Halloween Horror Themes 2013: Amateur Night - 1. Amateur Night

Despite its name, the Green Goblin was not a pub that did Halloween. It was a proper old-man pub, and despite the ban on smoking in any public inside space having come in a few years ago, the place still somehow smelt of cigars and smoke. The Landlord of the Green Goblin served his ale in pints and not halves, and there was a row of various unique tankards arranged along the back wall for the regular guys. Outside in the city, it was Halloween, but there was not a soul in the little corner pub with its worn and stained wooden tables and faded draughthorse photographs in anything approaching a costume.

The publican was wiping the glass down from the little dishwasher, putting them back on the shelves as he did so. He was counting bar snacks for inventory in his head when the stranger walked in. He was young, slender, ridiculously pretty, and dressed in grey silk. All of this information and all the questions the barman was going to ask were replaced with nothingness when the young man rapped his knuckles on the bar and smiled.

“Pint please. In the usual mug.”

Like clockwork, the human reached up to the shelf of regular’s tankards and his hand closed around a stiff black leather tankard he had never seen there before, but that too he failed to notice. He filled the tankard with the darkest ale, and handed it across the bar. The beautiful man paid in gold.

Customers came and went, regulars removing themselves from the madness of the city streets and a thousand fresher’s celebrating Halloween away from their parents. The beautiful man was joined by others. To anyone else, they were a varied group of beautiful people, dressed in odd ways: a black guy whose clothes had red seams, a man so pale than he was ashen, another with electric blue hair. To those who could see them, really see them, not a single person who sat around the table was human.

“Fuck it’s awful out there,” Kiorl snarled as he sat down, dropping into his seat with a sigh, “I need a drink.”

The Demon Del Deorion pushed a tumbler of amber liquid towards the slender cat, his flames crackling slightly.

“Halloween’s are not what they used to be huh?”

“You can say that again.” Tua Asina sighed into his pint, the snake nursed the drink like a dying man, “I miss the good old days.”

“Of sneaking into people’s houses and tearing their guts out?” Shindae grinned wickedly, “I dunno, I like the modern world, so many proclivities to exploit.”

“You have always been terrible Shindae.” Inai replied, tossing back another shot. The big naga already had a line of empty glasses edging the table.

“Oh like you aren’t!” Shindae tried to look shocked.

“At least I don’t pretend to be anything other than an evil son-of-a-bitch,” Inai grinned his trademark many-toothed smile, “I liked the middle ages personally. It was always nice shocking the visitors at those freak show circuses.”

“I always liked priests…” Nassau sipped his dark ale, and the assembled demons turned to their Prince. Kiorl raised an eyebrow.

“Something you’re not telling us m’lord?” The dark fire demon asked smugly.

Deorion smacked Shindae upside the head.

“Drop the formalities kid,” He grinned, his teeth even and white and sharp at the canines, “We’re all off duty tonight.”

“Kid?” Shindae nearly growled, but backed off at the hard ice blue glare from Kiorl.

“Deorion is an old friend Shindae,” Kiorl grinned, and turned to the Prince, “What secrets have you been keeping?”

“Well, it was a while back, you know, when Nathaniel was still around…” Nassau grinned.

*

The early years of the inquisition had been such good times for demons. Priests and holy men with hearts full of fire and rage were easily misguided. They’d done a lot of conversion work back then, and it had been terribly easy. Almost too easy. Such a simple thing to twist a holy mind bent on revenge. And Nassau, youngest Prince of Hell, had learnt very well from his eldest brother.

“That one,” Nathaniel had growled from the roof top. The two of them crouched up there, pretending to be rather pretty looking gargoyles. “I want that one.”

“With the awful beard and the paunch?” Nassau had wrinkled his nose in disgust, “I want the young acolyte. He’s cute.”

Nathaniel smacked his brother hard enough to send the slim form of Nassau reeling, blood black and red against the parapet.

“Fucker,” Nassau re-set his nose with a shake of his head and furled his leathery wings tight up to his back, “What is your obsession with the fat ugly ones anyway?”

But Nassau knew the answer. Nathaniel’s favourite trick was getting holy men to reveal their baser urges by using his brother’s body, and he liked to build Nassau’s humiliation into the bargain. With not a single human exception, everyone who had ever fucked the third prince of hell had died a loud and bloody death. Today would be no different.

Nassau could look like an innocent sweet as sugar and honey teenager if he wanted to, and he sort of wanted too. When the beautiful boy of middling classes walked up to the big priest with the sweetest smile and most lovely soft eyes, the greasy man thought of nothing other than how lucky he was to have found such a perfect innocent creature as this. He didn’t stop to wonder at the lack of coaxing the boy needed to go along with him, and didn’t question the trusting eyes or the shy smile. He took the boy along to his rooms, enjoying the illicit touch of his big hand against the very low down of the boy’s back.

It made him sick, but Nassau let the big priest touch him through his clothes, remembered to blush and pull away just enough and tried to resist snapping off the holy man’s fingers before his brother got there.

When the door slammed back against its hinges, smashing the plaster and stone of the wall, Nassau growled in annoyance and turned, unfurling his big leathery wings. It had taken Nathaniel long enough, despite the fact he’d been watching from somewhere. Nassau spat and snarled.

“Fuck’s sake Nate!”

The priest, who until recently had been on the receiving end of one of the multiverses most talented blowjobs, was brought back to reality by the crunching, wet sound of Nathaniel’s snarl. Nassau’s powers lay in seduction and beauty, quiet and terrifying inner strength. But his eldest brother was nothing if not traditional, and had kept his gargoyle look, all teeth and claws, spines and sticky bloody secretions. The priest screamed.

Nassau didn’t stay to watch. Watching Nathaniel dismember somebody was neither thrilling nor seductively erotic, since he had no style at all.

“Messy intestines are not a style…” He muttered as he stalked off into the back corridors of the church. If it was up to Nathaniel, he would waste the entire place and raze it to the ground, but Father had agreed, allowing others to discover the desecrated body of a stolen soul was much more useful in the long run, and gave them a much improved reputation. Nassau finished assembling a rather older version of his human appearance just as he rounded a corner and walked headlong into the cute young acolyte.

“So sorry sir…” The boy started. Nassau smiled up at him from his prone position on the floor, teeth in his lower lip.

“Hello. Don’t worry about it,” He accepted a hand from the pretty human and felt his meagre weight settle against the robed chest, “It was my fault.” He blushed.

There was more than one way to turn a holy soul, and teaching the young man-of-god the delights of a hard cock between his buttocks was not a bad way to do it.

*

“Fucking hell Nas…” Kiorl stared at his best friend and ex-lover in happily amazed shock, “I never figured you one for seducing the hearts and minds of the clergy.”

Nassau drank his ale, waved a hand at the bar and got a fresh round of drinks. They clinked tankards and glasses to absent friends.

“Where is Zai anyways?”

“It’s Halloween,” Shindae replied, “He’ll have Tobias in pieces by now.”

“Speaking of pieces,” Deorion turned to Tua Asina, “You gonna share your love for the ‘good old days’ snake-y boy?”

Tua’s yellow eyes flashed happily.

“Oh if I must…”

*

Those were back in the days of men living in caves and hollows, carving life and shelter out of whatever the earth offered to them. Weaving was a new art, almost sacred, metal was an unknown quantity and the holiest of men were those who had learnt to harness the power of wormwood to produce dizzying highs from which some never returned. Being pale skinned had been a mark of difference among the hot climes of the region, and Tua had always enjoyed his stark contrast to the meat of his prey.

He was a ghostly vision, a creature born out of nightmare. Good enough to pass for a human at a distance, and closer to so reptilian as to disgust and repulse all those who saw him. Tua adored appearing as a vision to those mad or high enough to let their wisdom slip for a few moments until there was no way they could get him out again. For such was his little gift, entrapment in one’s own mind, locked in with no way out.

In the bad old days the dead were buried in cold empty graves, or in communal ones, sometimes burnt openly, rarely… eaten. And victims who had fallen prey to Tua Asina and his snake like charm were buried, burnt, or eaten… alive, conscious but helpless. Tua had laughed to see them suffer and taken their souls as they tried to cross over. Mostly, you went to whatever place you thought you were going to go when you died, and there were a thousand different heavens for those who believed they were going there. But if your soul was taken by a demon, it was off to the outer circles you went as wraiths and spirits, ghouls and servantly ghosts to fill the legions of the damned.

Tua was hungry. It was sort of an abstract concept, because part of him was always hungry, a certain section of his brain always after new souls, new spirits to feed on. It was his job after all. The snake looked down at his shining white body, and recognised that he was thin. His body had to eat too, which meant not leaving a soul trapped within itself to be incarcerated. Tua shrugged to himself, it had been a long time since he’d relished in the sound of screaming.

It was easy to tell when he got close to the grubby little settlement. There were a few greasy cooking fires, and the sort of mud, faeces and stick shacks that the humans were still living in. mostly they encircled themselves with fires and hot embers and slept outside, hoping that the lions didn’t come for them. Asina was not worried about fire. He stepped softly over the village boundary, such as it was, and headed for the nearest hut. In the dusty space slept a mother and child, both very thin and under nourished. Tua huffed and turned away. Their souls might be fat, but their bodies would be of little use to him.

One the other side of the village was a scrappy looking fire, and sitting next to it, and slightly pudgy man of middling years. An emaciated child sat near him, huge dark eyes starved of any nourishment, and Tua smiled toothily in the rich blackness of the dark. The man obviously stayed the way he was by extorting food from others, and his naked stomach looked ripe and plump and delicious to Tua’s hungry eyes.

He stepped out of the dark behind the man, and watched the child’s eyes grow ever larger. The snake raised a pale scaled finger to his lips and the child nodded ever so slightly. An ice cold hand on the man’s shoulder, he turned, and Tua punched him neatly in the throat as he tried to scream. The child got up, and on legs thinner than twigs, ran from the circle of firelight. Grinning, Tua Asina focused on his prey.

The chubby man’s eyes were huge with fear, and he was coughing and trying to catch his breath. Tua kicked him, scattering bits of burning twigs in the wake of the man as he rolled. Tua walked, calm as a man at prayer, and lay over the top of his victim. The man rolled, pushing the snake back into the dusty earth, and Tua simply wrapped both arms and both legs around him and squeezed.

The trapped prey tried to breathe, to gasp, and his lungs were not strong enough to battle the great pressure of Tua’s arms. Tua squeezed ever harder, gently suffocating the man who tried to breathe, tried to struggle so much so that bones which didn’t break under the strain popped from their joints with various sickening pops and slurps. Tua felt the muscles of the man flexing and straining automatically against him, felt the heartbeat, so fast through his skin, and tightened himself around his prey. There was a last long look of totally desperation in the fat man’s eyes, and then Tua unhinged his jaw and tore out his throat.

It was easy to drag away the bag of flesh and bones, supple and floppy, easier still to rip away the shreds of cloth and beads from the body before he ate it. Afterwards he would need to vomit a collection of bones and bits of indigestible cartilage, but for now, Tua Asina could feast.

*

“So, Deo,” Shindae sounded out the shortened version of the demon’s name, “How did you come to our little alcohol based excursion?”

“And why does he have a title?” Inai snorted.

The man who swirled in black smoke and glowing ribbons of lava-like fire narrowed his burning eyes, but it was Nassau who answered for him.

“Del Deorion is a direct grandson of Ifrit, Son of Shin the Lord of Fire.” Nassau’s voice softening from his commanding tone, “And he is an old ally.”

“We’ve all been through the wars eh?” Deorion rolled off the compliment with a bright white smile, “You and me more than most.” The Demon Del Deorion chinked his pint against the Prince’s, “I like the modern era, but then, unlike you lot, I don’t torture people for fun.”

“Really?” Asina looked appalled.

“Which is not to say,” Deorion smiled, “I don’t torture people at all.” He grin was evil, “You remember that town, the one with all the fires?”

“Sure,” Shindae nodded, “Our newest housemate came from there.”

“Well, on the night of fires, in so gifted a town, there is always good work to be done…”

*

It was a day which threatened rain. The people of the town simply built the fires bigger to evaporate the rain before it hit and basked in the glory and awe of the great force they had summoned. Deorion loved the fires of the town. He travelled down from London, took the train like any normal person might instead of using The Way, and arrived in a town full of primeval fire and ancient urges.

Even if the humans didn’t know it, each and every year, they built the fires and celebrated the work of Shin and his father, and Deorion liked the feel of a sense of family in November when he attended. That year, the sky was evil and full of rolling clouds, and Deorion slipped like a shadow through the streets, weaving into the parade to march in the river of flame, giving off black smoke and atmosphere.

Someone saw him. Actually saw him, not the figure in the black ragged garments he projected, but the real vision. The creature made of smoke and fire, burning with the intensity of the earth, the toxic smoulder of his form. It was like a clang, a clashing of swords in the dark where sparks shred across the ground. Someone had seen him. It was time for some fun.

It was a girl, roughly fourteen, with a shock of curly red hair like an escaping sunrise. She was old enough to know better, but young enough to get away with everything. The Demon Del Deorion moved like a shadow through the crowd to stand behind her shoulder.

“Well little miss, what’ll you be wanting this evening?”

She jumped clean out of her skin, and Deorion grinned.

“Fu- Jesus, I thought I was dreaming.”

“Jesus has very little to do with it little red-haired one.” Deorion wrapped a strand of her spring hair around his finger and singed it off. “You got a name?”

“Elridith,” She had a fairly broad Scottish accent, “Why can I see you?”

“Either you have some interesting lineage,” Deorion glanced the narrow frame up and down and his twisted mind saw the way she was standing, the bruises on her arms half covered by her own fingers, “Or someone’s been torturing you.” The Demon Del Deorion ran his hand down the length of her slender spine and smouldered gently. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“You realise I can look inside your head and fish it out?” Deorion smiled and licked his teeth as he lied. “Come on little Elridith.”

“Do you have a name?” The human child shot back, a note of sarcastic petulance in her voice.

“I even have a title,” Deorion smiled, the fire in his eyes making the torches passing them stream higher into the night sky, a patch of brightness, “Tell me.”

“My stepmother…” And the truth started flying out of her. Deorion was not a natural empath, but there was only so long one could live with The Wind without absorbing some of the God’s power. He saw the girl cowering in the corner of some grubby room somewhere, a skinny, angry woman with bad teeth and a drug addled mind shouting unintelligible insults, throwing things, the shatter of breaking glass.

“Well then,” Deorion offered the girl his best smile, “I can probably fix that.”

“Really?”

“Really. Meet me at the Waterloo bonfire after?” Deorion was pleased with himself, and The Wind would be pleased too. It was a special duty to come randomly across a gifted human, but this area of the world always seemed to produce and attract more than its fair share of them. Deorion smiled, spun on his heel and vanished from sight.

Generally, it was thought tricky, dangerous and near-suicidal to enter into The Way without a guide, but The Demon Del Deorion was practised at the skill, and swept along the starry paths between time and space without any difficultly at all. It took him no time to find the house. Deorion liked to think of himself as being fair, and The Gods were big on giving people a sporting chance and Deorion never really outright tortured anyone unless they deserved it. He grinned to himself as he stepped across the threshold of the house. This the people here had a reputation for painting the town red, Deorion could just add to it.

*

“What is that supposed to be?” Deorion frowned at the group of humans who had barged raucously through the door of the pub. He stared at a teenager dressed in scraps and black with a set of fake plastic horns.

“I think it’s trying to be Sitka,” Kiorl said easily, until his eyes settled on a rather chilly and nearly naked boy painted red, “On the other hand, if your father ever saw him we’d all be in the shit.”

The Prince looked to where his friend pointed and spluttered into his pint.

“Fuck… ye gods am I glad Sathriel doesn’t come up top often.”

“Amateurs…” Inai drained the rest of his drink, “You boys want a refill?”

“Uh oh…” Deorian handed over his glass with a wary look in his eyes, “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t all going to go well.”

Shindae giggled, his fire eyes burning bright.

“Inai has a couple of tricks,” The demon grinned toothily, “His hypnotism is rather interesting to watch.”

The great green scaled naga slithered across the pub, holding several glasses, and rested his massive forearms on the bar when he ordered. The collection of loud, slightly tipsy and rather badly dressed and largely undressed teenagers continued their social-media style conversation without paying much attention to the person who appeared to them to be a heavily built man wearing green. Except for the boy painted red. He stared slack jawed, as Inai let bits and pieces of his true shape be revealed to the human. But by the time the kid had seen everything, he’d made the mistake of meeting Inai’s eyes.

“What’s he doing?” Deorion muttered. The scaly demon had taken his drink.

“Just watch,” Shindae grinned wide, “I’d put money on him having the boy naked on his knees in under a minute.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Kiorl smirked, “But what are you gonna pay me with?”

“This taking too long,” Nassau clicked his fingers and the drinks the barman was pouring vanished without sound or silly smoke effects and reappeared, clinking slightly, on the table in front of them. Inai was practically smouldering with desire, and he had his thumb hooked into the red painted boy’s mouth. The human’s eyes were glazed over spirals – he would do anything the big naga asked.

“You are kidding me?” The Demon Del Deorion lent back in his chair for a better view, “Fuck, he’s good. Where have you been keeping this guy Nas?”

When Inai leant down to devour the boy’s mouth, Kiorl coughed sternly into his hand.

“Do not do it here. Use the bathrooms.”

Inai nodded, smirking across his reptilian face, and wrapped the helpless human in his tail.

“Oh and Inai?”

“Hmmm?” The naga was as preoccupied with his prey as the human was with him.

“Clean up afterwards, there’s a good chap.”

“Dare I ask?” Deorion raised an eyebrow line of flame, “I don’t want to know do I?”

“No!” Asina replied quickly.

“It’s not always bad,” Shindae smiled lazily, remembering, and sipped his pint, “He can be… sweet.”

Silence descended on the table. There were the noises of guttural crunching from the bathrooms.

“Sweet?” Kiorl sounded like someone had run ten thousand volts through his system, “Did you just describe the sickest guy we live with as ‘sweet’?”

“Well if you two ever stop having power battles long enough have a civil conversation, you’d know.” Shindae rolled fire round the edges of his glass, “Sometimes when it’s quiet, and you’re out at the palace and work is slow. Zai and Tobias are hidden away somewhere and Vru and Nami are busy burning up the place and Jahke and Sitka are off pleasing each other, we have ourselves a little something-something. Inai can be very caring and considerate.” Shindae stopped when he realised he had everyone’s undivided attention, “Um…”

“Oh you cannot leave it there,” Deorion was grinning like a pig in shit, “Tell the story. Do it.”

“But…”

Kiorl smiled in a perverse sort of way.

“Go on then.”

*

Shindae wandered out of the rec-room and headed up towards the roof. It had gotten uncomfortably hot in there as Nami and Vru had heated up to each other, literally as well as figuratively. The place had been like a sauna. The roof seemed deserted, and Shindae flopped onto one of the slightly decrepit couches and looked across at the view of the innermost circle of hell. He remembered bringing Tobias up here when the boy had still been a shivering wreck, able to stand up only to Zai. It had been good for the other demon to finally find someone who could take his abuse, double it and turn it round to use against him. But sometimes they were so wrapped up in causing each other pleasure and pain there was no good company to be had.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Hey Inai,” Shindae shuffled over as the biggest member of the household slithered across to the sofa. “Kiorl’s out. Everyone else is playing house.”

“Fuck, are we the only single ones left?” Inai’s big semi-translucent eyes widened, “I suppose we must be.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Shindae stretched, rolling his shoulders, “But i never figured that - back what was it? Six years ago when Tobias came? - That we'd all get paired off. Now everyone is all loved up.”

“Not Kiorl.” Inai coiled his lower body, getting comfortable, “He seems a bit down lately.”

“Well you know he threw Sathriel over after the debacle with Nami?”

“Shit. The boy has been nothing but trouble.”

“Not for you,” Shindae looked the big demon up and down, “You ever get jealous of them?”

“No. Maybe…”

“Yeah…” Shindae sighed, “Me too.”

“I can fix that you know.”

Shindae found himself lifted into the naga’s lap, the big scaly arms tight around his torso.

“You’re really warm,” The forked tongue flicked at the shell of his ear as the naga’s voice dropped two octaves, “It’s nice.”

Shindae ran his dark fingers over the luminescent scales decorating Inai’s chest. He was not scaled all over and patches which were large plates melted into smaller scales then skin where muscles became joints. Shindae wondered how he had never before taken the time to really look at the demon he’d lived with for the last thousand years. The coils of Inai’s lower body tightened around his legs.

“You’d better not try and eat me.” Shindae cupped the naga’s jaw in one palm, feeling the warmth transfer through their skin.

“I promise.” The big snake was smiling, his chest thrumming under Shindae in a way they both recognised.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

*

“Tease.” Deorion turned over his empty glass and pushed the object across the table.

“You’re gonna leave us hanging? Jerk.” Nassau smiled good-naturedly and clicked his fingers for more drinks. Deorion’s overturned glass filled back up with whiskey, which leaked out through the cracks in the table surface.

“Ah fuck…”

“You want another one,” Nassau leant back in his chair, looking every inch the self-important bastard, “You go get it yourself.”

Deorion surveyed the bar, which was now generally thronged with teenagers in states of general dishevelment masquerading as costumes.

“You know what? I’m good. What time is it?”

“Is The Wind expecting you back?” Kiorl crossed his arms behind his head, his tail coiling around the handle of his tankard, “Such a thing to have a curfew.”

“Fuck you.” Deorion said genially. He surveyed the bar again, which was now sporting a second badly dressed red painted boy, several witches with fake warts and a couple of girls inexplicably dressed in lingerie and cat ears. There was also a boy in dungarees and wolf feet, a kid of indeterminate gender dressed entirely in rather clunky cardboard armour, and a curvy girl who was half physician and half green monster. “Why do we even come out on Halloween?”

“Amateurs,” Nassau shook his head, “Who even knows anymore? Hey Inai.”

A slithering noise preceded the arrival of Inai at the other end of the table. He was sucking on a bone which might or might not have once been a rib.

“Don’t look at me like that,” The big naga elbowed Shindae with a grin, “I cleaned up. No one’ll ever know.”

“You remember when Halloween used to be genuinely terrifying for all these fuckers?” Asina sighed, “I miss those days.”

“Fuck Halloween. Night time used to be terrifying enough. The dark was a demon’s best friend.”

“The dark suits you Kiorl,” Nassau smiled knowingly, he knew this story and it only got better with age, “It was Russia wasn’t it?”

Kiorl flashed a trademark grin

“It was the winter of nineteen twenty one, and it was snowing hard…”

*

The thick pine forests of the Russian empire were a good place to be if you were a demon, and a very bad place to be if you were a rebel hiding out from the forces of the red army. The trees were so dense there was little snow on the forest floor, and it was dark, the atmosphere cold and close. The air had the texture of wet paper. Kiorl lay along a thick branch, and counted the men moving below him.

One, two, three, four… they shuffled slowly in single file. Only the one at the front had any kind of a light, a small, oil lit storm lantern, and the rest simply followed along. Kiorl’s tail switched from side to side. It was dark and cold and the men exuded the acrid smell of fear and panic. Hunting time.

Kiorl was a cat. It was easy to creep along the branches to the next tree. He hovered above the man at the end of the line, pointed ears turned forwards, nose quivering at the quick rush of blood through the human’s body, the racing thud of his scared heart.

“Such a fragile little muscle…”

The human heard him, his face turned upwards, trying to seek out the voice in the thick brush. Kiorl smiled, teeth very white in the darkness, and it was the last thing the man saw.

Kiorl chewed on the still beating heart as he followed the group silently. He’d sheathed his claws, paw pads soft on the carpet of dead needles. It was easy work. A cut throat, a man ripped from neck to navel. Kiorl swarmed back up into the trees, pacing and circling. The three remaining men had their backs to each other, the woods still ringing with the strangled screams of Kiorl’s victim. He leapt from one tree to another, deliberately causing a load of snow to fall over the men. Swearing and shaking, they huddled together, praying to their useless god, knowing in the way prey animals do, that death stalked above them.

The demon snarled, loud enough to be heard, and watched in pleasure as the men shrank ever further against each other. The night was a dangerous place, and it wasn’t just the Red Army hunting them down.

Kiorl dropped from the branches, drawing himself up to his full height, his blue eyes staring down the eons of his life at the men who cowered before him. Kiorl smiled.

“Run.”

He gave them to the count of five, and then killed two of the men as quickly as a hawk hunting mice. Their blood splattered his fur, staining the dark carpet of needles and the white snow. Kiorl’s fangs were red when he next smiled. He could kill the last man with the lamp as quickly as the others, but maybe it might be more fun to wear him down over the long hours of the remaining night. Kiorl snarled, opening his throat to roar at the distant sky, setting the forest shaking and even the wolves of the steppe ran for their dens .He then set about stalking his prey. In the way a cat toys with a mouse, knowing it will win regardless of the amount of hope it will give its prey, so Kiorl went forth.

*

“Last orders.”

The man behind the bar rang the old brass bell, and began to polish the glasses, setting them back in their places. The young and trendy had moved onto other places, with louder music and the opportunity to be less clothed. The friends of the awful Sathriel impersonator had not noticed their friend’s absence, they wouldn’t realise he was missing until the morning.

Nassau drained his drink, and waved a hand at the assembled glasses on the table. When the barman turned back the glasses were in the dishwasher and the black leather tankard was back on the shelf in its usual unnoticed spot. Nassau smiled.

“I dare say most of you aren’t going home just yet?”

Kiorl snickered and shook his head. Shindae smiled.

“I think if The Wind can spare him, we might show Deorion the good times a boy can have in this town.”

Tua Asina sighed, and went to stand beside his Prince.

“I’ll take a lift back, if it’s going.”

Nassau smiled warmly.

“Go with Inai. I think I might fly home.”

“Really?” Kiorl wrapped his great coat around his shoulders as the six of them exited the pub into the strange party atmosphere of the city on the water. “Have a nice night boss.”

The Demon Del Deorion pulled his smoke around his form, wrapping the shreds until it looked like a cloak. The assembled demons stood like an island of strangeness on the narrow pavement, and the humans parted around them like the sea around a stone. It was still early in the night life of the city, and there were plenty of souls who were not being careful enough on a night made especially for demons and beasts. Sure, most of the revellers would survive unscathed, but across the world, things were waking up, most of them were unhappy at the frivolity which was getting associated with their favourite night of hunting. It was time to take back the night. All around the group, streetlamps fizzled out and died.

The Price of Hell, Lord Nassau Del Rae spread his great bronze feathered wings and leapt into the sky. It was a cool, crisp sort of night, perfect for flying. Tonight, back on earth for the first time in a long time, Nassau decided tonight he would once again live up to his reputation. There were always other creatures of power who fancied a trip to kill something interesting. He would call at the house of Shade, and see where the night took him.