by Amos Cassidy
“I’ll be there in a moment, my darling.” He smiled up at her, framed in the doorway. His eyes widened slightly as he took in what she was wearing.
He cleared his throat. “I do hope my wolves have left.”
She chuckled low in her throat, the sound both feminine and sexy. “Of course.” She arched a finely shaped eyebrow. “So…are you coming?”
Richard was out of his chair in a shot. “Yes.” His voice was a growl. “And you will be too…again and again and again.”
He swept her into his arms and into the bedroom.
8.
SHIMMER OF VIOLET
Raven woke up before his alarm clock could do it for him. He often did. It was as if he could pre-empt the digital numbers about to read 06:30, sense the coming buzz to inform him morning had arrived again. He clicked the alarm off before it could speak and sat up in his bed.
There was a chill in the air but he could see sunlight beyond the veil of his blinds. With a yawn he removed the quilt and slid off the bed. Despite only being in a pair of pyjama bottoms, the cold didn’t bother him too much. He went into his bathroom, took a piss, brushed his teeth and stepped into a hot shower. Once he was done he fixed his hair and dressed.
Over a plate of eggs, bacon and sausages, he checked the news. The main news story was centred on a break in at a house in Shadwell. The news presenter explained that no goods had been taken, but the house had been severely damaged with large dents on the floors and walls, broken windows and general chaos of strewn debris all across the garden and street. The presenter also mentioned a strange black chemical found splattered everywhere.
He growled angrily, picking up a slice of bacon and tearing into it. The attack on the warehouse had left him on edge. He was glad his apartment was in the same building as Richard’s, directly below the Alpha’s penthouse. Lone wolves were a threat to his Alpha. They could be after territory as well as goods to sell on the black market. It infuriated him. He just wanted to catch one and get answers, get their full plan. Patrols now had a split focus– demons and lone wolves.
Raven picked up his phone and dialled.
“Raven?” the voice enquired groggily.
“I have a job for you,” he said with ice in his voice.
“What is it?” Damon asked– voice still thick with sleep.
“Put the news on,” Raven said.
Damon did so. “That’s not werewolves.”
“No.”
“Demons?”
“I think so. I want you to head over there, try and pick up on demon scent.”
Damon was a gentleman of leisure, having a hefty trust fund plus his pack salary to allow him such a lifestyle, so Raven could count on his availability. Harold was on suspension and the others would be working. There was no point disrupting their day until he knew whether a disruption was necessary.
“Call me when you get there,” Raven continued. “And I want regular updates.”
“What about when you’re lecturing?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But it’s your first lecture of the term.” Damon sounded more awake.
“This is more important,” Raven said sternly. “Contact me when you’re there.”
He hung up.
Once Raven had terminated the call, Damon rushed out of bed and had a quick shower. He brushed his teeth and skipped breakfast. He left his very expensive flat near Tate Modern, a gift from his financially blessed parents, and called a taxi. “It’s the Silverman account,” Damon said to the man who answered the phone.
The taxi arrived within minutes. Damon texted Raven once he was inside the car and on his way to Shadwell.
Raven used the private line that put him through direct to the Alpha. Only the Beta could use the private line.
“Good morning, Raven.” Richard greeted him warmly.
“Good morning, sir. I have some news for you.” Raven relayed what information he had.
“I see.”
“Shall I take the day off to allow me to be with Damon?”
“No, your education and time at the university is valuable. Damon can handle this. Should a situation arise then that is different.”
Raven didn’t argue. He wouldn’t, he respected his Alpha and would never question his authority. Besides, he knew how proud Richard was of his achievements to date. Raven was a prodigy, so advanced that he was lecturing part-time as part of his studies at the university. He was the youngest lecturer, the youngest PHD student and the youngest Beta. He’d achieved so much by the age of twenty-one, and he had the Alpha to thank for his encouragement, for getting him there. But he couldn’t help but feel that studying and performing the first year lectures was nothing but a burden today. He wanted to be out with Damon, patrolling and hunting for the demons.
“When Damon contacts you, call Maxwell. He can help.” Richard instructed. “Keep me informed,” he added before terminating the call.
“Here ya go, mate,” the taxi driver said, pulling over.
“Thank you very much,” said Damon.
“Look at all the Old Bill,” the driver said, nodding in the direction of the police officers as Damon exited the car.
“Indeed.”
The smell of demon hit him immediately, wafting down from the house with all the police outside it. It was disgusting, a stench of rot and acidic tones, with a whiff of spoiled milk. He walked up as far as the barrier of crime scene tape. More crime scene tape ran across the open door of the house and a very distressed woman stood talking to a female officer while a male officer scribbled on a notepad.
Damon took in the mess he could see from his position. The windows were broken. A black residue was splattered across the brickwork and across the small garden. There was debris everywhere– clothing, smashed televisions, shredded books and papers. It was worse than the images shown on the news.
“Terrible ain’t it?” said a middle-aged woman who appeared beside him.
“It is.” He nodded.
“Awful to think this sort of thing happens on your own doorstep.” She shook her head, tutting.
Another woman appeared, younger than the first one.
“All right, Shaz?” the first woman asked. “Would ya look at it?”
“I know it’s bloody scandalous, in it?” said the second woman.
Both women had their arms tightly folded as they watched the scene.
“Do you know if anyone was hurt?” Damon asked.
“No,” said the first woman, “no one was hurt. Just badly shaken up. Poor Kim and Mick, they must be in bits. And their poor boys– three they’ve got.”
“That’s their home,” said the second woman. “How could someone do that?”
“A bloody monster, that’s who,” said the first woman.
If only you knew… Damon thought.
A man came out of the house, ducking under the police tape, and hugged the woman being interviewed. Damon heard her sob.
“Aw, look,” the first woman said, welling up. “It’s so bleedin’ sad.” She sniffed. “I’m gonna have them over at mine tonight. I’ll get George to put up the airbed and I’ll find somewhere for those boys to sleep.”
“That’s lovely of ya, Barbra,” said the second woman.
Damon left the two women to talk and headed down the street away from the house. He dialled Raven.
Raven answered his phone as he stood in the reception foyer at USL. The receptionist who had kissed him at Rainbow Rave, Brandon, was not there. Instead the desk was manned by an overly perky lady.
“Damon, what did you find?”
“Definitely demon, the smell was awful.”
“Can you track it? Did it leave a trail?”
“Kind of, it’s a bit all over the place. I’m trying to pick out a clear trail to follow.”
“I’m going to contact Maxwell and send him to help,” Raven said. “His shift at The Whisper isn’t until this evening. He can use tracking spells should the trail fade. Wait for him first. He’ll be
able to identify the species too. I’ll call him now. Contact me when he arrives there.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Morning!” Roman walked through the main doors as Raven ended the call.
“What are you doing here?” Raven asked, a little flummoxed.
“Oh I can see you’re happy to see me.” Roman had a small rucksack hanging from his left shoulder. “I thought I’d try and catch ya early, before I head off for work. I know you’re always here early, so I thought I’d see if you fancied a cuppa in the cafeteria.”
“You’re not a student. You’re not really supposed to be taking tea in the university cafeteria.” Raven said coolly.
“What about a café then?”
Raven sighed. “Not today, Roman.” He ran a hand over his face as if to clear his head.
Roman’s eyes narrowed, instantly on alert. “What’s happened?”
Raven explained everything. Roman listened, a slight frown on his face.
“Well this is just great. First the rogues and now this. You going to brief the others yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll be in touch once Damon’s done some tracking.” Raven lowered his voice as a couple of students hurried past on their way to the first lecture of the day.
“Look, Roman, I need to go.”
“Oh, yeah, first lecture of the term. Good luck, mate.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to need it. With all the other things I have to think about I’ll be lucky if I don’t start lecturing them on rogue wolves and demons by accident.” His lips twitched in a small smile of amusement.
“Well, if you do it’ll be the most interesting lecture of the day.”
“And probably my last.” He shook his head. “I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”
“You sure you don’t want me to fill Kris in? Make sure he’s good to go if the need arises?” Roman asked.
After a moment’s consideration Raven nodded. There was no harm in letting him know what had happened, best if he was on the alert. “Do that.”
“No problem, you can count on me.” Roman began to back away.
“I know I can.” Raven said with sincerity.
They turned and went their separate ways.
The lecture theatre had cream walls and a chocolate brown carpet covering the entire floor, snaking down the sloping rows of seats towards the lower part of the theatre where the lecturer’s desk and the large projector screen was situated. Students of all ages sat and chatted, waiting for their lecturer to arrive.
“Good morning.” Raven’s voice filled the theatre. The students quietened down. “My name is Raven Stonewall. I will be with you once a week to discuss abnormalities in behaviour and the social norms and consequences of such. All of that is my speciality – just thought I’d get that in there.”
A hum of laughter followed.
“Okay,” Raven continued. “What we will start with is looking at the use of different paradigms to investigate abnormality over the years. I will project some images and diagrams onto this screen.” He clicked a button and the screen lit up. “And I will talk along as I change the image. Please feel free to stop me and ask me any questions along the way. I promise I won’t bombard you with too much on your first day. And we could have a bit of a get to know you thread running through the session, just to break it up a bit.”
“But before we start I need to make sure you have all signed the roll call. If you haven’t then could you stick your hand up and I’ll bring it to you. I’ll only do it the once so make it a routine every session to sign in.” He laughed “It will confuse my focus if I wander from student to student every session with a piece of paper.”
Raven relaxed a little. His first lecture was going well and the second one that followed also went smoothly. At least that was one less thing to worry about.
“It’s a projectile demon, a lower demon,” said Maxwell, standing around the corner from the house in Shadwell with Damon. They had found some traces of the black fluid away from the house. Maxwell, with a rucksack full of warlock equipment which Damon had no clue about, was analysing the fluid in a vial while uttering incantations in warlock language.
“A projectile demon?” Damon said. “Why is it called that?”
“They are sometimes known as vomit demons,” said Maxwell, “but most warlocks now replace the vomit with projectile. Same thing if you ask me.”
“So…they…”
“Vomit.” Maxwell wrinkled his nose. “Spray that nasty black stuff everywhere. It will take months to get the smell out”
“That is disgusting.”
Maxwell sighed heavily.
“What is it?” Damon asked.
“I’m pretty certain Raven’s hunch was right. This is definitely not a resident demon. It would have needed to be summoned and as no summoning’s have been authorised in the last few weeks it has to be an unlicensed summoning.”
“But why? I mean no one was hurt or…taken, so what the hell was the point?”
Maxwell shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. We need to report this to the council, they have their investigators on it. I’m sure they’ll catch the guy doing this and then we’ll have all our answers.”
“Could it be a legit summoning gone wrong, in which case the summoner will have filed a loss of control report?”
“No summoning’s have been authorised remember.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.”
Maxwell frowned. “I’m wondering if it’s a coincidence that we get rogue wolf activity just as this demon activity starts?”
“I’ll call Raven.” Damon pulled out his phone and dialled.
“Is everything okay?” Raven answered the phone quietly.
“I have some information about the demon.”
“Hold on, I will call you back” Raven hung up.
Damon winced. “I must have disturbed his lecture.”
Thirty seconds later, Damon’s phone rang. “I have three minutes,” Raven said. Damon concisely explained everything Maxwell had told him about the projectile demon.
“I’ll call Kris. Roman has informed him of the situation already. He is to follow the trails with you. Wait for him to arrive before following any trails.”
“Okay.”
“I will call back shortly.” He hung up.
“He’s calling Kris.” Damon told Maxwell.
“Yep?” Kris answered his phone on the first ring.
“It’s Raven.”
“Where do you need me?”
“Shadwell. Immediately.”
“We following a trail?”
“Yes. Maxwell and Damon are on standby.”
“On my way, will keep you updated.”
They ended the call.
Damon put his phone away.
“Raven said to wait here. Kris is on his way. Then we can hunt.” Damon smiled a smile that transformed his usually refined features into something more primal.
“You look scary when you smile,” said Maxwell. “All wolf like. Me thinks you are gonna enjoy this.”
Damon nodded and then shrugged. “What can I say? It is the beast within.”
Maxwell nodded. “Just keep your choppers away from me and we’ll be cool.”
After lunch, Raven was in another lecture theatre, identical to the previous one in decor but a smaller space, this time filled with first year degree students of all ages.
“Good afternoon,” he addressed them. “My name is Raven…” his introductions continued.
As he spoke, he picked up a scent on the air, masculine cologne that smelled fascinating, almost intoxicating. As he breathed it in his head buzzed, vibrating with tiny sparks of electricity. He felt lightheaded, having inhaled the aroma a little too deeply.
He stumbled over his words. “Excuse me.” He shook his head hard, trying to clear it of the scent. “It’s just after lunch, and it seems my brain is still in vacation mode.”
The students laughed at his words.
“I�
�m going to walk around as I continue the lecture. Do you mind?” His eyes drifted over the theatre, trying to pinpoint the source of the cologne.
The students shook their heads or said “No” warmly.
“Okay.” He walked away from his desk heading for the central stairs. “Controversies in personality research– talk to me.”
As the students put up their hands and he allowed them to speak, he divided his focus between answering their comments and trying to place where the scent was coming from. It was thickening, its signature interchanging between musk, citrus and something incredibly delicious, the smell of sex, the arousing and incredible scent of a man’s sexual heat. His head was still light and buzzing and he realised to his amazement that he was getting hard. Every time he inhaled, the arousing scent fired him up some more, wetting his appetite for sex. Sex with whoever this man was that wore this exotic scent. It was driving him crazy, a collage of emotions and senses– excitement, confusion, dizziness, nausea, building him up to coast a wave of pleasure and frustration. Still he managed to absorb what his students were saying.
“Good point,” he addressed a male student. “Yes,” he said to another, a woman in her thirties. “What’s…” he experienced an intense rush of blood to his head, making him stop and sway. He recovered quickly, trying his best to focus. “What’s your name?” His brow was beaded with perspiration.
“Jessica Field,” the woman replied.
“Go ahead, Jessica.”
As Jessica spoke he traced the trail of the cologne. He listened with half an ear as she outlined the approach of the humanistic psychologist Carl Rogers and went on to detail Idiographic theories. He followed her words as he followed the scent trail, his eyes moving toward the source, his erection throbbing and aching in his trousers, his head thumping, his legs weakening. And then Jessica’s words were lost to him as violet eyes shimmered into focus before him. The man from the Rainbow Rave was sitting in the back row, his dark hair pulled back and exposing his beautiful face, a face too beautiful to be possible. His eyes were focused intently on Raven.