Page 6 of Demons & Damnation

Whilst the castle itself belonged to The National Trust, the surrounding land and remaining estate attached to it—including the former workmen’s quarters—were left untouched, a taste of days gone by to whoever passed through.

“Doesn’t anyone have sex around here?” Azazel said, wrinkling his nose up in disgust. “Balthazar, I’m serious. I’m not staying here.”

“Shut up moaning, Azazel.”

Scanning his eyes over the fields behind him, Azazel let out a growl of frustration. “I’m not moaning, Balthazar. I’m pointing out a key survival factor here.”

“I’ve never heard of a human dying from a lack of sex, so I think the chances of us doing so are nil. Now, get a move on and follow me.”

Balthazar crossed the empty road, eyeing up the local pub as he walked past it. Lights were on, and a horrible screech sounded over a microphone as someone tried to sing. He ignored it, more interested in following the narrow gravel lined track running alongside it. A thick privet hedge, neatly trimmed at head height, provided a good amount of privacy for whoever ventured down the small lane.

After a few hundred yards, the track opened out into a magnificent carriageway style driveway. An ornate, grey stone fountain sat in the middle, the once stunning equine feature now covered in patches of algae, bird faeces, and years of dirt. The water in the large base around it resembled nothing but a green slime topped with layers of dead leaves.

When Balthazar set eyes on the house, a warm smile warmed his handsome face. Now, this feels like a home, he thought.

Dark red bricks and brown timber window frames gave away the age of the house. Two sides, both sprawling across the extensive grounds, joined together by an awe-inspiring archway entrance porch. The brickwork above the porch had once been white but now held a yellow, aged tinge.

For the first time in years, Balthazar felt the small buzz of excitement deep inside his gut. Even without his magickal abilities, he would have known that this time would be different. This time would be the time for him. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, immersing himself in the reality of this moment.

A long, low whistle cut through his peaceful moment. “Now, this is a house for a party. You done good, little bro.” Azazel clamped his hands down on Balthazar’s shoulders and shook him with excitement. “And we each get a wing to ourselves. An entire wing full of women...I really can’t think of anything better.”

Balthazar shook off his brother’s grip and stalked towards the front door. Trying to hide his irritation failed when he motioned a hand at the solid wooden door, sending it flying backwards on its squeaky hinges like it weighed nothing.

Consumed once again by ill feelings towards his brother, Balthazar missed the friendly, sky-blue energy trying to connect with him. It wasn’t until he stomped his first footstep on the thick wooden floor that the energy materialised in front of him.

“Welcome to the Worthington house. I’m Mildred. I will be your maid during your stay. How can I help you?”

Balthazar stopped dead, his anger notching up a level as yet again, his brother put him off something that could have been vitally important. He stared at the sweet old woman stood in front of him. Boasting the smile of a loving grandmother but wearing the black and white uniform of a maid, she bowed before him.

“Oh, there’s two of you. How lovely. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Peering over his younger brother’s shoulder, Azazel looked at the sight before him. The tight bun on her head pulled her grey hair back off her face. Even edged with wrinkles, her eyes still shone a brilliant blue. Her skin appeared smooth, plump, and full of life.

“Well, hello, Mildred,” Azazel said. “And what might you be hanging around for?”

A sly smile passed over her pale lips. “I am ‘hanging around’ in my home, dear boy.”

“Boy? Really?” He snorted in disgust. “Have you any idea—”

“I know full well what and who you are, Azazel. To be quite frank, if you wish to stay under my roof, you will abide by my rules. I’m afraid that extends to an entire wing of female company, of which I’m sure you won’t be surprised by my forbidding it.” A glassy stare hardened over her eyes. “This is not a brothel, and I shall not have a lady of the night tainting my house under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?”

Azazel grinned. “Yes, you’re making yourself very clear. Your manifestation is quite remarkable. I’ve never seen one of you in such detail. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were live and kickin’.”

Mildred smiled. In one swift, fluid movement, she reached up to her neck, slipping her aged fingers beneath her high frilled collar.

“You know,” Azazel said, pointing his index finger at her and grinning. “I can tell you’re the kind of old bird who was a fine piece of ass in her day.”

In response, Mildred pulled her hand back from beneath her clothes. A gold chain fell down on her chest, its centre point settling between her breasts.

Azazel fell silent when he saw the intricate detail of a pentagram nestled inside a hexagram. “Ah,” he said, scratching his head.

Clasping her hands in front of her once more, Mildred nodded. “I believe we have an understanding?”

Azazel nodded, a sheepish look sweeping across his features.

“Good boy. Now, how about that tea?”

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