Another big change is my newsletter. I've decided to release Chapter 1 on this blog and Chapter 2 exclusively in my newsletter. You can sign up for it here.
Without any further ado, here are the initial parts of Belle, Damned. Leave a comment if you like.
Copyright © 2016 Astrea Taylor
Published by Astrea
Taylor, all rights reserved.
This is a work of
fiction. Any similarity between the characters, situations, places, or living
persons is unintentional and coincidental.
Cover painting 'La Belle
Dame Sans Merci,' John William Waterhouse, 1893, Hessiches Landesmuseum,
Darmstadt, Germany.
Title page floral design
by Emily Gonsalves, http://emilygonsalves.com
“O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
alone and palely loitering?
alone and palely loitering?
The
sedge has withered from the lake,
and no birds sing.”
and no birds sing.”
“I met a
lady in the meads,
full beautiful, a fairy’s child;
her hair was long, her foot was light,
and her eyes were wild.
full beautiful, a fairy’s child;
her hair was long, her foot was light,
and her eyes were wild.
I saw
pale kings, and princes too,
pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
they cried, ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
hath thee in thrall!’”
pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
they cried, ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
hath thee in thrall!’”
from La Belle Dame sans Merci, John
Keats, 1819.
Chapter 1
I made the sign of the cross and strode down the church aisle, my long skirt brushing the tiled floor of the cathedral. Stained glass apostles prayed from the windows on either side of me. The penitent bowed in pews, some glancing at me hopefully at me as I passed them. Who knew? Maybe I’d answer their prayers.
I pushed open the weathered wooden door and squinted at the bright sunlight, scanning the pedestrians on the sidewalk. Cars honked in gridlock traffic and homeless people rattled change in cups. Hot dog and mustard aromas lingered and the muggy autumnal air clung to my skin.
At first, no one stood out. Then a man walking across the street caught my attention. A golden omen in the shape of a coin rotated above his head. He was marked.
I crossed the street, dodging a speeding taxi, and stalked after him, pounding the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder at me but continued walking, his pace unchanged. I smiled. Even with my gothy clothing, he didn’t perceive me as a threat. Little did he know.
My phone buzzed. I whipped it out of my purse and squinted at it.
Lucifer wants to see you in his office. He wouldn’t tell me why. I’m concerned. Check in with me when you get back to Hell.
My heartbeat rose as I re-read the message. It was from my manager. But I couldn’t be in trouble. My work ethic was flawless. My eyebrows knit, then I stopped, mid-stride. Maybe I had enough karma from killing evil people that he’d discharge me. To Heaven.
Should I come in right now? I texted.
No, just before the end of the day.
I pocketed my phone and ran down the grimy gray sidewalk, looking for the marked man. I found him half a block later, still oblivious. I continued my stalking pace after him.
He passed a couple of dark alleys. For a moment, I thought I might get an easy kill. But instead, he turned down a well-traversed street with fiery gold trees that crinkled in the light breeze. After a few blocks, he wandered into a coffeehouse called The Manhattan Library.
I sighed. Public places were the worst.
I pushed open the glass door of the coffeehouse. People waited in line to reach an espresso-colored coffee bar. In the adjacent room, bookcases covered every wall and stretched to the ceiling. Newspapers lay scattered on tables beside overstuffed leather chairs.
While he stood in line, my target turned around, the omen turning with him. I took in his turquoise eyes set deep into his rodent-like face, his scrappy brown hair, blue blazer, and jeans before he turned away.
I took out my phone and opened the app from Demon Software. The camera function turned on and I raised the phone so his omen was in view. When I touched the omen on the screen, his dossier popped up.
Mike Yolone. Guidance counselor at Riverton High School. To be dissipated for the death of his student, Beth Wilton.
Accept target?
Yes No More Info
So this guy killed his student. What a waste. But I wanted to know how he did it, why he did it. I tapped on More info. A wall of text appeared.
Mike Yolone met his student Beth Wilton at a drive-in theatre, and strangled her in his car. He dumped her body in a wetland before driving home and teaching the next morning.
Accept target?
Yes No
The thought of him killing a helpless student and teaching the next day boiled my blood. My eyes phased black, and my vision turned to shades of gray and red. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and with an effort, made them return to normal. I had to control my demonic features in public.
I ran my hand over my garter belt. The hard steel of my blade reassured me. Soon, I would dissipate his soul, rid him of his privilege of being alive. I tapped Yes. The omen above his head vanished and beneath his picture read Demon assigned: Belle Dame.
The line was still three deep. The bald eye of a security camera stared at me over the stainless steel espresso machine. I gazed back. My face wouldn’t register on it. Being a demon had its perks.
When Mike got to the front of the line, he ordered, paid, then slipped his change into the tip jar along with an extra dollar.
The barista smiled.“Thanks Mr. Yolone.”
Mike nodded at him. “Keep it real, Brian.”
My jaw clenched. My target was a regular at the coffeehouse. I couldn’t kill him here, not with an innocent aquiaintance nearby. I let out a pent-up breath. I’d have to lure him to another place. I hated using my feminine wiles, but it looked like the only way. So much for an easy kill.
Mike took his order to a table and sat at a square table.
“Miss?” The bright-eyed barista blinked.
“Earl Gray tea please.”
As he poured the hot water over the leaves, my senses prickled with the aromatics of bergamot and black tea. I took the steaming cup and walked around the room, pretending to look at the books. I side-eyed my target, who slurped coffee and scrolled on his phone as he munched on a crumbly scone.
I edged behind him, my head cocked to one side as if I were reading the titles. My arm extended for a book but fell short.
“Excuse me.” I smiled helplessly at him.
He gave me a bewildered up-and-down glance.
“Would you mind scooting in a little?” I asked. “I’m trying to reach that book . . .”
“Sure.” He scooted his chair forward. “Sorry about that.”
“Thanks.” I plucked a book from the case and held my hand out to him. “I’m Belle, by the way.”
“Mike.” He grasped my hand in his for a moment. “What’d you get? Anything good?”
I glanced at the title, Sleeping Beauty, and shoved it under my arm.
“It’s a book about fashion design.” I pushed a long strand of chestnut-colored hair behind my ear. “I’m a sophomore at NYU.”
“Did you make your skirt?” His gaze ran over my blue floor-length skirt.
I nodded. I’d special-ordered it from the internet, but he didn’t need to know that. In truth, it didn’t feel right to wear anything else. As much as I admired the current fashions, some parts of the 1600’s stayed with me. At least I’d updated to a long-sleeve t-shirt instead of a corset and a shift.
He laughed. “I thought you might be in a play or something.”
I laughed too and hoped it sounded real. “What do you do, Mike?”
“I work at Riverton High School. You’re not from around here, are you, Belle?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m from Akron.”
“Akron, wow. How do you like New York?”
I paused, making a show of examining his left hand, which was ringless. “Well, if you don’t have a girlfriend or whatever, how ‘bout I tell you over a drink?”
“Sure, yeah.” He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. “It’s a bit early, but there’s a dive bar nearby.” He leaned in, his voice low. “I know the bartender. You won’t have to worry about anyone asking for ID.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I have another place in mind. If that’s okay?”
He brightened. “By all means. Lead the way.”
As we walked out of the coffeehouse, I spun a story about fashion school divas and how hard it was to live in New York. He seemed to believe it. He even offered some advice about city living and the cheapest grocery stores.
After a few blocks, we ditched our drinks and entered an upscale restaurant called The Ophelia. I’d killed there almost a decade ago. If the bathrooms were in the same place, they were far from the dining room. No one would hear him scream.
I smiled at him as we waded through the tables toward the oak bar. It was impossible to hear anything over the cacophony of lunch. Diners shouted to each other over clashing knives and scraping forks.
When we reached the bar, a guy with a hipster beard set black napkins in front of us. I set the book on the table as far away from Mike as possible and sat on a stool.
“Whiskey, please,” I said.
“Make that two.” Mike sidled up next to me.
“You have an ID?” the bartender asked me.
When I showed him my ID, Mike breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief. Almost. I had demon ears.
After the bartender’s back was turned, Mike leaned close, his fingers grazing mine. “So, do you live in the dorms?”
My phone buzzed. I glanced down at a text from Nosferatu, the vampire demon who worked in the cube beside me.
I heard you’re in trouble. Is everything okay?
I repressed a scowl and slid the phone into my pocket. He’d love it if I were in trouble.
“Everything okay?” Mike asked.
“Yeah.” I laughed breathily. “What were we talking about?”
The bartender set down two whiskeys in crystal tumblers before us. “Anything else? Lunch menus?”
“We’ll let you know.” Mike handed over his credit card. “Keep it open.”
We clinked glasses and drank a sip. The liquor warmed my belly.
“So do you live in the dorms?”
“Yeah, they’re awesome.” My index finger traced the edge of my lower lip. “You should come over sometime… if you’re interested.”
He guffawed. “Interested in what?”
I drained my drink and stood, a vicious smile lighting up my face. “Come on.” I nodded toward the bathroom.
I pulled at his hands for a second, but they fell from mine. He sat, gazing after me, his face lined with conflict, clutching his drink. I sashayed through the tables toward the back of the restaurant and leaned against the bathroom doorframe. My eyes smoldered as I gave him a come-hither look.
Come on, Mike. I need the karma.
After another moment’s hesitation, he gulped his whiskey and ambled toward me. I led him into the hallway, my fingers grasping his leather belt, pulling him toward the bathroom.
Once we were inside, I pressed the lock with a satisfying click. The bathroom was large, with white tile and a modern sink. The bathroom fan droned loudly.
I evaluated Mike Yolone with slitted eyes. So this was the guy who’d strangled his student and left her to rot in a swamp. I bet he’d taken advantage of her after class, when all the other students were out of the classroom. I bet he told her to call him ‘Mike’ instead of Mr. Yolone. My blood ran hot with fury, and my eyes phased black. This time, I didn’t resist them. My teeth shot out longer and sharper. I pulled out a knife from a slit in my skirt and clenched it in my fist. A growl emanated from my throat.
At the sight of my transformation, Mike’s eyes flashed with fear, his body rigid. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
For a second, there was only the hum of the bathroom fan. Then I lunged, my knife swiping toward the tender flesh of his neck.
He jerked back and fell, his head smacking against the porcelain toilet. Blood ran down his face and onto his white shirt. He held up one trembling hand.
I shook my head, a guttural laugh resounding like thunder in my throat. As if that could stop me.
I leapt on him and smashed his head against the floor. A dull thud pounded in my palm.
“Stop!” he screamed.
“You’ve been deemed unworthy of your life for your crimes against humanity,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m doing this for Beth Wilton, the student you killed.”
“No, wait! I didn’t kill her!”
I shook my head. “That’s what they all say.”
I slammed his head against the tile again. A satisfying crack echoed.
A vision of my death rose before my eyes. The man who’d killed me stood in the crowd, a dogged determination dirtying his eyes as the blade sliced my neck.
When I came back to myself, I crouched over Mike. The bathroom fan whirred. One glance and I could see he had no pulse. He was dead.
Colors bled into my sight as I blinked. My teeth retracted into my gums as I stood and backed against the cold white tile.
A purple mist floated out of Mike’s mouth as his soul dissipated. I held my sleeve over my face, barely daring to breathe. His soul floated to the ceiling, then the fan sucked it out to disperse him to the four winds.
I released my sleeve and bowed my head in a moment of silence for the dead girl’s ghost. She had to be here, just as I’d been stuck in the material realm after I was killed. But now that Mike was dead, she could be at peace. She wouldn’t be tempted to take revenge. She wouldn’t have to become a demon, like I had.
I stepped over Mike toward the sink. Foamy soap fell from the automatic dispenser. The basin ran red, then pink, and finally clear. After toweling off, I looked at Mike one last time. He lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around his head. I jimmied out his wallet and stuffed the bills into my pocket. Cops don’t look into muggings like they do murders. I tossed the wallet on the floor. My fingerprints wouldn’t leave a trace — another demon benefit.
I listened outside the bathroom door as servers chatted and walked, carrying food to and from the kitchen. When it was silent, I opened the bathroom door. The restaurant hallway was empty except for a lone server headed to the dining room. I clicked the bathroom lock from the inside, shut the door, then tiptoed down the hall. At the bar, the mustachioed bartender muddled half of a blood orange in a glass for a drunk couple. I retrieved my book and slipped toward the door.
As I stepped outside, a wave of relief rippled down my spine. Sunlight warmed my face and the smell of dried leaves tickled my nose. I was one step closer to Heaven. Maybe he was my last kill ever.
“Hey!” someone yelled behind me.
The bartender leaned out of the door, an impetuous look on his face. He held Mike’s credit card in his hand.
I ran, my feet striking the gum-splattered sidewalk. He yelled again and footsteps beat after me. I rushed around the corner and raced over the city blocks.
After a few minutes of running, the back of my neck still tingled. I turned, scanning the faces of the pedestrians behind me. The bartender wasn’t among them, but he’d gotten a good look at me. If the authorities caught onto my serial killings, I’d have to give up hunting in New York again. But none of that would matter if today was my last day in Hell.
I ran down a grime-covered alley toward an old blackened warehouse. A beat-up red door burned with demon fire — the orange flames marking it as one of the many waystations to Hell. Only demons could see it.
A meaty man in a leather jacket and tattoos on his knuckles eyeballed me. “Hey princess, you lost?”
I shot him a sarcastic glance. I was no princess. I’d like to see him try anything.
I leapt over a dead rat and opened the red warehouse door onto a small room. The door swung shut behind me with a thud. A second later, the doorknob rattled.
I shook my head. Stupid mortal. He didn’t know the doors to Hell only opened for demon hands.
Black mold covered the walls of the waystation and fluorescent lights flickered overhead. I held my breath as I stepped around what looked like a pool of bile. I’d learned to ignore the filth a long time ago. I knew if I wrote it in the repair book, it wouldn’t get fixed. It was nothing personal — that was just the way Hell worked.
An open-earth elevator shaft loomed at the end of the room, dark as black velvet. I pushed the greasy button on the wall. Clankings rang from the depths below, the sounds rising closer and closer.
I tapped my foot as I waited, my thoughts on my meeting with Lucifer. Who knew, I might get to see my family again by sunset.
A metal cage arrived with a loud groan just as my phone pinged.
Everyone is saying Lucifer wants to see you because you’re in trouble.
Adrenaline surged through my veins as I clutched my phone. Nosferatu couldn’t be right. It was just another one of his cruel jokes.
I pushed open the gate. When I stepped in, the cage shifted with my weight. My heart somersaulted and my hands shot out to grip the metal bars of the cage. I’d been in bad way stations, but this was one of the worst. The floor grate was held together with only a few wires. It’d be so ironic to plummet to my second death now, moments before a meeting that might free me from my karma. But if Lucifer’s news was bad, it’d be a blessing. After a moment, the elevator stilled. I breathed easier and made a mental note to never use this waystation again.
I closed the gate. The elevator dropped, descending faster and faster. The waystation above became a distant point of light as earthen layers zoomed past. My hair flew up and my skirt fluttered. For a moment, my body felt weightless. Then metal screeched against metal. Bright sparks arced over my head as the elevator slowed, then jolted to a stop.
I landed in a crouch, then stood and ripped back the metal gate. Burning sulfur singed my nose and flickering torches shone on the vaulted stone ceilings of Death’s Cross. I was in Hell again.
****************************************
In Chapter 2, Belle goes to Lucifer's office. She's hoping to go to Heaven before the end of the day. But if her frenemy Nosferatu is right, she might be in trouble.
