The Human Herders (Daemons of London - Book 2)

by Michaela Haze

  A Witching that I didn’t recognise sat at a podium at the bar entrance at the top of the stairs. She nodded Trix and Bellend through without question, but when I tried to walk past she placed a hand on my chest. The intimate gesture made anger rise up my gullet and I pushed it down. In a world where touch was power. Where daemons fed on skin to skin contact. Forced intimacy made my teeth grind.

  “Excuse me?” I whispered. “Please refrain from feeling me up.”

  The Witching stepped back and rubbed her hands on her synthetic leather trousers. She blinked back a flash of anger and narrowed her eyes.

  “No daemons,” Her tone was short and brokered no argument.

  “Not a daemon.” I shrugged.

  Trix poked her head around the door at that second and saved the bouncer from being head-butted. I wouldn’t have been able to take a daemon in a fight. They had strength and healing that I couldn’t even fathom. But I could take a Witching. The physical cost of their magic was too high to use in something as petty as a bar fight.

  “Willow, she’s with me. I’ll vouch for her.” Trix said.

  “No daemons.” Willow crossed her hands over her chest.

  “I’m a vessel, you stupid Witch.” I stepped around the bouncer and darted through the crack in the door, too quickly for argument. A wave of heat swept over my body as I walked into the bar. Visibility was low although the entire bar was mirrored like its namesake. It was clean and minimal but smoke hung in the air in a way that was surely illegal.

  Waiters weaved through the crowds of people in floor cushions, carrying large Shisha pipes pack with red dust. The Hookah’s left the entire area in a fog that made it difficult to see straight.

  I tripped over my own feet when I followed Trix to an array of coloured floor cushions. She sat down with ease, unaffected by the smoke. My eyes stung and I sniffed, suddenly aware of how high I was going to get, just by sitting there.

  Sarah-Belle sat by my side but when her shoulder touched mine she jolted a foot in the air as if I electrocuted her. I wondered if she could tell how much she irritated me and if she felt the same.

  “It’s been a long time, Taylor.” Bellend noted, shimmying down into the plush cushions to try and get comfortable. Her tone was calm, at ease.

  “Rehab.” I grunted, unwilling to delve into details.

  Bellend snorted loudly, at complete odds with her perfect blonde appearance. “That worked out well for you. Sitting in Smoke and Mirrors, getting high.”

  “Fuck you, Bellend.”

  Trix waved a hand lazily in the air and ordered a Shisha from the nearest waiter. I watched him deposit his pipe at the group closest to us. The white-hot coals glowed as he took a deep tester breath after setting up the glass pipe.

  “Yeah well, at least I’m not a whore.” Sarah-Belle flickered her hair over her shoulder. It was a direct dig and a reference to that fact I had spread my legs for Henry Blaire.

  My lips twitched the side, my teeth exposed. I was one word away from going feral.

  Trix cleared her throat. “What did you want Sarah-Belle?” She asked demurely.

  Bellend blinked as if she was pulled from a trance and she rubbed her shoulder without thought. She had the decency to look awkward. Sarah-Belle snuck a sidelong glance at me and then directed her eyes towards Trix in a way that was too intense to be anything other than a snub in my direction.

  “I wanted to know what’s happening with the Witchings.” Sarah-Belle said, directly.

  The waiter took that chance to come over and set up our pipe. We sat in silence, unwilling to be overheard. When he walked away, Trix spoke.

  “You know I’m not privy to Coven business.” She shrugged.

  “Bleeders are missing.” Sarah-Belle wrung her fingers. “People that have been doing this for years. A weird mark is appearing all over London, in Witching territory. I thought you’d know what it means.”

  “Isn’t wise to mention Bleeders in a place like this.” I looked over my shoulder.

  Bellend reached into her back pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. She placed it onto the woven mat and smoothed it out. The Sigil was drawn in harsh biro and the lines were crooked as if she’d placed it on a brick wall as a flat surface to write on.

  “Do you know what it is?” She asked.

  Trix’s peach-coloured head rocked from shoulder to shoulder as if she was trying to crick her neck. Her hazel eyes appraised the piece of paper, lazily.

  “That’s the Hell Sigil.” Trix pointed to the paper. It was a circle, with several smaller circles inside, ringing the edge. A series of messy lines radiated from the middle. “Don’t see why it’s so important.”

  “The Witchings have been wanting to make a move on the Daemons for decades. Bleeders start going missing and you’ve got to wonder. Who’s doing it?” Sarah-Belle demanded.

  “Why would anyone care about The Bleeders?” I asked.

  “Do you know how I get my daemon blood?” Bellend queried, quirking a brow. “Dark web. Othernet. Silk Road. But all the D listings keeping getting removed before anyone can bid. My dealer, Harold, said that the only people buying D now are Witches.”

  Trix took a drag of the Hookah and blew out a red smoke ring worthy of the blue caterpillar. “I’m a Witching and I buy daemon blood.”

  “Yeah, but you’re an anomaly.” Sarah-Belle insisted. “I think the London Coven are planning something.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the Equinox festival?” I asked.

  Sarah-Belle looked confused. “What festival?”

  “Daemon party of the year. Festival of rebirth.”

  “My point is…” Bellend cleared her throat. “If there are no daemons in London, it’s not going to be pretty for those of us that partake…in D.”

  Trix seemed unaffected and picked at the nail varnish on her finger. I reached over and took the Hookah pipe from my friend. It was like riding a bicycle.

  “I need to warn King Kain.” I groaned, blowing the smoke out of my nose.

  I arrived at the Shard and was surprised that the concierge for the Penthouse apartments let me into William Kain’s private elevator. The doors pinged open and the small part of me that wanted Henry to be stood in the doorway with open arms, ready and waiting, died. The apartment was trashed. William sat casually in one of the boxy retro armchairs, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curled in the air, the absence of energy made the modernist home feel even more sparse and cold.

  I looked around and pulled my coat closer to my body.

  “You’re back then.” William asked, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. His black eyes watched as I entered the room, something behind them had gone cold. I didn’t doubt that he was a daemon that had killed tens, if not hundreds of people.

  I cleared my throat and took a step onto the marble tiles. “Where’s Henry?” I asked, softly.

  “You know, he was heartbroken when he found that you had gone to the Rose family.” William exhaled a puff of smoke. “You basically spat on him. Told him he couldn’t protect you. Said to him he was weak. Without so many words.”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “How many days left?” William crossed his legs and I walked over to the seats and sat down. I tried my best to ignore the complete destruction that had rained down on the rest of the furnishings. Even the sofa hadn’t been spared. Although it was in better condition than the glass dining table, which had shattered down the middle as if someone had been thrown right through it.

  “Five.” I said, as I looked around but saw no sign of Henry. “Where is he?”

  William didn’t need to ask who I was talking about. “He’s with Lillian.”

  My heart sank to my stomach and my face flushed with colour. I felt a sting of embarrassment and hurt as I clenched my jaw, determined not to show my true feelings to William Kain of all people. My excuses to come and see William seemed weak and flimsy at that moment.

  “He went back to her?” I asked. I h
ad meant to sound disinterested but instead sounded weak and lifeless.

  “If you’d stuck around long enough, you’d know more about the curse.” William’s black eyes flicked onto me, like a switch had been turned on. They burned as my guilt flared and made me squirm.

  William leant back in the ruined armchair and stretched like a cat in the sun. His lips twitched, amused at my discomfort.

  “Henry left me for Lillian.” I whispered. “I don’t need to feel bad for leaving, he was the one that betrayed me.”

  “Henry’s curse is full of nuances. You’re so bloody self-obsessed that you don’t even see what’s right in front of you.” William took another drag of his cigarette and flicked it over his shoulder without care.

  I stayed silent. I could tell he wasn’t done.

  William’s shirt was torn but not because of fashion. Something had come into his home and ripped everything apart. Even the Elite daemon hadn’t gotten away unscathed.

  “I love Henry.” William mimicked my voice. “He’s mine.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We were soulmates.”

  “When you still had a soul,” William pointed out harshly.

  We stared at each other for a beat. William leant back into the chair, as if he had all the time in the world. He broke our staring contest to gaze at the ceiling as if I wasn’t even there. There was the scent of ozone on the air, and static like before lightening hit the ground. I had never smelt it before. There was no energy apart from my own and the red cloudy haze that linked me to Henry Blaire. My colours leaked into the air lazily. Whatever had destroyed the penthouse of the Shard had been daemonic and dangerous.

  “Did Lillian come here?” I asked.

  William sighed. “Henry’s curse states that he must be with Lillian from Equinox to Solstice. Every year. Ever since the 1930’s. If he doesn’t, he dies. He is Lillian’s pet. Henry is hers completely. I have no idea why. As an Elite, she is the most powerful I have known.”

  William did not know that Henry had been a Pureblood before Lillian got her claws into him.

  I wasn’t about to say anything. I didn’t know how much Henry wanted him to know, even though he was his friend.

  “He has to be with her?” My voice broke.

  “Henry is her plaything.” William lit another cigarette and took a long drag. He offered me the packet but I shook my head to say no. No matter how much I wanted one at that moment.

  “It’s not his choice to be with her?” I asked slowly.

  William shook his head and blew smoke into the air. The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I felt nauseous. A sharp pain broke through the cloud of emptiness that had started to grow through my body and had left me numb. My knees buckled as a shock of feeling rattled through me.

  I realised what Henry had meant, when he had said that I would be disgusted by him if I knew.

  But it wasn’t him that made me feel sick, it was Lillian. Even her name sent thousands of needles over every inch of my skin.

  It wasn’t by choice.

  My hand flew to my mouth and I started to retch. Yellow bile slipped from my chin and onto the expensive white tile and I was unable to stop myself from sinking to the floor.

  Henry was a victim.

  I put my head in my hands. He was with her at that very moment, being made to do god knows what for the sake of her sadism.

  William Kain nodded sadly. Resigned. “So, five more days until the Equinox—you’re going to be so fucking happy as a daemon. You might even get to see Henry at the festival, wearing his nice pretty leash.” He said sarcastically but his voice held none of its usual bite.

  “Five days.” I repeated. A plan began to form in my mind, Henry would be at the Equinox Festival. I would get to see him. I had five days to Herd nine souls for Vincent Rose and in those same five days, find a way to release Henry from Lillian Blaire’s clutches.

  At least Damian was staying out of my way. Probably due to my involvement with the families, I guessed.

  A twisted to-do list began to swirl in my mind and without a word, I left William to his destroyed furnishings. I forgot to mention The Bleeders, the Witchings and the Equinox festival.

  I took the Tube back to the Camden flat. I didn’t make it back until the evening and I expected to see Beatrix Klein, my Witching, Blood Scratcher and magical tattoo artist waking up from a Hookah hangover. Or at the very least I expected to see the semi-naked body of someone that needed a daemon blood tattoo for any sort of reason. Be it money, fame or protection.

  The flat was empty, eerie, even though nothing was out of place. I searched for Trix, but her handbag was gone so I guessed that she was out.

  I had planned to ask her for advice on the curse. Trix was a powerful Witching even if she didn’t go around sacrificing goats.

  Witching magic was a significant burden for the human body to handle. Trix often got nose bleeds and headaches after she used it. She had started doing drugs at a young age to fight through the pain. Heroin had slowly become daemon blood and she had learnt that she could use the blood to infuse magic into people’s skin without the physical strain on her body.

  Witchings didn’t do magic after they turned thirty years old. It was too much of a burden and the cost was too high. Almost certain death. Trix was only twenty-eight years old, but only time would tell if tattooing would be a way to beat the thirty-year threshold that had limited the rest of her family of Witchings.

  I perused the books that my roommate kept in the hallway but found them to be surprisingly pedestrian. How to get someone to fall in love with you. How to spot a Kappa. How to summon the Ferryman.

  I needed something daemonic. The Key of Haage, the book in my room, had no information about Henry meeting Lillian. There was nothing about the curse.

  I felt a surge of guilt when I tiptoed into Trix’s personal space. A tie-dye mandala blanket covered the ceiling like a canopy and her bed was perfectly made. The opposite of mine. Trix was composed and everything fit into neat little boxes. She was a demure and restrained woman. The kind of woman that my mother would have been proud to have at dinner with her wealthy third husband. Apart from the tattoos and peach-coloured hair.

  Trix spoke with the lilt of a middle-class accent, but she didn’t like talking about her past so I didn’t push it. She extended me the same courtesy.

  I moved a wooden candelabra, which held three untouched black candles and found what I was looking for. It was the familiar red binding of Demonology. The book I had borrowed from Fulham library when I first met Henry. The book that had haunted me at the asylum.

  I opened it and let it fall open in my palms. I expected to see the library sticker on the front but was pleasantly surprised when I saw the title page was empty. The book was Trix’s personal copy.

  I flicked through, past the information about Incubi and Succubae daemons, which I was all too familiar with.

  I found the Curses section quicker than I had expected to.

  A curse is as powerful as the magic that is traded for it. The higher the price, the more powerful the curse will be.

  Henry’s Pureblood abilities had all but disappeared when Lillian cursed him. He must have been powerful, if the potency of the curse was an indicator.

  To break a curse, you must kill the caster.

  That was simply enough. I just had to get close enough to Lillian Blaire, whom I had never met and wouldn’t recognise from Eve, and kill her.

  I was a Vessel. The killing part was simple enough. I had to wait, the Equinox would be soon. All the Families would be together and she was bound to be there. Although trying to kill the Matriarch of the Blaire family in a room full of Elite daemons, sex slaves and newly ascended daemons was probably going to need more of a plan than run in and wing it.

  I had Trix, although she was a powerful Witching, I was loath to ask her to put herself into a situation like that. Her powers were too detrimental, and the cost to her body could be too high to recover from. I d
idn’t have many powerful friends and I didn’t have any fighting ability at all. No flexibility. No martial arts knowledge.

  Sarcasm wasn’t exactly a marketable skill when it came to killing Elite daemons. Perhaps annoying them but certainly not killing them. If I could get close enough to touch her, or kiss her, I was golden. Henry would be a Pureblood again once she was dead.

  I only hoped he would forgive me and not let me die.

  I saw a half empty bottle of vodka on Trix’s bedside cabinet and I unscrewed the bottle and drank deeply.

  Since consuming daemonic energy, I had found that the effects of alcohol were short lived. Booze always tasted a bit like gasoline and I did not drink for pleasure. Daemons drank alcohol like water. I could only guess that the effects were similar to what I experienced. I felt the telltale warmth start in my belly but it quickly dispersed. I couldn’t get sloppily drunk in the way I was used to. I hadn’t realised that I was fond of my coping mechanism until I could no longer use it.

  Murder. Car Thief. Addict. I remember when you used to sit in your room doodling.

  Melanie was in a jovial mood. She looked the same as she always did. Her chestnut hair, the same colour as mine, came to a blunt stop just above her shoulders. She wore a pink sundress and wedge heels. Mel Taylor was always the more feminine sister. The favourite of our mother, who liked to parade Melanie around in a way I couldn’t fathom.

  “Hello.” I said, acknowledging her for the first time in a long while.

  You’ve lost your soul.

  “Yeah. Know where I can get one?” I asked sarcastically. I stepped around my sister, even if she was only in my head. I couldn’t stop the itching feeling at the back of my mind that made her real. I walked out of Trix’s bedroom and into our shared bathroom.

  Moved. Not gone. Mel said cryptically.

  I turned on the shower and held my hand under the water, waiting for it to become scolding. I removed my clothing with my back turned away from my dead sibling.

  Asmodeus...Has...It...

  Melanie’s words became garbled, like I was losing radio signal. I shrugged and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind me. My dead sister stood in the bathroom surrounded by the steam and watched me shower.