"Why did you come here?"

Billie Dean's voice echoed in the dark foyer of the old asylum. Despite the gloom and her apparent flawed sight, she moved across the room effortless toward a pair of doors in back.

"Now who's playing games?" Pieter teased.

Billie Dean put her hands on one of the door handles. "I was asking Doctor Harmon."

There was a faint whisper of a breeze, heard more than felt. Then the psychic pulled the door open.

More darkness.

"Me?" said Ben. "Oh. I, ah. Think my father may have worked here. I came because I wanted to find out more about him."

She crossed into the hall beyond, leaving them to follow her into the inky blackness.

"Your father," said Billie Dean. Her voice echoed even stranger in the long, tiled hallway. Something scurried by unseen in the shadows.

If her dismissal had any effect on Pieter, he didn't show it. He also had no trouble navigating the dark corridor, littered though it was with debris and old medical equipment. Ironically, only Ben had issues. A few steps in he paused.

"Are there any lights?"

Billie Dean paused too. "Do you need more light?"

"More?" Ben said. "It's pitch black in here."

Pieter chuckled. The sound skittered into the darkness and echoed back in a creepy, distorted way. "How long have you been noncorporeal? Haven't you learned to use your senses yet?"

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can see in the dark," Ben bristled.

"Yes," Pieter said simply. "It does."

Ben bit back on his rising temper. He didn't like the way the man was talking down to him—he suspected Pieter was trying to impress Billie Dean. Regardless, he didn't like being held accountable for things he couldn't possibly know.

"Being a ghost doesn't come with an instruction manual," he said.

"There are several in your home who could have told you," Pieter pressed. "Isn't that right, Madam Seeress?"

"Ghosts can do just about anything they want," Billie Dean said, skirting the real question. "But the further from human they behave, the more monstrous they become."

Pieter waved a hand. "Humans are the most basic of monsters. Death refines them."

"Spoken like a true agent of Destruction," Billie Dean said. Her tone wasn't flattering. "We'll be outside again soon," she said to Ben then. "It's brighter out there. Follow the sound of my voice if you can't see the way."

"You could hold my hand," Pieter offered.

Ben could hear the smirk in his voice. He rolled his eyes. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"This way, gentlemen," Billie Dean said from further down the hall.

At the end of the hall, another pair of doors parted, letting in hazy light. Billie Dean, a black silhouette against the white light, stepped through the doorway.

Ben and Pieter followed. The sudden light outside oversaturated the decayed courtyard. The mist that clung to the ground amplified the sunlight. Several voices murmured and whispered as the two men emerged behind the Seeress. The sound came from many of the windows in the building they had just left. Looking up, Ben could see a multitude of faces dotting several of them. The distance and old bars distorted their features, made them ghoulish.

Billie Dean moved with purpose away from the main building, toward a weather-worn wooden dais constructed in the center of what used to be the asylum's yard. The broken concrete slab that dominated the barren yard had several rusty O rings imbedded in it, a few of which had been repurposed to secure the platform.

There was a crude cross erected at the back of the dais, big enough to hold a man and painted with scrawling words: Scripture and angelic glyphs. In front of the cross was a waist-high table pulled from one of the examination rooms. A bowl sat in the center of the table.

The psychic positioned herself near the table and turned toward the men. Pieter followed her up. After a moment's hesitation, Ben also took to the low stage. The murmuring behind them echoed strangely off a fire-blackened buildings across the courtyard.

Billie Dean trembled and planted her palms on the tabletop. The murmurs from the windows gained a frantic edge. Somewhere, someone laughed. It was a strange laugh of anxiety and anticipation. Her milky eyes went black, and she looked at Pieter and Ben directly for the first time.

"Welcome," Billie Dean said. Only it wasn't her voice. The words were deep and gravelly in a way no human throat was meant to sound.

Pieter executed a bow, keeping his eyes on the medium. He smiled. "Lord Belial."

Ben, unsure of what to do, made an awkward half-bow and then tried to shift himself back to the van. Nothing happened.

"Why did Michael send you?" Belial said through Billie Dean. "Of all his pawns, you're hardly the most reliable."

Pieter's smile twitched. "A pawn. Really? If I were any chess piece, I would be his knight. But I do not take orders from Michael. I'm here on a mission of mercy. This boy has lost his father."

Ben was startled to realize Pieter was referring to him. "Boy?"

"Shush," said Pieter without looking at him. Then, to the possessed medium: "We're looking for information about Doctor Oliver Thredson. We understand he worked here in the Sixties."

Billie Dean looked at Ben, her black eyes slowly sliding down his face and body in a way that made his stomach curdle despite his being dead. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"He is here," Belial said.

Ben forgot his nausea. "What? Where?"

"Find him."

Ben wasn't anxious to be on his own in a place where he couldn't dematerialize, but he had waited three lifetimes for a chance to resolve the mystery of his parentage. He glanced at Pieter, who just looked at him expectantly.

So, Ben hopped down off the stage, expecting to be hit from behind. No one stopped him, though. He headed back to the main building, to start his search with the main foyer and the spiraling stairs. It meant making his way through the darkness without a guide, but anything was better than being sized up by a Prince of Hell again. The sooner he found the information he was looking for, the quicker he hoped to leave—on foot, if needs be.

"That's a pawn," Pieter said once he was gone.

"One you threatened but did not take," Belial noted.

"I am not playing the game," Pieter said dismissively.

"I don't believe you."

Pieter shrugged. "Understandable, but I am being quite sincere. If I wanted to play, I would have killed Michael a long time ago. I am more...the spectating sort. All I want is a good seat and some popcorn for the final show-down."

Belial looked him up and down like Ben had been scrutinized. It didn't bother Pieter as much.

"I still don't believe you," the demon said. "But I will let you stay and watch, if you give me one of you brood."

Pieter's expression soured. "You'd charge admission? Very well. I'll bring one of the guardsmen up."

"I want one of your 'children'," Belial asserted. "You can choose which one."

"I am afraid they are...non-negotiable," said Pieter apologetically. "Good help is too hard to find these days."

"Bring me the one you like best," Belial countered.

Pieter inhaled slowly through his nose, then he cleared his throat and put on a smile. "No deal."

"Then I will have them all."

"I really was hoping you would be civil about things," said Pieter sadly. He started to gather his power around him.

Billie Dean shuddered and smiled a weirdly stretched smile. "Son of Lucifer, you are not as charming as you think."

"I'm exactly as charming as I think," said Pieter. "If I wasn't, you would not have let your guard down."

The medium looked confused for an instant, then she began to laugh. The oily laugh was even more disturbing than her gravelly speaking voice.

"A fair play, Knight. But it won't save you."

Pieter smirked. "It wasn't meant to."

Billie Dean's features distorted inhumanly as Belial showed his true form. Pieter didn't try to run as the transforming woman lunged at him. He welcomed her with open arms.

—

Back at the van, the triplets clasped hands, locked in a trance and chanting. At Pieter's mental instruction during his conversation with Belial, they had drawn a pentagram in blood on the ground and formed a triangle around it. The air between them wavered and a big, black bird shot up out of nowhere, into the sky. As it flapped in a circle, orienting itself, three more came winging up from the wavering air between the chanting witches.

A flood of the black birds poured through then, cawing and dropping long black feathers. The air tore apart with a sound like thunder and Michael came through. His arrival was accompanied by a shockwave that knocked the three apart. Tisi sat down hard.

Overhead, the birds circled upward into a tornado of flapping wings. The sky darkened, turned a deep shade of red as thick clouds gathered overhead, blocking the sun. Michael shut his eyes briefly, reached out a hand into nothing, and pulled Troy through the closing rift. The young man staggered into Alec, who stumbled back before catching his balance. Tisi scrambled to her feet.

"Pieter—"

Michael cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Come."

He headed toward the gaping hole in the asylum's wall without checking to see if the others did as they were told.

...

Author's Note:

If you'd asked me before if Pieter would be willing to sacrifice one of his trio, I would've said yes. Shows what I know.

So, since classes ended, I've been busy working with my Hollywood mentor. He's putting the pedal down and wants me to start hammering out some stuff. I can't say much about the project at this point, only that there is one and it's spoopy. If you like my fanfic, you will most likely enjoy this too when it comes out. I'll drop a link somewhere at some point to let you know what, where, when. I want you to get the first peek since you got this far with me.

Next chapter: Belial and Michael get some face time. Is there room for two massive egos in such a small space?