“So pretty…”
“I want him…”
“He’s mine…”
“Not fair…”
“We can share him…”
The Keres argued amongst themselves. Luc froze in place, allowing them to run their hands over him without complaint. He had no interest, but didn’t want to draw their anger. Satan would kill anyone who dared to touch them and would be equally violent with anyone who dared to anger or insult them. So, at this point, Luc was stuck between a rock and a painful place. Luck was on his side today; he began to see flashes of red breaking through the soft blue of their eyes.
“I’m hungry…”
“Time to eat…”
“B negative…rare…”
“Yummy…”
In a blur all three women sped off in the direction of a young man hanging upside down at the far end of the courtyard. A translucent form swept past, and the banshee’s wail cut through the air. The young man was dead. The Keres fell on his body as a unit. Their claws had emerged, and they were frantically ripping at his flesh, licking at the blood as it ran in rivulets down his body. Luc shuddered, wondering how many had fallen for the outer beauty of these women when it was only a mask for the evil within that revelled in the spilling of blood and tearing of flesh, becoming their unwitting meals.
Luc turned back toward the entrance to the castle. As he stepped into the main hallway he was stopped by the sound of a throat clearing. Looking toward the noise, Luc saw a tuxedoed Satyr standing off to the side of the hallway. Satan always had a butler on staff. With an exasperated sigh, he motioned toward the floor at Luc’s feet. Only Satan would lay out a welcome mat so visitors could wipe the blood off their shoes. Bloodstained foyers were so last season after all. Luc wiped his feet, looked back at the Satyr, and raised his eyebrow in question.
“Your presence is expected. Follow me.” The Satyr turned and headed down the long hall, his hoofed feet clicking on the stone flags, leading Luc toward the grand staircase and Satan’s presence chamber. Luc followed, taking in the opulence of his surroundings. Evil certainly had expensive taste. All around him were examples of the finest tapestries and artwork from countless historical periods. Odds were that some of these paintings were originals thought to have been lost in the human world. The furniture likely originated from the palaces and manors of some of the most powerful leaders in human history. Swords from around the world were hung on the walls; suits of armour from the ages were on display along the hallways. It wasn’t the first time Luc had mused that Satan could make a fortune charging admission and giving tours, just like Buckingham Palace...minus the shitshow in the courtyard. The contents of Halja rivaled the Louvre.
The butler stopped in front of Satan’s inner sanctum. The door and walls surrounding this private sanctuary had been crafted millennia ago of charmed Wolframite, making it diamond hard and impossible to breach. The light from the hallway refracted off the facets of the gunmetal-grey material, making the door sparkle. The butler pulled on a gold silken cord hanging beside the door, nodded at Luc, and turned to walk back the way they had come. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal an adolescent with an innocent face, light brown hair, and soft brown eyes, wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans with red Converse sneakers. The upbeat sound of Hanson’s MMMBop came from inside the room. He gave Luc a friendly smile — all straight white teeth and dimples. He looked about seventeen or eighteen. At odds with his relaxed innocence was the blood streaked across his shirt and smudged on his face. He motioned for Luc to enter with a bloody hand.
“Got here just under the wire this time. I was starting to make plans for you to join Voss in the dungeons for another round of “regenerate the skin,” but it looks like I’ll have to shelve that for another day.” He grabbed a hand towel off a morgue slab and wiped the blood off his hands.
Dropping a quick bow, Luc addressed Satan, hating every moment of being in his presence, and dreading the request that he knew was coming. “My Lord, my apologies for my timing. I Shadow-Walked here in an attempt to make better time.” Luc continued to look at the floor in deference.
“Hmmm. I’d quite given up on you, and now you’ve interrupted my extra-curricular fun.” Satan walked over to the older man he had tethered to a chair with razor wire, making a slow circle around him admiring his handiwork while nodding his head to the beat of the music. Gashes across the man's skin bled profusely, blood dripped from his tied hands onto the stone floor at regular intervals. This was Satan’s idea of blowing off some steam. As Luc looked the man over, he saw the icepick embedded to the hilt in the man’s thigh. Satan turned back to Luc. “Oh well, never mind. I was getting bored with this one anyhow. They really aren’t much fun once they’ve lost a few pints.” He swiveled around and in one fluid motion, snatched the icepick and buried it in the man’s carotid artery. His victim jerked hard, causing more blood to flow from his ruined wrists as the razor wire bit deeper. Satan looked up at Luc, giving him another one of
