The bell at the door jingles and Varick ignores it for a moment to continue reading.
He's been trying to track down this book for ages. Not an easy task to keep such an ancient tome hidden from him either, so naturally he'd been oh so delighted to find it. That old priest hadn't even put up that much of a fight.
"Excuse me?" a woman's voice says.
"Yes?" Varick asks, eyes glued to his book. He knows that voice.
-I send you back to Hell!-
"We're looking for a rather peculiar antique clock, and we'd heard it might be here," a man cuts in. Varick sighs.
He'd been stuck on normal tempting duty since that fiasco with the girl in England. Higher-ups tossed him topside, and here he was possessing the body of a former cultist.
The cultist had had the decency to pass on just as he'd been forced into the mortal plane. And he'd had a similar name. He does so love it when he can use names similar to his own.
Marquis of Snakes, bitch.
Varick lifts his eyes from the book to stare directly at the woman in front of him. She can't sense him, else she'd be freaking out and brandishing that gaudy cross that hangs around her neck.
He blinks lazily.
Lorraine flinches.
Varick's eyes are green-edging into yellow, a chartreuse that no doubt reminds Lorraine of Valak's eyes staring at her from beneath a nun's habit. He does so enjoy that form, Romania was ever so fun.
Varick smiles, a thin, too-stretched thing.
"We don't have such an object within our collection," Varick says softly. "I do apologize."
"Um-," Lorraine says. "You are certain?"
"Quite," Varick says, as the front door dings again. "Ah, Maria, you're back early."
Maria is a lovely, slender young woman, with eyes like the ochre of the pits of the damned, and smooth skin the color of mahogany. She's worn her dark hair down, free of the plaits he usually sees her with.
She's also the girlfriend of the deceased cultist. Not that she knows he's dead. Oh, but he's having far too much fun tempting her.
"Hey, V," she says cheerfully, "Got you coffee." She waves a cup at him, emblazoned with the emblem of that particular coffee shop across the street, the one that doesn't pay its workers quite enough and is slowly adding to the misery that permeates the air.
It tastes like home, sweet and seething despair and delicious agony.
"Thank you dear," Varick says, taking it from her and setting it to the side. He closes his book and places it under the counter. "Can I help you with anything else?"
"Do you have any strange items that you've come across?" Ed asks.
Varick smiles. "I do, actually."
He suppresses the maniacal cackling. The floorboards rattle faintly, and Lorraine looks down, frowning.
"We're near the railroad," Maria supplies, perching on the counter. "That happens often."
"Oh," Lorraine says.
Varick walks back to where he knows he's stored that painting and carries it back, painted side turned towards him. "We got this from one of our sister shops in London," he says. "No idea who painted it, but it's interesting. I've not seen this art style before."
He sets it on the counter, turning it.
Both Warrens flinch.
"Are you alright?" Maria asks. "It's just a painting."
"Fine," Lorraine says. "I just never thought I'd see it again."
"You know the artist?" Varick asks. "I'd love to see more of their work."
"I painted it," Ed says. "Not really into art anymore."
"Pity," Varick says. It really is, it's a nice piece of work. Does an excellent job of capturing Valak's aura of darkness.
"Varick doesn't want to sell it," Maria says slyly. "It's a favorite of his."
"I'd hang it up in the shop if I didn't think that others might not appreciate it," Varick says. There is an air about the painting now, courtesy of Varick's touch.
The eyes are brighter, the shadows darker, and if one looks closely there is minute traces of blood at the edges of the nun's black veil.
Maria looks it over. "Looks brighter than before."
"Had an art restorer take a look at it," Varick lies.
Maria nods. "Looks good." She can never tell when he's lying anymore, something Varick is pleased with. He's got his talons so deep inside her soul now, she might as well be one of his legion.
Ed seems unnerved by the painting while Lorraine frowns at it.
Varick drums his fingers against the wood, "What do you think?" he purrs.
"It looks…well," Ed says. Varick can taste the lie, and tilts his head, watching the couple carefully.
"Might I have your name?" Varick asks, "So that I may at least give you credit?"
"Ed Warren," Ed says at last, extending a hand. "And yours?"
"Varick Vorster," Varick says, shaking his hand, careful not to break the man's arm. It would be somewhat amusing but there are other ways to torment a soul. "A pleasure."
Ed will be having nightmares for weeks, Varick thinks, pleased with the seed that he's placed within the man's mind.
"This is my wife, Lorraine," Ed introduces.
"Lorraine," Varick says, smiling, "a name meaning the kingdom of Lothar, a region in France heavily disputed in the aftermath of WWI."
"I did not know that," Lorraine says. "You must know your history."
"I try," Varick says. "I take it you will not be buying this painting from us today?"
"Yes," Ed replies.
"Very well," Varick says, moving the painting to the nearby table, laying it flat. "Anything else we can do for you?"
"No, I think we're good," Lorraine says. "But please, let us know if anyone sells anything strange," she slides a business card across the counter.
Varick examines it and tucks it away into a pocket. "Of course, Mrs. Warren," he says smoothly.
He watches them go, and the floorboards rattle again as the front door closes.
Do enjoy your trip, dear Warrens. We haven't seen the last of each other yet.
Beside him, Maria entangles one hand with his.
"V, you okay?" she asks.
"Perfect, darling," he lies, leaning down to kiss her. "Just perfect."