Книга - Selfish Beings

Selfish Beings
J L Morris


There's no place like home…Unless, like Kaarl, you are a demon and your home is Hell…literally! While the rest of Hell enjoys cruel games, Kaarl is looking for a new challenge. So he makes a deal with the devil himself: time in the Mortal Realm in return for human souls…The Mortal Realm offers a taste of freedom he could never experience in Hell and Kaarl jumps at the chance to fulfil his dream. But gathering human souls comes with a cost and as more and more souls lose their way, Kaarl realises that he is creating Hell on his beloved Earth. Now to save the Mortal Realm, Kaarl's going to have to switch sides…Praise for JL Morris'This was a great read. Very entertaining.' - Koeur's Book Reviews'A great story from a young author who has, I believe, a strong future in the literary world if he can produce more books like this.' - Fiona's Book Reviews










There’s no place like home…

Unless, like Kaarl, you are a demon and your home is Hell…literally!

While the rest of Hell enjoys cruel games, Kaarl is looking for a new challenge. So he makes a deal with the devil himself: time in the Mortal Realm in return for human souls…

The Mortal Realm offers a taste of freedom he could never experience in Hell and Kaarl jumps at the chance to fulfil his dream. But gathering human souls comes with a cost and as more and more souls lose their way, Kaarl realises that he is creating Hell on his beloved Earth.

Now to save the Mortal Realm, Kaarl’s going to have to switch sides…




Selfish Beings

J L Morris





www.CarinaUK.com (http://www.CarinaUK.com)


J L MORRIS He has worked mainly in sales, marketing and customer relations after discovering he was pretty good at talking and ill-suited to manual labour.

An avid reader, film buff and gamer, he has always loved a good story and decided to finally let his long suffering creative beast out of its cage. His first paranormal novel, ‘Selfish Beings’ is a direct result of feeding said beast and giving it a generous amount of “prowling around” money.

In his free time he enjoys arguing on the internet, avoiding anything that requires going outside for prolonged periods and preparing for the inevitable zombie apocalypse.


A huge thank you to Victoria Oundjian and the wonderful staff at Carina for this fantastic opportunity and all of their hard work.

Thanks also to Emily Ruston for your insight and saint-like patience throughout the editing process.

Last but certainly not least I would like to thank my friends and family. The time we have spent together has made me who I am and no doubt that has rubbed off on my writing. Although many of you are thousands of miles away you are never far from my thoughts.


To my mother Franchesca; without your encouragement I’d still be talking about Kaarl instead of writing about him. I owe you more than words could say or money could buy but my vocabulary is larger than my wallet. This will have to do.




Contents


Cover (#u6890a89e-bdb7-5749-801e-f80d55400f8a)

Blurb (#u6418c74c-67da-50f6-89fd-4bc925954bbe)

Title Page (#u4f5297f3-5e22-540b-825b-2f242d5508e7)

Author Bio (#u7a28778c-ea12-5896-9f78-b109210e12da)

Acknowledgements (#u9b5728e2-2582-5295-940e-9af33e28d6b7)

Dedication (#ua53029ec-0180-51ff-8158-498b9c9c15d5)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One: In the Beginning… (#u5907871e-6af0-59ab-8451-b5d062173a15)


In Hell, as on Earth, the unscheduled call for a meeting of top-tier management brought with it a certain fear and confusion. Demon-Lords had spent the few precious hours after the summoning to work out what they could have possibly done wrong and how best to lay blame for those failings at someone else’s feet. The eternally damned mortals that served them sprinted between file rooms and offices as the Lords pored over reports and inventories. Almost the entire building had been a hive of furious activity up until the final minutes before the meeting.

Only one office showed no signs of movement; its black wooden doors had not even opened since the messenger delivered the summons. Mastema, Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser, did not harbour any fears about the meeting. In the unlikely event he had made an error he knew he could shift responsibility so quickly and flawlessly it would make a human politician sit up and take notes. The Demon-Lord had instead spent the time trying to rectify his tendency to slice the ball on the drive.

The messenger that had brought news of the meeting lay in front of Mastema’s massive office window. The mortal would have been afforded a grand view of Perdition in its entire splendour, had he been able to turn his head. From Mastema’s office at the top of the tower one could view the almost endless city as well as the beginnings of the sandy plains of Perdition. Only Lucifer’s chambers sat higher than the building they were in. As it was, all the messenger could see was the white marble roof of the office and the tip of the golf tee he held between his teeth.

Mastema leant down and gingerly placed a ball on the top of it. The messenger was rigid with fear, he had already trembled once and the ball had fallen to the floor. The man remembered well the penalty for that failing. The Demon-Lord had “played it where it lay”, driving the ball with tremendous force in to the side of his head. An earthly mortal’s skull would have been demolished by the power; the damned mortal that was the messenger had a splitting headache and a golf ball permanently lodged in his temple.

Mastema kept his knees bent and arms straight, eyes on the ball as he had been taught. He let loose with all his unholy might and the ball sailed out of the window and deep into Hell. He laughed as it struck a minion two miles away square in the head. Mastema did not find the misfortune of the minor demon humorous; pleasures of such a petty nature were below a Demon-Lord. Mastema rejoiced instead because it was clear that over the morning’s practice he had progressed a long way and he anticipated a great improvement in his long game.

A glance at the clock on his wall told him the meeting would be starting in moments. Mastema dismissed the golf-ball embedded messenger and walked to the changing room adjoining his office. Most of the Lords preferred either black robes or baring their upper bodies, covering the lower with fur loincloths decorated with flayed flesh belts, skull buckles and other such nonsense. Mastema found the exposed red abdominals and fuzzy underpants look disgustingly clichéd. He liked suits. Nice suits.

Mastema had been lucky enough to stumble in to a tailor of sorts decades earlier whilst slumming it in one of Perdition’s less exclusive drinking establishments. The elderly man had helped design dress uniforms for the Gestapo and elements of the SS before his eternal soul had been sent to Hell. What Mastema had, in essence, was a wardrobe of Hugo Boss originals.

He selected his most sombre-looking black suit and an exquisite silk shirt of a slightly lighter hue. After changing, he examined himself in the gilded full-length mirror in his suite. The black attire contrasted nicely with his deep red complexion and complemented his void-like eyes and sharp features superbly. Mastema deemed the overall effect to be both professional and dashing as he left at a leisurely pace for a meeting that he was already late for.

Like all of Perdition, the Soul Reaper Tower was nothing like the imagery the foolish Mortals associated with Hell. Mastema had not set foot upon their world for centuries but he had heard the rumours - a pit of fire and despair that looked like an angry and palsied volcano was consulted as the interior decorator, it was absolute nonsense. Perdition resembled nothing more than a vast, sprawling city, with a variety of stone in every colour and type imaginable used to build it. Beyond the ever-encroaching city limits was a boundless desert of black sand. An immense fire burned in the sky but only to provide heat, light and to make up for the lack of a sun. It was majestic more than threatening and at night it smouldered with a soft glow that was almost romantic. The tower itself was a marvel of differing shades of marble, gold edging, glass and dark woods stained and polished to a sheen. If the stupid Mortals had any idea what Perdition was really like then Mastema and his fellow Lords would have had no trouble meeting their demanding and never-achieved quotas.

All eyes were on Mastema as he slammed closed the black marble doors of the Board’s chamber. No gathering of the Lords could begin without the entire Board present and Mastema’s tardiness had only prolonged the other members’ fear and anxiety at the meeting’s purpose. None of the waiting Lords commented on his late arrival; the visual daggers they threw his way were indicative enough of their anger. Like everything Mastema did, his belated entrance had been on purpose. It showed how unconcerned he was at the request; he was superior amongst his so-called equals and held none of their fears.

Let them scramble when Abaddon shouts, he thought. I come when I’m good and ready.

With a faint sneer on his lips, Mastema looked around the burnt oak table and found his usual place was already taken. The smile at his one-fingered salute to the hierarchy of Hell was quickly wiped away as the cost of his display became apparent. The only available seat was next to Samael, Bringer of Death and Destruction, a Lord who possessed the strength of a thousand demons, the IQ of a semi-retarded brick and a homicidal rage viewed as excessive, even by Perdition’s standards. There was also the issue of Samael’s stench. The strength of a thousand demons apparently brought with it the body odour of a thousand pairs of unwashed feet. As far as Mastema was concerned, Samael could keep that particular blessing. Sighing, he ignored the glares of his fellow Lords and with great resignation took his seat next to Samael.

‘Nice loincloth,’ Mastema said as he proceeded to lean forward and block the Demon’s view of the Chairman.

Samael could have easily backhanded him out of the way, several miles out of the way in fact. However, such an unprofessional display during a meeting would have brought severe penalties from the Chairman. Samael instead let out a low, threatening growl and Mastema grinned at the brute’s enforced impotence.

Abaddon, King of Demons, Voice of Lucifer and Chairman of the Board, stood before the gathered Lords in a resplendent blood-red robe with gold trim, a surprisingly calm look on his stony face. His anger at Mastema’s late arrival was gone, replaced with a quiet appreciation of the subtle way he had forced the mighty Samael to kowtow to protocol. It was a paltry display but against a great and powerful opponent. Such rivalries between Lords were expected and encouraged. In any case, if Samael’s grimace was any benchmark, Mastema would be feeling pain and punishment enough soon after the gathering. The Chairman signalled for silence with his hands and rose to address the Board. There were far more pressing matters than Mastema’s lack of respect and punctuality.

‘My fellow Lords, I have called this meeting on behalf of none other than Lucifer himself to address a grave and growing concern. Humanity is expanding at a phenomenal rate and the ratio of souls we are claiming is in no way matching it. Needless to say, Lucifer is extremely displeased with the situation and, by extension, with us.’

Abaddon took a quick account of the assembled Lords and the undivided attention he received from all pleased him. Although he was certain the Board would understand the gravity of the situation, their silent confirmation was a welcome reassurance.

‘Asteroth, our venerable Treasurer, has been going over the figures for some time. I will not overburden you with the statistics and his explanations of data-models but, even in his best case scenario, the situation is dire. Assuming half of the souls we are not claiming are going in to Limbo, which is to say the least highly optimistic, we are losing souls to the Hated One at a ratio of almost three to one.’

The assembled Lords visibly began to show distress at the news; if in the best case Hell was gaining one soul to Heaven’s three then Lucifer’s anger was well and truly justified. Mastema saw glances between the opposing factions of the Board and knew the blame-gaming and scapegoating was only moments away. In the interests of keeping the meeting brief and making his afternoon tee time, he decided to step in and redirect events.

‘Esteemed Chairman, if I may offer an opinion?’ he asked.

Abaddon, wondering which of the other Lords Mastema was about to artfully try to heap the responsibility on, nodded his permission.

‘This news is most regrettable and whilst I, and without doubt my fellow Lords, fully understand Lucifer’s anger I believe perspective is important. We play this game with the souls of humanity on behalf of our Master, yet it is the opponent who owns the board and who made the pieces. The Hated One has churches, cathedrals, magazines and missions. We have nothing of the sort. They have books that explicitly tell people what they can do to avoid Perdition’s grasp and over hundreds of years those have painted such a bleak picture of us and our realm that no mortal in their right mind would consider walking our path. I’m sure we have all seen frescoes and paintings of how they view Perdition, all volcanic rock and flames. I wouldn’t want to visit a place like that, let alone spend an eternity there.’

The surrounding Lords nodded their heads in agreement. Whilst they all detested Mastema, his attempt to fault the situation rather than themselves was most acceptable.

‘Humans have free will and an untold number of decisions to make in their average lifespan,’ Mastema continued. ‘Only a few of which lead them down our path. Even then, almost all of those must be committed in extremity. The Bible and other religious texts show them in such black and white morality that any fool with half a brain can steer well clear of us. I say the game is rigged and we need to renegotiate the rules of claiming. Was it not after Lucifer made the wager with the Hated One and we left the so-called Paradise that the Bible was given to man? Surely that is cheating, or at the very least an unfair advantage, and either we have won by default or the rules should be changed to even up the playing field.’

The Demon Lords roared in agreement as Abaddon barked a harsh laugh. He motioned for Mastema to sit down and them to be quiet.

‘Ah, Mastema,’ said the Chairman, once he could be heard, ‘it is said that a poor builder blames his tools; so instead you fault the parents of the architect. Do you not think our esteemed Master foresaw all these difficulties when he first challenged the Hated One? We have played this game for centuries and in the beginning we had no such problems. The rules are immovable and, clever rhetoric aside, the reason for the failure is not the situation; it is the complacency of the Lords assembled here. Exploiting the flaws of the Hated One’s creations should be child’s play; they are as weak and corruptible as when the wager for their souls was first made. Make no mistake, we have been derelict in our duties for some time and a radical change is needed to bring us back into this game.’

Jezebeth, Spreader of Falsehoods and Lies, lifted his voice above the growing din of the assembled Lords.

‘What would Lucifer suggest we do to rectify this situation?’ he asked.

‘Lucifer suggests we all do our bloody jobs,’ replied Abaddon. ‘The overall direction of Perdition is guided by Lucifer’s shining light; the annoying, finicky details are our problem. Each Lord is required to submit a detailed proposal on how we can fix this mess we find ourselves in at an assembly one week from today. Lucifer himself will be present to pass judgement.’

The announcement brought instant silence to the boardroom. It was almost unheard of for the Light Bearer and Son of the Morning to attend a meeting.

‘He would like to see outside of the box thinking on this one. I have been advised that Lucifer is willing to send one Lord to the Mortal realm to implement their plan, should it be worthy and require such an outlay of resources. If none of your plans are solid he may take what works from each of them and send the best Lord for the job. If even that is not an option, you and your families will be tortured then executed. I hope Lucifer’s presence at the meeting and the lengths he is willing to go to demonstrate the urgency and importance of your task. Meeting adjourned.’

In the shock caused by Abaddon’s final revelation, Mastema rushed out of the boardroom as the Lords began to launch into discussion. Samael was stupid and smelly but he was also cruel and immensely powerful. Mastema had no inclination to stay in the same room with the brute less than five minutes after angering him. He walked back to his office shoulder-barging any minion foolish enough to pass by him. Not only did he have extra work to do, but the punishment for failure was severe and the incentive was no better.

Whilst the other Lords were no doubt relishing the chance to enter the Mortal realm, Mastema knew better. He had been there centuries before and found the limitations placed on a Demon in that place unbearable. It was the speed that annoyed him the most: everything moved so slowly in the Mortal realm. A demon’s strength in mortal form was great, but a shadow of what it was in Perdition and they were just as easy to kill as the humans when in their world. Upon that death, they would be sent back to Hell in a weakened state, which was painful, very unnerving and potentially dangerous; especially if one counted Samael amongst their enemies. Worst of all, the soul cost of opening a link to the Mortal plane was so high that being killed before completing your assigned tasks received the very harshest of punishments.

Mastema had a very large problem and only one week to find a solution. He needed, for the sake of brandishing his success over the heads of his fellow Board members, to present the best plan to Lucifer. He also needed it to involve someone else going to the Mortal realm so he could avoid the horrid duty himself. This in itself presented other problems, for although there would be no shortage of Lords clamouring to go to Earth, the plan had to be masterful. Should they fail, the fault could only be seen as theirs. Mastema entered his office and gathered his briefcase. He looked longingly at his golf clubs but there would be no time for playing in the next week. With a snarl, he headed home.




Chapter Two: Family Time (#u5907871e-6af0-59ab-8451-b5d062173a15)


Behind every great Demon-Lord was a long-suffering wife; in Mastema’s case that was Deumos. Stunningly beautiful by Demoness standards, she had long hair, black as pitch, and almond-shaped eyes to match, a noble nose and slight chin. Her porcelain-white, razor-sharp teeth were framed in voluptuous blood-red lips and her figure was svelte, even after eons of marriage and spawning fifteen children, large boys no less. Most of her friends had to shape shift to some degree to maintain their pre-marriage and -childbirth appearance but Deumos was, to their ire, all natural.

She was preparing dinner when she felt the presence of her husband on his return journey. Deumos sighed; even at a distance his anger was apparent and she knew she was in for a long night of complaints about work, the other Lords or both. With the last touches finished, she placed the meal in the oven, poured herself a glass of wine and sat at the table, waiting for her husband to enter and begin his ranting.

Less than halfway through her glass, Mastema stormed in, face contorted with barely suppressed fury. Deumos sat quietly as he put his briefcase away in his den and walked into the dining room, muttering the whole time. She refrained from asking him how his day had been, as she usually did to provoke Mastema when he was in a foul mood. Something seemed different; the rage was palpable and she was eager to see what turn of events had brought about such a level of anger. Deumos listened graciously as he recounted the meeting and his views on being sent to the mortal realm.

Mastema told her he had been listing the various strengths and weaknesses of the other Lords, to see if he could mould something around them, but none had traits that stood out as a solid foundation for a masterful plan. Although an hour had barely passed since the conclusion of the meeting, Mastema wanted the task completed as soon as possible; apparently so he could complete his other work. Deumos took that, correctly, to mean golf.

The wives of the Lords often discussed their husbands’ annoying tendencies to bring work home with them. The story was always the same; when a problem proved too challenging for one of the mighty and powerful Board members their wives were always consulted for advice. No Lord would ask for assistance outright but complaining and snarling until their better half ventured a solution was considered one and the same. The problem, the women had decided, lay in their husbands’ views of themselves and their roles. They thought and acted like hammers but not all problems were nails.

‘I’m tempted not to help you at all,’ said Deumos during a break in his tirade ‘The only reason you are having a problem is your unwillingness to travel to the Mortal realm. You are the smartest of the Demon Lords-’

A self-satisfied smirk crept across Mastema’s face.

‘Wipe that smug look off your face; “smartest” in a group containing the likes of Samael is hardly an accomplishment. As I was saying, you are the smartest of the Demon Lords and if you did away with the condition that someone else had to be seen as the ideal candidate for travel this would not be a problem at all.’

‘I know you, though, Mastema,’ Deumos continued before he could reply. ‘This complaining will not stop until you have a plan and none involving you going to the Mortal realm will be suitable. I should let you batter your head against the wall your stubbornness has built, but in the interests of not having you moping and moaning for the next week I will help you.’

Mastema did his best to turn his scowl into a look of surprise.

‘My dear wife, I was only looking for your comfort and support after a trying day in the office. Do not trouble your pretty head with the challenges of a man’s world. I will, no doubt, think of something.’

As Deumos turned to leave the room, Mastema added quickly, ‘Of course, if you have already thought of a potential solution I wouldn’t want your effort to have been wasted. Your wise counsel is always welcome, my beloved.’

‘Kaarl,’ Deumos replied.

‘What does that worthless waste of my seed have to do with this?’

‘Kaarl has spent his life studying every aspect of the Mortals; he finds them fascinating. You and your fellow Lords are so entrenched in the old ways and that is why you are losing souls. The last time any of you walked amongst the Mortals they thought the Earth was flat and you could sail off the end of it. Humanity has changed and your strategy needs to change with it.’

Mastema considered his wife’s advice for a moment. Whilst it sounded good in principle, the fact that it involved Kaarl, Mastema’s youngest son, was a concern. Kaarl had always been different from his brothers. Not “apples and oranges” different, “apples and I wish you had been a miscarriage” different. Whilst they liked to torture the damned, perfectly normal for young demons, Kaarl preferred to talk to the fallen Mortals. When Kaarl was younger his brothers had a duty roster, so at least one of them was always following him, savagely beating any damned soul he had the inclination to speak to. As the boys grew, they became interested in Demonettes and spent their free time balancing fornication and mayhem. Kaarl spent his time in his room studying.

‘Talk to your son,’ said Deumos. ‘Learn what humanity has become, how their world has changed. With a new awareness of your prey and its environment, perhaps a solution will become more apparent.’

He decided he could at least give it a try. After Kaarl had proven to be the waste of time Mastema knew he was, he could devote the rest of the week to solving his problem in earnest. If he dismissed Deumos’s solution out of hand he would not hear the end of it. He didn’t need to ask whether or not Kaarl was home; the boy was almost always in his room. Mastema did, however, need directions to get there. He had come to realise early in Kaarl’s formative years that the child was destined to be feeble and useless and had pretty much ignored him since then. Kaarl, for his part, did not mind; the boy liked solitude so a father-son relationship in which neither of them ever talked to each other was mutually beneficial.

Mastema followed Deumos’s directions and found himself outside a door in the bowels of the grey stone mansion. He rarely ventured that deep into his own home; the kitchen, dining room, den and master bedroom were all at the front of the building and he had never felt the need to visit any of his offspring or servants. As he reached the door, Mastema noticed a strange noise emanating from the child’s room. When he opened the door, a wall of sound hit him. Kaarl was at his desk, completely absorbed in a book, and Mastema was instantly reminded why he hated the boy.

All Demons had the ability to shape shift; most chose grotesque or powerful forms, beasts of terror that induced fear and exuded ferocity. Kaarl’s preferred form was what a Mortal would call a very attractive young man. Sandy-blond hair, dark brown eyes and classically handsome features. Mastema was tempted to backhand the child then and there but decided it might not be the best way to start a conversation. Especially not if he wanted something. Kaarl finally noticed the presence of someone else in his room and reached out to touch a glass panel on his desk. The sound instantly stopped.

‘What was that noise?’ asked Mastema.

‘It was Tool, ‘Prison Sex’.’

‘I have heard tools being used and prisoners having sex and that sounded like neither.’

‘It’s a Mortal band, Father. They are called Tool and ‘Prison Sex’ is the name of the song.’

‘Do not call me Father,’ Mastema told him. ‘Sir or Your Supreme Ruthlessness will suffice. If that is what Mortals consider music, times have indeed changed. I’ll admit I like it a lot better than what they listened to in my day. It is much more visceral than the lyre or flute.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Kaarl.

‘This is my house,’ Mastema snarled. ‘I go where I wish. Who are you to question my reasons, boy?’

‘I didn’t mean any offence. It’s just that in the five hundred years since my birth you have spoken to me twice, hit me on countless occasions and never been to visit me. I was just curious, thought maybe you had the wrong room.’

‘Well, unfortunately for both of us, I don’t,’ said Mastema, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘My wife seems to think you may be able to enlighten me on changes that have occurred in the Mortal world since last I was there.’

‘When was that Father?’

‘I told you not to call me that, and by their definition I believe it was around 325 BC, “the good old days”, as we called them.’

Kaarl’s face lit up with youthful enthusiasm when he realised how much had changed in the period his father wanted to know about.

‘I don’t need to know everything,’ said Mastema when he saw the expression. ‘I just want the main developments, to fill in some gaps in my knowledge.’

‘Perhaps if I knew why you needed to know it could help,’ said Kaarl. ‘There have been so many mortal advancements since that time: automobiles, nuclear weapons, space-travel, medical science; the list is almost endless.’

Mastema gave Kaarl a quick rundown of the situation, leaving out Lucifer’s ultimatum and finishing with Deumos’s suggestion that a fresh perspective might help. Kaarl smiled and pointed to the glass panel on his desk that he had used to stop the music.

‘First thing you will want to know about is that, then.’

‘What is it?’ asked Mastema.

‘The Internet,’ said Kaarl. ‘It is a store of almost all of humanity’s knowledge, a way for them to communicate with each other, trade, share information and much more. In fact, on an almost daily basis they are finding new ways to use it.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘One of the Damned I managed to talk to without my brothers interfering was an engineer of sorts. He constructed this terminal for me and a device to be placed in the Mortal realm that would help me to connect. When Vetis last went up I gave her the device and instructions from the engineer. I’ve been online ever since.’

‘Why would he do that for you?’ asked Mastema. Although Perdition was not quite the place humans imagined, it was still rare for one to help another without forceful coercion or something to gain in return.

‘Boredom, I guess,’ said Kaarl. ‘There is only so much drunkenness and debauchery one can partake in before they get restless. I think he wanted a bit of a challenge and allowing data to travel between realms was a major one.’

‘Why would Vetis help you?’

This was more confusing to Mastema than the engineer’s contribution. Vetis was one of the most desirable young demonettes in Hell. She was beautiful, self-centred and uncompromising: all fine traits in a young woman. Many of Kaarl’s brothers had tried to bed her or her twin sister Verin with no success. The girls were strange in their own way but they had a certain charm and mystique beyond the obvious physical. The fact that Kaarl was even on speaking terms with either of them was unfathomable.

‘She is a friend,’ replied Kaarl. ‘She also has a keen interest in the Mortals, particularly their menfolk, so she jumped at the chance to be able to access the Internet from Perdition.’

It was unbelievable that Mastema’s other sons, even Davaal, who was by all measures one of the most eligible bachelors in Perdition, could barely get two words from Vetis or her sister and yet Kaarl was her friend. Mastema decided not to attempt to understand the strange motivations of the younger generation and instead focus on the task at hand.

With no more questions forthcoming, Kaarl began showing Mastema the wonders of the Internet. His father asked to see its most vile and corruptive elements first and Mastema was not disappointed. After only half an hour, Mastema stopped him and stared at the screen. Of all the things one could do with a hedgehog, a garden hose, a bottle of milk and a willing woman, he would never in a million years have come up with a situation like the one he was watching.

‘How much more of this is there?’

‘I would say it’s infinite; more is being added all the time and we haven’t even scratched the surface yet.’

‘And you say Mortals let their children use this?’

‘Yes, they do have ways to stop them looking at such material, though not all of them know how to do so, or care. Some children are so far advanced in its use that even those safeguards amount to nothing.’

Mastema shook his head in wonder.

‘This Internet has almost been doing our job for us; if it hadn’t been invented we’d have had that meeting two decades ago. Show me more.’

Kaarl moved from vulgar pornography to social media. Mastema read in wonder as people bared their souls for the world to see, or made tributes to lost loved ones, only to have others who did not even know them or the departed leave spiteful, hurtful comments. Mastema was truly in awe of some of the despicable things written for the world to see.

‘All of this random hate and malice; some of these people are so close to becoming ours, they don’t even realise it. What does that mean?’ he asked, pointing to a line on the screen of a memorial page.

‘This “lolurmu -’

‘It means “laugh out loud, your mother is dead” ‘

‘Delightful’

‘It is a commonly held belief that what humans say in the relative anonymity of the Internet is mostly at odds with how they act in real life Father.’

Mastema was so pleased with what he had learnt he did not reprimand Kaarl for his familiarity. ‘That is not important, Kaarl; this lack of compassion is under the surface. It seems a good proportion of them are thinking it. All that is needed is to bring this to the surface, make them act like they speak and Perdition is back in business, well and truly.’

Deumos came in with their dinner hours later as Mastema had forgotten all about eating. As Kaarl had continued his crash course in human development using the Internet, he had been absorbed in the possibilities the new world of man presented for gathering souls. His wife gave him an all-knowing smile and left father and son to their work.

As the night progressed, talk turned to other facets of modern-day life and Mastema found a measure of respect for his son. The child was weak and feeble, but he was cunning and knowledgeable and that made up for it a little. Kaarl’s insight into the workings of the contemporary Mortal was remarkable and his understanding of their ways was extensive. Mastema decided that Kaarl and his information would be integral to “his” plan and proceeded to fill the child in on the rest of Abaddon’s announcement. Sans Lucifer’s judgement in person and the familicide that would follow if everyone failed. He was sure the boy wouldn’t respond well to pressure.

‘You mean you’d get to go to the Mortal realm?’ Kaarl asked, unable to mask his excitement and envy at such a prospect.

‘Not necessarily. Abaddon said the best demon for the job, and I doubt if myself or any other Demon Lord could match your knowledge of the Earth as it is today.’

Kaarl’s jaw dropped as the reality of what his father was saying dawned on him. ‘You think they would let me go?’ he asked.

‘If the plan is sound I’m sure I can convince the Board that you are the only logical choice.’

Mastema had seen enough over the evening to be sure his studious son was up to the task of assembling the basis of the proposal. He told him how to set out his ideas and the format that would be required. A little more time spent with Kaarl now meant less editing when he came to put his own name on the work. Mastema knew the boy wanted to visit Earth desperately, and would break his own back to do so. He was more than willing to be the patsy who went up to enact the plan, and that provided a safety net for Mastema. If anything went wrong the boy could take most of the blame.

Mastema found it slightly odd that the cerebral challenge of the task and the chance to go to Earth was more of a motivation to Kaarl than helping to deprive the Hated One of souls. He would have assumed that with the boy’s lack of social status he would be champing at the bit for some acceptance. Any normal Demon would be focusing on reaping the Damned and denying them entry to Heaven rather than seeing it as merely the by-product of solving a problem and the chance to play tourist. Whilst strange, it was not really important, and his son was far from normal. The end result would be the same and that was all that mattered. Confident that his son’s fervour and intelligence would be more than enough to get the task done, Mastema headed back to his own bedroom, contemplating a week of golf whilst the other Lords worked themselves into a stupor.




Chapter Three: Meeting the Master (#u5907871e-6af0-59ab-8451-b5d062173a15)


The visit had left Kaarl with a lot of work to do and the faint tang of irony in his mouth. After the initial enthusiasm of discussing his favourite topic had faded he realised how ridiculous the situation was. The very interests that had relegated him to a status just below something his father had scraped off his hand-made shoes were suddenly in hot demand. It had been the opportunity to fulfil a lifelong dream that had swayed him to take up the challenge instead of telling his father to shove it.

That fact in itself was troubling; it was exactly the sort of ploy his father, a master manipulator, would use to secure his help. It was possible that Mastema would take the position on Earth, along with all the credit, and laugh in his face. A slim chance was still better than none, though, and Kaarl knew how to increase his odds.

It was obvious the Lords knew squat about the modern world: the colossal jerk that was his father had already said as much. It was a shortcoming Kaarl could use. As long as the Lords grasped its potential and little else beyond the basics, the trip was as good as his. Kaarl cracked his knuckles and went to work.

As Mastema had predicted, Kaarl’s proposal was inspired and the parts he understood needed very little editing. During the week he had stopped in a few times to check on progress; not to micro-manage but to ensure he wouldn’t be left empty-handed come presentation time. On the whole, the thing had looked rather impressive. Whilst his faith in his apparently not entirely useless son’s ability was firm, one did not rise to the exalted ranks of the Board based on assumptions that everything was in order.

The fact that he and his fellow Lords had done exactly that after achieving their positions was the reason he was in such a dire situation to begin with. Mastema was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He would not make the same mistake twice if it could be avoided. He spent the morning before the meeting revising Kaarl’s work and for the most part was delighted with the final result.

The only part of the plan Mastema did not like was that it required Verin and Vetis, the twin sisters of Impatience and Corruption, to accompany Kaarl. It made sense in some ways; they had been to Earth before and could help Kaarl adapt to the Mortal realm. Their skills in manipulating Mortals would also prove invaluable. The main problem Mastema saw was the cost; Kaarl’s plan asked for three times the outlay that Abaddon had promised.

For Perdition to send a single Demon to Earth, a sacrifice of one hundred thousand souls was required. Whilst in the grand scheme of souls already claimed by Hell it was a relatively small number, anything that increased the deficit in favour of the Hated One was considered very costly indeed. Asking for three hundred thousand to be struck from the tally was audacious, to say the least. Kaarl convinced his father that for the plan to work it was necessary and Mastema could only hope it seemed a worthwhile investment to Lucifer.

He ordered Kaarl to join him at the meeting; he would be lost if any technical queries came up. If the need for the sisters to be sent was questioned, the boy could handle that as well. Mastema didn’t want to be begging for extra resources at a meeting where his life hinged on the outcome.

As Mastema entered the meeting room, Kaarl in tow, his eyes were drawn to the throne at the head of the table. It sat empty, but even so the sheer power of Lucifer, Light Bearer and Son of the Morning, surrounded it. Carved from the purest white marble and inlaid with golden depictions of his heroic deeds, it was a stark reminder of the importance of the meeting. Samael, poster child of the fuzzy underpants movement, saw Kaarl and laughed.

‘I didn’t know it was “bring your daughter to work day”, Mastema,’ he said.

The more sycophantic of the Lords joined in with him and Mastema strode up to the behemoth, oblivious to their mirth.

‘Ah, Samael, if only your intellect were as sharp as your wit. I see your proposal is a mere two pages.’

Samael glanced down at Mastema’s much thicker and rather more academic-looking document.

‘It also seems that the first one is a covering sheet. I’m going to hazard a guess that the second has “Kill everything” misspelled horribly in large letters and a crude crayon drawing of you decapitating mortals. Laugh all you want for now, oaf; we will see who is smiling after this meeting.’

Before the Lord of Death and Destruction could say anything in return, Mastema walked to a seat on the opposite side of the table, again thankful for the sanctuary the Boardroom provided from Samael’s wrath. Kaarl stood a respectful distance behind his father.

Within minutes the Lords were all seated and Abaddon had joined them, sitting to the left of Lucifer’s throne. A lanky, light red minion collected the proposals and stood beside Abaddon, waiting. The air grew thick and heavy as darkness began to seep from the throne. It started to form a vaguely humanoid shape before it wavered and exploded outwards. For a split second the room turned black and the laughter of a million children filled the air. Kaarl went rigid as the noise died. Lucifer, in all his unholy glory, had taken his place on his throne. The sound of Lucifer’s coming had always unnerved Mastema. He often wondered why it couldn’t be tortured screams instead of what sounded like an endless crowd of happy fat children in a vast cavern.

Lucifer, as always, appeared as an immense and heavily muscled man with skin of white gold. His pure violet eyes, Romanesque features and perfect white smile did nothing to detract from the aura of fear and power that surrounded him. His black wings flared outwards as he sat down upon his throne and surveyed the assembled Lords. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he held out his massive hand. Abaddon took the pile of documents from the attendant and handed them to the Light Bearer. For the next hour the entire room remained silent. The assembled Lords’ breathing slowed to the minimum required for survival. No one wanted to draw undue attention from Lucifer at such a meeting.

As soon as Lucifer had read the last report’s final page he turned to Abaddon and imparted his will. He did not speak, as to hear the voice of Lucifer was an honour and the Board’s abysmal performance deserved no such privilege. He instead pierced Abaddon’s mind, planted his orders in it and disappeared. Mastema cringed again at the sound. The Board waited anxiously as Abaddon processed Lucifer’s message. There was a very real chance that it would be their, and indeed their bloodline’s, last moments of existence. The Chairman’s lack of emotional range and facial expression did nothing to alleviate this fear.

‘We do not die today,’ he said finally and the Board heaved a collective sigh of relief. ‘It was a close thing indeed, but Mastema has saved us all from Lucifer’s merciless yet totally justifiable vengeance.’

A round of applause came from the Board and beneath his icy demeanour Mastema rejoiced. He was in Lucifer’s favour. He could walk up to Samael and punch him in the face, slap Abaddon’s mother and kick Buer’s dog and still be untouchable. Mastema would do no such thing, of course, but to have the option without fear of reprisal was just as good in his eyes.

‘The Light Bearer and Son of the Morning would like you and your son to attend him immediately, Mastema,’ Abaddon said before he turned to address the other Lords. ‘As for the rest of Lucifer’s orders; firstly, could someone please find Samael a dictionary? Kill has two Ls and his illiteracy reflects badly on all of us. On a more positive note; your work with crayons is coming along nicely.’

Mastema pointed at the Lord of Death and Destruction and laughed before leading his son from the room.

Kaarl was still in shock as he and his father ascended to Lucifer’s private chambers. ‘The Light Bearer wants to see me as well?’ he asked Mastema as they flew up from the tower.

‘Do you think I would’ve used your plan and then taken the glory of entering the Mortal realm all for myself, despite my promise?’ Mastema replied.

‘Well, yes, actually.’

‘Then you do not know much about me at all.’

For instance, thought Mastema, you don’t know I view that place as torture and would happily send you, your mother and all your siblings there before I ever set foot in that cesspit of a realm again.

The rest of the journey was conducted in silence; the boy had served his purpose and, despite doing so admirably, Mastema had little desire to foster a relationship with him. Kaarl, for his part, was enjoying the view as they rose higher, too much so to bother speaking. He had spent so much time in self-imposed seclusion that the majesty and vastness of Perdition was often lost on him. Father and son finally floated to a halt in front of immense golden doors which swung open to allow entrance to a place very few Demons would ever have the privilege of visiting.

Kaarl could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The majority of Lucifer’s chamber was a lush tropical rainforest; golden sandy beaches and crystal-clear waters were just visible in the distance. Unseen from their viewpoint, beyond the ocean, walls of what was best described as crystal kept the noise of Perdition at bay and provided the chamber with a panoramic view of the Light Bearer’s domain. As soon as Mastema and Kaarl had crossed the threshold the doors closed and Lucifer himself appeared before them, without the accompanying theatrics, Mastema noticed gratefully. Kaarl was surprised when Lucifer first spoke. The Light Bearer’s voice was soft, almost a honeyed whisper, which was unnerving coming from a being of such tremendous size and obvious power.

‘Mastema, Tempter of Men and Cursed Accuser, I thank you for bringing your son to me; you may go now.’

Mastema obeyed immediately but the confused look on his face as he turned to leave was not lost on Lucifer.

‘I know your reasons for the plan I received and Kaarl’s involvement in it, but fear not,’ he told Mastema. ‘You can still brandish your achievement over your fellow Board members as it was you who brought it before me and your offspring that devised it. You must agree, though, it is pointless for you to remain here. You did nothing more than proof-read it.’

‘Of course, Master. I am honoured to help our cause in any way I can,’ replied Mastema.

‘The fact that this was all the fruit of your laziness and unwillingness to go to Earth yourself is irrelevant. As always, I care only about the ends; the means matter not. Your self-serving nature has once again proven useful. Leave us and enjoy the accolades and envy of your peers.’

‘I most certainly will, Master,’ Mastema said as he left the chamber, ‘especially the envy.’

As the great golden doors closed behind him, Kaarl was again in awe of his situation. Only five hundred years old, barely into what would be considered his early twenties in human terms, and he was in the presence of Lucifer himself. As the Light Bearer appraised him with piercing purple eyes, Kaarl stared at Lucifer’s feet. After a short and uncomfortable silence the Master of Perdition spoke.

‘It was refreshing to get a younger Demon’s assessment of the situation and how to change it,’ he said. ‘The Board is so entrenched in the old world and its ways I was certain I would be destroying them today. They have become exactly what the Mortals view all of us as. Pointless evil, malice and wanton destruction may have their uses but, as always, those times and places are few and far between. The world is changing and Perdition needs to change with it. You represent that change, child.’

Bolstered by Lucifer’s compliments, Kaarl found the nerve to look the Light Bearer in the eye.

‘I did not understand many of the terms and ideas in your plan,’ Lucifer continued. ‘Much like your father and the rest of the Board, I regrettably am too far detached from the modern Mortal to comprehend most of it. What I do understand is your method and I must say I am impressed.’

‘Thank you, Master,’ Kaarl said, remembering the title his father had used in Lucifer’s presence.

‘Temptation and doubts to erode the defences of the less corruptible. Dreams and desires for the masses, if only they are willing to step a little out of light to reach for it. A slow pervasion instead of brute force and blatant attempts at encouraging vice and sin. You have even included the children,’ Lucifer said with a smile. ‘Fun for the whole family. It reminds me a lot of my earlier work. None of the abrupt descents into damnation favoured by those fools on the Board, rather a smooth slide down; like taking a warm bath and then drowning in it.’

Lucifer closed the report and sat cross-legged on the soft grass beneath them. He motioned for Kaarl to join him.

‘Do you know why we play this game?’ he asked.

‘I had come to believe it was to prove a point, Master.’

‘Yes and no,’ Lucifer replied. ‘It did begin that way. Before we left Heaven, I and some of the other Fallen were furious. We were going to be, in effect, second to the Hated One’s newest creations. We were made perfect and then it was decided that a flawed creation that had to strive for perfection would in essence be superior. God already had ideal children but decided to make inferior ones, to see if they could rise to the same heights. The best areas of Paradise were reserved for them and we were relegated to being messengers and lackeys.’

Lucifer seemed almost sad at the recollection. Such feelings were obviously beneath the Light Bearer so Kaarl dismissed the idea. The resemblance to sadness was remarkable, though.

‘At first I admit it was jealousy that started the Rift and the wager but it was not until I realised the truth that it widened. Angels and Mortals were just playthings to God. The Hated One set humans up to fall, and laughed and clapped when they didn’t like an omnipotent child with a block set. God sent the Angels to tidy up messes and provide hints and clues, all the while marvelling at the little toys in action.’

No one really talked about the reason behind Perdition’s existence. Kaarl had read things from the Mortals’ perspective but knew their views would have been coloured heavily by their religious texts and teachings. To hear its history from Lucifer himself was a privilege.

‘My like-minded brothers, sisters and I were cast out because we saw the truth. Our Creator, the Alpha and the Omega, did not have some divine plan. God was messing around with cosmic clay and seeing what happened. We and the Mortals were nothing but an experiment, a fad, a mild curiosity. We told the Hated One as much before we were banished from Heaven. We refer to ourselves as the Fallen but make no mistake, Kaarl; we were pushed down by the uncaring hand of an abusive parent.’

Lucifer sighed and put his hand gently on Kaarl’s shoulder.

‘That is how the wager started but Perdition is not just about proving God wrong. It is a place for all of the Hated One’s flawed creations to call home for eternity. If we had not left, only Limbo would have awaited those who did not meet God’s expectations. The idea of making something imperfect then punishing it for being so is ridiculous. We use words like “Damned” and “Sin” because they already existed. To us they mean different things than to the Mortals but once something has a name it is pointless to assign another. I know you are not very well travelled in this realm and you have your own misgivings about it, but I believe you have seen enough and spoken to a sufficient number of Mortal souls to answer me this: are they unhappy here?’

‘I would have to say no,’ replied Kaarl without hesitation. ‘Some of them miss certain family members or friends but generally the alcohol, sex, violence and depravity keep them busy and content.’

Lucifer grinned. ‘God gave them the capacity for these things; why should they be punished for embracing their nature? Why give something complete freedom then reprimand it for stealing, or lying, or killing? God gave them nothing but an illusion, a lie, yet I am considered the sadistic one. The Mortals live in the shadow of God’s wrath and have done so since their creation. They fear to embrace their true selves because they believe the penalties to be severe. Sin is as much a part of them as love, compassion or hope. With us they have a home, Kaarl, a place they can relish in all aspects of their nature without fear of reprisal or judgement. It is your job to guide them to us, the willing and the ignorant. You will be doing them a great service, freeing them from the bonds of worry and leading them to a place more suited to their true selves.’

Lucifer rose, and embraced Kaarl.

‘I see great potential in you, child. Cold and calculating is a refreshing change from the usual malevolent fanaticism in our ranks. I understood enough of your plan to realise you need to sort a minor detail here before you depart. By now Abaddon will have proclaimed to all that where you walk I walk with you, and when you speak others must listen as if the words have come from my lips. Perdition’s resources are at your disposal. Go now, Kaarl, and bring true freedom to the timid and oppressed. Bring them home. It gladdens me to know you too finally have a place amongst us, child.’

Lucifer clasped his mighty hand around Kaarl’s forearm and walked back into the surrounding flora. The doors opened again and Kaarl left the chamber, still barely believing anything that had happened since he had left the Boardroom.




Chapter Four: Faithless Friends (#u5907871e-6af0-59ab-8451-b5d062173a15)


As the golden doors closed behind Kaarl the forearm Lucifer had grasped began to itch. He started to scratch and realised the skin had raised and scarred. He had been branded with an eight-pointed star.

‘It is a symbol of authority,’ someone said in a condescending voice.

Kaarl looked for its source and saw a squat, fat demon dressed in an ink-stained brown robe. He remembered him vaguely from the Boardroom but had no idea who he was.

‘I am Asteroth, Treasurer of Hell,’ the repulsive-looking bureaucrat told him. ‘I have been assigned to assist you in gathering resources before your journey and anything else you may require. I know that Lucifer has given you a certain degree of freedom but don’t think you can go on a spending spree. I deplore wastefulness.’

‘Then why are you so fat?’ asked Kaarl. ‘Surely eating food you obviously don’t need is considered wasteful.’

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth he was stunned. A thought flashed quickly in his mind. I told you, when you speak, others must listen as if the words had come from my lips.

Asteroth stood silent yet unable to close his mouth. From the way his chins wobbled it was clear there was a lot of anger mixed in with the shock. Kaarl did not bother to apologise. Whether that was the mark having some effect on him or just the abrasive nature of Asteroth he couldn’t decide.

‘Besides the souls required, all I need is a little time with Verin and Vetis to finalise the plan,’ Kaarl told the Treasurer.

Asteroth, on the surface at least, had recovered from the blatant insult. ‘Abaddon has already sent word to them. They will meet you at Faithless as requested,’ he replied.

‘Then that is where I am going now.’

As he launched down towards Perdition Kaarl marvelled at his speed. He had never been able to fly nearly as fast before; Lucifer’s blessing definitely had its perks. The magnificent view he had seen when ascending to Lucifer’s chambers was rendered a blur by his newfound power. A journey which should have taken half an hour took barely three minutes as Kaarl came to an abrupt, floating halt in front of Faithless, the most exclusive drinking establishment in all of Perdition.

Only the wealthiest Demons and worthiest Mortals were allowed to set foot in Faithless’s hallowed grounds but Kaarl had not chosen the location to flaunt his new position. Some of the clientele had knowledge that would be essential to finalising his plan. As far as he could tell it was almost perfect but experience had its advantages over intelligence. Faithless resembled a vast Gothic cathedral, the entire building constructed of jet-black stone and the stained glass windows uniformly tinted to the same colour. The views from inside were unobstructed but the underprivileged masses outside could not even get a glimpse into the playground for Perdition’s rich and famous.

Kaarl strolled confidently past the queue and the hulking demonic bouncers bowed and let him through so quickly that an uninformed observer might have thought he was the owner. From shunned and berated to significant and exalted in the space of a morning; it would not take long to become accustomed to the change. Inside the doors of Faithless the similarities to a place of worship were nowhere to be seen.

The sharp smell of potent alcohol was everywhere and laughter and debauchery covered almost every inch of available floor space. Kaarl fought through the seething masses up towards the VIP area, passing fistfights, fornication, gambling and all the other activities that made Faithless the premier destination in Perdition for a good time. Once he had made his way through the crowds and the velvet ropes had been lifted by another pair of colossal bouncers he searched the VIP tables for his friends.

Mastema was not the only Demon to find the friendship between Kaarl and the twins unlikely. For the six decades of its existence their peers in Perdition had debated the reason behind it. The predominant theory was that the girls were biding their time for some sort of betrayal. A cruel and sadistic long play seemed the only logical explanation. The simple truth was that the friendship was real and had actually been forced upon Kaarl in the beginning.

Verin and Vetis were devious, naturally skilled in seduction and possessed a sex appeal that was as effective in the Mortal realm as their own. With such highly desirable traits and transferable skills it was not long before they were sent to Earth on a mission that required the feminine touch. In its execution the girls found they enjoyed the food, the surroundings and particularly the men. Demonic males were rather dull and tended to focus heavily on stature and snarling.

Kaarl’s unusual disposition towards the Mortals was well known. After they had returned to Perdition the twins had tracked him down, shattered his bedroom window with a rock and clambered in to introduce themselves. He was the only one of their kind they felt they could talk to freely about the subject. At best the Damned were viewed as second class citizens in Perdition and at worst non-entities.

In the twins Kaarl had found some semblance of acceptance. Despite telling himself it wasn’t important, it was a nice feeling nonetheless. Being able to discuss Mortals and not being berated for any attitude other than apathy was a pleasant change. Before the girls had helped him get a connection to the Internet they were also his favourite source of information. The Damned often left the little details out; things that seemed inconsequential to them. The twins explained all of their new experiences in detail.

Despite their play-by-our-own-rules attitude and hard façade, Kaarl had learnt over the decades that Verin and Vetis were a lot like him. Their mischievous nature was not an act but he doubted they would bloom into the creatures of malice their parents and the realm wanted. It seemed to him they did just enough to get by. Like Kaarl, they were trapped between Perdition’s expectations and their desire to just be themselves. Unlike him, they hadn’t taken the final step, declared their differences and accepted the stigma that came along with them. If everything went according to plan it would not be a situation the twins would have to worry about.

Verin and Vetis were sitting by themselves and Kaarl knew they must have been waiting for some time. Long enough at least to have refused every offer of a drink or coupling. He found it odd that they constantly complained about unwanted male attention yet always chose to appear in public without clothing. Both girls had deep green eyes, long black hair and marvellous red bodies. Kaarl never really thought of them as anything but friends; however, he could appreciate the allure of the twins.

‘If it isn’t Lucifer’s man himself,’ said Verin as Kaarl approached the table.

‘Do we have to call you Lord now?’ asked her sister.

Kaarl laughed and sat down with them. He could see in the mirrored wall behind their booth that every man, Demon and even a few of the burlier women in the immediate area were looking at him with utter contempt. The sisters saw it as well and both leant over and kissed Kaarl.

‘All right, enough teasing the patrons,’ he said as he wiped his cheeks. ‘We have work to do.’

‘Relax, Kaarl, have a bit of fun for once,’ replied Vetis.

‘Tell us what Lucifer was like,’ said Verin. ‘What did he say to you, what is his house like?’

‘He didn’t say that much,’ replied Kaarl. ‘He is every bit as intelligent and powerful as the legends would have you think; more, even. The main thing he wanted me to understand is how important our task is.’

‘I heard he doesn’t wear clothes, likes it all natural, like us,’ said Verin.

‘Did you see his junk?’ asked Vetis.

For the two most cunning and roguish Demonettes in the realm, the sisters could be very immature at times.

‘Aw, he’s getting mad,’ Verin noted in a playful tone.

‘Don’t be mad,’ said Vetis. ‘We are just really good at mixing business with pleasure. This is going to be fun, you’ll see.’

‘I don’t care if it’s fun or not,’ Kaarl told the sisters, ‘as long as we get the job done properly.’

Despite his words, Kaarl did intend to have as much fun as possible on Earth. The key to it, however, would be performance and that in turn required the twins to follow orders from time to time. If he allowed them to do as they pleased, or himself to be led astray, the fun would be short-lived for all of them and brought to a swift and brutal conclusion. Kaarl had heard at the meeting how Lucifer dealt with failure. Making sure the girls knew he was in charge and the task was important would be crucial to the long life he wanted to live in the Mortal realm.

‘Will you look at that?’ said Vetis, noticing the stern look. ‘Barely an hour into a management position and he is already heart-attack material.’

‘Isn’t his serious executive face the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?’ asked her sister.

The twins both started giggling and Kaarl couldn’t help but smile, despite his attempt at a solemn, heavy-is-the-crown expression. Their humour was as infectious as it was inappropriate.

‘That’s what we wanted to see,’ said Vetis.

‘You should be happy,’ Vetis told him. ‘This is a great opportunity, for all of us. When it’s time to be serious we will, but for now at least you should celebrate.’

The girls summoned a waiter over and within moments all three had glasses of whisky raised.

‘To us,’ said the twins and all three downed their drinks.

‘All right,’ said Kaarl as his glass hit the table, ‘I feel celebratory enough. Where is Mark?’

‘One drink…’ said Vetis.

‘Somebody call the Zoo!’ shouted Verin. ‘See if they’re missing a party animal.’

‘From what you’ve both told me, we will have plenty of opportunities to get drunk on Earth. Let’s get the ball rolling, shall we, and leave the partying until we’ve actually accomplished something.’

‘Yes sir,’ the twins chimed, standing and saluting.

‘This way, Lord Kaarl,’ said Verin with a mock bow. ‘We gave Mark a copy of your proposal when we got here and we’ve been keeping him and his companions on ice for you.’

Kaarl followed the twins across the VIP lounge to Mark White’s table. One of the Damned, he had died in the early 1960s but during his heyday had played a large part in convincing the world that smoking was not only flavourful and satisfying, but also fashionable. Had a malignant, undiagnosed tumour not claimed his life, modern tobacco companies would have been selling a range of smaller, fun-coloured cigarettes for children.

Mark looked much as he had when he died, wearing the same dark blue pinstripe suit he was buried in. Square-jawed with hard, pale blue eyes and small specks of grey just starting to show in his otherwise black crew-cut. His entourage was comprised of men all in a similar vein. Although their products and roles varied, they were all scoundrels, salesmen, fly-by-nighters or marketing geniuses. Between them they had sold everything from highly flammable children’s wear and bottled water to untested baby formula and carcinogenic meat additives. They were the masters of the hard sell. They had taken products that were mundane and in some cases downright deadly and made Joe Q Public not only accept them, but pay good, hard-earned money for them.

‘Girls!’ Mark yelled as he saw them approach his table. ‘Welcome back. Ah, and here is the man of the hour. Sit, please sit. I hear congratulations are in order.’ Kaarl took the offered seat next to Mark.

‘You’ve got a hard sell there, my boy, a hard sell indeed. Trust us, we should know.’ The assembled sleaze merchants all nodded in solemn agreement.

‘Not only are you selling a lifestyle or ideal rather than a product, almost all of humanity has been conditioned to fear the very thing you stand for.’ Mark finished his glass and signalled the waiter for a replacement.

‘From what I’ve read, you’ve already got the gist of it. Try to convince everyone, of course, but concentrate on the young ones. They are more impressionable and a seed planted now bears fruit in the future. You have got no easy task, as I’m sure you are aware. All those preconceived notions about Hell; if they even suspected you were trying to lead them down here you’d be finished overnight.’

Kaarl was fully aware of the challenges but hearing it so bluntly from someone else made him a little more anxious. Mark finished another glass and threw up his hand again.

‘I must admit, the way you are going about it, the scale of it all, is not something I am entirely familiar with. Some of my companions are, though, and what they tell me is this. Because of the wide range of people you are after, you are going to need to compartmentalize your operation. Some people will require a lot of convincing, others just a hint. If you push too hard in one area and draw too much attention, you need to be able to get rid of it without endangering the whole thing. Your first priority acquisition, apart from my old friend whom I’m sure you’ll find very useful, should be talented and unscrupulous corporate lawyers. With them as a safety net you should have, in essence, your very own Hydra. If they cut one head off, you can grow another three in its place.’ Mark raised his fourth drink in as many minutes drinking a toast.

‘And here is to the absence of a Hercules to spoil your fun!’

The trio left Mark and his friends to their merriment after some polite chit-chat and headed back to their own table.

‘So are we ready?’ asked Verin.

‘Yes, after what Mark told me, I think so,’ said Kaarl.

He was grateful he had taken time to listen to last minute suggestions. He knew that lawyers would be essential; he had not, however, understood the true value of the position. He had thought that Mark’s group would have had more advice for him or would have seen other areas that needed improvement. Kaarl knew the vast quantities of liquor they were consuming would not have affected their judgement. He took the lack of critiquing to be confirmation of his plan’s completeness.

‘Just one last thing, and it’s a major one. You are sure securing money won’t be a problem once we are there?’ he asked the twins.

‘Not a problem at all,’ said Vetis.

‘There are so many wealthy people who sold their souls to get where they are. We just turn up and collect,’ her sister added.

‘That sounds too easy.’

‘Oh, sure, some of them put up a fight but you just start rattling off their deepest, most sordid secrets and they soon realise you’re the real deal and cough up.’

‘And if that doesn’t work you can just shift,’ added Vetis. ‘A glimpse of Hell on Earth usually gets them if the more subtle stuff fails.’

‘All right,’ said Kaarl, as he got up to leave, ‘your confidence is definitely reassuring, but what about when we first get there? We’re going to need…what did you call it?’

‘Walking around money,’ replied Verin. The twins shared a mischievous look.

‘Just leave that to us,’ they said.

The trio left Faithless and Asteroth met them outside on the steps. Kaarl assumed the sour look on the Treasurer’s face was due to his abrupt departure. Either that or the “fat” comment.

‘Are your preparations complete?’ asked Asteroth.

‘Yes, we’re ready,’ replied Kaarl. ‘Where to now?’

‘Now you go to their Realm and prove Lucifer wasn’t nutty sending three young people on such an important assignment.’

‘What, from here?’ Kaarl asked. He glanced to his left as one of the Damned vomited on the red carpet.

‘What were you expecting, boy? Some sort of summoning stone? A sacred ritual sacrifice on a mountain with goats and virgins?’

‘A goodbye kiss would be nice,’ said Vetis.

‘Just not from a lecherous old scumbag like you,’ added her sister.

‘They say the children are our future,’ sighed the Treasurer. ‘Off with you, then!’

The last thing Kaarl saw was Asteroth raise his flabby arms and then his vision went blank.




Chapter Five: Welcome to the World (#u5907871e-6af0-59ab-8451-b5d062173a15)


Before his eyesight had even begun to clear, the first thing Kaarl noticed was the smell. Damp concrete and trash were new to the demon’s senses, yet underlying that was something else entirely. It was neither pleasant nor stomach-churning, but the Mortal realm had its own distinct odour. The noises of a human city surrounded him, cars mainly, and, thanks to the Internet, that much was at least semi-familiar. Two blurry shapes walked towards him.

‘Up you get,’ said Vetis, grabbing Kaarl by one arm, her sister by the other.

‘It feels like I’m surrounded by tar,’ he told the twins. Kaarl’s voice sounded distant in his head and he found standing to be quite difficult, even with the twins’ help.

‘You get used to it,’ Verin promised as she steadied him. ‘Things move a lot more slowly here than back home.’

Kaarl’s most immediate feeling was one of loss. He had not tried to fly, he hadn’t even thought about it, but somehow he knew he couldn’t. Strength had never been his greatest asset but he could feel that was significantly diminished as well. After a few minutes his eyesight was almost fully restored and he could see the twins in detail. They had the same striking green eyes, facial structure and slim figures but with flawlessly tanned skin, blonde hair and their breasts had grown quite considerably.

‘I hate wearing clothes,’ said Vetis as she tugged at her revealing little black dress. It was more like a piece of material just wrapped around her. It hugged every curve and left very little to the imagination.

‘Those outfits barely qualify,’ said Kaarl, still drowsy from the transfer.

He looked at his own clothes. On instinct he had shifted into something very similar to his father’s favourite black suit and shirt combination. Kaarl had studied images of male models, actors and body sculptors and taken their most striking features and physiques to craft himself a form for his work on Earth. He had given himself deep blue eyes, black hair and a face and body that would render any female numb with desire. Attracting the opposite sex was not the vessel’s purpose, though; it was just a fact that everything was a little easier on Earth for the remarkably attractive.

‘These dresses are just for now,’ said Verin, tugging at hers. ‘We can go shopping for other clothes later; I love shopping.’

‘What’s the point?’ asked Kaarl. ‘We can shift into whatever outfit we want and you hate wearing clothes. Why bother with shopping?’

‘Because we can’t do it in Perdition,’ replied Vetis. ‘Everything is free down there and that’s so boring. Up here money separates the haves from the have nots and fashion is a religion. Women know when you’re wearing a pair of shoes that cost more than their car and you can see the jealousy on their faces. It’s shallow and elitist and I absolutely love it.’

‘We also have to wear clothes up here,’ said Verin. ‘You go to prison if you don’t. Seeing as that’s the case, our outfits need to be as fabulous as what they’re covering up.’

‘Or what they’re almost covering up,’ said Kaarl.

He decided not to press the matter further; the sisters had always had their quirks. Their skills would more than make up for them and he did owe them for getting him online in Perdition. A trip to Earth, even though it was a working holiday, was the least he could have done for them and it was nice to have his friends with him. He turned his attention to their newly enhanced assets; the dresses made it hard not to.

‘Why have you done that to your chests?’ asked Kaarl. ‘Those things look heavy.’

‘This,’ said Vetis with a grin and a quick shake, ‘is how we get our walking around money.’

‘How? Will you be selling milk?’

‘You’ll see,’ chimed the twins.

Kaarl took in his surroundings once he was over the disorientation caused by the realm change. The trio were in a dark alley between two buildings. Metal stairs and ladders ran up the buildings either side of them and nothing but random litter, a worse for wear cat and a dumpster inhabited the immediate area. He and the twins began to walk towards the light at the mouth of the alley. People streamed past the gap and their chatter grew louder as the trio approached. When they stepped out of the gloom on to the street the sights and sounds of the Mortal city took Kaarl’s breath.

‘Welcome to Los Angeles,’ the girls said.

The decision had not been an easy one for the Demon; London, Beijing, Moscow or New York would also have been ideal starting locations. All of Kaarl’s research, however, had led him to believe their greatest chance of success lay, ironically, in the City of Angels. It was 11 p.m. Friday night in Downtown L.A. and the bars were just starting to fill up as the budget-conscious patrons began drifting in from their pre drinks at home. Kaarl stood watching the night time revellers stream past, alternating between them and the myriad of bars, restaurants and other buildings. Even though he considered himself something of an expert on Earth he had no idea as to the purpose of many of them.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Verin, grabbing his arm. ‘You look like some hillbilly that’s never seen a city before.’

‘Or like you’re tripping on acid,’ her sister added.

‘I haven’t seen a Mortal city before,’ replied Kaarl. ‘I mean of course I’ve seen Mortals before and their cities on the Net but this is different. They’re in their natural environment now and I’m here too. It’s…amazing.’

‘We’re supposed to be taking them to the Gates of Perdition,’ Verin told him, ‘not making a wildlife documentary.’

The twins led Kaarl through the throngs on the streets of L.A. and he soon began to differentiate certain smells. The realm didn’t really have its own one; it was the amalgamation of previously unknown ones that caused the effect. An untold number of them mingled in the streets and on occasion he had to stop. Although Kaarl had discovered they were separate he had a hard time working out exactly where each one was coming from.

‘We’d better keep moving,’ said Verin. ‘The first thing you need to know about a Mortal existence is that it sucks without money.’

I’m actually here Kaarl repeated to himself as he followed the twins. What had started as a pipe dream and evolved into a dubious proposition was finally a reality. He tried to catalogue each individual experience but was soon swept away in sensory overload. Stars instead of the burning sky, the crisp night air instead of Perdition’s constant humidity and there were Mortals bustling in every direction. The Damned generally just drank themselves into a stupor and stumbled around aimlessly. It was better than Kaarl could have imagined. He knew his view of the realm from his computer had been limited. Having all five senses engaged at once instead of merely seeing and hearing hammered the point home. He wasn’t in Perdition any more.

Perfume and deodorant, stale sweat and halitosis; the new aromas kept on coming and Kaarl took them all in, even the ones that made him gag a little. A few of the mortals had the music on their phones blaring so loud they seemed to be sharing it with everyone they passed. Judging by the looks they received and some of the comments, their generosity was not always appreciated.

The sights were familiar in many respects, as were most of the sounds. Movies and TV shows had acclimatised him to an extent. Seeing them in person, however, added a new dimension. The cars, the buildings, the heavy-set Latino gangsters; they weren’t scenery or extras in the background: he could touch them. Not that he would touch them; Kaarl was new to their realm, not a complete moron.

Kaarl knew the glow would wane eventually but that always happened when one became accustomed to something. Even once the shimmer had gone there was a quality of the Mortal life and realm, an aspect they seemed to take for granted, that would never diminish in its appeal. They were free.

Until they died, they had no Lucifer, no God unless they chose to. It made them different; the way they thought and felt, the way they acted, the way they lived. It made everything about them and their world exciting and opened up possibilities unheard of in Perdition. They had no omnipotent overseer unless they believed in one. They still had societal pressures, of course, but it was not nearly as unusual for a Mortal to stray from them. The Internet was loaded with pariahs who had banded together to bask in their individuality. Admittedly, groups of non-conformists were somewhat contradictory but that just highlighted the “anything goes” nature of their realm.

Perdition obviously had something going for it as well. Every other demon and Damned Mortal seemed to enjoy being there; it just wasn’t right for Kaarl. He had always been a square peg in a round hole there but on Earth he had the chance to be more. He had been given the opportunity to live as he pleased as well as serve Lucifer. Perdition might not have been an ideal place for him to grow up but it was his realm and he did have a duty towards it. There was also the danger of Lucifer’s wrath. The Master of Perdition had been nothing but cordial when Kaarl had met him but failure was still not an option.

Kaarl began focusing on the Mortals as the trio worked their way through the pedestrians. They weren’t exactly ecstatic about their freedom.

‘They’re miserable,’ he said after a few minutes.

Aside from those who were obviously drunk or high, the expressions generally ranged from aggressive to mildly content to downright forlorn.

‘What?’ asked Vetis.

‘They’re miserable,’ Kaarl repeated as he glanced around. ‘They avoid eye contact, their smiles and laughs are lies for the most part. Has something happened here?’

‘Life has happened,’ replied Verin. ‘Do you think Facebook is a window into their souls? It’s a front; something to make their friends jealous and their lives seem special.’

‘Save the cynicism, sis,’ said Vetis. ‘They aren’t all like this. We’ve caught them at a bad time is all. They are out hunting for sex and fights. That’s not recreation like in Perdition; it’s serious business. You’ll see more of what you expected during daylight, Kaarl. Up here the night, particularly during the weekends, belongs to the false and desperate.’

Despite Vetis’s reassurance, it was still a shock to Kaarl. He knew everything on the Internet needed to be taken with a grain of salt but the people were disconnected, even the ones in groups. They were all missing something and he doubted a change in natural lighting levels would fix it. Whether it was true purpose, a sense of belonging or something else entirely he didn’t know, but it was significant. Although Perdition’s hierarchy did not really care about the Damned, they were far more content than the people he saw that night in L.A.

Debt, financial stability and looks were apparently some of their biggest worries but couldn’t be the only cause of their misery. The Mortals’ primary concern would always be death and for many fear of the afterlife that came with it added to the pressure. That made more sense to Kaarl. Death was so final if you didn’t know the truth; life did in fact go on once the mortal coil was shuffled off. He wished he could just tell them that if they played their cards right they could go to Hell and be a lot happier. Knowing without a doubt there was light at the end of the tunnel might have made their lives seem more bearable. Kaarl didn’t like living in Perdition very much but their fellow Mortals gave it rave reviews.

Information on Paradise was as unreliable as that on Perdition. It seemed the Mortals had grasped the “how to get there” well enough for both realms but “what to expect on arrival” was nothing but conjecture. Logic dictated that they would be polar opposites and if that was the case then Hell did seem the better option for their eternal souls — Mortals in Paradise would be heavily monitored, have their harmony strictly regulated and be unable to indulge in alcoholic beverages or sweaty orgies. He wondered why so many of them would deny themselves so many things just to be stuck somewhere like that for eternity.

The more he thought about it, the more the Light Bearer’s words made sense. Their fears were unfounded and they adhered to stupid rules in the hopes of gaining entry to a place that was in all likelihood sterile and bland. What good was freedom if the Hated One’s strict moral code hung over them at every turn? In Perdition all options were open and nothing was denied them. Kaarl’s mission would not be easy, but the challenge was part of the fun. No one on Earth would thank him for his efforts; for it all to work they could never know what his true objective was. In the long run, though, they would be grateful; Kaarl would help them find their way to Perdition and a better afterlife.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed when the twins began to gravitate towards one of the busier-looking bars. O’Malley’s was an Irish themed establishment with wooden panelling decorating its facade and the compulsory shamrocks painted on its windows.

‘No more drinking,’ he told the twins when he realised where they were heading. ‘Not yet, anyway. It seems like we barely left Faithless.’

‘We are getting some money, relax,’ replied Vetis. ‘We won’t be in here long.’

‘We must have passed at least twenty bars,’ said Kaarl. ‘Why this one?’

‘The clientele, the availability of escape routes, minimal security. I could go on for ages,’ Verin told him. ‘The main reason, though, is that there is no door charge here and we are penniless, in case you had forgotten.’

The girls discreetly showed him how to create the illusion of a valid ID before they got to the door. It was a strange custom, restricting alcohol to certain ages, but one Kaarl was familiar with, thanks again to the Internet. There were very few minors in Perdition and if you were old enough to sin you were old enough for gin.

As the demonic trio held up their conjured fake IDs for inspection the doorman gave them a cursory look, smiled at the girls, stone faced Kaarl and then they were through the doors. The twins walked Kaarl up to the bar and found him a space.

‘Stay here,’ said Verin. ‘When we come back, it’s time to leave. Quickly but without drawing too much attention.’

Kaarl watched as the girls sauntered over to two men in expensive-looking suits and started talking. Within minutes Verin was sitting on the lap of one and Vetis was sitting close to the other, with one of her arms at a strange angle under the table. Another minute passed and all four of them were heading off to a door marked “Men”.

Kaarl was disappointed that there was not much difference from similar places in Perdition. It had music, that was one obvious change, but he didn’t care for what was playing. There was a conspicuous absence of brawls and sex but Kaarl knew those things were frowned upon in public in the Mortal realm. To see a bar without them was a little strange but he could still sense a somewhat muted undercurrent of lust and violence in the drunken crowd. Overall, the atmosphere was familiar in more ways than he would’ve liked.

As he continued to look around, he noticed a young lady with her head slightly down and her eyes directly on him further along the bar. He’d seen the twins give men and Demons a similar look when they wanted to tease them but he could tell the Mortal was genuine. Kaarl hoped she didn’t attempt to make an advance; he did not care for the distraction and had no idea how to make her go away should she try.

‘She’s cute,’ said Vetis, appearing beside him. ‘If we didn’t have to go right now you could totally bang her.’

Verin was right behind her and the twins steered Kaarl away from the bar and out of the door.

‘That was fast,’ said Kaarl as they headed in search of another street and bar. ‘I thought that sort of thing took a bit of time.’

Vetis looked at him with feigned disgust.

‘We are not sluts, Kaarl,’ she said. ‘Why put out when a punch to the brachia gets the same result, and without the stickiness or bad aftertaste?’

The girls laughed as they compared their takings. It was apparently a contest between them and Vetis was winning with five hundred dollars to Verin’s two hundred and change.

The girls repeated the rip-off at eight bars over the course of the evening and had taken just over four thousand dollars between them. Vetis had been the clear winner, raking in almost two and a half grand. The twins were clearly good at picking wealthy marks but the amounts taken by each of them were really luck of the draw. Although Kaarl was loath to interrupt Vetis’s victory dance, he had been curious about something since the third mugging.

‘Won’t this little crime spree draw attention to you girls?’ he asked when he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard.

The twins laughed for a while at their own private joke before they let Kaarl in on it.

‘Can you imagine that, sis?’ said Verin, not caring who could hear her. ‘Hello, is this the police? I’d like to report a mugging. This smoking-hot blonde girl offered me a good time in the toilets at the club then knocked me out cold and stole all my money.’

‘If for any reason they did call the cops,’ added Vetis, ‘like for insurance purposes or whatever, I guarantee you the location changes and the description becomes some male ethnic minority of stocky build and average height.’

‘Shame on them,’ laughed Verin.

As soon as they were able to, the twins hailed a cab. When they got in, it too had its own distinct smell but Kaarl had no problem identifying it after his taste of L.A. nightlife. It was body odour and cheap aftershave.

‘Where to?’ the surly cab driver asked the trio, making no attempt to hide his glances at the girl’s “assets”.

‘The Omni,’ replied Verin and the driver nodded before tearing his eyes from the twins and using the rear-view mirror for its intended purpose as he pulled out. In the grey-black of early dawn Kaarl marvelled at the mortal city as they made their way towards the hotel.

A group of people staggered down the street in the muted light of the very early morning. In some ways his first hours in the realm had shown him it shared many things in common with Perdition. The similarities were only minor disappointments, however; Kaarl had dreamt of visiting Earth for almost three centuries and was finally there. Setting was everything. The clips and images he had seen on the Internet in no way gave a true impression of what it was really like. Perdition was a vast city, many hundreds of times larger than Los Angeles, yet besides the tower his father worked in, the buildings were mostly one to three storey affairs. In L.A. skyscrapers and large apartment blocks were commonplace. Seeing them on a screen did not do them justice.

While the twins held their own conversation, he tried to absorb every detail of his new home and the soon-to-be birthplace of the empire he would build in Lucifer’s honour. The taxi ride to the Omni was like a safari, but at the end of it he would be one of the animals instead of a mere visitor to their jungle.

The crisp, air conditioned splendour of the Omni was strange on arrival. Cool or cold, depending on your point of view, was not something one felt in Perdition. The foyer of the hotel was tiled with an intricate tan and white stone floor that exuded elegance. It reminded Kaarl of Soul Reaper Tower’s grand entrance in some ways. Although less than six hours had passed since then it felt like a much longer time to Kaarl. He had travelled untold distances from Perdition to Earth in the blink of an eye and his new body was starting to feel the fatigue.

Verin and Vetis handled check in and had to use a great amount of their womanly charm to do so. The trio were well before the normal appointed time for check in and the fact they were not using a credit card made matters worse. The middle-aged concierge did his best to uphold hotel policy; however, the gorgeous blonde demonic bombshells took no prisoners when they wanted something. The girls won through in the end with dazzling charm and generous flashes of their side boob.

Five nights and the deposit took quite a good portion of their earnings from the lusty young men of L.A. The nearby porter, crestfallen at the party’s lack of luggage and therefore his tip, turned his attention to Vetis. She gave him a seductive wink and his face reddened a little. He wondered if the disgustingly handsome and lucky man was going to survive his five-day romp with the stunning blondes.

The dark grey carpet and neutral colours of the room were a surprise. It was still a stylish and sophisticated suite; however, after the foyer Kaarl had expected something more palatial. While the twins were busy getting acquainted with the mini-bar and the overly high and pillow-covered bed, Karl began reading the hotel’s Welcome Guide.

‘It says here you can get the Internet via the television’ said Kaarl as he turned the page. ‘Smart TV indeed.’

‘Good, we’ll need that to track down our financiers,’ said Verin, devouring a snack-sized Toblerone. ‘It probably costs a fortune to use it; all hotels are like that. We’ve had two beers and a couple of those little bottles of the hard stuff so we’re already down another twenty-five bucks.’

‘Then it’s back to the streets with you two and your twins again tonight,’ Kaarl replied, barely dodging one of the large cream pillows that was hurled at him.

Remote in hand, he followed the instructions in the guide dutifully and soon had Google up on the TV and the wireless keyboard so thoughtfully provided by the hotel.

‘Thanking you,’ said Vetis as she took it from Kaarl and her sister joined them on the bed. The twins began scanning the social pages, LA Times and various other websites listing the Who’s Who of the city. An hour later they had a list of thirty billionaires and multi-millionaires in L.A. and the surrounding areas. All of the people they had found either owed the big man downstairs a few favours, or were so corrupt and immoral that it was prudent planning for their immortal futures to get in Lucifer’s good graces.

‘That should be enough to start off with,’ Verin said. ‘We can get more if we need to as we expand. There will definitely be enough green between these fat cats to get the ball rolling, though.’

‘We’re going to need an account to put the money in,’ said Vetis, ‘and proper IDs; the trick we used tonight is going to be no good in the long run, especially for what you’re planning.’

‘Time to earn my keep then,’ said Kaarl, taking the keyboard from the sisters.




Chapter Six: Show me the money (#ulink_e6f1cb06-9d07-543a-99c3-75aeaee0245a)


Kaarl had sent an email to Lucas Alhberg, a twenty-five-year-old native of Sweden he had developed a firm friendship with online. On paper, Lucas’s life was quite pathetic; he was overweight, unemployed and living in his parents’ basement. On the web, however Lucas was a legend. His hacker tag XXXPLC17 (or ‘Explicit’ to those unfamiliar with ‘leet speak’) was infamous and he and his clan of fellow miscreants, fLaW, were widely known for bringing out the best quality pirate movies not yet released in the cinemas. Beyond that they also had a vast list of other technologically brilliant and shady accomplishments to their collective names; ones that would land them all in prison for a very long time if they were common knowledge.

Lucas’s uncle by marriage had been a resident of Perdition for over a decade. While society and his victims had viewed him as a brutal monster, Lucas had loved and respected his uncle. Seeing some of his mischievous nature in the boy, the feeling had been reciprocated. Although his life had ended in a hail of police gunfire, and he was still known better as the Beast of Boras, Lucas had nothing but fond memories of the man. Kaarl had, on a whim, tracked him down a few years earlier for a chat about their mutual acquaintance on Earth.

As soon as he’d worked out the basics of his plan, Kaarl told Lucas about his true nature and asked for help if he was chosen to lead Perdition’s charge. Naturally, Lucas had been very sceptical at first and believed Kaarl had been experimenting with hard drugs. His one-line reply had said as much: “Cocaine and Keyboards do not mix”.

When Kaarl responded with details that no one but Lucas or his uncle would know the hacker was convinced and in many ways excited. Always an open-mined individual, he had very little concern at finding out his online friend was actually a young Demon who might be visiting soon and needed a little illegal help on arrival.

He had promised Kaarl assistance with getting valid identities and anything else required. The Demon in turn had promised him money and a place in his organization when it was established. Lucas had already created lives for the trio and attached a list of birth details, social security numbers and other information when Kaarl emailed him from the Omni. He had also included the addresses of businesses in the immediate area that would be able to take photos for their IDs and made arrangements for a temporary solution to their banking needs. With the twins suitably impressed, Kaarl stole a few hours’ sleep to overcome his realm-lag.

When Kaarl woke sunlight was streaming through the windows of the hotel room. He walked out to the balcony and let it touch his skin for the first time. Too bright to look at directly, he instead closed his eyes and basked in its warmth. The red that played across the back of his eyelids reminded him of Perdition’s Sky of Fire but the sunlight felt so much better.

‘He looks like one of those guys in the prison movies,’ Vetis said to her sister. ‘Fresh out after twenty.’

In some ways I feel that, thought Kaarl.

‘It must be breakfast time,’ said Verin, reaching for the phone. ‘I’ll call room service.’

‘Call a cab,’ Kaarl told her. ‘Breakfast can wait; we have a bank account to fill.’

‘It’s like you don’t trust us,’ said Vetis. ‘We told you the money won’t be a problem. You’ve wanted to come here for so long;, why rush straight into the work?’

‘Because I want to stay here,’ Kaarl told them, ‘and I know you do as well. That means we need to perform. Once things are up and running we’ll have time to do whatever we want but I don’t feel comfortable sightseeing just yet. If we let Lucifer down—’

‘Breakfast isn’t sightseeing,’ replied Verin, ‘but fine. We’ll make bank so you can avoid an aneurism, then we are getting something to eat or you’ll have a mutiny on your hands.’

As the taxi fought its way through Los Angeles’ traffic, Verin and Vetis sat fidgeting with their hair and suffering the driver’s unwanted attention. The sunlight and smog gave everything an unusual tint as Kaarl watched the Mortals going about their business. Jogging, shopping, and playing with their children. There were no children in Hell and Kaarl’s eyes lingered on them for a reason other than novelty value; their smiles were genuine.

In the more impoverished areas they passed Kaarl gained a true appreciation of the gap between the rich and poor on Earth. Aside from a select few of the Damned, who enjoyed larger residences for their contributions to evil, housing in Perdition was relatively uniform. The average stone house in Hell made many of the dwellings he saw look like hovels. There were even people in the streets, and not just because they were too drunk to find their way home. They were actually living there.

They were soon on the 101 and Kaarl was amazed by the sheer amount of vehicles streaming past. In the Mortal realm it seemed everyone had their own metallic beast to prowl around in and some were much nicer-looking than others. Vetis caught him staring at a red Ferrari passing their taxi.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘It definitely makes an impression,’ replied Kaarl.

‘Cars like that were purposely designed and built so fat, balding men could get girls like us,’ said Verin when she saw what they were looking at. ‘And good luck to that peasant; his one is at least four years old. When we’re rich we’ll get something better, and black of course.’

Kaarl didn’t really care what colour it would be or how old; he just wanted one.

After leaving the 101 the scenery was markedly different from the city. Liquor stores had decreased in frequency, replaced by cafes and boutiques, and the people looked more healthy and prosperous than many of the ones he had seen earlier. As the commercial gave way to the residential he noticed much larger sections and more expansive grassed areas. The tightly packed buildings had been replaced with grander looking homes and the vehicles also seemed to be much newer and more expensive. Calabasas, a city of Los Angeles County, was a respite for the wealthy. In an area known as the Bird Streets the taxi came to halt outside large wrought iron gates with gold painted initials “E.W.” in the centre.

A security camera on the concrete pillar beside the gate monitored their every movement as the trio paid their substantial fare for the journey. Through the gates they could see a large, well maintained lawn and a white mansion with a pillared front. The driver barely noticed Kaarl paying through the bullet-resistant glass receptacle; instead trying to catch a glimpse of what lay under the twins’ ridiculously short dresses as they got out. While the taxi was leaving Kaarl strode up to the intercom set into one of the pillars and pressed the button.

‘Hello, we are here to see Mrs Wilkinson,’ he said.

‘Mrs Wilkinson does not accept uninvited solicitations,’ a man’s voice replied a few moments later. ‘She has no appointments today.’

‘I understand,’ said Kaarl. ‘Could you please inform her that we are friends of Franco Bertelli and we have information about her husband’s disappearance? We had considered going straight to the police but some of the details don’t make sense. We’re hoping she could help us clear them up.’

‘A moment, please,’ the voice said.

Kaarl and the twins waited for five minutes before the gates swung open.

‘Mrs Wilkinson will see you if you’d like to make your way up to the house.’

On the trip up the driveway Kaarl knelt down to touch the grass, smiling as the tips of it brushed against his palm.

‘Stop that,’ chided Verin. ‘It’s creepy and there are probably cameras on us.’

‘I just wanted to know what it feels like,’ replied Kaarl. ‘I’ve only seen it on a screen or out the window of the taxi.’

‘If you stop and touch every new thing in this realm you are going to end up in prison or intensive care,’ Vetis told him as she dragged Kaarl towards the mansion.

At the large oak doors the trio was greeted by an elderly gentleman in butler’s livery. He was thin and grey-haired with noble features and his alert, dark brown eyes regarded them through wire frame spectacles. Before he could speak to them, they heard a woman’s voice from deeper inside the house.

‘That will be all, thank you, Jeremy; I will escort them from here.’

As Jeremy was leaving, no doubt to complete other tasks in the house, Elizabeth Wilkinson appeared at the entranceway. A regal woman in her early sixties, she was dressed in a white blouse and full length grey skirt with white high heeled shoes. She wore a tasteful amount of unpretentious yet obviously expensive jewellery. Although her hair was completely grey and her face showed the marks of decades, there was no doubt that in her prime the woman had been a ravishing beauty.

Elizabeth was momentarily struck by the man standing before her. Had she been thirty-five years younger she was sure she could have easily taken him from the two blonde harlots accompanying him. Her brief moment of lust disintegrated when she remembered what the trio wanted to talk about.

‘Please follow me to the drawing room,’ Elizabeth said.

As Kaarl and the twins followed Elizabeth through the house he couldn’t help but notice the similarities it had to its owner. The decor was understated yet elegant; it had an aura of extensive wealth without being overly showy. The stained oak floors were polished to a mirror shine and old movie posters were framed and placed at intervals along the walls to break the monotony of its neutral off-white tone. The smell of fresh cut flowers was another new experience for Kaarl but he managed to refrain from touching them.

Elizabeth had been married to Chester Wilkinson, a famous Hollywood financier during the roaring sixties and most of the hippie-infested seventies. Chester’s wealth had been passed down over generations until finally it had been left to Chester, the last of the Wilkinson legacy. Rather than resting on his ancestors’ accomplishments, he had seen the opportunities in cinema and moved to Hollywood to take advantage of them. In Chester’s career as a film financier he had made very few poor choices and therefore added an enormous amount to the Wilkinson coffers.

He had met and married Elizabeth in 1970. At the time she was an aspiring actress with no real talent beyond being heart-achingly beautiful and knowing an extremely wealthy man when she saw one. In 1978 Chester had disappeared, news which had shocked the close-knit creative community at the time. After an extensive investigation it was assumed, from what little evidence there was, that some of his business dealings had angered the Mafia or another crime syndicate. Nothing concrete could link anyone to his disappearance and there was no body to be found. There was enough of his blood in his car, however, to suggest that Chester was no longer among the living. As per his last will and testament, his entire fortune was bequeathed to his grieving widow Elizabeth, who had orchestrated her husband’s death with the help of her lover Franco Bertelli, a handsome man in the lower ranks of the Mafia.

Elizabeth ushered the trio into the drawing room and followed behind them, pulling the heavy sliding screen doors shut. As soon as they were closed she spun around.

‘What is this?’ she asked. ‘I’m pretty sure all of Franco’s “friends” were at his funeral six years ago. I didn’t see you three there. Whatever it is you think you know about my husband’s death is wrong.’

‘Who said “death”?’ asked Verin. ‘We said disappearance. If you want to go down that road, though, we know you had Franco whack your husband and we know where the remains are.’

‘Finding what’s left of his body would prove nothing,’ Elizabeth said with a sneer, ‘and the man you claim I asked to kill him won’t be talking to the police any time soon, what with being dead and all.’

‘Franco kept a diary,’ replied Kaarl. ‘Insurance in case someone decided to turn on him. That’s standard practice for a hit man and your little caper is in his one. We know where it is and he gave us enough detail that we can implicate you even without it.’

‘This is a lie,’ Elizabeth hissed. ‘Franco never told another living soul about what happened.’

Kaarl smiled at her and Elizabeth found her mind drifting again to the things she would be doing with and to him if her body was younger and did not creak so much.

‘You are right about one thing, Mrs Wilkinson,’ Kaarl said. ‘True to his promise, Franco never told another living soul about what you asked him to do.’

‘But that’s sort of the problem,’ added Verin, ‘We aren’t exactly living souls.’

A smirk started to form on Elizabeth’s face at that comment but it was quickly replaced by an open-mouthed gape. Behind Kaarl, the twins shifted back into their true forms. They kept the black dresses and breast enhancements, but instead of two beach-blonde bimbos, a pair of green-eyed, black-haired, red-skinned Demonettes stood behind Kaarl, smiling with razor-sharp, perfectly white teeth. Elizabeth fell backwards on to the floor, bruising herself on the solid stained oak. She stared, unable to speak for a few moments until the twins transformed back into their earthly disguises.

‘What…what are you?’ Elizabeth stammered.

‘We are but humble employees of a being you are soon going to meet,’ said Kaarl. ‘You don’t have long left in this world and after you die you are going to be seeing a lot more of our kind where you’re going.’





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