From a comfortable height above the trees, Sebastian circled the abandoned paper mill, drinking in the atmosphere of dereliction and decay surrounding the property. This place has more character than most of the humans I know. Half broken windows winked like the evil eyes of wayward souls, while snow drifts gathered in the corners. The wind toyed with the snow, whipping trails that could chill his feet and ankles. If he had feet and ankles, that is.
Slipping through a second-story window, Sebastian watched a rat scurry across the dusty floor in a dash for the shadows. Like an angry cloud—black as asphalt, thick as cigar smoke—Sebastian floated after the rodent, watching with mild interest as it raced for another shadow and nearly collided with an old tom cat whose eyes glowed bright with hunger. The tom sprang, but Sebastian turned away. He didn’t have time for these cat and mouse games today, no matter how much he enjoyed them. He had bigger game to consider, and as he moved over the room, he thought about the girl he’d come to destroy.
Sebastian peered through the panel of small rectangular windows overlooking the town of Brookfield, fifty in all, though most were broken, and he yawned as he watched the town stretch with morning life. Humans filtered in and out of the corner diner, scampered about in their shiny cars, and huddled against the wind in mindless oblivion. Sebastian’s mouth curled into a sneer.
The chill of something sinister invaded his airy form. Turning, he watched his master rise above him like the heavy black curtain of a Broadway stage. Sebastian shuddered; if he had skin, it would have crawled. The master’s eyes glowed yellow—the only indication that he was not merely a cloud of coal dust, but something far more dangerous.
“Your host is ripe, Sebastian,” the master said. The voice sounded sweet, like a lover’s call, and Sebastian had to concentrate in order to keep his focus on the task at hand. With a shiver, either from fear incited by the master’s voice or in anticipation of human possession—he knew not which, nor did he care—Sebastian billowed out to his largest, most impressive form.
“Your timing is superlative, as usual, sir.”
As if Sebastian had not spoken, the master went on. “The human dabbled in spirit calling and witchcraft and is quite receptive to our temptations. This should be an easy possession for you, even if the human is a teen.”
Sebastian deflated a little, his voice falling into a whine. “But, sir, I despise working among teenagers. They. . .”
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