Max held his breath, the air buzzing with the vibe that this was about to get bad.

“You need to end this.” Vera’s voice was strong. “Let Maxwell’s mother go. Let them all go.”

“Oh, gee, since you asked so nicely.” Anatole puffed his chest, still oblivious to Max’s presence. So was his mother. “I’m actually kinda glad you’re here. Today’s a blessed day. Wanna come in? Have a drink?”

“Kool-Aid in a crystal chalice? I’ll pass,” Vera spat. “We’re going to stop you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Anatole snorted, his face pressed toward her. Max edged closer. “From what I hear, your parents are out of town, and by the time they get back, it’ll all be over. Oh, and tell your priest that the Bible thumpers he sent to watch the house are adorable. Maybe try sending bunnies next time?”

Max stopped. His mom. Where was his mom? If the church group left, then who was watching her? Fear slithered up his spine, hissing in his ear. He pictured all those people at the rally. The kids. She wouldn’t hurt them. No, he had to believe she wouldn’t hurt them.

“It’s too late,” interjected the mother. Mary was her name—at least, that was what Max thought he remembered from the news. She swished forward in her floral dress. “Lilith is evolving, becoming.”

At the mention of his mother’s name, a fire lit in Max. His seething eyes searched the ground nearby, finding what he needed—a baseball-sized rock. He lifted it from beside a shrub.

“The Angel chose her,” droned the woman, her graying hair blowing in a breeze too cold for the summer season. Max shivered. “We needed a vessel to bring Him to our state of consciousness, so He could guide us to the great beyond and show us the true path. Lilith was ready. It is her purpose. It is an honor.”

“Shut the hell up,” Max roared.

The Durands spun his way, shock spreading in wrinkles across their faces. Max extended his arm, dried blood coating his skin up to the elbow, a rock clutched in his still-bleeding hand. He must have looked unhinged, eyes wild, blood splattering his extremities. He pulled his arm back like a pitcher, displaying that he knew how to throw it. Anatole stepped away from Vera.

“We’re honored you joined us.” Anatole smirked.

“Well, I’d be honored to throw this rock at your head,” Max bit out through clenched teeth. He cut down the lawn toward Vera, never taking his eyes off the demonic duo.

“We’re so grateful for the gifts both your families have bestowed upon us.” Anatole’s gaze flicked toward Vera. “Your parents brought our great healer here, and for that you have my thanks.”

“Your healer killed my father!” Max shouted, fingers tensing around the rock so aggressively a fresh stream of blood flowed down.

Anatole’s eyes stretched, his pupils black and swollen. “The Angel of Tears saved my life. I am an answered prayer. I am living proof.” He spat at the ground. “Soon, the world will know my father’s sacrifice, and they’ll tell stories of him. They’ll sing songs.”