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Cloaked in the night’s silky blackness, Lucifer rested his hand on top of Bedlam’s broad head. His long fingers absentmindedly stroked the dog’s soft ears as he regarded the twin pinpricks of light approaching his home. Closing his eyes, he cast his mind out and was rewarded with the sight of Annabelle’s shadowed loveliness.
The dash lights cast their soft tangerine glow onto her face, and he saw with a hitch of breath those exact same exquisite features that had first hooked him, and then kept him in her thrall for so many centuries. He’d loved her passionately, ever since first setting eyes on her after the Great Fall and exodus from his heavenly home.
He clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed as he remembered that particular day vividly -- the Angel’s Day of Reckoning. It still pissed him off, even though an eternity had since passed. But as he reminded himself, he finally had Annabelle safely in his domain. Maybe now he could have a chance to be happy.
He studied her as she yawned noisily and a shiver sprinted up his spine. Anticipation? Excitement? Desire? He had a feeling it was all of the former and definitely more of the latter, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. Withdrawing his mind he sat and the cane of the wicker chair creaked beneath his weight as he sank into its cushioned seat.
Each short period of time that he’d been granted with her had been just a blink in the eye of the universe. Each brief meeting had all been leading up to – he now believed – this exact moment in his existence. He glanced upwards and raised a brow.
“Are you finally having an attack of conscience eh? Or have I been a good boy and this is my reward, like an obedient dog with a juicy bone?” He grinned with his choice of wording, because that’s exactly what he had. A bone. “Well in this century’s lingo I believe it’s called a boner.” He laughed, the pleasant sound ringing out through the night. Bedlam licked his hand and gave a low woof. Lucifer looked at his canine friend and winked. “Like that one boy? Either way, I don’t give a flying fuck, she’s here and that’s all I care about.”
Cupping his chin in his hand he remembered all of her incarnations that he’d had the blessed privilege of loving over the centuries. Her appearance had changed myriad times over the long, long years and now she’d come full circle, back to her original sensual dark tresses and creamy skin. She’d lived lifetimes as a pale Nordic blonde, and others as a feisty Celtic redhead.
He’d loved her with masses of ringlets, straight hair, long and short. At times she’d existed in glorious caramel coloured curves and at other times she’d had lovely ebony skin, her black hair plaited into intricate braids which coiled around her head like a carefully rendered work of art.
One constant had been her unusual violet eyes and a fiery, independent nature. It had been these features and of course her sultry dark beauty, which had snared him in the first place.
He chuckled as he remembered their first meeting; she’d been such a spirited-wildcat and judging from his rendezvous with her earlier , she hadn’t changed. He sighed through parted lips as today’s visions of his sweet little vixen tempted him, and groaning he shifted in the chair as his hard-on pressed uncomfortably against the soft material of his jeans.
The other variable which never changed was her soul and it was this he’d recognised every time he’d searched her out. It shone from each of her varied personas with a luminescence so radiant it made his heart pound and stole his breath.
Glancing down, he realised with surprise that his own appearance had changed very little from those early days. Apart from the obvious loss of his wings -- which for some strange reason had profoundly wounded him more than the banishment -- and cropping his shoulder length hair, he hadn’t bothered changing anything. As he reasoned when anyone asked: this was him, this was how he’d always looked, so why change?
Not that many asked these days. In fact no one did. He only had a few old and trusted associates in his inner circle, all Fallen like him and they didn’t care about his appearance. Not after so many years of seeing it. He’d lost track of most of his other comrades over the ensuing millennia.
One by one they’d slipped away.
Some had subtly integrated with the humans; whilst others had turned to living hermit’s lives, existing with only their guilt and suffering to keep them company. Eaten up and driven mad by remorse and loss. He’d always been strong and had never given in to those feelings which constantly hovered below the surface of his psyche like a malignant disease. And he’d had no pity or time for those of his kind who had succumbed. He didn’t need them around him.
The bane of his life, the terms of his eternal punishment, well they were not negotiable and gave him scant room to play in. During the hot season of Samhradh, he was free – without fear of punishment -- to freely roam away from his realm. Unlike his brothers and sisters who were free to travel at their own whims, he was stuck in an iron-clad pact which restricted him in a way that they would and could never understand. So he’d always made damn sure that he’d found her before his allotted time was up.
He laughed softly as he considered the irony of his one window of freedom away from his home. It had to be the ultimate celestial-prank, the pinnacle of bad-taste-humour, considering Samhradh, or Summer as it was known in english, was a time of light and renewal – all the attributes which his supposed persona didn’t represent.
Shaking his head, he lit a cigarette and blowing smoke rings he looked out into the darkness, at the place which had been his home since accidently stumbling onto this starkly beautiful land centuries after the fall.
Dis was his domain; here, he was Lord and Master. No one controlled what he did -- no one dared -- but once he stepped over its boundaries, a new set of rules came into play.
Harsh, restrictive rules.
He recalled with growing anger the contract he’d been forced to sign in return for his life, and spying a rare moth he flicked his finger. It exploded with a tiny yellow burst of flame and he felt a cruel sense of relief as a little of his frustrations went up in flame with the bug.
Ignoring the smell of cooked insect he ticked the rules off on his fingers. “Oh yes, if I recollect the main points were, no leaving Dis except at Samhradh, no interfering in human’s lives, no tricking or lying to claim souls, no inciting humans to commit murder or chaos of any sort. And last but not least, no fornicating with the humans, male or female.” Tossing his butt into the ashtray he stretched and lacing his hands behind his head he snorted loudly.
As if he’d had to ever resort to such guttersnipish tactics as trickery. Humans were greedy and had always been more than willing to just bargain their fucking souls away, they didn’t realise the precious gift that it was. And they’d always been eager to wage wars on each other. Without his help, or input. Well not much anyway.
Bedlam panted noisily at his side and Lucifer heard the drool hitting the floor. “Must you do that. It’s quite revolting,” he said giving the dog an affectionate scratch on his back. Bedlam gave a low woof and Lucifer heard the familiar ‘bang-bang’ as his tail slapped the wood.
As to the fornication rule, in the early years he’d happily broken that on a couple of occasions. But he’d made damn sure his seed had never survived. Not like those other dumb bastards who’d sired half-breed Nephilims left, right and centre in a frenzy of lust.
He cast his mind away from those early passionate and confusing days after the fall.
“What else was on that bloody list?” Stroking his chin in-between his thumb and forefinger, he felt the sharp stubble of new growth and his previous thoughts evaporated. “I need a shave, but tomorrow will be soon enough. I couldn’t be bothered tonight. Who the fuck cares, or even remembers all the terms anyway? The world has moved on. I’ve moved on. It is what it is, and I’ve more important things than that to occupy my thoughts with now,” he said as the lights grew brighter.
Stretching his long denim-clad legs out before him he cross
ed his bare feet and swivelling he poured himself another nip of aged single malt over ice. As he raised it to his lips, the cubes clinked lazily against the sides of the antique crystal tumbler.
Laying at his feet Bedlam cocked his head up and after a quick look at his master he gave a low growl and once again settled down for a nap with his head resting in-between his paws.
“Mother’s milk old boy,” he told his snuffling canine as he savoured the smooth aftertaste of the decadently expensive whiskey. Resting his hands on the chair’s arms he looked up at the sky, noticing the far-off flickers of lightning.
“You know Bedlam, life in Australia has its benefits. Furnace-like heat, plenty of wide-open wilderness to wander unhindered around and easy going people who mind their own business. But my friend, drinking fine aged whiskey outdoors under a brewing electrical storm is definitely one of my favourite things to do,” he said and smiled lazily.
It had taken him a long time to appreciate the charm of this rugged continent. After the serene perfection of his former heavenly home, this barren dry continent had been a culture shock to say the least. But now he loved the wide uninterrupted landscape that stretched for kilometres in all directions, as far as the eye could see. He could not have picked anywhere more suitable to be his eternal prison. He was grudgingly thankful for the fact that he’d been allowed to stay here and not been forced to live underground, as first he’d been threatened with.
His home was a stunning vista, painted from a palette of ochre, red, mauve, and after the rains, a brilliant green. During the wet season the replenished land would bloom overnight, the hot red soils suddenly blossoming with a carpet of wildflowers in every possible colour.
He never had to worry about unexpected visitors arriving, or planes snooping overhead.
Dis was not found on any map, or mentioned in any guidebook. It was invisible to everyone, except those he wanted to find it.
He had no regrets about bringing Annabelle here under false pretenses. He’d planted the discontent with her life and job into her subconscious long before she’d even realised that she’d wanted a change of scenery. His breathing quickened as he recalled putting his plans into action, he’d needed to get her away from that place and from the grasp of other men.
He snarled as he remembered that slimy prick Le Fras that she’d worked with.
He’d been incredibly lucky that it hadn’t been summer when he’d been putting the moves on Annabelle, because he would have ripped his fucking head off and fed it to Bedlam as a snack. He’d seen every sideways glance, and he’d witnessed with a frustrated fury as the sick bastard had jerked off in the toilet cubicles to the accompaniments of his twisted fantasies of Annabelle.
Growling, he raised his glass and downed the rest of the honey coloured liquid in one swallow.
“Might still pay him a visit one day. In the flesh and not just in his nightmares,” he said. He’d been making it a regular thing to torment Le Fras in his sleep and he grinned as he imagined him slowly going insane.
“Serve the bastard right. I don’t give a shit that he was only screwing her in his imagination. I damn well know that given half the chance he would have carried out his fantasies. I’m male and I would have if it was me.”
The Devil Of Oz Page 7