Chapter 10: Evelyn Gets the Codex

Evelyn's Chamber

Evelyn Whitmore paced her basement ritual space, her Louboutins clicking against the stone floor in perfect rhythm with the synchronized sprinklers above. Everything was immaculate.  The chalice collection was arranged by height and blood capacity, the ceremonial daggers were polished to gleaming, the chains were freshly oiled. Even the dark stains on the altar had been scrubbed into aesthetically pleasing geometric patterns.

"It's all falling apart," she muttered to the sterling silver Tiffany & Co. candle holders. "Decades of planning, ruined by a horny ghost hunter and a family of suburban anarchists." She stopped, straightening a candle that had dared to lean three degrees off center.  The Parkers. Of course it would be people named Parker. So... boring. So vanilla. They probably still play Monopoly without flipping the board or using it as a metaphor for the crushing futility of existence.

She moved to her planning wall, where photographs and documents formed a perfect grid. Every step had been calculated, every move choreographed.   "Months," she hissed at a surveillance photo showing Margaret and Claire in a compromising position on Margaret's couch. "Months of watching through her hidden cameras. Every meeting, every secret, every badly organized bookshelf.  All the dreadful baby-goth interior decorating." Her hand clenched, perfectly manicured nails digging into her palm. "I even had to watch her have sex. So much sex. Really quite impressive stamina, actually. Dirty sapphist… if she had her in her dungeon she’d fix her.  She’d start by using a demon-cursed paddle to spank that round ass, then spread it —" She shook her head, she needed to focus.

The planning wall mocked her with its failed promise of perfection. Here, the notes on David's psychological weaknesses. There, the projected timeline for his corruption. Everything had been going so well until Claire started snooping. Until Margaret actually found something real instead of just playing bimbo ghost detective. Until Ethan and that little bitch... she scowled. They would pay for their interference.

"No," she said firmly to a jar of preserved organs. "We're not panicking. We're adjusting. Adapting.  She smoothed her cream-colored pencil skirt, checking her reflection in a ceremonial blade. She made sure there was nothing in her teeth.  Still perfect. Still in control. 

"If Plan A won't work..." She smiled at her reflection, red lips curved in a way that would have sent small animals running for cover. "Well, that's why the alphabet has more letters."

In exactly three minutes, Mrs. Chen would arrive for tea. Evelyn adjusted her hair, checked her lipstick, and selected a particularly elegant dagger from her collection.

After all, proper hosting was about attention to detail.

The First Kill

Mrs. Chen arrived precisely on schedule, her floral dress shot through with cream colored vines. She'd been one of the first to embrace Evelyn's vision for Cedar Lane after she had re-established herself from Karen in 2000. Twenty-five years of loyal service, of shared secrets and blood rituals, evident in the way she didn't even knock before entering.

"Sarah, darling!" Evelyn's voice carried the warmth of bad news from an oncologist. "Right on time, as always. Such attention to detail."  Sarah beamed.

The kitchen gleamed with unnatural perfection. Every surface had been sanitized.

"Tea?" Evelyn gestured to a pristine china set, each cup positioned at exactly forty-five degrees. "I'm trying a new blend. Very exclusive. The leaves are harvested by orphaned children under the light of the moon.  Or that’s what the label says; you never really know about marketing."

Mrs. Chen settled onto her usual bar stool, the same one she'd sat on during countless planning sessions. "Everything’s coming together beautifully," she said, accepting the cup. "The reservoir is 10% more full than our projections."

"Ah yes, the reservoir." Evelyn's laugh tinkled like breaking glass in a hot tub. "You always were our best cultivator. Your parents would have been proud. They really should have been more... cooperative."

Mrs. Chen's hand paused halfway to her cup. "We agreed never to discuss—"

"The purge of 2000?" Evelyn turned to the copper kettle, her perfectly manicured fingers curling around the handle. "Why not? You handled it so well, Sarah. Barely flinched when they screamed. That's when I knew you were Special Committee material."

"Evelyn..." A note of fear crept into Mrs. Chen's voice.  Not the fear of an outsider discovering their secrets, but the deeper fear of someone who just realized they're on the wrong side of power. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Because history has a way of repeating itself." Evelyn reached under the counter, producing an ornate dagger that Mrs. Chen recognized instantly.  It was the same one that had ended her parents' objections to Evelyn's leadership. "And you've been expressing... concerns... about our accelerated timeline."

"I've served you faithfully for twenty-five years," Mrs. Chen said quietly. "Since I was sixteen. Everything you asked, the murders, the rituals, my own parents, I just don’t know if we can move the timeline up; the ritual requires the eclipse…"

"And that's why this is so disappointing." Evelyn's smile sharpened. "You know too well what happens to people who question the plan. Even loyal ones." 

Mrs. Chen's eyes darted to the knife. "The HOA charter requires a committee vote for internal discipline—"

"Oh, Sarah." Evelyn's movement was fluid, practiced. "Using bylaws? Against me? That's just rude."

The blade caught the light as it arced through the air. Mrs. Chen didn't try to run.  They both knew there was nowhere in Cedar Lane that Evelyn couldn't reach. Instead, she sat straight-backed, maintaining rigid posture even as the dagger slid between her ribs with the kind of precision that suggested Evelyn had been practicing this moment for years.

"You should be honored," Evelyn whispered, twisting the blade. "Your blood will be used to get the Codex, and help bring Lord Alaric that much sooner. And really, lasting twenty-five years in the inner circle? That's quite an achievement. Your parents only made it three."

A small sound escaped Mrs. Chen's lips; not of pain or betrayal, but almost of relief. At least she wouldn't have to coordinate next week's ritual potluck.

"Now look what you've done," Evelyn sighed as blood poured onto the imported marble. "Getting bodily fluids everywhere. After all those lessons on proper sacrifice containment."

Evelyn worked efficiently, producing vessels that had been certified for ritual fluid collection. Each bore the Cedar Lane logo, tastefully embossed in gold. The blood was sorted by type and quality, labeled according to Mrs. Chen's own meticulous filing system.

When she finished, everything was immaculate again. The tea service had been carefully preserved, the floors gleamed, and Sarah’s exsanguinated body was propped neatly in the corner. 

Evelyn checked her reflection, reapplying her signature shade of "Ritual Sacrifice Red" lipstick. "Perfect," she declared to her audience of high-end appliances. 

The Control Ritual

Evelyn arranged the HOA-approved blood collection vessels in a perfect circle, their Cedar Lane logos aligned at precisely sixty-degree intervals. Sarah Chen's blood had been properly separated and labeled: arterial in crystal, venous in silver, the last drops in decorative vials that complemented her ritual space's color scheme.

"You know what the most delicious part is?" she asked the surveillance monitor displaying Margaret's study. "She actually thought she'd found all the cameras. As if I'd let that leather-clad disaster compromise my surveillance network that easily."

The screen showed Margaret's home from multiple angles.  Tiny cameras, air sensors, and listening devices hidden in light fixtures, air vents, and decorative accents. Months of watching through these electronic spies, gathering intel, learning every secret…  She began painting symbols on the surveillance control panel with the blood.

The symbols were old; older than Cedar Lane, older than Evelyn herself. She'd embedded them in the surveillance system from the beginning, dormant spells waiting for the right moment. For blood with just the right mixture of loyalty and betrayal.

"I do enjoy our little 'eco-friendly home monitoring system,'" she told the screen, working her way across the control panel. "This surveillance system is one of the major advantages I have over our previous attempts.  All these years convincing the residents that these devices were for 'optimal energy efficiency.' The HOA eco-certification was a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. Everyone was so eager to be green they never questioned why their thermostats needed cameras."

The final symbol took shape under her fingers. Sarah Chen's blood, the blood of a faithful servant betrayed, soaked into the circuits, awakening magic that had slumbered there for years. The monitors began to glow with a deep red light.

"Now then," Evelyn stepped back, admiring her work. "Let's see what we can really do with this network, shall we?"

The screens shifted with the fluid grace of something alive. The images became sharper, deeper, showing not just Margaret's home but layers of energy and magic that no earthly technology could capture.

"Much better." Evelyn's smile was sharp in the darkness. "I trust the system recorded all our little observations? Every secret, every weakness?"

The surveillance system hummed with new power, screens displaying not just Margaret's study but the very thoughts and intentions of those within its field of view. Magical augmented reality, showing the hidden world beneath the mundane.

"Excellent." She gestured to a close-up of Margaret's bookshelf. "Now, about that book she's been hiding..."

Until now, the system had been state-of-the-art home monitoring technology. Transformed, it became her perfect spy network, watching through unblinking eyes as Margaret investigated the HOA. And now, awakened, it was nearly omniscient.  No one ever thinks to ward against magical surveillance tech.

"Show me," Evelyn commanded.

The screens shifted, projecting a series of images into the air: Margaret's study, the hidden panel, the skull that triggered it. Every detail gathered over months of patient observation.

"I do love thorough documentation," Evelyn purred. "That bimbo Margaret, taping over lenses, cutting wires, sweeping for bugs.  As if I wouldn't have backups. Redundancy is key to proper home security."

She traced a finger along one monitor showing Claire and Margaret in a heated argument. "Every home in Cedar Lane, connected to my network. Every conversation recorded, every secret observed. The things I've seen would make even our dark lord blush."

The screens pulsed brighter, reflecting Evelyn's smile back at her. Above them, the synchronized sprinklers activated right on schedule, their rhythm matching the pulse of magic in the air.

"Now for phase two," she whispered to the glowing screens. "Let's retrieve what's rightfully mine."

The Homunculus

James Chen, Sarah's husband and cousin, arrived exactly on schedule for his "emergency landscaping consultation," carrying a folder of detailed photographs. The perfect cover story.  No one in Cedar Lane would ever question a resident's urgent need to discuss improper yard ornament positioning. Evelyn ushered him into her open floorplan kitchen and closed the door behind him, softly.

"James!" Evelyn's smile was as bright as freshly spilled blood. "How thoughtful of you to bring documentation. Sarah and I were just discussing wind chime regulations. Weren't we, Sarah?"

Sarah Chen's body, now artfully arranged in the corner like a particularly macabre piece of installation art, did not respond.

"Sarah?" Mr. Chen peered around Evelyn, then froze as he spotted his wife. "Oh god—"

"Now James," Evelyn sighed, "let's maintain professional decorum. The correct exclamation when discovering ritual murder is 'Oh Lord Alaric.' We've been over this in sensitivity training."

She watched his eyes dart between his wife's body and the door, enjoying the way his accountant's brain tried to calculate survival probabilities. "Sarah did such a great job helping design our basement storage system, you know. Very efficient. The decomposition rate spreadsheets are a work of art."

"The... spreadsheets?" Mr. Chen's voice cracked. Even facing death, the mention of organized data caught his attention.

"Mmm. Color-coded tabs and everything. She was always so good with documentation." Evelyn moved closer, the knife from Sarah's murder behind her back. "Speaking of documentation, I'm going to need you to fill out some forms. Post-mortem paperwork can be such a hassle without proper authorization from the deceased's next of kin. And she's not signing anything."

"Forms?" He backed away, bumping into the kitchen island. "You killed my wife and you want me to do paperwork?"

"Well, obviously. This isn't some chaotic back-alley murder. We have procedures." 

James made a break for the door. He made it three steps before Evelyn's hand caught his throat. She restrained him easily, which would have surprised anyone watching, given how much larger James was than her. "Sarah was so much more professional about this," she said, clicking her tongue in disappointment. "Running?”

"Please," he gasped. "I have an appointment with my gastroenterologist tomorrow, those appointments take so long to make—"

"Oh, don't worry about that." The knife slid between his ribs with practiced ease. "I already cancelled it. Your calendar sync settings were still active on the HOA server."

Unlike Sarah's methodical exsanguination, James's blood collection was performed with an immediate application in mind. Evelyn worked quickly, drawing patterns on the floor with his blood as it pooled around him. The symbols seemed to shift and twist as she completed them, as if they existed in more dimensions than the human eye could comprehend.

"You know what the real tragedy is?" she asked her victim as he gasped his last breath. "Sarah's filing system was alphabetical AND chronological. Do you know how rare that kind of organizational talent is? Replacing her is going to be a nightmare."

As James's life drained away, Evelyn positioned his body in the center of the blood patterns. From a cabinet that looked like it might have been purposefully designed for housing arcane ritual components, she withdrew a box of clay, river silt, and ash, followed by the small jar of semen she’d extracted from David.

"I do apologize for the mess," she told James's corpse as she began molding the mixture around his rapidly cooling form. "But homunculus creation is inherently untidy. Even with proper containment procedures, there's always some seepage."

She worked with surgical precision, mixing the clay and semen and covering James's body with the mixture while chanting in a language that made the kitchen appliances vibrate unpleasantly. The clay seemed to sink into his flesh, his body shrinking and transforming as the ritual progressed.

"The beauty of this approach," Evelyn continued, now addressing the surveillance cameras that would document her work, "is that we get to repurpose. Waste not, want not, as they say. James always was good at retrieving things: financial records, misplaced HOA dues, runaway children... Now he'll fetch me something truly valuable."

The clay and semen mixture bubbled and hissed as it consumed James's mortal remains. Where his body had been now lay a small, humanoid figure, roughly two feet tall, with James's features distorted into something barely recognizable. Its skin was grayish-clay, but its eyes held a spark of awareness, a tiny fragment of James's consciousness preserved in this new, servile form.

"Rise," Evelyn commanded, and the homunculus obeyed, its movements jerky but purposeful. "You have work to do."

She retrieved the vials of Sarah's blood, carefully opening the most potent, the one containing her heart's blood, the last to leave her body. With meticulous care, Evelyn painted symbols on the homunculus's clay skin, whispering instructions with each stroke.

"Margaret's house. The hidden book. The skull trigger."

The homunculus nodded, its clay features cracking slightly with the movement. Its eyes, James's eyes now glowing with unnatural life, focused on the surveillance monitors showing Margaret's study.

"Bring me the Codex," Evelyn commanded, completing the final symbol. "Do not fail me."

The creature that had once been James Chen bowed low, its movements becoming more fluid as Sarah's blood soaked into its clay flesh, empowering it with the loyalty she had shown in life, and the betrayal she had suffered in death.

"Perfect," Evelyn declared, admiring her creation. "Every HOA should have one. So much more reliable than a newsletter."

The small figure walked stiffly to the edge of the cabinets, then quickly scaled them, climbed across the counter, lifted the window and vaulted into the early evening air.

"Now," she said to the empty kitchen, "let's clean up this mess before my Pilates class."

The Homonculus’ Mission

The homunculus that had once been James Chen moved through the night with unnatural silence, his clay body blending with the shadows. His consciousness was fragmented: part James Chen, HOA treasurer and devoted husband; part something older and hungrier that resonated with the blood symbols painted across his small form.  The older and hungrier part was a real asshole.

From his hiding place in the bushes alongside Margaret's house, he watched as Claire stormed out, her face streaked with tears. The argument had been spectacular.  The homunculus felt a twinge of what might have been sympathy in his clay heart. James Chen had known heartbreak too, once, before Evelyn had shown him the path of perfect order.

He remained motionless as the front door opened again some minutes later. A man emerged.  He was tall, with silver-streaked hair past his shoulders and a worn leather jacket that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the streetlight. The homunculus froze, an unpleasant sensation rippling through his clay form. The man moved with a fluid grace that seemed wrong somehow, too perfect in its economy of motion.

As the man passed near his hiding spot, the homunculus felt his clay body begin to harden involuntarily, as if some primal part of him recognized a predator. The blood symbols painted across his form grew uncomfortably warm, almost burning. He paused at the edge of the property, his head lifting slightly, nostrils flaring as if scenting the air. For a terrible moment, the homunculus was certain he had been detected.

But the man merely lit a joint, the smell of marijuana drifting through the night air, and continued walking. Even his departure seemed too smooth, too quick; as if the space between one step and the next stretched differently for him than for ordinary humans.

The homunculus remained perfectly still until he had disappeared around the corner, the unnatural fear slowly ebbing from his clay form. Evelyn had not mentioned this man in her briefing. The homunculus filed the information away, something to report upon his return.

He waited patiently as the night deepened. Lights went out across Cedar Lane with mathematical precision at 9:30 PM exactly, as the HOA bylaws strongly recommended. Through the window, he could see Margaret pacing her living room, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, her phone in the other. She seemed to be composing texts, then deleting them with frustrated jabs.

The homunculus shifted, settling deeper into the shadows. Time moved differently for him now.  Minutes or hours, it hardly mattered. The mission was everything.

At last, Margaret stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom. The homunculus counted methodically: one thousand one, one thousand two, tracking the time as her movements slowed, then stopped. The house fell silent save for the snores that indicated she had fallen into a deep sleep.

The homunculus moved to the side window; the one Margaret always left cracked open to "clear the energy" after her "meetings." Slipping through was effortless; his clay body compressed and twisted in ways no human form could manage. Inside, he dropped to the hardwood floor without a sound, his borrowed eyes adjusting instantly to the darkness.

The study looked exactly as it had appeared on Evelyn's surveillance screens: bookshelves crammed with occult texts, weapons mounted on walls in bizarre patterns, candles burned down to stubs. The homunculus noted it all with the same efficient detachment that had made James Chen such an excellent treasurer.

As he moved toward the bookshelf with the hidden compartment, a sudden chill swept through the room. The temperature dropped noticeably, and the homunculus paused, his clay fingers flexing. Something was here.  Something not visible even to his enhanced senses but undeniably present.

A book fell from a shelf across the room.  Not the shelf he was approaching, but one near the door, as if attempting to create a distraction. The homunculus ignored it. Evelyn's instructions had been precise: third skull from the left, hidden panel, retrieve the Codex. No deviations.

Another book fell. Then a third. The homunculus continued toward his target, matching the exact route he had observed through Evelyn's surveillance. Three skulls from the left. Simple.

The air around him seemed to thicken, creating resistance as he reached for the trigger skull. His clay fingers stretched toward the polished bone. Something pushed back.  Not physically, but with a pressure that felt like... disapproval? Disappointment? James Chen had felt those emotions often in life.

As his finger touched the skull's eye socket, the candles across the room suddenly flared to life, though no one had lit them. The homunculus paid no attention. Fire could not harm his clay form; Evelyn had crafted him too well for that.

The hidden panel slid open with a soft click, revealing the Codex. It pulsed with dark energy that resonated with the blood symbols painted across his body. Recognition, of a sort. One abomination acknowledging another.

As the homunculus reached for the book, the resistance intensified. The air swirled around him like an invisible hurricane, papers flying, candle flames bending at impossible angles. Something was trying desperately to prevent him from taking the book.  Something with no physical form but a powerful will.

The homunculus extracted the Codex from its hiding place, feeling its unnatural warmth against his clay chest. The moment his fingers closed around it, a sound like a woman's wail filled the study.  It was a sound no human ear could have detected, but which the homunculus perceived as clearly as Margaret's continued snoring from upstairs.

With the Codex secured, the homunculus turned back toward the window. The disturbance increased.  Drawers began opening and closing, weapons were rattling on their mounts, books were sliding across the floor to create obstacles in his path. Determined but ultimately futile efforts.

From upstairs came a shift in Margaret's snoring pattern.  She was stirring, perhaps roused by the commotion. The homunculus moved with renewed purpose, navigating around the mysteriously moving objects.

As he reached the window, one final assault came; a sudden drop in temperature so severe that his clay body began to stiffen. For a moment, he felt something not unlike fear. But the blood symbols Evelyn had painted on him glowed with renewed intensity, warming him from within. 

With a fluid movement that his human form could never have managed, the homunculus slipped through the window, the Codex clutched against his chest. Behind him, he felt a presence: rage and sorrow in equal measure, but powerless to stop him.

The homunculus moved across Cedar Lane like a shadow, the Codex's dark energy masking his presence from any watching eyes. His mission was nearly complete. James Chen had rarely felt satisfaction in life.  There was always another spreadsheet, another audit, another HOA violation to document. But now, as he approached Evelyn's perfectly maintained colonial, there was something like contentment in his clay heart.

Yet a small part of him, the part that remembered being human, kept returning to the image of the man. Something about him had triggered a response deeper than fear, an instinctive recognition of something ancient and dangerous that even his clay form could sense. That silver-haired man wasn't simply Evelyn's rival; he was something else entirely. Something that made even the blood symbols on his form shudder in recognition.

Evelyn was waiting in her ritual chamber, her smile as sharp as the knife that had ended his human existence. "Darling," she cooed as the homunculus placed the Codex into her waiting hands. "You didn't have any trouble getting it, did you?"

"Minor resistance," the homunculus reported, his voice like gravel in a garbage disposal. "Some ghost bitch tried to stop me. Useless as tits on a bull." He shifted his clay form, clearly agitated. "But there was this guy. Freaked me the fuck out."

Evelyn's smile faltered slightly. "Describe him."

"Silver-streaked hair. Leather jacket. Hippie-looking motherfucker." The homunculus's clay features twisted with discomfort. "Moved weird as shit. Like, not human weird. When he walked by, the symbols you painted on me burned like I'd stuck my clay ass in a kiln. Pretty sure he was a complete asshole."

Evelyn's expression shifted to something the homunculus couldn't quite interpret. "Interesting," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "So he's returned. I thought we'd have more time."

She shook her head, forcing her smile back into place. "No matter. We have what we need now."

She stroked his clay head, her perfect nails leaving shallow grooves that sealed themselves immediately. "I believe a reward is in order. How does reorganizing my ritual components sound? I know how you love alphabetizing."

The homunculus nodded, pleasure flickering through his fragmented consciousness. James Chen had always found peace in perfect organization. Even in this diminished form, some core of his being remained unchanged.

As Evelyn turned her attention to the Codex, running her fingers across its writhing cover, the homunculus moved to the shelves of ritual components. Each vial and vessel would be arranged with mathematical precision. Each label would face forward at exactly the same angle.

Order from chaos. It was all he had ever wanted. But as he worked, the memory of the man lingered, a shadow darker than any Evelyn had conjured, moving beneath the perfect suburban veneer of Cedar Lane.

The Aftermath

Evelyn sat in her ritual chamber, the Codex pulsing warmly in her lap like a demonic kitten. She stroked its not-quite-leather cover, enjoying how it seemed to purr under her perfectly manicured nails. The book's symbols writhed beneath her touch, rearranging themselves into patterns that would have given M.C. Escher a migraine.

"You and I," she told the book, "are going to do such wonderful things together. Though we really must discuss your binding. Human skin is so... basic. I'm thinking of something more elegant. Perhaps entrails from a virgin sacrifice for that updated classic feel?"

The book's pages rustled in what she chose to interpret as enthusiastic agreement. Dark liquid oozed from between its pages, forming a small puddle that somehow flowed uphill.

"Now then," she said, opening the Codex to a dog-eared page (someone had been naughty with the corners), "let's see what we can do about that pesky eclipse requirement. Honestly, who schedules apocalyptic rituals around celestial events anymore? Astrology is such bullshit and it's so inconvenient for everyone's calendar."

The homunculus watched as he arranged Evelyn’s effects. The Codex's dark energy made his new eyes glow brighter, reflecting in the pools of definitely-not-ink that were now forming abstract art on Evelyn's imported marble floors.

"Look here," she pointed to a passage that seemed to be written in bleeding calligraphy. "The ritual requires 'the convergence of spheres under darkness absolute' – but that's just traditional thinking. I mean, really, what's an eclipse but a very dramatic way to block the sun? We could achieve the same effect with some strategically placed curtains and proper mood lighting."

The book's pages turned themselves, revealing diagrams that hurt to look at directly. Evelyn leaned closer, her smile widening to proportions that suggested her face might be taking geometry advice from the book's illustrations.

"Oh, this is perfect! We don't need to wait for the eclipse at all. With the Chens' blood and a few minor adjustments to the neighborhood's sprinkler synchronization..." She traced a symbol that appeared to be trying to escape the page. "We could create our own convergence. A suburban singularity, of sorts.  Of course, the last time someone tried to rush an eldritch summoning, they turned their entire cult into a quantum pretzel.  But that's because they had no sense of proper ritual aesthetics." Evelyn waved dismissively, thoroughly engaged in a dialogue with herself.. "We're not some amateur hour cult meeting in a strip mall. We have standards. And coordinated table settings."

She stood.  The ritual chamber's candles flared in synchronized harmony, casting shadows that belonged to things that weren't in the room.

"First," she declared to her audience of cursed objects, "we'll need to adjust the neighborhood's ley lines. Nothing dramatic, just a slight repositioning, like spiritual feng shui. The geometric patterns in the sidewalks were just the beginning. By this time next week, every garden path, every perfectly trimmed hedge, every strategically placed lawn ornament will be part of the largest ritual circle in suburban history."

The Codex's pages fluttered excitedly, spraying droplets of mysterious liquid that somehow managed to coordinate with Evelyn's outfit.  A droplet hit James, and he preened indignantly.

"And then," she continued, her eyes reflecting the geometric qualities of the book's illustrations, "we'll invite everyone to a very special HOA meeting. Mandatory attendance."

James shifted uncomfortably. "You're starting to sound like one of those villains who monologues their entire plan."

"Of course I am, dear. How else will everyone appreciate the elegant complexity of my vision?" She turned to a wall covered in photographs and diagrams, each connected by red string in patterns that made the Codex's geometry look positively Euclidean. "Besides, it's not monologuing if your audience is a magical book and a lump of Play-Do."

She began rearranging the strings, creating new connections that somehow existed in more dimensions than the wall had available. "The Parkers, Margaret, all those dreary little people with their dreary little lives... they thought they could stop this? Please. I've been planning this since before pre-made trusses were invented."

The Codex hummed what might have been a funeral march. Or possibly a show tune. It was hard to tell with eldritch harmonies.

"Oh, don't worry, darling," Evelyn cooed at the book. "We'll make it all perfect. Every death, every sacrifice, every drop of blood will be collected in regulation containers and properly labeled. Lord Alaric expects nothing less than excellence.  We’ve got that awful Roberts girl; her blood will feed the ceremony beautifully."

She paused, straightening a photograph.  "Though we really should update the ritual chamber's decor before he arrives."

In his corner, the small figure that used to be James Chen watched as Evelyn continued her conversation with the floating book of forbidden knowledge, debating color schemes for the upcoming apocalypse. He was deeply offended by the Play-Do comment, but kept it to himself.  For now.