Sex, Lies
&
Demon Ties
Dark Desires Series Book I
Copyright © 2016 C J Laurence
www.cjlaurence.com
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: May Freighter
www.mayfreighter.com
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For all those who believe, and know, that this universe holds
marvellous stories which are still yet to be discovered…
Reader Information
You will consistently notice the spelling of the word ‘magic’ as ‘magick’ throughout this series. This IS intentional, and NOT a spelling mistake.
Some of you may already be aware of the difference between the two, but for those of you who aren’t, here is a brief overview to give you a better idea:
Magic is something attributed to magicians. The likes of Paul Daniels, Harry Houdini, David Blaine, David Copperfield, Derren Brown, Dynamo…
You get the idea? Basically, those who are skilled in the fine art of optical illusions.
Magick is something attributed most famously to Aleister Crowley. Those of you who are familiar with his name will no doubt already know his famous quote – ‘Magick is the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will.’
Those of you not too familiar with his name, don’t panic. Whilst a quick internet search may ping back the scary word ‘occult’ wherever you see this man’s name, I ask you to spend a few minutes researching Thelema.
Another excellent example to use here is Marie Laveau, an infamous voodoo witch from New Orleans. And I beg you to take a minute researching the voodoo religion—I can assure you it is NOT what you think it is.
In essence, the addition of the letter ‘k’ distinguishes spiritual discipline from stage magic and sleight of hand tricks.
Where it concerns my characters, and the forthcoming tale, it is used from the perspective of magical realism, hence using the alternative spelling.
CHAPTER I
A lone fishing boat bobbed along the icy waters of the North Sea. The captain and his men paid little attention to their vessel as they gazed in awe at the spectacular light show of the aurora borealis. The glimmering radiance entranced them as a flame bewitches a moth. The dancing rainbow illuminated the dark surface of the water, highlighting the landscape of the small island they floated past.
On the eastern side of the Shetland Isles, the tiny piece of land had last encountered humans in Norse times. The mere eighty hectares of Balta provided little use for anything other than a landing pad for a pair of age-old demons. With that night being the spring equinox, the captivated fishermen missed the glorious scene of two fine specimens emerging from the shimmering purple tendrils of light.
The taller of the two figures drew in a deep breath, his blonde hair gleaming from the brightness above. “Ahh, brother! Nothing better than the sweet scent of all those mortal females.”
The other responded with a sigh as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “Azazel, we’ve been here ten seconds and already you’re off with your nymphomaniac thoughts. Can you not control yourself for one minute?”
“Balthazar, when are you going to indulge, hmmm?” Azazel slid a long, muscular arm around his brother’s broad shoulders and grinned. “You waste the entire three months of freedom we’re supposed to enjoy on one hopeless female. She thinks you’re madly in love with her, which leads to nothing but a broken heart when we leave. If you ask me, you’re actually crueller than I am. Or is that the plan? That’s your way of being cruel?”
“I do believe no one asked you.”
“Brother, you’re a genius!” Azazel rewarded him with a hearty slap on the back, a faint rumble of thunder echoing through the skies.
“Don’t judge me by your own standards.” Balthazar rolled his eyes and threw his brother’s arm from his shoulders. “This is why we’re stuck the way we are. Do you not want to be loved again? Have a chance at breaking this damn curse and be human once more?”
Azazel scanned his jade green eyes over the sincerity etched on his brother’s face before bursting into laughter. “I do feel love…” He grabbed his groin in a crude gesture. “…I feel it right here.”
A whispered curse left Balthazar as he turned away from his uncouth brother. He walked across the frosted grass, drawing a deep breath as he thought of their destination this time.
“As for your other question,” Azazel said. “Why would I give up millions of hot females, magick, power, knowledge, and limitless opportunities for the meagre sixty-year life of a mortal?”
Distracted by sketching strange patterns in the air with his fingers, Balthazar found himself speaking before thinking. “Love?”
Azazel chuckled. “Ever the romantic, eh?”
Balthazar didn’t dignify him with an answer. Tracing his fingers through the crisp night sky, he drew a large triangle. His fingers left behind a shimmering glow of silver and purple specks hovering in mid-air. He finished the mesmerising scene by speaking three words from an ancient language long since forgotten in these modern times.
The stillness around them began to change as a slight breeze strengthened into a powerful vortex. Swirling and moving in a thousand directions, the raging whirlwind ripped a hole in time and space to transport them through to their home for the next few weeks.
Azazel scooped a handful of the now grey and blue energy edging the black hole before them. He watched the matter wriggling about between his fingers and snorted with disdain. “Really? Could you choose anywhere more boring?”
Balthazar glared at him and stepped inside the mini cyclone. “Are you coming or not?”
With a sigh, Azazel relented. “I suppose someone’s got to spice life up for the mortals.”
This time around, Balthazar picked a quiet county near the east coast of England—Lincolnshire. He was more than ready for their three-month vacation from Hell. The relaxing atmosphere of the particular village he selected had attracted him, not caring for his elder brother’s dim view.
The ominous duo stepped out of their magick-made twister and into the peace and quiet of Grimsthorpe. A violent gust of wind swept over the tranquil setting, sending clean washing flying off the lines and car alarms blaring.
In the blink of an eye, the spinning air settled, loose twigs and fine dirt falling to the ground in silence.
Azazel cast a nonchalant eye over the old country mansion standing before them. Its shadowed red bricks and dark timber brought a flicker of a smile to his handsome face. “This home?”
Balthazar nodded as he strolled towards the imposing wooden front door. He spared one last glance at the acres of landscaped gardens littered with trees—the perfect cover for any extracurricular activities.
“I’m impressed, little bro. You did good this time.”
Balthazar narrowed his eyes at his brother’s sarcasm. “If you’re referring to my last ‘accident’, it happened to be better than the time you dropped us smack bang in the middle of the Mabisanga tribe. At the end of one of their dark rituals, might I add.”
“It was an easy mistake to make.”
“A mistake is choosing green trousers over black.” He motioned his head towards Azazel’s diabolical choice of attire. “Not putting us in the Congo instead of Greece. Is there any wonder, with our magickal appearance out of thin air, they think white men are devils?”
Azazel grinned. “Fact number one—women love fashion. These trousers are fashionable, Bal. You could use a tip or two from me. Fact number two—the devil is actually white.”
“If that’s fashion, then keep it. Since when did skinny, mushy pea coloured fabric become popular? Don’t even get me started on that shirt.”
Looking down at his white and brown checked cotton shirt, Azazel shook his head. “Fashion, Balthazar. Seriously.”
“Shut up and get in the house.”
“You spoil all my fun.”
Balthazar snorted. “Ha.” He slammed the door behind them. “Welcome to my world.”
Silence fell over the bickering siblings as they settled into reading the history of the old house. Balthazar took his time meandering around downstairs, his shoes clicking across the expensive wooden floor. He closed his eyes and allowed the residual energies lingering within the brickwork to encircle him. The surges of colours that flooded his mind every time he delved into energy reading still entranced him after all this time. Flashbacks of memories engulfed his mind, giving him a quick yet insightful peek into the vital information that would pass them off as relatives to the locals.
Azazel sauntered his way around upstairs, taking note of the best bedroom whilst paying relative attention to the information being relayed to him. No one had lived in the grand, old house for nearly two decades. The last occupant, Henry Worthington, had two nephews. With the unoriginal names of Tom and Ben, they would serve as the perfect aliases for the demons needs to blend in. Azazel huffed as he better acquainted himself with the Worthington’s family.
Wandering back downstairs, he saw Balthazar trailing his fingertips across the dark wooden mantelpiece above the open fire.
“Well, it looks like you’re Tom and I’m Ben for the next three months,” Azazel said. He gave a disdainful look to the dusty red sofas facing each other in the middle of the huge living room. He clicked his fingers and rippled his energy out across the house, renewing everything to its once former glory in seconds.
Balthazar glanced around at the sparkling brass door handles and dust free ornaments. “I presume you’ve picked your bedroom?”
“Of course.” A wide grin spread across Azazel’s chiselled features. “Priorities, brother.”
“Did you miss the pleasure room downstairs?”
Azazel cocked his head. He closed his eyes for a brief second, relaxing his mind to absorb the flood of history the house swarmed over him. The eagerness of the leftover energies made him smile. Images of the dark, damp torture room in the basement popped into his mind and a cheesy grin folded over his lips.
“Nice. I’m sure we can put that to use once again.”
A warm, friendly energy pushed back at him, shocking him into silence. This wasn’t a residual energy allowing him to read a history book—this was an ever “live” and intelligent energy coming to announce itself. As the welcoming coils of energy eased his immediate offensive attitude, a hazy mist began to form next to Balthazar.
Balthazar turned, his eyebrows raised as the mist merged into the form of a sweet old woman. Boasting the smile of a loving grandmother but wearing the black and white uniform of a maid, she bowed before them.
“Gentlemen, how lovely to have you here. I am Mildred.”
Azazel glanced over her grey hair, pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes, whilst edged with wrinkles, still shone a brilliant blue. Her skin appeared smooth, plump, full of life and vitality.
“Well, hello, Mildred,” Azazel said. “And what might you be hanging around for?”
A sly smile passed over her lips. “I am ‘hanging around’ in my home, dear boy.”
“Boy? Really? Have you any idea–”
“I know full well what and who you are, Azazel. To be quite frank, whilst you are under my roof, you will abide by my rules.” Her eyes hardened over with a glassy stare whilst her hands remained clasped in front of her. Everything but her tone of voice said pleasant old maid. “Your threats and belligerent nature do not perturb me, dear.”
A chuckle sounded from Balthazar as he watched his brother judging the mild yet assertive spirit. Not a flicker shivered through Mildred as she stood her ground, watching Azazel battle his temper and decide whether to be clever or impulsive.
“You know,” Azazel said. “I can tell you’re the kind of old bird who was a fine piece of ass in her day.”
Mildred smiled. In one swift, fluid movement, she reached up to her neck, slipping her aged fingers beneath her high, frilled collar. A second later, a gold chain fell down on her chest, its centre point settling between her breasts.
Azazel fell silent as his eyes refused to tear away from the hexagram. “Ah,” he said, scratching his head.
Clasping her hands in front of her once more, Mildred nodded. “I believe we have an understanding?”
The two brothers exchanged a mutual look before nodding their agreement.
“Good boys. Now, would you like a cup of tea?”
CHAPTER II
Under the vibrant stars twinkling above her, Kyla Marshall leaned back against the cool bricks of the old pub she worked in. Being in desperate need of a cigarette, she whipped one from her pocket and placed it in her mouth. As she lit it, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Breathing out a cloud of smoke, all her worries seemed to evaporate with it.
She thought back over her life, as she often did during these two minutes of peace that she had during the day. Thirty years old, single, and working in a pub was not something she had ever envisioned. Thoughts of her being an energetic teenager with dreams of criminal psychology floated through her mind. A small smile tweaked at her rosy lips as she thought of where she could be right now; sat in a stuffy room with a psychotic serial killer offering up his mind for dissection.
A violent gust of wind whipped around the deserted garden of The Phantom Horse Inn, nearly knocking her straight off her feet. Her fag was ripped from her mouth, rolling across the damp grass. She cursed as she chased after it, grabbing at it like a piece of long lost gold. Placing it back between her lips, she attempted to relight it when another burst of wind insisted she leave it alone.
In a fit of frustration, she threw it over the fence and into the garden edging the pub’s boundary. Stomping back inside, she grumbled at the thought of having to suffer another two hours of work before going home.
Several minutes later, her boss, Keith, came running through from the kitchen. His bald head glistened with sweat as his podgy fingers clutched at his red face.
“Fire!”
Kyla’s heart stopped dead. “What? Where?”
His huge belly heaved up and down as he gasped for breath. “The old Worthington place! It’s on fire!”
She dashed past him, tripping over her own feet as she ran outside. Grabbing hold of the doorframe to stop her fall, she stared at the perimeter fence. Sure enough, bright orange flames licked their way up the ancient oak tree that loomed over the boundary line between the old pub and the perfect Worthington gardens. Charred black pieces floated through the illuminated air towards her as the tree trunk turned to a dark crisp.
Swearing under her breath, she turned to call the fire brigade only to face Keith standing rather too close to her. He clasped his greasy hand around her forearm. Her top lip curled as she recoiled from his touch. A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of his flesh on hers.
“I’ve already rung the fire brigade.”
Rubbing her arm where he laid his grubby fingers, Kyla escaped from his grasp as she evacuated everyone from the pub.
By the time the fire brigade turned up, the tree was past being saved. She and Keith gazed upon its sorry state from separate ends of the outside area. She w
as biting her lip to stifle her smile—what a way to get out of work tonight.
The firefighters ran on site, Keith stepping in their way. His dirty white apron stretched over his barrel-sized stomach as he took a deep breath between each word. “Everyone is out and safe. Did it myself.”
One of the men glanced at Kyla with a smirk before smothering the hungry fire with gallons of water. Within minutes, the old oak was left a smouldering, beaten down mess, compared to the magnificent part of nature it had once been.
As Keith waddled back inside, a cute, young fireman sauntered over to Kyla. “I know it was your cigarette that started it.”
She met his twinkling blue eyes with her own amused set as a smile tugged at her lips. “Sorry.”
“I'm sure you are.” He ran a hand over his smooth chin. “We could play this one of two ways. I could tell the truth, which could get you in a lot of trouble, or I could take you out for a drink...”
Her fingers tussled through her long red curls as she grinned. “Well, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Good answer. What time do you get off?”
She leaned forwards, whispering into his ear. “That depends what time you come and do it for me.”
The young man balked at her forward response, his mouth dropping wide open.
Giving him a cheeky wink, she stroked his cheek. “Oh, sweetie. I don’t think you’re quite man enough for me. I’d eat you for breakfast.”
Kyla sauntered off, her hips swinging from side to side with her coy little victory. The fireman snapped back to reality after a few seconds before wandering back to his truck in a daze.
Amongst all the hustle and bustle, no one spotted the deep purple glow of two sets of eyes peering through the fence.
***
After their courtesy cup of tea from Mildred, the two brothers decided to have a wander around the extensive grounds. Walking alongside the perimeter fence, Azazel caught sight of a stunning redhead just the other side. Something about her attitude and confident swagger captured his attention in an instant. Refusing to acknowledge the spell she had already cast on him, he took offence as she threw her hot cigarette over the fence. Doing nothing to calm the roaring fire, the brothers indulged in a battle of words.
Sex, Lies & Demon Ties (Dark Desires #1) Page 1