by J N Moon
Startled by the break in silence, I looked up as Tony arrived looking like a child on his first day of school. Pale and bloodshot eyes, hungry. He looked at me like I was his lost parent now found.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I imbued him with my power before he took his first taste of blood. Hey, presto, no vomiting. Well, he was ill for about an hour, but as soon as his body was empty, he was all right. I hope you don’t mind, I took him out to eat...blood. After watching you, I knew the drill, and it wasn’t an innocent that he fed on.”
“It was a vile man who’d been running a gang here for years. Vicious bastard. I got to say, sucking his blood made me better on both accounts, but I’m feeling worn out, mentally. It’s a lot to take in. Anyway, now he’s off the streets. The better for everyone.”
Looking at Bael, “You killed him? We’re doing that now?”
“Well, I can. It’s easier, so what the hell. Andy’s doing better. Have you seen him yet?”
I shook my head.
Calling suddenly, making us all jump, “Andy! Jack! Come here!” Bael shouted.
Rolling my eyes. Geez, that really was a way to make people hate you. Impulsively I stepped back. Andy’s eyes glowed red, fierce flames. Alongside him, Jack smirked. He, indeed, now had the devil about him.
“I’ve taught them, especially Andy, how to harness their anger, their wrath, and turn this into power. It's really quite effective," he joked.
"OK, so we're done here? Tony, you all right?"
"I trust Bael, sure. I mean, it's all pretty surreal and all, but an offer like that...Crap, I was at the doctor a few days ago, and he warned me about my overindulging. High blood pressure, irregular heartbeat. Guess that won't matter anymore," he winked.
I'd never come across a mortal changed to this who accepted it so easily. Maybe that was Bael's doing?
Stoned Demons
"Right, lads. You ready? Off to meet Tom then."
Before we had a chance to digest what he said, we were standing under some trees in a shady grove, sun beating down with an array of tropical bird songs all around us. Falling to my knees, zapping around was doing something really weird to me, though Bael seemed immune to it.
Puffing as I got up, my eyes narrow, he belly-laughed. "Hey, hey. Come on, Anthony. You'll like Tom. He's an artist, too. Well...when he can be bothered."
He strode off fast as he talked, "Tom has a lot of talent. Gifted, some say, but he's so lazy, it's bloody shocking. I've watched him over the years. Unfortunately, what was done to you lot, I was unable to help you myself much until Anthony changed. Until now."
Turning around so fast that we almost bumped into him, he added, "Mind you, being Prince of Sloth will probably make him worse, but you do the best you can."
The area we walked through was full of trees, grass, rolling hills in the distance. Within minutes, we were on the edge of a country town. Looking at Jack, he wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulders.
As we carried on, it became clearer. Tom, Bael had said, was an artist. This little place was bohemian. An Australian version of Glastonbury town in Somerset, England. Quirky boutiques, dreadlocked men and organic eateries filled the walkway alongside art galleries. It was all small and quintessentially eco-friendly. Not what I would've expected in Australia at all.
Bael turned left sharply. We followed him up a winding path behind the shops, trees lining every walkway before coming to an old-fashioned wooden house with whitewashed walls built, at a guess, a hundred years ago. Its veranda was worn, warped steps and paint flaking off the hand rail but filled with an abundance potted plants that were spilling into the little area. Large windows with antique-looking white drapes, slightly yellowed, and worn hanging limply. Before walking up the old wooden steps, Bael put his arm out. "Boys, why not go back into town and get yourselves a drink? And don't be twats or I'll kill you, I mean that quite literally. Anthony, you'll be needed, so you best come with me."
"No, I'm not leaving, I'm coming with you two," Jack shouted quickly.
"No, you go with your brothers. Tom has a girlfriend. I don't want five men suddenly turning up. No need to frighten the woman!"
Something clicked in my head. He had a girlfriend, like I'd had with Rachel, someone to watch over him. Shit. Bael would kill her. Was she a succubus too?
Narrowing his eyes, Jack sneered and turned on his heels back into the little town.
A shudder ran down my back, but Bael obviously dismissed it and was up the rickety timber steps in a flash, calling out, "Hello. Tom? It's me."
"Hello? Who is it?" a delicate voice replied as I followed him in. At the entrance, a petite woman appeared. She had short, dark blonde hair and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt. She was barefoot, but her eyes...Immediately the hairs rose on the back of my neck. No mortals’ eyes sparkled that much. Seeing Bael, she froze, her pretty, Roman face changed, contorted, involuntary snarling, her hands like claws.
"Gail! Is that..." but before Bael could say any more, Gail lunged at him. He flashed a look at me, rolling his eyes, clicked his fingers, a sudden bright flash of frost-blue light and she was gone. Ash on the floor.
Astounding myself at my lack of compassion, I said, "When I wore the ring, I rubbed it, held it when I wanted to do something. I didn't need to do that, did I?"
"Nah. That's just a rookie thing. When you get it back, you won't need to worry. Mind you, you shouldn't need it for that now anyway. Not now. It aids the power, keeps it charged." As he started to look for Tom, I had to ask, "Why me? You wouldn't rather give it to one of the others?"
Raising his eyebrows, he answered, "Are you mad? Some of them are quite unstable. No, you're the only one I trust. Ah, there he is...stoned again," he tutted.
And he was. Tom was slumped in an old armchair whose ripped, dirty, olive fabric had seen better days. Dressed like he was homeless, I grimaced. Personal hygiene obviously wasn't important to Tom, who sat with a huge joint in one hand. On the opposite chair arm rested a small drawing pad, and he was immersed in drawing in pencil on it. Headphones covered his ears, he was completely oblivious to us.
As for the room, cluttered was an understatement. To his credit, the paintings he had done, mostly half-finished, would grace any modern gallery. A mixture of Dali and Geiger, I'd say. They just had that alien touch, a disconnect with reality, which I guessed was fitting for him. The attention to detail was staggering. A lot of half-humanoid, biomechanical creatures melting onto ordinary objects. TVs, phones. I stared like a fool, and with envy. I was never that good. Yes, he was wasting his talent.
Excitement replaced my green-eyed monster. Could we become friends? As demons, we could work creating paintings, sculptures to shock the mere mortals. Much like great artists had done in the past, live the dream.
Bael stood in front of Tom, who raised his eyes up to see Bael. Being not impressed, he returned them to his picture.
Bael turned to me. "I told you!" Not happy with being ignored, he grabbed the joint from Tom's hand — that got Tom's attention — and took a big draw on it. Squeaking as the hashish filled his demonic lungs, he said, "Oh my godfathers...this stuff's strong. I'm surprised he's even awake!"
Handing it to me, I looked about for an ashtray. My days of pot were over. All the ashtrays were brimming with cigarette butts and discarded joints. I managed to wedge it in one without the place catching fire. Moving his massive headphones back only slightly, the music poured out aggressively.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Bael, remember? We've met before. God help us..."
"I never met you. Fuck off. I'm busy."
Roaring with laughter, Tom shot me a look. Tears welled in my eyes. "Ah, Bael. I bet you're not used to that..." I grinned.
"Tom, I haven't got time for your stoned hazes. I'm Bael. I'm here with Anthony to make you an offer you can't refuse, if..."
"Sod off. I'm working. Gail!" He shouted her name so loud, like a child demanding his mother
.
"Gail's gone. I smote her and I'll bleeding smite you." Bael grabbed Tom by the collar, pulling him up, then extended his arms out so he held Tom as far away as his extended. "Bloody hell. Don't you wash, you heathen?" Shaking his head, he said, "I cannot believe you're a son of mine. So much talent but you smell like a hobo."
"I'm not your son you gangster freak! What the hell do you want with me? Money, is that it?"
Bael let go and Tom immediately slumped back into the chair like a rag doll, Bael asked, "Tom, how would you like to live forever?"
Blinking rapidly, Tom reached over the side of the chair, straining. It was like moving was an effort for him and watching him move was painful. Taking a swig from a brown bottle of beer, he cleared his throat, "Spliff? Hand it back. You need to go!" Then abruptly, he screamed again, "Gail!"
His lips tight, shoulders rounded, Bael's handsome face turned to stone. "Look, you little shit, I killed Gail. Now I'm here for your soul. You have two choices. You give it or —”
I didn't let him finish, funny as it was seeing Bael angry what wasn't funny was the look of dread on Tom's face as he heard his lover was dead. In a flash, I'd moved past Bael, pulled Tom, and sank my teeth into his sweaty skin, his blood filling my senses, his memories playing in my mind. Swaying at the breadth of emotions he'd been through then suppressed them with drugs, his art started to make sense. His mind was a hot mess. He had loved Gail but had been wholly unable to express it. Shut down emotionally except through his art where he felt safe. The hash in his blood made me giddy, rocking back and forth as his sensations swept over me. I drained him, dropping him back into the chair where he fell almost lifeless.
Saying nothing as I lost myself in his blood, my body tingled, danced, inside rushing, my heart stirring. I realised I needed to do this more often. Turning slowly, I said, "Never take that away from me. That...is exquisite."
Scanning the room, a tinge of sadness gripped me. His life, his lover all gone in a flash, over. The tiny ornaments, a picture which was yellow from nicotine, stirred a memory deep within me. Tom and Gail from some years ago on the beach together laughing. Noticing the brightness in his eyes in that photo, and the strangeness in hers, I remembered my own mortality. Rachel and I had had a beach photo when we'd been mortal, happy. Innocent from blood hunger.
Looking back at Tom, Bael was already chanting something, in Latin, I presumed. Whispering, his arms slightly outstretched, and for a second, I thought of killing him right there and then. But could I? I didn't, though. I merely watched as Tom slowly came around. I went over and dropped my blood into his mouth. Like hungry animals, they lap it up, their souls so eager to live, to exist. A new beginning, a life in the shadows, the underbelly of humanity.
As Tom lay there, his body reacting slowly to the massive change thrust on it, I mumbled, "Two left. Let me go alone."
"Mammon, or Daniel as he's known, isn't easy. He's an evil bastard to be sure, I think."
"Look, I want this finished. I —”
Vicious Beauty
I found myself standing outside a large Victorian House in London. I knew of the area: Notting Hill.
Walking up to the gate, a camera zoomed around, following me. I could jump the gate easily, but I decided to start off civil at least.
Pressing the intercom, I said, "Anthony. I'm here on behalf of Bael."
Silence. Looking around, it seemed that Daniel's evil ways, whatever they were, had paid off. If I had to estimate, his house would be worth quite a few million. No doubt Bael helped. But why some of them and not others? His favourites, I guessed.
"Come in," was the stern reply.
Ah, so Bael was known here. Good, that should make it quicker.
I walked the short distance from the huge cast iron gates, across a path next to the manicured front lawn- a stark contrast from the house we’d taken Andy to in Bristol. Reaching the house the door opened, a thug in a suit eyed me over, then stood to the side and grunted, "Follow me."
I chuckled, it was all so cliché.
Whereas Tom's ramshackle, dirty home had some feeling of warmth to it, here it was clinical like a dentist's surgery. Fear heavy in the air like one of those nasty chemical air fresheners. Sure, the carpets were wool, thick. Walls lined with expensive art, but there was no soul here. I knew what I'd do now. Following the guard into a vast room, underfloor heating warming my dead feet, and Daniel, or Mr. Greed, sat at a dining table, black Mac in front of him — the moment I saw it, I knew I'd take it — and an entourage of men and women dressed provocatively hanging around him. But, bloody hell. He turned around, eyed me over, smirked, and sauntered over to me.
Unlike the rest of us, Mammon, Daniel, was very tall, tanned, and obviously worked out. His sleek black hair fell way past his shoulders. He looked like he'd stepped out of an Egyptian pharaoh movie except without makeup, his high cheekbones, long nose, tongue darting over his top lip. He wore a thick metal neck ring which I presumed was real gold, no shirt but black, slim designer jeans and was barefooted. Like getting dressed was an afterthought, Nathaniel would love him. Bi, obvious from the moment I spotted him and his people.
"So, Bael has sent you to me. There's something...about you," he drew out his words. I allowed him to touch me as I stood preternaturally still.
His eyes darted over me, staring at me only inches away he murmured, "God, I want you now. And so submissive! But..." Running his hand over my face, he couldn't disguise a flinch. He narrowed his eyes then whispered, not wanting the others to hear, "You're not human, are you?" That seemed to infuse his interest. His breathing now heavier, I trembled as I heard his heart pumping faster. Noticing the artery in his neck, his blood - my body reacted in a frenzy. But I didn’t move, at all. I didn’t even blink.
He was transfixed at my preternatural stillness until I narrowed my eyes, the edges of my lips curled, almost snarling. Before he spoke, I gasped, "Get them out of here." He fell instantly under my spell.
But it was broken when one of his men charged in with news that one of his scams had been detected. His operative had been tracked and was being questioned by the fraud squad.
This Egyptian-looking Prince went from beautiful to terrible in an instant. Judging by his people's expressions, the terror in their eyes, they flinched at his temper, his wrath.
Shooting me a look, he shouted to get out. Instead, I sat down. Like a child with a tantrum, he stormed around screaming, "Get out. All of you!"
I hollered above his shouting. My voice was so loud it was almost piercing, I almost jumped myself. Must be Bael's doing. They ran. He looked confused. "That doesn't matter. Not anymore. Where you are going, what I am going to give you, no money, no nothing can buy it. Come."
Dropping open his mouth, he walked on autopilot over to me. I stood back up before him, cupping his head in my hands, moving only my eyes as the others, including his guards, left. It looked like I was going to kiss him. Then scanning his face, I said, "I am going to give you the gift of immortality."
He stepped forwards, used to having his way with whomever, but I side-stepped him, tasted his blood, his anger, his evil, and was nearly sick in doing so.
Reeling from his violent past, I put out my hand to steady myself as he collapsed to the floor. My compulsion to kick him to death overcome by disgust and shock.
Then, anger. I crouched over him as he lay on the brink of death. I whispered, "I am a vampire, and I have seen your evil. You will harm nothing ever again. The very thought of violence or anger will send you into a fit of fear. You will hide away. Do you understand? Know that as your maker, I am stronger than you and the night is full of predators beyond your power." A tiny gasp of air from his lips, then I kept my deal with the devil, and I fed Daniel my blood.
So, one more to go...
The One I Really Wanted to Kill
The wind blew strong, sweeping my hair into my eyes as I adjusted to this city. Huge colonial buildings sitting alongside modern, gasping at the backdrop of mount
ains that sat behind Cape Town. Long Street, probably the most famous street in the city, was bigger, bolder than you can envisage. In reality, bustling with tourists, it had a European feel, which took me by surprise.
Here, I was to find Richard, otherwise known as Leviathan: envy. Bael hadn't said much about him except that he worked in a designer shop and lived about twenty minutes from here. First, I wanted to meet him as a customer. So, taking my time, breathing in that African air full of city smells, I wandered up noticing with interest the hustlers who would see me walk forwards then step back suddenly sensing danger.
The shop, exquisite, had a guard on the door who was apprehensive about letting me in. Again, that sixth sense, but in I went. Scanning around, I spotted Richard instantly. Envy. A recognisable trait, smirking, probably because he couldn't fake a real smile. He approached me, eying my bespoke jeans, boots, shirt under my old, non-bespoke leather jacket.
"That jacket is classic!" he almost choked on his words.
He surprised me, his voice higher than I imagined. Richard was slightly shorter than me, about five-foot-eight with slightly unruly hair, dark piercing eyes, thin tight lips that looked like he was sucking them, and an oval face.
"I never leave home without it. It's my faithful friend," I replied quietly.
"Well, how can I help you? Anything in particular you're looking for? I love your jeans. Armani?"
I nodded. "I need a suit. Black, modern, with a red shirt."
"Red?" he squeaked. "Ah, very good. Silk, I guess?"
"Sounds great. Can you help?"
"What size do you wear?"
