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without the touch of a man. And yet even in this peaceful trance, she was still afraid of the snake before her. Part of her wanted to flee, to escape the snake that was smothering her will.
    Then the urge to flee, too, was smothered, and all she could do was stand in diamond rain, watching the snake’s muscles rippling beneath its glossy scales.
    Please, thought Mary. Please don’t hurt me. My son has just died and I…
    I am so tired.
    The snake transformed, and Mary Magdalene stood before her. And even though it was only a dream—it could only be a dream—Mary Magdalene’s hands were as warm and strong as they had always been.
    And then Mary Magdalene shimmered again, and she was suddenly so much taller and wearing a crown and clad in black scaled armor and her serpent eyes burned with a fire that matched the flaming glow of her black wings. She was a Dark Angel, and she wrapped Mary in her power.
    Mary tried to call out, to scream for help against this being who had claimed all her senses, but she could not make a sound. She remembered the nightmares she had had as a child, in which she had tried to speak but no matter her effort, couldn’t.
    Maybe this is a nightmare, Mary thought. Maybe it’s all a nightmare. Maybe there is no serpent, no storm, and maybe they didn’t murder my son. Please God, let me wake and find Him alive again.
    For the briefest of moments, she saw them. She saw Joseph—her Joseph—lying in his bed, asleep after a long day’s work, and heard her children laughing and saw her son standing among His brother and sisters, His shining face untouched by age or pain.
    Please, God. Please.
    She blinked and the vision was gone, and she was on the hill with the snake/Mary/Angel in front of her, and her son was dead again. Her whole body sagged with anguish.
    The body of the Angel began to sway, mimicking the hypnotic undulations of the snake. The hands that held Mary’s were tipped with silver talons, sharp and deadly and beautiful. The woman’s eyes were still the eyes of the snake, and they bore into Mary’s soul.
    The Dark Angel smiled, and Mary’s breath went away. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be this creature’s friend, to serve it and to be with it, to be lost inside those serpentine eyes for eternity.
    And then the Angel was gone, and Mary Magdalene was standing there, tears flowing down her face. “I loved Him, Mary,” she said. “I loved Him, but I had to leave.”
    The memory of Mary Magdalene turning into the snake faded to nothingness, and scattered from Mary’s mind. All she remembered was poor Mary Magdalene, fleeing in her grief as the storm raged around them.
    Her eyes opened and she was alone in her room. A gentle breeze had picked up, cooling sweat that the day’s heat had brought to her skin. She sighed, and then straightened. There were things to be done, preparations to make.
    He had told her, before He left that fateful night, that He would rise again. And though she had shaken her head at the time, and worried about Him, now the words gave her hope, and she allowed herself to dare dream of seeing her son again.
    He said three days, Mary thought, rising and heading for the kitchen. Surely there was some task she could do while she was here. He will rise. He gave me his word.

    Nyx waited, and brooded.
    Tribunal had said that she would know when God’s judgment had come. That she would feel it. Night had fallen, Tribunal was dead, and still there was no change in the world, no sign that He had made a decision.
    Nyx hissed in frustration, and for a brief moment the eyes in her mortal form burned red. She snuffed the light out at once, even though there was none to see it, and stepped out into the streets of Jerusalem.
    If there is nothing to do but wait, I will wait , she thought.
    Nyx changed her form to that of a young, handsome man and walked the streets of Jerusalem. She was female, and preferred the form of a woman most of the time. But this night she