Shen watched the lightning from inside the rooftop solarium. In a matter of minutes, the horizon had gone from a misty purple-pink to pitch black. The wind picked up, forcing the tree branches to scrape against windows on the lower floors. With his perfect hearing, Shen listened to the scratching of wood against glass. Thunder crashed in the distance. It reminded Shen of his youth, when his father told him about the great god Lei Kun.

"Lei Kun would swoop across the skies in a chariot pulled by six boys, all of them about your age," Shen's father would say. "If you commit a crime and nobody catches you, Lei Kun will come for you."

As a boy, Shen had nightmares of the blue-skinned Lei Kun chasing him around in his chariot. Shen ran from the terrible god, only they were in a black abyss where his body seemed to be encumbered and slow-moving.

It was a nightmare that spanned centuries.

"Always hated storms, didn't you?" came a voice from behind.

Shen turned to see the silver-haired boy leaning against the door frame. The light cascading in illuminated the boy's delicate features.

"I don't hate them," Shen replied quietly.

"You despise them, Shen. I know you. I know you better than anyone."

Shen sighed. It was true. The fragile-figured creature who appeared no more than thirteen years old had been Shen's companion for eons.

"Bartolomeo, let us not speak of old woes. We are old and have many of them, but we cannot let them consume us."

Bartolomeo raised one pale arm and beckoned to Shen to come to him. Shen did so, and Bartolomeo took Shen's hand in his own, kissing it gently with his pouting pink lips.

"My love, I am tired," Bartolomeo spoke. "Tell me some of your old Chinese legends while I fall asleep in your arms. I want to dream of your gods. I like your gods. I never had any of my own to fantasize about."

Shen nodded and followed Bartolomeo out of the solarium.

The next morning, Shen awoke from the most pleasant dream he could remember having. He didn't recall the actual details from the dream, but the emotions it provoked were so intense, that it set him in a good mood for the entire day.

Sitting up in bed, Shen heard Bartolomeo snore slightly in his sleep. Shen had tried at first to control his feelings for the wispy child-like being, but it was useless. Bartolomeo was everything to him; the entire universe, if not more, could be seen in those saucer-shaped brown eyes.

"I will cook your favorite breakfast," Shen whispered in Bartolomeo's ear. Bartolomeo did not stir. Instead, he let out the loudest snort Shen had ever heard, which startled him half to death. Giggling to himself, Shen rose and dressed himself, heading down to the extensive kitchen.

Red Thorne Manor had over 450 rooms by the end of its construction in 1927. Its original owner, Tobias Thorne, had designed the house for his second wife, Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been only eighteen when she wed the much older Tobias, son of a railroad tycoon and heir to the family fortune.

Elizabeth had been born into a family with few means to get by. All she had to rely on were brains mixed with extravagant beauty. That beauty was what caught the eye of the illustrious (and then-married) Tobias Thorne. He had presented himself to her as a mystery - a very well-off mystery at that.

Within three months of their initial courting, Tobias announced he was divorcing his wife in order to be with the lovely Elizabeth. She could hardly believe it! He had been married and was leaving his wife to be with an eighteen year-old girl? It seemed surreal, and yet it was everything Elizabeth had longed for. She would spend her life with a handsome, financially-stable gentleman.

For Tobias and Elizabeth, wedding bliss was short-lived. Under the stress of the construction of the new home, Tobias was coming apart at the seems. His business ventures, which were often discreet and immoral in taste, were coming back to haunt him. Funds for the creation of the manor were dwindling. The money Tobias’s father had left him in his will was being delved into to help pay for labor costs.

And then there came the accident.

One of the carpenters was working on installing the fourth-story stained glass window from the inside of the building. Workers below were the only witnesses to the accident. When they heard the breaking of the glass, they looked up, only to see the man falling face-first. He hit the ground with a sickening thud. He died instantly of a broken neck.

However, nobody could determine the actual cause of the accident. Had the worker slipped on something and lost his balance? An investigation turned up no evidence whatsoever. While most people in the surrounding community believed the carpenter’s death to have been an unfortunate mishap, the workers and Elizabeth were becoming wary of the grounds.

Upon moving into the old home, Shen had discovered a large sewing room on the second floor of the east wing. He had uncovered an antique sewing machine and had it repaired. Cleaning out the room, Shen came across boxes full of old fabric, tins full of sequins, and spools of thread.

Shen had never stitched so much as a whole in his pants, but he became utterly fascinated by the idea of designing his own clothing. He began drawing, locking himself in the sewing room for hours at a time. Bartolomeo would bring him a drink and snacks and, in, turn play the role of the model for Shen.

If any of the other demons knew about Shen’s passion for couture, they would laugh at him. That was why he only told Bartolomeo - the only one he could trust. After all, the boy had been instrumental in his “awakening”.

Shaking the memories from his mind, Shen cracked the eggs on the side of the dish and dropped the yolks in. He added the milk and beat the mix with a wire whisk. Pouring the mixture into the frying pan, Shen turned up the heat on the stovetop. While the eggs were cooking, Shen put two slices of white bread into the toaster. Next, he decanted some pulp-free orange juice into a pale blue drinking cup.

At that particular moment, there came a knock at the front door. Shen approached the door cautiously, since he was not expecting company. He peered through the peephole but could not see anyone standing outside the door. He went back to the kitchen and was in the process of buttering the toast when the knocking came again.

Apprehension rose within him. The home located in a remote, wooded area where few people ventured in for a visit. Shen grabbed one of his corded handle throwing knifes from the kitchen table, where he had placed them that morning after coming downstairs to make breakfast. Yet again he moved toward the front door. Peeking through the peephole for a second time, he saw nobody. He quietly opened the massive African mahogany door and stepped onto the porch. His eyes scanned the surrounding premises. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible.

Shen shut and bolted the door behind him. He could not breathe a sigh of relief. His extraordinary senses had picked up on something; something that was out-of-place. As he turned around to walk back into the kitchen, he saw a flash of silver whip around the corner. Whatever it was, it had left the kitchen and gone into the hallway leading to the solarium.

He followed the trail of silver down the hall and into the solarium.

The solarium had been an integral piece of the building for Elizabeth Thorne. As an avid gardener, she delighted in the peace and quiet the solarium had to offer. She had made it a special request to her husband while the home was being constructed that a solarium be built. Its towering glass structure would house the most exotic and beautiful plants. Elizabeth’s garden paradise would be the envy of all the friends that came to visit.

That garden was Elizabeth’s heart and soul.

Shen noticed the door to the solarium was closed. He peered through the unwashed glass to see naught but an empty solarium. Yet he still held the impression that something was amiss. He put his hand on the rustic handle belonging to the solarium door and pulled back. The door made a hideous, high-pitched screech. Shen cringed at the sound.

The rays of morning sun made an effort to peek through the dirt-covered glass panels of the solarium. There was no electrical lighting within the solarium. Oxidized metal poles that once served as candleholders were strategically placed along the pathway winding through the garden. The poles had once been a lovely rose hue, but years of neglect had turned them a repulsive brown. The plants that had once thrived inside the solarium were now dead, giving way to overflowing weeds.

“A shame all this beauty has gone to waste,” a mellifluous voice from behind said. “You never cared much for nature’s beauty, did you, Zhao Li Shen?”

The figure to whom the voice belonged was standing with his back to Shen. Long silver locks cascaded down the creature’s black.

“What are you doing here?” Shen asked gruffly. “You know to stay away. If he sees you here, he’ll go crazy.”

“I didn’t come here for your precious Bartolomeo,” the silver-haired one replied. He turned to face Shen. “I am here because I have a business proposition for you.”

“I do not have any desire to participate in your schemes.”

“You could try hearing me out before you give me your rejection.”

Shen could feel his face reddening with anger. “Listen, Rizzo! I’ve told you this before; I have no wish to be a pawn in one of your games! Now get out of my house!”

Rizzo rapped his long fingernails against the pole he had been leaning on. “Your allegiance to me slips day by day. You think I don’t notice that? In your mind, you question what you truly believe is right, what side you should be on.”

Words of defense gathered on Shen’s lips, but he knew it would be unwise to lash out. Letting his guard down slightly, Shen heaved a sigh. “What sort of business deal is this?”

“Yes, yes, the details. Of course. Actually, it has to do with this lovely piece of property that you and my grandson call ‘home’.”

“What does my house have to do with anything?”

Rizzo half-grinned, bearing impeccably white teeth. “I have interactions - strictly of the commercial nature, mind you, with a young man named Elijah Smith. Recently I discovered that he was trying to pull a scam over on me. He sold me a few things that cost me much more than they’re worth. Naturally, I was upset.”

“You’re the devil,” Shen said. “What the hell do you care if some idiot human swindles you?”

“I may be the epitome of evil, but I am also a well-known and well-respected entrepreneur. I take great pride in my business skills. And it takes a damn crafty human to con the devil.”

“How do you want me to dispatch of him?”

Rizzo laughed. “Oh no, no, no. I said nothing of ‘dispatching’, did I? See, he is the actual heir to this marvelous old mansion of yours. To prove our loyalty to each other, I propose this: you retrieve my money from him (in excess of roughly 2.5 billion dollars), and I won’t tell him that someone is dwelling in his family’s affluent abode. Mark my words, if he knew that he could inherit all this, he would unleash hell on you.”

“A mere mortal cannot kill me. You know that.”

“My dear boy! Don’t you get it? This mortal is not ordinary! He has some very strong alliances on the other side. They don’t know he double-crosses them. I’ve seen to it that The Others remain blissfully ignorant. Besides, they’re too wrapped up in their own internal affairs. Anyway, as I was saying, Mr. Smith could send The Others after you. I believe there is one in particular that you fear. One that Smith has connections with. The Other that would take interest in anything concerning the demon he’s been after for ages.”

“Lei Kun,” Shen whispered.

“If I were you, I would quickly make plans to infiltrate Smith’s bank account. Perhaps even his home. I take back what I said about the no-killing thing. I encourage you to slaughter him. Stage it as a suicide, then people might not be too suspicious. His wife recently filed for divorce, so that should be plenty enough motive for him to play Russian Roulette.” Laughing even harder, Rizzo pointed his index finger at his temple and pretended to fire. Rizzo was alight with glee at the thought of impending death. Shen had no craving for shedding the blood of humans, but, as Rizzo had stated, Smith seemed exceptional.

“I’ll do it.”