weet shop. Further down the cobblestone road pranced horses drawing sleighs full of tourists, decked out gaily for the Christmas season. Single candles shone in the colonial windows like sou

perimeter, forbidding pass

ered a murder of crows, absently pecking at worms. A

n a white trench coat, with a shock of black hair. His fingers traced the gates as he smiled quietly, humming a hymn off key. The sn

ded gravely to the crows pecking at the ground. They bobbed back, cawed, and returned to their avian business. He proceeded to stare at them intently until his cigarette disintegrated. He let it burn til the end, charri

roaked, a burble like trolls with indigestion. The man cocked his head then crushed the cigarette in his hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver

he said respectively as they crept onto his shoulders, pecking

s master took the present, sniffing it as if testing the ribbon's origins. He pried a bit of the hair off and crooked his l

cked its owner's cheekbone.

s mouth and with a crunch swallowed it. The man grimaced. "Tastes like the frater

ds cater to you," a dry voice c

't Bub himself. Done whorin

ng. If you had any idea how harrowing today had been while you've been off carousing

riad times, my mouth is my ass,

ander the Conqueror. A thick scar ran crosswise across his face, marring his beauty. He wore all black: a midnight turtleneck cinch

to guess: you rolled out of your labyrinth, reached into your closet,

, Samael. Not this e

ally dreary work drinking coffee black as your garments, the sa

ers, or metaphorical

evil, you're dry as Prohib

rove of the hat, Samael. This is officia

girl? Oh please let me terrorize her- let me drive her mad.

ave dinner with the archangels in order to b

dripping shadows and formed themselves into a severe black robe with a heavy cowl and hood. "Especially no