The Watcher's Stone

Chapter 8: Oppression

Lara drove them to a hotel a little ways from the park to eat and rest. The fact it was the rainy season and the park was closed, as well as that they arrived first thing in the morning, led to a small dispute with the receptionist on whether they ought to be allowed to rent a room. Lara was in no mood to negotiate with the belligerent man and her patience wore out quickly, and she returned to their rented vehicle ready to just sleep in the backseat. But Kurtis was more stubborn than she in this instance and within minutes came back out to where she was waiting in the jeep to inform her he got them a room.

"But he says there might not be hot water, breakfast won't be served until two hours, and he isn't responsible for the noises the wild animals make." Kurtis listed as he ticked off the points on his fingers.

Lara wished he'd gotten two separate rooms so she could have a little privacy and a little space from him, but exhaustion had zapped the fight from her, and the touchy receptionist likely would've refused. She used the key to open the door to their room. "I've slept in worse places," she said as she entered the space. And ate chocolate bars found in the sewer, she added mentally, but Kurtis didn't need to know just how desperate she'd gotten in Paris.

Their room had two single beds and was decorated like it was in a tropical resort, with colorful curtains, unstained teak furniture and a large glass door opening to a veranda which overlooked the pool, green from disuse. Despite her stomach longing for something to fill it, she didn't feel like waiting for breakfast to be ready, and settled in on one of the stiff beds after shutting the curtains. Light still spilled in through the cracks and she could in fact, hear the crows of a rooster, but she'd trained herself to sleep pretty much anywhere, and within minutes had fallen asleep.

Kurtis watched Lara's eyelashes flutter as she drifted off. Her full lips, with the dark lipstick now faded after a day's wear, gently parted in the middle. She hadn't even slipped under the bed covers, and he wondered if he ought to drape a blanket over her, if she wasn't cold like that with so little clothing on.

Careful not to wake her, he took the thin blanket from on top of his bed and draped it over her bare belly and legs. Without even meaning to, his eyes stole a glance at her chest where her breasts were squished together by gravity. Well, if she really didn't want him to look, she wouldn't wear it. To chase the thoughts away, he decided to take a quick shower (very quick – the receptionist wasn't lying about the hot water) and get some sleep himself. The staff would knock when the food was ready, and judging from his earlier conversation, the receptionist was in no rush.

Padding into the room with just a towel held around his waist, he briefly regarded Lara dozing. He wondered how she'd react if she was awake to see him come out of the shower like this. He knew she was attracted to him, but every time he thought to make a move he felt her repel him in some way or another. Perhaps she didn't like to mix business with pleasure; perhaps she liked to be chased but not to be caught. Perhaps if he just kissed her, just got the ball rolling, she'd give up the pretense. But after his failed attempt outside the tomb, he was beginning to have his doubts. It was possible, somehow, that he had been misinterpreting her flirtatious banter, misreading her body language.

No, it was just plain bad timing on his part. He didn't know what had gotten into him that of all possible times to make a move, he had chosen right then. He wasn't normally this bungling when it came to women, but with Lara it felt– he felt different. He supposed he should thank his lucky stars it appeared Lara was not going to mention the near-kiss. That could make things really awkward.

He dressed again only in underwear and dry, clean pants – despite the small tabletop fan wheezing in the corner, the room was warm and the humidity outside high – and slid on the bed, pulling the thin sheet up to his armpits. The pillow was lumpy and the mattress firm but not in a nice way. After a couple minutes of adjusting his position he finally felt comfortable enough to sleep, and closed his eyes, willing his brain not to replay every mistake and fumble of his in the Tsingy tombs…

He regretted letting Lara go through the trials by herself. All those scratches and cuts on her arms and legs… he wished she would have asked him to help apply the medicine to them, her skin looked soft in spite of her rough and dangerous lifestyle…

His leg twitched, slumber approaching yet evading him.

He didn't remember making a deliberate decision to kiss Lara. It was like his body took over, like someone else was controlling him. Something had been influencing him, trying to dig inside his mind… Occitan? The Stone seemed to cause obsessive thoughts in Occitan, probably sexual thoughts as well… Occitan's spirit spoke to him – he was sure Lara couldn't hear him, but he could – Occitan said he was marked by it. The Stone left a mark? But how could it, if he never even touched it? Or did something else?

Sleep danced at the edges of his consciousness. He tried to block out all thoughts, think about nothing– but Lara, her face, her body sprang to the forefront. It was not an exaggeration to say she was the most beautiful women he'd ever met. Everything about her made her seem like someone he'd dreamt up, and yet she was real. She made him tense; he felt like a teenager talking to his crush, wanting to impress her, wanting to make her laugh, smile. Kurtis was aware he simultaneously desired her but thought she was too good for him. The more she learned about him, the sooner she would realize she could do better than someone like him, and yet he dreaded the day she would stop flirting back.

God, did he want her. But after the fiasco today, he needed to tread more carefully. What if he pushed her away completely? It was up to her now how far things would go. Her choice. He needed to respect her boundaries better, better than he had before; he couldn't blame the Stone's influence on all his slip-ups, not in the Louvre, not when he wantonly laid his head on her breasts, when he openly ogled her body, touching her at every excuse to do so….

Never imagined meeting someone like her… she was the perfect woman, perfect woman for him… he had to have her… if she didn't want him she wouldn't dress like that around him… she let him touch her, she let him look, she wanted him…

The tension between them was too much, he had to do something about it… he needed her, she was a siren to him, deadly and sexy… he would have her…

…

…

Kurtis opened his eyes. He'd fallen asleep but for a few minutes when the sudden realization that something was terribly wrong jolted him awake. He could feel an oppressive weight bearing down on him. He blinked and looked down the length of his body.

A demon sat on his chest. It leaned its hideous long face towards him, whispering awful things from cracked lips. Its eyes were jaundiced, skin pale and bloodless, with two small, pathetic broken wings dangling from its back. Its voice carried its depraved message as though on a wind, sounding from all directions, sounding like… Kurtis' voice.

"Take her now, she will not resist. No need to wake her, she is ready for you. She wants it, she wants you, she's playing hard-to-get. Make the slut yours, she has been waiting for you to take charge of her."

Kurtis frowned. Was this where that rotten feeling was coming from? Those uninvited lecherous thoughts?

"No," he answered plainly.

The demon reared back, lips curling back to reveal its sharp yellowed teeth.

"You can see me!" it hissed.

Kurtis furrowed his brows. "Of course I can. I'm surprised you don't know what I am."

A hoarse croaking laugh erupted from the demon's mouth. "I know what you are, son of a bitch, Lux Veritatis mongrel. That pitiable worm Occitan couldn't see me." It paused. "It matters not whether you can see me, you know. You are too weak to resist me for long. You will give in. They all do when they meet me."

What was this creature? Surely not a high ranking demon– Kurtis could tell as much. The demon began whispering more lurid suggestions.

"What's your name?" Kurtis interrupted, his tone bland, bored.

"I serve Asmodeus the king of–"

"Not Banebdjedet? Or Azazel?"

The ugly creature blinked then laughed. "It matters not what you call him, you are no match for him! His blood is strong; yours, weak– diluted. Generations of interbreeding with powerless humans, whereas Azazel's father is pure. A Watcher."

"A fallen angel. One of the 200."

"Yes, yes. Azazel the Giant is pure Nephilim, unlike you."

"I'm not Nephilim at all."

The demon snorted, the small horns sprouting from the sides of its brows jumping up in delight. Its red pupils seemed to glow like embers. "Is that so? Ever wonder where the Lux Veritatis got their powers? Let me ask you something, oh 'Warrior of Light': Why would God–" it spat the word like poison, "grant you the powers of sorcery, your psychic abilities, when this knowledge was forbidden for all other humans? What is it that you think makes you different?"

A beat passed, and the demon answered for him. "I'll tell you: it is because inside you is Nephilim blood."

"You're wrong."

"I was there, you miscreation. I was there in the Days of Glory, when our fathers roamed the Earth along with us. We revealed heaven's secrets. We spat in God's face. We did as we saw fit, we did what we wilt. When that bastard Enoch warned us of God's incoming wrath, some of us – the weakest of us – chose to submit. They made themselves docile and meek, worming their way back into God's good graces while the rest of us were punished merely for being true to ourselves. We were cursed to roam this world in unceasing rest, while your ancestors were allowed to live as caged rats. Commanded to hunt down their own kind in exchange for a morsel of power. That… is from where you come."

Kurtis shook his head, repeated, "You're wrong."

The demon slunk forward more and its taloned fingers dug into Kurtis' chest, drops of blood beaded where they pierced his skin. Its voice howled through the room like gusts of wind, its pointed tongue peeked through its glistening teeth, flickering in the air above Kurtis' face as though eager to taste him.

"Occitan didn't want to believe it at first, either. But soon he began to see he was as wretched as he believed me to be."

Kurtis wrinkled his nose at its sulphuric breath. Yuck– haven't they heard of toothbrushes in hell?

He spoke again. "You should leave, before I make you. Less messy that way."

The demon ignored the warning, as they all did. "I know you seek the Watcher's Stone."

"To destroy it."

The demon snickered. "You do not have the capability. And you do not really want to. I see the same lust in you. It is the truth."

"What would you know about truth?"

"Not everything we say is a lie." It paused, tilting its head thoughtfully. "Your father can return."

"My father's dead."

"Not completely. Not the way… humans die. Like me, he can be called back. Any of the Lux Veritatis can be."

Kurtis was about to deny this and argue that he knew the demon was only attempting to trick him so that he could accidentally revive the Nephilim, but he stopped himself short. It spoke not only as though it had once been Nephilim itself, but also as the same demon who oppressed Occitan centuries ago. How much of that was true, Kurtis had his doubts, but maybe he could get more information out of this thing if he made it think he was interested.

"The Stone really has that power?" he asked, infecting his voice with curiosity. The demon was crushing him with its influence, filling his mind with lustful thoughts and deplorable images.

Yet…enticing images.

Still, he kept his wits about him, not allowing his mind to entertain the temptations.

The demon leaned in close again, pressing its weight down hard on Kurtis' chest. He could barely expand his lungs now.

"Yessss. Of course. Anyone with the blood of the Watchers in them can be recreated from it. The power of creation was one of the many mysteries revealed to us."

"But… my father wouldn't want that." Furtively he glanced beyond the demon to where Lara slumbered. For an instant he allowed the demon to see inside his mind, the desires he felt toward Lara, the wishes he had for the Order and its future. "And Lara would try to stop me."

The demon regarded him with pity, his voice teasing. "Oh you poor wretched mutt. Obeying the whims of a dead man and a bitch – to see the descendant of a proud Watcher reduced to this! The power of the Stone will come to you once you behold it. You must only wait a little longer. Return to the desert where the Stone's master once ruled, and then you can have all you want. The power of creation, power over others, and the woman will be subdued. You will want for nothing."

Kurtis shuddered. That was enough; he had enough. He shoved a wall of energy at the demon, throwing it off him and clear across the room. Kurtis felt around for his Chirugai on the nightstand, but when he sat up a second later the demon wasn't there.

Dammit, he hated when they played tricks. Didn't it know it already lost?

He stood from his bed with his Chirugai held at the ready and its blades projected. He could still feel the demon's presence, that sickly sour feeling like oil clinging to his skin and the stench of rotten eggs and burnt hair. Briefly he threw a glance at Lara's prone form. She stirred, her brows pinching. That creature better leave her be.

The feeling weakened, and he wondered if the demon was retreating. Briefly he rushed out of the room and down the hall, but the feeling deadened even more. In the foyer the receptionist was watching a game on the television, clearly not even having begun to prepare their breakfast.

"Food not ready," he relayed in broken English.

Kurtis nodded weakly. Then it occurred to him the demon may have tricked him into leaving Lara alone. He ran back, burst open the door, and stalked in. Lara remained on the bed, having rolled onto her back, still sleeping. Her cropped black top, as snug as it was, stretched at the hem with the ghostly shape of a clawed hand slipping beneath, touching her taut smooth skin. Kurtis watched for only a moment, then moved in a flash to put a stop to it.

Hot coals sliced down his back and he stumbled forward, wincing from the sudden pain. He tossed the Chirugai and directed it with his mind, looking behind himself to watch it decapitate the demon from one swipe of the blades. It shrieked, its form growing ever more transparent.

"Go back from where you came." Kurtis caught the Chirugai and pinched his nose for dramatic effect. "You stink."

He regarded the bloodless blades of his weapon for a moment, and when he looked back up, the creature was completely gone. The atmosphere had returned to normal, the rotten feeling disappearing at once.

It was gone. For now.

The blades retracted and the orange glow of his Chirugai died down. Well, at least this one was smart enough to eventually realize it was fighting a losing battle. He went over to his nightstand and set the dormant disc down. Behind him he heard a yawn.

"Has the food arrived?" Lara gasped. "Kurtis, your back!"

He spun to see Lara's shocked face, her mouth parted slightly as she sat up in her bed. She was oblivious to what transpired, and what almost happened to her. He angled his back towards her again.

"How bad is it?"

"You have… scratches." She sounded confused. "They're bleeding."

The bedsheets rustled as she stood and her socked feet padded on the wood flooring. Then he felt her fingertips gently touch along his spine.

"What did you do?" Her accusing tone stabbed at him and demanded an explanation.

He cocked his head to look at her from the side. "Can you clean it up? I can't reach there."

Lara sighed and padded off, returning a moment later with one of her small medical kits. Kurtis stood still as she began swiping the scratches with disinfectant, feeling oddly comforted by the stinging sensation of the astringent knowing it was being applied by her. She was caring for him.

But that doesn't mean she *cares* for you, he reminded himself. The comfort he felt diminished.

As she worked, he explained the presence of the demon, how he believed it to have followed them from the Tsingy tombs and how it attempted to influence Kurtis to use the Watcher's Stone.

Lara raised her brows when he mentioned it wanted him to hurt her, but he left out all of the sexual aspects, not wanting her to think he would actually consider such a thing. Then he asked if Lara felt anything or had strange dreams.

"No, everything seemed normal on my end," she said with a shrug. Pushing against his shoulders, she turned him around and began tending to the punctures on his chest. "Why do you suppose it only went after you? Wouldn't someone without psychic powers be easier to influence or possess?"

Kurtis shook his head, trying not to get too worked up about the attention she was paying him, the gentleness of her touch. "It wasn't powerful enough to possess a person, much less someone like you. I have a theory. I think the demon might have targeted me because of my bloodline. Maybe there's something about the Lux Veritatis that makes us weak to the Stone's power."

Lara, so close to him, furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. "Perhaps the demon was telling the truth, at least about Lux Veritatis being descendents of Nephilim. The child Occitan created with the Stone, if he had been 'pure' Nephilim, beheading wouldn't have killed him. That would explain why the Stone could revive not only Nephilim but Lux Veritatis as well. "

He couldn't accept such a thing. He shook his head again and avoided her eyes. As soon as Lara finished applying the medicine and patches, he paced away. There was simply no way. There was nothing like it in their history, no evidence it was true.

"It's not possible; the Order would have kept some kind of record of that. There would be some– some hint, some evidence." He turned to face her. "Demons lie."

Lara sat on the bed as she packed up the med kit. "What does the Order say about its origins?"

He joined Lara on the bed, careful to keep a decent space between them. He couldn't handle being so near to her. Not right now, not while those thoughts and images the demon fed him were so fresh on his mind.

"They told us that God gave us our powers to fight against evil. I think that story is more likely to be true than what that demon said."

"I suppose that tracks. But why would the Lux Veritatis find creating more of themselves particularly tempting? It makes sense for the Nephilim, but you lot can create children the normal way, right?"

Kurtis leaned over to rummage through the nightstand drawer, pulling out his crinkled half-empty pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and popped it between his lips and took the small lighter he had stuffed inside, and lit up the end while he inhaled on the filter. Lara stood and put some distance between them, going to the glass doors and sliding them open a foot. He forgot to check if this room permitted smoking. Too late now.

He blew out a puff of smoke. "It's obvious if you know some of our history. The Order is a dying breed, was dying pretty much since its inception. Our numbers were always changing, but we rarely had more living members than dead ones. Skirmishes, injuries, plagues and other illnesses… The powers are hereditary only, so it wasn't like they could recruit from outside, and the secretive lifestyle wasn't exactly… appealing to potential partners. Not to mention the years of training involved to get one of us up to snuff. More probably died before they could be useful to the cause."

"So Occitan saw it as a shortcut?"

"Right. Having children was important to the Order. Everyone was encouraged to pass on our heritage, to make more soldiers for the fight, or the Order would die with us. Elder Occitan never had any kids, I don't doubt he felt guilt about that…" He sucked on the end of his cig, feeling as though he was being too morose. Lara didn't need to know all this information about them – but since there was only him and Vasiley left, did it really matter? She'd figure most of this out on her own, and he needed her on his side; the more knowledge she had on what they were dealing with, the better.

"Do you have any children?" she asked bluntly.

Kurtis looked at the grains on the floorboards, resolutely ignoring the squeeze of his heart. "No."

"Is it possible the demon could sense that and use that to tempt you?"

Kurtis snapped his head up. "I'm not interested in an heir. The Order will die with me, I've accepted that. Eckhardt's dead, and once the Cabal and the Nephilim are dealt with for good, there's no reason for the Lux Veritatis to continue existing. It shouldn't."

Lara regarded him cooly for a moment. "I was merely offering a possible explanation as to why the demon thought that was a viable path of temptation. Assuming it truly can create Lux Veritatis, in that case, why would the demon want you or any other Lux Veritatis to use the Stone?"

He leveled her with a flat look. "You must have never met a demon before."

"I have, actually," she retorted.

"Then you should know their only purpose is to corrupt humankind. They will use anything to bring them closer to that goal. The Watcher's Stone was made by fallen angels – its power is not for humans to use. If it could get me to use the Stone even to 'reincarnate' the Lux Veritatis, it will have laid the foundation to my ruin. Plus I'm sure once I'm well under its influence it would find a way to get me to revive Nephilim."

"Hmph," she acquiesced. "Regardless, we're still not certain where the Stone is exactly."

Kurtis inhaled again, and finally feeling the nicotine-induced calm coursing through his veins, he stubbed the rest of the cigarette on the edge of the nightstand. It left a smudge of burnt ash. He stood and threw on his white henley.

"Actually, we do now. The demon told me where it was so I could 'fulfill my desires'. 'Return to the desert where the Stone's master once ruled.' Looks like it was in Egypt from the start."

Lara kept her expression blank. She knew she'd end up back in Egypt, but she was hoping it would be to look for the Bantiwa, not the Stone. She could almost feel the scorching desert sun, the hot winds, the sand-worn temples in her mind. It was as though the universe knew she had unfinished business among those pyramids.

She excused herself to take a shower. The water was brisk, washing away the antiseptic over her minor cuts and slivers, stinging her legs and arms. It was refreshing. It soothed her heated skin.

Her mind and body were at odds. Kurtis was beginning to worry her. He had been acting a little strange ever since they opened Occitan's sarcophagus. The almost-kiss was the most concerning, most of all because she had wanted it so bad. And to find out a demon had followed him out of the tomb and was probably behind the encounter. That wasn't all, either: his stiffness when she cleaned his wounds, how he barely met her eyes while they spoke, the brief downturn twist of his mouth then adamant insistence he did not want children. It was clear he had a lot on his mind he was not keen on sharing with her.

Well, she supposed he was allowed his secrets. It wasn't as though she wasn't keeping some of her own.

She reapplied her lip color in the mirror and exited the bathroom, towel-drying her long hair as she went to sit on her bed once more. She set to combing and re-braiding it, and kept Kurtis in her peripheral vision, watching as he tried to pretend he wasn't watching her. Both were apparently too wired to try sleeping again.

Could the Watcher's Stone really influence him even thousands of miles away? Was he holding back something about the encounter with the demon?

For now, they had another flight to plan. But first, she was going to find that receptionist and get some food, even if she had to slaughter and cook it herself.