Vincent let the book fall open on his palms.
“Here it is,” He exclaimed. I took the book from him and read the passage out loud.
When Haage will Mark his Consort
When She Will Lay with one of the Pure
When Death is on Her hands
When the Lover’s Blood corrupts
When the Families reunite on the Equinox
She is the Vessel
When the Golden Seals of Hell Break
Asmodeus will Rise
“I had a vision about this.” I said, closing the book. “Who is ‘the Lover’?”
Samuel took the tome from my numb fingers and placed it on the side table. “No one knows. But Haage is your lover if he has marked you as his consort.”
“Right.” I laughed. “How do you know that Haage has marked me?”
Samuel rolled his eyes but Vincent answered. “The Butterfly belongs to Haage.”
“But it could belong to anyone in the Blaire Family.” I stated.
“Only the Purebloods can mark their consorts.” Samuel countered viciously
“I wish you’d stop calling him Haage.” I sighed. “It’s getting very hard to keep track.”
“Does he no longer call himself Haage, then?” Vincent asked lightly. I narrowed my eyes. The probe for information was gentle, but there none the less.
I took my feet off the coffee table and folded my hands onto my lap. I smiled sweetly, as if I was sat in a job interview. Despite the fact I wore a dirty oversized parka and bright yellow Doc Martins.
“I call him Sweet-ems.” The change in my demeanour jarred both Elite daemons, but they recovered quickly. Clearly, they were used to leading the conversation.
Rose – 0, Taylor – 2
Samuel put his head in his hands. He didn’t look up as he spoke to his brother through gritted teeth. It was as if I wasn’t in the room.
“Ms Taylor is as mad as a hatter. Corrupted. Why would we want to claim ownership to… this?” He waved his hand in my general direction and I found it hard to not be a little insulted.
“I want to gain Asmodeus's favour.” Vincent said, much in the style of a petulant child.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Who is Asmodeus?”
“You don’t know anything?” Samuel cracked open an eye. “This has been written for donkey’s years.”
“Would Hen—Haage know about this?” I asked.
“Not sure.” Vincent shrugged. “Pureblood’s don’t take much stock in what the Oracle’s say.”
I bit my bottom lip and allowed the information to wash over me. Damian’s blood had corrupted me. But Henry had marked me; he had put a target on my back. He had painted a bull’s-eye on my forehead; not only from whatever the ‘prophecy’ said, but also from that bitch Lillian. From what I had gathered, she was not in the habit of allowing people to touch her things.
Samuel stood, bored and determined to draw the meeting to a close. He perused my body once more, even though I was hidden in the folds of my oversized and dirty coat.
“She couldn’t Herd sheep wearing an outfit like that.” He sniffed in disgust. “Send for Charlotte to sort out that mess of a person.” Samuel’s emerald eyes snapped to mine, his lip curled. “I want you to Herd at least ten humans before the week is out.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.
Every inch of my body was waxed. I stood on a platform in my threadbare supermarket packet underwear with my arms over my stomach. I looked down to my pale skin only to see splashes of red from the cold I felt. Gooseflesh raised on my exposed torso but the daemons that flittered in and out of the preparation room paid no mind to my discomfort.
It felt like I was in one of those movie scenes, where the stylist opens the door and reveals the makeover. From an asylum patient on the run to a princess. I scoffed at the thought.
“I can see why they chose you, dear.” Charlotte murmured. “Tall enough to be a model.”
I snorted. “All it ever got me was bullied.”
Charlotte gave me a knowing look. “Well, they can go to Hell.”
Another daemon brought in a dress, it was gold with a sparkly geometric pattern that accentuated all the womanly curves that I lacked. It was skin tight, like a wet suit. I tried to move my legs but found I could only take small steps.
“What should I expect?” I asked, inspecting my newly manicured fingernails.
Charlotte walked behind me and started to ruffle my hair, to give it a purposely messy look even though a stranger had just spent the better part of an hour enhancing my natural waves.
“You go to an event. You look for a young human, someone that no one will miss. Or you look for someone special. Someone with a little something extra. One will be auctioned for food, the other will be sold to a family to Ascend, Turn, whatever you want to call it.” Charlotte explained.
You should feel guilty. This should make you feel sick. Melanie screamed.
“Are you alright? A lot of Herders have trouble on the first soul.”
I ran my hands over the thin fabric of the dress and smiled brightly. “Good thing I’m not like ordinary people.”
10.
Red energy enveloped my pinkie finger like a ruby ring. It felt alive as it stretched and fattened. The crimson energy grew exponentially as I walked to the Rosen Gallery in Shoreditch. It was a ‘Starving artist’s exhibition' where I had one task. To bring in someone extraordinary. Someone who would be a benefit to the daemons, someone who would want to be one.
I looked the part, a sensual seductress fit for the role of recruiting someone with the promise of sex and power. Inside, I felt cold and lonely. With each flutter of red energy, I was reminded of Henry Blaire and I felt a little bit more heartbroken.
I had tried to ignore the yearning for weeks. Everything had reminded me of him. Every drink had been punctuated with his voice, as he begged me to stop. Every time I allowed a stranger to place their hands on my hips on the dance floor of whatever dive Trix and I had rolled into—I could feel his jealousy roll through me like a wave of dying sickness.
I swallowed my turmoil and became ‘Taylor’ the badass bleeder, not Fia, the weakling. I stepped out of the Limo that the Rose family had provided for me. I imagined that somewhere, someone would have been envious of the life that I appeared to be living. The reality was much harsher. The dress was borrowed; the Louboutin’s weren’t mine. The car, the money, everything belonged to the daemons.
I had one week to bring in ten souls. Ten humans. For whatever purposes the daemons wanted them for. It was human trafficking.
I had lied when I said I wasn’t nervous. I could not ignore the tiny scratches at the back of my mind that appealed to my guilt.
I held a golden, sequinned clutch under my arm and ignored the buzz of the phone that Vincent had provided me with. My breath fogged in the frigid air but I did not feel the cold. It was as if there was something in between the world and my skin. A hulking chasm of nothing. I had felt like that before, in times when I had become drunk beyond coherent thought.
Dubstep thumped through the doorway as I weaved around all the people that milled about outside. I tried not to stare at anyone for too long. Charlotte had told me that I would know when I saw someone extraordinary. That they would call to me.
The bright dust motes of life-force swirled lazily in the air. There were no daemons at the event, that I could see, just people dressed in black as they stared at erotic photographs of strangers having sex. My golden sequined dress shone like a beacon but I resisted the urge to hide myself with my hands. I plucked a glass of champagne from a tray and took a hearty slug. I shivered at the taste but did not feel the tell-tale warmth reach my belly. Alcohol was losing its potency. I could only guess that it had something to do with my newly acquired ability to rip the magic from a daemon’s body using only my mouth.
Life was all kinds of fucked up.
Henry had always had my anchor. My daemon. He w
as the constant in my life, the unsaid promise that things would get better. I had sought him out to kill Parr and Maylett; which he had done. Henry had been a hovering presence in my life, even if he was physically absent.
The red smoke that coated my right hand flared like a supernova and I flinched, covering my eyes. I squinted into the bright light and looked around guiltily to see if anyone had seen my involuntary action. It would be hard to play off later, if I met a celebrity or artist. What if I tried to recruit them, only to be asked why I was twitching like I had come off my meds.
Someone tapped me on my shoulder.
“Why are you here?” The man asked. His voice was honey and sex. I recognised the voice and my stomach dropped.
It was my Henry. Not my Henry, just Henry. Haage. I plastered a smile on my face and raised my almost empty champagne flute.
“Hello lover.” I purred, cocking my head to the side.
Inside, I died a little bit. Outside I made sure to keep up the façade of calm disinterest. Henry’s eyes were intense, his deep lapis lazuli irises stared into my own violet ones. They darkened when his gaze reached my red lipstick. I forced myself not to lick my bottom lip.
“What are you doing here? Did the Rose family invite you?” I asked casually.
Henry ran his hand through his messy mahogany hair, tugging the tresses at the nape of his neck. I forced my expression into something neutral.
“William Kain is the artist.” His voice was husky, it uncurled the knot in my stomach that I didn’t know had been building.
I glanced over my shoulder, “Yes. I would have thought this was his style. Taking photographs of people fucking and calling it art.”
Henry flinched. “Quite.”
“It must be an incubus thing.” My gaze was like a laser pointer and I refused to back down. Henry opened his mouth to say something but I turned on my precariously high heels and walked away in search of more champagne. As I got further away the red haze cleared and I could see my hand again. I unfurled my fingers and then clenched them into my palms. My nails were painted a matte onyx colour. I focused on them for a second before turning my attention to the crowd.
Henry stood at the edge of the gallery. His gaze slid to mine again but I stared forward. My phone vibrated again and I checked the message.
Vincent: Bring me someone brilliant.
I squared my shoulders. I could do that. I could focus. It would help take my mind off Henry Blaire. I perused the black and white photos, stopping every so often to look at the curves of naked bodies in greyscale. Out of the corner of my eye, I studied the crowd. There were artist students and people with obvious money but no one that drew me in.
I found myself standing in front of a photograph that caught my attention. I stepped closer and parted my lips. I recognised that tattoo… was that Trix?
“That’s quite a view.” A male voice came from behind my shoulder. I jumped and turned around, relieved to see that it belonged to someone that I didn’t know.
"I think I know the subjects.” I said, taking another sip of champagne.
“That one is William Kain’s, Ink Witch. It’s said that he himself is in that photo. But I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about you.” The man was good looking; his energy was like golden sparklies and white candyfloss. I could tell he was what Vincent wanted. Something different.
“Does that chat up line work? What’s the failure rate?” I smirked.
The man had the decency to blush. “Markus McBride.”
“Oh Marky Mark.” I cooed. “Are you in any of these photos?”
“Gods no. I’m a musician.”
“Anything I would have heard?”
“Number three in the charts now.” The blonde man said proudly. “Some acoustic shit that was written by someone else. ‘love me girl’.”
The corner of my lips turned up into a smile. “I don’t think I would have heard that. I don’t listen to ‘shit’.”
Markus laughed and I responded by putting my hand on his arm. I didn’t feel the same heat and intense electricity as I felt with Henry but I could push through for the sake of one week.
My eyes flickered to the edge of the gallery and met Henry’s pale ice blue daemon eyes for a second longer than I wanted to.
“Do you want to go outside and fuck?” I asked bluntly.
Markus’s laughing stopped and he took my hand and we weaved out of the gallery and through a staff exit. His hands tangled into my hair and his lips crushed against mine. They were soft but there was no spark so I moaned and faked it as he stole kisses from my made-up face. He grabbed my hips when we reached the alleyway behind the Rosen Gallery. A lovely romantic setting next to a large industrial size waste bin.
Markus lifted his hands to his zipper and began to fiddle. He must have wanted it quickly, he looked around to make sure no one was in the alley and I took the opportunity to reach into my golden clutch.
Poor guy didn’t know what hit him. The silver needle gum hissed with the release of pressure and my Mark, pun intended, sunk into my arms unconscious. I allowed my arms to help him drift to the floor for a soft landing. When my hands were free, I rubbed them against my thighs. I hadn’t realised that I had been sweating.
“You’re a Human Herder?” Henry’s voice drifted from behind me.
I swore and turned around, careful not to trip on the prone form of Mr Number Three in the Charts.
“Is that your solution?” He asked. His fists were clenched, his gaze ripped me apart and I felt as if he could see directly into my soul. The darkness inside of me wanted to do this, and knew it was the right thing to do. But there was a small part of me that felt sick. A small part that screamed and clawed behind my eyes. The screaming overpowered the darkness, but only when I let it.
“Vincent told me that if I give him ten humans then he will help me ascend on the Equinox.” I said stiffly.
“Vincent is insane. He is cruel. The Rose family will use you and spit you out again.” He hissed.
“Like calls to like.” I put the needle gun back in my purse and texted Vincent.
Sophia: I have your someone brilliant. Bring the car around.
“Are you sleeping with him?” Henry’s demeanour melted from anger into resignation. “Vincent?”
“It wouldn’t be your business if I was.”
“Thank God, you’re not.” He stepped forward and took my hands in his. I tried to pull away but the overwhelming feeling of wanting his skin against mine was too much. I told myself it was the Vessel inside me. That I wanted his magic. But now that I was more powerful, I knew that deep down that wasn’t the case. Henry didn’t have much of the burning magic, the glowing embers of power that other daemons had. It was as if there was a block inside his body, it stopped him from reaching into well of power.
I ripped my hands from his and took a step back.
“You don’t have permission to touch me.” I said. “…Haage.”
His jaw snapped up and his eyes met mine. Caught like a deer in headlights.
“Yes, I know your true name.” I whispered. “Go back to Lillian. It’s obviously where you want to be.”
“I want to be with you.” It was so quiet that I almost didn’t hear it.
I swallowed the lump in my throat that made it hard to speak. “Then you shouldn’t have been inside of someone else.”
A sharp car horn broke the connection between us. I hadn’t realised that we had stepped closer to each other. Close enough to share body heat. Close enough to kiss. I jumped to attention and Charlotte came barrelling down the alleyway with a large burlap blanket.
“Good work.” She whistled, taking in Markus’s good looks. She covered him with the blanket and walked off down the alleyway with him slung over her shoulder. His limp form bobbed as she moved.
“I would tell you the truth, but you will think me weak. You would find me disgusting.” Henry whispered.
“More so than I do now?” I snarled, unwilling to
back down. “I am meant to be your soul mate and you had no problem running back to your Lillian.”
Henry smiled sadly and ran his finger down my cheek. I flinched and pulled away.
“I will always be here for you.” He said.
I reached up to slap his hand away but I blinked and he was gone.
I didn’t go back to Dartmouth House in Mayfair, even though the limo idled on the road outside of the alleyway and Charlotte tried to coax me inside. Instead, I went home.
Exhaustion had set in, a heaviness in my thighs that made it hard to walk. I arranged an Uber back to the Camden flat. The phone in my clutch vibrated over and over but I ignored it as I forced my burning legs up the stairs to the front door. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I allowed the golden clutch to fall to the floor. The shiny handle, in the shape of a knuckle duster, hit the paisley carpet with a dull thud.
Trix poked her head around the living room door, her mouth was full of food and she looked a bit like a hamster. Her almond hazel eyes raked from my Louboutins to the top of my blow-dried and curled hair and she swallowed the food in her mouth with an audible gulp.
“You’re wearing a dress that costs more than three months’ rent.” She pointed out.
I kicked off the high heels and padded into the living room. I slumped into the leather armchair.
“I’m so tired.”
“You haven’t drank any daemon blood in a few days.” Trix said, she was sat on the sofa and rested a plated sandwich on her lap.
“I feel so empty. I feel sick.” I shivered. “I don’t even know what I am doing anymore.”
“You Herded someone then?” She took a bite of her sandwich. Her expression didn’t change, Trix always had the ability to look as if she was bored. Her face gave nothing away.
“I did. He’s going to ascend so at least I don’t have to worry about being responsible for someone’s death.” I murmured.
Daemons of London Boxset (Books 1-3) The Bleeders, The Human Herders, The Purebloods Page 34
