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out a few
colorful insults but Samantha had heard worse. When he came at her
again, she noted that he was a bit more careful this time. He threw
a ham-sized fist at her head but she ducked under the blow and
threw a karate chop into his neck. She’d aimed it directly at his
windpipe and the sudden wheezing of his breath told her she’d
accomplished her goal. She then straightened and drove her knee
directly into his genitalia. The blow made him whimper and as he
doubled over, she grabbed him by the hair and shoved him toward a
marble countertop nearby. The cracking sound of skull meeting
marble was sickening and he slid to the ground, not
moving.
    Samantha smoothed out her
skirt and adjusted her hair before looking up the stairs. She knew
she should check out the rest of the house but given the fact that
there was now two dead men in the foyer, it seemed prudent to allow
Morgan to accompany her. She opened the front door and was
surprised to see that her friend was absent. With a concerned look
on her face, she shut the door and contemplated what she should do
next. The sensible thing would be to exit the building and look for
Morgan.
    But sensibility wasn’t
really what defined Samantha Grace.
    After closing the door
again, but leaving it unlocked in case Morgan returned, she spun
about and began treading carefully up the stairs.
     
    ***
     
    Wilma Nero sat on the edge
of her bed, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and shame. There was
a dead girl on the floor, a streetwalker that Pemberley had
procured for the purpose of feeding the creature lurking behind
Wilma’s eyes. As always, Wilma had tried to stop it from happening
but it was impossible. Her eyes had begun to glow and the girl’s
moisture had been drained right out of her. She now lay on the
floor, as leathery as an Egyptian mummy. Wilma felt a deep sense of
wholeness within her, as the monster began to slumber with its full
belly, but she also felt revulsion at what she had
become.
    Pemberley had entered her
room, though she hadn’t noticed at first. When she finally looked
up at him through red-rimmed eyes, he was standing at the foot of
her bed, looking at her expectantly.
    "How do you feel, my
dear?"
    "Like a monster. How else
should I feel?"
    "You’re not a monster.
You’re part of something beautiful and wonderful. Utterly unique in
all the world."
    Wilma stood up and the
sudden motion made the thing behind her eyes begin to stir. It felt
like a troublesome tickle, she thought, and shivered at the
realization that she was getting used to its presence. "Would you
think it so wonderful if I let it feed on you, I
wonder?"
    "You couldn’t stop it if
you wanted to," Pemberley answered with a sneer. "It’s the one in
control, not you. You’re nothing more than a very pretty traveling
case. That thing in your head knows that I’m the one who gave you
to it and I’m the one who can help it and its children
flourish."
    Wilma looked down at her
feet. "How is my father?"
    "Dead most
likely."
    The callous way he said
those words hurt Wilma more than anything. It reminded her of how
he’d dealt with the death of his son. He’d been more upset at the
loss of his experiment than anything. "I’m going to kill myself,"
she whispered. "I’m going to throw myself out that open
window."
    "You and I both know that’s
not true. You can’t. It won’t let you."
    "What is this thing?" she
asked, reaching up to gently touch the corner of her
eye.
    "I’ve explained it to you
before," Pemberley said, reaching out to take her by the shoulders.
He steered her back toward the bed and gently pushed her down until
she was seated on the mattress. "It’s a creature called an aquaas.
It’s actually a very ancient life form that was birthed out amongst
the stars. A few dozen of them fell to earth during the 19th
century, scattering all across North America. They were encased in
hard shells that resembled meteorites but it was really just
another stage of their development.