Tanya swatted her on the arm. ‘You’re better than that so quit it. You’re better than him, better than me. You don’t behave like you aren’t or I’ll go all nasty on your pale pink arse.’
‘I’ll be a virgin ‘til I’m forty at this rate,’ Ceri sighed.
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘Says the girl who’s had some.’
Tanya poked her in the ribs, producing a squeak. ‘Let me tell you something about boys, girl. They aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Half of them don’t know what to do, and the other half know but don’t want to waste their time. And putting out for them doesn’t get you much more than some grunting and a promise that they’ll call you in the morning, which they don’t.’
‘You’re too young to be this cynical, Tanya,’ Ceri said wryly.
‘I’m between boyfriends, of course I’m cynical. Boyfriends are high maintenance. You’re smart, you’ll actually come out of school with good exam results, and go to university, and then you can get yourself a boy some other woman has trained up. You listen to me on this, it’s experience that counts and it’s way better if someone else has had to put up with them while they’re learning.’
Ceri giggled and Tanya said, ‘That’s better. It’s your birthday. You’re supposed to be happy, not moping around like a love-struck puppy.’
‘I don’t get it though,’ Ceri said. ‘I mean, I’m not fat, I’m not ugly… am I?’
‘No, you’re not ugly.’
‘Then how come the only boy who pays me any attention is Creepy Dalton?’
Tanya looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t honestly know. You are pretty enough. You got the long legs going for you… Maybe still a bit boyish…’ Tanya had developed a chest you could ski down; no one could describe her figure as boyish. ‘I think they just don’t notice you. It’s like they don’t see you.’
Ceri’s tattoos chose that moment to make themselves felt. It was an odd sensation, like they were squirming. She lifted her arms and frowned at them; tiny flickers of light were moving along the black not-ink. ‘Those things creep me out,’ Tanya said. ‘Sometimes more than Dalton does.’
Something howled outside and the squirming sensation got worse. Ceri sighed. ‘You up for an all-nighter?’ she asked. ‘I’m not going to get much sleep before dawn.’ Her gaze trailed back to the oblivious form of Paul Heaton. ‘If you don’t stay up with me, I don’t think anyone else will.’
October 31st, 2004
The night sky was a livid blue with waves of bright green streaming across it. There was even the odd streak of yellow. The Earth’s magical field seemed to have noticed Ceri’s mood; it was probably the worst Samhain she could remember. Even the normals were off the streets, but Ceri was standing in Kennington Park, alone, on her eighteenth birthday.
It was the first time she had been out of the house for no reason since April. She had not intended to go out tonight, but as the sky had darkened she found herself unable to stay in the empty building which had been her family home. Normally it would have been full of friends celebrating her birthday, but this year there was no party, no friends… no parents. Since her parents had died, Ceri had barely left her room, never mind the house, but the house was full of memories and she found she could not stay in it tonight.
There were… things around her. Shapes formed out of mist, looked at her, and then vanished. They were spirits, ghosts, and this was their night. Tonight the boundaries between reality and the half-realm they occupied were at their weakest. In ages long past men had gathered around fires and held loud celebrations to keep the dead away. Now they cowered in their homes instead.
But there were worse things out tonight than the spirits of the dead. Ceri could see movement among the bushes and her wrists were on fire as things she could not see swept past her, touching her, trying to occupy her body. She welcomed the pain. Pain reminded her she was still alive, unlike everyone else she loved.
A demon darted out from behind a bush, rushing toward her. It was one of the small ones, an imp, a… What was it her father had called them? A Devim. Small, not too bright, but it did have the classic look; bat wings and horns, long, nasty horns. Its skin was an iridescent purple colour rather than the impish red one might have hoped for on Halloween, but it hissed at her hungrily, started toward her, and then stopped, its eyes going wide. Giving a sound like a yelp of fear, the creature turned and beat its wings, flying rapidly off in the other direction. Ceri was wondering why when she heard a heavy footfall behind her. She turned and let out a gasp.
The creature was, perhaps, fifteen feet tall. It was obviously related to the Devim, but distantly. It had the same iridescent skin, but thicker legs, and while the imp had been scrawny this thing was a mass of muscle. Flames danced around its head like a crown and it looked down at Ceri with eyes which glowed a dull red. It had to be a demon lord of some sort. Her father had told her there were bigger versions of the Devim, but they were not much bigger than a human. This thing was huge.
‘You risk much being out on a night like this.’ The voice was deep and rumbling, but she had somehow expected it to be harsher.
‘No,’ she replied, realising that she meant it, ‘I don’t.’
‘I could pick you up and drag you back with me,’ the creature said. ‘I could rip your soul from your body and leave it to become a demon’s puppet. Are you not frightened, little human?’
Ceri nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.
A sound which was probably laughter came from the demon; it made Ceri’s heart feel like it was encased in ice. ‘You don’t seem scared.’
‘Maybe I just don’t care.
The demon leaned forward, reaching out his hand to place one long claw under her chin, raising her head. Her tattoos did not react; the action had no malice in it, just curiosity. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t.’ His hand withdrew and he turned, moving off toward the edge of the park. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you again when you do,’ he called back over her shoulder.
After a few seconds of watching his retreating back Ceri realised she was crying. It was Samhain, demon lords were walking the Earth, and she could not even get one to kill her. She turned back toward the house. She might as well be inside, on her own. There was nothing for her out here and there never would be.
Black Lily
Mayfair, London, June 14th 2003
Saturday night at the Dubh Linn. It’s a good, old fashioned pub in a cellar on Vigo Street. It’s old fashioned like a local pub. You know the kind? When a stranger comes in everyone looks at them. It’s always full of regulars and they sit around their tables, or in the booths around the sides, and if someone they don’t know gets close… Yeah, that kind of pub. There is one difference though; when a stranger walks into a normal pub, the regulars aren’t licking their lips when they stare.
No one pays too much intention when I walk in. Well, not that kind of attention anyway. I’m here at least once a week and the regulars know me. Most of them know me well enough to keep their distance. I’m Lily, by the way, Lily Carpenter. I’m eighteen and I live in a bedsit in Hammersmith, technically alone, but not most nights. I used to work behind the bar in this place when I first came to London. I was underage, but that kind of thing doesn’t bother the owner. These days I employ my talents in other, more lucrative ways. You’re going to ask what my talents are, right? That’d be telling.
Outside it’s full moon, so inside the werewolves are frisky. In the legends they turn into wolves at the full moon, but that’s just licks, lycanthropes. True werewolves change when they want, or sometimes when they get angry. Sometimes a girl gets a surprise and discovers they can change when they get… excited too. That’s never happened to me, but I wouldn’t be surprised anyway.
Anyway, most of the wolves in here know me, but there’s one table of newbies. Everyone’s ignoring them, four of them, laughing and boozing, and totally oblivious to the danger they’re in. My guess is they’re Royals slumming it. They have th
at yuppie look to them. The look of overconfidence that too much money and a feeling of invulnerability gets you. They’re the kind of people who say, “Do you know who I am?” to a cop. One of them grabs my arse as I walk past.
Now, don’t get me wrong when I say I’m asking for it. A girl’s got a right to dress how she likes and not have some freak with male genitalia think it gives him rights. But I’m asking for it, looking for it. My skirt’s so short the wolf-guy doesn’t have to reach far and it’s warm out so I’m just wearing a bandeau under my leather jacket. My sandals have five inch heels which puts a nice swing in my hips, lengthens my legs, and pushes my butt and chest out. But I’m not asking for it because of how I dress, I’m asking for it because I’m planning to take someone home tonight, end of story.
Still, a girl has to have standards. I stop and look down at the guy. He’s grinning back at me like this is the biggest joke ever. I can see his fangs. I smile so he can see mine and then I turn my aura on. I don’t cast it wide, just enough to cover the table. Him and his friends are looking at me, so they’re the ones who feel it. I don’t really know what it feels like, of course, but I have an idea. Something like the best orgasm you’ve ever had, though that’s because you’ve never had me. This guy’s not getting me either.
I leave the four of them moaning at the table and head for the bar. There’s some rumbles of laughter from the other patrons as I strut across the bare floorboards. The Dubh Linn is pure class; the ceiling is the floorboards of the floor above and there’s nothing covering the brickwork. The bar’s kind of nice though. It’s solid, dark wood with a huge row of bottles and optics behind it. Sean is also behind it and he’s nice too. Well, nice to look at. He’s all dark hair and good looks, but he’s fae and they tend to look like that.
‘Lily girl,’ he says as I get closer, ‘always a pleasure t’ watch you work. What’ll you have?’
‘Whiskey, a double.’ I lift myself onto a stool and cross my legs. I’ve got nothing on under the skirt and you have to leave something to the imagination.
As Sean puts the glass in front of me, I reach into my jacket for cash, and a hand puts a five pound note down beside the tumbler. The owner of the hand is blond and not too old. His muscles show under a tight, black T-shirt. ‘On me,’ he says and I favour him with a smile. ‘I’m Aaron,’ he tells me.
‘Lily. Thanks for the drink.’ He wants me. He’s hoping to score, but he’s going to be a gentleman about it. I think most women can tell when a guy is interested, but with me it’s more of a certainty. I just look at them and I know what they want. That’s one of my talents and it’s really useful in a place like this because Aaron wants me in bed, but the guy sitting on the stool at the corner of the bar wants my blood and the woman in the booth behind him wants to eat my soul. It’s important to know the difference.
‘My pleasure,’ Aaron says as he settles onto the stool beside me. ‘You a regular here? I just found the place.’
‘I didn’t think I’d seen you in here before.’ I take a sip of my drink, savouring the musky scent. When my eyes drift open, he’s looking at me with his mouth slightly open. ‘Yes, I come here quite often.’
‘You’re, um, beautiful,’ he says. It’s true, I am, unnaturally so.
I smiled. His cool is slipping. That can happen around me. ‘Thank you. There are a lot of attractive women around though.’ That was also true. There were a couple of fae and two century-old vampires in the room, and all of them looked stunning. Admittedly, if you could see what the vampires looked like under the illusion you’d run screaming, and you can’t be sure about the fae, but I doubt he knows that.
‘Well, yeah, I guess, but they scare the shit out of me.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘No,’ he tells me, ‘you don’t. Maybe that should scare me more.’ Guy’s got a head on his shoulders. ‘But somehow I don’t think you’re going to suck the life out of me.’
‘Well, I could, but I won’t. And if I did I promise you’d die happy.’
He gives me a quizzical little frown. ‘What are you?’ he asks as if he expects an answer.
‘My father was an incubus.’ I see his resolve faltering a little, but it’s balanced by his libido hiking up a notch.
‘You… you’re a demon?’
I give him a little pout. ‘Half-demon. Half-succubus, if we’re being precise.’
‘A succubus… um… wow.’ His grin is a little timid; I’ve moved the stakes up. ‘I’ve heard… things about succubi.’ Suddenly his libido is in overdrive. Summoning a succubus used to be a great ice breaker at orgies. That’s how I got born. Succubi are supposed to be the best sex a guy can get. It’s true too.
I lean toward him. My voice is husky and low. ‘Want to find out if they’re true?’
~~~
Aaron lives in a flat in South Kensington. Nice. Tastefully decorated, if a bit of a bachelor pad. And he’s got money, I may have to make him a regular; it’s always nice to have someone pay for your meals.
Speaking of meals, mine is pouring drinks. No, I’m not going to actually eat him! Well, maybe if he’s lucky, but not like that. I feed on sexual energy and that’s not as easy as it sounds. My evening snack needs to be suitably responsive. I turn my other aura on while checking out his book collection. That means I have my back to him and it gets some time to really sink in before he sees the little spark of red in my pupils. It might be overkill; I’m quite sure Aaron’s already pretty keen anyway, but there’s no harm in a little extra push.
His books give me pause. A lot of the titles are in Latin and there’s even one in Devotik. Devotik is the most common of the demonic languages and you don’t see it written down on Earth much. I can’t read it, but I recognise the glyphs. I can even pronounce them. My Dad taught me that much. Of course, Dad’s an incubus so the stuff he taught me to actually say was a little biased. Put it this way, I can’t order a beer, but when Aaron and I get down to it later, I can probably name the position. If Aaron’s got books like this, he’s really got money. It also means he’s either some sort of collector, or he’s a practitioner.
I turn around and give him my best sultry smile. He offers me a glass of whiskey and I can smell from here that it’s good stuff. His breathing is a little laboured; the aura is having its effect, but he’s fighting it some. He’s still trying to be the gentleman, how sweet.
‘What do you do, Aaron?’
‘Oh, that’s boring.’ Simple question, but he’s avoiding it.
‘That’s a fantastic book collection.’ Compliment the guy; it often works.
‘Ah well, yes. I work in the stock market. I do agoramancy.’ I give him the blank-but-interested look. ‘I do divination by studying market prices. I said it was boring.’
I reach out and touch his hand; he almost jumps. ‘It sounds fascinating,’ I tell him. Then I slip past and sit down on one of his big, comfortable sofas. The sofa is cream leather; I said it was a bachelor pad, right? I cross my legs again, slowly, keeping my black eyes fixed on his.
He takes the hint and sits down beside me. ‘Well, there’s a lot of mathematics and sitting around doing hand calculations. I can use computers for some of it, you understand, but you really have to see the way the equations are working out to make predictions.’
I sip my drink. It really is good stuff, one of the single malts from northern Scotland, I think. Lots of flavour and just enough catch on the throat, and that delicious warming feeling as it goes down. I also let my other hand fall onto his thigh, caressing through the thin fabric of his summer slacks. I hear his breath catch. ‘That must take a lot of effort,’ I say. ‘Patience… stamina.’ I breathe the last word.
‘Uh… yeah, I’d never thought of it like that. What, um, what do you do?’
I think he’s far enough under the influence of my aura to tell him the truth. ‘I’m a prostitute, but don’t worry, I’m off the clock.’
I’m right, he’s too far gone to care. ‘Well, I guess for a succ
ubus that’s a great job.’ Or something else. There wasn’t even a second’s hesitation, like he’d rehearsed the answer. There’s a little alarm bell ringing in part of my head, but I can see what he wants and the only change seems to be that he’s imagining more complex positions.
‘It is,’ I tell him and take another drink. I’m starting to take in a few other things around the room. There are warding sigils around the windows, but that’s not uncommon in a practitioner’s house. There’s a gnarled wooden stick beside the mock fireplace which looks distinctly more uncommon, the kind of thing wizards use, proper ones, demon summoning ones. I’m trying to come up with something else to say, but it’s not easy and there’s something wrong with my perceptions…
Aaron’s smiling and getting up. The remains of my whiskey spill onto the carpet, followed by the tumbler. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me, ‘it’s just a muscle relaxant and mild sedative. It should wear off in about thirty minutes.’ I try to speak, but it just comes out as a mumble. ‘Why? Because I’ve always wanted a succubus pet, but I’m not stupid enough to summon one. I practice numerology as well as agoramancy and I was able to divine your existence from certain patterns in sex trade economics and a paper on childbirth in the mid-eighties. Fascinating really, how these things can connect without people realising.’
Fascinating, yeah, sure. I know I’m finding it fascinating. My head feels fuzzy and I’ve got tunnel vision, and this guy is getting ready to do the one thing I had nightmares about as a kid. I’m only half-demon, but that half can be controlled and bound like any demon can. I need to concentrate, but I can’t, so I do the next best thing, I let my demon out.
Aaron picks up his stick. I guess you’d call it a rod, Aaron’s Rod, great. I was hoping I’d be meeting Aaron’s other rod by now. Putting the head of it against my chest, he begins speaking Devotik and there’s a shimmer of light around the stick. I can feel the spell trying to wrap around my mind like a fist and I let go completely. The power my body stores from ambient magical energy roars out and hits his spell like a hammer.
Tales from High Towers' Study Page 2
