His phone rang over and over, no amount of him declining the call or letting it go to voicemail deterred the caller. As much as I wanted to go back to Kisankoku and not tempt fate, I still needed to get my things from my dorm room and go through all the stuff. The caller, however, was driving us mad. The minute the ringing, buzzing, even it lighting up on silent mode finished, it begun again. I didn’t know what was more painful, the soreness in my nipples from him literally piercing them, or the sound of his ringtone, of the vibration pattern haunting my every second. There was a brief second of relief, of when I could ice the pain away without worrying about when the phone would go off again.

That was until the door was forced open, Mr. Blaga making a beeline for Malachai. He grabbed Malachai, and Malachai grabbed the first corner of a wall he could, holding on for dear life as Mr. Blaga tried to drag him back through the door. I grabbed Mr. Blaga with two freezing hands, knowing my attempts would be in vain, I still tried to pry him off Malachai. He let go with one arm, elbowing me in the chest, into the midst of the soreness. I clutched my nipple instinctively, wanting to protect myself from the pain. Malachai tried to kick him, Mr. Blaga grabbing his legs in response, pulling harder.

I felt I had to do something as the pain lessoned. Calling the police most likely wouldn’t amount to anything but a headache if Malachai hadn’t come up with the most elaborate, airtight story in regards to his age. So, giving my irritated nipple a small massage and grabbing my courage, I yelled at both of them to stop acting like children. He stopped pulling Malachai, and I chose that moment to insert myself. “Tell me,” I said, “what is going on before I call the police.” It was a bluff I hoped he wouldn’t call me on, practically staked my life on.

The two of them calmed down, sitting face to face at Malachai’s table. I sat next to Malachai, hand poised to stop him if he tried to attack him. They had a short conversation, Malachai sighing and covering his ears with his hands and closing his eyes, wanting to trap himself in his own little world. “I don’t know,” I turned my attention to Mr. Blaga, “exactly what his life was like before Esther, only what she had told me.” I asked him who Esther was. “His mamă,” he said.

Mr. Blaga began to tell me about Esther’s role in Malachai’s childhood. He could only tell me what he knew but he wasn’t afraid to speculate on the sparts Esther never told him. For all intents and purposes, Malachai had been an orphan. His father had still been alive by the time Esther took him into her custody. “Shunned to the orphanage,” Mr. Blaga had put it. She hadn’t realized what Malachai’s father had done to him prior to his despisal at the orphanage until much later. Malachai flinched at this, coming out of his world for a moment or two. I put a hand on his knee, a gentle reminder that I would stop this if it got too much for him. “She never told me,” he said, “she didn’t want to speak about it. She gave him a new name, one he wouldn’t balk at every time she said it.”

“Malachai,” Malachai was somber, ears still covered, eyes still closed. “I was her messenger from God…”

“Yes,” Mr. Blaga said. “I believe she said, ‘I’ve lived up to my namesake, Ezra.’” They were both quiet, Mr. Blaga looking at his hands on the table. “Malachai, what must I do to convince you to come home?” He uttered one word in response, asking him why. Mr. Blaga understood the unspoken parts, placing his head in a hand. “I…It was a whisper…that grew louder…until all I could do was act on it…Please…Please come home, you’re needed…you’re important.”

Malachai all but slapped his hands on the table. “I won’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “Nothing good ever came from you…and I like it here,” I had barely a second to steady myself before he pulled me to him, shoulder to chest, “with August.”

“Why is he needed?” I asked before another fight could break out. “What makes him so important?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Mr. Blaga stared at me, as if pleading me to help him understand. “The-The-The whisper…it comes and goes…and it’s been shouting at me to…to bring him back. She won’t…She won’t tell me why.” He shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes. “She’s the voice, yes,” he said after I asked a couple more questions. “She…She calls herself Lilith…but…but it can’t be the one I’m thinking of…can it?”

Malachai held me tighter, forcing me into an even more uncomfortable position. I would have rather him put me in his lap. “Mr. Blaga, what did you do?” He asked, and then uttered what sounded like a prayer. “What forces did you mess with?”

He pulled his hands from his face. “None! I…I was studying…and it started…” He was quiet for a while, working through years’ worth of something. “I understand your distrust…I’ve…done terrible things.”

“Who else?” Malachai must have read my mind, placing me squarely in his lap, holding me protectively.

I felt awkward sitting there with a man that appeared to be a father-figure to Malachai at one point, assessing me while he worked through his own issues that I couldn’t even begin to help him through. If it wasn’t for my new knowledge of the supernatural, I might have been able to help him but now, there was no way for me to tell if this Lilith was truly a hallucination or something else. “Too many,” Mr. Blaga said. “You…You were…the first she took pity on.” He stuck his tongue between his teeth. “She wants you back. Please…I can’t…I can’t…think with her—”

“No.” Malachai put his cheek on my shoulder. “You’ve lost my trust, and…I don’t want to get tangled up with her.” He held up a finger as Mr. Blaga opened his mouth. “You don’t serve HaShem, maybe you once did, Mr. Blaga. Lilith and the lilithim have their claws in you.”

He breathed in. “Yes, you’re right. And-And I’m sorry—”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” He gripped my waist, all but digging his fingers into my flesh and bone. “Apologizing won’t do anything, now. You…You…and my tată broke me. The lilithim can drag you to the Pit for all I care.” He picked his head up from my shoulder. “When she is done with you, you’ll cry out for HaShem with each and every one of His names,” his eyes narrowed, “only to find He has forsaken you, just as you have forsaken Him, no amount of pleading will put your name back on Sefer Hayyim, the Book of Life.”  

Mr. Blaga, face pale, swallowed. “And you will?”

“I took it to heart,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault, He may still have a shred of sympathy left for me…I see, now, that I was to be a sacrifice…” He cleared his throat. “If I see your face again…I will make sure you stay dead.”

“Please, please,” he was growing visibly desperate. “Aug…August, is it? Please, say something to him. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

I looked between the two of them, at two sets of similar blue eyes, one steely and the other fearful. I went with what my gut told me to do, quietly asking Malachai if we could speak in private. I had the stupidest hunch that traveling down this road might give him some closure. He could, at the very least, punch this Lilith if she even had a physical form. I held onto Malachai as he stood, no indication of letting me walk. A shield, I assumed, to keep Mr. Blaga from overpowering him. We went into the bedroom, him putting me down, but never removing his hands from me.

I formed my words carefully in my mind, speaking them quietly, and he listened silently. I didn’t fully know what the last part of their conversation was about, but I was certain this could help him heal, in some way. Confront his fear, one step at a time, find closure with his relationship with Mr. Blaga, maybe even with his mother. I explained it to him in a way that wasn’t defending Mr. Blaga or trying to get him to sympathize with him. I wanted Malachai to get past his past, to not let it haunt him anymore.

He pursed his lips, thumbs forming circles on my hips. “August,” he said, looking past me. “I have spent a good chunk of my life fearful of Lilith, of the lilithim.” His eyes moved to mine. “I don’t want…” He winced, pressing a palm to his temple. He cursed in a language I didn’t know, stumbling away, ignoring me when I asked if he was alright, if he needed help. It was too quick for me to process, a blur of motion before a slam and seeing Mr. Blaga pinned on his back on the table, Malachai’s hands gripping his shirt collar. “What did you do? Why is she in my head?!”

“Nothing!” Mr. Blaga said. “I don’t know!”

Malachai gripped his shirt tighter, their conversation devolving into something I couldn’t understand. I put my hand on his shoulder, calling his name. He turned his head, hissing, mouth wider than I had ever seen it, full of pure rage. I was startled back, falling down, watching the scene unfold in disbelief. The same word uttered, over and over, Mr. Blaga not fighting back. The sound of flesh ripping pierced my ears, of bones cracking, I was reminded of the kitsune, the smell coming back to me. Blood spurted from Mr. Blaga, a drop or two landing on my face. Bones, intestines thrown and discarded as he clawed his way to his heart.

He took a bite, thick, black blood dripping from his mouth. The shock was shed from my body, the urge to flee wrapping around each and every nerve. He was distracted, eating, I ran to the bathroom in my blank state, locking the door and sitting in front of it. I dry heaved, not wanting to throw up, but knowing I’d feel better once I did. I scrubbed the blood from my face, skin growing red from the irritation. The doorknob rattled, I squatted down and held my head without a second thought. I would be next. I had let physical attraction, a desire to help, cloud the fact that he was a monster, more of one than the oni I grew up hearing stories about. My whole body shook at the small knock. “August?” The fear of him, the fear of myself, was overtaking me, and I began to cry with my eyes wide. “I’m sorry, August.” I told him he could eat me, I was excited at the notion of it. It wasn’t ready, I didn’t want him eating me now. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“G-G-G-G-G—” I swallowed, taking a breath. “G-G-Go awa-awa-away.”

The doorknob shook and I felt the tears come faster. “I’m sorry.” A heard a thump on the other side of the door. “I won’t…I won’t hurt you, August.” The door settled weirdly. “I’m sorry…for being scary…you…you can stay in there for as long…as long as you like…I won’t hurt when you come out, okay?” There was one more small knock. “I won’t…I won’t touch you, either…until you tell me it’s okay to…”