Work at Morgenstern and Clark was hectic and unwieldy. New clients had come out of the woodwork, but they all differed from my standard customer. I was accustomed to the stench of moral corruption; the worthless souls that had long ago been stripped of their morals.
But that in that week, something had changed. More parents wanting to provide for their children and some poor vegan that wanted to close the abattoir nearest his home were my most interesting customers.
I typically dealt in eternal beauty, wealth beyond measure and undeniable fame.
Just as something had changed with the clients coming to my office, I noticed more and more returned contracts landing back on my desk. The word 'void' was burnt into the front page, obscuring the terms and conditions.
In ordinary circumstances, I would have shrugged and let it go but something had changed when I looked at the columns with my client’s names in red.
I picked up the phone but hesitated. I did not call Luc. I knew he was behind it. It was a tete for tete. I had cleared my schedule for one afternoon and he had decided that my clients would pay.
I clenched my fists and buried them in my lap. I would have screamed and pounded my antique mahogany desk if I did not have more control.
What was my purpose in the Human Reality if I could not do the job that Luc had provided for me?
Whilst I could call Marina in Italy and ask her to pass a message to Luc, I had no idea if he would deign to reply. Luc could not leave Hell for long periods of time. Sixty-six minutes to be precise.
The Original Seven were tied into the fabric of the dimension. Their absence caused instability in Hell, which was never a good thing.
I opened the first contract that had been voided. Robert Parr’s.
I read through all the information that he had given me, even though I could do almost nothing with it. The file stipulated that the death of Sophia Taylor of Candlefeld Road in Fulham was the payment for Parr’s soul.
I opened my Macbook and typed her name into Google. The only results were a scarcely updated Facebook page and a memorial page for the woman’s sister.
Her file helpfully included her date of birth, and using her sister's name: Melanie, it was easy to gain access to her account.
She seemed harmless. An art history student who worked at a bar in Soho. The only direct messages to her account were from a male friend who sent her knock-knock jokes that never elicited a response.
I made a note on my itinerary to delegate any surveillance to the Hellhounds so they could search for a viable reason for the contract to be void.
I then pondered over what actions that I could take regarding the Deluca’s transplant request.
It would easy for me to find a heart. I could take one from anyone. Performing the procedure legally would be the tricky part. Humans were prone to all sorts of things, like infections.
“I can see steam rising from your ears,” Luiz chuckled, he learnt against the doorframe and I couldn’t have said how long he had been there.
“I’m just thinking about the Deluca’s file,” I shuffled my papers and skidded back on my chair until I reached my filing cabinet.
“The transplant that got voided?” Luiz queried with a quirked brow. “You're not going to start fulfilling the contracts yourself, are you?”
“Whilst I have the resources and ability, I am not sure I have the time.” I mused, pulling my honey coloured hair from its bun at the top of my head. I massaged my scalp and put my feet up on my desk.
“You’re too comfortable around me, Ms. Clark. I think I see the soles of your feet more than I see you smile.” Luiz smirked.
“I’m a joy to behold.” I bared my teeth but it was anything but pleasant.
Luiz cleared his throat after a second of silence. “Thank you for coming to Denmark Place. It really got me out of a tight spot.”
“What are you doing with the Rose family?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. “As a Hellhound, you are above them in status.”
Luiz shifted from one foot to the other, embarrassed. “Even though I am a Hellion, the Elite Families view Hounds as little more than Pets to the Originals. Our reputation is not a pleasant one.”
I nodded in understanding. “And you wish to change that, yes?”
“Being a Hound can be very lonely.” Luiz shrugged. “There is something to be said about the social structures that the daemons keep.”
I pushed my chair behind my desk and knitted my fingers together as I contemplated his words. “I can see how it would appeal.” I allowed.
“You could always come with me? You know, if you dull that 'presence' of yours?”
“I just might.” I said, surprising both of us.
My walk-in closet was on a near constant rotation. My personal shopper, Magnolia, kept the rails full of designer clothing and sold the pieces onwards via auction online when I was done with them.
I had learnt quickly to not become too attached to items of clothing. Fashion was often a giveaway when it came to the abnormal. Although some things went in cycles, most notoriously leopard print, I had found that it was always best to simply move on.
Magnolia Clements had been a bright blue haired, broke, textiles student when she was suggested to me by an associate. She had graduated from Saint Martin’s, a prestigious arts college in London. I knew her CV but little else about Magnolia, only that she dressed herself entirely in black and her shade of hair dye was called 'Rockabilly Blue.’ I knew this because I had once asked.
I cleared my throat behind Magnolia as she lined up her latest picks for my wardrobe. I had never thought about it before but my colour palette was almost entirely made up of tan, black and white fabrics. I shrugged. Who would have thought? I used to prefer emerald green during turn of the century.
“Yes, Ms. Clark?” Magnolia had a thick east London accent. Her voice elongated ‘H’ in my name to ‘R’s. It was horrendous.
“How old would you say I am, Miss Clements?” I asked gently.
Magnolia jolted as if I had shocked her. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I would say you look mid-twenties but you’re so formal so you seem older.”
I nodded to myself. That made sense. “Do you have anything that a 25 year-old might wear to a nightclub?” I glanced at the shelves but only saw my trademark pencil dresses and blazers.
Magnolia looked like a deer in headlights. I often forgot how troubling it was for humans to be around me but I paid little mind as my personal shopper scurried like a woman possessed over to gleaming white totes from Harrods. She lifted a golden metallic dress out of from of the bags.
“Herve Leger Bandage dress,” she said with reverence. “Its for one of my other clients but she won’t miss it.”
I nodded in approval. It was still within the colour scheme of my current wardrobe but was more svelte then I would typically wear. “I think that will do nicely, Magnolia.”
“Just out of interest,” Magnolia blushed. “Where are you going?”
I debated telling her the truth and instead went with a version of it. “A bar at Denmark Place. Very exclusive and selective about their patronage.”
The young woman seemed in awe. “What’s the name of it?”
I tapped my nose and gave an uncharacteristic smile. “The first rule of fight club, Magnolia.”
My personal shopper gaped at me. “Did you just tell a joke, Ms. Clark?”
I snorted a laugh. Did I seem to have such a stick up my arse that that was even a question? “I think I just did, Magnolia.”
I had spent too much time cut off from the fabric of Hell. I was beginning to lose the lofty detachment that made my existence bearable.
Nevertheless, at the thought of seeing the Rose brothers again, I forced myself to cut off my connection to power. I was little more than human. No better than a run of the mill Daemon.
I brushed the front of my dress and stepped into the Limo. Simon, my driver, drove me to an empty photography studio that housed the doorway to the hidden Nightclub. He was a good sport about it and never queried why I was heading into an abandoned building dressed up to the nines.
I stepped forward confidently before I jolted to a stop like a puppet with my strings being pulled. If I had to continue with the farce of humanity, I could not walk into a Fold without a Daemon.
I crossed my arms over my chest, something that I had seen scantily clad women do when there was a chill on the air. I checked my phone and texted Luiz to encourage him to hurry up.
A few minutes later, my Hellhound jogged up the empty Camden street. He took my hand and we stepped into Purgatory.
The heavy bass of the club’s music assaulted my ears. The bar was full to the brim with daemons. The thick stench of sex pressed against my skin like wet humidity and made my thighs clench in need. I saw the flash of a Valkyrie wing. It was a cornucopia of corrupted humanity.
Luiz and I walked to the bar and I slid into one of the empty stools. I ordered a glass of champagne.
Someone gestured for my Hellhound on the other side of the dance floor and I silently gave him permission to pursue his business.
I was in the Fold for a different purpose. I needed to know more about the prophecy. It had been an age since a human Seer had foretold the birth of Lucifer’s child. The words were burnt into the bound pages of flailed betrayers skin. Human leather.
Since the day that Luc and I had become more, I would go to the archives in Luc’s castle and stare at the words. Praying to the Original Seven that I could will the words to change.
They meant one thing. Luc was never mine.
When he left me alone in the Human Realities, naked and alone, my only purpose had been ripped away from me. Luc was my world and suddenly, I was abandoned because of a human. A functioning womb and the promise of a child was enough to throw away a millennium of history.
The prophecy had loomed over us from day one. It was only when it resurfaced again that Luc sent me on my merry way.
Two centuries had passed since then, and I would have been lying if I had said that it didn’t give me great pleasure that the prophecy was still unfulfilled.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Ms. Clark.” A trailing fingertip left my skin burning. Samuel had crept up behind me. That was why Purebloods never severed their connection, it was too easy to become prey.
“Is it really, Samuel Rose?”
Samuel hissed a breath through his teeth playfully. “I must have angered you to deserve the wrath of the last name.”
“As you say.”
Samuel's forest green eyes glinted. “A human lie detector.” He mused. “Such a thing has never existed.”
“A daemonic Seer. A rarity as well.” I shrugged.
Samuel pulled his luscious pink lips into a smirk. “I like your outfit. Did you dress up for me?”
I took a sip of my drink. “Flattery is an excellent conversation changer, don’t you agree?”
His smug facade did not drop despite the fact I had called him out on his attempt to steer the conversation away from the subject of Seers.
“How did you acquire Vinca anyway?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
Samuel grabbed my wrist. His fingers gripped tightly enough that a human would have bruises from the action. I wrenched my hand away before he could see the lack of physiological reaction and rubbed my wrist as if it hurt. I pretended to wince. Samuel’s intense gaze dropped to the floor, as if he were uncomfortable.
“I have a theory,” Samuel purred in my ear.
I learnt into his body and allowed his hard chest to fall in line with my side.
“What’s that?” I whispered.
I felt the crawling vines of Incubus magic slink up my body like the caress of a lover. I could have shrugged away from the effects but instead I allowed my gaze to become hooded. I forced my body to take on the physical symptoms of his sex magic. I smelt my arousal in the air. My nipples had tightened and pressed against the close fabric of my dress. It was his magic that teased me. It was flavoured differently than the first time I had met him.
The last time was a one night stand. An itch to be scratched. But right at that moment, Samuel Rose saw me. A version of me, but I was not just a warm body to plunge into. I was a puzzle to be unlocked.
I had never been worthy of such consideration before. I had always imagined that expression on Luc’s face but had never seen. My heart twanged with residual pain.
“I saw you the other day. In here. With another woman.” I blurted out unexpectedly. I placed my hands to my cheeks, certain that if I could have blushed like I had seen humans do, then I would have.
“Are you jealous?” Samuel trailed his adept fingers up the naked skin on the dipped back of my dress. I shivered and it had nothing to do with temperature.
“I don’t do sloppy seconds.” I licked my bottom lip.
“You are in my bar.” Samuel kissed my neck. His lips left a tingle trail that ran down my chest and made my nipples ache. “You are surrounded by daemons. You know what I am, and yet you condemn me for sating myself?”
“What you are?” I played dumb.
Samuel broke the kiss that he delicately placed behind my ear and jolted back as if someone had grabbed his balls and twisted, hard.
“You really are human, aren’t you?” he whispered in disbelief.
I smiled shyly and took a sip of champagne. “You sound surprised?” I crooked my brow.
Samuel licked his bottom lip and before I could say another word, his mouth crashed onto mine. His kiss was harsh, desperate and all encompassing. As if he wanted to inhale me. His skill was unparalleled. I allowed his hand to weave into the hair at the nape of my neck as he held me in place. I was submissive to his whims. The thrill inside of my every nerve endings came from knowing that I could crush him at any moment and he would never suspect.
Samuel’s callused fingers trailed over my shoulders, hovering an inch above my honey coloured skin but I felt his magic curl through my body as if he was touching me.
I groaned in pleasure, succumbing to his power and my need to escape. Another wave of seduction hit me. I felt the feeble pull of his Thrall as his dark incubus vines trailed every inch of my breasts. He fed from me, but only in the small stuttered sips that I allowed.
Samuel growled in pleasure, and pulled my body to his. The harsh planes of his chest contrasted with the softness of my female form.
“Tell me that I can have you again, Dahlia.” He purred in my ear, but gone was the calm baseline. His control was shattering.
I wondered if it was the residual effect of my Pureblooded energy or if Samuel’s reaction was entirely psychological.
His magic did not affect me on the way that he was used to, but the lust that rode me meant that he would not be able to tell.
His hand gripped my thigh and I mustered up my favourite icy expression.
“Thank you for the offer, Samuel, but I am going to have to decline.”
Part of me, the part housed inside of my underwear, screamed in protest. I forced myself off the stool and swayed my hips as I walked back to humanity.
Always leave them wanting more.