Katya Klein. She wanted Trix back. She obviously thought I was the one keeping her sister from her. It had to be her.
I walked back into the room, Trix and Sarah-Bell were concentrating on the laptop screen; both of their faces were illuminated by the blue light.
“I think I have an idea of who’s going to be on that footage.” I said.
Trix gaped and her eyes widened in horror. Her fingers twitched, as if she considered slamming the laptop shut to protect me or herself; I wasn’t sure.
“You need to see this, Taylor.” Trix whispered. She turned the laptop around. Hitting the spacebar, the video was grainy and jumped every few seconds. I saw my own body swagger onto the edge of the fountain.
Asmodeus was surrounded by people; an impromptu flash mob. Everyone swayed and gyrated like they were in a nightclub instead of a city street. The Queen of Hell swung her arms and conducted the crowd as if it was an orchestra. Her smirk was slow and lazy.
I recognised his profile immediately. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle the gasp. I was unable to detach myself from the situation. I watched the video footage of Henry Blaire as he ripped the head from a man's shoulders with his bare hands.
A shadow hovered on the edge of the frame and I knew who was behind Henry’s actions. It wasn’t Katya at all. The person behind the Satanic Slayer murders was Lillian Blaire.
And she was using Henry to do it.
11.
“She’s dead,” Lillian spoke into the darkness; her voice was raspy with tears. “My sister is dead.”
I was back in the past. Thrown head first into a drama that I didn’t want to watch.
Henry looked down to the concrete in distaste; the smears of fresh blood caused whorls of steam to rise into the cold air. The season had changed from summer to winter, but Henry had remained the same.
Lillian Blaire was clothed in shadow as her hands shook. Her emerald eyes stayed on Henry and never left; something had died inside of her. Her sister was gone.
“I cannot bring her back.” Henry shrugged casually.
Lillian gritted her teeth and bared a harsh smile. “Oh, Haage,” She cooed as she stepped forward into the light. “Conjurer of Hell and purveyor of information.”
Henry’s back was ramrod straight as he extended his hand to the edge of the circle that had been used to summon him. His face turned into that of a beast, as he realised that he was trapped. Henry’s fists slammed into the hardened air that made up the barrier around her makeshift satanic altar.
“Haagenti, Haage, or Henry Blaire. So many names. You've become known since you have walked almost humans. Banished from Hell.” Lillian repeated, her voice was lifeless. “You have never known the pain of others. Only the continuous drain that you are on humanity.”
Henry’s eyes widened in horror, and his body convulsed as Lillian began to speak in faltering German. Her hair started to lift with static electricity and the burnt smell of Witchling magic filled the air.
Henry beat his fists against the circle, trapped, roaring like a cornered animal. His knuckles crunched and split from the strain. When his blood touched the circle, it dropped for just a second.
Everything slowed, as if the world had frozen on the cusp of something horrible and new.
Lillian’s lilting voice rattled off the last syllable of the spell, but Henry jumped forward and attached his mouth to her neck. He jerked his teeth and snapped at her like a feral dog as he tried to rip out her throat. His body began to illuminate; thousands of strands of light crisscrossed over his skin and began to drift into the air like embers of a flame.
“You dare to take my power?” Henry growled; his teeth were stained red from her blood.
Lillian spluttered a laugh, which turned into a death rattle as her eyes rolled back inside her head.
Henry bit his wrist, but instead of offering it to her lips he rammed his hand through her torso. He punched clean through her chest. Grabbing her heart. Henry gritted his teeth and I sensed the change on the air, the daemon magic. He was changing her.
“You may wish for your own death,” Henry said; his words were strained as his power began to drift away as the result of Lillian’s curse. “But I will ensure you live forever with the pain of her death.”
A tear leaked out of Lillian’s eye. “As I will ensure the same of you.”
I woke up, draped on a throne made of tarnished Steel. It was cold. A strong wind whistled outside through the stain glass windows.
I jolted and sat up, the grooves of the ornate chair dug into my spine but I focused on the room instead. It was Spartan, but decorated with circles. Grooves were dredged from the stone floor, making up a large Hell Sigil and another symbol with overlapping lines that I did not recognise.
Someone cleared their throat beside me. “Do you like my throne?” Asmodeus purred. The kind of low brogue that implied intimacy.
I shifted uncomfortably. Blood roared inside my ear drums, and my skin felt flushed. I looked down to my collarbone, expecting to see the red flush of arousal but my skin was pale and cold; shimmering in the moonlight.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“This is the Seventh Circle. But it is just a memory of mine.” Asmodeus leant forward and allowed her finger to trail down the side of my face. I forced my eyes to the floor.
The squirming masses of winged souls. A flash of her mouth; like two pursed cushions. Her lips were edged with dried blood. Her eyes were pale white, tinged with pink. Asmodeus flicked her mass of ebony hair over her shoulder and sauntered past me. Her hips swayed and I noticed that she was entirely nude. Amore turned over her shoulder and whistled for me like I was a dog.
Some innate part of me responded to her, snapping to my feet; I followed.
I was two parts shame and one part curious.
“I have bled my power into your body, Vessel.” Asmodeus said but did not acknowledge where I stood. I stayed a few steps behind, like a loyal subject.
“Thanks,” I spat, “but could look at me when you speak to me? After all, you are using my body. You are indebted to me.”
“Am I?” Her lip curled in amusement. “I seem to recall that you agreed to a bargain on my terms in exchange for control of my power.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that what this is? You’ve come to collect?”
Asmodeus sighed and looked up to the stained-glass window. “Not yet.”
I followed her gaze to the window and noticed, through the red glass, the swirling mass of clouds outside. The wind hammered them into cyclones and broke them apart again.
“There’s a storm outside.” I noted, casually.
“There is always a storm in the Seventh Circle. Those that are plagued by lust are destined to be battered by the wind. It’s their punishment for their sins.”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked.
Asmodeus’s pastel eyes zeroed in on my own. “I will give you what you want, Child.” She placed her hand on my chest, and pushed me hard. I felt like I was falling but I knew that she had pushed me through the Realities.
“I’m so sick of this shit!” I screamed, bent over and with my hands fisted in my hair. I slammed to the ground, knees first and curled in on myself as sharp pain ratcheted through my body. I felt my knees crack but then shift and pop back into place as daemon healing soaked through my muscles like warm water. I hated ‘waking up’ from Asmodeus’s control. It was disorientating and demeaning because nine times out of ten I had found myself naked and in some sort of comprising position.
“Pardon?” A child-like voice trilled, followed up by a giggle that made every single hair on the back of my neck rise. I tilted my head up and peeked out through my curtain of messy chestnut hair. Great. I had gone from one throne room to another.
Only this one belonged to Lillian Blaire.
12.
“The stalwart and silent, Sophia Taylor!” Lillian Blaire announced cheerfully. I cocked my head to the side.
Was that how Psycho
Bitch saw me?
Although granted, most of my ramblings occurred inside my own head. And yes, many a person had called me ‘emotionally dead’ before. Maybe she wasn’t so far off the mark.
I stood up and brushed off the knees of my black jeans. Happy to see that Asmodeus had decided that I should go into the encounter with Lillian fully clothed. I looked around, allowing my eyes to travel over every facet of the room slowly. The furnishing looked like they belonged inside of a sex dungeon. The ostentatious chair that Lillian lounged in was more of a squeaky PVC hammock, held up by chains. Half swing, half throne.
Lillian curled her lips. Such a horrible expression on a beautiful mouth. Her lips were doll-like, with a pronounced cupid’s bow. Her eyelashes cast long shadows down her face. The thumping, rhythmic sounds of house music drifted through the closed and padded door.
I had been thrown, knees first into a BDSM club.
Henry stood by Lillian’s side. His expression dead but his stance was squared as if ready to protect her with his life.
Images that Amore had shown me; the similarities between Lillian and me played across my mind like a film. I shivered. I understood her, but that didn’t mean that I was an empathic person.
“You took something of mine,” I said, my tone was bored. I played the part I needed to play, picking an invisible bit of lint from the shoulder of my white tank top.
I couldn’t get over how different Lillian and I looked. She was carved from porcelain and painted to perfection. But both of us were damaged women, and in love with Henry Blaire.
“As you said before,” She smirked cruelly. “Henry is his own person.”
My eyes skimmed over Henry’s clothes. He was dressed in nothing but straps. Her red lipstick had left a stain on his neck. My fists clenched but I reigned in my anger. It was one of the most difficult things I had ever done. “Do you enjoy fucking him when he’s like that?” My eyes flicked back to Lillian. “When he can’t say no?”
Lillian stretched her fingers out lazily and stifled a yawn. “You’d know all about what I like, wouldn’t you?”
I shook my head to clear it of the disturbing thoughts. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
The raven-haired doll snorted and began to fan herself as if my words were the most amusing thing that she had ever heard.
“Do I know who you are?” Lillian surveyed every inch of my body and clearly found me lacking. “You are the human with the audacity to try and take what is mine. To take my toy from me.”
I stretched out my hands and internally pleaded to Asmodeus that her power would come. It did. My fingers felt numb, and when I looked down, I saw that steam rose into the air. My hands were clear and frigid like ice. But somehow, I knew they would not break.
Some primal part of my brain, the same part that allowed my body to keep breathing without conscious thought, mixed the nitrogen in the air and cooled it until it became ice. I pulled the fabric of reality together and propelled my body to Lillian’s side before she could move.
“I am the Queen of Hell!” I snarled. My voice mingled with Asmodeus’s husky tones. I should have been scared that she had breached some unknown barrier in my mind, but I didn’t care. If she gave me the strength and power to rip off Lillian Blaire’s head, then she could have my body.
My hand darted forward to grab Lillian’s delicate throat, like before. But she knew my moves. She ducked and rolled down the steps in front of her throne. She looked back at me, her lip curled as an internal debate tore her face in two. She wanted to kill me, but she also wanted to run.
She turned to me, her lips pursed like she was sucking a lemon. “You’re a Vessel?”
I pounced, my fingers curled into makeshift claws and before Lillian could counter, I gripped her trouser leg and swung her around. Lillian bent forward, folding her body in half like a gymnast and gripped my forehand as I prepared to let go of her.
Lost to blood lust, I snapped my teeth at her like a beast.
Lillian scissored her legs and swung for my head. She manipulated my body into a hold, to prevent me from flinging her into one of the stone columns. We were at a stalemate.
“You let Asmodeus inside of your body?” Lillian snarled. “I should have known when you bested me at the Stables.”
I wrenched my hand free; my sudden movement caused Lillian’s wrist to crunch. She hissed a breath through her teeth as I dug my fingers into her hair and manoeuvred myself onto her back. Her face pressed against the granite floor. It was so clean that I could see both of our reflections.
“I know about your sister.” I murmured as Lillian struggled against my hold. “You’re corrupted. You’re ugly inside. Where did the woman that wanted her sister to live, above all else, go?”
Lillian wiggled herself free and slammed the palm of her hand into my nose. I hissed sharply and coughed as blood dripped down my nose and into my lungs when I inhaled in pain.
The Elite daemon swung her leg out to trip me, but I grabbed her booted heel. I had no fight training, but I had watched a cat fight or two when I had worked at Bar Noir. Luckily for me, Lillian wasn’t a ninja. Just strong. And crazy.
“You know nothing!” Lillian screeched. I still held her leg in one hand, but she jumped and pushed with all her might. My hold became the springboard for Lillian to plant both of her feet against my sternum and knock the wind out of me. Lillian was going to win. I didn’t know what to do. Panic began to settle in my bones and my head whipped to Henry Blaire as he stood on the platform by a demented throne.
My Henry.
I gritted my teeth and allowed the power to flush through my body. I became a flame. I became the universe. I became everything.
Everything rushed through my skull, and I thought it was going to split in half. I clenched my jaw as my mouth filled with blood. I gagged, and a heavy weight settled on my chest. Lillian had rushed me. She straddled me. Somehow managing to hold me down, even though I was taller than her.
She leant down, and as her lips hovered over my ear, I knew that she wanted to rub it in. Insult me. But she did something that I did not expect.
She licked the side of my face. Her slimy and soft tongue trailed a path from under my eye to behind my ear. I shivered and bit back a scream.
The phantom ache that I had felt in my wrists, the need to scratch and clean her touch from my body was all I knew. Memories filled my mind; the barricade that I had constructed to protect my psyche had broken. All I knew was the trauma of how she had used me before. How she had tortured and assaulted me. It was all I could feel and think about. I saw red. From my position on the floor, I bucked my hips and was surprised to find that I could roll onto my stomach. Lillian still pinned me to the ground; her laugh tinkled like diamonds against glass as she watched me squirm.
Lillian Blaire was a sexual predator. Warped and twisted.
My fingers grasped around the smooth wood of a chair and with all my strength, I swung it at the body on top of me. Lillian scrambled off, in a flurry of splintered wood and snarling teeth. I stood up; my legs buckled and I swayed. I had used too much energy. I needed to feed, but I would be damned if I let any part of Lillian Blaire into my body. She was poison.
My gaze travelled down to my makeshift club. The chair leg was still in my grip, although the rest of the wood lay in tatters.
Lillian opened her mouth to taunt me, but I was quicker.
I pushed the chair leg through her mouth, splitting her lips into a Chelsea smile. The bloody wooden stump protruded from the back of her head. Lillian’s eyes went dull, and her limbs collapsed like a marionette doll.
Strength left my body. I had done it.
As my legs collapsed under me, two strong arms stopped me from hitting the floor.
The curse was broken, and Henry Blaire was whole again.
Part 2
“Do monster make war, or does war make monsters?”
- Marvel
13.
My hands had moved before my mind had caught up with them, tracing the lines of his perfect jaw. His long eyelashes framed his blue doe-like eyes, and my chest began to heave as my body dissolved into dry sobs. Henry’s face crumpled as if his heart was breaking all over again.
I finally remembered what Lillian had done to my body. What she had done in front of him. I wanted to push him away; to save him from me. Save him from loving someone that had been tainted by his jailor. But I couldn’t. I was too selfish.
I curled into his lap, still sobbing like a gasping child. Drowning for air. My arms wove around his neck as I wanted both the comfort and the security of knowing that he was safe.
A mocking applause began in the corner of the room. A slow, deliberate clap from a single pair of hands. I looked up to see Damian walking into the centre of the chamber. Henry and I were curled together in the spotlight that had previously highlighted Lillian’s throne.
Damian swung his legs as he walked, like a child playing hopscotch. His smile was radiant, but there was something dark behind it that made me shrink back. Henry clasped me closer to his chest.
“You’ve killed a daemon,” Damian sang. He waved his finger in front of my face, and I flinched back. “You might be more useful to me than I expected.”
Henry’s eyes flared pale ice blue. “You have taken enough. You will get no more from her.” Henry seethed. He stood up, and his strong arms dipped under my body and took me with him. I lay in his arms like a broken doll. Images of Lillian flashed through my mind. Her hands as she held me down. Her eyes as they faded and the way her mouth had split open at the seams.
I shivered. I was confident that I would vomit, but I knew that I was physically incapable of the act.
“Is she dead?” I asked, and my voice croaked. Both of the Purebloods looked at me and then down to the body on the floor. Her emerald eyes had turned white but were still wide with surprise.
The Purebloods (Daemons of London - Book 3) Page 9