The water from the running tap brought Sina immense relief, yet a faint pain lingered. He closed his eyes and melted over the sink. "I don't ever want to know what Holy Water can do," he whispered to the basin. Opening his eyes, he spotted the knife lying in the basin. Sina reached towards the blade to move it to the side, and as he did so, the burning pain was replaced by a deep stinging from a cut the tip created when it decided to draw blood. "Motherfu-" Sina cried as vermillion gushed onto the stainless steel. "Grab it from the handle you moron. Not the pointy bit."

Grabbing a tea towel, Sina wrapped it around his hand to try and stop the flow. With each pump of his heart, blood escaped through the cut. "The fault, Caleb...." he winced through the dull ache, "is not in our stars, but in ourselves." Sina let out a pained cry as he clung on tightly to his hand as if that would make it stop hurting so damn much. "We've got no fucking chance." He lifted his gaze to the solitary window above the sink and watched as the rain and hail ravished whatever bits of Heaven he could see through a slowly-growing fog. "I may as well put on my pajamas because I'm dreaming if I think you and I will ever end up with any sort of happily-ever-after. A priest and me. Hah. What a joke." Sina raised his gaze higher until it reached the sky. "You'd never have it, huh? Just for once, can't I be happy? What the fuck did I ever do to either of you? I never asked for this. Never asked to be some kind of abomination. Fine, so I'm a beast's spawn. I never asked for this. I never enjoyed it. Can't I have one happy thing? Am I that undeserving?"

As if in agreement, the wind bashed against the glass and howled at Sina

Father Cal lifted his head and took a deep breath; one which brought him a sense of euphoria and agony. In the living room, the scent of gin was an assault, yet the fragrance coming from the kitchen was a melody sung to every Kadisin since they had been cast down to Earth from the Heavens. A scent so potent and so perfect it threatened to make Caleb forsake everything he held dear – it was the sweet scent of demon's blood.

Caleb staggered to the armchair where moments ago he and Sina were on the verge of having sex. Now it felt like he had simply dreamed it. He placed his hand on the back and clawed his fingers into the upholstery. When Cal brought his free hand to his face and breathed in a shaky breath, he was transported to the last time he had smelt the intoxication of demon's blood nearly twenty-five years ago.

"We're closed, pal." A man's voice echoed alongside the ringing of the little bell dangling over the open door. "Just put my inks and tattoo gun to bed."

Caleb stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him despite the man pointing to the clock and then the SORRY, WE'RE CLOSED sign.

"I thought nothing ever closed in Vegas," Caleb slurred. His tongue felt like a caterpillar. When he spoke, his words felt foreign.

The air in the tattoo parlor was thick with marijuana. Through the smoke – and his intoxication – Caleb made out the slender figure speaking to him. The man had bright green eyes and a turquoise beaded necklace.

Touching a joint to his lips, the man clicked his tongue."Pal, you're in Chancel, South Dakota. You're kinda far away from Vegas. Though I get how you could forget where you are. This hick town is easily forgettable."

Lifting his flask, Caleb eyeballed the man's necklace and then the cherry flickering on the joint. "I have three thousand dollars in my pocket." He took an unsteady step forward. "Won it in poker."

The man whistled under his breath. "That's some serious cash."

"I played poker in Vegas once before." Making his way through the fog, Cal bumped into a chair.

"Woah, there, pal." The man set his joint on an ashtray that was balancing on a book titled SCREWED AND TATTOOED and helped Caleb. "How much did you have to drink tonight?"

Caleb held up his flask.

"Just one? You look about three flasks drunk."

"It's part vodka, part gin, part blood."

The tattoo artist chuckled and helped Cal sit. "Vampire? Cool. I dig it. I went through my own vampire phase. Had a constant hard-on for Bella Lugosi a few years back."

Up close, Caleb could see a small piercing on the man's ear. "I'm not a vampire."

"Look, I know they ain't real."

"I haven't had three flasks by the way."

"I ain't judging. If I drink anything I get a massive headache and feel dizzy. Even a beer." He pointed to a large scar on the back of his neck. "Nearly broke my spine once. Then I nearly died from the anesthesia. Not the same after the operation. Can't handle liquor anymore but ol' Mary Jane is still good to me."

Caleb swayed in his chair. "I want a tattoo."

The man shook his head. "Not possible. We're closed."

Digging into his pocket Caleb pulled out wad after wad of money and stuffed it into the man's pockets.

"Woah. Woah." The artist took hold of Cal's wrists and chuckled. "You can come back tomorrow when you're sober and we're open."

"No, I'm not that drunk. Besides, I'm an adult. I'm consenting. I'd made up my mind about this before the drink. I drank a bit much on the way here so I would be more relaxed."

"I dig it."

"So, will you do it?"

Picking up the joint, the tattoo artist leaned against a counter and thought for a second. "OK. I ain't got nowhere to be tonight. But stop stuffing bills down my pants." He drew in a mouthful of smoke and added, "I'll do it for the regular price."

Cal was offered a seat in the client's chair. "Get comfy and tell me what you want."

Caleb watched the artist get ready. Around him, everything swayed. He had lied. He was more than a bit drunk and had no idea how he had got to the parlor or why he even wanted a tattoo other than the fact that he wanted to feel physical pain rather than mental for a change. Cal had been drunk for days; eaten away by guilt that he thought had faded. But he realized that guilt and grief never fully went away. Images of Mark and Samuel had been rolling around his brain. He had got so sick of seeing them that he did the only thing he could think of. He emptied his liquor cabinet.

"That," Cal pointed to the first thing he saw – a photo of a vine tattoo hanging behind the artist's chair.

"Groovy. Where?"

Caleb shrugged. "Dealer's choice. But put it somewhere I'll feel it."

"Pain fetish? Far out." The man looked Caleb over. He touched his index and thumb to his chin for a moment before he spoke. "Drop 'em."

"What?"

He pointed to Cal's pants. "I know where I'm going to do it. Pull your jeans low enough so that it's not pg but not so low it's R-rated. That patch under your belly button is going to be my canvas."

As Caleb did as instructed, the artist took a long, lazy drag. "You cool with me smoking while I ink?"

"You can do whatever you want."

"You'll have to come in for another appointment. This design will take a few sessions."

"That's fine."

"Name's Jacques, by the way."

"Cal."

"Get comfy, Cal. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker."

The silence of the next hour was broken solely by the buzz of the tattoo gun and the deep inhale of breath as Jacques lit up his second joint. Exhaling a pale stream of smoke, he asked, "Want some?"

Caleb looked at the way the smoke perched on Jacques' head like a crown. "I've never tried it."

Jacques held out the joint.

Cal hesitated.

"Mary J is healthier than your voddy, gin, and blood mixture."

"Probably." Caleb leaned into the joint and took a hit but in his drunken state inhaled too quickly. Too hard. And came back sputtering.

"Not the most elegant way."

Caleb raised a brow. "You think?"

"OK. You're drunker than you think. We'll try something else." Jacques touched the joint to his lips and took a deep drag. Holding the smoke in, he gestured for Cal to open his mouth.

"What?" Caleb slurred.

"Open," Jacques urged, fighting the needing to exhale.

When Caleb parted his lips, Jacques leaned in and blew the smoke into his mouth. Their lips, though close, never touched.

The sweet marijuana should have relaxed him but Caleb remembered little after that. One moment he was in the tattoo parlor; the next it was two days later and he was naked by a lake. His clothes were ornaments on a maple tree and the tattoo was nearly finished. When he swallowed, it felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He crawled to the lake and gulped as much water as he could before gasping. Rising, he collected his clothes and mechanically put them over his mud-caked body.

There were a few things Caleb remembered vividly of that moment. The first was a rickety old sign reading Peril, North Dakota pop 2910. The second was the overwhelming scent of blood coming from beyond the trees – the powerful smell of a demon's blood. The third was the way Jacques' turquoise necklace glistened as it lay among the blades of grass.

Caleb then remembered how he felt; how he ran; how he killed. All the while he was feeding he wept and lamented over the fallen demon. But he is not human. He does not count as a human... I should not have. How could I? I am a monster.

Even now, so many years later, the guilt came and greeted him. It thrust its hand into Cal's chest and pulled out his heart. Then guilt opened its maw and ate Caleb whole.

As Sina bled in the kitchen, the aroma wrapped itself around Cal and whispered, "Come and get me, preacher."

Another breath and he understood it was the same scent he smelt in the forest a few nights ago, and it was coming from the same creature. Cal clasped his hands to keep them from trembling but his eyes grew wild. Rising, he knew he had to find where it was coming from. And take it. And drink it.

"It must be the wind," Father Caleb uttered shakily as he rose. "It's carrying the scent inside. Dear God, I am going to lose my mind." He brought his hand to his forehead and noticed he was sweating. Around him, the light began to dim.

"Caleb?" came a voice from far away. It sounded as if it were stuck in a void.

Cal could hear it but he couldn't understand what direction it was coming from. The blood scent was now all around him. It filled every nook, every cranny, every space between heartbeats, and the fibers of every dust mite.

"Cal? I need some help here. The goddamn knife was so sharp. I just touched it. I fucking cut myself and the bleeding's not stopping."

Turning towards the voice, Caleb heard his heart thudding in his ears. He drew in another breath and realized where the blood scent was coming from. The kitchen. And Sina.

*Fun Fact: Did you realize Jacques was a demon and the one Cal killed? Also, the names of the towns are symbolic to Cal ;)