Virtual Third Season: Episode #14

[fenris]

Sorry it's taken me so long to post this. Hope you find it worth the wait. Be advised that there are scenes of an adult nature. As always any feedback is gratefully received and much appreciated.


Episode #14: Five Year Plan.

Previously on Hex: a brief clip from Episode #3 - Jo asking “How are the talks proceeding?” and Lilith replying “An agreement has almost been reached/I understand that the Annointed One has re-emerged?” Jo nods: “Ella Dee. I’m hoping to use her interference to our advantage."
Clips from Episode #9 - Maya saying " I saw something erupt out of Hell. It had glowing red eyes./I saw some of The Fallen flying around it./They seemed to be scared of it."; Malachi dangling the Stone of Belial in front of Jo, and her asking “What did you have to trade to obtain it?” Malachi boasting “I blackmailed Thelma. Told her that if she didn’t get it for me, I’d let that girlfriend of her’s remain in Hell.” Jo smiling enigmatically as she comments “Hell. Really.”
A brief clip from Episode #12 - Mary Warren saying "Your lover – Maya? – didn’t go to Hell, did she? Want to know why?”
More clips from Episode #9 - Ella saying "The Necronomicon is said to be the Bible of the Old Ones. Also refered to as the Elder Gods./They've spent eons of time staring at the Universe from the other side of reality./It’s said that only the original Necronomicon can be used to contact them, or perhaps even bring them across to this realm."; Jo placing the Necronomicon on the bottom shelf of her wall safe, underneath the shelf comtaining the Grand Grimlore, and declaring “We now have the means to destroy the world… or create it anew.”; Mary Warren saying "The Malachi situation is irretrievable/It’s what comes afterwards that I’m preparing for."; Perie, speaking to Jo via mobile phone, asking "And the Anointed One?” Jo replies into her own mobile “There’s still a vital part we need her to play, once the other pieces have been put into position."
Another clip from Episode #12 - Mary Warren saying "You’re still occupying yourselves with a story that’s already finished."
Clips from Episode #13 - a wounded Midge lying in the upturned 4x4, muttering "balls", followed by the vehicle exploding.; Kessel shooting Leon twice in the chest and once in the forehead.; Thelma running into the stone circle while clutching the shotgun, leaping and plunging into the hovering orb of Malachi's lifeforce.; The resulting explosion, with Malachi - engulfed in flames - being hurtled backwards through the air.; A fearful Ella murmuring "Something's happened to Thelma."; Corvide sitting down behind the desk in Jo's darkened office.; Jo answering her mobile phone and Corvide's voice saying "It's done." Azazeal relaxing in Jo's bed, asking "Good news I hope?" Jo smiling as she declares "Yes indeed, my love. You have no idea."; The portal opening and Lilith stepping through. Ella identifying her "Lilith. The Mother of Beasts. The Demon Goddess. The First Woman."

Rachel McBain’s country estate. We’re continuing immediately after the conclusion of Episode #13, with Ella, Roxy, Perie, and the newly-arrived Lilith standing on the gravel driveway. Leon’s body lies at Ella’s feet, and Rachel’s mansion is burning in the background.
“The First Woman?” Roxy murmurs nervously in response to Ella’s remarks regarding Lilith.
“I was created to be Adam’s wife.” Lilith explains, her voice a warm purr, without any noticeable accent. “Personally designed and crafted by God to be perfect in every way. And as I had been created equal, I asked that my husband treat me as an equal. Not an unreasonable request, I thought. But Adam didn't see it that way. And, being a man, God agreed with him.”
“All boys together.” Comments Perie.
“Indeed.” Lilith says. “And the price I paid for being the original feminist was being exiled from Eden, and replaced by a ditzy bimbo made from one of my husband’s ribs in the skewed belief this would make her subservient.”
She half-shrugs in amusement before continuing;
“I had to make my own way in the world, outside of God’s plan. He had originally intended me to be the Mother of the human race, but as that was no longer an option I decided to create a race of my own.”
“The Lilin.” Ella remarks coldly.
“My babies.” Lilith confirms with a smile. “No mother could be prouder.”
“And now you’ve formed an alliance with Malachi.” The Anointed One says, making it a statement, not a question.
“Hardly.” Lilith replies. “But before we go any further, we’d best wait to learn of your friend’s fate. If she’s still capable, you may need her as back-up. There are things you’ll both need to know. And I hate having to explain myself twice.”
“Back-up? For what?” Ella asks cautiously.
Lilith looks expectantly at Perie, silently giving the faerie permission to break the news;
“We want you to do what you were born to do. To fulfil your purpose as an Anointed One.” Perie states simply. “Kill Malachi.”
The camera cuts to a close-up of Ella, an expression of stunned surprise on her face.
“What?” She mutters.

On-screen caption: Six years ago.
We’re in Roxy’s room at Medenham. The camera pans round, taking in the various prints on the walls, discarded clothing flung on the floor or hung over the back of a chair, assorted trinkets gathered on shelves, cosmetics and hygiene products fighting for space on a crowded, over-laden dressing table, until it finally reaches the bed. There’s a human-shaped lump under the duvet, with a smooth feminine foot poking out, hanging over the side of the bed, toes pointing down. Apart from the faint sound of soft breathing emerging from under the duvet, the room is utterly silent. Then someone knocks on the door. This does not elicit any response from the inhabitant of the bed, and after a few seconds the door opens and Gemma pokes her head round.
“Roxs?” She murmurs.
Seeing the slumbering mass, she enters, quietly closes the door behind her, and goes and sits on the bed. Reaching out, she tickles the sole of the errant foot with her fingertips. The foot reacts and the lump under the duvet stirs, grumbling something unintelligible as it does so. Roxy throws back a corner of the duvet while rolling over onto her back, yawning and stretching out a bare arm.
“Afternoon.” Gemma says pointedly.
Still mid-yawn, Roxy glances over at the clock on her bedside table.
“Oh crap.” She mutters, the words emerging out of the end of her yawn. “I’m sorry.”
“My cab’s waiting.” Gemma reports. “But I used my best come-to-bed eyes on the driver and asked him dreamily if he wouldn’t start the meter until we set off, because I had to say goodbye to My Best Friend” (she places extra emphasis on the words) “who was supposed to be seeing me off.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” A flustered Roxy warbles sincerely, waving a hand in surrender.
Then she gazes at her friend for two long seconds.
“So this is it, then.” Roxy murmurs.
“Yes.” Gemma says with a calm smile and a nod.
“Still think you’re making a mistake.” Roxy declares simply.
“Could be.” Gemma admits. “But there’s a chance that Troy could be The One. Maybe it won’t work out. But I don’t want to look back, years from now, and regret not trying when I had the chance.”
“I have to ask… what happened - with you and me… did it influence your decision to go? Things haven’t been the same between us, have they?” Roxy ventures.
In response, Gemma reaches across and gently squeezes her friend’s hand;
“Yeah, things have been a bit awkward lately, and yeah, it may have been a factor,” she tells Roxy, “but if I was staying we would have gotten past it. I know we would have.”
“Still friends then?” Roxy asks hopefully.
“Still friends.” Gemma confirms with another squeeze. “I’ve no regrets, Roxs. It helped me answer a few questions I had about myself. And speaking of which, there’s something I have to ask you, before I go.”
“What’s that?” Roxy enquires.
“Thelma.” Gemma states simply, letting the word hang in the air.
Roxy’s body tenses under the duvet, and she glances away from Gemma for the briefest of moments, but then meets her friend’s gaze.
“What about her?” The long-haired brunette says coolly.
“I always wondered why you gave her and Cassie such a hard time.” Gemma murmurs. “Far worse than the treatment you give to anybody else. And then two days after Thelma died, before they’d even buried her, you dragged me up here, stuck your tongue down my throat, and ripped my knickers off.”
“So?” Says Roxy with a shrug, trying to sound casual and mostly succeeding: “I don’t recall you complaining.”
“That’s not the point Roxs.” Counters Gemma patiently. “And it’s not just that, either. Remember last year, those times when we hooked up with boys in town and had either threesomes or foursomes? I watched you with them. With men, you used to hold something of yourself back. You had to be in control. You were never as relaxed, as giving, as… as exuberant as you were when it was just the two of us.”
“Gemma –” Roxy begins, but her friend cuts her off with another gentle squeeze.
“I think deep down, you’d always been bi-curious, but you just didn’t know it.” Gemma interjects softly. “You were in denial. And then you came here and met Thelma.”
Gemma pauses to fish something out of the pocket of her jeans, then unfolds it and passes it to Roxy. It’s a photograph, creased and frayed: a group shot taken in a bar or nightclub. Roxy and Gemma are in the centre, with Leon, Troy, Shannon, and Monika crowded round them. Everyone is smiling and/or raising their glasses in the direction of the camera. Just visible in the background over Monika’s shoulder, clearly caught in shot while walking past, is Thelma.
“She was really special, wasn’t she?” Gemma says, making it a statement instead of a question. “A real individual. Wore what she wanted, said whatever the hell she liked, and didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of her. Gay and proud of it. I didn’t really appreciate what ‘in-your-face sexuality’ was, until I met her. I’d never encountered anyone like her before… and I’m guessing you hadn’t, either. And that’s why you were such a bitch to her, isn’t it?”
The question is spoken without any anger or suggestion of accusation. Gemma is once again merely stating a fact.
“She woke something in you.” Gemma continues quietly. “Made you aware of feelings you didn’t know you had. Feelings you couldn’t control. You wanted her, and that scared you.”
Roxy doesn’t say anything. Instead she merely gazes sadly at the photo.
“So you got all defensive.” Gemma murmurs. “You dealt with your confusion, your fear, by taking it out on her. Typical diversion tactic. Deep down, you blamed her for how she was making you feel. It’s a common human trait - we always either try to destroy what scares us… or what we can’t have. And that’s why you were a bitch to Cassie as well. It wasn’t just that she was Thelma’s friend, and therefore guilty by association. It was because even a blind man could see that Thelma had the hots for her. You were jealous.”
Gemma turns Roxy’s hand over and begins tracing a circle in the palm with the tip of her forefinger.
“And when Thelma died, you panicked and seduced me. You wanted to know if you could capture with someone else what you felt for her. Am I right?” Gemma prods.
Still gazing at the photo, a shame-faced Roxy nods, any pretence gone. Placing the photo on the bed between them, she raises her eyes and looks at her friend.
“I’m sorry Gemma.” She states sadly. “I never meant to use you as a substitute. At least, that wasn’t my intention. I –”
Roxy pauses and sighs. She looks deflated.
“I really am a total bitch, aren’t I.” She mutters flatly.
Gemma responds by lifting Roxy’s hand to her mouth and softly kissing it before speaking;
“Only in a good way.” She remarks with a knowing smile. “And like I said, no regrets. I had questions of my own. If someone like you couldn’t turn me, then I must be straight.”
Roxy manages a subdued smile;
“How did you get to be so smart and understanding?” She asks wryly.
“It’s a gift.” Gemma declares with a grin. “Now I’d better go. If I keep that cab-driver waiting any longer, he’ll be expecting me to sleep with him.”
“Barter him down to a hand-job.” Roxy volleys back, and they both giggle.
Gemma gives Roxy’s hand a final squeeze.
“Goodbye Roxs.” She murmurs, then leans in and kisses the brunette on the lips.
Roxy responds, and as the two of them close their eyes and enjoy this last moment together, Gemma slides her free hand towards Roxy, then suddenly reaches up, slips it under the duvet and gropes the other girl’s breast. Roxy squeals in surprise and breaks off the kiss, looking at her friend in amused mock-indignation.
“What?” A smiling Gemma says, unabashed. “Even a confirmed straight girl like me can appreciate a great rack. But now I gotta go.”
She stands up. Roxy goes to give her the photo back, but Gemma shakes her head;
“Keep it.” She declares. “Happier times. Look at it every now and again and remember me. Remember her.”
“I will.” Roxy says. “Thank you. Not just for this,” she gestures with the photo “but for just now. The talk… everything.”
“You’re welcome.” Gemma murmurs with a slight nod, then bends down and gives Roxy a quick peck on the cheek.
“I meant it, you know.” She says softly, close to her friend’s ear. “If it didn’t work with you, it won’t with anyone.”
She straightens, and the two of them share a final, silent look, then Gemma simply turns and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. Roxy remains sitting, gazing at the door for several seconds. She picks up the photo and looks at Thelma’s image.
“Why did you have to come here?” She asks. “Why did you have to be so odd, and annoying, and loud, and funny, and wonderful? Why did you have to die?”
Nobody answers. After a few moments, Roxy places the photo under her pillow, lays flat and closes her eyes while producing a sad and resigned sigh.

On-screen caption: Two years ago.
A graveyard, in the middle of the night. It's raining steadily. A cloaked and hooded figure stands in an unearthed grave, using a long-handled spade to heave the last remaining amount of earth up onto the mount of soil by the graveside. Reaching up and placing the spade on the grass on the other side of the grave, the figure picks up a crowbar that was already lying there. Standing next to the bar is a small but bright battery-powered lantern that is illuminating the scene. The inscription on the headstone at one end of the grave can be seen. It reads: MADELINE THAWN. And underneath: GOD HAD MERCY BECAUSE SHE DID NOT. The hooded figure bends down and uses their free hand to wipe away the layer of wet mud still lying on the coffin, then inserts the end of the crowbar under the casket's lid, finds leverage, and pushes upwards. The lid gives way with a snap and a creaking sound, and the figure raises it a few inches, then takes hold of the edge and lifts the lid clear of the coffin, propping it against the damp earthen side of the grave, before turning their attention to the interior of the casket. The figure bends down, out of our sight, and after a couple of seconds straightens back up, now holding a short slim package, wrapped in soft white cloth. The light from the lantern enables the figure to see clearly as they hold the package in one hand and carefully unwrap it with the other. The folds of white material are peeled back... to reveal the two halves of a Volta staff.

On-screen caption: Now.
The flat rooftop of a glass and steel office block, somewhere in London. Mary Warren and Catherine Cotton stride across towards the raised buttress that runs around the edge. Catherine is wearing a denim jacket and jeans, both bleached white, with equally white trainers, while Mary is clad in her bright blue leather biker’s jacket, matching skin-tight trousers and high-heeled boots. Leaning on the buttress, both women gaze out over the city.
"The world is changing, C.” Declares Mary, smiling. “Can you feel it? Today is when it all happens."
The camera cuts to Mary and Catherine’s view of London, and pans across the metropolis. It’s still early, and the capital is mostly quiet, peaceful, slumbering. We cut back to the Anointed One and her disciple;
"Get ready, you poor saps.” Mary murmurs cheerfully.
Opening titles.

Laughing and giggling, and without a care in the world, Thelma is relaxing in a sunken jacuzzi with Abi Titmuss and Danni Minogue, sandwiched between the two of them. Abi is nibbling Thelma’s ear, while Danni gently massages and kisses the ghost’s shoulders. Hudson Leick suddenly breaks the surface of the bubbling, frothing water. Wearing a white bikini, the blonde American climbs out the jacuzzi, sits on the surrounding patio with her lower legs still dangling in the water, and starts to recite whole passages of dialogue from Xena: Warrior Princess. Spotting movement to her right, Thelma sees Famke Janssen and Melanie Chisholm, both in skimpy waitresses’ uniforms, walking towards them and each carrying a large plate plied high with cocktail sausages. Upon reaching the jacuzzi, the two brunettes kick off their high-heeled shoes, kneel down on the patio and take turns in feeding Thelma the sausages by hand, as Abi switches her attention to the ghost’s other ear.
"I could get used to this.” Thelma announces with her mouth full.
There's a sudden flurry of activity as all five members of Girls Aloud run giggling onto the patio, dressed in the teeniest bikinis Thelma has ever seen, and start spraying each other with Super Soaker guns. Glancing at her two personal waitresses, the ghost sees that Famke and Mel C. are passionately kissing each other, but somehow manages to tear her eyes away from that glorious sight when she realises that Nadine Coyle and Nicola Roberts have discarded the water guns and started rubbing baby oil onto each other bodies.
“Now this is Heaven.” Thelma mumbles happily, still chewing on a sausage.
Suddenly there’s complete silence. The giggling, splashing, and hungry moaning from Famke and Sporty Spice all stops in an instant. Thelma looks about in alarm: it’s as though Time has stopped. All the various celebrities are frozen in place, mid-activity, like statues. Even the water droplets from the Super Soaker guns are suspended in mid-air. The ghost reluctantly squeezes out from between the immobile Abi and Dannii, moves to the centre of the jacuzzi and turns in a circle, gazing at the bizarre scene all around her.
“Okay, this is officially the creepiest thing I’ve experienced in a long time.” Thelma murmurs nervously.
“Actually, I was going for ‘eerie’ but thank you for the compliment.” Declares a voice.
The ghost turns to look in the direction the voice came from. A woman in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length raven-black hair is walking towards the sunken hot-tub. She’s wearing a black corset with matching thong, suspender belt, fishnet stockings and stilettos. Completing the outfit is a sweeping crimson ankle-length hooded cloak. As she reaches the edge of the Jacuzzi, she simply keeps walking – but instead of falling into the water with an almighty splash, she actually walks on the liquid’s surface, as though it’s perfectly solid, despite the fact that Thelma is standing up to her waist in it.
Reaching the ghost, the woman crouches down, gazing at Thelma face-to-face. The spectre can now see that he newcomer has deathly pale skin, un-naturally long, thick eyelashes and is wearing dark grey eye-shadow and black lip-gloss.
“Who are you?” Thelma blurts out.
“The Mistress Devora.” The woman announces, and the ghost stares at her for a moment before replying;
“You’re got to be kidding.” Thelma deadpans.
“It’s my name, for what it is.” Devora counters. “And you’re trespassing.”
“I’m what?” Thelma sputters, increasingly confused.
“This is my realm,” the cloaked woman explains, gesturing around with a wave of her hand, “and you don’t belong.”
“Well, excuse me, but if there’s anywhere I belong, it’s most definitely here.” The ghost protests.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Devora persists, ignoring her, and Thelma responds by defiantly crossing her arms and staring the black-clad beauty in the eye.
“Yeah? Why not?” She says stubbornly.
“Because you have a temporary pass at best.” Devora murmurs, unflappable. “You hitch a ride on other people’s dreams but never enter here of your own accord, because you’re not able. At least not until today. You don’t sleep anymore. And therefore you don’t dream.”
“I’m dreaming?” The ghost queries, the penny finally beginning to drop.
Devora gestures round again at the various frozen celebrities;
“What, you thought this was real? Hello?” She exclaims.
“I’m dreaming.” Thelma repeats, only this time it’s a statement tinged with sadness instead of a question.
“Bingo.” Devora declares in triumph, with a beaming smile.
Thelma opens her eyes. The camera pulls back to reveal that she’s lying naked on her front, in the deepest part of a large crater, the sloping sides of which consist of blackened, baked-hard earth.
“Ah, there you are.” Remarks a voice from somewhere behind her.
Thelma rises onto her elbows and glances back, over her shoulder. Mephistopheles is standing about thirty feet away, hands in the pockets of his black suit trousers. The demon starts walking towards her.
“I confess you had me quite worried.” He remarks conversationally.
“What just happened?” Thelma murmurs, somewhat subdued, getting to her feet and gazing around at the sloping sides of the crater as she turns to face Mephistopheles.
“I’m not sure, but whatever it was, it’s effects were felt far and wide. The Universe shivered, for lack of a better word. Something has occurred that was never supposed to. Something very wrong. I sensed it myself, and various parties in Heaven and Hell are having a right tizzy, even as we speak.” Opines the demon. “My unofficial contacts in both camps asked me to survey the situation on the ground and make an appraisal. So here I am. And here we are.”
He raises a quizzical eyebrow, directed at Thelma. The ghost merely shrugs in response.
“Don’t look at me.” She mutters. “I haven’t a clue.”
Mephistopheles accepts this with a nod, as though he’s already losing interest.
"Fair enough. But I'm curious... you weren't here a moment ago. You just blinked back into existance." The demon comments.
"I... I think I was... dreaming." Thelma ventures. "But I can't dream - I mean, I can enter other people's dreams, but I don't dream myself. I can't because I don't sleep. I haven't since I died."
Mephistopheles ponders for a moment.
"When you enter the dreams of others, you're not venturing into their minds, so to speak, but briefly visiting another dimension - 'the dreamscape', for lack of a better term. A non-tangable place shaped by the individual's imagination - their wants, desires, and, fears. When humans are unconscious, their souls are able to disengage from their physical bodies and drift there. But it's only temporary, until they awake again. In extreme cases, this results in what are called 'out of body experiences'." He explains.
"So, all this time, when I thought I was going into peoples' minds, I was actually wandering into another plane of existance?" Thelma queries.
"Just so." Mephistopheles confirms.
"But I need another person's dreams to do that, yeah? I hitch a ride, piggyback in on their subconscious. So how come this time I did it all by myself? Totally left this plane of existance and went walkabout in the dreamscape?" The ghost asks.
"I don't know." The demon muses. "And considering I know almost everything, it's most disconcerning. There are far too many mysteries occurring today. Let's hope it's not the start of a trend. By the way, would you like my jacket?"
Thelma suddenly remembers that she's standing in front of him stark naked, and instantly, awkwardly, tries to cover her breasts with a forearm and her crotch with her other hand. If her body possessed any blood, her face would have flushed bright red.
“Have no fear, Miss Bates.” The demon declares, taking off his jacket and handing it to her. “Attractive though you undoubtedly are, unlike the Nephilim I was not cast out of Heaven for lusting after mortal women. You’re quite safe.”
“You fought on the wrong side during the war?” Thelma asks, accepting the jacket and hurriedly putting it on.
“The losing side, certainly. As for it being the wrong side, well, that’s a matter of opinion.” Mephistopheles reflects.
He glances down at the ground where Thelma was laying.
“What’s that?” He enquires.
The ghost follows his gaze and sees the pump-action shotgun that she was clutching when she came into contact with Malachi’s lifeforce.
“I must have been lying on it.” Thelma remarks, reaching down and picking up the firearm.
She examines the shotgun. The stock is intact and seems solid, but is burnt black, while other sections of the weapon have been stripped down to the bare metal, slightly pitted and rough to the touch. She looks around at the encircling slope of the crater.
“Why wasn’t this destroyed like everything else?” The ghost muses.
“Were you holding it when the blast occurred?” Asks Mephistopheles, and Thelma nods.
“Being at the epicentre may have protected it in some way, like being in the eye of a storm.” He suggests. “Does it still work?”
“To be honest, I don’t think I even checked to see if it was loaded.” Thelma confesses, then she turns to face the slope, positions the gun at hip level, steadies herself and pulls the trigger.
The gun produces a low, deep FLOOM sound as a blast of energy erupts from the end of the barrel and the air in front of Thelma visually ripples. A patch of earth the size and depth of a football explodes in the face of the slope, particles of dirt sent flying in all directions.
“Wow.” Thelma utters.
“It appears to have absorbed some of the energy of the explosion.” Mephistopheles theories. “May I?”
The ghost hands him the firearm to the demon, who turns it over and looks at the loading breach.
“Definitely not loaded.” He comments, then he holds it one-handed at arm’s length, pointing at the same patch of earth that Thelma blasted, and pulls the trigger. Click. Nothing happens.
“Maybe that one blast was all it had.” Suggests Thelma.
“Perhaps.” Mephistopheles says, passing the weapon back to her. “But why don’t you try again?”
Assuming the position, Thelma again pulls the trigger. FLOOM. Again the shotgun flares, the air ripples, and another piece of earth violently explodes.
“As I suspected, it only discharges energy if you are firing it.” The demon comments. “You’re obviously needed to complete some kind of power circuit.”
“Great.” Murmurs Thelma, somewhat unconvincingly, weighing the firearm in her hands. “I’ve always wanted a demonic energy-engorging gun of my very own.”
“Well, now that we’ve equipped with you with a weapon, we’d best return to Miss Dee.” Mephistopheles declares. “She’s in dire need of another friendly face right now.”
“What do you mean?” The ghost asks.
“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of some bad news. Both Leon Taylor and your young hacker associate are dead.” The demon informs her. “I’m very sorry.”
We see Thelma’s shocked reaction.

End of Part One.

[fenris]

Part Two.

Cut to Jo’s bedroom in the London headquarters of the New Church. Azazeal is still relaxing on the four poster bed, while Jo – wearing only a short black silk dressing gown – is picking up a remote control from the dressing table.
“Come back to bed.” The angel requests, smiling.
“There’s just something I want to see first.” The ex-teacher announces, pressing a button on the remote.
A large panel on the wall slides back, revealing a huge flat TV screen. Jo clicks another button, and it flares into life, tuned to a 24 hour news channel.
“-king news now, regarding the New Church of the Messiah.” Announces the attractive brunette anchorwoman. “We have received a large amount of extremely detailed information, apparently leaked from within the New Church itself, that apparently provides solid evidence proving the various allegations that have been made against the organisation over the last several years by internet journalist Leon Taylor.”
A picture of Leon – smiling and looking relaxed - appears at the newsreader’s shoulder. Jo glances over at Azazeal, who is now sitting upright in bed, staring at the screen with a look of concern.
“Amongst the information received, there is evidence of substantial undeclared payments to Cabinet Ministers, senior civil servants and high-ranking police officers, both here and in several other countries.” The newsreader continues. “There are also detailed records of insider dealing, and of shares held in companies involved in illegal arms sales or unregulated drug trials in the Third World. Among the other allegations apparently supported by the leaked information are those of the New Church’s extensive links with organised crime, including money laundering and large scale tax evasion. Potentially most damaging is evidence that many donations from the Church’s followers were filtered into private off-shore accounts held in the name of dummy companies, and also of extensive property purchases in tax exile countries – properties that are apparently for the personal use of the New Church’s founder, Malachi Solomon. There are also unconfirmed rumours that this information has been leaked to many other news agencies and all the major law enforcement bodies worldwide, including Scotland Yard, Interpol, and the FBI. And we’ve just heard that all this clearly devastating information has just appeared on the New Church’s own website, which would seem to support the theory that the leak was carried out by a senior member of the organisation. To discuss the impact of this breaking news, our international correspondent Stewart Kirby is with me in the studio. Stewart?”
“This is dynamite, Fiona.” A bespectacled man says, and then Jo starts switching channels, moving from one news station to another.
All of them are reporting the same story – the corruption of the New Church laid bare for the entire world to see.
Azazeal’s expression is a mixture of astonishment and anger.
“Who did this?” He flares, before deciding on the most likely culprit: “Ella. It’s Ella’s doing. A desperate last-minute attempt to prevent the End of Days. It could be no-one else.”
“Ella? Oh no, Azazeal. Ella isn’t responsible for this.” Jo purrs.
She turns to look at him, and the Nephilm sees that her eyes are glowing red.
“I am.” The ex-teacher declares.
Before Azazeal can react, Jo’s eyes flash and the angel is instantly hurled off the bed and through the air, crashing into one of the heavy oak wardrobes with such force that it is smashes into pieces. Dazed, Azazeal collapses amongst the splintered wreckage as Jo walks around the bed towards him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the last few hours, Azazeal.” She tells him cheerfully. “Using my body for your pleasure. Because now it’s my turn.”
Her eyes flash again, and the Nephilm goes flying helplessly across the room, past Jo – who stands calmly, smiling, as he misses her by only a few inches – and crashes violently into the dressing table, demolishing it in the same manner as the wardrobe.
“This is so much better than the sex.” Jo declares triumphantly.

Cut to Ella, Roxy, Perie and Lilith in Rachel McBain’s estate. Lilith glances over her shoulder;
“Ah, there they are.” She remarks, as Mephistopheles and Thelma emerge into view, over the top of a low ridge that marks the edge of the grounds on this side of the mansion.
Roxy looks for Ella’s reaction. Although still saddened, the Anointed One is visibly relived to see Thelma. The demon and the ghost approach the gathered women, Thelma still wearing Mephistopheles’ suit jacket and carrying the charred shotgun in one hand.
“Lilith.” Mephistopheles acknowledges with a polite nod as he and Thelma reach the group.
“Mephistopheles.” The demon goddess replies rather more cordially, extending an expectant hand, which he takes and bows slightly to kiss.
Thelma takes in the sight of Leon’s body, then looks at Ella, who meets her gaze. The ghost goes to say something, but the Anointed One swallows and silently nods. The two of them have known each other long enough for words to be unnecessary.
“Well, now that everybody’s here, let’s begin. We have much to discuss.” Announces Lilith.
Ella, Thelma and Roxy – with Leon’s corpse lying behind them – stand facing Perie and Lilith. Mephistopheles has positioned himself between the two groups, standing a few feet to the side, as though taking a neutral position.
“First a gift.” Lilith says, producing a computer disc in a plastic case from a pocket in her coat and holding it out to Ella.
When a stone-faced Ella makes no move to take it, Lilith merely raises a wry eyebrow and lets it drop onto the gravel.
“It’s a duplicate,” She continues unabashed, “containing all the illicit inner-workings of the New Church. Full and extensive details of every dirty little secret. Illegal transactions, bribes, off-shore bank accounts – well, you get the general idea. It reveals where all the bodies are buried and where all the money’s hidden.”
“Everything required to expose and bring down the entire organisation.” Perie summarises.
“And you’re giving this to me why?” Ella asks cautiously.
“Yeah – why give us the means of destroying the New Church?” Thelma comments.
“You misunderstand.” Lilith counters with a smile. “One of my children did precisely that just under an hour ago.”

Cut to Corvide walking unhurriedly along a corridor within the New Church’s headquarters. She reaches a set of double doors, the one of the left bearing a metal plaque that reads ‘Media Relations.’ Reaching out and pushing open the door of the right, the camera follows the lilin as she walks through into a large room filled with workstations on which computer plasma screens sit. Several members of the New Church’s administration staff – a mixture of incubi, succubus, and privately contracted human consultants – are desperately fielding telephone calls and attempting to deal with queries. Despite the earliness of the hour, Corvide isn’t surprised to find the room occupied, as there is always a skeleton team on duty overnight, handling any enquiries from media outlets in other time zones. The air is full with the sound of phones ringing constantly and a gabble of raised, overladen voices. The handful of staff members – looking stunned, wide-eyed and stressed - are trying and failing to field persistent questions from practically every major newspaper, TV station, freelance news gathering organisation, and internet news service in the Western hemisphere. Jo isn’t answering any of the calls that the desperate shift manager is repeatedly making to her quarters, and so the media staff simply don’t know what to say or what official response to make. The department is in meltdown. Corvide calmly glances around and surveys the chaos. She seems almost bored. Seeing her, the shift manager puts his phone down mid-call and rushes over to her side, his collar and tie both loose and his white shirt sticking to his back with nervous sweat. He opens his mouth to speak, but Corvide stops him with a glance – her eyes are in their natural state, a complete, pupil-less black. Opening her mouth slightly to reveal sharp pointed teeth, she hisses slightly, and the manager nervously and wordlessly backs away, his eyes wider than ever. Turning to a panel on the wall behind her, Corvide reaches out with both hands, takes hold of the panel’s vertical edges, and rips it from the wall, revealing a bunched mass of cables underneath. The noise this act creates causes practically everyone to look up and see what she’s doing. Dismissively dropping the panel to one side, Corvide flexes her right hand, and her black polished fingernails suddenly grow another inch in length. The lilin sweeps her hand across the cables, her nails slicing effortlessly through them, causing a burst of sparks. All the phones instantly stop ringing and the plasma screens simultaneously go blank. The sudden contrast between the cacophony of a moment earlier and the total silence that now exists is almost physical. Her back still to those in the room, Corvide looks over her shoulder at them. All eyes are fixed upon her. No one speaks. Some are still holding their dead phones to their ears, as though frozen like statues.
“Anyone who’s human can leave now. You’re fired.” Corvide rasps dismissively. “As for the rest of you… your Daddy’s coming home. He’s going to have need of you.”

Cut back to Rachel McBain’s estate.
“You’ve had one of your own people destroy the New Church from inside?” Exclaims Thelma. “Why? Why should the forces of Hell sabotage their own plot to destroy the world?”
“You forget that there are two main factions in Hell. The original Fallen, who rallied around Lucifer after he questioned God’s wisdom, which evoked the war and resulted in them being cast out of Heaven. And the Nephilim, who later fell from Grace for succumbing to temptation and committing the sin of Lust.” Lilith begins. “Using Malachi to bring about the End of Days and the Uncreation – these schemes are solely the provision of the Nephilim. The Fallen have no involvement, nor do they wish any.”
“You’re saying that the Fallen are opposed to the Nephilim’s plans?” Ella queries.
“I’m saying that on the whole, both Hell and Heaven are perfectly happy with the current status quo. Lucifer and the Fallen have no reason to see Earth destroyed or Creation reversed. Either event would gain them nothing. Consider also that the Fallen were exiled from Heaven on a point of principle. As you can imagine, they are none too pleased about having to now share Hell with a few unsavoury, sweaty-palmed angels who stayed loyal to God during the war in Heaven, fought against and helped cast out their brothers, and have themselves since fallen from Grace in ones and twos over several millennium, simply because they can’t control their sordid desires and keep their dicks in their pants.”
“Blimey. You’re making Hell sound like a bad prison movie, with the Fallen and the Nephilim as rival gangs glaring at each other across the exercise yard.” Thelma mutters.
“An apt description.” Lilith observes with a smile. “The Nephilim are a pathetic and depressingly tiresome bunch, full of bitterness and misdirected anger. They’re unwilling or incapable of accepting that they alone are responsible for their fate. Instead they blame God, believing that He has unfairly condemned and abandoned them, His loyal servants. Their scheme to use Malachi to destroy all that God created is simply their petulant, childish revenge against Him.”
“But if the Fallen don’t want the Nephilim to succeed, why wait until now to act?” Interjects Thelma. “It’s all a bit last minute isn’t it? Malachi’s close to bringing about the End of Days.”
“On the contrary,” Lilith counters “the Fallen have had an agent in place, discreetly sabotaging Malachi’s accumulation of power, from the very beginning. Placed as close to him as it was possible to be.”
A look of sudden realisation crosses Ella’s face;
“Jo.” She murmurs.

Cut to Jo’s quarters in the new Church’s headquarters. Apart from the four poster bed and the full length mirror, every other item of heavy blackened oak furniture in the room is in shattered ruins. Azazeal – his naked body severely bruised and battered, bleeding from numerous large gashes and deep cuts – lays semi-conscious in the middle of the debris that used to be a large chest of drawers. Standing with her back to him, facing the mirror and still only wearing the short black silk dressing gown, Jo opens her right hand. A lipstick immediately flies out from within the shattered pile of darkened wood that was the dressing table, sending fragments spinning. It shoots across the room like a bullet and stops dead in Jo’s palm. Unscrewing the top, she starts applying it to her lips.
“Why... are you… do…ing…this?” Azaeal managed to croak, his voice little more than a weakened, coarse whisper.
“You know what happens when a human soul enters Hell, don’t you Azazeal.” Jo replies, still with her back to him. “Of course, as an angel you have no soul, so in the past you’ve walked between this world and either Heaven or Hell as though just stepping through a door. But humans leave their physical bodies behind, and their souls take on physical form on the other side. That’s what enables the damned to feel pain and agony as they’re tortured. And that’s what happened to my soul, when you sent me to Hell and my comatose body remained here. But there was one big difference between me and all the other damned souls. I was innocent.”
Finished with the lipstick, Jo simply drops it on the floor and casually kicks it so it rolls away. Turning and walking over to the huddled Nephilim, she stands over him, arms by her sides and her eyes faintly glowing red. Azazeal’s body slowly levitates out of the shattered drawers, as though practically weightless and being lifted on invisible strings. Suspended almost two feet in the air, he is positioned and turned until he is facing Jo.
“So, do you know what happens when an innocent soul arrives in Hell, Azazeal?” Jo asks mockingly. “Of course you don’t. It had never happened before, and you weren’t there to see it, being too busy here raising Malachi and trying to drive Ella insane. Hell reacted as though it was an organic entity and I was poison. It was as if the entire realm went into toxic shock. Whole sections started to decay and die. A couple of the lower levels were close to collapse. The Fallen could see that I was the problem. My innocence was alien to the environment. They knew that the only way to correct matters was to corrupt me – to make me willingly give up my soul and become damned like everybody else. But I knew that surrendering my soul would condemn me there forever. So I refused. And the Fallen proceeded to do what they do best… they tortured me, with the intention of doing so until I gave in and relinquished my innocence.”
Jo pauses, closing her eyes and tilting her head back with a deep sigh, her hands slowly closing and then opening again at her sides, almost as though enjoying the memory. When she opens her eyes, they are glowing bright red. She steps to one side and Azazeal is suddenly propelled forward through the air, coming to an equally sudden halt right in front of one of the exquisitely carved posts of the four poster bed, his face approximately ten inches from the blackened oak.
“Do you like the designs?” Jo asks, walking back over to the mirror. “I had them commissioned especially. Cast your eye over them. Tell me what you see.”
Azazeal tries to look over his shoulder at her, to speak, but instead finds his head being turned against his will to look at the carvings on the post, all depicting naked women being defiled by demons and monsters. The Nephilim feels his eyelids being pulled so wide open that it causes him pain. Having no choice but to look at the designs, he glances over several of them… then audibly gasps.
“It’s you.” Azazeal exclaims, his voice stronger than earlier, but still considerably weaker than normal. “These women… they’re all you.”
“The Fallen tortured me, raped me, molested me, violated me, abused me, repeatedly and constantly. I was passed from one demon to the next, each of them trying and failing to break me, exhausting every vile and sadistic atrocity they could think of using on me.” Jo declares. “Still I held out. Still I wouldn’t give in. I knew that my soul was the only bargaining chip I had, the only thing that could save me from suffering precisely the same kind of torture they were inflicting on me, forever. And you know that time works differently in Hell, Azazeal. One second here is over a thousand millennium there. I endured the worst that Hell had to offer for an eternity. The Fallen crushed my limbs. Twisted and pulled my fingers off. Yanked out my teeth, one at a time. Ground my flesh to liquid and my bones to dust. Sliced off my tongue and eyelids. Gouged out my eyes. Cut off my breasts. Tore me open and ripped out my organs. Force-fed me my own intestines until I choked. Again and again and again and again, each time my body repairing and reknitting itself, so the torture could begin anew.”
The ex-teacher turns from the mirror, walks over to the bed and sits down on it, gazing up at the still-suspended Azazeal.
“All this time the damage to Hell continued.” Jo says, almost breezily. “The level where they’d hidden me away was visually rotting away around us. And they had to keep me hidden, Azazeal. The Fallen didn’t want the Nephilim learning what was going on and interfering, especially as it was your arrogant, short-sighted blundering that had created the crisis in the first place. Ironic really, considering that your kind would have enjoyed having their way with me.”
Jo pointedly looks Azazeal directly in the eye, crosses her legs and adjusts the front of her gown to display more cleavage as she makes this observation.
“Luckily the sections of Hell affected by my presence were well away from the areas inhabited by your brethren. Because the Fallen had plans for me, even then.” The ex-teacher continues. “Like you, they could see that if I was returned to Earth I would be ideally placed to oversee Malachi. But their intentions towards your son were very different to your grand scheme. However, their efforts to break me – to make me their willing servant – were failing, and the damage I was causing to Hell was increasing at such a rate that it could not be kept from the Nephilim much longer. The Fallen were almost becoming desperate.”
The ex-teacher pauses, her lips forming into a confident smile;
“I had gained the upper hand.” She declares. “I told them I was willing to make a deal, but only with Lucifer himself. Him alone, no-one else.”
Her smile grows wider.
“Can you imagine it?” Jo says with almost a laugh. “Me, a simple pathetic mortal, condemned to the worst depths of Hell, making demands of the Devil?”
The ex-teacher pauses, closing her eyes she leans back, placing both hands on the bed behind her and sighing blissfully at the memory of what she’s describing;
“And he came.” Jo murmurs, a purr of contentment mixed with a slight tremble in her voice. “It was the first time I’d seen him. Other members of the Fallen had dealt with me until that moment. He was beautiful. He dismissed everyone, and it was just the two of us, alone.”

Cut back to Rachel’s estate.
“Once it became clear that Malachi was too undisciplined to bring about the End of Days, with both his father and Mephistopheles having failed to control him, the Fallen seized their chance and sent Jo to mentor him – a move which ironically was supported by Azazeal himself.” Lilith explains. “The Fallen even let him take the credit for it. The Nephilim believed that Jo’s remit was to rein in Malachi’s excesses and keep the End of Days on schedule, but her real mission was to make the approach of the End of Days proceed at a pace quick enough to allay any suspicions the Nephilim may have, but simultaneously ensure that any serious or irreversible process was delayed. Part of this secret mission was to talk Malachi out of taking any drastic and divisive action where both you” - Lilith looks directly at Ella - “and your mortal lover were concerned. The Fallen needed you alive.”
“Why?” Ella asks cautiously.
“Plausible denial.” Lilith bats back, somewhat smugly. “If the Nephilim ever got suspicious about why the End of Days was slowly being pushed back further and further, the Fallen could just blame it not only on Malachi’s wilfulness – despite Jo’s supposedly best efforts to rein him in – but on your continuous meddling.”
The First Woman flashes a beaming smile;
“You’ve effectively been working for the Fallen since your reappearance. Unwittingly supplying interference.” She tells the Anointed One.
If Lilith was expecting a reaction from Ella – or even an indication that the immortal is fuming internally after learning that she has been used – she doesn’t get it. However, Thelma glances at her friend and can tell that Ella is disquieted by this revelation, processing it over and over.
“Why all this subterfuge?” The ghost asks, partly because she wants to know, but also to prevent Ella dwelling on what she’s just been told. “If the Fallen were opposed to the Nephilim’s plans, why not just give them a collective clip round the ear and tell them to –”
“No.” Lilith says, cutting Thelma off. “Lucifier and the Fallen have seen what a civil war did to Heaven. They weren’t doing to let that happen to Hell.”

Cut to Jo's bedroom. Azazeal is still suspended vertically in the air, in front of the post, while Jo is lying on the bed, eyes closed and with a contented smile on her face.
"I told Lucifer that my soul could be his, and I would assist him with his plan to prevent the End of Days... but on one condition. I told him that I wanted to become his woman." The ex-teacher breathes, visibly excited at the memory. "He agreed."
Upon hearing this, Azazeal snorts with laughter;
"You're a fool, Jo." He sneers mockingly, sounding confident and stronger. "Lucifer has taken countless lovers and consorts from amongst the damned souls that enter Hell. And when he tires of them, he throws them back into the flames. You're diluded if you think you're anything special."
Jo's smile grows wider;
"He has indeed taken numerous lovers, Azazeal." She confirms, then she opens her eyes and fixes the Nephilim with her gaze. "But only one wife."
It takes a couple of seconds for the realisation to show on the Nephilim's features. His eyes widen and stare, his jaw sags and the colour adruptly drains out of his face.
"That's right." Jo purrs triumphantly, revelling in her lover's reaction. "That was the deal I made. My soul in exchange for marriage to the Devil, and all that comes with it. Everything that is his is also mine."
"Lucifer would never agree to such a deal!" Blusters Azazeal.
"He didn't have much choice, considering that Hell was dying around him. Better to share ownership of a realm, than have no realm at all." Counters Jo calmly. "And I promised to be a dutiful bride and loyal wife, aiding him in any way I could and never betraying his trust. So the deal was struck. I gave myself to the Devil, pledged my body and soul to him, and he appointed me his Queen, to rule by his side. An equal partnership. And so Hell - my new domain, my new home - was saved. With my innocence gone, the infection ceased immediately. The weakened sections quickly recovered and healed. It was as though nothing had happened - and as far as you and your fellow Nephilim were aware, nothing had."
She stretches and sighs contentedly;
"I out-rank you now, Azazeal." The brunette declares casually. "In fact, I have done for the last six years. How does it feel, being in the presense of your betters?"
Azazeal desperately glances about, trying to think of something - anything - to deny or disprove what Jo is telling him. He notices her hands.
"You're bluffing." He hisses, desperation clearly audible in his voice. "Even the Prince of Lies is bound by the sacred, ancient conventions of marriage, and you're not wearing a wedding ring. There can be no marriage without a ring."
"Oh, but I am, Azazeal." The ex-teacher announces smugly. "Just not on my finger. You know where it is. You were wrapping your tongue around it earlier."
The Nephilim gazes at her in non-comprehension for a moment, then his eyes shift to the parting of her legs.
"That's the one." Jo smiles. "And you thought it was just for my pleasure."
She gets up and stands alongside Azazeal as he remains suspended. Her eyes glow faintly, and the Nephilim is lowered slightly, until the soles of his feet are hovering only a couple of inches above the floor.
"And before you ask, yes, the marriage has been consummated." Jo whispers into the Nephilim's ear. "Remember when I told you that sleeping with you is like screwing God? I lied. Compared to my husband, you and your son are like a couple of clumsy virgins who have never even imagined a woman naked, let alone knowing what to do with one."
The ex-teacher glances over to what was her dressing table. A gesture of her wrist, and a small flat object flies out from amongst of the debris and lands in her hand. She brings it into Azazeal's eyeline: it's a photo of Malachi, smiling and looking relaxed, set in an elaborate frame of dark-green jade.
"Can you believe that he made the same catastrophic mistake you did?" Jo declares in mock-disbelief, tracing the tip of her fore-finger down the curve of her surrogate son's face in the picture. "He sent an innocent soul to Hell. Thelma's girlfriend, Maya I think her name was. He really is your son, isn't he. Needless to say, the Fallen were prepared this time. A couple of them intercepted her as she fell and redirected her to Purgatory. Once bitten and all that."
Jo shrugs and the photo suddenly bursts into small but intense flames. Within a second it's been reduced to ash, frame and all, and holding her hand palm upwards, the brunette blows the ash into the Nephilim's face, making him blink and splutter.
"What happens now?" Azazeal asks, spitting out the last of the ash, his voice terse. "What are you going to do? Malachi -"
"Our son? My beautiful boy?" Jo interupts, then leans in close and murmurs softly, like a lover: "I'm going to serve him on a stick to Ella Dee."
Her eyes flash bright red and the Nephilim is instantly thrown backwards, crashing through the full length mirror and it's wooden backing and striking the wall beyond it. Instead of letting him fall to the ground, Jo sends him flying forward across the room, his head smashing through the post of the bed with a loud and brutal-sounding crack. Still keeping Azazeal aloft, the ex-teacher propels him into each of the three other posts in turn, breaking and shattering them while leaving his body more battered and broken than before. Allowing the Nephilim to finally collapse onto the bed in a bloodied mess, Jo glances up at the roof of the four-poster, which she has kept suspended in place after the destruction of the posts. She smiles viciously;
"They say that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned." She announces loudly, for the barely-conscious Azazeal's benefit. "Well it does now."
Jo's eyes blaze, and the roof of the bed plunges down, crashing onto Azazeal and causing the base of the four-poster to collapse with a heavy splintering sound. As the ex-teacher surveys the damage in satisfaction, Corvide appears in the doorway. The lilin shows no surprise at all the destruction.
"It went well, mistress?" The raven-haired girl asks.
"Indeed my pet. Most satisfactory." Jo says warmly, walking around the wreckage of her bed, and tying the waist cord of her silk gown. "What news of my son?"
"There has been an incident of some sort." Corvide reports. "Details are hazy, but the helicopter they left in has been damaged. His wife contacted our fleet co-ordinator from a private airfield, demanding another aircraft be sent to pick them up. It's been dispatched. Estimated arrival time sixty minutes. The succubus and incubi await his return."
"Sixty minutes." Jo ponders, then glances back at the shattered contacts of her room. "Your quarters, I think."
"Then... it's time, mistress?" Murmurs the lilin in quiet but hopeful anticipation.
Smiling, the ex-teacher reaches out and cups the cheek of her servant's face in the palm of her hand.
"Yes, my sweet." Jo declares. "It's time."

Cut to Rachel McBain's estate, and a stunned-looking Thelma.
“You’re kidding.” The ghost is murmuring in disbelief. “My old English teacher is now co-ruler of Hell?”
“In terms of seniority in the Universe, she now ranks behind only God and Lucifer.” Confirms Lilith. “You must admit, it’s one hell of a promotion. No pun intended.”
"So Jo marries the Devil, sparing Hell, losing her soul but avoiding the flames. Then she awakens from her coma and returns to Medenham, apparently to mentor and assist Malachi, but actually to sabotage his progress." Summarises Ella. "But something doesn't make sense with that scenario. Surely delaying the End of Days can’t be maintained indefinitely? Eventually the Nephilim will realise that the Fallen have no intention of letting the apocalypse happen."
"Oh, the Fallen had no intention of delaying it indefinitely," replies Lilith coolly, "just long enough to negotiate an agreement with their new allies."
Ella gazes wordlessly at the First Woman for several seconds, as another in a line of coins suddenly drops, and the Anointed One realises who Lilith is talking about;
"The Elder Gods." The auburn-haired immortal murmurs.
"The Fallen have formed a partnership with the Old Ones." Lilith confirms with a smile. "And against their combined forces, the Nephilim are severely outnumbered, outgunned... and can do nothing. A war in Hell will be averted."
"That’s why you’re involved." Ella - slowly nodding at her own deduction - declares to Lilith. "You were exiled from Paradise, while the Fallen were cast from Heaven. The Lillin are forced to dwell in the shadows, the ocean depths, the remotest regions of the Earth or deep underground, while the Elder Gods are unable to enter this realm. You and your Lillin could claim kinship with both groups. You acted as facilitators and go-betweens in the negotiations."
"So the Fallen avoid a war in Hell, but what do the Old Ones get out of the deal?" Asks Thelma. "What did Lucifer have to offer them to get them on board?"
Ella’s already realised;
"Earth." She says plaintly. "The Elder Gods get the world and everything on it. That’s why Jo was trying to locate the original Necronomicon – to enable the Old Ones to pass through into this dimension."
"Correct." Lilith declares with a nod. "The Nephilim believed that the ritual Jo had Malachi repeatedly perform was to locate the Grand Grimlore – and so it was, for only the Messiah of the Fallen Angels can find the Grimlore, and yes, the Fallen wanted it found and put in a place of safety, in order to safeguard all of Creation. However, through amendments to the ritual, Jo was also using Malachi to find the original Necronomicon."
"Wait a minute," Thelma interjects, "if the Fallen don’t want the Nephilim to destroy the world, then why have they agreed to let the Elder Gods demolish it instead?"
"The Old Ones don’t want to destroy this planet." Lilith explains patiently, as though talking to a child. "They merely want to rule it. They want to have a place to finally call ‘home.’ Besides, will it really be so different? For the last several thousand years, Mankind has been ruled and governed by an endless succession of monsters. The only real change will be that the monsters won’t be human."
"So an agreement's been reached, and the Fallen can safely drop the subterfuge, now that the Elder Gods are on side and the Grimlore's been secured." Ella concludes. "So why do you need me to kill Malachi?"
"Consider it a reward, for all your unwitting good service." Lilith replies. "But the truth is that even with the Fallen and the Old Ones lined up against them, some of the Nephilim might be tempted to do something foolish, once they realise how badly they've been deceived. But if Malachi dies by your hand, then officially the Fallen can deny all knowledge. Yes, the Nephilim won't believe for a second that the Fallen didn't set him up for the slaughter. But your prints on the murder weapon - so to speak - might be enough to make them pause, allowing the potential flashpoint to pass without incident, after which they'll realise they've missed their moment and things will calm down. Besides, you've waited four and a half centuries to kill him - it would be a shame to deny you."
"But ultimately this plan of yours won't work, because you're forgetting one very important thing." Ella declares firmly. "Even if exposing the New Church's corruption causes Malachi's human followers around the world to turn against him, he's still got his succubus and incubi. And as long as he's got them he's still invulnerable."
"Let Jo worry about that." The First Woman bats back with a smile. "It's all in her very capable hands. Succient to say that should you arrive at the New Church's London headquarters in, oh, about five hours time, you'll find Malachi perfectly killable. Though he may have been allowed to keep a few of his key people. It's only sporting, plus we don't want to make it too much of a cakewalk for you. Figured you'd appreciate at least something resembling a challenge."
Not entirely sure how to respond, the Anointed One settles for a slight shrug.
"Thanks. I suppose." She mutters sullenly.
Slightly bewildered by the speed of events, Thelma looks at Ella;
"So... are we doing to do this? Go off and kill Malachi, after The Forces Of Evil have served him on a platter to us?" The ghost asks, perplexed.
When the Anointed One answers, her words are directly at Lilith instead of Thelma;
"Do I have a choice?" Ella asks flatly.
"There's always a choice." Lilith states with a winning smile. "That's how Hell operates. Free will."
"If you'll permit me, I'll take care of Mr. Taylor." Mephistopheles offers, stepping forward. "There is a lake here in the grounds. A fitting place for a warrior's funeral. He deserves no less."
Ella nods, perhaps a little too quickly, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Lilith.
"Thank you." She murmurs to the demon.
"There's something I have to do." Roxy says, having kept mostly silent since Lilith's arrival. "I've spent the last five years trying to find some goodness within Malachi. I know now that I was never going to succeed, but I still need to say goodbye to him. He's been a big part of my life - well, you know what I mean."
Thelma smiles in understanding at her fellow ghost's unwittingly inappropriate choice of words.
"It's just something I have to do. For me, not for him." Roxy concludes.
"I understand. Do what you have to do, Roxy." Ella says with a slight sympathetic nod.
"Allow me." Lilith announces, and she makes a gesture with her hand, causing a blindingly white portal, identical to the one she appeared through, to blink into existance a few feet in front of Roxy, complete with a sharp but brief shrieking sound.
"This will take you to the London headquarters of the New Church." The First Woman explains. "Malachi is heading back there as we speak."
"What's the deal with these doorways, anyway?" Asks Thelma, waving a pointing hand at the portal.
"I'm the oldest inhabitant of this planet." Lilith says by way of explanation.
"So?" Queries Thelma.
"So that means I know where all the shortcuts are." Lilith says with a smile.
Roxy turns to look at Ella and Thelma, and suddenly she looks like the old Roxy, the confident and assured Roxy who found purpose and self-awareness at Medenham in the weeks before her death.
"We'll talk later, Thelma. Alright?" She asks.
"We will." Confirms Thelma with a smile and a nod, both of which Roxy returns before turning and walking unafraid and without hesitation through the portal, which closes vertially with a shimmering hiss a few moments after the ghost has disappeared.

Cut to Corvide's quarters in the New Church's London skyscraper. Compared to Malachi's penthouse apartment and Jo's rooms, it's quite small and spartan, but the lilin finds it more than adequate, as her needs are few. The camera slowly pans round: the walls are painted black, and underfoot are bare varnished floorboards. Several outfits hang inside zipped-up covers on a simple metal frame. A half-dozen pairs of identical, black high-heeled shoes are lined up underneath. A door stands open in the corner, and a cramped bathroom - with a sink, shower and toilet all jostling for space - can be seen within. In the opposite corner a tall, sizeable fridge is located, a few smears of dried blood marking it's shiny steel surface. The only other item of furnture is a double bed, but before the camera can move across it, a brillant white portal opens in the middle of the room with the now-familar unearthy shriek, and Roxy steps through - and promptly stops dead, her eyes widening in surprise as the portal closes behind her. In front of the newly-arrived ghost, lying on the double bed are Jo and Corvide, their naked bodies pressed close together. Jo's right hand is between the lilin's legs, and Corvide is arching her back and pushing her body against her mistress in order to increase the sensation of the other woman's probing.
"Ah, Roxanne." Jo glances over and declares without embarrassment. "We've been expecting you, though admittedly not quite so soon. But this could be quite fortuitous. Corvide enjoys having an audience."
As if in response, the lilin unleashes an long, inhuman cry that sounds like a surreal mixture of a raven's rasp and a wolf's howl. Her pale flawless skin is covered in tiny beads of sweat, her left hand is raking wildly at the edge of the bed, her long black fingernails having already slashed the sheets there to threads and now carving furrows in the mattress. Corvide's right hand is wrapped firmly around Jo's right wrist, encouraging her mistress's skilled exploration. The lilin's unblinking, completely black and pupil-less eyes are staring at the ceiling, and as Roxy watches, the changling violently shudders along the entire length of her body and she cries out again. There's no indication that Corvide is even aware of the ghost's arrival or presence. Roxy watches transfixed, unable to look away.
"She loves me." Explains Jo gently, for Roxy's benefit, as with her left hand she brushes stray strands of jet black hair away from the lilin's contorted face. "I can't give her my heart in return - it belongs to my son, and after he's dead, to my husband. She accepts that."
The ex-teacher adjusts the angle of her right hand slightly, and the reaction from Corvide is instantaneous - she arches her back as though in spasm, actually screams, and attacks the mattress so frenziedly that a spring is snapped loose with a sharp metallic twang, and promptly tumbles onto the floor amongst a flowering mass of dislodged stuffing.
"But what I can do is make her mine." Jo continues softly. "She's discussed it with her mother. Lilith is in full agreement - she sees it as a way of cementing the partnership between our camps. But I can't claim her soul. As a lilin she doesn't have one. So instead I must take her body."
The ex-teacher gazes over Corvide's small but perfectly-formed breasts, slim waist and short but shapely legs, all contained in smooth cream-white skin, as another tremor moves through the lilin's body.
"I must know every inch of her." Jo says, so quiet that it's almost a whisper: "Every cell, every molecule, every delicious atom that makes up the wonder that is her."
"MISTRESS!" Corivide suddenly yells out, her body jerking and convulsing, milky-black tears beginning to flow from her unblinking eyes and down her cheeks.
Jo wraps her left arm around the lilin's shoulders, steadying Corvide until her frenzied movement slows and is reduced to a slight trembling, and her cries replaced by a cat-like mewing sound. The ex-teacher gently kisses the changling's face and licks up the tears, then softly shushes her while stroking her dampened hair. Finally, she looks up at Roxy;
"We're just getting started." Jo informs the ghost. "Feel free to stay. You might learn something."

Cut to the McBain estate. Ella and Thelma watch as Mephistopheles straightens up with Leon in his arms, lifting the body off the ground. Thelma is now wearing Ella's leather trenchcoat, having returned Mephistopheles' jacket. With a silent nod of farewell to the Anointed One and the ghost, the demon turns with his burden, walks off the gravel and onto the beginning of the grounds. With her unflappable smile still in place, Perie winks at Thelma and Ella and then unhurriedly follows Mephistopheles, the two of them making an unlikely but strangely appropriate funeral procession.
"And where can I send you?" Lilith asks Ella and Thelma expectantly. "I take it you'll want to prepare for your confrontation with Malachi?"
"We need to go home." Ella confirms flatly with a slight nod of acceptance. "I'll give you the address."
The Anointed One spots Thelma giving her a warning glance;
"It's okay, Thelma." She says to the ghost. "It doesn't matter anymore. After today, finding a new base of operations is going to be the least of our problems."
Thelma takes this on board with a sad, contemplative nod. Stepping forward, Lilith bends down and picks up the flat plastic case containing the computer disc that was earlier dropped onto the gravel. She offers it again to Ella.
"What good is it to me?" Ella queries. "The information's already out there. The whole world now knows what the New Church were up to."
"Very true." Agreed Lilith. "But Malachi was doing business with some extremely powerful people. Industrialists, CEOs of multinationals, oil barons, war-profiteers... the kingmakers of this world. Their names may be all over the duplicated information that Corvide leaked to the press and the various law enforcement agencies, but the media won't mention them, and none of them will ever see the inside of a courtroom, let alone a prison cell. Even as we speak they'll be taking steps to get all mention of themselves wiped from the copy of this data which was posted on the New Church's website. These people are beyond any human justice... but they're not beyond yours..."
Ella weighs up the First Woman's words for several seconds. Then she reaches out for the disc.
"Happy hunting." Says Lilith with a satisfied smile, before releasing it to her.

End of Part Two.

[fenris]

Part Three.

Cut to the street containing the house in which Ella's basement flat is located. Dawn was a few hours ago, but it's still early, and the street is empty. With the customary high-pitched shriek, a dazzling-white portal opens in the middle of the road. It's larger than the ones we've seen previously - rectangular, ten feet wide and six feet tall. Leon's battered Vauxhall Corsa speeds out of the opening, with Ella at the wheel. She instantly slows the vehicle and pulls over to park it in a space by the kerb. As the Anointed One steps out of the Corsa, another car emerges from the portal - the white E-type Jaguar that Kessel had to abandon at the gates of Rachel McBain's estate. Thelma's driving it now, a wide grin upon her face. As the portal closes horizonally, as though descending down into the road, the ghost puts the classic speedster into a flashy, screeching handbrake turn, and parks it nose-to-nose with the Corsa. Ella manages a slight smile, appreciating that her friend is trying to take her mind off her loss.
"I still don't see why you insisted on bringing that with us." The immortal remarks, indicating the E-type as Thelma exits the sports car, holding the charred shotgun loosely in her left hand, barrel pointing at the pavement.
"Well, first it's a classic. I mean, come on! - the thing's a timeless vehicular work of art." Thelma enthuses, gesturing with her right arm like a model at a motor show to emphasise her point. "And second... well, like Roxy there's something I have to do. Someone I need to say goodbye to."
"Peggy?" Murmurs Ella, and the ghost nods;
"I thought I'd come here first to get changed. Thanks for lending me the coat, but -"
"It itches." Says the Anointed One, finishing her friend's sentence.
"Then I'll take the Jag and go and see Peggy. Say my farewells, and afterwards go straight to the New Church's headquarters, meeting you there in time for Malachi's going-away party." Thelma concludes.
"Sounds like a plan." Agrees Ella.

Cut to Corvide's quarters in the New Church's London headquarters. A still-awed Roxy has not moved from her position at the foot of the bed, and is staring intently at the lilin's agonised features as a screaming Corvide jerks and bucks on all fours while facing the ghost. Closing her eyes is unnatural and alien behaviour to the lilin, but she has currently shut them so tightly that her eyelids are practically clenched, cutting off her sight in order to reduce the immense sensory overload she's experiencing. The changling's hands are clutching the edge of the mattress, her long black fingernails having gouged gaping holes, out of which stuffing is billowing. Corvide screams peter away into a series of painful whimpers that sound similar to the noise a dog makes when being kicked, and then eventually silence - but her face remains contorted, as though she doesn't any breath left with which to cry out. She collapses face down, half-hanging off the bed, her body covered in a thin film of shiny sweat, her hair damp and lank. Roxy gazes up at Jo as the ex-teacher straightens into a kneeling position, situated between Corvide's spread-wide legs. Reaching forward, Jo places her hands on the lilin's shoulders, and slowly runs them down the length of the girl's smooth back, eventually cupping and squeezing her taut buttocks. The ex-teacher looks up and stares Roxy in the eye;
"In order to make her mine, she must give herself to me, totally and freely." Jo explains. "But first I must break her... for no matter now willingly she thinks she's submitting herself to me, there are still some subconscious barriers that everybody has, buried so deeply that we're not even aware they exist. They must be torn down. Destroyed utterly."
The ex-teacher raises her right hand and gives her assistant's backside a swift, loud smack. The raven-haired girl's body jolts slightly, and she issues a gasp of surprise.
"I've had my fill of pain, Roxy." Jo continues, still meeting the ghost's gaze. "And I've found that pleasure can be just as unbearable, when taken beyond the subject's limits."
The ex-teacher leans forward and runs her tongue the length of Corvide's spine, from the base until it meets her neck, saviouring the taste of the lilin's sweat.
"We're close." Jo breathes softly in anticipation.

Cut to Thelma and Ella inside the latter's flat. They gaze around quietly, subdued, taking in their surroundings and the flat's contents as though with new eyes. The last time they stood in this room, Leon and Midge were here also. It's Thelma who breaks the silence;
"It's still..." The ghost pauses, searching for the right word. "- full of them." She eventually decides. "And yet -"
"Empty." Ella declares, finishing her friend's sentence.
Thelma takes off the leather trenchcoat and hands it to Ella, unashamed of her nakedness in front of the immortal. She's never stood unclothed in full view of the Anointed One before, but the two of them have known each other too long, and experienced too much together, to be embarrassed by such trivial matters anymore. Especially after the events of the last few hours. Ella takes the coat, the two friends locking eyes as she does so, sharing an understanding that renders words redundant. Placing the coat on the sofa, the Anointed One moves over to the desk containing all the computers and equipment, and sits on the chair in front of it. After sitting in silence for several seconds, she places the computer disc that Lilith gave her on the desk, then leans forward and starts tapping on the keyboard.
“Never place all your eggs in one basket." She murmurs, her voice distant. "I'm going to send the contents of the disc to various contacts. Other warriors in the fight."
She glances over at the ghost;
"This will take a while.” She says.
“I’m going to get changed.” Reports Thelma, gazing at her friend. “There’s an outfit I’ve been dying to try out, in a manner of speaking. Never had the right occasion to wear it, until now.”
As Ella continues with her task, Thelma opens one of the kitchen cupboards and pulls out a partly-filled bin liner. Placing it on the floor, she starts to rummage through the contents, throwing out items of clothing and leaving them on the floor. Locating a tiny make-up kit, she places it on the kitchen counter.
The camera cuts back to Ella, as she inserts and begins downloading the contents of the disc, while searching out the e-mail addresses for a select group of trusted individuals. First there was Toby, who Ella visualised as sitting illuminated by the glare of his computer monitor in a darkened room barely lit by candles. She knew that Toby was smart enough to share the information with his colleagues without mentioning that she was the source, for while she and Toby had remained on good terms, she understandably hadn't had contact with Strange and Jude since killing the latter's son.
Next would be Father Michael in Middleford, a small town that formed part of the suburbian overspill on the outskirts of London. Middleford was something of a hot spot, and while tending to his flock and dealing with parish affairs, over the years Father Michael had also kept Ella fully appraised about the abundant amount of witchcraft being practised in the area.
Then there was young Robin Branaugh in the Welsh town of Stokely. Ella couldn't surpress a slight smile at the thought of the undisguised crush that Robin had for her, mixed with his puppy-like gratitude for her restoring his memories. When writing the e-mail accompanying the information from the disc, she would apologise for recently not having enough time to complete their current on-line game of chess, and also ask that he request an audience with Princess Ingrid on her behalf. Although she and Ingrid were natural enemies, Ella had long ago learnt the benefits of maintaining an often-uneasy peace with the vampire nations, and Robin was the only human whom Ingrid was known to tolerate. Therefore, he was Ella's sole access to the Princess, who had become the by-default ruler of the nosferatu following the death of her brother and no other potential leader coming forward. And the Anointed One knew that Ingrid had nothing to gain if the world was ruled by the Elder Gods. You took your allies where-ever you found them.
There were others: Poppy, making a success of her studies at Bristol and still finding new ways to conceal the fact she was a walking corpse. Larry Nightingale and Sally Sparrow, bookshop proprietors and occasional monster-hunters. Successful horror author Stella MacDonald. Judy Kramer, far away across the Atlantic, who now accepted that if God had wanted her best friend/surrogate sister killed, He would have sent Ella to do it. Michael Lewis, receiving messages from dead people each night on his answerphone, even when he unplugged it. Former journalist Jude Redfield, chosen and appointed as The Storyteller by the city of London itself. Tom Tyrell and Zoe Brogan, living in a location so secret that it was a mystery even to them. Claire, never venturing from her room in a psychiatric institute and spending each day constantly performing rituals to ward off the bad things. All warriors in the fight.

Cut to a boating lake on the McBain estate. A jetty juts out into the still, mirror-glass water. Mephistopheles has laid out Leon's body in one of the three rowing boats that are tied to the further-most section of the jetty, and placed the young man's arms so they're crossed over his chest. Standing alongside the demon is Perie, who's holding a can of petrol that she has secured from somewhere. Unscrewing the top, she liberally and casually pours the contents over Leon's corpse and the bottom of the boat, finally dropping the now-empty container into the small wooden vessel where it rests next to Leon's ankle. Lilith walks along the jetty to join Perie and Mephistopheles as the latter crouches down, unties the rope securing the boat to the structure and firmly pushes the craft out into the water. As the demon and the First Woman watch the boat drift away, Perie pulls one of her machine-pistols from it's holster, removes the clip, selects a new clip from her web harness and assuredly shoves it into place. Mephistopheles glances sideways at her, a quizzical eyebrow raised.
"Tracer rounds." Explains the faerie, holding the gun aloft. "I am correct in assuming that neither of you have a flaming arrow on your person?"
The demon nods in acceptance, and Lilith merely smiles slightly in silent amusement. Perie levels the machine-pistol at the boat and fires it one-handed, moving her arm slightly from left to right and unleashing a wave of bullets that flare and light their path as they riddle the entire length of the makeshift funeral barge. The petrol instantly ignites and the boat erupts into violent flame.
"Restless are the brave, for they never die in bed." Muses Mephistopheles as he watches the craft burn.
"I must disagree. Many have died in my bed." Comments Perie.
The faint sound of sirens can be heard in the distance.
"It appears somebody has finally noticed all the smoke coming from the mansion." Lilith remarks to the others.
The First Woman takes a final long glance at the burning vessel;
"Our work here is done. Time to leave, I think." She declares.
A gesture from her hand causes a portal to open at the end of the jetty, hovering in mid-air above the water. Perie steps off the jetty and vanishes through the opening, followed by Mephistpheles and finally Lilith. A second later the portal closes, leaving just the boat blazing away in the middle of the lake.

Cut to Ella's flat. With a click of the mouse, the Anointed One sends the last of the e-mails. Turning in the swivel chair to say something to Thelma, she stops at the sight in front of her: Thelma is clad in black leather from head to toe. The ghost is wearing a basque, skintight trousers, metal-studded gloves and wristbands, with a spiked dog collar around her neck. A pair of shiny polished Doc Martens complete the outfit, together with a gunbelt which has Thelma's twin revolvers fitting snugly into it's holsters, which are strapped to her upper legs. And for the first time that Ella can remember, the ghost is wearing make-up: dark grey eye-shadow and black lip-gloss.
"Where did you get that?" The Anointed One eventually deadpans, having found her voice and running her eyes over the ghost.
"Various bits and bobs I've collected from the morgue over the years." Replies Thelma with a shrug. "I thought they'd look good together, but I've been saving it for a special occasion. Like I said earlier, today would definitely seem to qualify."
The ghost takes a step back, making her leather trousers creek slightly.
"How do I look?" She asks, stretching out her arms in a pose.
Ella considers for a moment before offering her honest appraisal;
"Like Death with tits." She says.
"Must be like looking in a mirror then, considering what the Nephilim say about you." Thelma declares with a wry smile, which Ella manages to return.
The ghost's eyes narrow slightly;
"Are you sure you're alright?" Thelma queries, her brow furrowing with tell-tale concern, but Ella nods in reassurance;
"I'll be fine" The immortal insists, with a not-quite-convincing smile and a nod that's a little too quick.
She stands and turns her back to Thelma.
"I need to take a shower." Ella murmurs, then adds with a slightly plaintive note in her voice: "Undo my corset for me?"
The ghost pauses - this had always been Leon's task. Stepping up behind the Anointed One and knowing that she needs to be strong and reassuring for her friend, Thelma reaches out and carefully but with a confidence she wasn't sure she possessed, unties the cords at the rear of the garment. Ella takes off the corset and lets it fall to the floor, then pulls over her head the short-sleeved top she wears under the corset and also discards it. Reaching down, she takes off her boots, undoes her jeans, pulls both them and her knickers down her legs in one swift movement and steps out of them. Only the black lacy bra is left, and it undoes at the front. Ella reaches for the clasp;
"Let me." Thelma says softly into her ear.
The Anointed One lets her hands fall away as the ghost moves both arms around her, under her armpits and meeting between her breasts. Ella closes her eyes, and although she knows that Thelma doesn't breathe, she imagines she can feel the other girl's warm breath caressing her neck. Expertly releasing the clasp, Thelma moves her hands back behind Ella, taking hold of the bra straps on the Anointed One's shoulders between thumb and forefinger then peeling the garment off the immortal's body. Ella turns and faces Thelma, as naked as the ghost had been earlier, and equally unembarrassed.
"If I could hold you now, I would." Thelma says simply.
"I know." Ella replies, and there's a lengthy pause before she speaks again: "We don't have much time. You need to see Peggy. Tell her I said thanks. For everything."
Thelma looks at Ella for a couple of long seconds, then smiles slightly and nods.
"Will do." The ghost confirms, then she picks up the shotgun leaning against the wall, turns and heads for the door.
She stops and looks back, starts to say something -
"Go." The Anointed One states in an understanding but firm tone that brooks no argument, then glances at the clock. "We'll meet up at the New Church's headquarters in four hours."
Thelma accepts this with another nod;
"Don't start without me." She says.

Cut to Corvide's quarters in the New Church's London headquarters. Roxy is still stood transfixed at the foot of bed, gazing at Jo and Corvide. The two women are lying in each other's arms, breathing softly in unison, their eyes closed and their bodies pressed together. The blissful look on Corvide's face is just about the most peaceful thing that Roxy has ever seen, and remembering those same features contorted due to experiencing unbearable physical sensations just a few minutes earlier seems so impossible that the ghost almost doubts her own memory. Gently kissing the lilin on the forehead, Jo looks up at Roxy;
"Did you enjoy it?" The ex-teacher asks bluntly, the question breaking the ghost out of her near-trance.
"I..." Roxy pauses, feeling awkward and slightly ridiculous, before deciding that honesty is the best response in this situation;
"Yes." She says, with a firmness that surprises her, but which she doesn't regret.
"Good. I'm glad." Jo purrs, staring directly into the ghost's eyes. "I wonder... if you weren't dead, Roxy... if you still had a tangible body that could touch and be touched... how long do you think it would me take to break you...?"
The ex-teacher lets the question hang in the air. Roxy nervously tries to shallow, but her mouth and throat are suddenly very dry. She wonders if this is what a canary in a cage feels like, when a cat is prowling and staring at it intently on the other side of the bars.
"How much would you resist?" Jo continues, when Roxy fails to answer. "And would it be more enjoyable - for both of us - if you put up a fierce struggle, or just succumbed quickly?"
"I guess we'll never know." Says Roxy, finally finding her voice and trying to sound more confident than she feels.
"I suppose." Ponders Jo with an amused smile, still fixing the ghost with her gaze.
After several seconds, the ex-teacher looks at Corvide, still resting in her embrace, before glancing again at Roxy;
"My son will be arriving shortly." She tells the spectre. "I'm correct in assuming that you're here to say goodbye to him?"
Roxy nods.
"In your way, I know you've done your best for him Roxy. He killed you for his own selfish gain, but you forgave him. And for the last five years you've never given up hope in him. I thank you for that. Leave us now. Go and await his arrival." Jo commands.
"I know what you're planning. Aren't you worried I'll warn him?" Roxy asks, to which Jo merely shakes her head slightly.
"Feel free to tell him whatever you wish. It will make no difference to the outcome." The ex-teacher replies.
Roxy gazes at Jo for a long moment, then walks from the room. Jo waits until she hears the ghost close the door behind her before turning her attention to her P.A.
"Corvide." She whispers, and the lilin stirs and opens her completely black eyes to gaze at Jo in silent wonder, as though now able to see a world much wider than the one she had previously occupied.
"Little one... do you know now how I feel about you?" Jo asks softly.
"Yes, mistress." Corvide murmurs warmly. "You accept me for who and what I am. You appreciate my loyalty, value my friendship... and you trust me. You trust me implicitly."
"And I treasure your love for me." Jo tells her. "But this is all I can ever give you."
"It will sufficient, mistress." The lilin assures her.
Jo suddenly raises a hand and places a quietening finger on Corvide's mouth.
"No. You are not to call me by any title." The ex-teacher gently insists "Jo. Call me Jo."
"Yes... Jo." The lilin says hesitantly, clearly pleased but surprised.
The telephone on the table by Corvide's side of the bed rings.
"I should -" The changling begins, and Jo nods;
"Of course." The ex-teacher confirms, and Corvide rolls over and picks up the receiver.
"Yes?" The lilin says expectantly into the mouthpiece.
Jo watches as her P.A. listens to the caller for several seconds.
"I see. Thank you for informing me." Corvide eventually murmurs, then replaces the receiver and rolls back to face Jo;
"It appears we have a guest. Her personal helicopter just landed on the helipad and deposited her before taking off again." She reports. "Berlin Carlton."
Upon hearing this, Jo's face creases with amusement. The ex-teacher rolls onto her back and regards the ceiling with a smile.
"Malachi and Alex are gathering their forces before confronting me." She realises, barely suppressing a giggle. "They're calling in re-enforcements. And so they've brought in the socialite."
Jo starts to laugh, unable to restrain herself any longer.

Cut to Ella in the shower, eyes closed, standing still and simply letting the water beat down and flow over her. Over the sound of the cascade she hears a noise coming from the main living room. Opening her eyes she listens carefully for a couple of seconds.
"Thelma?" She asks.
No response. The Anointed One switches the shower off, opens the cubicle door, grabs a white towel and wraps it around herself. Stepping out of the cubicle and softly closing it behind her, she cautiously pads over to the bathroom door and stands there for several moments, listening intently, trying to gauge what - if anything - is on the other side. Eventually, she slowly turns the door handle and silently opens the door, peering out into the living room. Ella catches a brief glimpse of a flowing mass of red and green hair, then a fist clad in a black fingerless leather glove slams into her face. Caught by surprise, the Anointed One staggers a couple of steps backwards before regaining her balance and halting herself. Looking up, she sees Mary Warren standing framed in the doorway to the main living area, wearing her bright blue biker's jacket and matching skin-tight leather trousers. Smiling, Mary raises the hand with which she threw the punch and makes a show of flexing her fingers;
"Clearly I have issues." She declares.
Ella's response is immediate. Striding across the bathroom floor to close the gap between them, she launches a series of blows at her former apprentice, using both arms in a flurry of movement. Mary blocks each punch and jab effortlessly, reading Ella's thoughts and reacting to what her fellow Anointed One is going to do before Ella's limbs have even begun to respond to her brain's commands. Mary actually laughs.
"I can keep doing this all day, you know." The leather-clad immortal informs her opponent.
After several further seconds of trying to break through Mary's defences without success, Ella ends the stalemate by quickly stepping back a couple of paces, making space between the two of them. Grabbing the edge of the towel she's wearing, the auburn-haired Anointed One whisks it off her body in one quick movement and - while keeping hold of one end - whips it toward Mary's face, the towel making a sharp snapping sound as it smacks the air. Still smiling, Mary raises a forearm in front of her face and the towel wraps harmless round it. Ella tugs at the towel to retrieve it, but only succeeds in tightening it around Mary's arm. The two immortals regard each other, the towel pulled taut between them. Mary runs her gaze over the naked body of her former mentor. Droplets of water are beaded on Ella's skin, and her hair hangs wet and heavy.
"Looking good, Ella. You've kept in shape." The younger woman comments, then she affixes on the slanting scar above Ella's left breast. "That's new though. Anyone I know?"
Ella ignores the question.
"Why are you here Mary?" She demands firmly.
In response, the leather-clad Anointed One tilts her head slightly and raises a bemused eyebrow, as though the answer was obvious;
"The walking sex-aid that you called your boyfriend is dead. I've come to gloat." She says simply, then suddenly yanks her arm.
Caught by surprise, Ella is pulled towards Mary, who half-turns and launches a powerful high kick that hits Ella in the stomach, sending the older immortal flying backwards, crashing though the closed glass door of the shower cubicle. The back of Ella's skull strikes the tiled wall of the shower with a sickening crack, hitting it so hard that her head bounces forward before she collapses into the shower tray in a limp heap, a couple of badly cracked tiles and a splatter of blood marking the impact on the wall. Mary's long legs stride purposely across the bathroom floor and she steps into the cubicle, fragments of glass crunching under her high-heeled boots. Arms by her sides, she looks down at her fellow Anointed One: Ella is barely conscious, her eyes have rolled back and are showing almost completely white, and her limbs are twitching. She's going into shock. Mary crouches down on one knee, her left arm thrown back like a piston, hand balled into a fist.
"You know, I used to love watching you sleep." She says warmly, gazing at Ella's stricken features.
Mary throws the punch straight at Ella's face. Cut to black. We hear the thud as the blow connects.

On-screen caption: To Be Continued.

[WarrenWitchesRule]

Thank God! Finally something to read yippee!
It was very very good as usual. Loved the fact that Jo is now literally the Queen of Hell. Farewell to Azazeal you horny bastard, made me laugh how he was nothing compared to Lucifer in the sack-which to be fair I would expect. Loved the fact that Hell had been against the end of days thing, and also how Jo became the woman that she is now. Sally Sparrow, nice crossover there. Sorry that this reply is a bit disjointed but I was excited.
Now then any idea when we'll get the conclusion!

[fenris]

Glad you liked it, WarrenWitchesRule. Apologises again for the length of time between this episode and the previous one, but as you can see, this was a complex episode to write, as I was revealing and tying together the majority of the plot threads and foreshadowing that I'd scattered throughout the earlier episodes. For example, I first mentioned the carvings on Jo's bedposts way back in Episode #3.

Aug 20, 2008 17:35:50 GMT WarrenWitchesRule said:

Sally Sparrow, nice crossover there.

Being an unashamed sci-fi/fantasy geek, I love the idea of characters and events in movies and TV shows existing in a shared universe, and I've made subtle references in previous episodes by mentioning Anton Phibes, Samantha James, Sutter Cane, the Hobb's Lane underground station, etc.
In this episode, I basically went for broke. You recognised Sally Sparrow and Larry Nightingale, but here's where the others originated from;
Toby, Strange, Jude and her son are from the short-lived BBC series Strange.
Father Matthew appeared in the 'Witches' episode of ITV's detective drama Murder in Suburbia.
Robin Branaugh and Ingrid, the self-styled 'Princess of Darkness', are from the CBBC series Young Dracula.
Walking dead teenager Poppy appeared in the Urban Gothic episode 'Necromance'.
Stella MacDonald, played by Dream Team and Coronation Street actress Alison King, appeared (briefly) in the Urban Gothic episode 'The End'.
Judy Kramer was a major character in Point Pleasant, the only American series I've referenced, because I consider it to be the closest that U.S. television has come (by accident as opposed to design) to producing an equivalent of Hex.
Michael Lewis was the hero of The Sight, a pilot movie screened by Sky in 2000 that unfortunately didn't result in a series.
Jude Redfield, The Storyteller, appeared in the Urban Gothic episodes 'Thirteen' and the series' two part finale 'Dollhouse Blues'.
Tom Tyrell and Zoe Brogan were characters in Channel 4's Cape Wrath.
And finally, Claire appeared in 'Ritual Slaughter', yet another episode of Urban Gothic. Phew.

Now then any idea when we'll get the conclusion!

I'm working on it! Hopefully it won't be as long as last time.

[WarrenWitchesRule]

so is this the end of s3 and will be continued in s4 or is it still s3?

[fenris]

Aug 23, 2008 23:01:23 GMT WarrenWitchesRule said:

so is this the end of s3 and will be continued in s4 or is it still s3?

It's still Season Three. I had originally planned one more episode, which would have been the Season Finale, but I now suspect I need two episodes in which to wrap everything up.

As for a potential fourth season, when I eventually finish the Virtual Third Season I'll probably be well and truly Hexed out. In future I think I'll just limit myself to the occasional short story set in the Hexverse, as opposed to anything long term.

[orokiah]

Enjoyed that fenris, especially the revelations about Jo. It ought to be tragic - and it is - but her new found status is somehow both fitting and satisfying (as was her bloody smackdown of Azazeal!), and the explanation for it very believable. Also Leon's sad, strange kind of funeral - I liked his bond with Mephistopheles in the show and in earlier episodes of this story and Mephistopheles' role here felt pitch perfect. Again, there's a real sense that things are moving towards a suitably epic kind of conclusion.

I got a special kick out of the mention of Ella having dispatched Jude from Strange's son. I've always loved the idea of Hex meeting Strange in some way, shape or form: Cassie and Jude swapping sob stories about their demonic offspring is probably my number one Hex crossover fantasy.

[majorstooshie]

Hello, noob here.

Ok, I know no-one has posted a response in here for nearly two months but I just read the entire "Virtual Third Season" (so far!) in one go and am very impressed indeed.

I do hope that this hasn't been given up on. I'm really wanting to find out what happens! And I really hate unfinished stories!

Please tell me there's going to be some more soon? I really don't want as big a wait as I see there was between this part and part 13!

[fenris]

Welcome to the board, majorstooshie.

I'm very glad that you've enjoyed the Virtual Third Season, and while I'm hoping that the wait until the next episode won't be as long as it was between Episodes #13 and #14, I'm afraid I can't say when it's likely to be ready.

If you've read my comments after previous episodes, then you'll know that unfortunately I don't have as much available time to spend writing as I once had, and I'm afraid a lengthy delay between episodes has been the unavoidable result. I also think it's led to a decline in the quality of my writing: re-reading Episode #14, I think it's not as good as some earlier episodes, simply because I wasn't able to devote as much time to it as perhaps I should have. I'm not saying that I rushed it, but I was consciously aware that a long time had passed since I'd posted Episode #13, and this may have lead to me posting #14 prematurely, with some scenes and dialogue still needing some polishing and tightening. Oh well. Live and learn.

In summary, I'm still working on the Virtual Third Season when I have time, and I'm still enjoying doing it. Thanks for the encouragement.

[jane101]

Another noob has invaded this thread to praise your wonderful story. So, I'll start off by telling you how much I loved your season 3. It was incredible- everything I could have wanted in a real season, you did and you did it damn well! If this was the real season 3, I honestly think that Hex would have lived up to the exspectation of being the British Buffy. And this is coming from a huge Buffy fan. As much as I love Hex, I think your season is probably a lot better then what we would have gotten had they continued the series. It's so rare to see such well-written and marvelous fanfiction. Truly, ace.

I must confess, however, I have an ulterior motive in signing up for this forumn. I am here to beg you to finish the season with a series finale. The suspense is killing me!

At first I was doubtful, since you last updated in August, but then I had a look at the time difference between ep 13-14 and now I have hope! So, I'd love to know if you're still thinking about finishing it off and add that it would much appreciated if you did. If you don't, however, thanks so much for a truly fantastic read! Cheers

[fenris]

Welcome to the board jane101, and thank you for your extremely kind and flattering comments. Knowing that people are enjoying my efforts at writing fanfic makes it all worthwhile, and encourages me to keep soldiering on. So thanks again.

To answer your question, yes I'm still working on the Virtual Third Season when I get time, and I fully intend to finish the story. However, as you're already noticed there unfortunately tends to be several months gap between Episodes, and I'm afraid that's due to the reasons I've mentioned in previous posts. So at the moment I can't accurately predict when Episode #15 will be ready.

I have been toying with the idea of posting a couple of completed scenes from Episode #15 as a sneak preview, to thank everyone for waiting so patiently. Neither of them would contain any major spoilers, but I'm not sure whether it's a good idea or not. What does everyone think?

[ozzyrulz777]

New person. Loved the whole 3rd season. Cannot wait for the next episdoes. The last episode made me cry it was very well written.

[fenris]

Thanks ozzyrulz777, I'm very glad you've enjoyed it.


On a semi-related note, for anyone who's interested, I've just posted a short Demons fanfic on the new sister forum that's been created by our very own DreamDangerously (link below).

bloodyhell.i-conoclastic.com/forum/index.php

This doesn't mean that I've stopped working on the Virtual Third Season. I just had an idea for a brief Demons story, and I rattled it off in a couple of hours. I hope many of you join the new forum, join in the discussions and give me some feedback.

[ozzyrulz777]

When is Episode 15 coming?