The Purebloods (Daemons of London - Book 3)

by Michaela Haze

  “If you can remove Henry’s curse, doesn’t that mean that I also have the ability to do so?” I willed myself to stare the Pureblood down as if he didn’t terrify me.

  Damian picked his teeth and looked at the ceiling without a care in the world. “I suppose you could. If Asmodeus was in full control of your faculties. But at this moment you are nothing but a Human Vessel with a direct pipeline to Hell.”

  I looked at Henry out of the corner of my eye; he hadn’t moved a muscle. Not even to breathe.

  “Asmodeus won’t help you.” Damian sang. “Haage made her furious when he left her inner circle and came to walk amongst the mud monkeys.”

  I sat up, intrigued at the sliver of information that Damian had unknowingly parted with. “I think you’re bluffing.” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  Damian perused my body slowly as if to taunt me. “I could do it,” He offered. “I just don’t want to.”

  Damian’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out and touch me. “Kill the curse, by killing the caster, Sophia.” He cocked his head to the side and surveyed me as if I was a child. “I am unwilling to destroy one of my own daemons. Not when the Witchlings are a thorn in my side; lusting for war.”

  “Trix said the war has already started,” I whispered, I shuffled over to the edge of the bed and placed my hand on Henry’s for comfort.

  “Killing a few Bleeders doesn’t start a war,” Damian laughed bitterly.

  “But stealing Beatrix Klein, the Blood scratcher, did.” I retorted.

  And he couldn’t with the truth.

  Trix found me in my room, clinging to Henry’s lifeless body as if it was a raft in the middle of the ocean.

  I had no idea what to do with myself, there was a certain amount of time each day that still belonged to me alone, but I was wasting it.

  Trix fiddled with her tattooed fingers and sat down in an armchair without a word. She watched as I held Henry, pity shone in her eyes, but when I tilted my head to look in her direction, it was gone.

  “What do we do?” Beatrix Klein asked.

  I shook my head and focused on a spot on the wall behind her blonde-orange hair. “I have to kill Lillian Blaire to break the curse,”

  Her lip twitched, “That all?”

  “Turns out that I’m just an amped up human. I probably couldn’t kill Lillian unless I had help.” I mused, voicing my thoughts.

  “What do you need?” Trix asked.

  “Henry?” I offered it as a question.

  “You need to speak to Asmodeus. Ask her to kill Lillian for you.” My best friend urged.

  I shook my head. “Asmodeus took my body. You’d think I’d get some benefit from it apart from being constantly aroused.”

  Trix let out an unladylike snort. “Really?”

  I shrugged. My good humour faded, and my smile tapered off when my hand sought Henry’s again. I allowed my thumb to trace a pattern on the smooth skin on the back of his hand. My internal weakness wiggled to the forefront of my mind, and I was unable to stop my hands shaking.

  “I miss him, Trix,” I whispered.

  My best friend slapped her knees and stood up, “There is nothing you can do for him right now—and I need your help.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to see my twin sister.”

  “You mean Katya Klein?”

  Trix cleared her throat, “Did I mention that Kat is the leader of the London Coven?”

  Old Compton Road was full of memories. I had used to travel on the tube almost every day to the Soho street, where Bar Noir was located. The area had changed in the last few years though, there were more juice bars than gay sex shops, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.

  Tourists flocked the cobbled streets, wearing Hogwarts themed regalia. The bright lights of the stage shows on Shaftesbury Avenue made me ache for the familiarity of opening the bar and pouring shots.

  I followed Trix, both of us in silence. I didn’t point out how ridiculous it was to use an Oyster card when you could fold reality to travel. Then again, I didn’t have any control over my powers.

  When we arrived at Leicester Square, Trix lit a cigarette as we watched a human beatboxer outside of M&M world. My best friend's expression gave nothing away, but her tattooed fingers struggled to spark her lighter.

  A woman in a business suit, eating what looked like avocado on toast, scoffed and battered her hand in an exaggerated fashion in our direction, displeased at Trix's smoking. Trix hadn’t successfully lit her cigarette yet; I snorted at the woman’s reaction and earned a death stare. Itilted my chin in the business woman’s direction. “The wonders of humanity?” I mused.

  Trix looked over her shoulders, hunched over her cigarette as it dangled from her lips. She bared her teeth, and the woman looked down to her food without a word.

  “Wankers, more like.” Trix snarled.

  I took the white stick from Trix and lit it with sure hands, after inhaling once to spark it, I handed it back. “Tell me about Katya?”

  Trix shrugged and said nothing.

  “I always imagined that you’d sprung up out of an alleyway one day, I never imagined you having a family,” I said.

  “I have a family. Twin sister. Mum. Dad.” Trix waved her hand as if dismissing a memory. “Had a dad. He’s dead.”

  “Katya was so angry,” I crossed my hands over my chest. “She stormed into the Equinox festival, all guns blazing to try and get you back. Those aren’t the actions of an estranged sibling.”

  “I’m the estranged one.” Trix inhaled and stared into the distance, distracted. “I’m the one that left.”

  “Was that because of the drugs?” I asked, and then added. “No judgements here.”

  “You’ll understand when we get there,” Trix whispered, and for the first time in a long while, I saw a flicker of fear in her almond shaped eyes.

  Klein, Trysten and Wallis was a law firm in a building near Chinatown. The sky in between the buildings was strung up with crimson Chinese lanterns. It was April, and Chinese New Year was upon us it seemed. The solicitors, the fancy English term for Lawyers, was on the border of the cobbled streets with storefronts decorated with large foreign characters and pictures of Bubble Tea.

  White and pristine, it was the last place I would have expected to see Trix’s family name.

  The sign on the door was made of chrome, and the foyer was deliberately minimalist in a way that screamed wealth.

  Trix walked up to the reception and a beautiful swan of a woman, with a long neck and dark violet lipstick leant back in her chair. Her high heels were tucked under her ergonomic chair, and her long umber legs looked shiny and well moisturised.

  I blinked and focused on the generic canvas on the wall behind the receptionist.

  It was official, I was more of a pervert than usual. The lust that flowed through my body made my hands twitch, and I could tell I was one touch from snapping and mounting someone.

  The receptionist regarded us with a cursory glance, distaste on her lips as she perused our outfits. Parka jacket and doc martins on Trix, and a bare of arse skimming shorts and a black men’s blazer for me. I wore no underwear.

  It was better than the ostentatious dresses that littered Damian’s house. I had had enough of being dressed by daemons, and while my skin could tell the difference between the soft, luxurious fabric and the scratchy polyester of my new outfit, I was holding firm.

  As Damian had said, I was still human by technical definition anyway.

  The receptionist jumped to attention when her gaze rested on Beatrix Klein’s face. When she saw the tattoos on Trix’s neck, her breath hissed in between her teeth.

  “Ms Klein,” She cleared her throat. “Your sister is currently in a meeting.”

  Trix eyed her, a bored expression took over her face. “Don’t care. She’ll want to see me.”

  The receptionist leant over and pressed the intercom, her lips were pursed. A tinny voice replied, and aft
er a few short words, we were lead through the sliding doors of the elevator.

  “Why is your family in Law?” I asked as Trix pushed the button to the top floor without any instruction on doing so.

  “Easy to influence people.” She shrugged. “It’s all about Power, Taylor.”

  “Power means nothing,” I said, looking down to my hands. A flash of hatred speared through me when I thought about Henry. Alone and trapped; and how I was unable to save him.

  “Power means everything.” Trix bit her thumbnail and stared straight ahead.

  “Why’d you bring me to meet your sister? Surely this conversation would go better if you didn’t have an honorary Demon by your side.”

  “It’s the only way to get Katya to back off,” Trix pushed her peach coloured hair behind her ear. “Katya is like a dog with a bone. Weak, but loud.”

  The elevator doors pinged open, and Trix glided through to the carpeted hallway without another word. Fake potted plants lined the walls, and each door was made of frosted glass with a name stencilled in the middle.

  Fancy.

  I recognised her lifeforce before I even saw the Witchling twin, her essence was cloying and tasted like sour cream at the back of my throat. Everything about Katya Klein repelled me in a way that went down to my bones. The same hatred I felt for Lillian Blaire had a kinship in my heart for Trix’s twin.

  A snarl ripped free of my lips, and Trix halted to a stop in front of me, her hand lazily raised at my chest height to prevent me from walking closer. Trix was playing a game. I was in the role of her leashed pet. I didn’t care. I trusted my best friend.

  As she had told me before, we were survivors.

  I wanted to hurt Katya so badly that the need filled my throat like thirst.

  She was one of the reasons for all my hurt. I wouldn’t have been pushed into a situation where I had had to say yes to the Queen of Hell if she hadn’t shot me in the liver.

  I was confident that I would heal, but I wondered what would happen if I managed to puncture one of her organs. Would she bleed out slowly? Could Witchlings recover from such a wound?

  “Trix, I love you, but if you don’t let me rip the skin from her face, I will be very disappointed in you,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Bloodthirsty Taylor,” Trix noted wryly.

  At the end of the corridor, in a sleeveless office dress, Katya Klein folded her arms over her chest. “You better come in. Although I’ve just had these carpets replaced, and I don’t want any dirty daemon blood on my fibres.”

  “Dirty?” I scoffed. “Who are you calling dirty you –”

  Trix grabbed the top of my arm and pulled me into Katya’s office. She placed her finger to her lip for just a second. I could almost hear her amused voice ringing through my ears.

  Shut up.

  “I heard about the Equinox Festival,” Trix said, she shrugged her khaki utility coat off her shoulders and draped it over the retro office chair in front of Katya’s desk. “Oh great Morrigan of the London Coven,”

  Katya bristled. “Yes. That is my title, and considering that you declined the responsibility I would appreciate it if you didn’t throw it back in my face.”

  Trix sat down and crossed her legs, her booted feet propped up on the desk as if she was at home and didn’t have a care in the world. I hovered by her side, like a guard dog. An accessory.

  “They couldn’t have Beatrix ‘Blood Scratcher' Klein, so they chose the cheap imitation.” Trix offered in a dry voice.

  Katya flushed red, her hands were clenched by her side. “You --,”

  “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.” I sang, causing the Witchling to choke on her words as she shot me a look of hatred. “We need to know why you came to the Equinox Festival.”

  Katya straightened her spine and walked behind her glass desk. She sat down with poise and folded her hands in front of her. Deliberating, and taking a few seconds to compose herself and to keep us waiting. “I came for my sister.” She shot a look at Trix that was loaded with meaning.

  “Except for the fact that I wasn’t there.” Trix laughed. “Katya, you are so transparent.”

  Trix’s twin ignored her and shuffled pictures on her desk. “You’re running out of options, you don’t want the Coven to know how weak you are.” Trix guessed. “I won’t come back, sister.”

  Katya’s hazel eyes shot to her sister and narrowed, but she stayed silent.

  “Is that why you are killing the Bleeders?” Trix whispered.

  Katya jolted as if she had been shocked. “I would never--!”

  Trix shrugged. “You tried to kill hundreds of daemons. I am not sure what you would do anymore.”

  “You’re on their side?” Katya gasped incredulously. “They’re the reason that bodies keep dropping all over London! It's not the Witchlings. And if the daemons keep leaving corpses on our territory, we will retaliate.”

  Trix and Katya maintained eye contact for a long moment, and I could see the unspoken words that passed between them. Without a sound, Trix turned on her heel and nodded once, stiffly, and we left.

  7.

  My feet made no noise against the thick blanket of dust on the factory floor. Sunlight streaked through the dirty windows and left lines on the floor. When I walked past the abandoned machines, my body didn’t cast a shadow.

  I was in another memory.

  Empty shell casings littered the production line, and I knew that I had been transported into the year that Henry and Lillian had met. Between both of the World Wars. Somehow, I found myself in an arms factory.

  I heard frantic whispering towards the end of the room; it echoed in the darkness. Curiosity got the better of me. It always did. I glided forward and stood in the doorway.

  Lillian Blaire was covered in blood; a dead body lay in the corner. Stiff as a board with unblinking dead eyes. I did not recognise the man, but he was filthy. Every inch of him screamed poverty in the same way that Lillian’s hunched over body betrayed her own roots.

  Lillian dipped her tiny hands into the hole where the man's torso used to be. His innards squelched, as steam rose into the cold winter air. He hadn’t been dead long.

  Lillian started to paint on the floor; I recognised the circles as she built the Hell Sigil from the dead man’s blood. It was a large circle, with the inner lining surrounded by seven smaller circles; circumvented by a branched outline that looked like a tuning fork. Lillian walked over to her bag and pulled out the bones that she had acquired from the man in the alleyway.

  “Seven circles for the Seven Originals.” Lillian Blaire muttered. “Angel bones for the Fallen.”

  She placed the bones in each of the circles, their bleached appearance made them look like yellowing twigs. Angel's bones? My gaze hovered on the ingredient to whatever ritual Lillian was performing. I guessed that it made sense. If Hell existed, then why couldn’t Angels?

  Lillian clapped her hands together, still painted in blood, and began to chant. I recognised the guttural intonations of the German language.

  The room filled with the smell of burning plastic and the back of my mouth felt like it was full of ash. I looked around in shock as I felt the tremors between reality, like stepping into a Fold. Lillian was using powerful magic.

  Her body was stiff, even as her hands trembled. Tears of blood, penance for her magic, began to stream down her face, but her expression of concentration did not change as she continued chanting.

  I recognised some of the German words from my GCSE level classes. Ankommen. That meant, ‘arrive’. Dämon? Well, that was obvious. Demon.

  My knowledge of Deutsch was limited at best, and unless Lillian Blaire asked where the bus stop was – I wasn’t certain I could translate anymore.

  Each of the bones disintegrated into an ashy sludge and the liquid melted into the Hell Sigil on the dusty factory floor.

  “Haage!” Lillian screamed, her voice tasted like grief and pain.
“The one that makes men wise. Come forth and give me the information I seek!”

  Every line of the demonic circle evaporated into flames.

  Unfolding like a bat's wing, where the dead body had lain seconds before, was Henry Blaire.

  My daemon.

  I ‘woke’ up from my nighttime prison, made of memories of another time. I felt a bolt of pleasure curl from my core to my throat. I was in an unfamiliar room in the mansion. The canopy on the bed was made of purple velvet, and the air was filled with warm spices.

  My eyes slowly tracked down my body until I found a head.

  Damian was between my legs, seemingly reverent. I grabbed a fist full of his dirty blonde hair and tugged him away from my body. My mind had split down the middle, torn between my desire to feed from the sexual energy that he promised, and the fear of being touched.

  Something inside of my body felt broken and dirty.

  Damian did not break into his trademark arrogant smirk. I expected him to laugh off the rejection, pat me on the shoulder and make a joke about how his time with his ‘Amore’ was up for the night.

  Instead, he did none of those things. Damian gripped my face in his hands and brought his bottomless brown eyes level with my dusty violet ones. He searched my expression for something, but I stayed silent as he surveyed me for the longest time.

  I felt wisps, scratches against the inside of my skull and I realised that he was using magic to try and read into my thoughts.

  I was so tired. Worn down. Sick of being in denial of what was happening to my life and to my body. I let him in. I imagined the door to my mind opening with a creak; I felt his presence in my soul as if he was flicking through the pages of my memories like a crumbling tome.

  “When I found you,” Damian whispered, “With Lillian Blaire…”

  I licked my bottom lip, filled with shame and hunger. I wanted to lean forward and connect our bodies. I could feel his breath on my cheek. His scent was pungent and sharp, like roses. I had compared it to rotting flowers before, but it wasn’t. It was that perishable thin line between life and death. Vibrancy and rot.