That night, after another unimpressive meal, and after most all of the monks departed to their own duties, the four from Gotham sat in a corner of the commissary. It was a long day for everyone, boring when it wasn't frustrating, and it felt like there should be plenty to discuss.

"Well, pretty sure those jerks are totally convinced I have whatever they think I have." Sadie held up the stigmata hand and made a little waving motion.

Stephanie asked, "Did you ever figure out what it is?"

"Nope. I tried to get it out of them a couple times, but they kept playing dumb. 'It's not a curse, the opposite of one, really,' or something like that was the best answer I ever got out of them. And it's not an exorcism, they just can't come up with another word for it. Or at least not one they want to tell me." She looked to Tim and Cassandra. "Resident Catholics, any of this mean anything to you?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Sorry."

"I've fought demons before, but I don't know anything about exorcisms, sorry," Tim said.

With her fingers tight against her temple, Sadie said, "All right, for real, this casual confirmation of insane stuff is driving me nuts. So, demons are real? Actually, legitimately real?" Tim opened his mouth, reconsidered his words for a moment. Before he could pick back up, Sadie said, "You know what, don't answer that. I have enough on my plate already." As she rubbed her forehead, Cassandra, ever steadfast, rubbed her back. "Crap, I meant to ask about that Father Zein guy too. From what Arlington said? I keep forgetting. Tomorrow. Gonna ask tomorrow."

"God willing, we will be done tomorrow," Cassandra said.

Sadie uttered her best half honest, half unbelieving contended sigh. "Wouldn't that be nice. God willing."

"Didn't get much from Nijah," Cassandra said. "She says she doesn't want to fight us—"

Sadie uttered a sarcastic, "Ha!"

"And she believes, totally in their leader. That man, Kedar. Thinks he's a saint, maybe."

With her eyes turned away and her body tense, Sadie radiated her discomfort with the woman entering their conversation. But for the moment, she said nothing.

"Hey, Sadie, about the thing in your hand," Stephanie said. "Did those guys talk to you about your dreams?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. One more point in favor of their conclusions, you know."

"Yeah, but is the stone trying to tell us something?"

Sadie shrugged. "They didn't speculate on that. I asked about it, they just assured me weird, possibly message-laden dreams could happen, but wouldn't clue me in to anything else."

Stephanie just sat there for a few seconds, one finger curled around her lips like she was deep in thought.

Tim asked, "You have an idea?"

"When we fought those first two guys with the Order, you got their little childhood adventures with Kedar that same night, right?" Stephanie said. "We've established we don't feel like they're doing us much good, but could we do anything to, I dunno, force them?"

The rest of the table stared at her, confused. Eventually, Sadie asked, "Huh?"

"If we'd had any of the information we got out of those first two dreams ahead of time, maybe we could have used them to our advantage." Stephanie said. "So could we force one of those dreams to happen?"

Sadie leaned into her hand and thought over the matter. "I mean, I don't know. No idea what the mechanics are. Maybe I can do it if I'm thinking about it really hard, or maybe I need to see the bad guy first." After a another pause to consider, she said, "I guess I've already seen… her though." Even the indirect reference to Nijah made her stomach turn. "And I gotta be real, I'm not sure how I'm going to feel if I need to watch her life story."

Cassandra set her hand on top of Sadie's, Sadie took it and squeezed.

"If you're not up for it it's all right," Stephanie said. "I'm just spit-balling here—"

"No. No, it's a good idea." Sadie shook her head. "I'll do it, if it's the concentration thing that's bringing it on, I'll concentrate as hard as I can before I fall asleep." After a moment to bite her lip, she said, "If I start to shaking or screaming or whatever, wake me up."

"That's not a good idea," Tim said. "You can only remember dreams when you wake up in the middle of them. You—"

Sadie looked up at him, solemn. "I know how it works," she said. "I wanna help. Even if I have to put myself through a nightmare to do it."

-000-

An hour before dawn, a small body crept out of the derelict remnants of a large house. The hooded sweatshirt he wore had been gray, at one point, but enough grime accumulated on it that it blended in well with the dark of night. On his back he wore a knapsack, and on his tiptoes he crept through a garden of mostly dirt and dust. His bicycle sat locked to a tree at the edge of the property. He didn't know where he would go, but as he wiped crusted blood from beneath his nose and rubbed at his black eye, he knew he needed to get away from there. From her.

After gaining a few yards from the house, he picked up his pace and ran. He knew the house and he knew the trail downhill, it didn't matter that it was dark.

Joaquin kicked and struggled in the grip of the giant, but it didn't buckle at all when his flailing legs made contact. The creature stood still as a statue as gaunt, haggard woman with graying hair stumbled down the hill. She wore nothing but a nightgown that hung huge on her skinny frame, and as she came closer, the stink of alcohol and vomit emanated off of her.

"Worthless bug," she said with a slur. "Vile. Awful. Scao wea."

The boy stopped struggling long enough to look the weathered woman in the eyes, took in a deep breath, and hocked a mouthful of spit into her face. He then greeted her with, "Mama."

She sneered at him as she wiped it away, stepped forward, and slapped him across the face. Joaquin shouted in pain as the strike left the indentation of her boney fingers across his cheek.

"Terrible boy. I should make you like your brothers." His mother looked up at the giant with the dead eyes. "Shouldn't I, Armando? Make him like you?"

The tall creature let out a low, droning grunt. Joaquin's heartrate picked up at the prospect. Even after a childhood of the threat going nowhere the thought horrified him more than he dared show, so he put on his best poker face and went rigid.

"You want to go running do you? Go into town? Fine." She bent down and scooped the money from his fallen knapsack. Then she rose, squeezed his cheeks until his lips bulged open, and stuffed a few pesos into his mouth. "Fine then, go get me more Pisco." She shifted to a higher voice, as if she wanted to go for sweet, but it just came off as mocking. "You can get a chocolate bar with whatever's left. But God help you if you're not back in an hour." She slapped him across the face again, the bills flew from his mouth as he squealed in pain. With her glare still fixed on Joaquin, she reached up, caressed Armando on the side of his face. "I'll be listening to you. I'll know if you go telling lies about me." She yanked and tore the giant's ear clean off, Armondo responded with nothing but a brief groan. Joaquin clenched with disgust as she held the withered ear up to his face and dropped it in his knapsack. Then his mother stumbled back toward the house, snapped her fingers, and made a, "get on with it," motion.

Armondo released the boy and looked down at him with deep, dead eyes. Joaquin dropped to the ground and hastily collected the money. With a glare he looked back up at Armando, who remained still as a statue until he started to move again. After he made a little distance, the giant followed behind him, one small step at a time. The meaning was clear: Mama wasn't taking her eyes off of him. With a rub on his red cheek and tears welling in his eyes, Joaquin finished his trip downhill and boarded his bicycle.

It was a two-mile ride mostly through forest to reach the small, coastal city nearest to the Sandoval residence. Once in a while foolhardy tourists wandered up toward the house, but no locals dared approach. Local folklore was a kalku—a crazed witch—cursed the land and had made it her home for nearly three hundred years. Joaquin did know just how old his mother actually was, and how much of that was her or her previous generations. He'd just heard her drunkenly rant, time and again, about how powerful and wealthy she'd once been. That was all before his time, she and his father were just slovenly drunks for as long as he'd lived.

Joaquin raised a hand and said, "Hola, Mrs. Reyes," as he walked in.

The frail, bespectacled old woman who ran the shop said nothing and just glared as he walked past the cash register. Joaquin didn't know why, he'd never been anything but a model customer. Maybe the stink of the forest hung around him, or perhaps his mother's essence clung to his skin. Or she could just be a bitter old bat who hated everyone, he suspected. Regardless, she wouldn't sell him his mother's alcohol, he needed one of the less scrupulous vendors further into town for that, her store was just a pit stop. Joaquin walked straight to the coffee machine in the corner, pulled out the largest Styrofoam cup, and filled it to the brim. He took cautious sips from the piping cup as he wound his way past the prepackaged snacks to the magazines in the corner. As a younger boy he always liked browsing the comic books best, but in the last year or so, he'd started to linger on the magazines with half-naked women on the cover. He didn't know why, the interest just came to him one day and never left.

The little bell on the door rang, someone new walked in. Within moments of their entry, Mrs. Reyes shouted something in her gravely, old voice. Joaquin didn't give it much attention, but did catch something about, "You can't bring that in here!" He didn't linger on it. If she was distracted with another customer, she wouldn't hassle him to hurry up, stop ogling the magazines, and make his purchase.

Joaquin's ears perked up and he searched about when he heard the threat of, "Polocia!" What was that about? Was someone trying to rob the store? His heartrate picked up as he looked around. Who was she addressing? He didn't see anyone, why would—

A strong hand closed around his shoulder. Joaquin jerked around and faced a tall man with long, straight, black hair. The color of his skin marked him as a stranger, though from where Joaquin couldn't guess. After just a moment to take him in, the frightened young man caught sight of the spear bound to his back. Joaquin took a terrified step backward; the magazine rack prevented him from going any further.

Kedar, Eldest of the Nephilim, glance at the magazines Joaquin had examined a moment before, and a bemused smile crossed his lips. "Keeping yourself busy, are you?"

To Joaquin's ears, his Spanish sounded impeccable, but the accent he couldn't identify threw him off. "Who—who are you?"

"A friend, I hope," Kedar said. "I consulted with the local machi in their temple—"

Machi, that was one of those words Joaquin vaguely knew. Another of the things—or maybe people—or maybe creatures, his mother cursed in her drunken ravings.

"They told me of an ancient witch who lives in the foothills called Rayen, and a young man sometimes seen travelling in and out of her woods," he said. "The… 'good witches,'" the pause suggested those words gave him difficulty. "Told me no one else goes there, in or out. They said I should leave him be if I saw him. But it's never been in my nature to leave people alone." Kedar reached for his shoulder again. "I want to help you."

Backed into a corner, Joaquin thrust his coffee cup upward and slashed Kedar in the face. The elder man shouted and grabbed at where the burning liquid hit his eyes. For good measure, Joaquin raised his back leg and kneed him in the crotch. Kedar gasped and keeled over while the boy ran toward the street, empty-handed.

Not three seconds later, Kedar bounded out of the store, still blinded by the coffee in his eyes, and called, "Joaquin! Joaquin Sandoval, come back! I'm here to help you."

The boy turned and looked back at him just as a gigantic blur leapt into view from the woods. There were still only a few bodies on the streets so early on a Sunday, but screams still emanated as Armando landed and faced the stranger from the store.

Joaquin fumbled with his knapsack and, when he couldn't find the ear, stuck his head inside and shouted, "Armando, alto!" He looked up and his brother was still closing the distance. "Armando, alto! Alto!" More than the man's safety, he dreaded how his mother would still find a way to blame this on him. Or, God forbid, those machi she hated so much got involved. But the giant didn't heed him, ran straight on, and slammed the stranger against the brick wall of the store, hands tight around his throat. Joaquin's jaw went slack with disgust and dread, but he couldn't look away. Armando pulled back one of his fists to bury it in the stranger's face.

Kedar caught the punch in a hand before it reached his head. He thrust his other arm toward Armando's inner elbow, the giant lost his grip as his the force of the blow seemed to knock the elbow from its socket. Freed from the monster's grip, Kedar pressed one booted foot against the brick wall behind him for a pushing-off point, threw himself forward, and tackled Armando. After a second of awkward maneuvering, Kedar drew the spear from his back, gripped it at its halfway point, raised it upward, and thrust down into Armando's chest. All that escaped Armando's wide open lips was a quick, hissing burst of air. For just a moment he went totally still, then, everywhere at once, his body burned to ashes. The immolation didn't spread, in one instant he looked like a deformed human, then he was a row of flames, and then all that remained was dust.

After a moment looking on in wonder, Joaquin felt heat coming up from his lower back. He jerked his knapsack off and found a plume of smoke rising from the little hole at the top. The thought of his mother ripping off the ear returned to him for an instant, and he threw the pack to the ground a moment before it burst into flames.

The stranger turned, saw the fire, stood up straight, and looked toward the still-frozen Joaquin. With the same bemused smirk from the store, he slipped his spear back into place, rose, and approached him. "Still here, I see."

"Th-th—thought he was going to kill you," Joaquin said. "How—how did you—"

"Let's discuss this elsewhere." Kedar rushed forward, grabbed the boy by his wrist, and ran from the view of the street's confused onlookers. Joaquin didn't try to resist. And, after a few steps, he ran along with him.

-000-

Twenty minutes later, Joaquin scarfed a plate of huevos revueltos at a café across town while Kedar sipped coffee across from him. In the time since they'd shaken the onlookers and reoriented themselves, Joaquin mostly just listened to the increasingly strange things he had to say. First his unusual name, then his claims to be some agent of the Catholic church, then he claim he'd come all the way to Chile to find him, specifically.

Joaquin wiped a bit of scrambled eggs and tomato sauce from his cheek and licked them off his thumb. "Uh huh. Uh huh. And that spear." He motioned at the weapon, which Kedar inverted so the handle stuck out of his jacket rather than the point. "What did it do to Armando?"

"That which is not of this world is beholden to my spear," Kedar said. "When faced against its power, the creature crumbled."

"And how's that work?"

"Nevermind that for now," Kedar said. "What about the rest of what I've told you? That I am a harbinger of better days to come?"

Joaquin shrugged. "And you do that by killing monsters, and you went on and on about how you don't think I'm one of them. Are you looking for permission to go after my mother?"

Kedar stared at him for a protracted moment. "Awfully cavalier then, aren't you?"

"I tried to run away this morning, but she caught me," Joaquin said. "Armando, the one you burned away? She always called him one of my… brothers."

With a slow nod, Kedar said, "Anchimayen."

"Um, bless you?"

"Those abominations are called anchimayen. It's truly devil magic at work." He shook his head. "She is puppeting about the corpses of perished children, that's what those creatures are."

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. "Only children? How'd they get so big and tall then?"

Kedar flinched. "What? I don't know. I suppose that could be some other magic. Or maybe she stretched them like on a rack—this doesn't disturb you in the least?"

"She and them are all I have ever known, and I want out," Joaquin said. "I'll lead you to her. You can use that spear on her and the others. Let's just do this thing."

"Your enthusiasm is commendable," Kedar said. "But even seeing and knowing that, I expected… I don't know what."

"Let's be on with it then." Joaquin slammed a hand on the table and caught the attention of a few others eating breakfast. "No more talk, we act."

"There's something else you should know," Kedar said. "And it might affect your decision."

When the stranger went quiet, Joaquin made a, "Get on with it," motion with one hand.

"The powers of a kalku are hereditary," Kedar said. "Both her magic and her madness may well go back generations. And when she dies, that power and her anchimayen horde will seek the next place it is supposed to go."

Joaquin's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Then when she dies, it will go to—"

A screech, high and harsh reverberated through the town. With hands clasped over their ears, both Kedar and Joaquin ducked down under their table. After a few sustained seconds, the café's thin glass shattered as the screecher crept ever closer. And alongside screams of pain and confusion from the townfolk, Joaquin made out a few choice words from the squall of sound:

"Joaquin! Come out and face me, you little bastard!"

And then, another voice cut through the screech. Not louder, but somehow, clearer.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A little voyeur?"

Sadie snapped into being inside the small café in Cobquecura as she heard those words. As far as she was aware, until that moment she viewed the vision totally passively, she hadn't had any thoughts of her own or sense of self until she was addressed directly. But as she became aware of herself, she turned. Seated atop one of the nearby tables, one leg over the other in relaxation, and eyes unmistakably fixed on her, was Nijah.