NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Give her the Book, Maxine,” he pleaded. “Show her what she has to do. Teach her how to use it to free me.”

  The only trouble was, he didn’t think Maxine would. She hated him and even though she loathed the thought of him being at Angeline’s beck and call, rather than see him have what he wanted—her daughter Lauren—she was more than likely content to let him rot where he was.

  “Find the Book, Lauren,” he whispered. “Find it and come for me, Sweeting.”

  Lauren gazed with disinterest at the variety of strange-looking objects her mother had assembled in the spare bedroom. She was still amazed at the older woman’s strength as her mother had ripped the carpeting from the walls and had painted a blood-red circle on the bare wooden floor.

  “There has to be protection for us,” Maxine had mumbled as she had begun to painstakingly paint a series of symbols inside a second, smaller red circle. “You can’t go about any of this without making damned sure one of those infernal bastards can’t snatch you away with him.”

  Syntian’s wife had marveled at the glazed look on her mother’s face as the woman began to arrange candles at the five points of an upside-down star she had drawn last, mumbling strange words as she worked.

  “Once we’re inside the safety of the circle, nothing can get to us. You just have to make sure you don’t step even one toe outside the protection of the circle. Do you understand, Lauren?”

  “Yes,” had come the bored reply.

  Maxine had brought along a small hibachi that she now placed in the center of the star, or pentagram as she told Lauren the thing was called. She placed bowls of water and salt and sand beside the brazier and took out of her canvas tote a sharp-looking, double-edged knife she called an athamé.

  “Every sorceress has one of these,” she had said with pride. “Mine is hundreds of years old and belonged to an ancestor who was burned at the stake in France.”

  Alongside the things she had already placed on the floor, came a twisted twig. Maxine said it was hazel wood. There was also a golden chalice, two empty porcelain cups, several vials of murky-looking liquid and a fat red candle.

  “I’ve got the sacrifice, too, but I won’t get it until everything else is ready.”

  The mention of a sacrifice brought the first animation to Lauren’s face. “What kind of sacrifice?”

  Her mother had shrugged. “A chicken, Anna Lauren. I couldn’t find a cat so I stole a chicken from that trailer down the road from the turn-off.” She placed the Book of Shadows beside the hibachi and then glanced up at Lauren’s angry face. “Would you rather it be our blood the demon drinks or a stupid, worthless chicken’s?”

  Lauren’s face turned angrier still, but she kept her mouth shut.

  When everything had been placed according to the instructions in the Book, Maxine retrieved the squawking, flapping chicken, its feet tied together with string, and brought it into the circle.

  “Come on, get in,” the older woman snapped with irritation. “This will take awhile.”

  With one final look at the bare walls of the spare bedroom, Lauren stepped inside the circle, careful as her mother told her to be of the still-wet paint and joined the other woman in the center of the pentagram.

  “My eyesight isn’t what it use to be,” Maxine said as she fought with the struggling chicken. “You’re going to have to read the words of the Invocation.” She was prepared for the objection she was sure would be forthcoming, but when Lauren simply took up the Book and flipped to the correct page, she shrugged away any unease her daughter’s state of mind was causing her.

  Staring down at the words, it took Lauren a moment to decipher them and she read across the lines, wondering what would happen if she mispronounced them. She said as much to her mother.

  “You’ll say them the way they’re meant to be said. Believe me. They aren’t hard to say at all. Just go slow and think before you speak.” She grabbed the chicken’s beak and hissed at it. “Stop that!”

  As Lauren began the Invocation, she felt a trill of suspense go down her spine and the baby inside her move for the first time. It startled her for just a moment, but she cast the pleasure of that feeling aside, and grimly began to intone the words sprawled across the page.

  Maxine watched her daughter’s face, caught up in the fierce look that had settled over Lauren’s normally meek and pleasant features. Darkness had settled in the girl’s eyes and her lips were rigid around the unfamiliar words as she spoke them. Her knuckles had bled white with the grip she had on the Book and her cheeks were as pale as moonlight in the glow from the lit candles.

  The room got progressively colder as Lauren continued to read. A smell, not all that unpleasant at first, soon began to permeate the room. The hair at Lauren’s temples stirred in a wafting of breeze through the opened bedroom door and her skirt blew against her legs.

  “He’s coming,” Maxine whispered, feeling the shifting of unseen forces gathering about them.

  The words meant nothing to Lauren. They were merely sounds as she spoke. She didn’t understand their meaning, but she knew what they were doing. She was beginning to feel a presence, an entity lurking just beyond her peripheral vision, taunting her, watching her, waiting. The smell in the room intensified and it was pungent, musky, becoming offensive. Her hair was blowing freely about her head, now, and her skirt was plastered to her thighs. She felt the baby stir once more, leaping in her womb, and she smiled.

  “Can you feel it, Lauren?” her mother asked, looking about at the deepening shadows that were seeping into the room. “Can you feel the Portal opening?”

  She ignored her mother’s awed voice. She had no idea what the woman was talking about, for the Book she was holding in her hands was doing something strange to her. Never had she felt such all-encompassing power, such capability, a vital effectiveness. It was growing inside her, this feeling of potential, this super-charged energy that told her she was a potent power, that she could do whatever she wanted. The force was gathering within her body, visible now when she looked down at the reddish glow around her hands and arms.

  “Lauren,” she heard her mother breathe as the older woman saw the aura that was beginning to form around her daughter’s rigid body.

  That smell, that scent of the demonic suddenly became so intense, it took her breath away, staggered her beneath the sulfurous blast, but she kept reading, not looking up at the ebon shadow building at the south corner of the room.

  “He’s here,” Maxine whispered. “Lauren, He’s here.”

  The room was frigid with cold, the wind whipping through it so intense it was all Lauren could do to stay within the confines of the pentagram. She spoke the last words, saying them slowly, stressing each syllable then she looked up into the most terrifying visage she could not have conceived of even in her worst nightmare.

  “L...a...u...r...e...n,” It hissed, the sound of Its voice like the buzzing of a billion angry bees.

  “Greetings, oh Master of the Demons; Bringer of Storms; Destroyer of Souls,” Maxine called out. “We welcome you, oh Mighty Raphian!”

  The thing was hideous, Lauren thought, shivering despite herself. It’s eel-like neck was capped with a triangular head that glowed green. Beady red eyes and row upon row of sharp, grinding teeth made the specter a prime candidate for future nightmares to come.

  “What do you have as an offering, L...a...u...r...e...n?” It hissed, milky drool dripping from its gaping slit of a mouth to plot with acid sizzle on the wooden floor.

  “Here!” her mother was quick to say. “Toss it the chicken!”

  Staring into that horrible face, watching that eel-like neck swivel to and fro against the ceiling of the room, Lauren wondered if Syntian, in his natural form, looked anything like this fiend.

  “Lauren!” her mother spat, thrusting the chicken at Lauren.

  She exchanged the Book for the flapping chicken, looked down once at the poor animal and then flung it at the thing in the corner. A horrendous popping
sounded as the gaping mouth opened further and the chicken disappeared down the demon’s maw. There was a screech of ungodly pain then the beast sighed.

  “I am intrigued, L...a...u...r...e...n. What do you seek of me?”

  Maxine nearly fainted with relief. She stepped closer to her daughter and whispered, “Tell him you want a minion.” At Lauren’s frown, her mother explained quickly. “Tell him you need a minion, a helper, to take back what belongs to you. Tell him you want the incubus to be the most pleasant of human males ever to draw breath upon this Earth. Tell him you want him to be so handsome even his enemy, Jehovah, Himself, will be envious of the male’s beauty.”

  Lauren gaped at her mother. “I will not!”

  Maxine snorted hatefully, then turned her attention on the fiend. “My daughter is new at this and I will speak in her behalf if that pleases You, oh, mighty Raphian.”

  There was a hiss of annoyance from the beast and then It swiveled Its horrid head closer to the pentagram. “Is she one of mine?” was the sly question.

  Maxine turned her head and looked at her daughter. “Are you?”

  The power was still flowing through Lauren and she somehow knew there was a way to channel it for what she wanted, not for the evil those before her had used. She ignored her mother and turned her gaze to the creature.

  “There is a woman who would dare take what was given to my family by You, Mighty Raphian. I seek a way to punish her and to re-gain what is ours by right of the blood pacts signed by my ancestors.”

  “Cree,” the fiend snarled.

  “Yes,” Lauren agreed. “I will have him back.”

  “Why?”

  Maxine watched the rage building in her daughter’s face. She had never seen Lauren angry. She had never known her daughter capable of vengeance and retaliation, but Lauren’s words both shocked and pleased Maxine for they were the same thing she, herself, wanted.

  “Most likely to send his worthless ass back to You!” Lauren growled. “To shut him away from the light and the warmth and imprison him in the Abyss for eternity, never to be allowed out again!”

  A low chuckle, sinister and merciless echoed around the room. The walls trembled with the sound and the floor shook. An evil glint shone in the beady red eyes and the gaping mouth appeared to form a smug, satisfied smile.

  “Woman, speak the words for your daughter!”

  Lauren glanced at her mother. She shrugged as though she didn’t care one way or the other. “You know what we need, tell him.”

  Maxine smiled, liking what she saw on Lauren’s face. She turned to the fiend.

  “He must be the most handsome man ever to step foot in this world. Next to him, Syntian will pale in comparison. He must be tall and dark. He must have a cultured voice, perhaps English, French—that doesn’t matter. I would have him forty, no older, and have access to wealth.”

  “Can this minion take the place of a man who already exists?” Lauren interrupted her mother.

  Maxine’s lips pursed with annoyance. “Why?”

  “Angeline is drawn to wealth, to power,” Lauren mused, looking away from her mother to stare up into the hideous face of Raphian. “There is a man I have read about. A Prince of a Middle Eastern Emirate. He is considered to be very handsome and is known to be as utterly ruthless as he is powerful. It is said he is the second richest man in the world and whatever he wants he can have with the snap of his fingers. Jaborn is his name. Jaleel Jaborn. Do you know of him?”

  Raphian’s long neck bobbed. “Jaleel Jaborn,” It buzzed. “I know of him.”

  “Can this minion we seek take his place?”

  Again the low chuckle shook the room . “It can be made so...”

  “Then, that’s what we want. Bring him here and have him meet Angeline. Make her fall so deeply in love with him, she will not know what we are about until we are ready to destroy her and take back what is ours.”

  Maxine gawked at her daughter, appreciating the vengeance, seeing the plot for the glorious coup de grâce it was. For the first time in Lauren’s life, her mother respected the girl .

  “And what will you give me in exchange for this that I do, L...a...u...r...e...n?”

  “Be careful,” her mother warned.

  “A human life?” Lauren asked. “One worthy of Your interest, Raphian?”

  The fiend nodded. “That would do.”

  “Then you shall have it!” Lauren shouted and shoved her mother out of the pentagram and away from the protection of the circle.

  Maxine Fowler howled with sheer terror and tried to scramble back into the circle, but the long eel-like neck swooped down and she was sucked up into the mighty maw of the fiend’s grinding mouth.

  Lauren stared at the ceiling and smiled. The screams had been choked off quickly enough and there was no blood, no gore. Everything was tidy as her mother’s thrashing feet finally disappeared down the creature’s gullet. There was a mighty burp, then a great sigh of pleasure as the beast licked Its maw.

  “Satisfied?” Lauren asked the fiend.

  “Aye!”

  “Good. Then let’s get down to business.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “ Who is he ?” Angeline heard the woman at the counter ask. She turned and saw a group of foreigners, two men in long white robes, others in the Western business suits and dark glasses of bodyguards, coming into the shop.

  “I read about him in the paper this morning,” a customer gushed. “That’s that Hasdu Prince. What’s his name?”

  “Jaborn,” Angeline whispered. “Jaleel Jaborn.”

  As though he had heard his name spoken, one of the men in the flowing white robes of a desert sheik turned his head and his penetrating brown eyes locked on Angeline. A slow, interested smile touched his full lips and he bowed his head in compliment to her beauty.

  There was an instant tightening in her belly as she looked at this man. Never had she seen such a handsome, virile male in all her life. His pictures: in the newspapers, magazines, on the television, had not done him justice. Here was a man the likes of which any woman on Earth would die to possess.

  “He’s flirting with you, Mrs. Hellstrom!” the counter girl breathed.

  “Oh, Lord!” the customer beside Angeline gasped. “He’s coming over here!”

  She could not take her gaze from his face. There was power in that firm jaw, in that jutting chin. Wealth and breeding and centuries of control lay behind the intelligence in his eyes. He exuded potency, strength, and masculinity and when he stepped up to her and bowed elegantly in greeting, his magnetism was overpowering and nearly suffocating.

  “I was told the South held the most precious of this country’s jewels,” he said in a rich, bass voice that sent tremors of excitement through Angeline’s veins. He reached out and took her hand in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. “I can see that was no mere boast.” He brought her palm to his lips and kissed her, his tongue coming out to press a quick dot in the center of her hand.

  Angeline Hellstrom’s knees felt as though they would buckle beneath her. Had this glorious stranger not put out his hands to cup her shoulders, she knew she would have shamed herself by dropping into a heap at his expensively shod feet.

  “What glorious name have they given you, Sweet One?” he asked, drawing her closer to him as though they were lovers of long standing.

  “Angeline,” she whispered, lost in the mesmerizing heat of his eyes.

  “Angeline,” he repeated and made the word seem as intimate as a penal thrust into her very core. He bent forward and his lips claimed hers in a heady kiss. When he drew back, he moved his hands from her shoulders to her face, to cup her cheeks. “Tell me you will have dinner with me this evening, Angeline.”

  She could only nod. Speech was impossible for her lips were tingling from his kiss. The feel of his lips upon hers had been the stuff of sexual fantasy.

  “Tell my man where you live and I will bring the feast to you,” he said, his thumbs stroking her lips. “
A feast to make the gods envious.”

  “Gulf Breeze.”

  “Gulf Breeze?” he questioned, one dark, thick brow lifting in inquiry. He moved his body so that his full length was pressed along hers. “Where in Gulf Breeze, my Precious One?”

  “242 Riana del Sol.”

  “242 Riana del Sol.” The heat of his body was scorching. He repeated the address to one of the men beside him and then kissed her again, flicking his tongue into her surprised mouth as though they were alone in the store without dozens of people staring with open-mouth wonder at the spectacle he was making. “Eight?” he asked, smoothing her hair back from her high forehead.

  “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  He bent forward and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on her forehead, then removed his hands. Her immediate groan of denial and the absence of his touch seemed to please him. “When I put my hands on you again, Precious One,” he told her in front of them all, “it will take an army of warriors to make me remove them before I am finished pleasuring you.”

  The girl behind the counter nearly swooned with sexual desire. She stared in awe as the tall, handsome Arab turned and walked away, leaving behind him over a dozen women, including the object of his attention, wet between the legs.

  “Gawd!” some woman mumbled, reaching out to clutch at one of the tall marble columns soaring upward to the ceiling. “Can you fancy that?”

  Angeline’s face was hot, her legs trembling, and there was a definite odor coming from her body that told her she was as close to being in heat as a human female could get. She fanned herself, ignoring the excited chattering of the women about her as they begged to know what she was feeling. She walked away from them, in a lustful daze that carried her blindly from the store and to the waiting limo where Devlin was watching the procession of men getting into another long, sleek gray limousine.

  “Some kind of pog, I think,” Devlin sneered as he got out of the driver’s seat of Angeline’s limo when she approached. “They think they own the world.” He opened her door. “Dirty, rotten bastards.”