Morago
Morago plundered Chantal's thoughts and memories despite her feeble attempt to shield her mind. Her sons and granddaughter had taken a railed conveyance to the human settlement of Boston to find the other grandchild. The grandchildren were the prize then—the witches that held such raw, elemental power.
And they are afraid of me.
Glee changed to disappointment, and he clenched the miller boy’s teeth. Such a shame the old woman had defaced her arms with protective runes. Runes that prevented him from possessing her body. The anguish of her children, as they watched their mother—their grandmother—perform abominations upon them, and upon herself, would have been exquisite. Still, he wasn’t quite done with the old woman yet.
The demon’s chuckle scored across Chantal’s soul, and she writhed in pain.
Mounted on the old woman’s horse, still possessed by his servant, Morago followed the path outlined in her memory to the place she had last seen the child.
They stopped on the road before entering the small settlement. Eyes closed, Morago projected his awareness through the train station, appalled at the number of humans and the cacophony of unfamiliar thoughts. The demon horde chattered inside Morago’s head in frustration.
Things have changed much since I last walked the earth.
As he skimmed the minds of the humans inside the crowded station, he faced a choice. He could either possess an individual as they boarded the train, or he could ride silently inside one of them, as he had the merchant.
His lips drew back with a hiss of distaste, and Morago clenched a fist. He would not hide inside another mewling mortal again. However, to mimic a human to hide among them disgusted him even more. These domesticated primates where beneath contempt. To ape them would demean Morago’s own extraordinary existence.
He turned once more to Chantal. Amid her screams of resistance and failure, Morago discovered another path to follow her children. Lips twisted with indecision. Should he follow this child to the destination in Chantal's memory, or turn inland and move toward the other beacon that burned within his mind?
Chantal’s thoughts held no clue as to the second beacon’s significance, and these witches were running. The compulsion to chase prey proved insurmountable. With a thought, both Morago and the horse turned as one and raced back toward the farm.
The demon rode the horse southeast around the lake until the animal failed, then he discarded both the horse and the miller boy's body and jumped to a doe—and then a hawk.
Morago continued toward the destination for two days, abandoning animal bodies when they faltered. The preferred animals—a hawk, deer or wolf—were not always nearby when the spent beast fell. At those times, he settled for a slower beast until a swifter creature could be taken.
On the outskirts of Boston, the demon possessed an animal that traveled within the city without reprisal. Inhabiting a large domesticated canine, Morago raced toward the residential area along the Charles River.
Although darkness had settled on the city, there were a number of people who strolled in the warm night air.
Morago grew cautious as he approached the house. Nose to the ground, the dog crossed the narrow lawn and crawled on his belly beneath the decorative bushes around the foundation of the home.
His wet nose touched the brick, and it jerked back with a yelp. A warding spell, like the charm at Chantal’s farm, protected the residence. Head lowered to its paws, Morago extended his senses into the dwelling.
Two humans took nourishment and drank a dark, fermented liquid.
Delighted to discover he could skim their minds beyond the feeble ward, he found nothing of interest in the male. The female, however, had power—limited and rarely used. Her thoughts wandered far from the discussion with the male. Sadness and longing beat against her mind, as she replayed the recent visit with her daughter.
The demon growled and gnashed its teeth. The child had been here but was now gone. The chattered frenzy of underlings inside his head distracted and enraged Morago even more. With a thought, the horde within were rendered mute and paralyzed in agony.
He yearned to shred this house, and those within it—to destroy this city and all the insipid beings who strolled the night. But he did not possess enough power, and that realization infuriated the demon.
I loathe.
I hate.
I hunger.
Pain seized his chest, and when it ceased, Morago no longer inhabited a living host. His rage had burst the dog’s heart. He had been less than judicious with the new power and allowed fury to take hold.
A lesson learned, and now, an inconvenience.
Bereft of a host, Morago writhed in primordial serpent form inside the dead dog. He crawled through the animal and departed from the mouth onto the dirt under the bush. What had been a warm evening felt chilled against his scales. Morago coiled beside the dead beast, vulnerable and filled with rancor. Left with no choice, he slithered down the lawn to the street and curled beneath a flowering shrub near the sidewalk to wait.
Several people strolled this summer evening, but Morago needed a specific type of individual. A solitary human, healthy enough to walk some distance without attracting unwanted attention. Impatience became unbearable. Only couples meandered close enough, and none to his liking. He writhed with frustration.
At last, a single gentleman approached, and Morago shed his skin and rose as an oily vapor to blend with the evening mist from the river.
The man inhaled the rancid vapor as he strolled past the Prescott home. Four hours later, the man regained his senses near the edge of town, dehydrated and vomiting. A large crow cawed from a split rail fence then jumped into the air.
Morago headed west.