Chapter 17: Blood and Clay

The Trap

I squeeze my clay ass through the foundation crack, feeling my body reform like Play-Doh pushed through one of those stupid plastic pasta makers. Fucking Evelyn and her stupid errands. "Go check on them, James." "Make sure they found the body, James."  Like I'm her goddamn errand boy with nothing better to do.

At least this crappy job has perks. Like watching Claire Parker when she doesn't know I'm looking. Hot damn, that woman could make a clay man melt. When I’m not doing Evelyn’s bullshit I’ve been hiding in the bushes outside her window trying to sneak a peek.  She likes to walk around with her perky tits hanging out when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking.  Such a tease.  But I still haven’t gotten to see if there’s carpet or hardwood down below.  I also haven’t figured out how jerking off works in this new form.  I mean, I’m clay, I can form a dick and beat it for hours.  There’s just no ‘main event’ if you know what I mean.  Technically, I'm not even alive, so is it really perverted? 

The basement's dark as shit, but that doesn't matter to my magical eyes. I can see everything, including Lila's body they've stored down here. Nice wrapping job. Classy. 

I pause, listening for movement. Upstairs, I hear sobbing. Claire. Alone. Perfect. Evelyn specifically told me to get all the juicy details of their suffering. "Tell me how they cried, James." "Tell me what they said, James." She’s a real cunt, that one.  Tiny, flat ass, too.  Not my type at all.

I squeeze under the basement door and ooze up the stairs, reforming as I go. My clay body doesn't make a sound.  One advantage of not having actual bones. James Chen in life was an accountant with a bad back and irritable bowel syndrome. A loser so awful he was pressured into marrying his cousin but his overbearing aunt.  James Chen in clay form is a goddamn superpowered ninja who doesn’t give a fuck.

As I reach the top of the stairs, and the lights dim.  I feel something weird. The house is colder than it should be. And there's this pressure in the air, like right before a thunderstorm makes your ears pop.  Meh. 

I follow the sobbing to the study. Through the half-open door, I see Claire sitting with her back to be on an open-backed bench, facing the desk.  Shoulders shaking, clutching something small in her hands. . As she sobs her perfect ass bounces.  My clay body responds, certain parts becoming more... defined.

Shit, I miss having a real dick. Clay approximations just aren't the same. If I could free myself from Evelyn, the first thing I'd do is find someone who could give me a real cock. Then I'd show Claire Parker what an undead clay man could do for her. I bet I could make her forget all about her useless husband. "Let me balance your books, baby." "Let me audit your assets."

I slide into the room as quiet as a tax deadline extension. She doesn't notice me. I take another step forward, imagining what I'd do if I wasn't just Evelyn's puppet. I'd reshape myself into her fantasy, become what she really needs. Better than that loser David who fell for the oldest trick in the book, a vampire MILF with fake tits and an HOA manual.

One more step and—

Fuuuuuck.

The floor lights up under me like I just stepped on the dance floor at a 70s disco. A circle of glowing symbols surrounds me, and suddenly I can't move forward.

"Now!" A woman's voice shouts from behind the bookcase.  Lights flip on everywhere. People emerge from hiding places.  Thomas from the hallway, Margaret from behind the bookcase, Ethan and his useless father from the doorway.

A motherfucking trap.

Claire stands up and turns toward me, wiping away tears. "Got you," she says, and holy shit, even when she's fucking me over me she's hot.  She’s wearing a low cut halter number that exposes her toned midriff.  Come to clay daddy, baby.

"Well, fuck me sideways with a magic wand," I say, testing the barrier with my clay hands. Pain shoots through me.  Which is bullshit because I shouldn't even feel pain. "You folks sure know how to make a guy feel welcome."

Thomas approaches, all serious with his vampire superiority complex. "The binding is specifically designed to contain blood magic constructs."

"No shit, Dracula," I spit back. 

Margaret steps closer, studying me like I'm something she found on the bottom of her boot. "James Chen. We need information."

"And I need Claire to sit on my face, but we can't all get what we want, can we?" I make eye contact with Claire and wink.  

Claire's expression turns to disgust. "That's revolting."

"Don't kink-shame the clay man, Claire," I say, trying to reshape my body into a massive, veiny dildo. The circle restricts me. "If you knew what your husband was doing with Evelyn, you'd find my interests positively vanilla."

"Let me question him," David steps forward, looking all tough and shit. Like he wasn't Evelyn's little bitch just hours ago.

"Let Thomas handle this, David, no one’s buying your fucking ‘tough guy’ act at this point." Ethan says with teenage disgust.

"Language, kid," I interject. "Some of us clay abominations have sensitive ears."

"Shut up," Margaret snaps at me.

"Make me, leather mommy," I retort. "Oh wait, you can't without breaking your pretty little circle."

David approaches the edge of the circle. "Tell us where Evelyn has taken Alaric."

I laugh, a sound like gravel in a garbage disposal. Sounds all come out weird when your tongue and soft palate are made out of clay.  "Wouldn't you like to know, buddy? Bet you're sad you're missing the party. Evelyn in that ceremonial robe that's basically lingerie with delusions of grandeur.  I bet she’s riding that eldritch evil cock like a pro right about now.  She’s such a slut for a real man."

"Lila is dead because of you," Ethan says, his voice shaking with rage.

I turn to him, seeing my opening. "Kid, she died so easy. One quick stab and schluurp—" I make an obscene sucking noise "—her life force just drained right out. Like a juice box when you stab the little hole just right.  Yeah, I got her little hole good."

Ethan lunges forward but Claire catches him. "I'll fucking kill you," he snarls.

"Get in line, Tearful Teen Angst. Your ticket number is 69." I wink at Claire again. "I've been saving that one for you, baby."

Claire looks at me with pure loathing. "You're disgusting."

"And you're gorgeous when you're murderous," I reply. "I saw you, you know. Blowing away those HOA members. Hot as fuck. You should wear their blood smeared across your cleavage more often."

Thomas interrupts, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Enough games. Where is Evelyn taking Alaric?"

I consider my options. I'm trapped, but I can still serve Evelyn. Give them just enough truth to lead them into danger.

"Fine," I sigh dramatically. "She's taken him to the original ritual chamber beneath Cedar Lane. The tunnel under the stone? That's just the entrance to a whole complex that's been there basically forever. She's been planning this shit for a long ass time."

"What's she going to do with Lila's blood?" Claire demands.

"Make sangria. What do you think she's going to do? Jeez, good thing you’re pretty because you’re dumb.  She's going to complete the ritual properly this time. Stabilize Alaric's form. Give him what he wants."

"Which is what?" Margaret presses.

I smile, a horrific stretching of clay features. "A proper physical vessel. One that can contain his essence fully. One that can... perform all necessary functions." I let my eyes roam over Claire suggestively as I pump my hips a couple of times. "You think Evelyn just wants power? Nah. She wants to be an immortal vampire prom queen with the hottest date at the apocalypse."

David looks sick. Good. I hope he pictures it every night for the rest of his pathetic life.

"I've got more details," I offer. "But I'll only tell Claire. Alone. Without the circle. I've got... special information just for her."  I try to lick my lips but everything’s dry and it turns into me just sticking out my tongue.  

"Not happening," Margaret says flatly.

"Worth a shot," I shrug my clay shoulders. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Interrogation

The homunculus slouched in the center of the glowing circle, a smirk stretching across its clay features. Despite its containment, it maintained an air of defiance, clay arms crossed over what passed for its chest.

"I'll tell you jackshit, losers" it announced, examining its featureless fingers with exaggerated boredom. "Evelyn made me better than that. So you might as well let me go. Or kill me. Either way, I'm not talking."

"We have ways of making you cooperate," Thomas said, his voice thick with threat.  

The homunculus laughed.  It was a sound like rocks in a cement mixer. "Ooh, scary vampire man. What are you gonna do? Drink my blood? News flash, Count Chocula: I don't have any. Just clay and magic."

Thomas approached the circle's edge, rolling up his sleeve. "Blood magic created you," he said calmly. "Blood magic can undo you. Maybe worse, make you feel again."

The vampire sliced his palm with a silver dagger, letting several drops of his semi-ancient blood fall onto the circle's perimeter. The symbols flared brighter, and a ripple passed through the homunculus's body. Its clay features contorted briefly in what might have been pain.

"That tickled," it said flatly, though its voice had a new strain to it.

Thomas let more blood drip onto the symbols, murmuring words in that ancient language. The circle constricted slightly, forcing the homunculus into a smaller space. Its clay body compressed.

"Tell us about the tunnels beneath Cedar Lane," Thomas demanded. "What is Evelyn planning?"

The homunculus's clay jaw clenched. "Go fuck yourself, Edward Cullen.  Sparkle in someone else’s line of sight."

Thomas continued the blood ritual, his expression grim. The circle pulsed with power, and the homunculus's form began to destabilize, parts of it melting, then reforming.  It let out a small, pained sound.

"This is a waste of time," Margaret said after several minutes. "It's resistant to direct manipulation."

"Let me try," David said quietly.

Claire glanced at him skeptically, but nodded. "What's your angle?"

"Marketing," David replied, stepping toward the circle.

The homunculus eyed him with contempt. "Look who it is.  Evelyn's favorite boy toy. Come to show off your new spine?"

David ignored the barb, his face settling into the pleasant, open expression he'd used for countless client meetings. "You know, I get it," he said conversationally. "Serving Evelyn. The way she makes you feel important.  Needed. Like you're part of something greater than yourself."

The homunculus's clay features shifted slightly, surprise quickly masked by more contempt. "You don't know shit."

"Don't I?" David's voice remained casual, but his eyes were sharply focused. "She has a way of finding exactly what you need, doesn't she? For me, it was purpose after I lost my job.”  He paused, and looked around the room a bit bashfully.  “And sex.  I needed to feel like someone else was in control.  For you..." he paused, studying the clay figure. "For James Chen, it was recognition, wasn't it? The quiet accountant, always in the background, always overlooked."

The homunculus shifted uncomfortably. "Shut up."

"She made you feel seen," David continued. "Important. I bet she even praised your work directly. 'No one understands the numbers like you do, James.' 'I couldn't run this community without you, James.'"

A visible tremor ran through the clay figure.

"And now look at you," David gestured to the homunculus's form. "Still serving. Still in the background. Running errands while she's down there with Alaric, reaping all the glory."

"It's not like that," the homunculus snapped, a hint of James Chen's voice breaking through its gravelly tones.

"No?" David raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here, getting captured, while she's performing the grand ritual? Where are you in her plans for eternal power? Did she promise you a place by her side? Or are you just another resource to be used up and discarded?"

The homunculus's clay features contorted with confusion. "She needs me."

"For what?" David pressed. "To deliver messages? To kill teenagers in their sleep? Doesn't sound like a valued team member to me. Sounds like the intern who gets coffee."

“She promised me I could pound your wife’s chocolate starfish for all eternity, loser.”  The clay figure paused and it's arms uncrossed, its posture less defiant now. "That’s not how it is.  I’m important to her. Special."

David nodded sympathetically. "She made me feel special too. Right up until she didn't need me anymore." He leaned closer to the circle. "Tell me, if you're so important to her plans... why don't you know exactly what she's doing right now?"

The homunculus hesitated, confusion spreading across its features. "I... I do know."

"Everything?" David asked skeptically. "The full ritual? Her plans for afterward? What she intends to do with Alaric once he's fully manifested? If you're really part of her inner circle, you would know all that. Not just the errand-boy details."

The clay figure's confidence visibly cracked. "She's completing the summoning ritual in the original chamber. The heart of the Cedar Lane design." It paused, internal conflict playing across its features. "She's using the girl's blood to stabilize Alaric's form."

"What form?" Claire asked, picking up on David's approach. "Her own? Something else?"

"No," the homunculus said, a note of bitterness entering its voice. "She's preparing David's body as the vessel."

David paled. "What?"

"You weren't just her toy," the homunculus continued, apparently finding satisfaction in David's shock. "You were being prepared as Alaric's permanent physical anchor. All that sex? The blood rituals? She was conditioning your body to receive him."

"But I escaped," David said, his voice unsteady.

The homunculus shrugged its clay shoulders. "Doesn't matter. She collected enough of your blood, your essence. With Lila's catalyst blood, she can complete the preparation without you physically present. Best of both worlds for her.  Alaric gets a stable vessel, which I guess some people might find attractive, and she doesn't have to share power with you.  She marked you.  She owns you."  David’s hand went to the brand on his lower back.  

Thomas and Margaret exchanged alarmed looks.

"We need to move quickly," Thomas said. "If she completes this ritual—"

"You'll never make it in time," the homunculus interrupted with grim satisfaction. "The tunnels are a labyrinth. And she's laid traps."

"What kind of traps?" Margaret demanded.

The homunculus smiled, revealing clay teeth too perfect to be human. "Why should I tell you that? So you can save the day, destroy my mistress, and leave me trapped in this circle forever?"

"Because if she succeeds, you'll be as irrelevant as the rest of us," David said quietly. "Just another servant in Alaric's new world order. At least if we succeed, you might get a chance at something else. Something of your own.  We’ll let you live.  We will let you go."

Something flickered in the homunculus's eyes.  A fragment of James Chen, the man who had once had dreams beyond Cedar Lane's perfect lawns and synchronized sprinklers.

"Blood wards," it said finally. "The main tunnel looks clear, but every third alcove contains a blood trap. Step into the wrong one, and you'll trigger a containment spell."

"How do we identify them?" Thomas asked.

"They're marked with Evelyn's signature: a small spiral that looks like an architectural flourish. Easy to miss if you don't know what to look for. And the central chamber is protected by a barrier that only admits those who carry Evelyn's blood mark."

"Like you," Margaret observed.

The homunculus nodded. "And him." It pointed at David. "You're still connected to her, even if you ran away. The ritual she performed with you created a bond that's not easily broken."

David sighed and pulled up his shirt, revealing the symbol Evelyn had branded into his lower back.  “This is the symbol?”  There was a collective gasp from the room.

“Holy shit, Davey boy, you had it worse for her than I thought!  You didn’t just let her mark you for the ritual, you let her do it as a tramp stamp!  Jesus, man, have some dignity.  But yeah, that’s the one.”  The homunculus chuckled weakly.

David looked sick. "So I could get through this barrier?"

"Theoretically," the homunculus confirmed. "Though I wouldn't recommend it. The amount of power flowing through that chamber right now..." It shuddered, clay rippling in waves. "It would probably destroy you."

"Is there another way in?" Claire asked. "A weakness in the design?"

The homunculus hesitated, then relented. "The ventilation system. The original builders created air shafts that connect to the surface. Most have collapsed over time, but one still functions.  It emerges in what is now Mrs. Peterson's garden."

"The one with the weird birdbath," Ethan said suddenly. "The one that never has birds."

"Because it's not a birdbath," the homunculus agreed. "It's a disguised access point. The water is just camouflage. Beneath it is a shaft that leads directly to a storage area adjacent to the main ritual chamber."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Margaret asked suspiciously.

The homunculus laughed bitterly. "Because at this point, what does it matter? If I help you, I might survive this. If I lie, we all die when Alaric fully manifests. Even clay abominations have a survival instinct.  Besides, this body fuuuuucks.  I want to stick around a little longer to use it."  The small clay figure winked at Claire again.

Thomas studied the creature thoughtfully. "There's still more of James Chen in there than Evelyn intended, isn't there?"

The homunculus looked away. "Yeah, maybe."

"Then help us stop her," Claire urged. "Help us end this."

The clay figure was silent for a long moment. Then, with visible reluctance, it began to describe the layout of the tunnels, the specific nature of each trap, and the timing of the ritual.

Ethan's Rage

The clay figure had given them everything they needed: the layout of the tunnels, the nature of the traps, the timeline of Evelyn's ritual. As the others gathered supplies and prepared to leave, Ethan stood silently at the edge of the binding circle, staring at the homunculus with an unreadable expression.

The clay creature shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "What are you looking at, kid? Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Ethan didn't respond. His face was completely still, a mask of control that was somehow more terrifying than any display of anger.

"He's been telling us the truth," Thomas said, approaching Ethan cautiously. "We should leave it contained here until we return."

"If you return," the homunculus muttered.

Ethan's eyes never left the clay figure. "It killed Lila," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Yes," Thomas acknowledged. "But it's given us valuable information. We need to focus on—"

"It watched her die," Ethan continued through clenched teeth, as if Thomas hadn't spoken. "It collected her blood. Put that note on her chest."

The homunculus shifted again, its clay features arranging themselves into something like defiance. "Just following orders, kid. Nothing personal."

Something flickered in Ethan's eyes.  A brief flash of the rage that he'd been suppressing since finding Lila's body.

"Ethan," Claire said, sensing the dangerous shift in her son's demeanor. "We need to go. We can deal with this... thing…later."

"Yeah, run along," the homunculus taunted. "Go play hero while the adults talk. Maybe cry some more about your dead girlfriend." It formed its clay mouth into an exaggerated pout. "Boo-hoo."

No one saw Ethan move. One moment he was standing at the edge of the circle; the next, he had pulled the dagger Thomas had given him and lunged toward the trapped creature.

"Ethan, don't!" Margaret shouted. "The circle—"

But it was too late. The dagger broke through the magical barrier with a sound like shattering glass. The symbols flared blindingly bright for a split second, then winked out entirely as Ethan brought the dagger down on the homunculus's head with all the force his grief and rage could muster.

The clay figure's expression shifted from smug defiance to shock in the instant before impact. As the silver connected with its head, cracks spread across its face like lightning. For just a moment, something human flickered in its eyes. James Chen, the man it had once been, seemed to look out through the crumbling clay.

"Thank y—" it began, but the word was cut short as Ethan brought the dagger down again and again, each blow shattering more of the construct.

Clay fragments flew in all directions as the homunculus collapsed under the onslaught. No one moved to stop Ethan, watching as he reduced the creature to rubble.

When nothing remained but a pile of broken clay, Ethan finally stopped, breathing hard, the dagger dangling from his hand.

Silence filled the room, broken only by Ethan's ragged breathing.

"Ethan," Claire whispered, taking a hesitant step toward her son.

He knelt among the clay fragments, searching through the debris with focused intensity. After a moment, he found what he was looking for.  A small ceremonial dagger, previously hidden inside the homunculus's body. Its blade was dark with dried blood.  Lila's blood.

Ethan lifted the weapon, studying it with clinical detachment. Without a word, he wiped the blade clean on his shirt and tucked it into his belt.

"That was unwise," Thomas said quietly. "The binding circle was containing its magic as well as its physical form."

"I don't care," Ethan replied, his voice hollow.

"We don't know what effect destroying it might have," Margaret added. "It could alert Evelyn."

"Good." Ethan finally looked up at them, his eyes burning with a cold fire that made him look far older than sixteen. "Let her know we're coming."

Claire approached her son, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Ethan, I understand—"

He pulled away from her touch. "No, you don't," he said, but without heat. It was a simple statement of fact. "Nobody does."

He stood, his hand resting on the dagger at his belt. Clay dust covered his clothes, and a small smear of it marked his cheek like war paint.

"Let's just end this," he said, walking toward the door without looking back.

The others exchanged concerned glances.

"That's not Ethan anymore," David said quietly. "Not the Ethan we knew."

"Grief changes people," Thomas replied, his ancient eyes reflecting centuries of loss. "Sometimes temporarily. Sometimes permanently."

Underground Ritual

Beneath Cedar Lane, in tunnels older than the neighborhood itself, Evelyn Whitmore stood in a chamber that pulsed with ancient power. Unlike the pristine suburban aesthetic she cultivated above ground, here she had embraced her true nature. Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, streaked with blood. Her ceremonial robe, crimson and gold, open at the front to reveal ritualistic markings painted across her now naked body.  They caught the light from dozens of black candles arranged in geometric patterns across the chamber floor.

The room itself was massive, carved from bedrock in a perfect circle. Copper pipes, older and more ornate than those in the modern houses above, emerged from the walls at precise intervals, all converging at a central altar. Lila's blood, glowing with an unnatural light, rested in a ceremonial chalice at the center, surrounded by items that belonged to David Parker: a tie, strands of hair, a shirt with dried sweat, and vials of his blood and other bodily fluids.

"Patience," Evelyn whispered, stroking the items lovingly. "Everything must be perfect when they arrive."

At the edge of the ritual circle stood Alaric. His form remained unstable, one moment resembling a plain-looking man with an unremarkable face and soft physique; the next, something far less human, with too many limbs and features that defied anatomical logic. His eyes, however, never changed: black voids that reflected nothing, absorbed everything.

"I know it's difficult," Evelyn continued, sensing his restlessness as his form shifted between states. "But it will be best if the vessel must be present for the final transference. David Parker's body is the perfect host; physically strong, genetically compatible, and most importantly, already connected to you through our rituals.  And he’s hung like a horse."

Alaric made a low rumbling sound that might have been appreciation.

"The preparation is nearly complete," she assured him, approaching the altar. "The girl's blood is the perfect catalyst.  Young, vital, and conditioned over weeks with specialized nutrients and mystical resonance. When mixed with David's essence and your energy, it will create the perfect medium for transference."

She ran her fingers along the edge of the altar, her eyes gleaming with ambition barely contained. "They're coming for us, you know. The Parker woman, her son, that interfering bitch Margaret, and..." her lips curled in a cruel smile, "David himself. Walking right into our trap."

Alaric's form flickered violently at the mention of David, as if eager for what was to come.

"Yes," Evelyn purred. "I knew you'd be pleased. I've arranged everything perfectly. The homunculus has likely been captured by now, feeding them just enough information to lead them here, through the path of my choosing, past all my little surprises."

She picked up a vial of David's blood, holding it to the candlelight. "When I found you trapped between dimensions all those decades ago, I promised I would find a way to bring you fully into this world. And now, we’re on the cusp."

Evelyn moved closer to Alaric, her body language unmistakably seductive despite the eldritch horror before her. "And once you're properly housed in David's body, we can begin our reign together. As your consort, I will stand beside you as we reshape this pathetic world."

She reached toward Alaric's constantly shifting face, her fingers passing through a brief patch of insubstantiality. "They'll worship us as gods, or die screaming. Their choice." She laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the chamber. "Though I do hope some resist. It's been so long since I've enjoyed a proper culling."

Alaric tilted his head at an unnatural angle, something like curiosity in the gesture. His form flickered again, revealing glimpses of something that resembled a mass of writhing shadows before settling back into his more human appearance.

"Don't worry about Thomas," Evelyn continued, returning to the altar to make final adjustments. "I've prepared special countermeasures for our vampire friend. He's interfered with my plans for the last time." Her beautiful features hardened with ancient hatred. "This time, there will be no escape for him.  For any of them."

She lifted the chalice of Lila's blood, careful not to spill a drop. "We just need David."

Alaric made another low sound, this one possibly an agreement.

She set down the chalice and approached a complex array of controls built into the chamber wall; a bizarre mixture of ancient mechanisms and modern technology. With practiced precision, she adjusted dials and pressed sequences into what looked like a contemporary security panel.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "The traps are armed. The blood wards are activated." She turned back to Alaric with a smile that contained centuries of careful plotting. "Now we wait for our guests of honor."

As if in response, the chamber trembled slightly. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Someone had entered the tunnel network.

"Right on time," Evelyn whispered, a look of triumph spreading across her face. "Soon, my love. Very soon."

At the edge of the ritual circle, while Evelyn wasn’t looking, Alaric rolled the black voids of his eyes in a way that clearly expressed: ‘this bitch.’