THIRTY

70 A.D. Khirbet Qumran, West Bank

The evening wind blowing in over the Dead Sea was, appropriately, as cold as death. Eisheth detested it, it whipped open the tents, and sand would kick up and cut into faces like glass, sending humans running for cover. She just about detested everything about life on Earth. After what she had seen, no one could blame her. Within the Lord’s Kingdom there was no bad weather, no wanting for food—and there certainly were no foul-smelling goats. Which wasn’t the case when living amongst the Essenes.

Her host was a girl of only eight years. At that age, children naturally demonstrate enough idiosyncratic behavior that no one noticed a little bit of demonic possession. That’s one positive thing about my new life, Eisheth thought, no more begging and pleading with vessels. “Please, it’s for the greater good,” she used to say. “It’s God’s Will. Say ‘Yes.’” The life of an angel required constantly asking for consent, and constant capitulation to the whims of others.

Demons didn’t have to ask. They took what they wanted, when they wanted it, used it up, and left what remained to rot. It suited her personality so much better.

Yet, what Eisheth wanted most, simple as it was, she could not take.

Sick of the biting gale, for after all she was in a human body and hated when it was uncomfortable, she sought shelter within one of the many canvas-walled tents that made up the majority of the settlement. The colony was substantial, but dwindling. Thousands of people, mostly men, gathered here to celebrate their shared faith... that unfortunately required them to remain celibate. How they intended to keep their faith alive into the next generation, Eisheth wasn’t sure. Her “father” had settled here after his wife died in childbirth, believing her death was his punishment for selfishly valuing his own pleasure over his God. Humans.

Inside the tent, Abaddon was already waiting.

“I don’t have long,” he said.

It took all of Eisheth’s considerable willpower to maintain her composure.

“Did he send word?” she asked. Abaddon avoided her gaze. “Of course. The Morning Star sends his deep affection...”

Not his love, she thought.

“... and wishes to know what you’ve found.”

Eisheth nodded, her cracked lips quivering.

“The prophet finishes his work as we speak.”

One half of Abaddon’s face pulled into a smile, while the other remained eerily blank.

“Where is he?”

Prophecy was laborious and frustrating, coming in fits and starts, with no set schedule and no guarantee that the results would make sense. Eisheth hated being here among the zealots of the day. Despite that, she had dutifully watched the group... for him. Finally, one of the men she was particularly close to had written something of interest. She had immediately called Abaddon.

Abaddon and Eisheth entered the cave slowly, their human eyes adjusting to the dim surroundings. The prophet sat with his back against the rock wall, a small fire burnt to embers in front of him. At his side, a set of clay jars waited to be filled and sealed.

Fear flitted across the prophet’s face as Abaddon approached.

“Who... who...” he stuttered.

Without a word, Abaddon reached out and touched the man’s forehead. He collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, his mind wiped completely of a year’s work.

“I can’t stand small talk.” Abaddon picked up the completed scroll, admiring the intricate lettering. “We should use him more often—beautiful penmanship.”

“What now?” Eisheth asked, looking for her reward. “He’s happy with what I found, isn’t he?”

Abaddon moved to pick up one of the clay jars, hefting it and feeling its weight, then putting it back down.

“Oh, very. Tickled,” he said as he clapped his hands together. For a moment, nothing happened. He looked around the cave, surprised, apparently waiting for something to appear. Once again, he clapped loudly.

From outside, a low rumble filled the air, reverberating around the cave walls and shaking loose dirt from the ceiling. A swell of black smoke surged in through the cave’s opening, dancing through the air before finding its way to one of the clay jars.

“Who was that?” Eisheth asked as Abaddon placed the lid on the jar, sealing the demon inside. “Anyone I know?”

“An insurance policy,” Abaddon responded. “Something to help you find your way.”

“My way?” she asked.

“Do you remember Lilith’s hobby?” Abaddon asked with a dark grin, clearly aware that Lilith’s name would provoke a strong response from Eisheth.

“How could I forget,” she replied, memories of Lilith’s pet fresh in her mind. It was one of many lines that Lilith had crossed that Eisheth was unwilling to. Torturing an animal, twisting it into something unnatural, for no reason other than her own amusement. “The dog.” She hated the dog.

“I love that dog,” Abaddon said.

“So does Lilith. Why would she give him up?”

“Because he asked her to.”

Eisheth swallowed reflexively.

“He knew you’d need it.”

The pieces weren’t connecting for Eisheth. She had read the prophecy, though she didn’t fully understand the text. She knew that the battle it described was thousands of years in the future. What she didn’t know was the role that she was destined to play.

“I want to see him,” she said, desperation seeping into her voice. It had been years. How many, she didn’t know. It felt like thousands. “I need to see him.”

“I’m afraid you have a different destiny.”

Words had never had a more sinister edge. Eisheth backed away from Abaddon as he lifted the lid from another jar. His finger circled the rim, searing an Enochian sigil into the clay. Eisheth recognized the angelic script instantly. It reminded her of home—her first home. Heaven. Looking at Abbandon, this was beginning to feel like a terrible mistake.

Perhaps wholly trusting Abaddon wasn’t a wise move, he was a fallen angel after all. They were crafty, not single-minded like herself, a demon. Perhaps she shouldn’t have had her lust move her feet into blind submission to Abaddon’s direction.

In that moment, she pondered the extent of God’s forgiveness. If he could forgive humans for their vanity, their cruelty and their lust, surely he could forgive her. Surely love wasn’t so abhorrent a sin—

The thought ended there with a flick of Abaddon’s wrist. Eisheth’s soul, blackened by its union to Lucifer, jetted out of the young girl’s mouth in terrible, choking spasms.

Husband, why have you forsaken me?

She wouldn’t get her answer for nearly 2,000 years.

1954 A.D., St. Louis, Missouri

Didn’t see that coming, Dean thought.

Standing atop the engine, the demon’s eyes flared crimson—it was as if the blood pumping in her host’s veins was visible through her pupils.

Sam and Dean exchanged a harried glance, both understanding that any chance of peacefully defusing the situation had perished with the arrival of Eisheth and her horde.

From within the train, her demonic followers began to appear. First, a pair from the conductor’s hatch, clambering out and over the twisted steel that once was the building’s door. Next, a bald-headed man leapt with inhuman agility out of one of the cargo compartments. A veritable flood followed them—Dean counted about a hundred demons, every one of them moving into position around the assembled hunters. Reflected light from the glowing fire glimmered in their ebony eyes.

“Everybody stay back,” Dean shouted, trying his best to take command of the situation before someone tipped its delicate balance. His thoughts flipped quickly between regret—for having created the quagmire in the first place— and anger, directed squarely at Julia and Walter for fanning the flames.

To Dean’s chagrin, Walter shoved his way through the crowd of hunters and stood before Eisheth.

“You don’t know what you’ve walked into, demon,” he called out to her.

Chuckling, Eisheth squinted at Walter.

“Aren’t you a sad little creature,” she cackled. “Puffing out your chest like a man.”

If he was offended by the jab, Walter didn’t show it.

“Seems to me, this is about the worst place you could find yourself. Going head to head with the only people on this Earth who know how to kill you.”

Behind him, over a dozen of his compatriots formed into a rough phalanx, preparing for the inevitable fight.

With a look to her followers, Eisheth indicated for them to move forward.

“I am willing to find an equitable arrangement,” she said. “Give me the scroll, and we’ll only kill...” She trailed off, scanning the crowd, finally pointing a threatening finger at Julia. “Her.”

Dean bristled, and jostled his way through the crowd to stand next to Walter.

“Listen, bitch, we’ve heard about enough from you,” he growled.

Sam followed him out of the throng, taking up a defensive position next to his brother. Walter noticed and immediately stepped away from him. Julia must have told him everything, Dean realized. Of course, by now he’s had time to translate the entire list, so he could have found out about us on his own.

“Samuel Winchester,” Eisheth snarled. “I thought you, of all people, would understand what a mistake this is. Do you honestly believe you’ll be allowed to succeed?”

“We’re not afraid of you,” Walter said. His eyes shifted nervously between her and Sam, betraying the bravado in his words.

Eisheth ignored him, and continued to address Sam.

“As if your name isn’t on that list. Do you really think the angels will let you destroy their entire stock of vessels?”

Sam remained silent. Now it was Julia who stepped forward.

“We don’t give a damn what you or the angels think,” she said. “This is our planet, and we’re not going to let you destroy it.”

“Samuel. I’m speaking to you.” Eisheth glared at him. “Not the riff-raff.”

Behind Sam, Walter nodded toward several of the hunters. They pointed their rifles at Sam. Another set raised theirs toward Eisheth and her horde.

“Ah. I see. We have ourselves a little intraspecies squabble.” Eisheth smiled at Sam. “And you were such fast friends the last time we saw each other. What happened? Somebody find out your little secret?”

She addressed the group. “You really should be bowing before him, not pointing guns at his back. Do you realize how perfect a specimen he is? Do you know what kind of strength it takes to house an archangel?”

“He’s a freak,” Walter declared. “Just like you. Now why don’t you take your little circus and leave town? Can’t promise not to catch up with you, but I’ll give you a head start.”

“Things sure have changed since I was bottled up,” Eisheth said. “2,000 years ago, people had so much faith that they refused to marry. Thought it would take up too much of their prayer time. Now look at you.”

“You want to talk about faith?” Walter cried furiously. “You’re a monster! A blight on God’s creation.”

“If you cared about God’s creation, you’d let Him do with it as He wished. If He wants to take His ball and go home, let Him. Except in this case, He wants to smash His ball to pieces.”

“He wants me to save it,” Walter said with fervor.

“Please,” Eisheth said exasperated. “You? Look at you! You think you’re important enough to be part of God’s plan?”

Blood rushed to Walter’s face. Dean could see the fury in his eyes, every taunt bringing him closer to breaking point.

“Enough!” Sam shouted, stepping between Eisheth and Walter. “Walter, you think you’ve figured out what part you have to play, but trust me, you don’t want to play a part. It’s hell. And it’s not fair. I don’t want anything to do with Lucifer, and I’m going to do my damnedest to avoid it, but those are the cards I was dealt. Maybe the cards you got let you sit this one out. Maybe you have something else to do with your life, besides throwing it away trying to stop the inevitable.”

Dean shot Sam a look. Inevitable? What was he saying? That he knew he’d have to say yes to Satan eventually?

“Glad you’ve accepted that, Sam,” Eisheth stated.

She stepped off the roof of the train engine and dropped, landing with a thud on the cracked flooring.

“If you wish it... I will spare them.”

Sam and Dean both recoiled in shock. What did that crazy broad just say?

“In exchange for one thing.”

Of course, Dean thought. Of course there’s a catch.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sam said quietly, “What?”

“When the time comes, and Lucifer is finally freed... I want you to kill Lilith. Before you say yes to Lucifer, considering you won’t have much of a say in things after that.”

Sam’s face went slack. Was she serious? Did she really not know?

Shaking his head, Sam backed away from her.

“No. I—I can’t.”

Eisheth fumed. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t give you a choice.”

She held up her hand, getting the attention of the demons around her. Then she brought her hand down, toward Walter and Julia’s army.

“Wait! Sam. Sammy,” Dean cried out. “You can reconsider, right? Seems like killing Lilith might be something you’re into.” He shot Sam a big-eyed look, hoping that his little brother would realize how stupid he was being. Lie to her, dumbass! Give Walter and Julia a chance to tuck their tails between their legs and run, then we can deal with this the old-fashioned way.

Eisheth motioned to her demons, stopping them, and waited for Sam to respond.

“Why do you care?” Dean asked, trying to draw her out while he figured out a plan.

“Guess my story didn’t make it into your copy of the Bible,” she barked angrily. “I was an angel. I was supposed to be up there, among the Heavenly Host, deciding all of your pathetic little fates. But I made one mistake. Loved an angel I wasn’t supposed to, and look where it got me.” She indicated the pack of fiends behind her. “Lilith, a damned human, comes in and pushes me out, so I ripped out my grace and became human for him, too. But even that wasn’t enough. It was as if Lucifer only had space in Hell for one of us.”

“Sounds like Lucifer’s not your biggest fan then, if he let that happen,” Dean said.

His words caused Eisheth’s jaw to grind. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She did what humans do. She manipulated, schemed, and back-stabbed until she had the support of his... caretaker.” She paused, then added, without much conviction, “Lucifer never stopped loving me.”

“I bet.”

“When this was discovered, it was I who brought it to Abaddon’s attention,” she said, pointing at the list which was still laid out on the table, “because I was the better wife. More loyal than Lilith. I gave everything up for him. I told Abaddon that.”

“Wait, Abaddon?” Dean said, his head reeling. How could that be true? Who was Abaddon loyal to—Heaven or Hell?

Eisheth smiled cruelly. “You know him?”

Dean looked at the floor, considering the options. One: she was lying. She was a demon, after all. Two: Abaddon was a spy infiltrating the bad camp 2,000 years ago, and that’s how he knew Eisheth. Three: Abaddon was bad and always had been, or his true motives were too complicated for Dean to ever figure out, and he was best left going with his gut, which at this juncture was telling him to kill Eisheth and run.

“You’d remember him if you’d met him. He’s not exactly a charmer.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sam interjected. “But what does he have to do with the scroll?”

“Look who’s chatty now,” Eisheth said. “Abaddon was the one that told me I would be in Lucifer’s favor for showing him the scrolls. He was the only link I had to a very absent husband. And he’s the bastard who sealed me in the jar.”

Sam and Dean shared a wary look. At the moment, they were facing a firing squad on one side, a bitter old demon and her lackeys on another, and if they ever found their way home, an angel gone bad would be waiting for them. So, it was a lot like any other day.

“I spent 2,000 years in that damn jar, puzzling over what it all meant, why my husband would let that happen. And I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Dean said. As Eisheth related her story, he was busy scanning the room for something that would give them an advantage. But as he currently saw it, there were over a hundred demons, and just over fifty hunters. The hunters had guns, the demons were almost impossible to kill. If Eisheth was anywhere near as powerful as Lilith, the advantage was certainly on her side.

“The task I’ve been given, it’s a test. I stop you, and I’ve proven my worth. Lucifer wants nothing more than to have a fight. I’m here to make sure he gets it. The vessels must be preserved.”

“After all he put you through, you’re still doing his chores?” Dean asked.

“I love him.” It seemed that to Eisheth, it was as simple as that. No matter what had happened to her, what she had been forced into, her mind was made up.

“This is insane,” Dean said with vitriol. “We’re talking about thousands of lives. It’s not a test; it’s not a special destiny. It’s about right and wrong, and damn if the demon isn’t right this time. I have no intention of letting Michael and Lucifer fight it out, not with the whole world hanging in the balance, but I’m not going to give up on doing the right thing just to take the easy way out. There’s an easy fix for all of us. Walk the hell away—”

Before Eisheth could respond, Walter stepped forward and placed a rock salt shotgun firmly to her temple.

“Dad! No!” Julia cried out, rushing toward her father, but it was too late. In a blur of motion, Eisheth slammed her fist into his ribcage, instantly shattering it. He reeled from the blow, his shotgun blasting uselessly into the air as the demon dove at him, gripping him firmly by the neck.

With a sickening crack, she ended his life. His body went limp and she let it drop to the floor. For all his talk about destiny, Walter had ended up deciding his own fate.

“Kill them all. Except for Samuel.”