Daughters of Men: Episode Two

Sons of God: Season Two

Jun 30, 2025

You're reading Daughters of Men, the second season of the Sons of God series. This is Episode Two.
Last time, Mae arrived in Chicago, where Wade greeted her at her new apartment, she received a new set of mystery instructions, and met a neighbor girl with an uncanny ability. Meanwhile, Chance’s investigation hit an odd and unexpected road block.
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Season two picks up with Mae fleeing to the Windy City after making a deal with the mysterious and otherworldly entity she not so affectionately calls Ziggy, with Special Agent Chance Davies in hot pursuit. With only the ghost of her late husband to guide her — you know, the one she killed in self-defense before dumping his body and getting out of Dodge — she wastes no time making new enemies, and a precious few friends, as she works to untangle the web she’s gotten herself into and discovers just what, exactly, Ziggy wants her for.

Mae took a cab to the address in the letter. If she’d learned one thing from that afternoon’s shopping expedition, it was not to count on finding a place to park in this city, and that if she did it might cost more than a cab ride. Which was saying something. As she forked over a twenty to the driver, she resolved to figure out the train system ASAP.

“Wait here,” she told him, handing him another five. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, you can go.”

Not knowing what she’d find, she wasn’t about to leave herself stranded. She turned to see exactly where she’d been dropped off. The neighborhood was called Bridgeport, according to the cabbie, somewhere in Chicago’s south side. She stood in front of a long, low brick building that took up the whole block, full of shops, all of which looked to still be in business.

Her destination was sandwiched between a tattoo parlor and a hookah bar. The sign painted on the window announced Mystic Mysteries, the i’s dotted with an eye inside a triangle inside a circle, and a pentagram, respectively. A display of occult books, crystals and spooky-looking knicknacks looked out beneath the sign. Definitely not the gun shop or self-defense studio she’d been hoping for. Mae took a deep breath and let herself inside.

A bell rang over her head as she crossed the threshold, gaining the attention of a goth girl behind the counter. Other than her pale white skin and a ruby stud in her nose, everything about her was black. Long, sleek black hair, black lace Victorian top over a floor-length black skirt, black nails filed to a point. Even her real eye color was hidden behind black contacts that gave her a demonic look. At least, Mae hoped it was only contacts.

“May I help you?” she asked in a sweet, girlish voice that was at odds with her appearance. As Mae drew close to the counter, she could see that the contacts weren’t black, but a deep, glittery purple. Pretty, actually.

She opened her mouth to say, “Ziggy sent me,” but realized that Ziggy was her own made up name for her new boss. She had no idea what their actual name was. “I, um, I was told to come here.”

The girl’s black lips widened and parted to reveal white teeth and dimples that tugged at Mae’s maternal heartstrings. What on earth was this sweet kid doing in a place like this? “You must be Mae. We’ve been expecting you. Follow me.”

She led Mae through the shop, past rows of shelves lined with jars of herbs and oils, more crystals, New Age and occult books, spell books, incense burners, ouija boards, crystal balls, dream catchers and other various and sundry witchy-looking things. The Cure’s “Fascination Street” played softly on the store’s sound system. They came to a heavy velvet curtain. Black, natch. The girl pulled it aside and waved Mae through the doorway beyond. “Turn left at the end of the hall, then right past the bathrooms. Lucian is waiting for you.”

She made her way down a well-lit hallway with large, framed, black and white photos on the walls. Plaques underneath each photo identified each subject. Mae saw the names Alestair Crowley and Helena Blavatskey before she stopped bothering to read them. Following the shop girl’s directions led her to the end of the public hallway and into a large stock room, significantly less well lit. In fact, from the dim flickering against the shelves and the myriad items they held, apparently the lights had been turned off and candles had been lit.

Rounding a row of shelves, her suspicions were proved correct. The center of the room was clear of shelves. A wooden chair sat in the middle, inside a circle of white pillar candles. A man stood behind the chair, his hands resting on the back of it—Lucian, Mae presumed. He was bald and, like the girl out front, dressed all in black. His hands, neck, face and head were covered in tribal tattoos, and silver rings glittered on each of his fingers. He had just the sort of goatee you’d expect to see on someone who tried so hard to look like a devil.

What was she doing there?

He smiled, exposing teeth that gleamed in the candlelight. “Welcome. Azaroth’s blessings be upon you.” His voice rang out deep and melodious.

“Um. Thanks, I guess.” Mae motioned toward the candles and chair. “What’s all this for?”

“It’s for the vessel of Azaroth.”

“Huh. Is that, like, an antique vase or something? It sounds expensive.”

Lucian’s shoulders shook as he laughed. He stepped out from behind the chair and swept his hand toward it with a lot more theatricality than necessary. “Have a seat. We need to purify you before the ritual.”

“Ritual?” Mae’s eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough to let her see the large pentagram painted on the floor. A candle had been placed at each point of the star. “I don’t know anything about that. I thought I was here to get armed, or maybe learn some self-defense moves or something.”

Again, Lucian laughed, but not unkindly. “I understand your confusion. But this is much better. You are Azaroth’s vessel. His power will come upon you whenever you have need of it.”

“Uh huh. And Azaroth is who, exactly?”

He seemed genuinely shocked by the question. “Azaroth is ancient. He is strength and power. He is the reason you’re here.”

Mae couldn’t help the unbelieving laugh that forced its way out. “I’m here because a letter told me to come here. But I’m definitely starting to rethink some of my life choices, and I think maybe you should, too.”

All of Lucian’s kindliness disappeared, and his gaze became hard as granite. “You would do well not to make an enemy of the Great One.”

She nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I think I’ll take a raincheck on the whole…” She waved her hands around at everything. “Thanks anyway.” She turned to go.

“Without Azaroth, you can’t carry out your mission. You’ll have no one to protect you.”

Mae kept walking. Suddenly, chills came over her whole body, which spurred her to walk faster. She retraced her steps back to the shop. The clerk opened her mouth to say something, but Mae cut her off with a wave of the hand. She hurried through the store and out the door, where her cab sat waiting. She yanked open the door and spilled into the back seat, where she sat hugging herself against the lingering chill. “Take me home.”

“You okay, lady?” the driver asked, at the same time another voice said, “Get back in there.”

Mae glared at Wade, who appeared in the back seat beside her. “Take me home,” she repeated.

“Mae…” Wade’s voice held a warning edge that she was all too used to. It still had the power to make her flinch.

The cab pulled into traffic. Mae squeezed her eyes shut and resolutely ignored him. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. At least not with his fists.

Beside her, she heard a sigh. “You never did know what was good for you.”

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She shuddered, and then slumped against the door, resting her head against the window. “I sure didn’t,” she muttered to herself. “But I’m learning.”

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Several days passed in quietness and peace. Mae was beginning to feel some semblance of normal, and not even Wade showed up to mar the illusion. She’d spent the time getting the apartment to her liking, adding a few homey comforts and decorations, stocking the fridge and cupboards. She also went for walks, getting to know her way around the neighborhood. She saw Delia here and there, tried to strike up conversations, but the girl seemed reticent and withdrawn. She had a haunted look in her eyes that Mae didn’t like one little bit, although she otherwise appeared none the worse for wear.

How many people over the years had thought the same thing about her?

She’d fallen into a morning routine of drinking her coffee while watching the news on the cheapest little flat screen she’d been able to find. The headlines depressed her, but she took comfort from the fact that none of them were about her. They were still digging up bodies at Al Stimpson’s place, though, which gave her an odd sense of peace and satisfaction about what she’d done to him.

That morning, she was reaching for the remote to turn off the TV when shouting erupted from across the hall. She clicked it off, set her mug down and went to press her ear to the door. She couldn’t make out what was being said. Not only was it muffled, but it sounded like a foreign language, one she couldn’t begin to identify.

The shouting stopped. After a moment of silence, Mae relaxed, and turned to go finish her coffee. Then she heard a resounding slap—a sound her ears knew all too well—followed by a girlish shriek of pain. She spun back around, unbolted the locks and flung wide the door, only to halt with one foot over the threshold as a couple of hulking goons glowered at her from their posts outside 2C. They each wore copious tattoos and earrings and black leather jackets that were just the right length for concealing weapons, both of them exuding palpable “fool around and find out” vibes. In spite of herself, Mae caught herself wondering if Azaroth would’ve been able to handle them.

But she knew she couldn’t, so she ducked her eyes, stepped back inside and shut the door, bolting it behind her.

Just what kind of man was Delia’s step-father?

“Ziggy’s not real happy with you.” Wade’s voice interrupted any further thoughts about if, or how, she might intervene for the girl. She turned to find him sprawled on the couch as if he owned the place, his feet on the coffee table. She opened her mouth to tell him to put his feet down, but remembered they were either ghostly or imaginary, so she didn’t bother.

“It’s mutual. If I’d known letting myself get possessed was part of the package, I’d be in Canada by now.”

“Is that so? Anyhow, you wouldn’t have been possessed. Just… enhanced. That Lucian idiot should’ve explained it better.”

“I don’t want to be enhanced, either. At least, not like that. Tell Ziggy to just give me a gun so I won’t have to get so creative next time I come up against someone like Big Al.”

Wade laughed. “You don’t tell a being like Ziggy how it’s gonna be, darlin’. And if you think a gun’s all you’re going to need for the work ahead, you’ve got less in that pretty head than I ever gave you credit for.”

Ignoring the jab, Mae snatched her mug off the table and headed into the kitchen for a refill. When she walked in, he was already there, leaning against the fridge. “Gotta say, though, I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the offer.”

She kept her calm while she poured. “You’re surprised I refused to give up my will to some God-only-knows-what upon the word of an Anton LaVey wannabe? You know me even less well than I thought.” She sipped her coffee and leveled a look at him over the rim of the mug.

“I’m surprised you didn’t grab the chance for that kind of protection. Because I know you well enough to know that you’re afraid.”

“The only thing I’m afraid of is being haunted by your sorry ass for the rest of my life.”

“Is that so? Then why don’t you go and turn yourself in?”

She set the mug down and grabbed a dish rag to start wiping the sink and counter. She’d already done a deep clean of the apartment, but cleaning had always been how she coped when Wade upset her. Their home had been spotless. At least he’d never been able to complain about her housekeeping.

“You’re afraid of a lot of things,” he went on, “but I don’t think I’m one of ‘em. Not anymore. I think mostly, you’re afraid of ending up in another cage. Whether it’s a dog cage in a dingy basement or a prison cell or another bad marriage. Or being so badly beaten and damaged that your own body becomes a cage.”

She paused her wiping. She didn’t know when or how he’d become so insightful, but he had a point.

“I think you’ll do just about anything to avoid that fate. Hell, you’ve already killed two people and broken who knows how many laws. Azaroth could’ve given you the power to protect your freedom.”

With a sigh, Mae tossed the dirty rag in the sink. “Something tells me Azaroth would’ve just been another kind of cage. How many strings were attached to that deal?”

Wade nodded. “Maybe so, darlin’. But I’ll tell you this—you should be afraid of Ziggy.” He inclined his head toward her front door. “You should be afraid of those people, too. Don’t get it in your head to rush in where angels fear to tread. Remember, darlin’—you’re no angel.”

With that, he vanished.

“Always did have to get in the last word,” she muttered, picking up her coffee. It had gone lukewarm, so she popped it in the microwave for a minute. But by the time it beeped, she’d decided she was wired enough. What she needed was to go walk off her agitation. She traded pajama pants and slippers for jeans and boots, pulled on her coat, and headed out the door.

Again, she paused in the doorway. The goons were still there, and both turned a scrutinizing gaze on her. One of them had lit a cigarette and filled the hall with a thick, tobacco-scented haze that made the oppressive feeling of their presence even heavier. Mae turned her back on them as she locked the door behind her. Avoiding their gaze, she headed for the stairs.

Once outside, she gulped in fresh air. Comparatively fresh, at any rate. Even with the diesel fumes and the stink of the overflowing trash bins wafting over from the alley, the cool, crisp fall air felt like a relief. Zipping her coat, she descended the steps and headed up the block. She didn’t get far before her Spidey sense prompted her to glance back, where she saw one of the goons emerge from her building.

Facing forward, she picked up her pace. Probably the guy just needed to get away from the smoke. Or maybe he was the smoker and his partner had kicked him outside. It likely had nothing to do with her. Reaching a storefront, she slowed to a stop and pretended to look at a display in the window, searching for the goon in the corner of her eye. He had left the stoop and moved in her direction, but when she stopped, so did he, kneeling to fiddle with his shoelaces.

Rational reasons for him to be there went through Mae’s head even as her heart sped up. Maybe he’d been sent to the store. Maybe he just wanted to go for a walk. Probably it had nothing to do with her.

Except everything she’d seen and been through in the past couple of weeks had crumbled her belief in coincidence, and listening to her fear had never steered her wrong. She started to enter the store, but caught sight of the church across the street reflected in the window. On impulse, she turned and crossed the street without acknowledging the goon’s presence.

The church was a fairly nondescript brick building that took up half the block. The front rose to a peak that was topped with a white cross, and bars covered stained glass windows on the front of the building. One of them depicted the baptism of Christ, the other his crucifixion. Mae hurried up the steps and pulled on the glass door, which thankfully swung open to receive her. Pushing further into the vestibule, she waited for the door to close behind her before turning to look outside.

The goon had moved up the block to loiter where she’d been only moments before, his gaze fixed on the church entrance. Backing up into another set of doors, she pushed through and found herself in the sanctuary, which was empty of people. She made her way to a back pew and sank down, taking deep breaths to slow her heart even as she wondered what she would do if he followed her inside.

The pews all faced a stage at the front, on which stood a podium, a white board and an acoustic guitar. Above it all hung a large, empty wooden cross, softly lit from behind. A spiral-bound, plastic-covered hymnal in the pocket shelf on the back of the pew in front of her announced the name Redeemer’s Grace Bible Church. Next to that was a stack of pamphlets advertising a women’s shelter of the same name. Mae expelled a huff of ironic laughter at the sight of it.

She lifted her gaze to the cross. It stirred nothing in her except disappointment at her lack of feeling. It had meant something to her once, a long time ago. Standing on a similar stage with other children her age, singing hymns and Christmas carols as her parents beamed from the pews. Memorizing Bible verses in Sunday school and spelling out “God is Love” in macaroni on paper plates and decorating little crosses made out of popsicle sticks. Singing “Jesus Loves Me” and believing every word of it, not so much because the Bible told her so but because her mama did and why wouldn’t she believe her mama?

And then her mama got sick and died, and her daddy started the long slow suicide of drinking himself into an early grave. Still, she believed it whenever anyone told her that her mama was with Jesus and that Mae would see her again one day. She lit up with hope whenever she thought about the cross and what supposedly came after. And then her daddy had a heart attack and all she had in the whole world was Wade, who promised to love her and cherish her and take care of her, except he didn’t do any of those things, and all the hope and light in her went dark and cold.

The last time she had felt anything like genuine hope had been the last time she’d seriously prayed, which was when she’d fled from Wade after learning she was pregnant. But he found her and dragged her home and taught her a lesson and any last spark of hope or belief in a Jesus who loved her bled out of her along with her baby.

Her daughter, at least according to Ziggy, who promised Mae could somehow have her back if she played ball. Did she dare allow herself to hope that Ziggy could be trusted?

A daughter the same age as Delia. Mae didn’t know what that meant, but felt it had to mean something.

Her ruminations were interrupted by a woman entering the sanctuary from a door near the front. An older woman, somewhere in her late fifties or early sixties with slate and silver hair that hung in a braid down her back, she hummed a tune that Mae recognized somewhere in the depths of her memory as an old hymn as she went to the podium and shuffled through a stack of papers there. She glanced toward the back of the sanctuary and noticed Mae with a start. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She squinted into the dimness. “Do I know you?”

“No, I don’t go here. I’m sorry.” She started to get up.

“You don’t have to go. Sit there as long as you want.” The woman set down her papers and stepped down from the stage. Hurrying up the aisle, the hem of her long, flowy cardigan swishing around her thighs, she extended a hand as she reached Mae. “I’m Sue.”

Mae took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Delia says you're good people.”

She smiled. “You’re a friend of Delia’s?”

Mae shrugged a shoulder. “She lives in my building. I haven’t known her long. I’m new in town.”

Sue nodded and gave Mae an appraising look before settling into the pew in front of her, turning around to face her. “Have you met her step-father?”

“Not yet. But I’ve seen his bodyguards, or whatever they are. One of them followed me. That’s why I came in here.” She wasn’t sure why she was being so upfront with this strange woman, but something compelled her to tell the truth. “Delia said it was a safe place.”

Sue got up to go look through the door leading into the vestibule, peering out the front door. “I don’t see him. But don’t worry. Delia’s right. They can’t come in here. Or they won’t, if they don’t have to. Their demons don’t like it here.” She sighed. “That girl needs someone to look out for her.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Sue looked back at her. “Those men are dangerous. You’d do well to keep out of their way.”

“I’m starting to think maybe I was put in their way.” At Sue’s raised eyebrow, Mae waved a dismissive hand and stood up. “Never mind. If he’s gone, I should go.”

“You don’t have to go on my account. Are you looking for a church?”

“Not really.”

Sue nodded. “Well, that’s good, because we’re not one. Not since my husband passed away, God rest him. We’re more of a women’s ministry.”

“Delia said you’re a pastor.”

Sue laughed. “Not really, but I can’t get the ladies here to stop calling me that. We do hold weekly worship services and Bible study. All women and children. Most of them have come out of domestic abuse or sex trafficking situations, so they feel safer that way. Occasionally, a real pastor will come in to give a teaching, but mostly I’m the one leading it.” Coming over to reach past Mae, she grabbed a pamphlet and held it out to her. “We also operate a shelter and offer counseling services.”

Mae leafed through the pamphlet. “Are you telling me because you want a donation or because you think I need it?”

Sue stood back and folded her arms. “I wouldn’t say no to a donation if you have the ability and feel led to make one. But let’s just say, I can recognize the signs.”

“What signs?”

“The signs of someone who’s survived hell on earth, and is still just barely surviving.” She held Mae’s gaze for a second, her eyes full of knowing.

Mae broke it off and shoved the pamphlet in her coat pocket. “Yeah, well. It was nice meeting you.”

Sue beat her to the door and held it open for her. “Come back any time. Our doors are open 24/7.”

“Is that safe?”

Sue gave a slight shrug. “God protects us.” She considered a moment, then inclined her head. “And we have other security measures in place. Oh, that reminds me. Do you have protection?”

The question made Mae think of Azaroth, and how vulnerable she felt since she turned it down. “Not really.”

“Here.” She produced a small canister from her jeans pocket and handed it over. “Pepper spray. I’m not sure how useful it’ll be against those guys,” she said, nodding in the direction of Mae’s building, “but it’s better than nothing.”

Mae closed her fist around the canister and found the trigger with her thumb. “Thanks.”

“No problem. We’ve got plenty more if you end up needing to use it. You be careful out there.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mae slipped the can in her pocket. “Thanks again.”

She pressed through the front door to the sidewalk outside. With her hand hovering near her new weapon, she scanned the street, but saw no sign of her shadow. She pulled it out as she walked down the steps to the sidewalk, and also pulled out the pamphlet. She stood there a moment, considering both. She appreciated Sue’s thoughtfulness, but only one of these things had a use.

Sliding the pepper spray back in her pocket, she let the pamphlet slip from her hand and drift to the ground as she started to cross the street. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her arm and jerked her back, just as a car screeched its tires and blew its horn, coming to a stop right where she’d been about to walk.

Heart pounding, she ignored the cursing and swearing coming from the driver and turned to face her rescuer, a large man in a white hoodie. His hood partially hid his face, but from what Mae could see, he was young -- no more than twenty, if that. “Thank you,” she said. “I guess I need to watch where I’m going.”

“No problem,” he said as the angry driver sped away. He stooped to pick up the pamphlet. “Here, you dropped this.”

He held it out to her, and she suppressed a wry smile as she accepted it. “Thanks.”

“They do good work,” he said.

“Yeah?” She glanced up at him, and then contemplated the pamphlet in her hand. “How would you know?”

She looked up again when he didn’t answer, and gasped when he wasn’t there. She whipped her head around, searching her surroundings, but saw no sign of him. “Oookay.” Drawing in a deep breath and blowing it out, she tucked the pamphlet back in her pocket, and then looked both ways before heading back to her apartment.