The Mephisto Club

sociopath?”

“And you’d call her a demon?”

“There’s no other word for what she is. Or for what a man like Dominic Saul is. We know they exist.” He turned and stared into the fire. “The problem is,” he said quietly, “they seem to know we exist, too.”

“Have you ever heard of The Book of Enoch, Detective?” asked Edwina, refilling wineglasses.

“You’ve mentioned it before.”

“It was found among the Dead Sea Scrolls. It’s an ancient text, pre-Christian. Part of the apocryphal literature. It foresees the destruction of the world. It tells us that the earth is plagued by another race called the Watchers, who first taught us to make swords and knives and shields. They gave us the instruments of our own destruction. Even in ancient times, people clearly knew about these creatures and recognized that they were different from us.”

“The sons of Seth,” said Lily softly. “The descendants of Adam’s third son.”

Edwina looked at her. “You know about them?”

“I know they have many names.”

“I never heard that Adam had a third son,” said Jane.

“He actually appears in Genesis, but the Bible conveniently glosses over so many things,” said Edwina. “There’s so much history that’s been censored and suppressed. Only now, nearly two thousand years later, are we able to read the Gospel of Judas.”

“And these descendants of Seth-these are the Watchers?”

“They’ve been called so many different names through the centuries. The Elohim, the Nephilim. In Egypt, the Shemsu Hor. All we know is, their bloodline is ancient, its origins in the Levant.”

“Where?”

“The Holy Land. The Book of Enoch tells us that ultimately we will have to fight them for our own survival. And we’ll suffer terrible miseries while they slaughter and oppress and destroy.” Edwina paused to refill Jane’s glass. “Then, in the end, it will all be decided. There’ll be the final battle. The Apocalypse.” She looked at Jane. “Whether you believe it or not, the storm is coming.”

The flames seemed to blur before Jane’s tired eyes. And just for a moment she imagined a sea of fire, consuming everything. So this is the world you people inhabit, she thought. A world I don’t recognize.

She looked at Maura. “Please don’t tell me you believe this, Doc.”

But Maura simply finished her glass of wine and stood up. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Someone was tapping at the edge of Lily’s consciousness, asking to be admitted into the secret landscape of her dreams. She came awake in darkness and felt a moment’s panic when nothing seemed familiar. Then she saw the glow of moonlight and remembered where she was. Through the window, she gazed out at startlingly bright snow. The storm had blown past, and the moon now shone down on a pure white world, silent and magical. For the first time in months, she felt safe. I’m not alone anymore, she thought. I’m with people who understand my fears, people who’ll protect me.

She heard a click-click move past the room and fade away down the hallway. It was just one of the Dobermans, she thought. Bakou and Balan. What hideous names. She lay in bed, listening for the claws to tap their way past the door again, but the dog did not return.

Good. Because she needed to use the bathroom and didn’t want to face either one of those animals in the hallway.

She climbed out of bed and crossed to the door. Poking her head into the hallway, she looked around for the dogs but saw no sign of them, heard no tapping of claws. Light glowed faintly from the stairway, enough to help her navigate up the hall to the bathroom. Just as she reached the threshold, her bare foot touched something wet. She looked down, saw the faint gleam of a puddle, and pulled her foot back in disgust. The dogs, of course. What other accidents had they left on the floor? She didn’t want to step in anything worse.

She felt for the wall switch, flipped it on, and scanned the floor. She saw more puddles, but realized that these had not been left by dogs; they were melted snow, in the form of shoe prints. Someone had been walking outside and had tracked snow into the house. Her gaze lifted to the mirror, where she stared into her own pinched and sleepy eyes. And she saw something else, something that lifted every hair on the back of her neck, a reflection of what had been drawn in red on the wall behind her.

Three upside-down crosses.

Gasping, she stumbled backward and fled from the bathroom. Panic sent her tearing down the hall, bare feet skidding across the wet floor as she sprinted toward the nearest door. It was Maura’s bedroom.

“Wake up!” she whispered. “You have to wake up!” She shook the sleeping woman so hard that the headboard rattled, the springs protested. Maura merely sighed, but did not stir.

What’s wrong with you? Why can’t I wake you?

Something creaked in the hallway. Lily’s head snapped around toward the door. She felt her heart thudding hard enough to crack ribs as she crossed back to the doorway. There she stood listening, trying to hear through the banging of her own heart.

Nothing.

She eased her head around the doorjamb and peered into the hall. It was empty.

Wake the others. They have to know he’s in the house!

She slipped into the hall and scurried barefoot toward the room she thought must be Jane’s. She reached for the knob and gave a soft sob of frustration when she found it was locked. Should I pound on the door to wake her? Do I dare make any noise? Then she heard the whine of a dog, the faint tapping of claws moving across the great room downstairs. She eased toward the stairway. Gazing over the banister, she almost laughed in relief.

Downstairs, a fire was burning in the hearth. Seated on the couch, facing the flames, was Edwina Felway.

As Lily scurried down the steps, the two Dobermans glanced up, and one of them gave a warning growl. Lily froze at the bottom of the stairs.

“There, there, Balan,” said Edwina. “What’s got you upset now?”

“Edwina!” Lily whispered.

Edwina turned to look at her. “Oh. You’re awake. I was just about to add some more logs.”

Lily glanced at the fire, which was already roaring, the flames leaping, consuming a precariously tall pile of wood. “Listen to me,” whispered Lily, moving a step forward, halting again as one of the dogs rose to its feet, fangs bared. “He’s inside the house! We have to wake everyone!”

Edwina calmly picked up two logs and tossed them onto the already raging fire, stoking the inferno. “I noticed that you hardly touched your wine tonight, Lily.”

“Dominic’s here!”

“You could have slept through the whole thing, along with everyone else. But this works out so much better. Having you awake.”

“What?”

The dog gave another growl, and Lily stared down at teeth gleaming orange in the flame’s glow. The dogs, she thought suddenly. They hadn’t barked, not once tonight. An intruder had slipped into the house. He’d tracked wet shoe prints across the floor. And the dogs gave no warning.

Because they know him.

As Edwina turned to face her, Lily darted forward and snatched the poker from the hearth. “You led him here,” she said as she backed away, poker brandished in defense. “You told him.”

“Oh, I didn’t have to. He was already here on the mountain, waiting for us.”