ereshkigal is our best chance.” He veered south, toward the disturbance. “Why there?” Morpho asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “There is more power there for Ereshkigal and Utu. They may be gathering allies. He is friends with the sun god of that place. Utu has used that portal into the world. He and Ereshkigal are tied. He lights the world when he is here and though he resides in Heaven, he travels through the Underworld, his sister’s realm, at other times. He is fond of her,” she explained. “And he witnesses all that happens.” “Somehow I had other ideas about how I wanted to visit Mexico. They involved my wife on a beach with an umbrella drink,” Ninhab remarked. “What about Ereshkigal? I’m sure she would oblige you.” Lugal laughed. Morpho listened to their reassuring banter. She glanced back at Lugal, his sharp dark face. He watched her. His eyes read the fear in her face. She swallowed and looked away. I'm not chicken-shit, I'm not weak! I'm going to do this thing. It's bigger than me. It's bigger than all of us. It matters more than anything. Shit, I don't want to die. Panicked thoughts whirled around her brain. Then she felt Lugal’s hand on her shoulder, steadying her.

“No matter what happens, I am proud of you. You have already fought a great battle. You can fight this one.” A grasshopper landed and chirped from a fold of her shirt. If we are to meet at that portal, Lamashtu will have to be lured there. She avoids Utu and she fears Ereshkigal. But her hatred of us may be greater than her fear. I will distract her and see that she follows us. Morpho held her finger out and Pazuzu climbed onto it in the lee of Ninhab’s back. “Dad, she could catch you and then you’ll have to fight her alone. That wasn’t the plan. I did all this training and I won’t even get a chance to use the explosive bow!” She joked but her voice came out as anxious anyway. I will be careful. I wouldn’t think of depriving my daughter of the opportunity to use a deadly weapon, he replied drily. He let out a low whistle. I am proud of you too, Morpho. You have grown so much, so fast. His voice was full of pride but also a little wistful. “I thought you were disappointed in me.” Why would you think that? You are so much like your mother. I love you. And I love that you are different from both of us. What you have chosen to do here is strong, fighting when you know you may not win. The boys who attacked you only picked targets they could win against. They had power for the moment, but there’s always someone with more. And power isn’t everything people want it to be. It hasn’t done me much good. Nor many of the gods we may encounter: Inanna, Ereshkigal. None of them ever got what they wanted from their power. “What do they want?” I don't know. I'm not sure they even know anymore. Just that for all their might, they are unhappier than anyone I have ever seen. I need to find Lamashtu now. “You said I was weak.” I was wrong. You were rather vocal at pointing out that I’m an idiot, so you may 'chalk that up’ to my idiocy. That doesn't mean you can run helter-skelter and disobey me. I'm still your father. But you’re right. I have not been wise, and it hurt you. I’m sorry. Morpho nodded and the grasshopper vanished in the wind. Lugal and Ninhab pulled out their arsenal of weapons and rechecked their ammunition. Morpho stroked the great bow, its golden

curve warm under her hand, in the ever-colder wind. She hunkered down against Gallursa’s heated down. * * * After the initial quakes, Pazuzu scattered to cover ground. Locusts swarmed across every area Lamashtu had hit or was expected to hit. Pazuzu passed over what were now the barrens of the Butterfly Pavilion. He saw the line of silent, still cars on the highway, dozens of corpses and multitudes of ekimmu. He skimmed the fields in the offchance that JD was wandering. At this point, he doubted he’d recognize what was left of the boy, this one boy who had proved himself worthy of his daughter. It still made him cringe to think of her with a boy, any boy. At least she could probably beat this one up if she needed to. Despite that, JD had been willing to protect her. But as Pazuzu surveyed the fields, there were nothing but monsters. His heart sank as he remembered JD’s hopeful face and Morpho’s smile when she had talked about him. She had loved JD. Once again, Pazuzu understood what Lugal had gone through when Gilgamesh had grown up. A warm feeling filled his chest as he remembered the bow in her hand. If only he could have been there to see her draw it. It seemed he was always missing moments like that, just like he had missed Gallursa’s. Sadness washed through him. Motion in the distance caught his eye. Organized units of ghosts filled the field near an old warehouse a half mile from the pavilion, away from most of the clots of ekimmu. But these units were not ekimmu, not yet. They were proper ghosts and they looked like they were practicing for a fight. They dove into each other. And many of them had wandered to areas where wildlife still survived and were diving into the tiny life forms they found, without devouring them. His multiple insect hearts pounded as he panned for one familiar face. A minute later, he found it. JD led a group of ghosts in their practice. Elated, Pazuzu swarmed around the boy’s specter and buzzed so hard the air vibrated with his voice, JD! My boy! Thank all the gods you have not been devoured! I thank you. I thank you for saving my daughter! JD stopped in mid-motion and stared at the circling insects. “Pazuzu? Uh, you’re welcome. Is she okay?”

She is well, thanks to you. She grieves deeply at your loss. If you were alive, I would agree to your betrothal. JD zipped up into the air with a grin at the news of Morpho and then looked sheepish. “Uh, great, but that’s assuming she’d say yes. I think in this day and age you’re supposed to ask her first. Can I visit her? I mean, sometimes?” If we survive the coming battle. The cold wind picked up and the glittering bodies of the swarm turned the direction of the breeze. Everyone turned their attention toward Teotihuacan. “That’s our world, isn’t it, the other world? Is it Heaven? Or…the other place?" One of the ghosts asked, her voice trembling. JD looked at Pazuzu. Neither is as you imagine it. It is a portal to the Underworld, to trap Lamashtu. She must be lured there. Then Ereshkigal will capture her. “Didn’t you try this once before and it didn’t work?” JD remarked. “By the way, Pazuzu, meet the Ghost Fighters. Ghost Fighters, meet the Demon of the Wind and Plague. He’s on our side. And he’s my girlfriend’s dad. Oh, and no, he won't send anyone to Hell, right?” JD grinned. The demon laughed in the first moment of amusement he had felt in a while. No. That is not my area. “Cool!” a young disheveled-looking man said. “Pazuzu, like in D&D?” Pazuzu sighed, the many insect voices chattering in exasperation. About the trap, there is no other choice for now. Inanna will not help us, but Ereshkigal has agreed to help on the condition that we bring Lamashtu to the edge of her world. The ghosts all looked at each other. “Well, we’re in.” Good. Proceed to the portal. I will find her and lure her there. At that place you will rendezvous with the others, including Morpho, he added to JD. Then he wheeled in the sky toward Aurora. “Wait, where are you going to find her?" Wherever Morpho has been, since it is she the demoness hunts. "If you go to my place, will you make sure my mom is okay?” If I find her alive, he called back. As he flew, he roared out to the demoness. Utu will avenge these deaths, Lamashtu! He has a care for humanity. I know you hear me! There was no answer.

As he neared JD’s little house, red-eyed beasts appeared and ran beneath him, keeping pace. She had heard. A red mist gathered from several yards in the area. Lamashtu’s phantasm formed in the air. As she rose before him, he realized that he wasn’t going to make it to the portal in Teotihuacan. Her eyes blazed like coals in the center of the tempest. Bursts of crimson flame erupted like flares of lava. This monster was all that was left of Lilitu, the maiden who had raised him from the dead. He recalled her face from the past, when she had looked at him in adoration, and he said goodbye. He screamed, ignited into a squall of blue hot flame and rose to meet her. * * * The ekimmu in the fields shifted, flowing east toward the darkening sky. JD and the ghost teams felt the storm rise in the distance and watched the silent ekimmus' pilgrimage toward their mistress. He nodded at Red Squad, coming together with Dale and Juan. “It’s time. That’s them. We’re supposed to head south to the portal at Teotihuacan. Pazuzu’s going to lure her there.” Juan nodded. “Got it.” JD gathered his courage and spoke. He had to say something to them. They’d lost almost everything, except their souls. They were risking those to follow him now. His voice started soft and then got more confident. Dale and Juan stood listening while the others watched him. “That storm you feel is her. We’ve been training to fight that.” Every one of them could feel the power. He didn’t have to strain to feel their fear. “I don’t know what will happen to us. But it is our only chance to fight for the people left alive or avenge the people we knew. I’m taking it. Are you with me?” Despite the anxiety, every one of the faces JD saw was hard, angry and determined. Every voice roared, “We’re with you!” “Then saddle up, Ghost Fighters. We go to war!” “Let’s move out! Platoons form up behind us!” Dale yelled. The ghosts drifted into ragged troops and followed Dale, JD and Juan as they moved south. While they had improved in esoteric techniques like possession and telepathic communication, they still had not mastered falling into line. JD glanced back and smiled. He felt stronger, more solid than he had since this started. Collectively, they had regained a

sense of physicality, a strange power of illusion so profound that even they could believe it and feel more real again. And I'm going to see Morpho! he thought, exuberant. As the ekimmu flowed away from them, JD watched with sorrow. Maybe we should have tried harder. Maybe we could have turned a few more. No one deserves that, poor bastards. Dale peered toward the ekimmu in concern. JD realized that something was wrong. He knew one of the powers he felt was Lamashtu and the other was Pazuzu. Neither of them were moving as they should have been if she had been chasing him south. Juan felt it too. “Amigos, hey amigos, that doesn’t feel like he’s luring her. It looks like the fight’s already on.” “Shit!” JD cursed. “Change course!” They flowed toward the storm. * * * Gallursa almost tumbled out of the sky above the rolling grass plains of southern Colorado as a flaming grasshopper dropped past him, fluttering down toward the valley floor hundreds of feet below. He dove for it; his passengers hung on. “Dad!” Morpho yelled. They caught up to the falling insect. Gallursa extended his wing and caught the dying creature. He flinched at the burn. Ninhab leaned forward and doused it with his canteen. It squeaked in pain. Aurora. She has risen there. There is no more time. I fight her there. And then it crumbled into ash. Gallursa swung around without another word, pumped his great wings and bulleted for Aurora. Morpho took deep breaths. Lugal clenched his fists. Ninhab watched ahead and said nothing. In a few minutes, they saw the fiery horizon. “I can do nothing there,” Etain whispered to Ninhab. “We need to draw her near a place where my Queen can open a portal.” “What do you want me to do, offer her first class to Cancun?” he asked. “The closest lake is Cherry Creek Reservoir. Perhaps I can draw her there. She still doesn’t know I’m here. I need to get as close as possible before ambushing her.” “We’re not going to have much choice,” he agreed.

Gallursa glided lower and landed in the ruins of Yosemite Street near the intersection with Havana Boulevard. Wind whipped around them. Gallursa launched back into the air to harry the demon from above, if he could get there. The gale made the advance difficult. Lugal dropped low to the ground on his belly. Ninhab followed him toward the columns of fire and wind. Morpho watched them and then did the same. When she reached a flagpole in a yard that had half a house under an upside-down truck, she clung to the pole and looked around. Ninhab glanced at her. She looked frightened, but she seemed to be managing it. Pazuzu's swarms of insects devoured Lamashtu’s dark substance, even as they were spun into eddies of wings and brindled legs. But even they couldn’t consume so much. Bloated and blackened locusts dropped out of the sky in a rain of ashes and insect parts. Slime dropped to the ground in gobbets. Ninhab muffled a yelp as a spatter landed on his leg. He rolled onto his back and clawed at his jeans. Lugal crawled to him and unsheathed his knife. “At least her plague cannot harm us with Pazuzu’s protection.” Ninhab growled as he swiped at the goop with the edge of his coat. “I don’t care to test that theory, do you?” The slime was melting through the cloth. Lugal cut the jeans and the corner of Ninhab’s coat away. A surge of power washed across the sky in a lurid flash. It was a cloud that fed directly into Lamashtu’s vortex. At the center, the silhouette of the hag swelled. Her mouth yawned and her pendulous breasts dripped black liquid. Lightning cascaded through the sky in sheets, and the wind carried blasts of sand that seemed to come from nowhere. Next to Ninhab, Lugal’s face was grim. He yelled into the wind, “Great Inanna is coming. I think she has chosen sides: Lamashtu’s!” “Shit! Pazuzu can’t hold out much longer. Get me close to her! Get me in!” He hesitated at the dread he had seen in Lugal’s face. They were outmatched and the ancient warrior knew it. He regarded Ninhab, with a fatalistic smile. The big man turned and belly-crawled toward the vortex. Ninhab felt something next to him. He turned with a start. It was Morpho. She kept her cheek close to the earth as she blinked at him. Then she stared at the tower of death in front of them as debris flew by. Her face was a mask of terror and hatred. He touched her arm. “You stay here! Are you okay?”

She shook her head and squinted. “That thing killed JD. I ran. I'm not running again.” She crouched against the ground like a cat waiting for the chance to pounce. Her whole body shook with adrenalin. He patted her arm. “You can provide cover when I get closer. Lugal is distracting her.” She nodded. He exhaled. “Thanks, kid.” He woefully remembered Lugal’s words to him in the basement, ‘It will be an honor to die with you.’ He gritted his teeth, thought about Jan naked, crawled sideways into the lee of a broken wooden and concrete wall, then waited. When Lugal was almost next to Lamashtu, the warrior climbed to his knees, brought his machine gun around and peppered long bursts into the fray. As he fired, he bellowed, “Whore of Inanna!” Then he ran into the advancing hordes of rabisu. The man was insane. As Ninhab suspected, Lugal's machine gun fire did nothing to damage her. He leaned back against the wall and tried to figure out what to do. Then Lamashtu focused on Lugal. Ninhab squeezed his own eyes shut for a second and then scrambled for the giant demoness. A golden arrow whizzed high in the air past him. He glanced back at Morpho, who stood braced against the wall. Her face was creased to resist the wind. Her jaw was set in a grimace as she fired wild arrows that scattered into the rabisu, hitting a couple. She was no marksman yet, but at least she was hitting the enemy. As the projectiles hit them they exploded, scattering gory pieces of rabisu as they had shattered the tree trunk. Ninhab saw an opening and took it, coming as close as he was likely to get at the moment. He opened the compact. “Now, Etain! This is your only chance!” Blue light streamed from the mirror in glowing motes like butterflies. They melted into burning filigree that twisted around the grotesque figure in the middle. The figure writhed and bucked. Ninhab crawled back toward the wall. Morpho screamed, “Mom!” She nocked another arrow. But Ninhab dove low by her feet. “No! Save your arrows! Behind you!” Morpho turned to a closing half-circle of red eyes. She let out a little squeak and swiveled, pointing the bow at one and then another of the rabisu as they crept nearer, cutting off their only escape. There were too many.

Ninhab grabbed his machine gun and then realized that he might just as easily shoot Morpho as the demons, in this proximity. He grabbed the mace from the loop in his belt and rushed to her side. As he reached her, a demon lunged. She shot into its chest. The arrow exploded in actinic white. The black razor-backed corpse burst into chunks of sooty ash and meat. Then they were too close to maneuver a bow. Ninhab swung the mace at the next demon that followed the first. The weapon pounded into the beast with a similar flash that took away half the creature’s ribcage. The molten cavity briefly exposed part of a purple glistening heart. Lugal moved to rejoin Ninhab and Morpho, losing the demons that he fought, momentarily. Through Etain’s net, Lamashtu’s eyes tracked Lugal. She belched toward him when he glanced behind. He fell to the ground and scrabbled at his clothes. Through hoarse wails of agony he stood. He hacked two demons in half with his axe. The halves squirmed on the ground and then oozed into black foam. Within seconds he was surrounded by more demons. Lugal howled a battle cry that rattled Ninhab's teeth. His axe was a bastion of light in the center of rabisu and an ocean of specters. Gallursa had climbed through the air to breach the blanketing cloud that fed Lamashtu but the acrid mist burned his eyes, nose and feathers. He shrieked and dropped close to the vortex. As the funnel tunneled him near the center of the storm, he extended his wings, and unfurled the crest above his head. He opened his raw eyelids and breathed a gout of plasma at the demoness' eyes. He swooped around Lamashtu. His regal wings were buffeted and battered as he flew. Etain’s net and Pazuzu’s whirlwind both weakened. Bloody tongues seeped through the gaps in the net and surrounded Gallursa. One tongue wrapped around Gallursa’s ankle as he dipped to avoid another. He cried out and sparks shot from his nose as his leg sizzled. Pazuzu screamed with the rasp of a desert sandstorm, “My son!” Ninhab saw the scene from the corner of his eye. The surrounding demons lunged at him and Morpho. “Duck!” He yelled and swung the mace. She dropped to the ground under his arms and tried to position the bow to aim. But she kept tangling it against his leg. She had no close-range weapon. “Morpho, look out!”

The mace pummeled the demon’s dripping jaws. “Change, Morpho!” “Now? No! I can’t fight as a bug!” She gasped, out of breath. “You can't fight now! They're too close! They can't see you as an insect. Do as I say, kid!” “No, give me your gun!” “If I have to worry about you right now, we’ll both die. Stop arguing with me and change!” She shot him a glance of pure venom, but he could see her hands shaking on the bow. Her whole body trembled with barely suppressed fear. A moment passed before the demons regrouped. Then she was gone. He whirled the mace around him and beat back three demons. But there were so many. A razor-backed form darted in from the side. Ninhab wheeled on his toes, dropped to one knee and cracked the mace into its low, fanged face. As he reeled back, a blur rushed in from the other side and slashed four long cuts deep in his side. A demon landed on top of him. Then a strong resonant voice called out from a location he couldn’t pinpoint. “Ghost Fighters, charge! Yellow Platoon, disperse and harry the rear, Red Platoon, flank those demons there and protect that warrior! Blue Platoon with me!” Streams of ekimmu parted from the rest. What appeared to be very human-looking ghosts charged into the battle zone. One group swirled around the edge of the vortex and engaged the fields of demons on the other side. One group merged into Etain and Pazuzu, adding their energy. The net got brighter, the insects more frenzied in their feeding. The last group flanked the knot of demons that had pinned Ninhab. The demon on top of him snapped at his face. He barred it with his mace. He noted with a tiny amount of desperate satisfaction that its skin sizzled with the contact. But another one crunched into the arm holding the mace. He screamed but struggled to maintain his grip on his enchanted weapon. “Hi, Mr. Agresti!” JD appeared over the demon on top of him and then disappeared into the creature. It looked puzzled and withdrew. Then it attacked the demon that had a grip on his arm. That one let go of him to attack JD. Another ghost entered the one that lunged at JD and it broke off the engagement. Both beasts paused for a second and stared at each other, drooling. They turned and blinked at Ninhab.

Two phantoms poked their heads out of the tops of the demons. “It’s working! We can do it! Operation Pea Soup!” they yelled to the other ghosts. A few moments later, a group of about fifty possessed creatures turned and battled the other rabisu, pushing them back, step by step. Pain radiated through Ninhab’s arm as he cradled it and gasped for breath. JD's here! He's dead and still fighting! I didn't pay enough attention to that kid when he was in school. If he can fight when he's dead, I'm getting up! Nothing in his life had ever hurt so much, not even falling off his parents’ roof when he was ten. He looked around for Lugal. Nearby, the warrior struggled to rise after a rabisu had sunk its teeth into his leg. Then the creature was driven off by the possessed demons. They cleared a circle around him and Lugal. Ninhab glanced into the sky; Etain and Pazuzu's burning threads began to vanish. He pushed himself up onto his undamaged elbow, grunted and tried not to pass out from the pain. As he rose, he leaned heavily on his arm and screamed again. He didn’t stop screaming until he was standing. He could feel that his radius was broken and was fairly sure his muscles were at least partly cooked. But if he couldn’t fight, he was screwed. They were all screwed. He picked up the discarded bow and arrows and ran to Lugal. “Bind my arm! It’s broken and I need to use it. Put it back right!” Ninhab yelled. Lugal’s face and body were in ruins, a mass of burns. One of his legs was open to the bone. His whole body was shuddering with shock. But the man grabbed the arrow and bit it between teeth that seemed impossibly white against the dark reds and browns of his face. Then he grabbed Ninhab’s arm and wrenched the bones together. Ninhab’s voice went hoarse as he yelled. His legs went wobbly but he kept standing, as Lugal let go of his arm. Then Lugal grabbed Ninhab’s side bag and took out medical tape, binding the thick strong arrow to his arm. Lamashtu saw the Ghost Fighter’s campaign. She lashed out toward them with an escaping arm of acidic mist. It melted through a dozen battling demons. The remaining friendly creatures were pressed back to Lugal and Ninhab, attack by attack. “JD!” Ninhab yelled. He grabbed his mace with his good hand and charged. “JD! Get out! Get out of there!” Behind JD, Ninhab could see the hungry ekimmu drifting through, hundreds of them.

Lamashtu towered above Gallursa. The bird god opened his throat in a piercing desperate call in some language that Ninhab would never understand. Gallursa called again. He flew downward, following a draft. He swerved as though blind and fumbled to regain altitude. Shredded feathers tumbled in the wind and dissolved. From far away there was an answering call. Gallursa pumped his wings toward the sound. After the first cry in the distance, there was another and another. A few eagle feathers blew down as an army of birds flew in. Some of the birds were lost immediately Ninhab had never seen anything like it. There were hawks next to sparrows, crows, whippoorwills, eagles, dozens he couldn’t name. And flying among them was a massive bird that dwarfed even Gallursa. It looked like the bird all birds might have been created from. It shone gold from its eyes, white and red from its wings and body, and luminous black near its tail feathers. It didn’t caw like the others, but turned its great gaze toward Ninhab. Then Ninhab knew what it was. It was the spirit of this land. And it was pissed. He realized, as he turned back to the battle, that he should have been attacked while his attention was diverted. But he saw why he was still standing. Behind the army of wraiths and demons were packs of coyotes, wolves and charging herds of buffalo. They too did not belong to Lamashtu. They belonged to the land.

21 Morpho's tiny spotted moth wings were the same shit color as the slimy patches of sod and concrete. She had taken shelter in the lee of the broken wall they had used as cover earlier. In addition to the demons, ghosts now flooded the landscape. She wanted to sink into the ground as she thought of JD and wondered if he was among them. She was paralyzed with terror as she watched the ekimmu drain life from everything they touched. Many of them were dangerously close to her, chilling her very antennae with their presence. Most of the human-looking ghosts had gone toward Lamashtu. They flowed across the landscape like a wave, with the milky glimmer of a police badge here, a long thick braid there. Some had sunken into the demons so she couldn’t see their faces. She peered into the blank visages of the inhuman ghosts. There was nothing there that reminded her of JD. What a disaster! Despair washed through her as she waited. What do I do? Mr. Agresti told me I was in the way. Screw him! I'm supposed to fight! A vibration began that she could feel in every hair: thousands of wings, hooves and feet. She smelled earth, trees, lightning, fur and feathers, every scent of earth in a summer breeze, spring squall, or winter storm. Thousands of animals arrived: packs of wolves, herds of buffalo, birds of all sizes and species, led by the greatest bird she had ever seen. It made Gallursa look like a sparrow. Everyone was fighting but her. She sat in the crack in the wall for a second longer. This is bullshit! They can hold Lamashtu but they can’t move her. Mom said the reservoir was a trap too! I can lead her there. Lugal called me a warrior. I'm a warrior, not a stupid kid! She imagined her human hands. She changed and stretched her two human legs, trying not to retch at the charnel scent and moistness against her skin as she lay on the ground. She shivered in the chill and

looked around for her discarded clothes. “Goddammit, this is getting really inconvenient!” The filthy muddied rag that had been her t-shirt was strewn nearby. She threw it on and returned to the wall, looking for her pants. The breath caught in her throat and she froze as a wandering demon turned and stared in her direction. She concentrated on blending into the wall. The beast moved on. Well, that's worth remembering, she thought. Then she spied a muddy lump of denim near where their first scuffle with the rabisu had been. She crept toward it, waiting to be caught. But anything was better than being naked in the middle of all this. She pulled the twisted wad of mud to her. It separated into the legs of her jeans. She grimaced, struggling into them, wincing at the feel of the grit. Then she stood, choked down her terror and hollered, “Hey, bitch! I have your stupid tablet! Come and get it!” She dodged and feinted as the nearest demons turned, bounding towards her. It didn’t matter if the hag believed her or not. Lamashtu would follow her because she couldn’t resist. A demon scraped a claw down the back of her calf and she yelped in pain. She tried to ignore the fear that the rest of its claws would rip into the back of her neck in the next instant. As she spared a peek behind her, the demon went down under the trampling hooves of dozens of bison. She stumbled and fell to the ground, waiting for the hooves to stamp her into mush. Instead, they skidded to a halt. She could feel their hot panting breaths around her, on her. She uncovered her head and looked up into a pair of deep gold-flecked brown eyes. Their owner snorted. She leapt up and began running again. The buffalo flanked her. Beyond them, she caught a glimpse of silver fur and white fangs. Then she saw the wolves that ran along the outside flank. A buffalo nudged her and sent her sprawling in the mud. “Hey!” It grabbed her by the collar of her shirt in its steely teeth and dragged her with it. Her legs trailed dangerously close to its driving feet. It seemed to be running slower, to avoid stepping on her, but she didn't know how long its patience would last. She yelped, strained and twisted; the grimy cloth bit into the skin of her underarms. Then she latched her fingers into the wiry fur around the beast’s neck and tried to haul her legs up to mount it. As the hooves thundered in her head, she imagined she heard the thump of a war drum. She had a brilliant and brief fantasy of herself, pulling triumphantly onto the buffalo’s back and shouting with a defiant fist in

the air, like a rodeo queen. But the vision ended with a mind-numbing wave of nausea that threatened to make her barf all over herself as she clung to the underside of its neck. She flexed her exhausted arms to bring her head as close to the bull’s ear as she could. “I need to get past her! I need to get her to the reservoir!” She heard no answer, but its trajectory changed. The herd shifted along with it. She clung on and prayed to...it, that she could hang on before her fingers became too stiff and she slid off under the stampede. After a few moments she could see that they’d passed the maelstrom and were heading toward the reservoir. “Lamashtu! My mother stole your husband. Come get a piece of me, ugly skank!” she challenged. The sound rattled out of her into the cacophony, and was lost against the thick fur. But Lamashtu turned toward Morpho and roared. The herd was not moving fast enough. Another screech split the air behind her, not the voice of Lamashtu. The war drum Morpho had heard before was clear and loud now, thudding like an angry heart. She glanced behind her and saw a whirl of bright feathers and talons as the great bird she’d seen earlier mauled Lamashtu. The demoness withdrew her arms and tongues from the field behind her. She shrank under the attack, but escaped and chased Morpho and the herd. “Oh shit! I hope you’re magic buffalo or gods or something!” she yelled. Only the war drum replied as the landscape flashed by. They crossed the deserted road. The reservoir loomed ahead, dark and sullen. You better be ready, Zombie Queen, cuz here we come! They reached the shore. The bison slowed and crashed into the water’s edge, then retreated from the waves. She let go of the bison, launched into the air and changed into an electric blue morpho. Her wings glowed cerulean, gleaming in the water below. * * * The great spirit and its flocks of birds boiled around Lamashtu. It leaned back its head and trumpeted its fury, batting through swaths of sand with swats of its wings. She tried to belch acid but the force of the bird’s bray choked the breath in her gullet. Gallursa swooped through the edges of the cloud, harrying Lamashtu to keep her from following his sister.

But Lamashtu still gained slowly on the herd. She hurled trees and sod into the air, a half mile across as she went. The rear of the herd lifted into her funnel and disappeared. The air was full of grasshoppers. They fell among tufts of feathers, memories of the god Pazuzu had been. His face appeared for a second as he roared, wordless and desperate. Etain’s frosty eyes flashed beside him for a moment and then vanished. Her net faded into darkness. “Shit!” Ninhab swore as he watched the retreating demoness and realized he was stranded. But at least he wasn’t surrounded by rabisu. The streets were littered with decomposing remains of demons. The ekimmu still advanced, engaged only by the native spirits. The birds arrowed through them. The coyotes, wolves and buffalo charged through the dark energy wraiths, shredding them. But there weren’t enough of the native spirits left. Ekimmu glided toward Ninhab and Lugal, all around them. They backed toward each other in the center of a holocaust of demon corpses, littered streets and demolished houses. Still more legions of rabisu bounded in from the gloom. Ninhab grabbed his bow and nocked a golden arrow. Lugal gripped his war axe. Back to back, the two waited for the end. The closest demon stopped advancing and its huge ugly face twisted into a shape that looked remarkably like JD’s smile. It went up on its hind legs and held its paws in the air like it was about to be arrested. Ninhab called cautiously, “JD? Is that you?” JD nodded his bulky head. He dropped to all fours and padded to Ninhab and then lowered his body. Another one came toward Lugal. It waited while Lugal stared at it in astonishment. “Lower your axe, warrior. It's not hostile.” Lugal cautiously did as ordered. The demon padded closer and stretched out at Lugal's feet. Patches of his face had begun to heal, but his remaining surprised eye was barely visible through the swollen flesh of his eyelid. A dark Mayan face emerged from the top of the demon’s head. “You getting on, amigos? We ain’t got all day!” Lugal’s jaw dropped but he climbed on. Ninhab clambered on JD and they pushed toward the reservoir, flanked by an army of demons. * * *

The aftermath of Inanna’s passage covered the Rub al Khali in dust that turned the dunes scarlet and made the landscape look like the surface of Mars. She faltered slightly as she sent a wave of power toward her handmaiden through the spaces between Heaven and Earth. But she regained energy as she scoured every bush, every settlement on her way into Canaan. When she passed, not even the bones of tiny animals were left. As she reached the Dead Sea, which had been evacuated and deserted in the face of the coming storm, the water glimmered with slight green phosphorescence. By the time she touched the water, it was too late to back off. Swirls of sand were trapped as the green and black liquid flurried up around her. Ereshkigal reached from her portal and locked her sister over the sea. The atmosphere above the portal froze below zero. The skies echoed with Inanna’s enraged howl. It slashed a wound in the heavens through which no stars were visible. The air closed with a great clap. Her sand rasped, “Whore!” The water whispered back, “Bitch!” “You have no right! This isn’t your realm. This isn’t your concern. Keep to your spirits, Queen of Corpses!” “It isn’t yours either. I have not violated anything. I only hold you at my portal. You knew what I would do if you came here again.” “What do you care for the mortals?” “I keep my agreements.” “You can’t fight me! You do not have power in the mortal realm.” “I am not in your realm. And I do not have to fight you. Only match you.” Inanna’s tantrum built until windows shattered in every major city or resort along the sea, and the deserted towns were buried under sand. The razing of the deadly sand-devil was undercut by the susurration and laugh of the water. * * * The ghost-led demons were silent and grim and moved with single-minded purpose. As they approached the reservoir, Ninhab could see that it was only water: greenish and turgid, but ordinary water. Oh,

this is bad. That portal is the only way to stop the demoness. Ereshkigal, where the hell are you? A glowing blue butterfly fluttered out over the rippling surface. Morpho. I thought I told her to stay put! Ninhab thought. He realized with dread what she was doing, as Lamashtu approached the lake. The tiny butterfly weaved trails of blue radiance on the water, luring the tempest after her. The surface began to shimmer with a glassy animation that Ninhab recognized too well. “Morpho!” he yelled. But the butterfly danced farther out. Lamashtu towered over her. Ninhab gripped JD’s sides with his knees and drew his bow. He grunted in pain, steadied his shaking shoulder and strained to keep his arm straight, so the broken bones wouldn’t come apart. One misdraw and they would snap out again. “Ereshkigal, if you’re going to do something, do it now! You agreed! I call you, I beg you!” Ninhab shouted. Gallursa dove for Morpho, but she bobbed erratically. JD bolted forward and Ninhab balanced, shooting his last arrows into Lamashtu. Just ahead of Lugal and Ninhab, the last platoon of possessed demons hit her flank. The explosion threw half of them sideways into a skid for several yards. Ninhab and Lugal were thrown from their mounts. When they scrambled to their feet to resume the charge, the portal of Ereshkigal had opened. * * * Morpho flapped fiercely to keep from falling into the deadly water. She had never been so tired. She could sense Lamashtu, taste the putrescence in the air. Gallursa pitched toward her. All she wanted was to let him pluck her out of the air and take her to where she was safe, where she could sleep for a long time. But there were no second chances. She had come so far, too far to fail without one last push. Lamashtu needed to be close to the portal. Her wings almost touched the surface. As she coasted above the waves, she saw Lamashtu above her and the Underworld below. Whatever happens to me, you can’t have my soul, bitch! I’m sorry, Dad!

* * * Pazuzu thought of Morpho’s face as a newborn, just before Lamashtu first assaulted her. The girl’s thatch of black hair had been like his in his human form, and her baby cobalt eyes had gazed at him in curiosity. Her pudgy hand wrapped around his finger, in his mind, and banished all other thoughts. He mustered his last effort, wrapped around Lamashtu, and plunged into the portal. * * * Gallursa snatched Morpho in his beak as the portal dragged Pazuzu and Lamashtu into the depths. As she was sucked below the surface, Lamashtu changed into the shapes of the seven hags, then into a beautiful maiden with malice in her eyes. Pazuzu turned into the form of a man with a canine face and yellow leonine eyes. He extended a hand toward his son and daughter and nodded, seeing them escape. Then the portal to the Underworld faded. The water flattened to strange rolling stillness, belying the chaos that had railed there a moment ago. The demons decayed without Lamashtu’s power. JD and a couple dozen of the remaining ghosts slid from the bodies. “Where’s Morpho, is she okay?” His voice was gritty with anxiety. Ninhab shook his head and unstuck his foot from the muck. “I don’t know. I saw Gallursa grab her, but I don’t know if it was in time.” Gallursa landed with a heavy thud. He limped, favoring his left leg and hindquarters. Half of his feathers had been shaved off by sand or acid. Scalded skin showed through in patches. His remaining feathers were covered in cooked blood. He leaned down, opened his mouth and a small wad plopped out, covered in saliva. It didn’t move. JD floated on top of her, almost solid with emotion. “Baby? Morpho, please be in there somewhere. After everything we’ve gone through, I-I can’t—” The wings stirred and JD backed up as the butterfly shuddered and grew into a slight, blue-haired, sopping girl. “Blech, what the hell!” Then she noticed JD. Her eyes filled with tears. She reached out to touch him but her fingers went through his cheek. She bit her lip and

tears dropped onto her lap as she sat up. “JD, you’re here. And you’re not evil.” “More a pain in the ass than evil,” Ninhab remarked. “Are you okay?” Gallursa stood behind her, watching. Lugal limped closer, still healing. His charred socket had formed into a hole surrounded by scar tissue, but he stared so intently at the girl and ghost that it seemed to watch too. She nodded. “What happened? Where did you come from?” she asked JD. “I thought about you. Thinking about you saved me.” Morpho just gazed at him, her face full of wonder. He piped up again, “We’re the Ghost Fighters now, rescuing citizens from the clutches of evil.” He grinned and swept his arm toward the tatters of the platoon who drifted nearby, listening to the conversation. “Here they are...well, the ones who are left.” He sunk down to the ground and blurred at the edges, solemn. Kyle came to JD’s side. Neither Dale nor Juan was among them. “The others...they're not coming back, are they?” “Only one person could answer that question,” Ninhab muttered. “The Queen—” “Wait, where’s Dad?” Morpho asked Gallursa. He shrugged his great shoulders and warbled. Lugal answered. His voice was rough with swollen tissue. “I’m sorry, Morpho. He is in Ereshkigal’s world now.” “My mother?” She whirled around and faced him. He shook his head. “She is back with her mistress as well.” Gallursa bowed his head. His wings drooped and he fell heavily to his knees. Morpho doubled over. She clutched her stomach and staggered to the water’s edge. She screamed out across the surface. “Daaaad! Daddy!” She fell to the ground, grabbed handfuls of mud and threw them over the waves. “Dad!” She collapsed into a ball and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her lamentation cut through the breeze that had picked up, carrying the smell of carnage. Gallursa turned and faced the lake. Ninhab moved toward her, but Lugal put his hand on Ninhab’s shoulder. “Let them grieve. There’s nothing you can say right now.” JD hovered beside Morpho. He said nothing, just contemplated the placid waves.

22 The cyclone over the edge of the Dead Sea was released in a fraction of a second. Inanna hurled a final sandy torrent and withdrew back into the heavenly vaults from which she had come. The pseudopods from the sea withdrew as though they had never existed. A last watery laugh echoed from the surface. The sheen on the waves faded. The Dead Sea lightened to gray as the sun came out and dappled the swells blue. But nothing in it was alive. * * * The survivors on the shore gathered their wits and took time to let Morpho and Gallursa find some peace. As they stood, chilly in the early morning, animals emerged from the sparse tree line around the reservoir. Clouds of birds sailed in on the freshening breeze, so many they blotted out the twinkling stars. The native spirits came silently until they surrounded the small battered group. The great bird landed in their midst. It gazed briefly at each of them and then its eyes came to rest on Gallursa. It nodded. Ninhab and the others edged aside as it ponderously approached the young god. It dipped its beak to its neck and came up with a long shining feather, and extended it to Gallursa. He leaned forward and took it. Then he dipped his head and buried his beak in the ruff of his own chest. When he stretched back up, the coppery feather was nestled among his own. It shrank until it was the length of the others, a single strange feather among Gallursa’s remaining plumage. The spirit turned to Lugal and a thought emerged in Ninhab’s mind, though it was directed at the Sumerian warrior. Do not invite your gods to trespass here again, except those we have welcomed. It indicated Gallursa.

Then the spirit peered into the water's depths. Vapor trails whispered over the surface. With it, came the sultry roll of the Dark Queen’s speech. “Truce. I remain across the boundary unless invited, Great Spirit.” Lugal bowed his head before the great spirit. Ninhab wondered what Lugal could have done to keep ‘his gods’ away from anywhere they wanted to go. It launched into the wind. Its multi-colored aurora shimmered across the sky. The watching native animals returned to the land and sky and were gone. Morpho remained by the water as the aurora faded. Ninhab let her alone. But he wasn’t done. “Ereshkigal!” he called, knowing that she could easily make his afterlife into Hell for his impudence. He didn’t care anymore. “Ereshkigal! I thank you for keeping your part of the bargain but I think we deserve some answers.” The water froze, with a reflection of the dark goddess stretched across the surface. The image’s eyes were like two still holes with no bottom. “I determine what you deserve.” “It took you longer than we thought.” He tried to keep accusation from his voice. “I was busy. You would have had a much worse time contending with my sister. Now, is there a question, impudent little mortal, or did you merely wish to express your lack of gratitude?” Her tone betrayed a hint of fatigue. “I apologize, Queen. I didn’t know. Thank you. But what of Lamashtu? Will you keep her for ten thousand of our years or yours?” “I do not measure time as a mortal. I keep my word. Ten thousand of your years.” Ninhab bowed his head to her. “Thank you, Goddess.” Everyone sighed with relief. Then he asked the question he dreaded even more. “What about Pazuzu? It’s just Lamashtu you’re keeping, right? He was a god and he helped capture her.” Her voice was the cracking of ice. “In my realm, even gods go where I choose.” “And where do you choose?” “Pazuzu is mine. For ten thousand years.” Ninhab balled his fists. “He is this girl’s only living parent!” “It was by your request. You asked vengeance for the boys who were killed, little man.”

Morpho turned, stared at him and rose to her feet. Her whole body quivered. The realization sunk in and Ninhab gasped. He whispered, “I didn’t know. God, I didn’t know. I thought it was the demoness that killed them when I asked for that. I’m so sorry.” He wanted to beat his fists on the ice and weep. Everything hurt. He knew he would see Morpho’s accusing glare in his nightmares, as she ran toward him. He just let her come to do whatever damage she would. But Lugal grabbed her. “He couldn’t have known, Morpho! He nearly lost his life protecting you! Your father knew what the price of this would be. He went anyway. Let him go.” “I’ll never see my dad again! Not in my life. I want him now!” She screamed at Lugal. “Hey, you saw me again, didn’t you?” JD said softly. She quieted and looked at him. She didn’t smile, but nodded and wiped her face with a trembling hand. Ninhab forced his speech to be steady as he asked Ereshkigal, “What about this one?” He nodded at JD. “He’s not ekimmu. He’s a ghost. Has he not earned a place at your side in the Underworld? The place you offered me? He and his Ghost Fighters?” Ereshkigal regarded JD. “How interesting. He is not ekimmu, as are the others Lamashtu has taken, nor his friends. They have chosen their destiny for themselves. The boy and his valiant fighters may sit at my feet in the place of heroes.” “I wanna stay with my girlfriend.” He crowded close to Morpho. Ninhab explained, “The dead can't stay here. They have to go to the Underworld.” “Why?” “Because eventually, you will give in to your hunger, little ghost.” Ereshkigal whispered to him. “I can feel it. I can make you forget it, if you are by my side. You cannot partake in life anymore. Unless your flesh is restored, being around life will only make you hungrier.” “Will you give me back my life?” Ereshkigal shook her head. “Once a life is taken, there is a balance that must be kept with my world.” “So I have to leave her forever?” JD tried to grab Morpho's hand and failed, passing through her.

Ereshkigal spoke softly to JD. “You can visit from time to time. But you cannot stay.” JD’s face screwed into a grimace as he fought tears that would never fall. “This sucks. But I’m glad I can at least visit you." His voice trembled. "I’m glad you’re okay. All of this was worth it.” “I love you, JD.” Tears ran down the side of Morpho's nose and she sniffled. “I’ll make you up bonfires of spam and cheese whiz sandwiches." He turned to Ereshkigal. “Is there Underworld food?” “Anything you like.” “What about weed? You know, Mary Jane?” Ninhab interrupted. “What if I agree to come to your side now? You said a balance had to be paid. You let your sister go in exchange for her husband. What about an exchange? Will you let him go? Will you restore his life in return for mine?” The goddess' attention turned to him. “Yes.” He felt the settling of his pact on his bones and flesh. “And you will admit the others of his team to the Underworld, with the heroes, give them whatever they want?” “I will.” He walked toward the water. “Mr. Agresti?” JD gawked at him. “Stay with Morpho, JD. You have your whole life ahead of you. I’ve been through this before. Except this time, I’ll be staying. Ereshkigal has made a generous offer.” He said as much as he could without giving away his dismay. But he could feel Lugal’s eye on him. Just before Ninhab’s foot touched, Lugal barked, “Wait!” Ereshkigal hissed. The unpleasant sound slid from the water and shivered the hairs on their arms. All Gallursa's feathers ruffled. Lugal took a deep shuddering breath and continued, risking her wrath. “You have an unsettled score with me, Great Queen. I betrayed you.” “And you will pay, King of Uruk.” “I know,” he said. His eye gave a brief flash of fear but his jaw clenched. “But this man has a wife. He swore an oath to her.” “Lugal?” Ninhab spat. “Are you nuts? I know what she’ll do to you!” The stoic warrior nodded, with a bitter smirk. “I cannot escape forever. I owe her for the past. You have paid your dues already, farmer. Besides, I have been in this world long enough for one lifetime.” He kneeled and prostrated in the mud. “I beg you to take my

life in place of the boy’s and allow Ninurta to fulfill the remainder of his obligation to his mortal wife.” “You are a brazen mortal, Lugalbanda of Uruk. You have done nothing but disrespect me. You do owe me greatly. You speak of vows but you did not keep your agreement with me.” “I will keep it now. If you let him have a few more years in this world, I will come to you. You will get everything you want. You will have your vengeance against me. But you will still have Ninurta, when he is ready.” Ereshkigal was silent. Lugal continued, “Look at him, Mistress. He is an honorable man. He will never be happy otherwise.” “You served my sister Inanna at one time, did you not?” Contempt marred her velvet voice. “Yes, Lady. Before she tried to kill my son.” “You have an answer for everything.”Her anger whipped the waves into dagger-like points. Then she replied, “I accept your offer, Lugalbanda of Uruk. Take your last breaths.” Morpho dropped by Lugalbanda. “No, you can’t go! Dad’s not coming back. You can’t leave me! You’re my dad too. I never said it before but you are.” Lugal took her hand in his. Mud dripped from his forehead between his eyes. “I know. You have been as a child to me as well, and you, you great ball of feathers.” He added to Gallursa. Gallursa blinked and gave a child-like tweet, too emotional to speak. Lugal shook his head. “I am tired. I have seen too much, endured too long while everything around me changed and passed. My time has gone. Perhaps when the Queen is done with me, I will see my son again. I miss him. I have missed him for many years. Live your lives now.” He peered at the dawn horizon just as the first ray of Utu, the sun’s face, cascaded from the edge of the hill. For a second, a woman’s hair was visible in the first light of the sun, strands that waved like a corona in the dark brush. A bright smile flashed out of the brief dazzle. Lugal smiled back at the female figure that appeared like another ghost before merging with the full dawn. He unclenched Morpho’s fingers from his arms and wiped her tears with his hand. She bawled and sat in front of him but didn’t say anything more. He touched the feathered god’s wing, stood, and nodded to the vanished

woman who had gone before the rising sun. “Say goodbye to Karen. Tell her that despite my age, I would have loved to have known her. Perhaps we will see one another in the Underworld someday.” Without another word, before there were any more protests, he walked into the portal and disappeared beneath the surface. The rough water calmed and waited for the spirits on the shore. Ereshkigal’s voice was soft as she spoke to Ninhab. “Ninurta of the Golden Bow, you have ten years. Make what arrangements you wish during that time. Finish your mortal connections. On this day in ten years, measured by your clock, you are mine.” JD stared at him for a second before turning back to the water. “What about the other ghosts who charged against Lamashtu? The ones who aren’t here,” JD asked. “Are they with you?” “No. They are gone. I cannot restore them. I am…sorry.” Ereshkigal’s tone held a hint of regret. “They were brave fighters.” “Where did they go?” “Into void. Even I cannot follow there. They do not exist now, except as potential.” Kyle paused and spoke to JD. “See you in seventy years, dude, when you’re old and crotchety and wearing adult diapers. I’ll never forget what you did for us. I’ll be back to visit.” JD grinned. “Okay.” Then Kyle and the others followed Lugal into the breach. The phosphorescence of the lake faded. The water rolled smooth and the portal was gone. JD took a deep breath, the first in a long time. He looked down at his hands. He reached out and touched Morpho’s cheek. His fingers met skin. He was solid. He pulled Morpho to him in a long kiss. When she finally pulled her lips away, he just held her. Ninhab sighed and looked away. Gallursa was watching them with almost voyeuristic interest. He called the painfully adolescent god over. “Can you take us home? They have nowhere to go. Please take us all to my house, if it is still standing.” Gallursa bent to one knee and Ninhab climbed on, pulling Morpho and JD up in front of him. The young god lifted with a stumble into the air and headed for the house. * * *

Jan was there when they returned. His area of town had not been evacuated, but instead told to stay in place, in the basements if possible. But she sat on the floor with the television on. It looked as though she hadn’t moved all day and night. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes puffy. When she saw him she jumped to her feet and ran. She wrapped her arms around him, crushing his ribs in a bear hug that made him stagger in pain from the gashes in his side. Then she backed up enough to belt him across the face with her hand. He dropped to his knees. Jan bore down on him, slapping at him and crying, “You asshole! You asshole!” Then she grabbed him and hugged him again. Her face shifted from rage to fear. “What happened to you? Oh God, you’re hurt! Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” He coughed, sagging on the floor. She ran to get a first aid kit and then saw the kids. She stared at JD and Morpho for a second before brushing past them into the hall. A minute later, she came back into the living room with the kit. She pulled his bloody shirt away from his side and gawked at the deep lacerations. Ninhab flinched at their exposure to the air and her breath. She took his arm with the golden arrow still bound to it. She ran her fingers along the arrow and winced at the sight of the dirty wound underneath. Tears ran down her face as she took out hydrogen peroxide and began cleaning the wounds in his side. “It's all real, isn’t it? Everything you said.” He nodded, trying not to groan. She kept talking about his condition as if he were a patient in one of the healing classes she went to, ignoring the emotions her face betrayed. “I can put some tea bags on it, that will reduce swelling, but we’ll have to go to the emergency room. For your ribs too. Something nasty got in these wounds. The kids can stay here and have something to eat and rest until we get back. I’ll call their parents on the way. I’ll go get you a coat and you get into the car.” She kept rattling off her list of tasks. Ninhab reached for her. She dissolved into tears as he pulled her painfully into his lap. “Jan, I love you. I’m all right. These kids have nowhere to go right now. Morpho’s dad and her other guardian didn’t survive.” Jan sniffled, gaining control of her tears. She looked at him with those flame blue eyes that had melted him when he first met her, and still did. “Why didn’t you tell me to my face what was happening? Why did you leave me a letter?”

He sighed. “Because I wanted to protect you.” “I don’t want your protection. I want a partner. Partner means equal risks, equal decisions. It means you don’t leave me behind like this. What about her? The Queen. Someday, she’ll take you away.” “Not until I die.” He laid his forehead against hers. “Which will be when?” Jan wailed. “Not today,” he murmured into her hair. JD tugged Morpho into the hallway on tiptoe. “They need adult time, baby." * * * Ninhab entered the cemetery uncertainly in the bright noon sun a week later, after his injuries had begun to heal and Jan let him out of her sight. The restaurant bag was tucked neatly under his arm. The smell of hot pasta and rich coffee dessert wafting from the bag, made his stomach grumble. After a search, he found Bartholomew Carlone’s, the dead UPS man’s, grave. He peered around him to see that no one was coming. He tipped the food from the containers onto the gravestone as carefully as he could. Then he took a long barbecue lighter and a small can of charcoal lighter fluid, poured it on the food and lit it. He waited as it burned. The wind sighed in his ear but there was no other sound or motion around him. Until he heard a shout from a caretaker in the distance. He quickly doused the flames under the tub of coffee he’d brought, as per Mr. Carlone’s request. As he fussed with the burnt, coffee-doused mess and tried for some semblance of tidiness, the caretaker got closer. Ninhab gathered his trash and ran. He cleared the wall to the street, snagging his jacket on the way. He looked at the ripped fabric with a scowl and glanced back at the wall. No one followed him. He went to visit another two graves, though these had no bodies. * * * Gallursa landed a few feet from Morpho as she stood in Ninhab’s little back yard and watered Jan’s blooming irises. Denver and all the nearby towns were still recovering from the disaster. Her own school would not be returning to session for a while. So she

gardened and did chores, welcoming them as a distraction from thinking. Until her brother dropped in. She hadn't seen Gallursa since the terrible day her Dad went away, last week. He was healed from his burns. But his eyes were still sad. He stood back a little, as if unsure of contact and the sentiments that were threatening to spill out. Morpho put her arms around the soft feathers of his midriff and laid her head on them. Gallursa wrapped his wings around his little sister. Then he let out a gasp. Morpho felt a shudder in his great bulk. When she looked up, his face was a mask of anguish, his beak open for breath. “Gallursa?” He didn’t speak for a few minutes. And then he blurted, “I said bad things about him, about Father. I was so angry that he did what he did all those years ago, with the Tablet and then with Lamashtu, and…and leaving me with the other gods. I believed everything that the Anunnaki said about him. I never defended him. They said he was a thief and they threw him out. I never even tried to find him, to listen to him." “Not all of the Anunnaki hated him. I don’t think Utu hated him. Dad said that Utu helped him. Ereshkigal helped, for her price.” She frowned and kicked a sod over with a savage thump. Tears welled up in her eyes but she swallowed and continued. “Even one of the ancients helped him. He said that there were gods that believed him. They just couldn’t or wouldn’t talk against Enlil and Inanna.” “Cowards!” “I don’t think it’s that simple, big brother. You never had to go to high school. Everybody wants to fit in and people do stupid things, listen to the popular people or the kids whose parents have lots of money. Enlil’s a major god, right? He’s all kinds of scary. Inanna too. I don’t think Dad would’ve wanted you to get your ass kicked or shoved into a Heavenly locker.” Gallursa’s head drooped even further, so he was almost staring at his own chest. “But he did what he believed. He was brave. I was not brave.” “You were when you rescued me.” She smiled. “You won over the spirits of this area. They thought you were brave too. I don’t think those gods do that for just anyone. You have to be really special.” She gently touched his spirit feather. He raised his eyes to her, his face a little brighter.

She gave him a charming smile and backed away. “And if you ever soak me in spit again, I’ll turn your feathery ass into a warehouse of pillows.” She aimed the hose at him and sprayed him full blast. Gallursa jumped into the air to avoid the assault. Then he dropped to the ground and ducked as he saw a neighbor in the window, her mouth open and her coffee spilling, at the sight of the gargantuan bird god. “I think I frightened your neighbor.” “She’ll get over it. I’ll just say you’re trying out a mascot costume for the school. So what now? Are you back at the Heavenly Court?” He nodded. “Sometimes. I don’t stay there anymore though. I went back home, where I was born. It doesn’t look the same. But there are parts of the mountains that are still almost undisturbed by man, especially during the tension between Iraq and Iran. A few times there have been men with guns. But they are gone. No one comes now.” He shifted on his feet. “I’ll replant the ancient forest from our world there, with our trees. It was once a middle place between our existence and humanity. That’s where I belong. The world is changing. Whether it is because of the Tablet of Destiny being gone or just because of our own choices, I cannot say. Someday, I think we will live among humans.” “Humans are more used to change than gods. My generation is way better at computers than Gen X. And most Baby Boomers are afraid of a keyboard.” Morpho snorted and aimed the hose back at the flowers. “What will you do now?” he asked. “Develop whatever talents I can. Maybe I can be a superhero. I think the world needs a few of those or there wouldn’t be a billion comic books. But first, I need to finish high school. Mr. Agresti will flip out if I don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “Dad left money for me, but Mr. Agresti said we have to be educated too, that we can’t hang around spending money. I told him about being a superhero, but he got this look on his face and said that superheroes need to be able to live in the real world and be responsible. And that means more school.” Gallursa admitted. “He is right, sister. Maybe that is why our kind is in trouble. We forgot about the human world. And they forgot about us.” “So how is sitting through calculus going to help with that?” Then she swatted his wing, “Oh, guess what! I wanted to show you. Look what I can do!” She broke apart into a cloud of butterflies. They

started as blue morphos. But when they settled on the house and lawn, her wings turned precisely the colors of everything she rested against. Gallursa hooted. “Wow. That is amazing! You have come so far. Now you can go from one to many, like your mother, like Father.” Her sour tone permeated the yard. Yeah, this would have been great if I could have done it when I actually needed it. “Better now than not at all. Besides, there would have been too many of you to keep track of. Have you gotten the hang of pulling back together?” “Not in a rush when something’s chasing me.” She slowly coalesced into a ball of shifting butterflies, then into a bare human. She sheepishly pulled on her clothes, which had dropped into a pile under the insects. “The next thing I'm getting the hang of is the naked thing! I swear!” She flipped her blue bangs and stood smiling, then fiddled with the hose. “Will you visit me sometimes?” He hugged her in his wings. “Often. Will you visit me too, in the forest?” “I'd like that; it would be a cool adventure." He eyed the flowers hungrily. Morpho grinned. “Wanna get some food after the ceremony?” “Very much.” She climbed on and yelled, “JD, stop shooting zombies and let's go! Didn't you get enough of that recently?” His head poked from around the corner, the Playstation controller she’d bought him in his hand. “There’s no such thing as too much zombie shooting! Thanks again, babe!” He saluted her with the controller and then went back into the foyer. A moment later, he came outside and hopped up on Gallursa’s back. They headed for the cemetery. JD was solemn as he left a sandwich on his mother's grave. Gallursa obliged him and flamed it. They hadn't been entirely sure, but it looked as though she had died of natural causes. He hesitated, kneeled, and then spoke. "Hi, Mom. I don't know if you can hear me, or where you are. But I just wanted you to know that I love you." He put a little polished stone in front of her grave, the only one he'd kept from so long ago on the river. Then he stood, having said everything there was to say. They went to the Cherry Creek Reservoir. Mr. Agresti was waiting.

The two cairns of Pazuzu and Lugal were simple, not the graves of a god and a king. They did not mark the worship of followers or the loyalty of subjects. A hand-carved piece of bark from the tree in the parkland was etched with the words, “Pazuzu, Loving Husband and Father. Lugalbanda, Loving Father.” There were no bodies to respect. So the cairns marked the place of their death, a place they might have thought beautiful, the place of their victory. Tears dripped down Morpho’s face as she, JD and Gallursa laid spaghetti out on the rocks near the shore. Gallursa opened a beer with his beak, took a swallow, and gave it to Morpho. Ninhab gave her an evil principal eye as she took a sip. He crossed his arms when she handed the bottle to JD, who took a long swig before handing it back to Morpho. Then she poured the beer on the two graves. Gallursa craned his head around to make sure no one watched before he lit the food with a huff. They watched the pyre turn to cinders, then covered the embers with sand. As they flew away, two sets of eyes watched them go from a bush nearby. The ghosts of a butterfly and a grasshopper twitched their diaphanous wings, entwining their antennae.