Tess Gerritsen - The Mephisto Club

“She sounds like a lot more fun than Eve,” said Frost.

“But in the eyes of the church, Lilith was an abomination, a woman who was beyond the control of men, a creature so sexually insatiable that she finally abandoned her boring old husband, Adam, and ran off to have orgies with demons.” Edwina paused. “And as a result, she gave birth to the most powerful demon of all, the one who’s plagued mankind ever since.”

“You don’t mean the Devil?”

Sansone said, “It’s a belief that was commonly held in the Middle Ages: Lilith was the mother of Lucifer.”

Edwina gave a snort. “So you see how history treats an assertive woman? If you refuse to be subservient, if you enjoy sex a little too much, then the church turns you into a monster. You’re known as the Devil’s mother.”

“Or you disappear from history entirely,” said Frost. “Because this is the first I’ve ever heard of Lilith. Or that goat person.”

“Azazel,” said Oliver. He tore off his latest sketch and placed it on the coffee table so that everyone could see it. It was a more detailed version of the face that had been drawn on Maura’s door: a horned goat with slitted eyes and a single flame burning atop its head. “The goat demons are mentioned in Leviticus and Isaiah. They were hairy creatures who cavorted with wild beings like Lilith. The name Azazel goes back to the Canaanites, probably a derivation of one of their ancient gods’ names.”

“And that’s who the symbol on the door refers to?” asked Frost.

“That would be my guess.”

Jane laughed, unable to contain her skepticism. “A guess? Oh, we’re really nailing down the facts here, aren’t we?”

Edwina said, “You think this discussion is a waste of time?”

“I think a symbol is whatever you want to make of it. You people think it’s a goat demon. But to the weirdo who drew it, it may mean something entirely different. Remember all that stuff you and Oliver spouted about the eye of Horus? The fractions, the quarter moon? So all of that is suddenly a bunch of hooey?”

“I did explain to you that the eye can represent a number of different things,” said Oliver. “The Egyptian god. The all-seeing eye of Lucifer. Or the Masonic symbol for illumination, for wisdom.”

“Those are pretty opposite meanings,” said Frost. “The Devil versus wisdom?”

“They’re not opposite at all. You have to remember what the word Lucifer means. Translated, the name is ‘Bringer of Light.’”

“That doesn’t sound so evil.”

“Some would claim that Lucifer isn’t evil,” said Edwina, “that he represents the questioning mind, the independent thinker, the very things that once threatened the church.”

Jane snorted. “So now Lucifer isn’t such a bad guy? He just asked too many questions?”

“Who you call the Devil depends on your perspective,” said Edwina. “My late husband was an anthropologist. I’ve lived all over the world, collected images of demons that look like jackals or cats or snakes. Or beautiful women. Every culture has its own idea of what the Devil looks like. There’s only one thing that almost all cultures, dating back to the most primitive tribes, agree on: the Devil actually exists. ”

Maura thought of that faceless swirl of black that she had glimpsed in O’Donnell’s bedroom last night, and a chill prickled the back of her neck. She didn’t believe in Satan. But she did believe in evil. And last night, I was surely in its presence. Her gaze fell on Oliver’s sketch of the horned goat. “This thing-this Azazel-is he also a symbol of the Devil?”

“No,” said Oliver. “Azazel is often used as a symbol for the Watchers.”

“Who are these watchers you keep talking about?” asked Frost.

Edwina looked at Maura. “Do you have a Bible, Dr. Isles?”

Maura frowned at her. “Yes.”

“Could you get it for us?”

Maura crossed to the bookcase and scanned the top shelf for the familiar worn cover. It had been her father’s Bible, and Maura had not opened it in years. She took it down and handed it to Edwina, who riffled through the pages, setting off a puff of dust.

“Here it is. Genesis, chapter six. Verses one and two: ‘And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.’”

“The sons of God?” asked Frost.

“That passage almost certainly refers to angels,” explained Edwina. “It says that angels lusted after earthly women, so they married them. A marriage between the divine and the mortal.” She looked down at the Bible again. “And here’s verse four: ‘There were giants on the earth in these days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.’” Edwina closed the book.

“What does all that mean?” asked Frost.

“It says that they had children,” said Edwina. “That’s the one place in the Bible where these children are mentioned. These offspring resulted from matings between humans and angels. They were a mixed race of demons called the Nephilim.”

“Also known as the Watchers,” said Sansone.

“You’ll find references to them in other sources that predate the Bible. In the Book of Enoch. In the Book of Jubilees. They’re described as monsters, spawned by fallen angels who had intercourse with human women. The result was a secret race of hybrids that supposedly still walks among us. These creatures are said to have unusual charm and talent, unusual beauty. Often very tall, very charismatic. But they’re demons nonetheless, and they serve the darkness.”

“You people actually believe this?” asked Jane.

“I’m just telling you what’s in holy writings, Detective. The ancients believed mankind was not alone on this earth, that others came before us and that some people today still carry the bloodline of those monsters.”

“But you called them the children of angels.”

“Fallen angels. Flawed and evil.”

“So these things, these Watchers, are like mutants,” said Frost, “hybrids.”

Edwina looked at him. “A subspecies. Violent and predatory. The rest of us are merely prey.”

“It’s written that when Armageddon arrives,” said Oliver, “when the world as we know it ends, the Antichrist himself will be one of the Nephilim. A Watcher.”

And their mark is on my door. Maura stared at the sketch of the goat’s head. Was that symbol intended as a warning?

Or an invitation?

“Well,” said Jane, and she looked pointedly at her watch. “This has been a really valuable use of our time.”

“You still don’t see the significance, do you?” said Sansone.

“It makes for a great story around the campfire, but it doesn’t get me any closer to our killer.”

“It gets you into his head. It tells us what he believes.”

“Angels and goat demons. Right. Or maybe our perp just likes to play head games with cops. So he makes us waste our time chasing after ocher and seashells.” Jane rose to her feet. “The crime scene unit should be here any minute. Maybe you people could all go home now, so we can do our jobs.”

“Wait,” Sansone cut in. “What was that you just said about seashells?”

Jane ignored him and looked at Frost. “Can you call CSU and find out what’s taking them so long?”

“Detective Rizzoli,” said Sansone, “tell us about the seashells.”

“You seem to have your own sources. Why don’t you ask them?”

“This could be very important. Why don’t you just save us the effort and tell us?”