The full moon shone brightly through the dusty glass window pane, bathing Jeremiah's bare body in bluish-gray light. The last two hours were a muddy blur and he wasn't sure where he was until he left the unfamiliar bed and looked outside. The fog covered the city, but he recognized the street below, what he could see of it.

He remembered Nox. Before that, he remembered dying. He remembered clearly how it felt to slip free of the corporeal form that weighed him down now. He also had slivers of unfamiliar memories, ones that his animated corpse made while his soul was in the Underworld. His body felt foreign to him now; awkward and filthy in ways he couldn't define. The coppery-dusty scent of his own skin made his stomach churn. Running both hands through his hair, he could feel the oil and scalp flakes on the strands and that bothered him too.

Taking a shower helped a little but not enough to set him at ease. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he left the small bathroom to search the room's drawers and closet for something to wear. The only thing he found was an old Bible. Suddenly furious, he grabbed the book and lobbed it across the room, as hard as he could. It smacked the far wall and fell to the floor, parchment pages fluttering.

The door to the hall opened and Troy put his head into the room. "Hey. You're awake."

Jeremiah looked at the stranger. "Could I get some clothes? Please?"

"Oh! Yeah. Sure. One sec."

The young man disappeared, shutting the door behind him. A few moments later, there was a soft knock and the door opened again. Troy came in, carrying something black.

"Here. I found you this," Troy said, shaking out a satin robe.

Jeremiah stared at it. "That's a ladies' bathrobe."

Troy squinted at it and tried to make it seem wider by spreading the shiny fabric. "Maybe. But it's long enough. See?"

Jeremiah took the garment with a silent but disgruntled look. He put on the robe and belted it around his waist. It came down to his calves and looked like a dress on him. He favored the younger man an even more sour look as he tugged the towel out from under the robe.

"It's the first thing I found," Troy defended. "I figured you'd want it more than you wanted to be naked."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes and decided not to dignify the explanation with a response. He just left the room to go find himself something more appropriate to wear.

"Hey!" Troy called after him. "Wait. I don't think you're supposed to leave your room."

"Well, I am," said Jeremiah without looking back.

The younger man followed him out into the hall. He had been stationed there to keep watch over both Jeremiah and Evangelina, who were in neighboring rooms. Troy wasn't sure whether to follow the man in the bathrobe or stay put in case the woman woke too.

"Stop," Troy persisted, following him a few steps before stopping again. "Michael's already pissed about Evangelina. Would you just…not go? Come on, man."

Jeremiah paused as well and turned back toward the dark-haired pest. "No. I'm going home, where my clothes are. If Michael wants me, he knows where to find me."

He started away again and ran right into Michael, quite literally. His appearance was so sudden and the collision so unexpected that Jeremiah stumbled back in surprise.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," smiled Michael. The expression sat on his lips only. His eyes were intense. The odd expression flickered briefly as he took in what the man was wearing.

Recovering, Jeremiah tugged the robe straight and belted it in place again. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Leaving us so soon? But you only just got here." Michael's words were genial. Too friendly. His smile had a razor's edge.

"Yes, Michael. I'm leaving," the older man said in a tone he hadn't used in over a decade. "I'm going home."

He side-stepped his former ward. It was enough to send Michael's precarious mood over the edge. He grabbed Jeremiah's shoulder firmly.

"I didn't give you permission to go."

"I wasn't asking," Jeremiah said. His words were low but vehement; he grabbed the hand that held him and shoved.

In entirely uncharted waters emotionally, Michael just stared at him for a moment, and a dark look passed between them. Then all hell broke loose.

Michael's features distorted, portraying a burst of inhuman rage. His bones cracked and twisted as he lunged at Jeremiah and his muscles gained mass at a frightening rate. A pair of big black leathery bat wings shot out from his back just as he took a swipe at his former mentor with a hand that had sprouted deadly claws.

Jeremiah tried to dodge and was grazed along the shoulder blade. The razor-sharp claws sliced right through his robe and into his skin, making him cry out. The pain was excruciating; worse than any man-made tool could inflict.

There was no point in holding back now or preserving illusion. Jeremiah let his true form show, unfolding feathered wings of shadow in a buffeting move that sent a bone-jarring shock wave down the hall and into Michael even as he was pulling back for another strike. The attack caught the Antichrist by surprise and knocked him back against the wall. The blast hit Troy too; he slumped to the floor, unconscious, outside of Evangelina's door.

Jeremiah closed in immediately, pinning Michael against the wall with one forearm across his throat. His eyes were solid black, his expression deadly serious. Michael would have to do something drastic to break free.

"Don't," Jeremiah growled really close to his ear. Sweat dripped from the ex-priest's jaw onto the younger man's cheek, he was so close. "Just let it go, Michael."

They were locked like that for several seconds while Michael weighed whether he wanted to extinguish the man, teach him a lesson, or let him win. There was only the tiniest of concerns that Jeremiah might actually be a threat to him. It was their history and potential future that weighed in most on the decision. He had gone to a lot of trouble to bring the man back from the Underworld. He wasn't ready to send him back yet. He wouldn't concede the fight, however. He just favored Jeremiah a silent, superior look.

Jeremiah finally eased off when it was safe to believe Michael wasn't going to press the fight. He folded his wings back into nothing and straightened his borrowed robe. Eyes clearing, he swept his former charge with a long look. The young man was quite a sight when his celestial lineage was visible. Beautiful and terrible to behold.

"When you're ready to actually talk to me, instead of this…this bullshit," Jeremiah said. "Come to the house." Then he left.

Michael let him go this time. Then he noticed Troy slumped in a heap on the floor. He knew the False Prophet wasn't dead; his life signs were stable despite the fact that the psychic blow had knocked him out. Shifting back to his human aspect, Michael looked down at the sprawled person.

"Sleeping on the job," he chided. "Some people have no work ethic."

He made a scooping motion with his left hand and swept Troy into the chair the young man had been using before everything went nuts. Hall tidied, Michael shifted himself upstairs to have a shower and review his brawl with Jeremiah. It was by far the most excitement he'd experienced in a while. Cathartic. Coming down from the urge to kill made him horny but he didn't feel like sharing the moment with anyone, so he masturbated a good portion of the hotel's hot water reserve away satisfying the urge.

…

Evangelina dreamt she was being chased around a mall parking lot by shadow people who wanted to steal her teeth with rusty pliers. She was sure they would hurt the baby she carried in her arms, so she was desperately trying to figure out how to fly when a strange sensation in her middle woke her.

The room was dark. Silvery moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains that covered the room's only window. The place had a distinct smell of age and hotel and the people who had taken the place over. She was back at the Bradford. Shifting under the covers, she discovered she was naked, and she really needed to pee.

Gathering a sheet to wrap around herself, she went to the room's small bathroom. When she dropped the sheet so she could do her business, the size of her belly made her pause. She looked like she was over six months along. Red stretch marks scarred her sides, evidence of the rapid growth. She ran her hands over the firm mound and felt something move under the skin. It was a slippery, ticklish sensation that nothing moving through her digestive tract had ever felt like. There was a flutter and a stir on the other side too and she felt something inside her turn completely over.

"Hello," she said softly to her belly.

She tried to imagine what her baby looked like. She had never seen pictures of a fetus in utero; her education hadn't included such insights. So the woman fancied the infant was a fully developed thing, just incredibly small. A palm-sized baby just for her.

Once she'd finished on the toilet and washed her hands and face, Evangelina fixed her sheet into a toga the Greeks would consider appropriate attire. When she left the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the room's narrow full-length mirror and was surprised at how flattering the makeshift look was on her pregnant form. She took one of the tasseled tie-backs from the curtains and fixed it around her waist, in the valley between her baby bump and breasts. It was an anachronistic look, but prettier than anything she had worn back at the compound.

She studied her reflection in the moonlight. Her pale hair fell straight down her back like a cape to the white sheet toga she'd fashioned. She took handfuls of it and twisted until she had an artful crown of hair rolled up, a look that she liked. If she had some sort of clip she could pin it that way; make her face visible to the world.

She decided she never wanted to cover herself in cloaks and hoods again.

—

The hotel hall stretched in either direction, the dim amber lighting glowing on the wood paneled walls. Evangelina paused and listened. She could hear the distant thrum of machinery and the electric buzz of the lights. She didn't hear any voices. It felt late; perhaps they were all asleep. Troy was: He was sleeping in a chair next to the room she'd been in. She passed him quietly and headed downstairs in search of food. It was her plan to head to the hotel kitchen but as she came down the wide main flight, she saw Michael at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her.

He was dressed only in a pair of clingy black velvet pants. His long blond hair fell loose around his shoulders, damp from a recent shower. He was so beautiful that she faltered a step and almost fell down the stairs. She caught hold of the hand rail and steadied herself. Seeing her wobble, Michael came up to meet her and put an arm around her lower back, to assist her the rest of the way down.

"You should be resting," he told her.

"We got hungry," she smiled self-consciously.

Michael looked down at the bump in the toga she'd made for herself. Then he put a hand over it. He could sense the twins were healthy and alert. The one nearest his hand moved and he could feel the faint wriggle beneath his fingers. He was surprised at how amazing that little flutter felt.

"He moved," Michael observed in awe.

Evangelina smiled, touched by his reaction. "He's saying hello."

In that moment, Michael wanted that baby to be his. The urge spoiled the moment entirely because it reminded him that one of the babies wasn't his. He moved his hand away again and escorted Evangelina to the nearest settee. His sudden mood change confused her, but she let herself be led and she sat in one of the low white-upholstered chairs.

"I'll wake someone to make you a meal," he told her. "What do you want?"

"You don't have to do that," she demurred. "I can make it myself."

"Nonsense," Michael dismissed. "Until the twins are born, I want you resting."

"Twins?"

There was an awkward silence, then Michael took a seat on the arm of the chair next to hers. "You're having twins." He paused, then added: "But only one of them is mine."

She frowned in confusion. "I don't understand…"

He didn't want to spell it out, but he could tell she genuinely wasn't following him. "You're carrying a parasite that my Unholy Father planted in you."

Evangelina shrank into herself, disliking the ugly words he used to describe her condition. She could feel tears burning her eyes and sinuses and she blinked a few times to stop the reaction. "But how..?"

"When he took you!" Michael exclaimed, on his feet again. He moved several paces away to put some distance between them. His temper was on edge and he didn't want to accidentally hurt or kill her. "You should know! You were there!"

She knew he was mad at her, but she didn't know why or what to do to calm him down. She barely understood what he was implying. "I…don't. I don't remember."

That irritated him because he could sense she was telling the truth. If she didn't remember what she did, punishing her wouldn't have the desired effect. He wasn't sure what effect he wanted to have anyway or why he was so upset in the first place. He didn't really care why. He just wanted to do something with all the hostile energy he was carrying around.

"Of course you don't remember," he agreed, forcing himself to appear calmer than he felt. "It's not your fault. You weren't even His intended. That honor should have been Mother Constance's."

His ire surged again, finding a viable target in his dead grandmother. It was her fault everything got messed up. If she hadn't gone and killed herself, things would have been completely different. He quickly roped his feelings up. He could unleash on the right individual at the right time. At present, he needed to tend to the mother of his unborn child.

"I'm sorry," Evangelina said, at a loss as to what to say.

He surprised her again by smiling and taking her hand gently. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. You've been perfect." He meant that, too. So far, she had done everything he wanted her to, when he wanted. Everyone should be so accommodating. "Except that you haven't told me what you want to eat."

…

Author's Note:

I'm posting this a bit ahead of schedule because I'll be out of town this weekend and I'm super busy for Halloween (which is in a little over a week at the time of this writing). Better early than late, right?

Next: The spotlight's staying mostly on Michael as he heads back to Murder House to confront Constance. Langdon talks never go well in that house.