Angela and Blake gasped as one when Simon emerged, slightly torn, but otherwise just the same as when he left them.

“Thought I smelled something foul,” Lilith said.

There was a rush of mythological and extinct creatures, all surging to the rescue of their Lord. “Fucking shithead,” Angela whispered. Blake wasn’t sure if that astonished him more than the creatures, but he agreed nonetheless.

“At least he didn’t summon Lucifer,” Blake said.

“We have not yet seen the end of the parade,” Winters spoke.

“You think it’ll be Satan instead of Santa?” Blake asked. Unnervingly, she licked her lips in response.

“Uncle,” Angela said, “that is not Simon.”

“What?”

“Look in its eyes.”

Blake did look, and there, among the darkness, he saw Them. Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lust. The Seven Deadly were embodied inside of Simon.

The chill in his bones, tingling of every single tattoo, and the blood in his veins all told Blake that the Devil had once again pretended innocence.