What Chris got instead was deep, booming laughter.

In between chuckles, the old guy managed to gasp. “Oh, that’s good. I am torn, though, as to which ridiculous title I prefer. I mean, on the one hand, there is the evocative Son of Perdition, but, on the other, the absolutely fantastic Abomination of Desolation. Fabulous. Drawn right from the Bible, if I recall correctly.”

“I have many names,” Chris replied.

Grandfather snorted. “So you seem to think. I am going to wager you’re that boy I’ve been hearing about, who is stylizing himself as something more.”

“I am not a boy, and I have no fucking style.” He took a step toward the newest person to mock his destiny. It was getting really old. The true Destroyer of Nations wouldn’t allow this kind of disrespect.

“Foolish boy. You chose the wrong title to steal. You can’t be the Antichrist. Lucifer has no sons.”

“Because you know him personally,” he remarked with as much sarcasm as he could.

“I do. And I know his daughters. I’ve met their mothers. None bore a son.”

“That you know of,” he countered.

“What do you know, boy? Tell me, what proof do you have?” Rasputin asked, moving closer, and yet, he didn’t move his feet, not that Chris could see under the robe. He glided across the floor as if on wheels.

Maybe he wore roller shoes under all that fabric.

Cool idea, but Chris still wouldn’t wear a dress.

Go big or go home. “I don’t need proof. And those that deny me will beg for my forgiveness when I come into my power and inherit my kingdom.”

A sharp laugh left the old man. “The delusion is strong in you.”

“Even if he’s not Lucifer’s son, he is something.” Isobel came to his defense. She approached her grandfather. “Ask Eva what he did to her.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about.” The witch pretended to examine her nails.

Isobel pointed at her. “He made you shut up.”

“Maybe I had nothing to say. No mere man could ever subdue me.” Evangeline tossed her head.

“You are such a liar,” Isobel snapped.

“She is,” Chris interjected. “I can tell.”

“The reading of lies is a talent many have. What else makes you different from all the other humans crawling around this world?” Rasputin studied him from under his giant brow.

“I lack a moral compass. Indulge in the sins of lust and greed, as well as laziness.”

“Again, nothing new in this new world of snowflakes and the entitled. What makes you stand apart?” Rasputin waved a hand. “Don’t answer. It’s a waste of oxygen. I will examine you myself.”

“I am not getting naked for you, old man, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I could melt the clothes from your body if I chose, boy. Now stand still.” Rasputin circled him, a vulture going round and round, looking ever closer. The eyes became lost under the furrowed brow. The old guy mumbled aloud. “Why can I not see your aura? It’s there. I know it is. And yet, I can’t see it.”

“I thought only dead people didn’t have one,” Evangeline said aloud. “Is he a zombie then?”

“He’s not dead,” Isobel retorted. “Someone probably hid his aura. Which is just more proof that he’s someone special.”

“Hidden? Possible, and yet even that usually leaves a trace.” The old guy reached out to touch Chris, and yet, before he actually made contact, he snatched his hand away. “There are spells around you. Who placed them there?” Rasputin barked.

“Spells? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Do not lie to me, boy. I must concentrate to see them, but now that I know where to look, they seem so obvious, layered all around you, the topmost one a subtle mask over the others.”

News to him. He shrugged. “Fuck if I know how they got there. Maybe the cult put them on me when I was a kid. All that chanting and blood-sacrificing had to be for something.”

“You were raised in a cult?” At this mention, the old man sounded intrigued.

“From the cradle. I’d still be there, too, if my mom, my adopted mom that is, hadn’t gotten jailed for murder.”

“She should have hidden the body more carefully.” Rasputin stopped in front of him and stared him in the eyes, his dark piercing gaze meeting his with a defiance Chris didn’t appreciate.

How dare this man think he can question me.

Who does he think he is, to stand in my way?

To pass judgment.

I am the Sun of the Morning. Look deep into my eyes and see the blazing power of my glory.

Bow to me.

With a sharp recoil, Rasputin moved away from him. “There is something unnatural about you.”

About time someone recognized it.

“Unnatural about who?” A woman appeared at the far end of the hall, taking long strides that caused her muumuu to shimmer as she walked. Yet muumuu wasn’t quite right. The gown hung more closely to the body than a tent dress, hugging the hips and upper body, yet loosely in the legs. At least with this woman, he could see feet and walking. No wheels for her.

“Mother, about time you joined us. We have a guest.” Evangeline swept her hand. “Say hello to Isobel’s boyfriend, the Antichrist.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Isobel squeaked.

“You’d better not have a boyfriend, young lady.” The woman waved a hand of dismissal. “And I don’t know who this boy is stylizing himself as, but we all know Lucifer has no sons.”

He could feel his temper simmer over the edges of the cauldron holding his psyche. “Would you all stop saying that? I am getting mighty tired of repeating myself. I am his son.” Who might not always believe it, but fuck it, it was all he had. And besides, who but the Prince That Shall Come would have a demonic force coming after him, killing his mom and blowing up a fortuneteller?

The woman smirked. “Of course you are the Antichrist, dear, and I’m a good witch.”

For some reason, this caused more than a few giggles and snorts.

Chris remained less than amused and fixed them all with a glare.

Still got no respect.

Began to expand his list of people to visit when he became king. One day, they would all kneel to him.

“Marya, peek at the boy’s aura. Tell me what you see.” Rasputin pointed at Chris.

If he was a dog, he might have bitten the man’s finger off. Chris wasn’t used to feeling so inconsequential. It didn’t sit well. The lack of deference kept multiplying. What did a man have to do to get some respect?

The older woman, Isobel’s mother, who didn’t look old at all and could have passed for a sister with her youthful features unblemished by wrinkles, came close. Close enough where she could lean in and sniff.

Possibly not her best plan, given he’d tangled with dead things in the museum and wore a few ounces of blood spatter.

“What kind of magic is this?” she asked, still leaning close and yet turning her head to address Rasputin.

The old fellow shrugged. “Much as it pains me to admit, I am not sure. But something about it seems familiar. Perhaps ancient Egyptian?”

Marya shook her head. “No, it feels older than that. Babylonian, before the fall?”

Too many eyes perused him, relegating him to the interesting status of a bug in dire need of dissection.

Isobel must have felt it, too, given she inserted herself between them. “Maybe he’s not lying about the whole Antichrist thing. Did you ever think of that? Perhaps the spells are the reason Lucifer didn’t know of him.”

A disparaging noise that sounded almost like a sheep bleating emerged from Rasputin. “There is no spell known to man strong enough to hide from the Dark Lord.”

“No spell that we know of,” Isobel corrected.

“Has anyone thought about having him touch the dog?” Evangeline stopped studying her nails long enough to add to the conversation.

“Good idea. Someone call Archibald from the stables that he might meet our visitor. And, Marya, fetch some of that salt water from the Red Sea. Let us see what hides under the many layers of enchantment.”

Things went from annoying to…weird. Chris crossed his arms over his chest. “How about we don’t get the dog to sniff my crotch, and you save your salt water for the pool. I don’t need to prove nothing to any of you.” The only person he might make an exception for was Isobel.

For some reason, what she thought meant a lot to him. But he hadn’t forgotten her rejection of him when he arrived.

It stung.

Speaking of whom, she turned to face him and placed her hands flat on his chest. “You don’t have to stay for the tests. Actually, you should probably leave before they set out to prove you’re not the Antichrist.”

The meaning of her words penetrated, and he couldn’t help an accusing tone. “You don’t think I am either, do you?”

She hesitated before replying. “I believe you think you are.”

“Because I am. And I am fucking tired of everyone acting like I am some kind of pretender.” It didn’t help that he kept recalling Madame’s words. Her damning statement about there being others with the same claim.

I am the true son. Especially since, more and more, he’d actually started to believe. Perhaps he was wrong, and there was something to this whole Lucifer thing.

“If you truly believe you are the Antichrist, then what will a few tests hurt?” Rasputin’s sly words held a dare. “The true adversary has nothing to fear.”

Daring a man almost always worked. Something about the size of the balls. “Bring it. I have nothing to hide.” He held out his arms. “Sniff away.”

“Would it have killed you to shower him first? Some of us have delicate sensibilities.” A man emerged from a doorway hidden under the stairs. He wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and had striking eyes, almost yellow, while his hair sprouted in tufts atop his head, a steel gray with hints of white and black.

Chris had the oddest urge to whistle and slap his leg, shouting, “Here, boy.”

“Archie!” Isobel smiled at him. “When did you come back from your trip?”

“Only last night, lass, and a good thing, too. I hear you’ve been causing mischief. About time.”

For some reason, the words served to bring a blush and a smile to her face. It made Chris want to kill the man who’d put them there, even if he appeared old enough to be her father.

“Who is this guy?” he growled.

Isobel turned to Chris. “Archie is a shapeshifter. His animal to call is a wolf and—”

“He’s a werewolf?” He eyed the man up and down. “He doesn’t look like one.”

Archie bared his teeth, a little sharper than a normal person’s but still not a wolf’s canines. “Come and visit me on the full moon, boy, and you’ll see more than you need.”

“Let’s say I believe you, let me guess, he’s got a super sense of smell?” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Yes, but shifters are also known for negating magic. Spells especially. Show him, Evangeline,” the old guy demanded.

“I’d rather not,” the tall woman said, straightening from her slouch.

“I wasn’t asking,” remarked Rasputin.

“A shame the assassination attempts failed,” muttered Evangeline, moving toward Archie.

“They more than failed,” Isobel whispered to him. “Grandfather’s enemies tried poison, shooting, and even attempted to drown him.”

“He’s a tough old coot. I can see that.”

“More like practically immortal. Even when they set him on fire, he stood up and walked away.”

Cool if true. Pondering the old man’s tricks, though, took a backseat to what happened in front of him. The stately and slim Evangeline had reached out to press her hand against Archie’s. Her shape wavered, and something, no make that someone, new took its place.

A shorter, much curvier woman with curly hair and freckles now stood there wearing the same smirk as before.

“What the fuck?” Chris exclaimed. “Is she two people?” Multiple personalities would explain a lot about her attitude.

“Eva wears an enchantment because she thinks people will respect her more if she’s tall and skinny,” Isobel explained.

“Yes, I wear a glamour. What of it?” Hands planted on her hips, Evangeline snapped. “Happy now, Grandfather? I swear, if this boy stops respecting me because of my freckles, I will turn him into the wart on the ass of an elephant.”

“And I’ll remember your threats when I’m ruler of the world.” Chris glared at Evangeline, and oddly enough, the witch was first to look away.

“Children, save your squabbles for later,” the old man demanded. “Now that you see how it works, and how painless it is, your turn, boy. Touch Archibald’s hand. This will dissolve any manmade spells.”

“Shouldn’t he buy me a drink first?”

“Stop stalling. Skin-to-skin contact is required.”

“Fine. Put her here, Archie.” Chris held out his hand, and the other man clasped it. A few things happened in that moment. One, the other guy tried to squeeze him hard.

Knowing this game, Chris squeezed back. Harder.

A prickling sensation rushed through Chris, and for a moment, he could have sworn he smelled the pungent aroma of fur and doggy breath. An old yet familiar scent. Chris had owned a dog for a short time as a child, a stray his mother had brought home. Ruffy didn’t survive past the full moon. Chris had buried Ruffy in their yard and remained dry-eyed. It was the last time he had a pet.

A third thing happened in that moment. The longer Archie held Chris’s hand, the more the other man seemed to shrink before Chris, not in actual size but presence.

That’s right, de’aavaa. The odd word whispered in his mind. Submit for your rightful master.

With a whimper, Archie dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

For a moment, silence reigned in the hall before Rasputin cleared his throat. “Archibald, why do you kneel?”

But Archie didn’t reply, and Chris couldn’t help but croon, “Good boy. Now run back to your dog house.” Archie left, almost at a run, and more than few sets of eyes watched him leave.

Chris couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk. “Happy now?”

A glare from Rasputin indicated no.

Marya returned, holding a vial full of red liquid in one hand. The seawater, he’d wager.

One trial down, he didn’t fear the other. Let them bring their tests and ask their questions. Maybe they could help him answer, once and for all, the matter that plagued him.

Chris held out his hand to Marya. “Go ahead. Do your worst. I’m sure it won’t burn any more than holy water does.” Damned stuff. He had to drink from water bottles bought from the store because the stuff piped into his house gave him a fierce tummy ache. As for his shower? He made sure to run the water a good ten to fifteen minutes to ensure he emptied the lines—because just his luck, the water came to him via the church first. He’d noticed that it didn’t hurt as much if the water didn’t have time to sit and get holier-than-thou.

Isobel’s mother unstoppered the bottle but hesitated. “Are you sure you wish to do this? Once the spells are broken, they cannot be put back.”

“Very sure.” Despite his annoyance at their treatment, he couldn’t help a burning curiosity to know what had been done to him. If he was covered in spells, let them be melted or dissolved.

The liquid, neither hot nor cold, dribbled over his palm, spilling over the edges. It dripped to the floor right by his tapping foot.

He didn’t feel any differently. Judging by the eyes regarding him with avid interest, he’d not turned into someone else. A glance to the side at a large mirror on the wall didn’t show horns projecting from his forehead or a tail from his ass. His toes still wiggled inside his running shoes. No cloven hooves.

He snatched the bottle from Marya’s hand and, before he could think twice about it, poured it into his mouth. He gargled it, and then because it didn’t make him gag—not much could, given his upbringing—he swallowed it.

Then he waited some more. No racking pains. No twitching. No smoke rising from his skin.

It didn’t stop him from taunting. “So, you guys are the magic experts. What’s different about me? What did those spells hide?”

Rasputin reached out to him and, once again, snatched his hand back before touching. “The layers of enchantment remain untouched.”

A crease marred Marya’s perfect forehead. “There is no change at all.”

“What does that mean?” he asked then answered. “Oh, yeah, I know what it means. I am the fucking Antichrist like I was saying all along. And now, if you’re all done, I would like a word alone with Isobel.” When no one moved, he shouted, “Now.”

Eva pushed away from the wall and pretended she had a choice. “This is boring. I’m leaving.”

As for Marya, she snatched the empty bottle from him. “I should put this away.” She left, too.

As for the older Rasputin, he stared at Chris while Isobel did nothing at all.

“We need to talk,” he said to her.

“There is nothing left to say. I can’t be with you.”

The words “why not” sat on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t let them loose.

Instead, he made a sound of disgust. Not aimed at her but himself.

Chasing after a girl who obviously wasn’t interested. Fighting against a family that had done nothing but disparage him.

I am not wanted here. So why did he continue to try? Begging wasn’t something any man should do. Especially not him.

“You know what? I’m done.” He whirled on his heel. “Forget you ever met me. I know I will forget you.” He heard his own lie. “Have a good fucking life.”

Until he took over.

Then Chris might make them dance on a bed of hot coals for not treating him better.

Especially Isobel. He couldn’t believe it when she didn’t come running after him.

Which was why he didn’t feel any remorse about stealing her car parked out front. Totally deserved it, given she’d left the keys in the ignition.

Hey, Dad, if you’re fucking watching, I stole a car.

No reply. What a surprise.