The Devil's Advocate

by Michaela Haze

  I was alone.

  I had existed since the beginning of civilisation but still, I had no one.

  I pulled out my smartphone and googled mass tragedies in the area. I did not often go looking for daemonic folds but I needed to do something. My anger was a twisted and gnarled like an icicle through my heart.

  Was that beautiful, pure, human girl destined to take the thing that I had always wanted? The thing that had caused me to shed tears of blood and pound my fists until my bones became dust.

  The very reason that Luc abandoned me. He had said that it was time. That it was necessary.

  My fists clenched and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

  I straightened my spine and walked briskly to the Tyburn Tree.

  The historical tree had long since been cut down and replaced with a plaque but the daemonic energy surrounding the area would never dispel. It was a popular spot for public executions back in medieval times. Located in the centre of London; A stone’s throw from Marble Arch and the world-famous shopping district of Oxford Street.

  With intense focus, I strode through the shimmering gap between realities. When I entered the bar, which was a sex daemons paradise, I did not bother with the farce of walking to the door and exiting to Limbo. I disappeared in the centre of the dance floor to the screams of terror from lesser Hell creatures.

  The First Circle was located at the very core of Hell. Protected by the rings of every other circle, fanning outwards. The Seventh Circle was the largest, dominated by Lust and the closest to Limbo.

  It explained why London was so overrun with the sex pests.

  The First Circle was encased in ice. A tundra of solitude.

  Whereas every other circle was a niche of depravity and repentance, the First Circle was an absence of all that was good.

  My breath chilled on the air as I stood on the edge of Pride, overlooking the Icy domain of Treachery. The low winter sun, which offered no warmth, caused the glass-like walls of the Ice castle to shimmer.

  A pang of homesickness hit me as I wondered if Luc would be inside.

  I shook my head and gritted my teeth. I did not care, I told myself - even though I knew that was a lie.

  It was all because of that Prophecy. Just when I had found a place within myself that I had become comfortable with too. Why did it feel like my chest had been cracked open?

  I blinked out of existence and found myself at the sterling silver doors of the castle. Over fifteen feet tall and enchanted against the biting temperature, they were a piece of art.

  The haunting likeness of my master stared back at me from tarnished silver orbs, his fall from heaven was engraved into the fabric of the castle.

  I knew my old home better than I knew myself. I had crawled the blood red floors on my knees. I had earned my place by my master’s side.

  I found our old bedroom in a blink, although I had expected more to have changed.

  The black steel four poster bed, with rugged grey furs draped across it was the same. The ornate mirrors on every surface reflected my face back to me, ten-fold.

  I eyed the mirror over the bed and remembered how we used to look as we writhed against each other’s bodies. As we tasted every inch of skin and soul.

  I had been good enough to remain by his side then.

  How many others had Lucifer bedded since I had been pushed into the human reality to do his bidding?

  I would have placed money on Marina, his Sicilian whore. My thoughts came thick and fast. I was falling down the rabbit hole.

  Luc was not inside of the castle to my joy and dismay. I could not feel his bright spark of energy in the First Circle.

  It had been just as well. I did not want to know what would have happened if we had reunited. Not when I was in such a detrimental but fragile state.

  Taking my Mac, Russian Red, lipstick out of my purse, I climbed over to the bed. I removed my heels and extended my reach to the mirror on the ceiling.

  With the quirk of my lips and a possible death wish, I wrote, “Miss me?”

  I arrived at Morgenstern and Clark soaked to the skin, just as night was falling. Luiz had put on his coat and collected his things as he stood behind his desk outside of my office. One look at my expression had him tentatively putting his belongings back down.

  Luiz picked up his phone and sent a text. It went without saying that it was a red alert to my previous assistant. A hellhound named Meesha. He would need all the reinforcements that he could get.

  It had always been this way. When the darkness had become too much.

  Without a word, I pushed my handbag into Luiz’s waiting hands and shrugged off my designer heels.

  We walked to the basement of the Mayfair office, the cool concrete walls echoed our footsteps back to us. We did not speak. I knew that if I said anything then I would descend more deeply into the monster that I did not want to be.

  Pain was the only way that I could cope. It was my only outlet. I did not know if the need to bleed had stemmed from my mistreatment, back when Luc had first created me he had been vicious. The trials that he had put me through to be worthy of his blood and his power were enough to break me down and rebuilt me over and over again.

  I pulled my black fitted pencil dress over my head, but Luiz did not react to my nakedness. The only way that I could have gained his attention was to manifest a penis, and even then, he didn’t see me that way. To Hellhounds, the First Circle Purebloods were akin to Gods. It was in their genetic makeup.

  I almost felt sorry for the splinter call of Hellions, hounds were the outlier amongst the denizens of Hell. Created to serve but to never surpass.

  Luiz took a key card out of his tailored trousers and swiped us into the room. The door was a heavy duty, a reinforced affair that I had chosen myself. It was made of pure silver. A mimicry of the beautiful entrance to the Ice Castle.

  I shivered, although I had never had the ability to feel the cold. Naked, I walked into the bare cell and knelt on the floor. I placed my hands behind my head with my elbows out, like a suspect about to be apprehended.

  I stared at the floor. The muscles in my shoulders tensed with the promise of pain.

  Lucifer used to be the one to hurt me. To bring me back to my equilibrium. I had become too unsettled in my skin. The thoughts of the prophecy, Nora Bleu and Samuel’s smug face circled in my mind so quickly that my head whirled and I felt dizzy.

  I stiffened when the sound of Luiz’s shoes approached me. I felt the tingle of energy that told me that Meesha had joined him. Two hellhounds would not be able to best me in traditional circumstances, but I deliberately stayed still.

  Luiz raised the metal pipe, his lips were set in a grim line. His eyes screamed that he would rather be doing anything else. I had only glanced up a second but it was enough to know that I was in a bad way. There was no way that I was going to drift from my body and go to the darkest place in the corner of my mind. I needed to be present for every whip and bruise.

  The metal pipe slammed down on the small of my back, but I stayed straight and absorbed the impact.

  “Again!” My husky voice demanded. I closed my eyes and relished the sharp pain as it took me a step closer to my neutral state.

  I did not need time to heal, as I curled into a ball on the stone floor of the basement. My body had begun to knit itself back together the second that it was struck.

  My blood decorated the walls around me.

  I allowed my tongue to survey my front teeth. I noticed one of my canines had fallen out onto the floor, it’s root was a grotesque stump with meaty gum attached.

  My body had already begun to process of replacing the tooth. I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, impatiently.

  When I was satisfied that I had healed to a perfect standard, I stood up and dressed.

  I was glad that I had removed my clothing and heels. Still filled with manic energy but the edge had dulled. I was no longer a danger to myself and others.

  I had no d
esire to hurt for the sake of hurting.

  I rode the elevator to my office on the seventh floor and surveyed the twinkling lights. The sky was a mixture of pink, orange and a deep blue that could only come with light pollution.

  Even Polaris was hidden.

  I reached my office and pulled out a few files, determined to find something mundane to occupy my mind. The first thing that caught my eye was the Deluca’s file. The word void had been replaced with 'accepted.'

  I smirked to myself to quash the bitter sting that came with thinking of Luc’s face. He had approved of my message, of my pushing back.

  Standing up, I walked to the cabinet and poured myself a glass of red wine. It was from the bottle that he had gifted me.

  I turned over the bottle until the label faced me and surveyed the message with detached interest. Luc thought that I would always be his, but something had changed inside of me.

  I could think of him without wanting to die.

  I could venture into Hell, even when I had almost succumbed to the darkness, and yet I had not stayed and begged for him to allow me to remain.

  Maybe there would be a time when I wouldn’t think his name as a default reaction to every event during my day.

  Remember when you and Luc...?

  I shook my head to myself and took a sip of red wine, swirling it’s contents until it stained the edges of the glass with tiny red rivets.

  At least those fragile Deluca’s had been granted more years with their child. I thought wistfully.

  I tried not to dwell on the fact that I would never know the joy of carrying a child.

  I would never know what it would be like to share my soul, truly, with another.

  To have a part of the person I loved. A tangible and concrete proof of the love we shared.

  I had been created to be damned. Born from Sin. It was by design that I was not worthy of love or the gift of life.

  It had used to cause me such pain, but as I watched the headlights stream through Central London from my high-rise office, I found an acceptance within myself.

  I walked back over to my desk, and sat in my chair with a sigh. Spinning back until I faced the floor to ceiling windows, I pondered my existence. What I wouldn’t give for the reprieve of sleep. Of dreams.

  I busied myself with superficial nonsense. A suit of armour made from designer garments and OPI painted nails.

  Reaching back for the pile of contracts that had previously been rejected, I skim read every one of them.

  The entire pile had been accepted, except for one. Robert Parr’s.

  For some reason, the word void shone and set it apart from the others still. I scratched my chin and leant back.

  What made that contract different to the rest of them? I wondered.

  Simon, my driver, dropped me off outside of a large manor house by Hyde Park. The iron gates were made up of black vines and metal roses. It’s presence was larger than life. Just like the reclusive man that lived inside.

  Damian Cross was, for all intents and purposes, the closest thing that I had ever had to a sibling.

  He was Asmodeus's progeny. Damian had a similar relationship to Asmodeus as I did to Luc.

  He had also been sent to the Human Realities. For what reason, I had no idea.

  The sleek black limo drew to a slow stop and I stepped out onto the gravel. Damian had probably already sensed my arrival onto his property, but everything was a game to Hellions.

  It would show weakness if he were to Lace in front of me and demand to know why I was on his property. Just as it would be rude of me to pull rank on him and demand that he tell me all of the latest gossip regarding the Original Seven and their larger than life exploits.

  Damian’s personal ex-human servant opened the door. Anna was a bean pole of a woman that towered over almost everyone. Half of her head had been shaved and the skin was adorned with a rather fetching sugar skull tattoo. Anna was as rigid as a debutante with a harsh East London accent that would make Dick Van Dyke proud. When Anna opened the large doors to the Cross Estate, I heard the tinkling of glasses and the low buzz of chatter. Damian had company. Whilst that was not unusual, I had not expected it. I was still dressed from work, with a tan blazer on my shoulders and my honey coloured hair in a functional bun. If I was going to have to play the part that people expected me to play, I would have donned something more appropriate. At least my dress was Dior, I sighed.

  Anna led me to atrium where Damian held Court. Damian Cross, the descendant of the Seventh Circle, was more involved with the Elite families than any other Pureblood.

  His appearance was always unexpected, but it had been chosen by his master and some masochist part of my friend kept the face that Amore gave him, as a tribute to her. He had classically good looks with shaggy blonde hair and fashion sense that belonged on a teenager by the beach. I said nothing as I hovered in the doorway.

  True to form, Damian wore board shorts and no shirt. His golden skin was without blemish and he was sculpted to a T. I shivered. Luc had always been paranoid when it had come to Amore’s progeny, but he was more of a sibling than anything else.

  A group of Hellhounds congregated in the corner, chattering excitedly to each other. Each of them held the signature dark hair and orange embers of Hellfire that could only be seen by those that originated from Hell.

  I did not recognise any of the Hounds, but very few every came over to this plane. Many serviced the Original Seven in Hell, with a few in residence in Limbo at the Hound races.

  Damian waved me over and slung his hands over my shoulders. Even with my stilettos, his large form enveloped mine. I shirked back as I looked up at the Pureblood in confusion.

  “Dahlia!” Damian laughed. “I was wondering when you would stop by.” He excused himself from the assorted throngs of people and we weaved through the crowd.

  “I take it you heard the good news?” Damian said jovially as he grasped a champagne flute from a passing server. My brow furrowed in confusion and Damian’s expression grew concerned.

  “You didn’t hear about the prophecy?” Damian cocked his head to the side. His eyes were always the picture of glazed detachment.

  “The one about the Devil’s child?” I asked a low voice.

  Damian barked a laugh. “Heavens no! That’s been in the works for a Millennia. There’s another one that’s been revealed.”

  “I dislike these pesky prophecies.” I muttered through clenched teeth as my stomach sank.

  Damian patted my shoulder affectionately as I scanned the crowd with a wary eye. When I caught the flash of silver eyes, my back went ramrod straight. Only one person I knew had silver eyes and he was always as far away from me as possible.

  “No need to worry about this one, Dahlia-Doll. This one is good news. Excellent. Stupendous.”

  “Right. What is it?”

  Damian rummaged through his board shorts until he pulled out a well-worn piece of paper.

  “The golden gates of Hell are going to open, Dahlia-Doll,” His eyes sparkled in mischief. “Says here that Haage’s going to take a consort and Hell will reign.”

  I snorted. “Haage has been in the wind for over a century.”

  “Prophecies don’t lie.” Damian said fervently.

  “They aren’t exactly specific though. They don’t explain the subtle details.” I clenched my fists. I hated prophecies. What about free will? What about choice?

  “What more do you want? A name and address?” Damian laughed. “Just lie back and enjoy it. It will unfold in time.”

  “Is that why you’re celebrating?” I gestured around the room at the cocktail party that he seemed to be hosting.

  “The golden gates of Hell are going to open, Baby Girl!” Damian lifted his champagne flute. His voice boomed over the crowd, which was infected with his enthusiasm. “The Original Seven will rise! Asmodeus will be free!”

  I scoffed and melted away from the crowd and out of the door. Damian was such a fool, waiting on a mast
er that had sent him away. Anyone could have told him that it would end poorly. I looked down to my manicured fingers and my vice like grip on the crumpled paper. I screwed up the piece of paper and tossed it to the ground, grinding the ominous words underneath my heel.

  As I stepped out of my limo, my phone began to ring. I picked it up without hesitation and wished that I hadn’t.

  “Ms. Clark,” Mike Kerning MP’s voice was tinny but smug. “Have you thought any more about making a deal.”

  I walked through the doors of Morgenstern and Clark, nodding to the doorman. “How did you get this number?” I asked casually, unwilling to let any unsuspecting observers know the anger that I felt.

  Kerning did not answer. As I rode the lift up to my office, the signal scattered but the call did not end.

  “I think we can help each other, Ms Clark.”

  I glanced around and watched a business man get out of the elevator on the floor before mine. When the coast was clear, I spoke in a low and threatening tone.

  “Listen, you little chit. Do not call me again. Do not try and broker a deal. I do not work with daemons.”

  Kerning protested.

  “Repeat those words to yourself until they become your second language.” I hissed. “Dahlia Clark does not make deals with daemons.”

  I jammed my finger on the screen to end the call and clenched my fists to hold in the urge to scream with rage. My control was still waning, even after my pain therapy the previous evening.

  Maybe it was just Mike Kerning MP and his uncanny ability to get under my skin.

  The metallic doors slid open on my floor and I stepped out. I almost missed the incubus in the hallway as I strode to my office. Samuel Rose leant against the wall as if he owned the place. His outfit was typically casual even though we were in a professional environment. His auburn hair stuck out in all directions.

  Samuel pushed himself away from the wall and swaggered towards me. The air crackled with tension.

  “Who was on the phone?” He asked in a light tone.