Author notes: this was a toughie. I think I cut more paragraphs than I kept. At one time it was heavily rated R and not at all what I envisioned. But I think I finally managed to say what I wanted to say with this chapter to the Belthazor Chronicles. I'm very curious to hear what you think.
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
Like Mother Like Son
"Holy- Damn, Tarkin, what in all hells did you do that for?" Belthazor shouted. He jumped back barely in time before hot flames engulfed the young woman. The heat seared the hairs on his forearms. A fireball appeared in his right hand and he whirled around, prepared to attack his companion.
Tarkin threw his head back and laughed. He held up his hands, palms outward. "Easy, Belthazor, easy."
Neither demon paid any attention to the woman who writhed and twisted to escape the flames, a silent scream on her lips. Belthazor glared at his friend; he didn't relinquish the ball just yet. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tarkin laughed again. "Why?" he repeated with a shrug. "Because I can. Because it's fun. You should try it some time."
"Hmm," Belthazor grunted. The fireball disappeared and he returned to the bed, where blackened scorch marks was all that remained of the woman. "Raynor cautions against leaving signs of our presence," he muttered.
Tarkin snorted. "Raynor is an old bore. Who will care about a missing hussy? Once we have joined the Brotherhood, it'll be all work and no play. Enjoy it while you can, Belthazor. What do you say we find another wench to kill? We still have a few hours to spare."
Belthazor stared at the scorch marks. The girl had done him no harm and his human half, feeble and powerless as it was, murmured a protest.
"Sure," he said and flashed a toothy grin back at Tarkin. "Why not. But quickly. Raynor will have our hides if we're late for the ceremony."
* * *
Several hours earlier.
"Belthazor, my friend," Tarkin announced himself. He sauntered into the chambers that Belthazor shared with his tutor and sprawled onto a straight-backed chair.
Belthazor looked up from the ancient scroll he was deciphering.
"Are you still hiding your nose in those books? Man, you need to get out more." Tarkin gave a dismissive wave at the papyrus in Belthazor's hands. "Especially today!"
"I need to finish-" Belthazor began. Tarkin snatched the scrolls from the table.
"No, you don't. You need to have some fun."
Belthazor couldn't disagree. His eyes were hurting, from peering at the scribbled writings all morning, and from the smoke that the torches gave off.
"Listen." Tarkin lowered his voice and dipped his head until it was close to Belthazor's. "Have you ever had the pleasure of a mortal woman? A human female? I know a place..." He let his voice trail off with hidden meaning and rolled his eyes.
Belthazor turned around in his seat to face his friend and he shook his head. "Can't say that I have."
He had no lack of female attention. Once he had gained control over his powers, killed his first witch and was obviously in the Source's good graces, demonesses began showing great interest in the handsome young demon. Belthazor had not returned any of their advances. He focused on learning, on gaining as much knowledge of the workings of magic as he could. Raynor was extremely pleased with his student.
And so was the Source. Pleased enough that he had invited Belthazor to join the Brotherhood of the Thorn. It was unprecedented for a demon of Belthazor's age to receive such an offer, and he had accepted with gratitude. The initiation ceremony was scheduled for tonight.
"Then you missed out on a good treat," Tarkin said. He clacked his tongue. "C'mon. I know the way. You can leave the books for tomorrow. Let's have some fun."
Belthazor hesitated. But Tarkin's rolling eyes and unspoken promises had piqued his curiosity. It would definitely be more entertaining that the chronicles of the Visigoths from the sixth century.
"Okay."
"All right!" Tarkin clapped his hands and long curls danced about his head. "Let's go then. Follow me." With those words, he shimmered from the chambers and there was nothing left for Belthazor to do but follow his trail.
* * *
They reappeared in a cluttered alley. Startled rodents scurried away through the debris. The alley was shaded and gloomy but at the far end the sun shone brightly onto a wide, sandy road. While Belthazor got his bearings and watched, a horse-drawn carriage sped by, followed on its wheels by a roaring automobile, the driver honking his horn to warn people to clear the way.
Tarkin preceded him out of the alley into the main street. The car left a dust cloud in its wake and it nearly obscured the tall buildings that loomed over them. Tarkin had brought them to New York. To downtown Manhattan, to be exact, and close to the docks. Belthazor sniffed the air; it smelled faintly of fish and seaweed.
Another car passed and Belthazor turned away to prevent the dust from getting in his eyes. He bumped into a gentleman dressed in a long, black coat with a high hat perched on top of his graying hair. A young woman with auburn curls and sparkling green eyes held his arm. She was half his age, Belthazor surmised, so she was probably the gentleman's daughter.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Sir. Miss." Always be polite, Raynor taught him. 'You don't want to draw undue attention.'
While the gentleman merely inclined his head in acceptance of the apology and further ignored the well-dressed handsome young man, his daughter gave Belthazor a shy smile. He returned the smile with one of his own and was rewarded with a blush. She kept glancing back over her shoulder until her father steered her around a corner and they disappeared from view. Belthazor watched her go, his face tight.
Tarkin chuckled. "You obviously take after your parents."
Belthazor's head spun around and he blinked at Tarkin. His friend shrunk back from the fiery stare.
"I meant your mother," Tarkin said. "Lilith, the succubus? Seduction runs in your blood, my friend."
After a moment's pause, Belthazor's mouth quirked in a smile. "Guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Tarkin grinned. "Now, come on, I want to take you to that dance hall over there." He pointed to a two-story, red brick building on the opposite side of the street. A gaily-painted sign read 'Melody Ballroom'.
"After you, my friend." Tarkin gave a bow and an elaborate wave of his cape. They crossed the street, mindful of the carriages, horses and occasional motor car that moved steadily along the main road, and a few moments later Tarkin pushed against the door of the establishment.
It took several seconds before Belthazor's eyes grew accustomed to the dim interior of the dance hall. The place was quiet; few people had the time or the money to spend their afternoons drinking and cavorting. The floor was empty of dancers. Three men sat at a bar, which could easily hold a dozen more. Their heads swiveled around at the newcomers, and dismissed them after a glance.
Not so the four or five women in the hall. Their eyes lit up at the sight of new customers. It didn't hurt that the two young men were good-looking and dressed well. Amid a flurry of smoothing skirts, pushing back strands of hair, straightening shoulders and taking deep breaths so that their bosoms filled out, the women, every single one of them young and pretty, rushed to meet them.
Employees of the hall, Belthazor immediately understood. The women would dance with the male customers, keep them company, laugh at their jokes. And perhaps more. Although he did not have much firsthand experience, the demon was well read, and well educated in the ways of the world. He cast a sidelong glance at Tarkin who gave a barely perceptible shrug. Oh well, a mortal woman was a mortal woman. And they didn't have time to go court a female; the Source expected them at midnight.
Belthazor looked down at the women who were shuffling in front of him, each trying to catch his eye while pushing aside the others. It was so funny that he would have laughed aloud, except it would ruin the 'man of the world'-image he was trying to project. Finally his gaze settled on one of the eager quartet, a woman of maybe twenty-one, with dark, curly tresses framing a pale, freckled face. Her eyes were a deep brown, and Belthazor thought she was pretty enough. Her waist was thin, her breasts high and firm and her smile reached her eyes. Yes, she would do quite well.
He pushed the other females aside, ignoring their pouts, and bowed at the dark-haired woman while reaching for her hand to place a gentle kiss on its palm. "Hello Miss," he said with a smile. "May I buy you a drink?" Behind him, Tarkin made a soft noise that could have been stifled laughter.
Her eyes widened at the polite question and she smiled at him coyly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Oh yes, Sir, you may," she breathed. Belthazor was quite certain that her breathiness was an act.
With a firm hand on her elbow, he guided her past the bar, toward a dark booth in the back of the establishment. A flickering candle in the middle of the table provided a circle of light. The girl slipped into the booth, and Belthazor followed. Tarkin, his arm around the waist of a petite blonde, took a seat at her other side and she gave him a dark look before turning her smile back to Belthazor.
The demon was quite enjoying himself; this was so much more fun than studying. Even though he knew the girls would be prepared to do whatever he or Tarkin would desire -provided they paid them enough coin- Belthazor was convinced he could persuade the girl at his side to forgo her usual fee. As Tarkin had so aptly remarked, seduction was in his blood.
The barman, clued in to the girls' tastes, appeared at their table with two fluted glasses of bubbly liquid. Champagne. Belthazor blinked. Give a girl an inch, and she'd take a mile. Then again, the girls probably received a small percentage for the drinks they commissioned.
"Gentlemen? What'll it be?"
"I'll have a beer," Tarkin said.
"Brandy," Belthazor ordered, repeating something he had overheard one time or other. He watched the man bustle away.
"So," the demon said, turning back to the girl as the bartender returned with their order a moment later. He took her hand between his and let his thumb trail idle patterns on her palm. His blue eyes held her gaze and her lips parted a little in response. She licked her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"
This time, Tarkin failed to smother the laughter and he hid his face in his beer. The blonde in his lap giggled.
The girl beside Belthazor looked stunned. "Ohh," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face. "You made that sound like you mean it."
Belthazor raised an eyebrow. "And why wouldn't I?"
She scanned his face, as if trying to read his deeper thoughts. It was obvious from the look on her pretty features that she was uncertain what to think. Did he mean the kind words? Or was her new escort pulling her leg? Belthazor chortled inwardly as he saw the questions flash across her face.
"What is your name, Miss?" he asked with a gentle smile. "Mine is-" He hesitated. Raynor's voice sounded in his head. 'Always be careful about unveiling your identity, Belthazor.'
"Cole," he said, grasping at a barely recollected memory. "Cole Turner." A good thing the girl's eyes were fixed on his features, or she would have noted the look of surprise on Tarkin's face. "And this is my friend."
"Tarkin," Tarkin said, leaning forward to feast his eyes on her cleavage. "So nice to meet you."
The blonde pushed him back and nestled her head against Tarkin's shoulder. "I'm Susy," she quipped.
"Emily," the dark-haired girl introduced herself.
* * *
It was three beers and two brandies later that Belthazor got to his feet and held out his hand to Emily. He honestly liked her. Although she was a working girl, she was intelligent and possessed a quick wit that he found quite refreshing after the murky politics of the Underworld. It wasn't by choice that she worked in the Melody Ballroom; she was trying to save up enough money so she could buy herself and her little brother passage west.
She smiled a promise at him as she accepted his hand so he could help her get up from the bench. "I have a room upstairs," she whispered in his ear.
"Then let's not wait any longer," Belthazor whispered back just as softly. She giggled. Belthazor couldn't remember how many glasses of bubbly liquid the barman brought her, but it was obviously more than she was used to. He leaned down to kiss her deeply.
She studied him for a few seconds, a little breathless from his kiss. Again, he found her thoughts easy to read. He made her uncertain; he was so different from other patrons. A part of her wanted to believe the illusion, his seduction of her.
She led him up a narrow flight of stairs and into a small room with burgundy curtains that shut out the light. A neatly made bed stood in the middle of the floor. To the side was a nightstand with a water pitcher and a bowl.
Emily closed the door behind them. For a long moment, Belthazor just stood there. Despite the bravado, he was suddenly unsure what to do next. He didn't like the feeling; it reminded him of his spineless human half.
"You have never done this before, have you?" Emily asked. She chortled. "That's okay, I'll help you." She reached for the buckle that kept his belt closed.
Belthazor proved an eager student, as always. It didn't take him long before he caught on to the rhythm. When his lust was satisfied, he let out a groan of contentment and slumped across Emily's naked body.
A kick against his ankle pulled him from the pleasant buzz. "Belthazor, get up," Tarkin commanded, kicking him again.
"What-" Belthazor mumbled, pushing himself up and away from the girl. Then he realized that Tarkin had called him by his true name and angrily he whirled around. Something blue streaked past him, singing the hair on his arms, and Emily exploded into orange fire.
His human half filled with pity at the sight, while his demonic blood bubbled with pleasure at the flames, the evidence of their power.
"What in hell did you do that for?"
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
Like Mother Like Son
"Holy- Damn, Tarkin, what in all hells did you do that for?" Belthazor shouted. He jumped back barely in time before hot flames engulfed the young woman. The heat seared the hairs on his forearms. A fireball appeared in his right hand and he whirled around, prepared to attack his companion.
Tarkin threw his head back and laughed. He held up his hands, palms outward. "Easy, Belthazor, easy."
Neither demon paid any attention to the woman who writhed and twisted to escape the flames, a silent scream on her lips. Belthazor glared at his friend; he didn't relinquish the ball just yet. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tarkin laughed again. "Why?" he repeated with a shrug. "Because I can. Because it's fun. You should try it some time."
"Hmm," Belthazor grunted. The fireball disappeared and he returned to the bed, where blackened scorch marks was all that remained of the woman. "Raynor cautions against leaving signs of our presence," he muttered.
Tarkin snorted. "Raynor is an old bore. Who will care about a missing hussy? Once we have joined the Brotherhood, it'll be all work and no play. Enjoy it while you can, Belthazor. What do you say we find another wench to kill? We still have a few hours to spare."
Belthazor stared at the scorch marks. The girl had done him no harm and his human half, feeble and powerless as it was, murmured a protest.
"Sure," he said and flashed a toothy grin back at Tarkin. "Why not. But quickly. Raynor will have our hides if we're late for the ceremony."
* * *
Several hours earlier.
"Belthazor, my friend," Tarkin announced himself. He sauntered into the chambers that Belthazor shared with his tutor and sprawled onto a straight-backed chair.
Belthazor looked up from the ancient scroll he was deciphering.
"Are you still hiding your nose in those books? Man, you need to get out more." Tarkin gave a dismissive wave at the papyrus in Belthazor's hands. "Especially today!"
"I need to finish-" Belthazor began. Tarkin snatched the scrolls from the table.
"No, you don't. You need to have some fun."
Belthazor couldn't disagree. His eyes were hurting, from peering at the scribbled writings all morning, and from the smoke that the torches gave off.
"Listen." Tarkin lowered his voice and dipped his head until it was close to Belthazor's. "Have you ever had the pleasure of a mortal woman? A human female? I know a place..." He let his voice trail off with hidden meaning and rolled his eyes.
Belthazor turned around in his seat to face his friend and he shook his head. "Can't say that I have."
He had no lack of female attention. Once he had gained control over his powers, killed his first witch and was obviously in the Source's good graces, demonesses began showing great interest in the handsome young demon. Belthazor had not returned any of their advances. He focused on learning, on gaining as much knowledge of the workings of magic as he could. Raynor was extremely pleased with his student.
And so was the Source. Pleased enough that he had invited Belthazor to join the Brotherhood of the Thorn. It was unprecedented for a demon of Belthazor's age to receive such an offer, and he had accepted with gratitude. The initiation ceremony was scheduled for tonight.
"Then you missed out on a good treat," Tarkin said. He clacked his tongue. "C'mon. I know the way. You can leave the books for tomorrow. Let's have some fun."
Belthazor hesitated. But Tarkin's rolling eyes and unspoken promises had piqued his curiosity. It would definitely be more entertaining that the chronicles of the Visigoths from the sixth century.
"Okay."
"All right!" Tarkin clapped his hands and long curls danced about his head. "Let's go then. Follow me." With those words, he shimmered from the chambers and there was nothing left for Belthazor to do but follow his trail.
* * *
They reappeared in a cluttered alley. Startled rodents scurried away through the debris. The alley was shaded and gloomy but at the far end the sun shone brightly onto a wide, sandy road. While Belthazor got his bearings and watched, a horse-drawn carriage sped by, followed on its wheels by a roaring automobile, the driver honking his horn to warn people to clear the way.
Tarkin preceded him out of the alley into the main street. The car left a dust cloud in its wake and it nearly obscured the tall buildings that loomed over them. Tarkin had brought them to New York. To downtown Manhattan, to be exact, and close to the docks. Belthazor sniffed the air; it smelled faintly of fish and seaweed.
Another car passed and Belthazor turned away to prevent the dust from getting in his eyes. He bumped into a gentleman dressed in a long, black coat with a high hat perched on top of his graying hair. A young woman with auburn curls and sparkling green eyes held his arm. She was half his age, Belthazor surmised, so she was probably the gentleman's daughter.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Sir. Miss." Always be polite, Raynor taught him. 'You don't want to draw undue attention.'
While the gentleman merely inclined his head in acceptance of the apology and further ignored the well-dressed handsome young man, his daughter gave Belthazor a shy smile. He returned the smile with one of his own and was rewarded with a blush. She kept glancing back over her shoulder until her father steered her around a corner and they disappeared from view. Belthazor watched her go, his face tight.
Tarkin chuckled. "You obviously take after your parents."
Belthazor's head spun around and he blinked at Tarkin. His friend shrunk back from the fiery stare.
"I meant your mother," Tarkin said. "Lilith, the succubus? Seduction runs in your blood, my friend."
After a moment's pause, Belthazor's mouth quirked in a smile. "Guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Tarkin grinned. "Now, come on, I want to take you to that dance hall over there." He pointed to a two-story, red brick building on the opposite side of the street. A gaily-painted sign read 'Melody Ballroom'.
"After you, my friend." Tarkin gave a bow and an elaborate wave of his cape. They crossed the street, mindful of the carriages, horses and occasional motor car that moved steadily along the main road, and a few moments later Tarkin pushed against the door of the establishment.
It took several seconds before Belthazor's eyes grew accustomed to the dim interior of the dance hall. The place was quiet; few people had the time or the money to spend their afternoons drinking and cavorting. The floor was empty of dancers. Three men sat at a bar, which could easily hold a dozen more. Their heads swiveled around at the newcomers, and dismissed them after a glance.
Not so the four or five women in the hall. Their eyes lit up at the sight of new customers. It didn't hurt that the two young men were good-looking and dressed well. Amid a flurry of smoothing skirts, pushing back strands of hair, straightening shoulders and taking deep breaths so that their bosoms filled out, the women, every single one of them young and pretty, rushed to meet them.
Employees of the hall, Belthazor immediately understood. The women would dance with the male customers, keep them company, laugh at their jokes. And perhaps more. Although he did not have much firsthand experience, the demon was well read, and well educated in the ways of the world. He cast a sidelong glance at Tarkin who gave a barely perceptible shrug. Oh well, a mortal woman was a mortal woman. And they didn't have time to go court a female; the Source expected them at midnight.
Belthazor looked down at the women who were shuffling in front of him, each trying to catch his eye while pushing aside the others. It was so funny that he would have laughed aloud, except it would ruin the 'man of the world'-image he was trying to project. Finally his gaze settled on one of the eager quartet, a woman of maybe twenty-one, with dark, curly tresses framing a pale, freckled face. Her eyes were a deep brown, and Belthazor thought she was pretty enough. Her waist was thin, her breasts high and firm and her smile reached her eyes. Yes, she would do quite well.
He pushed the other females aside, ignoring their pouts, and bowed at the dark-haired woman while reaching for her hand to place a gentle kiss on its palm. "Hello Miss," he said with a smile. "May I buy you a drink?" Behind him, Tarkin made a soft noise that could have been stifled laughter.
Her eyes widened at the polite question and she smiled at him coyly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Oh yes, Sir, you may," she breathed. Belthazor was quite certain that her breathiness was an act.
With a firm hand on her elbow, he guided her past the bar, toward a dark booth in the back of the establishment. A flickering candle in the middle of the table provided a circle of light. The girl slipped into the booth, and Belthazor followed. Tarkin, his arm around the waist of a petite blonde, took a seat at her other side and she gave him a dark look before turning her smile back to Belthazor.
The demon was quite enjoying himself; this was so much more fun than studying. Even though he knew the girls would be prepared to do whatever he or Tarkin would desire -provided they paid them enough coin- Belthazor was convinced he could persuade the girl at his side to forgo her usual fee. As Tarkin had so aptly remarked, seduction was in his blood.
The barman, clued in to the girls' tastes, appeared at their table with two fluted glasses of bubbly liquid. Champagne. Belthazor blinked. Give a girl an inch, and she'd take a mile. Then again, the girls probably received a small percentage for the drinks they commissioned.
"Gentlemen? What'll it be?"
"I'll have a beer," Tarkin said.
"Brandy," Belthazor ordered, repeating something he had overheard one time or other. He watched the man bustle away.
"So," the demon said, turning back to the girl as the bartender returned with their order a moment later. He took her hand between his and let his thumb trail idle patterns on her palm. His blue eyes held her gaze and her lips parted a little in response. She licked her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"
This time, Tarkin failed to smother the laughter and he hid his face in his beer. The blonde in his lap giggled.
The girl beside Belthazor looked stunned. "Ohh," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face. "You made that sound like you mean it."
Belthazor raised an eyebrow. "And why wouldn't I?"
She scanned his face, as if trying to read his deeper thoughts. It was obvious from the look on her pretty features that she was uncertain what to think. Did he mean the kind words? Or was her new escort pulling her leg? Belthazor chortled inwardly as he saw the questions flash across her face.
"What is your name, Miss?" he asked with a gentle smile. "Mine is-" He hesitated. Raynor's voice sounded in his head. 'Always be careful about unveiling your identity, Belthazor.'
"Cole," he said, grasping at a barely recollected memory. "Cole Turner." A good thing the girl's eyes were fixed on his features, or she would have noted the look of surprise on Tarkin's face. "And this is my friend."
"Tarkin," Tarkin said, leaning forward to feast his eyes on her cleavage. "So nice to meet you."
The blonde pushed him back and nestled her head against Tarkin's shoulder. "I'm Susy," she quipped.
"Emily," the dark-haired girl introduced herself.
* * *
It was three beers and two brandies later that Belthazor got to his feet and held out his hand to Emily. He honestly liked her. Although she was a working girl, she was intelligent and possessed a quick wit that he found quite refreshing after the murky politics of the Underworld. It wasn't by choice that she worked in the Melody Ballroom; she was trying to save up enough money so she could buy herself and her little brother passage west.
She smiled a promise at him as she accepted his hand so he could help her get up from the bench. "I have a room upstairs," she whispered in his ear.
"Then let's not wait any longer," Belthazor whispered back just as softly. She giggled. Belthazor couldn't remember how many glasses of bubbly liquid the barman brought her, but it was obviously more than she was used to. He leaned down to kiss her deeply.
She studied him for a few seconds, a little breathless from his kiss. Again, he found her thoughts easy to read. He made her uncertain; he was so different from other patrons. A part of her wanted to believe the illusion, his seduction of her.
She led him up a narrow flight of stairs and into a small room with burgundy curtains that shut out the light. A neatly made bed stood in the middle of the floor. To the side was a nightstand with a water pitcher and a bowl.
Emily closed the door behind them. For a long moment, Belthazor just stood there. Despite the bravado, he was suddenly unsure what to do next. He didn't like the feeling; it reminded him of his spineless human half.
"You have never done this before, have you?" Emily asked. She chortled. "That's okay, I'll help you." She reached for the buckle that kept his belt closed.
Belthazor proved an eager student, as always. It didn't take him long before he caught on to the rhythm. When his lust was satisfied, he let out a groan of contentment and slumped across Emily's naked body.
A kick against his ankle pulled him from the pleasant buzz. "Belthazor, get up," Tarkin commanded, kicking him again.
"What-" Belthazor mumbled, pushing himself up and away from the girl. Then he realized that Tarkin had called him by his true name and angrily he whirled around. Something blue streaked past him, singing the hair on his arms, and Emily exploded into orange fire.
His human half filled with pity at the sight, while his demonic blood bubbled with pleasure at the flames, the evidence of their power.
"What in hell did you do that for?"
Disclaimer: this story is based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series Charmed. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.