From the Journal of Cairo Vincent
February 23, 2010
It was a chilly, fog-covered night when I first met my bodyguard Raven. Raven appears to others to be just another teenager, but I know better. Raven is sharp and sarcastic and bloodthirsty and cruel. Raven Michaelis is a demon. But let's not jump ahead of ourselves here. I should at least allow you to meet me first.
I am Cairo Vincent. My father invented the machine that puts the plastic around toothpicks, so naturally my family is filthy rich. Well... I say "my family"... really I mean me. Just me.
When both of my parents died in a car accident three years ago, leaving the fortune, the company, and everything else to me, it seemed to be the scandal of the century – a fourteen-year-old boy suddenly the wealthiest CEO in America? Ridiculous. No one thought I could do it. They were wrong. I turned my father's company into the biggest corporation since Carnegie Steel. But anyway, as I was saying.
The night I first met Raven was bitter cold and misty; the fog clung to your skin and clothes and chilled you to the bone. I fancied that it felt like the fingers of Death pulling me through the Styx to the other side. I have a dark imagination. I had a business meeting that was running itself into the ground around eleven o'clock when I got a text message: "We found it. It's here." Immediately I called an end to the monotony, wrapped my black wool coat about my shoulders, and set out into the great sea of fog. My mansion was about two miles away from the corporate building, but I still preferred to walk. Walking gave me time to think. A certain mental clarity can only be reached when alone in the silent fog.
My doorman greeted me as soon as I reached the mansion. "The package you've ordered arrived," he told me, "I had it sent to the lounge in the basement."
"Thank you," I answered, stepping inside and heading down the stairs. The lounge was dimly lit and hazy – the perfect place for this sort of thing. A circular poker table sat ominously in the middle of the room, and Gabe was standing to the side of it, waiting for me. Gabe was my all-around strong man – guarding, lifting, yardwork... he did it all.
"Nearly broke my back, but I got it down here for ya," he told me. "Doorman told me how much you paid for this thing. Seems like an awful lot for just a poker table."
"Yes, but this particular poker table has a peculiar urban legend surrounding it that's dated back to the nineteen-eighties, and even before. Story's told that this table can be used to summon a demon, and that demon will grant you anything you desire. For the right price, of course."
"Well, now, wait – you aren't gonna try it, are you?"
"Of course I am. Why else would I spend all that money and effort to track it down and obtain it?"
Gabe sighed fearfully and said, "Whatever you say, Boss." He backed away from the table and me full access to it. I took a deck of playing cards from my coat pocket and spread them out on the table so that they formed a pentagram – all of them, save the queen of spades, which I placed in the center of the symbol. Drawing a small pocket knife, I pricked the index finger of my left hand, and let fall a single drop of blood onto the center of the queen. I stood back for a minute, but nothing happened.
"Go on then," I enticed, agitated. "Show yourself!" I stood in silence for a bit longer. The clock in the room chimed twelve. I noticed that the blood on the card began to expand and darkened to a deep black color. It spread to all the other cards on the table, and soon began overflowing over the table's edges, flowing along the floor, crawling up the walls, snaking across the ceiling, and for an eternal moment couldn't see anything; the room was as black as death. Then the edges of the table began to burn with high red-orange flames, and I could just barely make out a black... something... at the center of the flames. It looked like the gnarled branches of a small, dead tree, with the silhouette of something like a bat hanging off the lowest branch. I could see the bat's eyes glowing red in the fire.
"Are you the one who summoned me?" came a woman's voice, thick and rich like dark chocolate syrup.
"I am," I replied confidently, despite being scared out of my balls.
"I hope you realize, child, that this is not a game," the voice warned. "Heaven's gates close forever to anyone who deals with demons."
"Heaven isn't real," I answered with a snicker. "It's a story to make children behave."
She replied with wicked amusement: "Stupid. I like you. You wish to make a contract?"
"Yes. I presume the deal will be my soul for anything I wish?"
"Yes. What do you wish, fool?"
"Vengeance. I was taken off the street as a young child and sold for a slave. I was viciously abused in every way possible. I want to find the ones responsible and put them through hell." After she heard this, the figure in the fire changed. I saw now the tall, lean silhouette of a young woman with long hair. She had the same glowing eyes as the bat.
"It was your blood that summoned me?" she questioned. I nodded. "I can smell that you're still bleeding. Might I have a taste?" Nervously, I held out my bleeding left hand to her. I let out a surprised cry when her arm shot out and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling my arm into the ring of fire with her. My arm was in the fire, but it did not burn. I saw her long, black tongue slowly scrape over my finger. It seemed as though every muscle in her body relaxed from the taste, so I tried to pull my arm back, but she grasped it tighter as she started laughing: a terrifying sound that shook her whole body. "You've got a deal, blondie," she agreed, ripping the sleeve of my shirt to reveal the white skin of my inner forearm. She placed her other hand across it, and I felt a horrible pain like a brand being seared into me. She released me, and I fell backwards holding my arm. The fire suddenly vanished, and the room went dark.
The dull overhead lights flickered back on in a few moments as if nothing had ever happened. My arm didn't hurt anymore. I looked at it. There was a red, black and white pentagram mark like a tatoo on my skin that almost reminded me of a dartboard. I looked up and gazed around the room. And actually, the whole room looked as if nothing had ever happened. Except for one thing: Standing in the center of the poker table was what could only be described as the closest thing to the exact opposite of what I had expected.
She looked like a teenager about my age; tall and lean, she stood with her thumb in her pocket, supporting all her weight on the opposite hip. Her straight, golden-blonde hair was parted down the middle, with ink-black hair dye streaked into it. Her blood-red eyes glared into mine, glowing with pompous superiority as she sneered with her ruby lips. The next thing I noticed was black leather – and lots of it. Over her red, high-necked t-shirt she wore a black leather jacket, and the tight pants her thumb was stuck into were black leather as well. Black leather combat boots covered her feet, and black leather fingerless gloves revealed dark black fingernails. She also had a black fishnet blouse on over the shirt, and she wore three belts around her waist: a plain red leather one, a black one covered in big silver studs, and a chainlink one, all at different angles but joined by a skull-shaped buckle. However, the black leather was definitely the most striking element of her ensemble. She was beautiful and deadly, like a snake – the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
"So," she spoke at last, her voice higher but still rich and smooth: "Who 'm I killin'?" She gracefully jumped off the table and stood before me.
"I... well..." I stuttered. I've never been the best around girls. "No one, really..."
"Huh? But you said..."
"I don't want you to kill them. Just find them. Capture them. Maybe torture them a bit. But when the time comes to finish them off, all I want you to do is hold them down while I slit their throats. I want to kill them myself." She looked at me for a moment, surprised, and then smiled.
"I knew I liked you."
Author's Note: I'm using this segment as a sort of "pilot episode" for an idea I've had. This means that if you liked the idea, you NEED to tell me that somehow (review, PM, follow, favorite, etc.) because if you don't, then I'm never finishing it. Ever. I'm not going to write this if no one likes it. I just don't have the time. Like I said, this is just the semblance of an idea. Things like format, minor characters, plot, etc. are in flux and might change. This is just to give you a look at what I'm thinking and a chance for feedback.
Just to repeat: If no one lets me know how they feel about this story, it ends here. So tell me if you like it. Tell me if you think it's shit. Just tell me something.