I forced the illusion into his mind. His lips melted together. Soldered and burnt flesh. Kerning began to panic and clawed at his face. His eyes sparkled with fear. Deciding that his frantic actions would not bring his ability to speak back, Kerning turned with his hands curled into claws. He lurched forward for my neck but I stepped into the space between worlds and around him.
“I. Do. Not. Take. Daemons. As. Clients.” I repeated, enunciating my words as I turned on my heel and left.
There is a vast and inscrutable difference between a Pureblood and a Daemon.
A Daemon was once human, but then corrupted by Hell Magic.
There are two types of Daemon: Elite Daemon and Low. Elites were corrupted directly and thus retained the ability to hold onto Hell Magic and have the power to create new Daemons.
Low Daemons were basically immortal humans.
Purebloods were creatures that were born of Hell. They had never been human. A handful walked the earth, the rest lived in various circles of Hell. I was one such creature.
The once human Daemons clung to the farce of the Elite Families. Structures of hierarchy and Power that had surpassed many human lifetimes. The Families had been around long before I had been banished from Hell. Each type of Daemon had their own Families. Incubi and Succubae were by far the most populated.
As far as I knew, there were no descendants of the First Circle, and thus no family of Treachery Daemons running about.
I had never had the desire to corrupt a human with Hell Magic and make them immortal. I had never shared my blood.
When I arrived back at Morgenstern and Clark, I found a human behind my assistant’s desk. Cocking my head to the side in confusion, the tiny intern blustered and offered me coffee. To which I declined.
“Mr. Ramirez had a family emergency to attend to, so he asked me to fill in.” The redhead explained. She was unable to meet my eyes and would shift from one foot to the other. At one point, she placed her hand on her ear and I knew that it caused her discomfort to be in my presence.
I turned and walked into my office without a word. Peeved at Mike Kerning and whatever the Envy Daemon had planned, I opened my MacBook and wiped all my client meetings for the rest of the afternoon.
No sooner had I pressed, “delete”, did the trilling sound of my office phone fill the space around me.
I picked up the handset.
“Clark,” I answered simply, as I picked up my bag and readied myself to go home.
“Ms. Clark, it’s Marina from the Italian office. Mister Luc would like to pass on a message,” the subtle purr of Luc's Sicilian Hellhound would be the closest I had spoken to Lucifer in an age. I found myself unable to work my jaw, anger had turned my words into taffy inside my mouth.
“Tell Mr. Morgenstern that if he has a message then he can speak to me directly,” I said curtly, clutching the handset with white knuckles.
“Mr. Luc wanted to know why you have cancelled your appointments for this afternoon? Si?”
“Marina, tell Mr Morgenstern that whatever I do is my own business and not his.” I snarled.
“Mr. Luc will not like to hear that Miss Clark.” Marina's beautiful lilting voice sounded playful but that was just how she spoke.
I slammed the receiver down and then ripped the cord from the wall. Plaster left a cloud of white dust on my carpet and I had a uncouth hole in my wall. I did not care.
My personal mobile phone began to ring; it was an unknown number.
“Marina, I will reach through this phone and pull out your vocal cords if you attempt to speak to me on Mr Morgenstern's behalf again!” I hissed into my phone.
“Ms. Clark?” Luiz’s voice was shaky but I knew it wasn’t my tirade that had caused his fearful reaction. Luiz dealt with my fits of anger like an old hand.
“Luiz?”
“Ms. Clark. I need your help. Can you come to the Fold at Denmark Place?”
“If you’ve gotten tangled up in some daemon scheme, I may have to rescind your payslip.” I muttered.
Luiz laughed nervously and I knew that someone was listening to his phone call.
“I may have mentioned that I knew a human that can tell the truth from a lie.” Luiz wrung the sentence out like a nervous rag.
At least he hadn’t informed any one of my heritage. That was something.
“I’ll see you soon,” I did not wait for his response as I hung up.
I despised going into the Folds. They were almost completely daemonic domains. A fold was the space where the fabric of Hell and Humanity met and thinned. Normally caused by a heinous event such as mass slaughter or grief.
Many of the folds were places of revelry for daemons. Bars and clubs, hidden away in pockets around London. Some were simply used for transport.
I had the ability to Lace the fabric of space together. I could travel any distance if I willed it. However, Luiz had done me a favour by keeping my Pureblooded lineage a secret from whatever daemons had attached themselves to him.
I stepped onto the curb and slipped into my Limo, signalling for Simon to take me to the outskirts of Camden, where the Fold in question was located.
When the car pulled to a stop, I took a second to collect my thoughts as I severed my connection to Hell.
I stepped onto the broken concrete and found Luiz was waiting for me.
I looked at him in question. My eyes sought the shimmering film of the Fold, and Luiz held my hand out for him to hold.
Oh, yes. I had almost forgotten. I was playing the role of a simpering human. One who would not be able to venture into the Fold without help from a Daemon.
Samba music accosted my ears as we stepped onto the dancefloor as easily as disembarking from an elevator. The Fold was almost empty due to it being mid-afternoon. Luiz led me through the array of dark furniture and down a staircase. My heels clacked against the wooden floor. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was not sticky.
“What do you need me for?” I whispered.
Luiz's chocolate button irises flicked to mine. “You’ll see in a second.”
A door appeared on my left, as if materialising from nowhere. My senses were dull and sluggish as I was cut off from Hell and little more than a human. I had not seen the Magic that had hidden the door until I was almost touching it with my nose.
Luiz depressed the handle and gestured for me to walk through first.
I did not know what I expected to see, but it was not a blonde she-daemon strapped to a chair with her throat in the grip of a man. And I did not expect to see Samuel Rose as the owner of that hand.
A shockwave passed through my body at the unexpected event of seeing my one night stand again. I quickly dismissed the situation, not caring why he had his hand on a frail daemon’s throat.
Instead, I lazily perused the room for some clue as to why I had been pulled into the situation with such urgency.
“Samuel Rose. Vincent Rose.” Luiz nodded to the two men on the other side of the room. Vincent was a carbon copy of Samuel, minus the intriguing scar. I could have sensed more from them if I was tuned into the threads of Hell, but so far all I could smell was the stench of their Incubi heritage.
“Dahlia Clark.” I offered simply. My eyes languished around the room, taking in my surroundings. I had not been in a Fold in an age. It was a step closer to Hell than I would have liked.
I shivered at the thought.
“A pleasure to meet you, Dahlia.” Samuel released his captive, but his smile was predatory as he faced me. “This is your human lie detector?” he asked Luiz.
My Hellhound nodded stiffly.
Samuel Rose was going to pretend that he had never met me before? What a compliment, I rolled my eyes internally.
“You smell like fresh cotton,” a voice almost identical to Samuel’s chimed out, catching my attention. It was Vincent. His eyes sparkled with manic energy.
“Thank you,” I said, but I did not return their smiles. “What do you need from me?”
“You can tell truth from lies?” Samuel asked, his eyes narrowed.
I nodded stiffly. I knew what he was thinking. Only First Circle Purebloods had that ability and there I was, what looked like a little human, professing to be able to do the same. He would have been right to be suspicious.
“How long have you had that ability?” Samuel asked.
I shrugged. “Always.” It was the truth.
Samuel’s full lips pulled into a teasing smirk as he offered his hostage to me with the grace of a game show host.
“Have at it then,” he said jovially.
My lip curled; my mood soured further as he mocked me. I was already a Hairsbreadth from slaughtering a mass of people, I only needed one little push to take me over the edge. How dare a Seventh Circle daemon forget me?!
“You ask the questions and I will tell you if she is truthful or not.” I murmured, playing the part of the timid human.
Samuel walked behind me, his steps were cocksure just like the man. He dragged a chair across the floor, the wood screeched and made me flinch. I disliked being cut off from Hell around other predators but needs must if I wanted to appear as a human.
I took the chair and faced the blonde she-daemon. Her head dropped to her chest, blood had crusted around her nostrils and a lump marred the perfection of her nose. It had been broken sometime that day and healed quickly without being set properly. One of the downsides of Daemon healing.
“This is Vinca,” Samuel crooned, dragging his finger down the side of my face. I felt the coiling tendrils of his Incubus magic. It curled around my body with certainty. Even his touch felt different. If not for the presence of his twin in the room, I would have questioned if that man was Samuel Rose at all.
“She has some interesting news and I wish to know if I can believe a word that she says.” Samuel patted my cheek in a condescending manner.
I crossed my red bottomed heel behind my ankle and folded my hands on my lap. Taking a deep breath, I stared at the she-daemon. Her face was one metre from mine, like an interrogation suspect.
“Ask the questions then.” I urged impassively.
“Vinca, tell Dahlia what you told us when you arrived at Denmark Place this evening.” Samuel ordered.
Vinca looked up, her aquamarine eyes darted from mine to the Daemon twin behind me. Vincent. It appeared that he was the one to watch if her reaction had any justification.
Vinca cleared her throat, “Two Roses. One thorn. Bloody and infected. Lucifer will come to claim her. A child will be born. More powerful than fallen.”
I hid the abject terror that shot through my veins like a syringe full of ice water. I nodded numbly in response to her lyrical words. “She doesn’t believe that she is lying.” I shrugged. “But I can’t tell you if her words are true or not. Just that she isn’t deceiving you.” It was a prophecy and one that I had heard before. I schooled my expression into mild curiosity.
“Anything else?” Samuel asked.
Vinca's eyes had taken on the Celestine opaque quality that came when the connection to Hell grew stronger. The blonde woman heaved a wet cough as she peeked at the twins through blurry eyes.
“Go on Vinca,” I urged gently.
Vinca heaved a forlorn and defeated sigh. “That’s all I know. It came to me in a dream.”
This time it was Luiz that spoke, “Daemons don’t sleep. They can’t dream.” He said thoughtfully.
“What she said has been known for hundreds if not thousands of years.” I shrugged. “It’s in the book of Prophecies.”
Samuel and Vincent's heads snapped in my direction. Their faces shared identical looks of incredulous suspicion.
Luiz laughed nervously. “Dahlia does a lot of reading. She’s a PHD student, specialising in Anglo-Christian mythology.” He lied with ease.
Vincent seemed mollified but Samuel did not.
“You are full of surprises, Dahlia Clark.”
I was expressionless as I peered at Samuel through my thick lashes. I should have had the foresight to change my appearance before I stepped into the fold, but then again, I hadn’t been expecting to see someone that I knew. It was too late to shift my facial features now that Samuel Rose had seen me for a second time.
“Can I leave now?” I turned to Luiz, internally rolling my eyes at my attempt to appear human.
Samuel’s expression was shrewd and he licked his bottom lip, his gaze hovered over my body as if my clothes were non-existent.
“You may take your leave, Ms. Clark. But I may have need of you again.” His voice was low and dangerous.
I couldn’t help myself. I had faced the Devil almost every day of my life for millennia. If Samuel Rose thought that he could scare me, he had another thing coming.
“Try to book an appointment,” I called over my shoulder. “I am a busy woman.”
Being almost invincible and older than dirt meant that it was not often that I was manipulated into doing something I did not want to do.
It was clear that Vinca, the she-daemon, was a Seer of sorts. Extremely rare. The problem with Seers though, was that people often shot the messenger.
I stepped into the space between worlds, commonly known as Lacing in demonic circles. Emerging behind my desk, I slid out my office chair and sat down. Pulling my laptop towards me, I threw myself into my work. A new email waited for me, it was from the Italian office.
Lucifer had voided another contract. Mr. and Mrs. Deluca’s transplant request.
I could only think of one reason why, because I had cancelled my afternoon of appointments.
Luc did not like it when I did not jump through his hoops.
Unfortunately, even though he had had two centuries to deal with fact he couldn’t make me do anything from afar, it did not mean that he wouldn’t find petty ways to punish me.
My phone chirped with a reminder. Thursday was Scrabble Night with the Ferryman.
Looking out of the floor to ceiling windows, I saw that it was early evening. I walked over to my bookcase and slid the green box into my manicured hands. The Scrabble set was worn with age and bleached by the sun. An effect of spending long periods of time in Limbo.
Popping in and out of purgatory was more difficult that Lacing through the human reality. Even though I was Pureblooded, I was limited to travelling through a Fold to get to Limbo.
I took out my compact mirror from my Hermes bag and began to rearrange my face like Plasticine. I changed my hair into tight raven black ringlets and my eyes from a delicate green to a chocolate brown. Creating mass was difficult, so I opted for becoming shorter but wider. I did not look like Dahlia Clark anymore - which was my aim.
I laced back to the Denmark Place Fold as its location was fresh in my mind. As it was evening when I returned, the samba bar in between Hell and here was full of daemons.
If I did bump into Vincent or Samuel, they would never have known who I was. I masked my Pureblooded presence but did not cut myself off from Hell completely.
Daemons of all varieties undulated and writhed to the acoustic trance music. A strange combination that I had never heard before. I allowed myself a cursory glance, telling myself that I was the dance floor for potential clients but I was looking for Samuel.
I caught a glimpse of his wild Auburn hair in a dark corner. I allowed my senses to climb over every surface and towards him. He was not alone. He was in the arms of a human woman and seemingly orgasmic.
I quashed the niggling and sickly feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, and our foray had meant little to nothing.
Perhaps the reason for my reaction was because I had not allowed another to touch me in a long time.
I strode towards the back door of the bar. The pressure dropped and became stifling when I neared the entrance to Limbo, but it was a comforting feeling for me.
A succubus narrowed her eyes as she watched me go towards the door. Daemons did not often venture into Hell. The human part of them feared it. As a Pureblood, I did not have the sa
me problem.
The divide in Hell Society was clear. Purebloods thrived in Hell. Daemons (in their families) flourished on earth.
I could feed anytime, connected and sustained by Hell Magic. The woven threads of all sin. Daemons had a diminished connection and needed to feed from humans, so it made more sense for them to live near them.
Limbo looked almost exactly like London but in Greyscale. It was all built from the mind of one Pureblood. Charon. I had no idea why he had chosen the capital to fill the swirling abyss between Hell and Here as I had never asked him.
I walked through the empty streets; my only company was my handbag with an aged board game box poking out near my armpit and the squirming souls in the air.
Souls took all forms. Butterflies. Ravens. Dragonflies. Anything winged. They collected together like writhing black patches of fungus on the famous London landmarks.
I reached Shoreditch quickly. Charon lounged outside of a cafe, his Doc Martin’s were propped on top of a bistro table as he reclined in relaxation.
A halo of sparrows circled about a metre above his head, but his bearded flannel Lumbersexual ensemble was clear of avian shite. Which was surprising.
Charon had an affinity with the bird-like souls. There was no rhyme or rhythm to the form that a soul would take, but every person that the black winged creatures represented was a lost soul with no destination to which to go.
Charon stretched his arms behind his head. “Are you ready to take a beating?”
I rolled my eyes and took the Scrabble board from my handbag. Charon scratched his ginger beard as he watched me set up the board.
“I think you’re delusional. I’m the reigning Hell-Scrabble champion.” I said with a straight face. Charon guffawed and slapped his knee, which caused the glass table to rattle and the pieces in the box to jump.
“It’s all fun and games until someone loses an 'I',” Charon started off the match with an impressive 'dog' in the centre of the board.
“That old prophecy has come up again.” I sighed as I placed a letter onto the board.
“Which one? That damn book is full of them.” Charon rolled his neck and stretched.
The Devil's Advocate Page 3
