She came on wind, her body inhabiting the night sky, as light as breath, as heavy as an afterthought. The city dwellers pulled their coats closer to their bodies, tightened scarves to cover the throats of their little ones, unsure of the cause for their sudden unease. But they shrugged it off and kept on with their routine. Humans are predictable that way.
Her oldest name was Lilitu, though she was sometimes called Ninlil or Lilake. Her most common name, however, the name that hung like prayer beads on the lips of her current devotees, was Lilith. Just the sound of it bore the breath of death within it.
Lilith flew over the city now, her wings trailing pestilence. Lovers in darkened allies were too absorbed in the sticky embrace of sex to notice the sudden army of rats begin their steady march into the streets, crawling over each other in their eagerness to escape the dark shadows of the sewers.
A thousand miles away, Blake shuddered suddenly.
“What is it, Blake?” Angela asked.
“It is time.”