Chapter Two:

Time always flew when she was in San Francisco. Time wasn't a luxury for a mortal. "I'm going to be late." Alex drummed her fingers on the roof of Cal's beaten up truck.

Cal's muffled response came from where he was hidden under the hood, tinkering with the engine. "I'm doing the best I can."

She had a dinner appointment on Powell Street and they were cutting it fine as it was until Cal ran into car trouble and had to pull to one side. He had cancelled his other commitments when he offered her a ride across town and she had accepted because she was still jet lagged and shaken.

"Can't you just-" she wiggled her fingers in the air to indicate magic.

He glared at her, cheeks now streaked with grease. "It would help if you could just keep quiet now, darlin'."

"Fuck it. I'll walk."

"Alex, come on." He called after her but she had walked out of his sight. She had to keep this appointment, it wasn't something she could just shuck off. She wouldn't want to think what would happen if she simply didn't turn up. She should feel bad for leaving Cal without company but her heart was hammering in her chests she felt as much at risk as having that stray mutt sniffing her down in a dirt corner of a Tenderloin alleyway.

The day was soon turning into darkness and as she glanced up at the sky a large bird flew overhead throwing her in shadow, a crow, a queer chill wracked her body. She folded her arms in front of her chest and sped up.

She headed to the Westin St. Francis, though she wasn't dressed for the occasion. Her wardrobe consisted of thrift store clothes, things that would get filthy and ripped and she wouldn't mind at all. Her wardrobe said 'look the other way', it said 'street punk' and 'junkie'. It was not appropriate for Michael Mina. The restaurant was crawling with sophisticates who turned their nose up at the sight of Alex, ripped jeans and faded Guns 'n Roses t-shirt two sizes too big. The concierge approached but was intercepted by a handsome middle age man in a three piece suit.

Pope. He had no other name for as a long as she had known him and she had known him for as long as she could rightly remember. His hair was naturally white though he was not old, his eyes were dark near lightless. "Alex, darling come and sit. I've ordered some red wine, would you like something to drink? You're looking awfully pale, my love. Have you been taking your medication?" He guided her with fingertips on her elbow, leading her to an intimate little table at the back of the restaurant. Tonight it was just her and Pope. He looked serene, perfectly manicured hands placed palm down on the table spread, his dark eyes twinkling, his lips curved in a dangerous sort of smile.

The sight of him made her stomach twist in disgust, for everything he was and everything he had given was tainted with a peculiar shade of evil. She was half convinced that Pope was the devil, spinning cunning lies from truths for his own ends which were a mystery to all. The extent of his influence in the Day and Night was unknown to her although Alex knew his hand reached far and he always knew where she was and what she seemed to be doing.

"Water?"

She shook her head, no.

"So, how have you been? I heard the weather in Tokyo was particularly nasty in the last few weeks. I suppose you're still suffering from jetlag. How was old Adachi-san?"

Her eyes widened a fraction. Adachi was the fugitive Buddhist monk she had met in Harajuku. She hadn't told anyone where she was going and he hadn't told anyone where he was. "How did you-?"

He chuckled. "Come now, Alex. You must know by now I simply know everything."

She bit her lip. The futility of trying to hide her goings on from Pope hit her squarely in the jaw. He had eyes everywhere. She began to stare at the faces of the surrounding diners, anyone of them could be working for Pope, anyone of them could be inhuman, any weapons at their disposal trained on Alex for the killing strike.

He switched from English to classical Latin. "If you insist on hunting your little demon you should really learn to be more discreet. Or you could have come to me, it would have saved you the cost of travelling to the Orient."

She stared down at her knuckles as a waiter swept by leaving a gorgeous plate of scallops with a coconut jus, Pope thanked him and proceeded to carefully unfold and lay his napkin across his lap. "Anyway Alexandra, I really do think it's time for you to give up this childish pursuit of demon hunting and come back to me. I have a wonderful room prepared for you and we could throw a party to welcome you back into the fold."

She slammed her knuckles on the table surface. "No." She replied back to him in Latin.

The other patrons started to turn and look at them. Pope gave a winning smile, flashing perfect pearly white teeth.

He took hold of her hand. "Careful. We wouldn't want you to damage those delicate little hands." He squeezed her fingers until she could feel the bones grind.

"I will never go back." She murmured through gritted teeth.

He released his grip and concentrated on eating, she listened to the grotesque sound of his overloud chewing, imaging other things: sharper teeth, slivers of flesh and blood. She imagined ancient things crawling up through grave dirt. She could almost feel the phantom of the iron collar around her throat and found it hard to swallow.

"I am sorry you feel like that." He said dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "But I know you teens with your mood swings. You'll come round eventually. You always do."

She thought of the letter that had come that morning, the clipping that she had screwed up into a ball and buried in the trash, was it Pope playing sick fucking games again? She could not foresee nor explain his motives. "Do we have to keep doing this?" She sighed and then switched back to English. "You say you always know where then have your spies report back to you instead. I hate these fucking places and I hate you."

He reached out across the table and grasped her wrist, striking as quickly as a serpent. His eyes flashed as if lit by hell fire. "I thought I told you to be careful, Alexandra and watch your tongue."

She sat in silence, staring at the walls, at the other diners, at anything but at Pope's face and his strange eyes. Alex loathed everything he was. She hated the way he said her name, stretching it on his tongue as if he possessed it, as if he possessed her and she feared in many ways he did. Despite this he could not distract her on her hunt for her demon. Tracking the demon had pre-occupied her for half of her life, chasing information around the globe, putting herself in danger each step of the way.

Pope sighed loudly. "Fine. Look at me. I said, look at me."

She grudgingly looked up into his face, concentrating on a section of his chin too afraid to fall into the vortex of his stare. "I have something you may be interested in, my dear. There is a translation of a very old text; the original surfaced in Tell Ibrahim Awad about forty years ago. The text may help toward this little project of yours. It's being shipped through San Francisco next week, the owner wants it rebound and has contracted a friend at Day & Nite Trade Bindery to do it." He offered some directions in the Bay Area.

She rose out of her seat intent on walking out but Pope caught her arm and squeezed hard. She looked down at her skin turning white beneath his fingertips, obstructing the flow of her blood. "Memento Mori, Alexandra darling."

o

Alex slammed the hotel room door and the cheap little painting that had always hung on the wall fell to the ground, the glass frame split. "Shit." She screamed turning to kick the door. As soon as she let out the cry, her head began to swim. Her flesh already felt as if it were crawling, tiny clawed creatures picking away at her one cell at a time. It always felt like this way after seeing Pope.

She collapsed on the bed and found herself laying beside her pills, she popped the cap off of the bottle and dry swallowed another pill, turning her face into the skinny pillow to try and suffocate the ache in her skull. She woke with a start, the sound of rustling coming from within the room, somewhere but she couldn't see, it was too dark, the muzzy feelings of a dreamless sleep clinging to the edges of her sight. A shadow stood over her, eyes glowing, the colour of orchids, heliotropes, mulberry and violets.

A cry was stuck in her throat, she fought with the quilt, her hair all knotted in her face. There was a great crack, the chorus of glass impacting the floor. The rattle of pills taunting her from the bathroom.

The shadow faded into nothing and all sounds of invasion suddenly ceased.

All the lights switched on, the electric buzz became too loud, almost momentous and then the flickering began, throwing everything in strobe and she was entranced by the sight. Then the sudden smell of smoke, the underlying smell of sulphur, it rose to greet her and then the howling of alarms.

Infused with panic she managed to grasp hold of her senses, still fully clothed from when she had come in, she grabbed her duffle bag and made a dash toward the nearest window. She tried wrenching the resistant mechanism that had long since rusted, breaking skin and snapping nails in her efforts.

Frustrated she kicked the window, scarring her boots, the single pain shattered onto the grill of the fire escape.

She threw herself through the jagged jaws of the escape route she had made, landing with a thump on the rickety stair case that lead down to the narrow alley behind the hotel. She had ripped her clothes, her skin, a deep gouge in her arm with blood gushing onto her clothes.

She had moments to inspect the incision in the meaty walls of her flesh when the breath of smoke and sulphur reached through the window and seemed to thrust down her throat and ram up her nostrils. Her eyes began to water.

She made it to the bottom, the trembling of the staircase making her thighs feel weak. Clinging to the rail, feeling the heat radiate through the metal, she looked down to the bottom of the alley. The grimy floor, littered with decades of crud.

There was nothing there but concrete. She began to choke, black smoke leaking from the cracks in the window sills. She dropped her bag.

"Hey." Someone had seen her. Shouting ensued. "That fucking things on fire." A fire truck siren echoed from a great distance. "Jump down, girl, we'll catch you." She jumped, landing on top of a heavy set man who had probably drawn close to steal her bag when he saw her stumbling down the stairs.

The wind was knocked out of her. The man's callused clumsy hands blatantly groped her as he helped her to stand and she pushed at him smearing blood all over his clothes, his skin. His blue eyes were cruel as she glimpsed them.

The flames had steadily eaten through the building, small explosions were sounding every odd second until the final great burst of flame shot through the windows and glass fell like rain drops on the spectators.

More shouts and swearing as some people got glass in their eyes, their throats, some larger shards shredding skin. She had to leave, get away from the scene before the ambulances came and questions would be asked.

"Hey you, where are you going? You're hurt, girly." He said fingertips barely brushing her elbow when she spun round and gave such a look that made him pull back, mouth going slack with confusion and surrender.

Despite the gaping wound in her arm, the paramedics drawing closer and closer, she clapped a hand over the laceration and continued to limp away from the site. She dragged her bag behind her and headed to the only place she could think of.