Angel's Curse (28 page)

When I was dried and made up, with a few dabs of poison — arsenic, to be exact — on my pulse points, I headed to the bedroom to see what outfit I’d been asked to wear. It looked like something I would have worn to a fancy dress ball. It consisted of a bright red corset with black boning channels — presumably containing real bones — designed to make my waist as small as possible and my bust as large as possible. There was also a very short, bright red skirt with black stripes to match the corset, which flared out almost horizontally at the hips — largely because of the numerous layers of tulle underneath — a black G-string and bright red open-toed stilettos with a ten centimetre heel. Underneath the skirt I found a headband with two red glittery horns on it, and a small red pitchfork.

Was I meant to look like Satan’s bitch or something?

Okay,
I thought,
if he wants it, he gets it, complete with Goth touches.

I altered my makeup so my lips were black and the mascara was thicker. I smudged black eyeliner around my eyes and painted my nails — toes and fingers — a glossy black. The final touch was a small tattoo on one butt cheek, so that when I bent over the number 666 was revealed. I figured Satan would get a kick out of it.

I was adjusting my horns and admiring my reflection in the mirror when I heard a knock. It wasn’t coming from the door Satan had advised me to bolt from the inside — this one was off the living area. I pulled back the bolt and opened it. A little creature that only came up to my thighs stood at the door. He looked up and grinned. The view must have been nice from down there. I kicked it in the knee to make it look up to my face. It was the little creature from the painting of
The Nightmare.

He bowed down and looked up again, this time at my face. “Master says it’s time. Follow, follow.”

I closed the door behind me and caught the little creature looking at my butt. He reached up to touch the tattoo and I whacked his hand away.

I shook my finger at him. “You can look, but don’t
ever
touch, unless you want to be half a metre shorter.”

He grinned and peeked up my skirt again, then looked back at my face, shaking his head up and down eagerly. “Look, yes, yes!” He shook his head slowly from side to side, a frown on his face. “Touch, no, no.”

At least he got the picture.

“Come on, let’s go,” I said, jabbing the creature in the shoulder with my little pitchfork.

He started walking quickly down the plain corridor, carved into the rock, and was around a corner and gone. I didn’t hurry. I figured he’d come back for me if I fell behind, and I was right. He beckoned me on.

“Hurry, not far now. Master waits.”

He stopped in front of two large black wooden doors, studded with metal spikes. There were two sets of handles on the door. One set he could reach, the other he could not. He turned the handles he could reach and the doors opened. He gave them a great shove and hurried in ahead of me to bow before his master. A throne was set upon a dais at the other end of the room — some thirty metres away — and Satan lounged on it, one leg hanging over the side, a servant popping what looked like grapes into his mouth. He sat up when I walked in — onto the red carpet — and waved the servant away.

Satan gestured in my direction and addressed the various people and demons sitting around the room, “My friends, may I present Helena, killer of angels.”

They started clapping and, head held high, pitchfork resting in the crook of my elbow like a bunch of flowers or a trophy, I walked the red carpet to the dais. I did a quick curtsy, allowing those behind me to see the tattoo, and quickly turned and curtsied to the group as well, so Satan could see my little surprise. When I turned back to him he’d partially covered his mouth with a hand, but I could see the smile underneath.

“Come sit, Helena.”

He pointed to the stairs at the base of the throne and I walked the few steps and sat sideways, so I could see Satan and most of his guests. He wore no clothing from the waist up — a thin silver chain hung around his neck. His body glistened as though slick with sweat, and his arms, back and chest were covered in what looked to be tribal tattoos. There was not a single hair on his chest, and I wondered what it would feel like to touch it.

His feet were bare and the faded jeans he wore were frayed at the edges, with a hole at one knee. I felt way overdressed by comparison, but this was what was expected of me. It wasn’t like I’d never played dress-ups before.

Tables appeared and the guests sat in their appointed places.

Satan leaned down from his throne. “Do you like my throne?”

“It’s a bit plain if you ask me,” I replied, and heard a number of gasps from his guests.

Satan looked at the group. “My friends, she has a way with words, does she not?” He leaned down to me again. “It’s covered with the skin of angels. Rather fitting, don’t you think?”

“Huh! If I’d known that’s what you liked I would have brought you a few archangels. You could have had it reupholstered.”

There were more gasps from the guests and Satan laughed.

“I received a gift today, after you arrived. The bodies of three preserved archangels, though only two had wings. It seems Drake misses you and hoped I might be able to locate you for him. I’ve already sent a message back to him that you are here, and not to be disturbed whilst you’re visiting. I think he’ll be most upset. Now tell me, what happened to Phanuel’s wings?”

“I cut them off and crushed them.”

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

“
Because he wasn’t Raphael!
” I yelled abruptly.

A few of the guests stood, and Satan motioned for them to sit.

“It seems you’re
very
passionate about killing angels — archangels in particular,” he said.

I nodded. I didn’t want to discuss it in front of an audience.

A table appeared in front of Satan, along with a smaller, more comfortable chair to his right. He patted the chair.

“Come sit,” he said.

I stood up, walked around the table and sat in the chair.

“You know I don’t eat,” I whispered out of the corner of the mouth, “why the charade?”

“No charade,” he said. “All are catered for.”

As the conversation died down food and drink of all kinds appeared on the tables. The smells weren’t as bad as that of the cafeteria, but they still weren’t pleasant. A goblet appeared before Satan, filled with red wine, and he took a sip. I looked at it and wondered for a moment about something I’d seen from a memory.

“May I?” I asked, pointing to the goblet.

“It won’t agree with you, you know,” he cautioned, “but by all means please do.”

I reached out for the goblet and held it high, turning it round and round. I licked the edge and placed it back on the table. Satan looked at me curiously.

“The angels wondered where the cup had gone. Can I say His name or is that blasphemy as well?”

“You cannot speak it,” Satan replied.

“Okay,” I said, “the Holy Grail. They thought it was lost. I guess they wouldn’t want it back now it’s been here, would they?”

He laughed, “No, they wouldn’t.”

I watched the others eat and drink, and leaned back in my seat, bored.

Satan leaned over and said, “Helena, aren’t you hungry? Your supper is waiting patiently behind you.”

I turned around and saw three dull-eyed vampires waiting. Had they been drugged? I motioned for one to come forward. I raised his wrist and sniffed him carefully. There was nothing I could detect.

“It’s quite safe, I guarantee it,” he said. “They were to be put to death anyway, for trying to rob the blood bank, of all places,” he snorted. “They may as well be put to some good use.”

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. This was a curiosity they wanted to see, and I was to provide them with
some
entertainment. I stood up.

“Sit,” I told the vampire, and he sat in the chair, next to Satan. I straddled his lap, my legs dangling over the arms of the chair, swinging back and forth. I put my hands around the back of his neck, careful not to let all of my fingers touch his skin. I leaned into him, my heaving breast touching his chest. This was as much about entertaining Satan as it was his friends, and he had the best view. He rested an elbow on the arm of his throne, and placed his head in his hand, so he was at just the right height to get the most out of the show.

I licked the vampire’s neck seductively and wriggled in his lap, then kissed his neck until I found what I was looking for — the jugular. My lips pressed down and blood began to flow. How long had it been since I’d tasted fresh blood? I was light-headed by the time I finished. I crawled off his lap and touched him with a finger. He turned to ash, and there were gasps and applause from the group.

I blew gently on the pile of ash and thought of the cavern in the abandoned copper mine, and as the ashes flew up into the air they disappeared.

The second vamp stepped forward and I ripped away his t-shirt and stood behind him, letting my hands caress his chest until they found purchase, and melded into his body. I leaned my head to the side and my lips brushed his neck. I swayed his body from side to side as if we were dancing, but the dance ended all too soon and I sent his body to the same place as his companion.

I was truly buzzing by the time the second one was drained. It
had
been a while!

The third vampire was scared and foolishly thought to run. I ran a few metres and launched into a number of front handsprings, before propelling myself though the air to land on the vampire’s shoulders, as he struggled to open the doors, which were now locked. No one left unless Satan said so.

“I don’t want to die like that,” he whispered.

“No?” I asked. “You’d prefer a quicker death?”

“Yes.”

I flipped backwards off the vamp, summoning Death to me as I did so. When my feet touched the ground I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled back, allowing Death to cut off his head. I spun around on my feet before his body fell to the ground and held the head up high.

“
He’s mine!
” I yelled, elated.

Death sang to me, a jubilant song, and I forced myself to concentrate on what was going on around me. I couldn’t afford to be lost in the song when I was in a nest of vipers.

I drop-kicked the head — one massive kick — and it landed on Satan’s plate. A servant quickly stepped forward and removed the plate from Satan’s presence, bowing and scraping as he did so.

I danced all the way up the red carpet, shaking my booty at Satan’s guests on the way, and they laughed and clapped. I gave a very low curtsy to Satan when I reached his table, then moved into a crouch. From the crouch I performed a flip — over the table — to land in front of my chair and, adjusting my skirt — not that there was much to adjust — sat down, crossing my legs.

Satan leaned in my direction and whispered, “Quite a performance. I like the tattoo by the way. Is it real?”

“For as long as I want it to be,” I whispered.

“My friends, the hour is late and we have much to discuss tomorrow. We shall retire,” that I was included as part of the
we
was not lost on me. He was sending a message to his guests, “but please feel free to stay on and partake of anything that interests you.”

Satan held out his hand for me and I took it, taking great pains to smile and not clench my teeth or display any weakness. He caught one of his guests leering at me as we walked past and stopped.

“Anything except for
that,
” he cautioned.

We began to walk once again, and the doors opened before we reached them. On the wall to the left was another door, which we went through — it opened onto Satan’s private corridor.

“Tell me, Satan, which do
you
prefer, business or pleasure?”

He laughed. “With performances like the one you just gave, Helena, pleasure by far.”

21.
Converting Believers

My hand was burning and the bone blackened. As we reached my room Satan let go. He walked into the living area and sat in one of two chairs.

“I think you’ll be the subject of much gossip for the next few days,” he said.

I kicked off the shoes, removed the horned headband and sat down in the chair opposite Satan.

“I wonder why?” I said dryly. “And I’m sure the gossip won’t end with the entertainment I provided at your party. I’m sure there’ll be some rumours about what happened
after
we left.”

“That upsets you?” he asked.

“I’ve been the subject of gossip and rumour for years,” I sneered. “They may as well be beating me with feathers for all the good it does.”

“Beating you with feathers? I’ve never thought of that as form of torture before.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not.”

“Then why would they beat you with feathers.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” I said, annoyed. “All I meant is that they can gossip all they like. I’m beyond it.”