Alexandria circa 22 AD, being Nephillim Spawn.

Paris had been gone a whole day when he came staggering into the villa wearing someone else's clothes. He wasn't seen until Ariella looked up from her couch in the reception room, having heard his dragging steps. Her face was red, tear streaked, trembling as her whole body was. Athen stood, a toddler at her feet, holding onto the couch, trying to keep his balance. It was Lily who came forward and stepped under Paris' arm.

Paris walked until he was standing at his wife's feet and then he collapsed and lay his head in her lap. She bent double, blonde hair covering both of them. "Where were you?" She asked.

"The dreams, Nymph, the dreams...I woke up and I wasn't with you..."

Everyone in the house knew that he had changed. But they did not think he had actually become different. They only thought that he had seen something, something that couldn't be good, something that made him appear less strong, less fearless. And so they were half right.

The women took care of him, waking nights themselves, as he couldn't bear to look on things by light of day. He wanted shadows, they said to each other. Shadows to hide the truth, the flaws. He wanted the darkness of the womb.

Paris would lie in bed during the days, drapes pulled over every window, shivering in the heat, clinging to Ariella, head pressed to her belly. Sometimes Athen was in bed with them, small limbs wound around his father, waking on the night with big green eyes, stroking his father's face with his tiny fingers.

And then Paris would wake, kiss them both, leave the house for a while, and come back a little wounded looking but more full of life than he was on any morning. In the hours of night Paris seemed unchanged from the man he had been before. He made love to his wife. He spoke about business or matters or personal philosophy with Lily. He seemed OK at night.

And for several years, things went all right. Ariella carved blocks of marble right in the bedroom as Paris lay in bed laughing at his son who sat naked in a nest of blankets with a small bow and quiver tied to his back. Lily taught her two young nieces to read. Things seemed all right.

Then suddenly it stopped. It just stopped working. Paris was lying in bed with his wife, he kissed her, and she pushed him away from her, crawled backward to the wall and sat staring at him, wide-eyed, blanket pulled to her chest. "What are you?" She asked.

"I am still your husband, the same person I always was."

Ariella dove at the table beside their bed and lit the oil lamp there as she kept her eyes on Paris. She held it up so that the flickering light shone on his face. "You are not the man I married! Oh if I had Psyche's fortune, but you are a beast, those are the fangs of a beast!"

"Stop living in fancy tales, Ariella! I'm your husband. I love you."

She shook violently, eyelids puckering strangely. "You wanted the shadows to hide from me, to hide the truth from me!"

Paris edged toward her, extending his hands. "Please," he said.

Ariella darted away from the bed, one hand holding the lamp, the other holding a sheet up before her body. She spit on the floor between them. "I should have stayed a Nymph, never let you touch me!"

"Ariella, listen to me, I wanted to tell you, but I don't even understand it myself. You don't need to be involved in this. Don't you see I was protecting you? I'm immortal, I don't age, and you do...I'm afraid of your power."

"May the gods strike you down for that, my husband that comes to me in the night forbidding me to look on his face by light of day! What of Athen? You monster! What of my son?"

Ariella drew her arm back, preparing to throw the lamp at Paris, but he leapt forward and held both her arms still over her head. She struggled as the sheet fell away from her. Stared at Paris' eyes. "Don't fear me, How could you think I would really hurt you?"

She shook her head. "You lied to me! You hid this from me?"

"Ariella, stop!"

Ariella looked him in the eyes, relaxed, smiled.

Paris loosed his grip.

And she threw the lamp to the wooden floor. "Afraid of light?" She asked with a sneer and stepped back behind the flames? The bedclothes went up then and Paris took a backward jump, shielding his face with his arms.

"Ariella!" He shouted and ran from the room. "Fire! Lily! Fire!"

And then the door slammed closed behind him and Paris froze where he stood as he heard the latch lock. Ariella would not put the flames out. She meant to burn with the room.

Paris turned around and beat on the bedroom door. "Nymph! Open the door, Nymph! Don't do this, not to yourself, to Athen! I don't want you to die!"

He heard Ariella scream as Lily and Metro both entered the hallway. Lily was carrying Athen in her arms. And through the door they heard Ariella scream, "Athené, Athené!"

The boy started crying. Paris looked at Lily as she held the child, felt tears coming up in his eyes, hadn't cried in a long time. "Help me, Lily, she's going to let herself burn in there."

"Are you strong enough to break it?"

Paris only shook his head.

Servants came with axes and water. Paris took an axe himself and chopped at the door. But the door was too thick to break easily. Paris dropped the axe and shoved at the door. "Nymph!"

Ariella screamed from inside the bedroom.

Athen hid his head in the folds of Lily's dress and cried softly, "I want Mama."

Paris stepped back from the door took a breath and screamed, "Open!" And the door fell open, broken off its hinges and latch. Flames were sucked into the hall, surrounding Paris, catching Lily's robe. Metro pulled Lily and Athen down to the floor and beat out the flames as the servants emptied their buckets on Paris.

There was no reaching Ariella before the flames were put out. When Paris finally found her among the ruins of the bed she was a black burnt thing. And yet she breathed. He pulled at his hair, screamed, tore flesh from his wrist and watched the blood flow down onto the burnt body of his wife. Ariella made a small cry. And then Lily grabbed Paris' wrist and pulled it close to her own chest where she held Athen. Their eyes met. "Kill her, Brother." Slowly she let loose his arm and took a knife from her robe. Paris was shaking his head, pulling at his hair again. He was crying and his tears were red. "Even you cannot make her live. She is in pain. Kill her. You'll be doing a mercy."

"I want Mama."

Lily pressed Athen to her chest as she whispered to him, "Mama has left you."

Paris took the knife and another breath, though he knew that he did not need the air; he never needed it anymore. He kissed Ariella then, sending one last breath into her, then pulled the knife up between them and stabbed downward. Her last breath was exhaled into his mouth.

He lifted the gold wedding band from the ruins of Ariella's hand, slipped it onto his smallest finger.

Paris felt Lily's hand on his face. He saw the blood on her fingers. "You knew?"

"Did you think you could keep such a thing from me, Brother?" She asked. "I knew that you needed to take their lives to keep your own. I followed you. I understood. Haven't we two always preyed on men? Haven't we always taken what we want?"

Paris could only nod. "I can't stay here." And the tears spilled from his eyes faster than before.

"Leave everything to me." Lily said.

b b b

Lily moved the family, all their personal belongings, and all the gold they could comfortably carry onto Paris' best sail ship. The ship's crew was at the minimum, a pilot and a handful of hands. Lily or Paris would act as captain. They took no servants but Nika, and she they often considered family, and one Egyptian girl who watched Athen when Lily was not and helped Nika cook, as Nika was old and not strong enough to move heavy things around the ship. Metro came with them, not understanding but also not caring what Paris might have become. And Lily had brought Phaeto and Merope on board, Star's daughters. It was these two girls that she offered to Paris.

"You must learn to drink without killing. I know it can be done. Make the wounds small as possible, persuade them to lie still, drink small amounts at any one time. I will keep them healthy. I'll feed you myself if you weaken," she said to him.

And so Paris, though hesitantly, went to the small closed off cabin where the girls slept. They lounged on the small bed they shared in their long sheer chitons, the older one, Phaeto had not pressed her hair as she usually did and so it fell in tight curls only to her shoulders. It was awe she looked at Paris with. Her sister, younger by about a year was watching Phaeto. Silently they were deciding who would go first.

Paris understood these girls. Merope was the braver of the two, the stronger and more independent, but she was a quiet girl and people thought her weak when they looked at her. It was she who gave Phaeto her confidence, always behind her whispering at her ear. And Phaeto was the one everyone believed the brave older sister, Merope's protector, but Phaeto was lost without someone guiding her. And so at Merope's suggestion that she get it over with first and not have to watch what was done to Merope, to have no time to fear, Phaeto offered herself.

She walked to Paris and took the hand he offered. He pulled her close, watching the young woman's every move as she lay her head low on his chest, for this is where it naturally fell, being Paris was so tall. And Paris realised he was attracted to her slight little body; bent down to kiss her. Phaeto kissed back forcefully, and it occurred to Paris that he might have known she was Star's daughter even if he had not been told so. He moved his lips to her neck then. Paris pressed his fangs against her skin, felt her tense as he cut through.

She was so willing. It made Paris think on his action. He thought, this is horror, what I am, more horrible because this pain comes out of love. To kill enemies, or strangers, that was easy, even boring. That would never hold his interest but that he needed blood so much. This bringing of loved ones so close to death, it was a horror he could live with, rather it was charity and horror both. It had some greater meaning than just stabbing a stranger in a dark alley. There was love in it, this claiming of lives.

It seemed all the more terrible to know that these victims understood this, and still offered themselves. All Humans half in love with Death. And finally it does make sense, as Death and Life were once the same thing, and then split into two, the dark one and the light one, but both equal parts of the same thing. Paris longed to make a full sacrifice to Death...to take something he loved so deeply inside that it ceased to be but for his thoughts of it.

Yet he forced himself to stop with the merest shade of Death. Paris lay Phaeto on her bed. She was drowsy but she would recover. Paris' own blood spit onto the small wounds helped them heal even faster as it healed all wounds he ever received. He looked to Merope then, smiled. It was enough right then for him to take the drink from Phaeto. Merope smiled back, understanding.

Paris left the room quite happy that Star had fathered these girls. They would be smart women. Star's life had not been pointless in any way, even if Paris could discount loving him; he could not discount his daughters as worthless.

And so they lived for some time. Paris rationing himself. The family never staying in one port too long. They switched crews quite often. Their business was left in the hands of trusted employees in Alexandria.

When they decided it would be best to settle down again Lily chose Antioch. Nika was getting weak with age, and the constant giving up of blood was starting to show on the two girls. And so they moved into a large house with some land. Realising after the fact that their old friend Nirari lived quite close by. Paris bought some sheep from him, kept them in an enclosure on his land, lived off sheep's blood for a while.

It became obvious that Nika was going to die. Paris wanted to go on a trip, by land this time, visiting the cities of the eastern Mediterranean coast. But he and Lily promised to each other they would stay until the old woman died.

Nika herself knew she was going. She would call Paris to her bedside often. In these visits she revealed that she knew quite a bit about him, rather, what he was. "The old word is Nephillim Spawn, it's the Hebrew's word, but like I say, they haven't forgotten how to read their letters, but you must know, they are newcomers to their land, gathered together from separate tribes. Their first father came from Ur, an old city, older than their books. Those people had older words. You listen to me, those old gods of theirs came to us from the East. The old gods gave their people the letters, the words and great cities, brought them up in their own image, but what has been forgotten is this, Son, they are strangers to our world, they are the destroyers, they taught man destruction, just as they taught him civilisation. They are the enemy of the Mother. Those who say to you, the mother protects us, they can be trusted only half as much as the rest, even though we would be loyal to the mother, because they have already betrayed their own once, they may easily betray you. Trust the words of your enemies because they speak from the darkness, that is known to you, but question the words of all whom speak to you unhidden. I have been a slave all my life, I have made potions to poison my masters, but you I call Son, because you stand up in the light and you speak truths. When you drink the blood of the willing you serve the Moon Goddess. I'm an old witch, don't let me die without passing these truths to you. In the end, the Mother will be avenged."

Paris believed her, of course, but he left her room saddened. He had been true except for the one time that should have counted most. He had kept the change in him from his wife, and lost her. And the women, Nika and Lily, they acted as if they expected no better from him, because he was a man. Paris wanted to seek out the creature that had turned him and find some answer, some meaning in his being. This form and abilities inherent had the potential for so much more than frightening.

Nika was never strong enough to speak such long passages again. As she lay dying Lily and Paris were the only ones in the room, she whispered odd things as pain allowed her, giving them recipes for poisons as well as medicines, which Lily wrote down and tried to make sense of. Describing spells and hexes that could be used for or against people. As she passed, she whispered a prayer to the Mother.

Nika was burnt on a pyre; her ashes scattered at the sea.

Metro was left in the house with their Egyptian maid. Nirari was asked to look after them, to visit the house every so often and look in on Metro, as there would be no man in the house. And then with affairs in order Paris and Lily took the three children and left by horse and wagon.

Close encounters with daylight taught then that it wasn't the least bit harmful to Paris but that it made him weak, unable to ride sometimes even unable to stand. So they arranged to travel by night.

Athen was about the age of six then, a precocious talker. He thought the girls his sisters, liked Phaeto best and always slept curled next to her. When his father came to him Athen would hug him. He might recite his lessons. He never spoke of his mother anymore. If he was troubled by her loss, he hid it, even from himself.

They stopped for a while in Tyre to dispatch letters to Nirari and to their ship captains. There they heard about a preacher who had just been through the town, and who the people said had healed a young girl who was sick just by his words. They left Tyre then and went east, because Paris recently had dreamt that he should travel toward a certain mountain. So they passed through Galilee quickly, Paris always whispering that Nika, though Thessalonikan by birth had always possessed a strange respect for these Jews, even though they wouldn't let you eat off the same plates as they. They hired a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee and landed in Gergesa where they stayed a while at an inn.

Paris was out walking with Athen near the shore just as the sun was setting. A crazed man wearing rags ran headlong into Paris knocking him to the ground. Paris shook the dizziness and looked for Athen. He was sitting on the ground, quietly staring at a scrape on the back of his forearm. Paris picked up Athen then, stood, and looked for the madman as he licked at his son's wound.

The madman stood staring dully at Paris, his mouth open, but lips unmoved a voice came from his mouth. "For the blood is the life..." it said. And then the voice became more noise than anything else, like the buzzing of bees, and Paris covered his son's wound with his hand because he realised that many spirits were possessing this man's body and that they knew as he did they might enter a body through a bleeding wound. Together they cursed him in a laughing voice, "Nephillim Spawn, You keep the blood from us? May the Earth reject you, may you never find shelter from the sun. Betrayer." And then its voice grew louder, "Blood drinker!"

Paris realised people were watching. In particular a rather good-looking man just stepping from a boat. Paris looked away, he looked toward the crazed man and spoke quietly to him, singing a curse. "Petty little Daemons, bodiless things, I could kill your host with a thought and trap you. You can not oust me from my body, I have the Mother's favour and the Father's stolen fire in me, little Daemons. I'll trap you in his dead flesh if you don't let me be."

Paris watched as the madman shook about as if fighting his own shadow trying to throw the Daemons out. He ran suddenly, side winding through the crowd, then screamed and fell at the feet of the man just stepped off his boat. Paris gave his son a kiss as he took a good look at the man. He really was pretty, looking only half like the Jews that were his companions, which was surprising because Paris knew that like many peoples they only married their own. He couldn't hide his muscular chest and arms in his robes. His brown hair had thin highlights of gold in it, was worn long with curls in it, and looked rather red in the dying sunlight. His eyes, big and brown, framed by long dark lashes. He had very handsome features, a bit of a beard, and the hands...very strong hands. Paris wondered what he did with those hands and arms of his.

The Madman was at his feet now, whimpering, and this beautiful stranger was speaking to the man in a low voice. Paris could hear him perfectly at a distance, the Nephillim blood having given him greater power in all his senses. He was calling the spirits by name, calling them out of the man. "He's a witch," Paris said in Athen's ear. "A true witch...I've never seen a witch like him before."

The spirits were becoming loud again, begging that they not be trapped, that the master be merciful, there were some pigs in a pen nearby, let them be pigs, but not the darkness. And so the man cast them into the pigs. He beckoned his companions to follow and walked off into the city.

Paris returned to the inn, and as he stood outside washing his hands in a bucket of well water he saw this stranger again. He realised that they would be having supper at the same inn.

Inside Paris joined Lily at the table. He told her quietly about what he had seen at the shore. They both looked to the other table on the other side of the room and saw this man with his great number of companions, both men and women about him at their supper. One of the men, a large man, was complaining that the food was not prepared well enough. One of the women in their company, the one standing next to the master tried to calm him, but he shouted at her. And then the master raised his hand and said, "It will be all right." At this point all were calm, particularly the two young men who could almost be each other's twins, and of these especially the one who sat next to his master. He and the master smiled at each other before beginning to eat. The man who had been mad was also with them, but not at the table, just hanging around listening to every word his saviour said.

"Even I can do that trick," Lily said, "can't any of them fight the power of his suggestion?"

"Maybe they don't want to," Paris said quietly. He wasn't eating any food. He never did, but looking over at that man made him feel as if he was starving.

"I think he's that preacher we heard about, the one from Nazareth, the one who healed the child in Tyre."

"Maybe. I heard that some think he's one that their books prophesied; they have a word for him in their language, Messiah or something. He's supposed to be the son of a god or something."

"You think he is? The son of a God? Not symbolically as Pharaohs and Caesars?" Lily asked.

"Well, I don't believe in Gods, not in the way most people do...you know, I had this dream once, I keep seeing bits of it when I look at him. There were these, Angels..."

"Messengers?"

"These people, they were real people, but they were different from people of this world, and they were sort of go-betweens for their own god, the Father. The Father was their name for Everything, the whole cosmos, everything, and they believed they were his chosen messengers and thus had the right to colonise this world and do as they pleased here. And in my dream one of these Angels fathered a woman born of a woman like any woman, and the daughter was special, different, and then another Angel impregnated this woman, but she had a son. He was born under the same sign that I was, so I guess we're the same age. Anyway, this witch makes me think of him."

"Well if these Angels are like gods, then he would be three quarters god at least."

"Yes. Suppose this is he...it would explain his strange appearance, his ability to call out Daemons."

"Well, it's an interesting little story, Paris. The thing that interests me more is that he treats those women with him so much better than the others do."

"Yes," said Paris. And then he felt the man's eyes on him. He saw Egypt, the cities and buildings of the Nile Delta, wise faces and strong bodies. Figure of the mysterious Prince with arm and finger extended to point out a direction and the Prince's follower moving in same direction to find a woman awaiting him. The images flashed though his mind, women and men being sent into beds together like animals to be bred. Their tangled limbs and straining bodies lived within his mind and then were gone.

"Paris?" Lily called.

He looked at her, saw the concern. "Lily," Paris said, "I think he knows who I am."

"Well then," said Lily, "I supposes he's as good a reader of our thoughts as you now are." Paris was about to disagree, about to say those images were not of his thoughts.

Some men came in then. They found this man, the preacher, and the man who had been possessed but who was now clothed and sane as any man. They said they were the pig keepers and they wanted to know why he had made their pigs run off. And they asked each other if this was really the man whom everyone in the city knew to be the one who lived in tombs and wore rags as if he were a dead thing. When they got no satisfactory answer they left. Later they came back with some more men who were representatives of the city. These men asked the preacher to go. They looked fearful when they spoke to him. They said his actions were disruptive to the peace.

And very peacefully he agreed to leave, as if all along he had meant to be going.

Athen got up from his seat very suddenly and ran through the crowded room. When Paris caught up with him he was standing in front of the preacher. The man touched Athen's lips with his fingers, very quickly, very lightly, so that it might have been unnoticed. And as Paris scooped Athen up into his arms his eyes met with this man's, close up this time. And Paris was overcome with a feeling of sadness.

They left Gergesa that night, heading northeast.

When they reached Damascus they arranged to purchase camels and set out on these, guided for the rest of their journey only by the vague impressions that Paris received from dreams.