Ten Plagues

“I have to make a quick stop on the way back,” Pravus said. “Pastor P asked if, since we have the car today, could we pick up some things that have been donated to the mission. Do you mind helping me carry them out?”

Rosita said pleasantly, “I’d be glad to help.”

A few minutes later, he pulled into a parking garage. His parking garage. His new home.

“You’re really a good driver,” Rosita observed. “When have you had a chance to drive in the city?”

Pravus parked the car and got out. As he waited for her, he said, “I drove when I was younger. I guess it’s like riding a bike.”

“This is a wreck of a building.” They walked to the elevator and got in. Pravus pushed the button and they went up. When they got to the top floor, he got off and went to the closest door.

“They’re demolishing it. I guess that’s why they’re giving things away.” He produced a key and let himself in.

“Why do you have a key to this apartment?” Rosita said.

Pravus heard her nervousness and his hands itched to grab her, make that tinge of fear bloom into screaming terror. He let the door swing open. “I have the key because the apartment is mine.”

A bug ran out of the apartment and Rosita squeaked and jumped back. “What is that? A cockroach?”

“It’s a locust.”

Rosita looked inside just as Pravus’s hand rested on her back. He’d written the words PESTUS EX LOCUSTA in giant letters on the far wall so she could see them from here and know.

Once it was too late.

He shoved her inside and kicked the door shut.

“I will bring locusts into your country tomorrow. They will cover the face of the ground so that it cannot be seen. They will devour what little you have left.”

EXODUS 10:4–5

Darling Rosita. She had been so surprised to see him at the hospital. Pravus felt like he had rediscovered his reason for living. He was fulfilled and happy and restored to his path.

Rosita lay before him, still untouched. Her deeply tanned skin, the burnished brown of her people, was nearly the color of fine wood. She would be a delight to create with. Then Pravus thought of the pretty detective’s skin. Lighter, but beautiful in its own way.

She would be next. It would suit the beast in him to visit the plague of darkness on the pretty lady detective.

Then the plague of the firstborn. The good reverend was the eldest in his family.

When it came time for the plague of the firstborn, then, finally, Pravus would get the ultimate atonement. He’d told Patricia Morris when she rejected his art that she would regret it. She had the chance to set such a wealth of beauty free. His people. His children. His creations.

He’d heard whispers of the demon for years, and Pravus had always enjoyed the power of the devil. The reverend’s wife had treated him as if she were a ruler, a pharaoh, barring his way to the respect, the wealth, the freedom he and his people deserved.

And when he killed her and her child, for a while it had been enough. He might have never struck again if the reverend hadn’t wielded his power so corruptly. True, Pravus was a murderer, but the reverend didn’t know that. The reverend accepted that it was an accident. But he’d brought his crushing boot down on Pravus’s neck out of spite.

While he’d sat in jail, the anger had burned. It ate at him. Grew in him along with the beast. He’d have let the reverend go if it hadn’t been for prison. Pravus had spent his time behind bars planning what he’d do when he was free. How he’d free himself and his creations—and use the reverend to do it.

Once Pravus was out and his death had been accepted, he made his preparations to punish the reverend. It was no longer about a woman’s foolish decision. It was between the beast and God, with Pravus fighting on the side of the beast, fighting for power and the right to create. The right to have his people set free and revered by all the world.

Pravus would earn the right to be God.

It was time for the end to unfold for his father. No. Pravus shook his head. The reverend. This was about the reverend.

The last three plagues would rain down so hard the reverend would be grateful for death.

Pravus couldn’t wait to begin the end. He should have waited, done his painting, made his carving, but he couldn’t wait to share his good news about Rosita. He reached for his new cell phone.

Paul lifted his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

Based on his actions, Keren guessed he’d keep kissing her while he decided. Her arms tightened around his neck so she could be comfortable while he was thinking.

“I’ve decided I like your hair tie, too.” Sinking his hands into her hair, he seemed to play with it, as if he really did like the terrible mess. Smiling against his lips, Keren decided she liked her hair, too.

His phone rang.