Hurray! Chapter 10! Thank you guys so much for your continued support! I wanted to do a HUGE thank you and shout out to imaloserforever and their fan art for the story! AHHHH its amazing! Check it out! -à /557lqc I am in LOVE with the idea of anybody liking my story enough to draw for it 3 Thank you again! It made me so happy :')

Please enjoy the chapter and PLEASEEE don't forget to review 33

Xoxo,

Mimi

Chapter 10

The silence in the room was deafening. The sudden tension was thick enough to slide a knife through. Wendy awkwardly came out of the bathroom, slowly peeking her head around the corner. Damien stood slowly, his dark eyes narrowed while he glared head on, at the two hunters standing where her door should have been. Neither Gregory nor Christophe lowered their weapons; neither either seemed to notice Wendy's presence. Gregory scowled, his grip on his weapon firm and unwavering.

"Where the hell is she?" his usually sweet accent seemed harsh and unforgiving. "What did you do to her?"

"Why're you giving time to talk?" Christophe asked, a lit cigarette still smoldering between his slightly parted lips. "We should blow 'im to kingdom come."

"I'd like to see that." He opened his arms up to them, smiling darkly. "I could use a laugh."

"I'm fine!" Wendy burst forth from the bathroom, holding up her hands in hopes of ending the immanent cross fire.

Still wrapped in her towel, she prayed the damn thing would stay up long enough for her to pardon for the lives on either side of the fight. Gregory lowered his weapon once he saw her; Christophe didn't waver.

"Are you alright?" Gregory asked her, his eyes swiftly passing back and forth between the demon and Wendy.

"Perfectly fine." She assured them. "Damien just startled me, that's all."

"Startled." Christophe repeated the word, his dark gaze scanning the mess on the floor and then studying her disheveled, barely covered appearance. "Is zat what ze kids are calling it these days?"

Wendy opened her mouth to protest, to clear her good name, but was interrupted by Damien's soft scoffing.

"Jealous?" He asked the Frenchman in a teasing way.

"It isn't anything like that." Wendy jumped in before the boy could make matters any worse.

"I'm sure." Gregory assured her comfortingly. But then he turned coolly towards Damien. "It doesn't explain your presence here, Thorne."

"I came to visit." He said plainly. "Wendy and I had business to attend to and I wasn't able to reach her through her mobile."

"Next time, I suggest the front door." Gregory nudged his partner to drop his weapon. "It's a lot less suspicious, don't you agree?"

Damien didn't answer but stared at Christophe. He still hadn't lowered his gun, his eyes like ice.

"Christophe." Gregory said in a low, serious voice.

He rolled his eyes and pulled his arms down to his sides.

"Fine." He told Gregory. " 'e can stay. But make note: I am not happy about zis."

"When are you ever, old friend?" Gregory managed a small laugh, but his partner had already stalked off down the hall back towards the living room.

"I suppose we'll reconvene in the other room." He told Wendy, still holding her plush towel to her chest. "We'll give you a moment to finish changing."

"Thank you." She said with a small breath of relief.

The Englishman turned and walked away, followed by the demon. She reached out, grabbing his arm. He turned and looked at her with only the corners of his eyes, curious.

"How'd you get in here?" she asked seriously. "The window was locked."

"I know."

"Then?" she huffed. Wendy hated not understanding things; the idea that knowledge could elude her was frustrating on a level she couldn't verbalize. "How'd you get in?"

He smiled and turned to look at her. She dropped her grip on him, her fingers falling limp and useless. He smiled slickly and looked down at her. There was a red rim to his eyes; the color made the pit of her stomach drop out and she felt a small, unusual combination of fear and curiosity. He leaned down so his face was closer to hers. His voice dropped and he spoke quietly but with a smile in his voice.

"I'm the boogeyman."

Wendy felt goose bumps rise across her exposed flesh.

"You aren't funny." She told him sharply.

He smirked, straightening up. He seemed pleased with himself as he turned and walked out of the room. He closed the door behind him and Wendy thought she heard a strange sizzling sound when his flesh touched the cold metal door knob.

Wendy dressed as quickly as she could, still annoyed with her lack of understanding. That Damien, she angrily put her makeup box on the counter of her bathroom. He thought he was so funny. She angrily rustled through her products. It was equally as bothersome that neither Gregory nor Christophe seemed curious as to how he'd entered her room. Had them assumed that she was so haphazard to leave her windows unlocked? The scolding hot mental image of his smirk seared into the flesh of her memory like a cattle prod. He thought he was so clever, trying to freak her out like that. Wendy was a woman who enjoyed straight-to-the-point answers so his joking wasn't appreciated. But then, a stray thought teased her. It caused her to pause momentarily as she reapplied some mascara.

Perhaps he wasn't joking.

He wasn't the antichrist but it was possible he was the boogeyman?

Wendy slammed her makeup box shut.

"Shut up, Wendy." She told herself.

Now that she was dressed, Wendy bustled down the hallway where her guests were waiting. It was the most awkward of social gatherings. On the love seat, the two hunters were huddled together. Gregory, ever the gentleman was cross legged and sitting up straight. Christophe, despite Wendy's requests, had lit another cigarette and was sucking it down like it was made of candy. Damien had made his way to the other sofa, sitting by himself on the far end. He and Christophe seemed to be sharing long, intent glares at one another. Wendy hurried by them, throwing on the switch and going straight into hostess mode. She flew around her small kitchen, throwing some drinks and snacks onto a serving tray before remerging.

"Food?" she offered up with a smile as she set it down on the coffee table in between both parties.

"Really?" Damien asked tiredly.

"Seems rude not to offer." Wendy said with a shimmering smile.

She perched herself on the opposite end of the sofa Damien was on.

Gregory smiled thankfully, grabbing up one of the cookies she'd left out for them. She was glad she'd been baking so much lately. And even more grateful that she'd been able to hide them from Kenny when they'd been taking them over to Mr. Mephesto's.

"Let's skip ze pleasantries." Christophe suggested, the temper in his voice still simmering. "Now zat everyone here knows ze nature of ze matter at hand, I zink it's time to figure out what ze hell is going around here."

"Agreed." Gregory conceded as he swallowed his mouthful of baked goods. "Wendy has been caught up to speed on our search thus far. And…"

"And you're looking for the essence." Damien finished for him. "Isn't that right? To see why the hell the level of supernatural activity has risen in this area?"

"Exactly." Gregory told him shortly.

"And you think it's because of me." Damien smiled devilishly. "I hate to disappoint you boys, but the most obvious lead isn't going to be correct. We're all looking for the same thing."

"You don't know where it is?" Gregory asked, surprised. His pale eyebrows arched high on his forehead.

" 'ow do we know you're telling ze truth?" Christophe asked bitterly. "I 'ave come to find your kind aren't known for zer honesty."

"If I knew where the essence was" Damien leaned forward carefully. "then I wouldn't be on this shit hole existence plane you all so fondly call home."

" 'Zees coming from ze one from hell?"

"It's a fucking holiday compared to Colorado." Damien assured him.

"So we're all looking for the same thing." Wendy cut the two off before the dick swinging contest could escalade any further.

The mental image of both men standing naked in her living comparing members blew like a tumbleweed across her thoughts.

How silly; how trivial. Of all the stupid thoughts to come to mind…..

Wendy found herself licking her lips.

She shook her head and pressed on.

"Then doesn't it only make sense we all look together?" she continued with a shrug. "We all want this essence gone before someone gets hurt, right?"

Neither Damien nor Christophe seemed to look very concerned with the well being of humanity, but luckily Gregory stepped in.

"Precisely." He told her with a charming little smile.

Wendy wanted to return the look and she did, but it was shallow and fake. She was still angry with Gregory for misleading her and using her. She hadn't really had time in her emotional lineup lately to really address how she was feeling but that would come in time she was sure. Once all the emotions bumping and swirling about in her head died down a little, she'd be able to process Gregory's betrayal a little more clearly.

"But what to do with 'eet once we find 'eet." Christophe asked through a puff of smoke. " Demon boy knows Gregory and I have a duty to bring ze essence back to headquarters, but I am certain you have your own powers to report to, no?"

Damien's face twitched slightly in amusement.

"But of course." He said, mindlessly swirling the liquid around inside one of the cups Wendy had filled for them. "But the essence merely needs to be removed; my father doesn't want it on earth anymore. He says its caused him more trouble than it's worth and needs to be destroyed. "

"And let's say we believe you." Gregory stepped in before his much less gentle partner could speak again. "What happens if in, say, ten years this essence resurfaces at your father's control? That's not very good for us."

"No it wouldn't be." Damien sounded more in a humor than neutral. It concerned Wendy.

"Exactly." Gregory folded his hands in his lap. "So….we aren't really willing to help you with our expertise if we feel like this is going to come back to bite us in the ass."

"Understandable." Damien put the cup down. "Tell you what: when we find it, I'll split it. Right down the middle. Then it's not useful to anyone. You take half back to your powers that be to show them you're competent and I take the other half back home to appease them. That way both essences are useless to both of us but we both get our trophy. Fair?"

The hunters exchanged looks and fell quiet, as if communicating through nothing but brainwaves. Finally, the Frenchman's nostrils flared and he gave a single, stern nod.

"Fine." Gregory nodded as well. "But we'll need more than your word. I think a written agreement is in order."

Damien frowned slightly.

"What's the big deal?" Wendy asked with a lighthearted laugh. "A contract isn't too bad."

"Contracts with demons are eternally binding." He told her as if she were simple. Wendy frowned at his tone. "Not that I had any intention of not fulfilling my end of the bargain. I just don't like the idea of being forever bound to these two."

Christophe smiled darkly, but Gregory took the professional road.

"It's either this or we search separately." He told the demon calmly. "And I think we can all agree we're in need of the other's expertise."

"Now where exactly, before we go any further, does Testaburger play a part in zees?" Christophe asked, putting out the remains of his cigarette against the wall.

Wendy winced, watching the ash burn and smear into her off white walls. She made a mental note to add cleaner to her grocery list.

"She knows the people around her better than any of the rest of us." Damien pointed out. "I think that she would notice a change in them and she could alert us."

"Change?" Wendy asked unsurely. "What kind of change?"

"The presence of the essence might cause people to act strangely, like how they were last time the essence was activated." Gregory explained. "And since no one can remember what happened that led to the huge memory lapse, it's worrisome. That, and whoever the essence is hidden inside of might start to show signs of otherworldly abilities as well. We'll need your keen eye."

"That and you know far too much now." Damien assured her. "It's either we use you to help us or we kill you."

"How pleasant." Wendy said gruffly.

"Now that this is settled, I'll draw up the contract." Gregory rose to his feet and looked over Wendy with his heartthrob smile. "Where might I find some paper?"

She pointed him in the direction of her small desk. Damien sighed, shuffling off to the kitchen, only to return with a drink.

The silence in the room seemed to drag on forever. Nothing but the sound of Gregory's pen even tickled their eardrums. Wendy sat very still, smiling simply. Damien stared at her a few moments before shaking his head.

"Cut it out." He told her darkly. "You look like a fucking dolls."

"I like dolls." Christophe suggested. "Especially ze ones zat look like Asian girls."

"Not that sort of doll, Chap." Gregory called to him from the other room.

Christophe looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged, unaffected.

"I like the way I look." Wendy told the smart ass from the corner of her mouth. "Clean, put together; I should be thanking for the compliment."

"Compliment?" Damien asked, sucking on a piece of ice. She could hear a faint sizzling and crackling from between his parted lips. "I didn't realize the Stepford look was something to be proud of."

When he spoke, a small puff of steam escaped from the melting ice. Wendy felt a strange wiggle and tingling and she stood, abruptly.

"Pardon me." She said and turned on her heel, walking off to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, due to Christophe's frequent visits, she had none of her original alcohol left. Fortunately, it seems the French understand the importance of maintaining a fully stocked liquor cabinet and he had replaced her things with nicer, more potent counterparts. Wendy hastily took two shots back to back of her sweet, full bodied dark rum. She shivered, cussing darkly under her soft voice, and then poured herself a glass of organic pineapple juice.

That she graciously spiked.

Wendy took a long draw of the murky yellow liquid and let its warmth fill her hollow bones. She closed her eyes, sighing slowly. She needed that; it was close to being as therapeutic as her burning session.

Had she kept her Pandora playing upstairs?

No matter. She could always retrieve her phone later.

She made her way back to the living room. Christophe looked up at her and scoffed loudly.

"And none for ze guest?" he asked, standing up and walking around her. "Shame on you."

"Yeah Martha Stewart." Damien teased cruelly. "I thought you'd have handmade cocktails ready for everyone by now. Come to think of it though, isn't it a bit early in the day for homemakers to be drinking?"

"Fuck off." She growled at him against her better judgment.

He made a funny purring noise as he took another sip.

"Music to my ears." He told her smoothly. "Next time, say it slower."

Wendy rolled her eyes and might have even flicked him off if Gregory hadn't reappeared with his hand written document in tow.

"All set." He handed it to Damien. "Give it a look over; make sure it suits you just fine. We aren't trying to screw you over."

Wendy thought she heard a quiet "aw" from the kitchen but it was never addressed. Damien's eyes moved over the page at any alarming rate. Watching him made her a little dizzy. He tilted his head back and forth, rolling his lips together, until he nodded his agreement.

"I can agree on these terms." He lifted his eyes. "Can you?"

"Of course." Gregory promised quietly.

Wendy turned her head to read the document but Damien pulled it away from her line of vision.

"Don't be nosy." He instructed her, putting the document on the table. "It's not a flattering quality."

Christophe came back into the room, a few drinks deep now. He had the faintest aroma of gin hanging to his well groomed face.

"Oh good my favorite part." He laughed a little, sitting back down on the love seat.

Wendy watched with keen interest as Gregory fetched a small, brown leather carrying case. He opened it carefully, retrieving what appeared to be an old, bronze quill. It had seen better days; it looked like it needed a shining badly. Its ancient silver tip was tarnished, but its point was as sharp as ever. Gregory happily took it into his hands and signed his name in delicate, looping text. He handed it to his partner, who skimmed the page, reading the words under his breath in inaudible French. He shrugged his approval, giving a chicken scratch John Hancock. But then, without blinking an eye, he took the sharpened end and sliced open the center of his thumb. Wendy jumped in alarm as Christophe smudged down a dark red print at the bottom of the page. He handed the quill to his partner and then leaned back, wiping the excess of the collar of his black shirt. Gregory repeated his action, wincing only slightly. His blood, a lighter color, left a neater print in the spot next to Christophe's.

"Is that necessary?" Wendy asked, feeling a little squeamish.

"In demon contracts, yes." Damien said without hesitation.

Gregory cleaned off the tip before handing it over to him. Damien scratched out his name in a fine signature and then turned the pointed end on himself. A strange smell hit the air; the same cinnamon and sandalwood aroma Wendy had smelled upon their first meeting. Blood began to trickle down his palm and wrist; apparently demons are heavy bleeders. The color of his blood was a silky black, the same kind of the night sky. It was smooth and velvety, oozing out of him as if the cosmos had dripped down themselves. He pressed his bloody appendage to the page and it bubbled up as if it may start boiling. But instantly, the blood glossed over like a fine ink and left a fine, wax like imprint in its wake.

"The quill is made for such deals." Gregory explained to Wendy's surprised expression. "It seals their blood so it doesn't burn through human paper."

"Or through ze table." Christophe added. "Or ze floor under ze table. Or human flesh."

"I think she gets the point." Gregory said, giving him a sideways look.

The group was interrupted but a sudden knocking on the door. In unison, they all looked up with large eyes. The boys all turned to look at Wendy, who in turn became defensive.

"I'm not expecting anyone." She told them tartly. She began to pray fervently it wasn't Stan standing on the other side of that door. How would she even know where lived? She pushed her irrational fears aside. "Hold on."

"Don't answer it!" Christophe hissed in a whisper. "Check the peep hole first."

Wendy followed the instructions carefully. She practically tip toed to the door, gingerly leaning upward and looking out the small hole. She gave a silent sigh of relief and turned to look back at the others. She noticed Christophe already had one hand on his weapon.

"You're very quick to grab that, aren't you?" she asked him, slightly sidetracked.

Christophe chuckled and gave her an amused smirk, but didn't say anything more.

"It's just Kenny." She addressed the rest of the group. "It's fine; I filled him in."

"….you what?" Damien asked her with a scowl.

"I told him this afternoon." She said with her arms crossed. "He's very opened minded. Besides, he's the only other person in South Park who knows as many people as I do. He'd be a really great asset."

Kenny knocked again and Gregory looked past her at the door, frowning.

"Can we trust him?" he asked her seriously. "I know he's your friend, but can we really trust him with this?"

Wendy thought for a moment, really trying to process the situation from their point of view. Kenny was an outsider, a wild card. But she knew deep down that he wouldn't betray her trust. No, not Kenny. Kenny was as loyal as the day was long. She nodded fervently.

"I swear." She told him as sincerely as she could. "Kenny wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"He's a man, Wendy. Don't be naïve." Damien said with a dark chuckle.

She cast him a wicked glare as Kenny's voice carried through the thin walls.

"I know you're in there!" he said angrily, knocking again. "Your car is downstairs. You can't hide from me, Wendy! I swear, if you're all locked up in there with demon boy, I'm not going to sit by in the hospital while you're delivering his goat baby. I won't do it, Wendy. I won't-oh hello Mr. Tran! How are you?"

Wendy put her face in her hands, feeling her cheeks sting with hot embarrassment. She heard a chuckle at her back but she wasn't sure where it came from. Instead of addressing it, she instead walked to the door and threw off the chain lock. Kenny smiled brightly at her, coming inside before receiving an invitation.

"I always forget how much I like your neighbors." He told her as he began to strip away his worn orange parka. "Remember when they made us all that Chinese food? So good. We should house sit for them again soon."

"You should have called." Wendy told her in a testy, tight voice.

He gave her a sideways look.

"I did." He replied tartly. "You didn't answer, smart ass. Why? Were you flicking the bean or something?"

"No. I have company."

"Oh, so demon boy IS here. I was just trying to bait you, but what an interesting turn of events! You don't look disheveled though." He looked her up and down. "Is he that tame?"

"It's not….that." she grabbed him by the forearm and led him into her small sitting room. "C'mere."

She brought him in front of her other three guests, all of which were looking at them expectantly. Gregory was the only one who smiled.

"Kenny!" he greeted the boy warmly. "So lovely you could join us."

"Oh, I see what's going on." Kenny said after a moment of processing. "Freaky Supernatural Occurrences Club Meeting."

"Pretty much."

"Have a seat, Kenny." Gregory invited him. Kenny plopped himself down in between Damien and Wendy. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

"So I've heard." He turned his head to look at Damien. "What's up, Omen Boy?"

"Hello Kenneth." Damien didn't seem amused at Kenny's appearance. He sniffed, a gesture of distaste, and then looked away.

"Don't get too excited there, Beelzebub." Kenny said under his breath. "Are we drinking? Because I would love one."

"Gladly." Wendy was happy to use the moment as an excuse to leave the high tension situation.

She bustled around the kitchen, taking her time to prepare a drink of Kenny caliber potency. She could hear the boys discussing business in the living room; it was nothing she hadn't heard already. She was happy for a few moments to no longer be at the center of attention. She helped herself to another couple of shots, letting its comforting warmth soothe her arching body and mind. The amber liquid, swishing about sweetly in her brightly colored shot glass created a heated blanket for her mind. Her eyes tingled a little, just like they always did when she'd been drinking. Her limbs feel lose and free; she wiggled them a little just to feel the fluidity. She ran her tongue across her lips, enjoying the slight numbness. It felt good, the numbness. She wished, in the darkest silence of her heart, that she could feel that way all the time.

Feeling nothing was so much nicer than feeling everything.

The sweet aftertaste of her rum dripped down the back of her throat like the lingering of a forbidden fruit. Like honey in the Promised Land, it was a welcome necessity. Precious gold, sweetest of all nectars; it was the elixir to fix all her ailments. In that moment, she could have written odes to her fair-weather friend. She held up the bottle of rum, studying the studly pirate on the label.

"Oh Captain, my Captain." She said to herself, enjoying the heat and aroma on her own breath.

She'd wasted too much time away from the others. She grabbed Kenny's drink and retreated back to the group, handing it over to the boy. He was in deep conversation with Gregory, who was in the midst of explaining what an essence was. She leaned her head back, feeling light limbed. She stared at the ceiling, wondering how it would feel to float up out of her body at the touch it. She noticed Damien got up and headed into the kitchen, Christophe not far behind.

At least she wasn't the only alcoholic at the party.

"So it's definitely in one of the kids here in South Park?" Kenny was asking Gregory. "Are we sure it's a kid…er…someone our age? Or could it be anyone?"

"Anyone probably, but I'm inclined to believe it's someone our age." Gregory uncrossed then recrossed his long legs. "It only makes sense to put the essence inside of something they assume will be on earth for quite some time."

"I can see that." He drained the contents of his cup.

"I put a lot in that." Wendy told him, mildly shocked.

"I noticed." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Another?"

"Make it yourself." She told him, sticking her tongue out.

"What sort of hostess are you, princess?" Damien had returned from the kitchen.

"The kind whose guests know where the fucking liquor cabinet is." She told him sharply, suddenly mortified by her sudden tone.

"Meow!" Kenny laughed loudly while Wendy's cheeks burned bright red.

"Kitty has claws, eh?" Christophe joked as he took his seat.

"I'm sorry." Wendy said, trying to gather herself back together. "I guess I'm just a little tired."

"And within good reason." Gregory nodded at her supportively. "It's been a long day. I think we wrap this up. Wendy, Kenny: you two should perhaps try and start visiting with people to see if you notice anything different about them?"

"That sounds like an excuse to have a party." Kenny pointed out with a smile. "A gathering of friends in an intimate space? We'll mingle, talk with people, get a vibe for everything."

"And it'll be a way to have you three there too." Wendy pointed out. "That way you can get a feel for the area and….do whatever it is you do."

"She has a point." Christophe nodded. "And I haven't been to a party in a long time."

"I think that's a superb idea." Gregory backed the idea with a bright grin. "Yes, I think it's perfect. You two set about inviting people. I suppose we can have it….." he looked around, doubtfully. "….here? It's terribly small."

"Nah, we'll do it at Damien's." Kenny volunteered cheerfully.

"Come again?" Damien looked up from the bottom of his drink.

"You've got that big 'ole house with just you in it. It makes the most sense, don't you think?" he winked. "We can't cram too many people into Wendy's shoebox here and my house isn't suitable for people, let alone demons and those who hunt demons. Which, by the way, isn't it against code for you guys to be getting along so swimmingly with each other?"

"We've come to a understanding." Gregory assured him.

"For now." Christophe said, half to himself.

Wendy was glad no one addressed him.

"It's settled then." Gregory got to his feet. "You two will do that tomorrow. Christophe and I will continue with our own research and Damien…."

"….has his own agenda, thanks." Damien assured him. "But I'll be getting work done as well."

"Excellent." Gregory skipped a beat, as if he wanted to return Damien's remark with one of his own, but with held. "I suppose we'll get going."

"Want me to stay the night?" Kenny asked Wendy, turning to her with a smile. "I'll have to go home and grab some shit, but we can come up with a game plan tonight."

"Sounds good." She nodded as she rose with the others to let her guests out into the chilly night. "I'll take a shower while you're gone."

As she bid her friend's good bye for the night, she noticed Damien wasn't with the crowd. As Kenny hurried off, promising it would only take half an hour, she turned and saw him gathering up a few cups.

"What're you doing?" she asked, shutting the door soundlessly and walking over.

"I thought I'd help you clean up." He said without looking up. "Don't get used to it. The alcohol has put me in a rare mood."

"Well isn't that sweet?" she cooed sarcastically. "Whose Martha Stewart now?"

"Don't push my buttons, princess." He said, striding towards the kitchen. "I'll start smashing porcelain if this insolence continues."

"And then you'll be fucking cleaning porcelain." She mumbled, straightening her sofa cushions and smelling her throw pillows distastefully. The smoky smell that clung to Christophe like a leech had rubbed off on her pretty orange and brown patterned pillows.

Febreeze. She needed to add febreeze to the list as well.

"So why the hell did you tell McCormick?" Damien asked, reappearing in the living room.

"He's my best friend." She said plainly.

"You don't find it strange that he bought the whole story without questioning it?"

"A little." She admitted. "But…he knows I wouldn't lie."

"Lie? No, of course not. But perhaps suffer a mental break from this façade you uphold day in and day out? I think that's more plausible."

"Are you suggesting you're a figment of my imagination?" she asked him crossly, giving him a dirty look.

She didn't like talking about this. Talking about her….problem….was just a step before admitting there was a problem. It was the step before addressing the problem and making it public. She didn't want it to be public; if she buried it deep enough inside of herself, perhaps it was suffocate and die. Perhaps it would decay and decompose into her soul and the urges she had would go away.

Maybe if it just dissolved, she really could be normal.

But standing there in her living room with the son of Satan, Wendy knew she was farther now from her goal than ever.

"I could be." He approached her. "Most people would argue the boogeyman is just the fear personified in the minds of little boys and girls."

"Are you still going on about that?" she snipped.

"Perhaps." He sneered. "But it does have a little bit of truth to it, doesn't it? Some man shows up, lives in the shadows, preying on little girls. Sure sounds like the boogeyman to me."

He was now standing directly over her, blocking out the light above her head. She stood fully in his shadow, taking in his daunting appearance.

"Well boogeyman." She said with a roll of her eyes. "This little girl thinks its bedtime. You can come back to terrorize me some other time."

She put her hand to his chest and effortlessly pushed him away, walking to the front door. He was not far behind her; she could feel his warmth like a small cloud. She opened up the front door, letting in a cold gust of night air.

"Goodnight Damien." She ushered for him to take his leave. "Thanks for the help."

Damien walked to the exit but paused before he could start the long walk back home.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, turning to look at her.

He looked so much better at night. The darkness outlined his long, lean frame in a bath of moonlight and shadows. His skin seemed to glow in the dim lighting.

"What?" she actually laughed. "You don't scare me Mr. Boogeyman. Good night."

She closed the door in his face, still chuckling to herself. She slid the lock back into place and turned around the retreat to the bathroom.

"Are you sure about that, princess?"

Damien was right behind her. She gasped as he moved towards her in a single, fluid motion. He pinned her to wall, pulling himself into her.

Damien kissed her hard, sucking the air from her lungs. Wendy felt an urgency in his mouth as he kissed her deeply. His warm tongue explored the inside of her as he claimed his kiss with all the fervency in his form. Wendy felt her own desire rising; she hadn't made out in she couldn't even remember how long. There was the clashing of tongues and teeth. She felt him bite her tender lips, sending shocks of pain and pleasure throughout her slender body.

Damien's hands grabbed at her hips, pulling her hard into his. Their bodies were hard against one another; she could feel his muscles tighten and tense. His heat radiated through his clothes into her, causing her to begin to sweat. She traced his body with her hands, grabbing at his ass. She smiled a little in the kiss; it was just as nice as she'd imagined it to be.

Not that she'd ever admit she'd ever daydreamed about his ass before.

Damien did exploring of his own. His hands moved under her tank top. His scolding fingertips grabbed at her soft flesh. He moved under her bra, burning her sensitive nipples. She felt them go rigid with delight and she cried out just a little. The sound was barely muffled by his mouth on hers.

Damien suddenly grabbed her tighter his free hand, lifting her effortlessly. He threw her into the opposite wall, his mouth moving from her wet lips to her long neck. His teeth grazed and tore at the skin; Wendy felt waves of ecstasy rumble through her like thunder. The throbbing of her neglected pussy was distracting the usually focused young woman. His groin was perfectly aligned with hers now. She could feel its hardened eagerness for her flesh pulsating through his dark jeans and she reached down, grabbing at it through his denim.

Damien moaned softly in her ear; it was a terribly human sound for the supernatural man to make. The idea of the powerful demon so vulnerable made her unbearably wet. He stiffened further in delight and his temperature elevated. The heat poured out of his body alarmingly. It made Wendy wanna tear away her clothes just to relieve herself.

Her mind was open suddenly, more so than it ever had been it felt like. Like a phoenix opening its fiery wings for the first time, she felt fresh and new. She felt powerful and beautiful. The way he moaned and groaned as he kissed her lips and thrust his hips against her. She wondered what his body tasted like. She wanted the sweetness of his form on her tongue. She wanted to leave no crease or corner untasted or unexplored. He gripped her breasts tightly; his fingers were like small lighters on her tender, tender flesh. A heat, the same heat from earlier that day, began to spread through her. She felt sick with it, like she might sweat herself to death right there in his arms. Something about this moment, this exchange of power and heat, this clashing and meshing of bodies it all felt so familiar.

It was the hottest deja vu she'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

He pulled away from her as Wendy's heart raced in her chest. He looked down at her, moving a damp piece of hair from her hair to behind her ear.

"Fuck." He said darkly. "You look like you're going to collapse."

"I've been considering it. But then I'd miss out on all the fun."

"I like your attitude." He ran his hot hand across her face. "You're like ice."

"Maybe to you, matchstick man." She laughed. The air she drew into her lungs felt like ice water inside her boiling body. "I feel like I'm going to melt."

"Oh really?" he smirked. "Do tell."

He moved in to kiss her again but then paused, pulling away slowly with a sick grin on his handsome face.

"I'm sure Kenny is almost here." He said absently. "I think it's time I take my leave."

She rolled her eyes, frustrated and annoyed. But thankfully, not confused. Not this time anyway.

"Fucking tease." She accused him and then added. "I guess the last time wasn't just a random occurrence, huh?"

"Maybe." Damien shrugged with his usual indifference. "Or maybe not. Could just be the alcohol talking. Or…maybe not. I'm just a figment of your horny imagination, after all."

"Whatever." She hated how he danced around subjects. "What happened to you wanting to scare me?"

"I thought leaving you frustrated would be more fun." He opened up the door and looked at her over his shoulder. "Goodnight, princess. I'd freshen up before your company arrives."

He left the small apartment, humming. Wendy watched him go, leaning on her doorframe.

She almost had a small heart attack when he disappeared in a sudden puff of ink black smoke. It wisped and billowed in long curls that played around her bare feet. The familiar smell of his hung in the air like a calling card to remind her he'd been there and that he would, in fact, return.

He was pretty ominous like that.

"Son of a bitch."

That explains the disappearing/appearing act though.

She locked up and moved quickly to the small mirror she had hanging on her living room wall. Damien had been right about that much; she looked like she'd just run a mile. She lifted her tank top to find small red scorch marks on her stomach all the way to her breasts. She pressed her own finger to his etched in marks and winced in pain.

The skin was raw and throbbing.

She pressed it hard again and cried out in pain.

The heat radiated off her flesh.

She pressed the wound again and felt her eyes tear.

A small pulse in her underwear made her realize what a messed up fucker she really was.

Wendy chuckled all the way upstairs. She only had about ten minutes to wash away the smell of sandalwood and burnt flesh.

While Wendy made quick work of showering off, she missed an event of some importance happening not too far out her own window. On that night, a clear cool night in South Park, something strange lit up in the sky.

A cluster of clouds had gathered in the west, bunching together as if it may storm. But they weren't ordinary clouds; they were heavy and fluffy. They were a shade of pearl white that would have been breath taking in the light of day. They seemed to shimmer as if made of some kind of precious stone. Even in the black of night, one could see them on the horizon. A cluser of about six had appeared from seemingly nowhere. They grew heavier and heavier until…

There was a sudden warm breeze. It cut through the cool, fall night in an obvious gust. The out of place wind would startle a few as it glided through town, right up to where the clouds were forming. It seemed to spiral up, like a hand to heaven. And as it did so, heaven answered. The clouds parted like two soft lips about to whisper a prayer. But instead of words, something else came spilling out. There was a distant crack, not unlike the sound of thunder. A flash of light filled the sky, like a lightning bolt from the heavens themselves. And then, a small tremor shook the earth. It would go unnoticed by most; the rest would dismiss it as a truck rattling by. But now, as the beautiful clouds began to part, a crater could be seen in the ground. A small hole, about six feet deep, sat in the earth where there had once been nothing at all. It was perfectly round, as if a large hand had reached out and scooped the dirt up itself. And there, amidst the dirt and rocks was something indescribable. A body, half clothed, lay unconscious in the earth. His hair was a pale yellow; like the finest of hay. His sky blue eyes were closed, his long, lovely lashes kissing his flawless cherub face. He moaned quietly in his soft voice, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably in his unconscious state. He was shirtless, showing his blemish free chest and finely toned arms. He was a small boy, not taller than 5'5. He would be found, just before day break, by some kind dairy farmers out on their way to work. He would awake later that day in South Park Regional with only one thing on his mind.

Revenge.

The farmers who will find him will also find something else interesting. Something they won't tell the police when they turn the poor boy over. It'll be something they'll discuss together for years to come, but will eventually stay a secret they'll take to the grave.

Those farmers will pull the boy out of the hole and notice the deep scars on his back and shoulder blades. As if someone had taken hot metal to his sensitive flesh.

They'll also notice the markings on the side of the crater. These markings are burned deep into the bedrock, searing themselves there for all eternity. Their farmer will ever come up with what kind of device could leave such deep markings, especially in such a short amount of time.

They'll also never understand why the markings were partnered to look like a collection of feathers.

Butters had just returned home from Mr. Mephesto's. He was tired and well worn from another long week of looking after the crotchety old man. He hung his blue jacket on the coat racket as he carefully walked across the ink black living room. His parents were in bed promptly at 10:15 so he had to be careful not to wake them, lest he get yelled at for being inconsiderate.

He moved up the stairs with long, heavy strides. He was ready to turn in for the night. He had been ready to collapse while sitting at the steering wheel during his drive, but he'd managed to fight the urge.

He checked his cell phone, smiling happily. Wendy had finally returned his calls today, confirming she'd be returning to help him with Mephesto as well as inviting him to a party that weekend. He could have hummed in absolute delight. His heart did a small flutter when he thought of the raven haired girl. Butters could count on one hand how many girlfriends he'd had, but he liked to think he could make Wendy one of them one day.

He slid silently into his bedroom, only turning on the overhead light once he'd closed it again. He scratched at his loose blonde hair and began to strip off his clothes. He hoped mom had washed his long sleeve pajamas; it was going to be too cold tonight for sleeping in boxers.

A strange feeling suddenly came over Butters Scotch. He stopped for a second, lingering in the sensation of his arm hair standing on end. He looked left and right, wondering for a second if it was ghosts.

Butters believed very fervently in the afterlife and had often thought his home was haunted.

The strange feeling seemed to be pulling him towards the closet. He tilted his head a little, walking slowly over towards the old double doors. He pulled them apart cautiously, peeking his head in through the crack. Nothing but clothes and boxes.

"Huh."

He opened them wide to let more light in, but still saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked left and right, half expecting something to pop out at him, but nothing appeared.

"Guess it was just my imagination." He shrugged, indifferently, but then something caught his attention.

It was a box at the top of his closet, one he must have seen at least a hundred times. It was old and made of flimsy cardboard; on the side in large, permanent marker letters it read "BUTTER'S THINGS." It must have been from when he was a kid; he couldn't remember the last time he'd even looked inside.

He grabbed it up, pulling it down carefully. It was exceptionally heavy but he still exercised caution. He placed the dusty relic on his bed, careful to brush any of it onto the floor and not his checkered bedspread.

"Let's see…." He opened it up, smiling when he saw old awards from when he was a child.

He rustled through the various papers and drawings, most of which had to be at least ten years old. He wished he remembered more about those days; his memory had always been terrible. He was ready to close it up, to go through it in the morning when he was awake, when something caught his attention.

Of all the silly things to catch his eye, it was what appeared to be a helmet made of aluminum foil. He laughed quietly, wondering what kind of project must he have done at school to make such a thing. He picked it up, surprised at its resilence. The thing was sturdy and sound; pretty good shape for something sitting in a closet for so long. He turned it over in his hands, noticing small strands of blonde hair caught in its creases.

As he studied the headgear, a strange emotion came over him. A memory, or perhaps a vision, of South Park on…fire? People running in every which direction, screaming out in pain and fear. Huge creatures had taken wing in the sky, descending down upon the citizens of the Colorado town like they were but prey. Sharpened talons caught the light as they tore into human flesh, sending splashes of blood across his vision like red paint. And there, in the midst of the madness, was a throne of bones. Human bones, if he indeed recognized the skulls. And there, perched on the skulls, was Butters himself. He laughed over the cries of the innocent; it was a horrible, menacing sound that could chill the blood. His eyes, once soft and kind, were wild with maddening rage and bloodlust. He was dressed outrageously; he had on a cape and some kind of super villain get up. And atop his head sat the tin foil hat, wrapped around him like Magneto's helmet. The scene was all too familiar; he had been here before in a dream a time or two. It felt like a memory, the way he knew the layout of the land so well. And this version of himself, staring coldly at his own counterpart, he was familiar too. Just as familiar as Butters own reflection.

Professor Chaos.

Butters shook his head, rattling the vision loose from his mind. The sound of the laughter still echoed in his head like the last dying notes of a song. Hastily, he threw the helmet back in the box and slammed the lid shut. He slid the cardboard prison up under his bed, reminding himself to throw it out first thing in the morning.

Butters undressed quickly and slid beneath his covers before he could dwell on the disturbing mental images any longer. It must have been from exhaustion, he assumed as he drifted off to sleep.

Butters had forgotten to take his medicine that night. The medicine he'd been on for going on ten years.

And while the angel faced boy slept, something deep inside him stirred.

From somewhere deep inside of Butters, it laughed.