by Rita Vetere
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Lyrical Press, Inc.
www.lyricalpress.com
Copyright ©2009 by Rita Vetere
First published in 2009, 2009
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Highlight
Born of Darkness
Dedication
Acknowledgements
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
PART TWO
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
PART THREE
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
About Rita Vetere
More from Lyrical Press
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Back Cover Copy
There's no escaping black karma, even for immortals.
Meet Jasmine Fairchild, outrageously gorgeous and extremely persuasive—unnaturally so. Jasmine is a Cambion, part mortal, part succubus.
Enter Ahriman, an ancient and evil incubus. For centuries, he has exploited the secrets of reincarnation to reach his goal of immortality and the eradication of humanity. All he needs now is a portal, an opportunity ... and Jasmine.
She stands alone as the only force powerful enough to immortalize or destroy him, and her dual nature makes Ahriman's task a little tougher than he thought...
Highlight
Night again. Jasmine stared at the storm raging outside her window, mesmerized by the back-and-forth motion of the wind-whipped trees. The images skittering across her mind made no sense, not even to her. Lightning lit the sky nearby and, in the momentary flash of light, she saw them—the dark souls. They filled the room, some standing, others crawling with spider-like movements up the walls and along the ceiling. Still others hung upside-down like bats on the heavy curtains flanking the window.
Jasmine did not immediately react, feeling oddly disconnected from the sight of the hideously deformed creatures. Her debilitated mind wondered vaguely why her mother had not been able to see them. Because she wasn't a Cambion, came the answer from within. The phantasms stared, their dead eyes trained on her as they inched their way closer and closer to the bed. Sparks of anger ignited and sputtered out as Jasmine attempted in vain to summon her wrath.
"You don't scare me, you dumb, dead m'fuckers."
She did her best to keep them back, but that bastard, Stronik, had increased the dosage, and her mental push collapsed. Seconds later, they surrounded her, ready to begin their night's work.
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Born of Darkness
By Rita Vetere
[Back to Table of Contents]
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Born of Darkness
Copyright © 2009, Rita Vetere
Edited by Pam Skochinski
Book design by Emma Wayne Porter and Renee Rocco
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
17 Ludlow Street
Staten Island, New York 10312
www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher's permission.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: June, 2009
Dedication
For my daughter, Jacqueline
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Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to everyone at Lyrical Press Inc., including Frank and Renee Rocco, Emma Wayne Porter and Pam Skochinski. Special thanks are also due to Nancy Kilpatrick.
[Back to Table of Contents]
PART ONE
The Awakening
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Chapter 1
Morocco, 1987
As she walked hand-in-hand with Charlie on the way to the train station in Casablanca, Lilli Fairchild could not help but hum the tune to the popular Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young song she'd loved as a teenager. There really was a Marrakesh Express, and they were about to board the train immortalized by the song. She turned to Charlie, who chuckled under his breath.
"That song's been going around in my head all morning too."
What a holiday this was turning out to be, and how like Charlie to select an exotic destination like Morocco when surprising her with tickets for a trip. After two years of being married to Charlie, she had come to love his penchant for the unusual, and to expect the unexpected.
Charlie held the door for her as she entered the surprisingly modern train depot. Although modestly dressed in red cotton capris, white t-shirt and tan sandals, Lilli couldn't help but notice heads turning as she entered the station, more or less the same way they did back home in Tampa. Mostly, it was her thick mane of blond hair, falling in waves to the middle of her back, people noticed first, then her creamy complexion, tall, slender build and long legs. The graceful way she moved, in spite of her height, seemed to add to the attraction. Charlie had always told her it was her dazzling smile that attracted people to her, one reaching all the way to her long-lashed, hazel eyes. When Lilli smiled, people just could not help smiling back.
The stares continued as Charlie joined her inside and took her hand. Back home, people often commented on what a striking couple they made. Charlie seemed perpetually unconscious of his own darkly handsome looks. His glossy black curls, a gift from his mother whose ancestry was Greek, were combed back, away from his face. Charlie's eyes, in contrast to his olive complexion, were sky-blue and arresting. He stood a good six inches taller than Lilli at six-foot-two, with an athletic build and muscular arms and legs. His strong features lent him an authoritative, serious look that belied his good humor and easygoing personality.
They had arrive
d in Casablanca the day before yesterday. The next day, they explored the maze of streets in the medina, the old, walled part of the city, and strolled along the esplanade where they watched the waves crashing onto the rocks. Then, last night, when an American couple they shared dinner with mentioned they had just returned from Marrakesh, which they said was not to be missed, he and Lilli decided to spend a few days at the popular destination. Whatever they had missed in Casablanca, they would have time to explore when they got back. So, after packing enough for two or three days and arranging for a hotel in Marrakesh through the helpful staff at their hotel, they found themselves at the station, about to board the train that would deposit them in the exotic city four hours to the south.
They did not have to leave the brilliant sunshine behind for long. After Charlie purchased their tickets, they moved onto an open platform where a red and yellow train awaited its passengers. Fifteen minutes later, Lilli and Charlie took their seats in a comfortable first-class compartment and the Marrakesh Express left the station.
The train wound its way past the slums on the outskirts of the city, where some of the homes were no more than poorly constructed huts, but soon the train moved into the plains to the south, where only the distant hills broke up the vista of endless fields for the next hour and a half. The unchanging scenery and the steady clickety-clack rhythm of the train eventually lulled them into silence. Before long, Charlie dozed off in the late morning sunshine. From her straw bag, Lilli removed the small book on Marrakesh she had purchased at the station and began to read.
Sometime later, Charlie's eyes opened and he stretched, smiling. “Are we there yet?"
"Almost, I think."
"You're beautiful, you know that?” he said, moving from his window seat to the empty one next to her. He kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers for a bit.
Lilli could barely contain her excitement. “This is going to be so much fun. Our hotel's right next to the biggest square in all of North Africa,” she said, checking the book for the name. “It's called ‘Djemma el Fna’ and the souks are just behind the square. We can pick up some souvenirs there to take back with us."
"Sure. The couple last night said we'd find lots of great stuff in the market."
When the train arrived in Marrakesh, they were met with chaos outside the station. Everyone scrambled for a taxi, luggage in hand. Charlie managed to get one fairly quickly and waved Lilli over. After stashing their hand luggage in the trunk, they got into the back seat and Charlie gave the driver the name of their hotel, or riad, as it was called. The taxi drove along the wide, treed boulevards of the Ville Nouvelle, the newer part of the city built by the French, to the ancient walled part of the city.
They entered the medina through a horseshoe-shaped gate called Bab Agnaou. The opening was not overly large, but managed to look impressive, carved with floral decorations and an inscription of some sort. The antiquated wall, a sun-bleached shade of ochre, gave Lilli the feeling they were entering a different era. The sensation intensified after they passed through the gate. The ancient clay and limestone walls of the structures inside the medina and the arches over the narrow alleys were tinged in hues varying from red to salmon. The local women were veiled from head to toe with only latticed fabric at the eyes. As they drove along, she could see some of the residents as they turned toward Mecca to pray, first standing, bowing in prostration then kneeling. Cars and motorized bicycles shared the roadway with donkeys pulling carts.
She looked at Charlie in surprise when the driver pulled up in front of a dark, tunnel-like alley and announced their arrival. She was even more surprised when he told them the only way to enter the riad was through the alley, on foot. Wondering if they had been misled by the hotel staff in Casablanca, Lilli exited the taxi while Charlie paid the driver for the trip, removed their luggage from the trunk, and then joined her at the dim entranceway to the alley.
"This is safe, right?” she asked, a trifle nervous.
Charlie smiled and took her hand. “Of course it's safe. C'mon. Think of it as an adventure."
They made their way along the shadowy passage, taking care not to trip on the uneven stones beneath their feet, their arms brushing against the rough walls on either side of the narrow, winding alley. The smell of unfamiliar cooking mingled with the dank odor of the alleyway, once again giving Lilli the sense of having stepped into the past. At the end of the passageway, they arrived in front of a large wooden door and entered, not sure what to expect, and found themselves on the sumptuous ground level of the riad.
"Wow, it's like a small palace,” she said, looking around in awe at the luxurious place.
The three-level structure was built around an open, marble-floored courtyard. A stone lion's-head fountain, from which sun-dappled water flowed into a tiny pool, took center stage. Pink rose blossoms covered most of the surface of the cobalt water, filling the air with their scent. Several wooden tables were set up around the fountain for open air dining, and large, flowering potted plants adorned the corners, where stone pillars supported the second story.
Charlie, who appeared equally impressed by the opulent place, took her hand as they walked around the rest of the main level. The sofas arranged against the latticed walls of the main floor sat low to the ground, with plush seat and back pillows covered in silk. Side pillows of velvet were fringed, or bore silk tassels. Many interesting decorative items were one display—exotic Hookah pipes, brass teapots and lanterns, indigo blue tea glasses trimmed in silver, picture books on Morocco.
A tall, swarthy-looking fellow walked over and introduced himself. “I am Khalid, the proprietor. Welcome."
Charlie introduced himself, and they followed Khalid to the front desk. After they registered, Khalid led them up the worn stone steps of the stairway in the far corner. The decorative wrought iron rail flanking the stairs also ran along each tier of the riad. The hallway on all three stories overlooked the courtyard.
Lilli was delighted with the third floor terrace suite Khalid ushered them into. The bed, although huge, appeared cozy, nestled inside a niche shaped like a keyhole. The silk coverlet, striped in varying hues of plum, lavender and mauve, looked luxurious but inviting. In the sitting area, two silk-covered benches faced each other, adorned with throw pillows in shades of lime green, maroon and copper. A low wooden table, inlaid with ebony and mother of pearl sat between them. A thick, indigo and henna patterned carpet covered the stone floor. Lilli let out a sound of delight as she stepped into the adjoining bathroom, which was dominated by a legless oversized white tub with brass fixtures. The royal blue and cream floor tiles looked hand-chiseled, and mosaic tiles in a more intricate motif, but the same color combination, adorned the walls. Even the round sink was patterned in mosaic tiles. A lavishly carved arabesque mirror hung over it.
Back in the bedroom, Lilli stepped through the double doors on the wall opposite the bed onto a stone terrace painted in a terra cotta hue. A pergola, covered in billowing white fabric, provided shade for another sitting area. Deck chairs, also dressed in white cotton, were arranged across the terrace.
"Check out this view!” she called to Charlie, after walking to the terrace wall and looking out at the panoramic scene. Mountains stretched away to the east, capped in snow. The terrace overlooked an enormous square, the Djemma El Fna, which was filled with people milling about. She could see the snake charmers who had set up around the square, and juice vendors. Most of the throng in the square was making its way in or out of the labyrinth of streets on the north side, where the souks were, the marketplace. The stone, rectangular tower of the Koutoubia Mosque overlooked it all.
"Beautiful,” she said simply.
"Yup,” Charlie agreed, although when she turned to him, she found him staring at her instead of the view.
"Stay right there, don't move,” he told her, returning inside and emerging a moment later with his camera and followed by Khalid, who happily snapped a picture of the two of them against the scenic background.
They were eager to explore the city, but also hungry, so they arranged for a late lunch. After freshening up, they went downstairs to the courtyard and seated themselves at a table close to the fountain. The food arrived quickly, a half-chicken entrée served over mounds of couscous and covered in a sweet sauce of golden onions, chick peas, raisins and cinnamon. Lilli's mouth watered at the delicious aroma wafting up from the plate set before her, and she made quick work of the meal, declaring it delicious. Afterward, they enjoyed a pastry which surprised them with a slightly salty taste, and mint tea, which was sweet and refreshing. Their appetites sated, they thanked Khalid and his staff and exited the riad, walking back through the tiny alleyway. A couple of minutes later, they were standing in Djemma El Fna.
They made their way across the massive square, dodging the snake-charmers who were doing their best to scare the tourists, and headed for the bustling souks.
A sea of noisy pedestrians engulfed them as soon as they entered the maze of streets. Strains of exotic music played on lutes, drums and tambourines rose above the cacophony of voices, as tourists and locals haggled with the shopkeepers, trying to strike a bargain. The pungent aroma of spices mingled with the odor of donkeys and pack-camels in the sun, and a heavy smell of sweat permeated the air.
Stalls filled with goods of every description lined the streets. Brightly colored fabrics, brocaded bedcovers and embroidered tablecloths hung in brilliant display. Brass and copper tea pots, decorative fez lanterns and candleholders glittered from every nook and cranny. Geometrically patterned tribal carpets in hues of henna red and indigo blue were draped over large rods or hung like paintings. Antiquated jewelry fashioned out of silver, gold and copper sparkled in dazzling array, as well as dangerous-looking daggers, the hilts inlaid with precious stones. Other stalls were devoted entirely to tooled leather goods, or slippers, which seemed to be a big seller. Mounds of spices—saffron, turmeric, paprika, ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon—the color of precious gems, shimmered in wicker baskets or clay pots, along with green and black olives.