Page 5 of Demons & Damnation

Chapter 3

The two brothers rolled around on the damp earth, grunting as they hit each other with enough force to cause an earthquake. Shouted curses echoed around them as they fought. After a brief wrestle and some quick moves, Azazel pinned his brother to the ground with his hands around his throat. He glared down at him, spitting in rabid fury at the implications those two little words would now cause.

“I don’t want my fucking demi-soul. It’s all a damn lie anyway. A stupid urban myth made up by Lucifer to keep idiots like you hanging on to nothing. Change it,” he yelled, his green eyes nothing but black holes of hatred. “Change it now.”

Balthazar chuckled and shook his head. He couldn’t resist the fact his demi-soul, the other half of him that would make him feel whole for the first time ever, was just a few steps away through a magickal portal. He knew Azazel wanted the same thing, deep down, it was merely a matter of making him accept it.

A roar of frustration left Azazel. He’d wanted to travel to a remote village in China, spice life up a little for the locals and give them some tales of demons to spin for the next few centuries. He couldn’t alter the doorway himself—meddling with another demon’s magick was as lethal as poking around with biological warfare.

The option to go somewhere on his own didn’t exist. Their deal with Lucifer, for their three months of freedom per year, was on the condition they took their ‘vacation’ together. If they didn’t, no time off. Simple.

‘Amor aeternus’ rattled around in Azazel’s mind, it’s meaning of eternal love on repeat in his brain. His head whirled in a thousand different directions. An unfamiliar tightness gripped his heart. He loosened his hold on Balthazar enough for his brother to overthrow him.

Eager to arrive in this year’s twelve-week temporary home, Balthazar stood up and stepped inside the black hole gaping before them. He glanced back at Azazel and shrugged his shoulders. “Shut up and get in.”

Azazel glared at him. “Whatever happens from here on out is your fault. You get that?”

“Shut up and get in.”

For the first time this century, Azazel had no words. He loved having the last say, always the one to end an argument, but now he was helpless. And he didn’t like it.

Sulking like a petulant child, he stumbled to his feet and shuffled in next to his brother. The deep frown creasing his forehead made his displeasure obvious and the shadows still lurking beneath his skin told of his underlying rage.

The split in the air sealed behind them like a set of elevator doors. It closed with a definitive smack that rumbled like thunder through the empty night. As it reached its crescendo, their destination appeared before them, and the portal opened once more to allow their exit.

Balthazar hopped out, smiling as he inhaled the fresh, earthy scent surrounding him. He closed his eyes, and for a brief second, revelled in the smallest feeling of peace flowering inside him.

“For fucks sake,” Azazel said, wrinkling his nose up in disgust.

Still stood inside the magickal doorway, he showed no signs of stepping out any time soon. Balthazar shot him a steely stare. Leaves, twigs, a discarded plastic bag, and someone’s clean bedsheets were in a tornado around them. But not a hair on their heads moved.

“Get out,” Balthazar said, all but growling. “Before you draw attention to us.”

Azazel snorted. “From who?” He opened his arms, gesturing at the quiet village they were in. Not a soul could be seen or heard in the sleepy place. “There’s no-one around if you hadn’t noticed. What is this—a retirement village?”

Sighing in exasperation, Balthazar clapped his hands together once. The whirlpool of energy harbouring his brother changed shape into a small circle. The edges squeezed around Azazel’s muscled body, trying to push him out. Folding his arms over his chest, Azazel glared at his brother and stuck it out until the bitter end when the powerful energy forced him out like a cork from a bottle.

“Exactly where are we staying, genius? Just to clarify—I’m not feeling the older woman, granny thing this year, so we may need to move.”

Balthazar walked away. Focusing on nothing but where the worldly energies were guiding him, it didn’t take long for him to put some distance between them both.

Reading energies happened to be one of the more fun things for a demon to do. It took Azazel a while to master the art due to his impatience and jovial nature, but Balthazar caught on quickly. The necessity to stop and empty the mind for a few seconds proved almost impossible for Azazel. A constant merry-go-round of sex, food, torture, and more sex kept his mind constantly active.

However, for Balthazar, the need to imagine his hands turning into long, twisty vines, reaching out and touching physical objects made sense. Everything past, present, and future, only existed, or would exist, because of energy. In order to feel it, and read it, he had to believe he was a part of it.

Azazel only relished in the ability to see human’s dirty little secrets, observe their past, gather information that could be useful to use against them, and of course, get a front row seat to any sexual encounters.

Distance didn’t affect how far their mindful tentacles could go. Only their own mental limitations inhibited their capabilities. Azazel’s main interest focused mostly on areas that burned with a bright red aura—the tell-tale sign of residual sexual energy.

The quaint setting of Grimsthorpe, nestled away in the east of England, held a serene beauty shrouded in a time capsule. Class divide from a century ago seemed still so obvious here—old houses, grossly large but stunning sat within their own grounds and away from the other smaller houses all clustered together in terraced rows. However, the cobbled, sandy bricks and promises of cosy mystery erased the dislike for such close neighbours.

A traditional butchers, greengrocer, and milkman all still thrived in the village, making the feeling of stepping back in time that little bit more realistic. A newsagent tagged onto the end of an old barn, right at the edge of the main street, giving away the only push into modern day customs. Even family from the workers who had worked at the nearby beautiful castle still lived here, stories of ghosts and other strange happenings being passed down from generation to generation.

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