Magda—Dr. Magda Stern, professor of history, keeper of the revised inventory—sat in her office late one night, updating the records. The vellum was long gone, replaced by a laptop and a cloud-based database, but the work was the same. The accounting of miracles. The tracking of progress. The patient accumulation of evidence that the world was changing.
Entry 10,001: Year 2024. Women's ordination in major Christian denominations. Result: Partial acceptance. Long-term result: Unknown. Note: Progress is slow. Progress is painful. But progress is real.
Entry 10,002: Year 2024. Me Too movement. Recognition of systemic abuse of power. Result: Cultural shift. Long-term result: Unknown. Note: The women are speaking. The world is listening. This is new.
Entry 10,003: Year 2024. The meeting. The business plan. The negotiation. Result: Pending. Long-term result: Everything.
She looked at that last entry for a long time. The meeting. The one they had been waiting for. The one that would decide everything.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Constance: It's happening. He's coming back. The beach is ready.
Magda stared at the message. Six thousand years. Seventeen deaths. Countless reincarnations. The burning times. The drowning times. The centuries of silence and the decades of speaking out. All of it, all of it, leading to this moment.
She typed back: The coven is ready. The lesson is learned. Let him come home.
And somewhere, in the spaces between time, Jesus booked his flight to the Galilee, packed his bags with sunscreen and swim trunks, and prepared to finally, finally, take his vacation.
The coven of the damned was coming home.