Prologue

‘Fractions’

England, 1873

“Lord Blackmoor, we really should not linger overlong.” The solicitor’s words sliced through driving rain as easily as they would a murmuring courtroom on a hot summer’s day. He pulled his frockcoat closer and peered up into the storm. Heaven seemed overly angry tonight and both men caught in the downpour knew exactly why.

Alexander smiled and lifted a finger. He was still waiting for his top hat after all even if brown mop was already plastered tight to his skull. His other hand rested on the slick wall of Blackmoor Manor. He didn’t want to leave home tonight. His wife was entertaining some of their Hindu associates and from the occasional ripple of laughter within having a spot of fun doing so. However this most recent excess needed to be dealt with promptly. Jenny, their servant girl, rushed out into the rain with a frown toward the sky and over to her master.

“Forgiveness Sir but Annulus had a hold of it. You know what an imp that dog can be.” She traded the hat for a peck to her lips and a grope of the side of wet white fabric that clutched at one full breast; both of which Alexander was pleased to give while the solicitor turned his eyes away. The English noble went as far to stroke the firm inside of his thumb against perked nipple.

“Oh, trust me I know.” The green-eyed man rumbled in amusement. “Now get back in there woman and make sure my good wife does not give away all our best spirits.”

“Of course sir.” The maid curtseyed low enough for the sheen across her cleavage to be exposed and met her employer’s eye before rushing back in. Lord Blackmoor brushed his hair back before setting hat atop it and giving it a tap.

“Well then, Charles, shall we?” As usual Alexander was far too pleased with himself. With any luck his wife would drink enough to request Jenny fill his space on the bed until he returned. Settling between their bodies would take away any weather’s chill.

“Yes.” The lawyer narrowed his shadowed gaze and moved off mount one of the horses waiting for them under a tree. Charles would have much preferred to travel by carriage but his better had insisted they travel by horse – to get there quickly of all things before then dallying.

Lord Blackmoor climbed up as well and stroked a hand through the dark stallion’s mane. After the two men shared a nod they rode to the gates and out. The wind whipped leaves from their branches and carried with it foul omen. Both men were sure the black dogs would be on many a road tonight. They were nearly half-way into Devonshire before conversation resumed. The storm had finally lessened in its intensity to allow such.

“You are quite sure about this matter, Charles?” Alexander hissed and lifted a hand while the other remained at the reigns of galloping steed. “Never-the-mind. It sounds exactly like what Chadwick would do. The blighted fool! He shall have witch hunters on us at this rate.”

“It is exactly what he has done, good friend.” Charles’ brow was built for severe looks and many were quite sure he was spat from his mother’s womb with a glare. He leaned forward atop his brown horse and scowled. “Made a mess of the poor woman too and has jested about sending what remains of her back to the abbey from which she came. I believe the man has gone right mad, he has.”

“We are all a bit mad, Charles. It is in the blood after all.” With a sideways grin Alexander ducked under a lashing tree branch. His top hat however was caught and shorn from scalp and into the night. He drew his steed to a sudden halt and cursed.

“Damn it, Alex. We do not have time for such foolery. Look Adambrook Bridge is within sight. We do not have time to delay. Chadwick and his cronies need to be-“The rest of the lawyer’s words were erased as a bolt of red tinged lighting struck the covered bridge not so far ahead. Both men were thrown from their horses as the beasts panicked. Even without smashing to the ground sight and hearing were already wiped away when the old timber exploded as if it had been packed with powder kegs.

“Charles!” Alexander was the first to rise; ears ringing as smoldering flecks of ember fell gently among cruel rain drops. The horses were not in sight but Charles was not too far off, groaning as blood from his scalp mixed with watery mud. The diabolist stumbled to his friend and rolled the man over wanting to get a better look at his wound. It was evident the man was not in peril but would take some time to regain his senses.

It was only then Alex glanced toward the bridge that was no more and his eyes widened. It was not the still flickering remains of wood that jutted out like an exposed ribcage that raised alarm but rather the figure approaching from the wreckage.

The downpour itself sizzled into steam before ever reaching the swarthy man’s skin and even with each jaunty trot of hoofed feet no mud dare mar jet black fur. Magnificent ram horns pushed out of a curly head of ebony hair and slithered under slightly pointed ears. The Black Man’s face was as sharp as one might expect – somewhere between beast and man with a sharp goatee. His eyes glowed dullish red in the night and teeth gleamed like the Ripper’s razor. He had a blood red book under one arm that beat against chiseled flank and quite possibly the biggest cock Alex had ever seen on a man. Then again the Adversary was a creature caught betwixt human and animal.

“No you cannot have any.” The Black Man laughed in a luxurious fashion and wagged a clawed finger at the infernalist. He was looming over Alexander before the fellow had time to blink and offered him a hand up. “Pardon the destructive entrance but it is not as easy to travel up from hell as it used to be.”

“Up?” Alexander found the demon’s hand feverish but strong as he got to his feet. Worried gaze flicked to Charles and then back up. He then recalled his manners and cleared his throat before bowing awkwardly. “My Dark Lord.”

“Now, now none of that rubbish.” The satyr waved the prostration away and was glad the man wasn’t groveling at his hooves or trying to kiss his anus in supplication. He blew out a long breath full of brimstone and looked to the sky. “Lightning strikes from the ground up. I am just glad I have reached you in time ahh…”

Alexander was confounded and silent as the devil opened his red book and flipped along it akin to a forgetful professor. While rain still fell in a steady curtain none of it touched the blood penned pages. The Black Man tapped a word and then grinned sharp.

“Ah the current Blackmoor, Alexander it is. Sorry there have been so very many of you over the years. You are looking well. I am glad you and your friend will still far away. As I said travelling up can be tricky these days.” His long tail with its spade point lashed back and forth. “Well come along man we have a lot to speak about.”

“I… “Alexander nodded before crouching and pulling Charles to his feet. The Devil waited patiently while the Lord helped his good friend under a tree and propped him up against the trunk. Rich green eyes turned back to the goat-man.

“Right. It is good to see some of my disciples recall what it is to be good to one’s fellows.” The razor-sharp grin slit across the Black Man’s lips again before he trotted over and hopped to perch atop a slick rock with inhuman grace. “I am sure you are wondering why I have stopped you from interrupting Chadwick’s impromptu Black Mass.”

Alexander nodded mutely. In all his years of doing Hell’s work on Earth Lord Blackmoor had never actual met the Man with the Red Book. While he was deciding more relaxed and easy-going than expected there was still a stunning aura of power one could not ignore.

“Right.” One bushy black brow arched and horn shifted with it. “Well the simple answer is if it had worked I would be there right now ready to have an orgy and wallowing in infant blood. It really is good for the skin you know. Then Chadwick would get to sell his soul for whatever he wanted which I am sure would involve the snuffing out of your line. We cannot have that now can we?”

“I would rather that did not happen, yes. The question I suppose is why that matters to you.” The human’s voice was far more curious than impertinent. Still he cringed lightly as the words came out of his mouth.

The Devil just cackled and snapped his fingers. Sullied top hat swept counter from the wind to be snatched at the end of talons. Dull red eyes inspected the accessory before he affixed it between horns and growled in satisfaction. “That would be the question. That is why I like you, Alexander. You do not mince words and work for the common good of a society full of villains. Something akin to that anyway. I also cannot afford to have the Blackmoors cease to exist. So I am here to offer you a deal instead.”

“What value does my soul have then, oh Prince of… yeah… what should I call you?” Alex rubbed at the knot on the back of his head. Perhaps this was all just a contusion delusion? It was one thing to practice black magic and meet minor demons but to speak to the Boss himself? He felt he should be more humbled than he was. Perhaps it the fact that the satyr came across less as a master of all things vile and more a friendly mate you run into down at the pub.

“O’ Scratch will work I suspect.” The demon stroked at his curling goatee and then winked. “Your soul? Oh I think I could offer troves of gold or both of your neighbors land or perfect children for it. However I am not here to deal with such a pact today. No this is more about what you can do for me.”

“Oh?” Alexander drew closer as the world continued to cry around them. Charles moaned lightly but still had yet to stir to conscience. The English noble worried that his dear friend might be more hurt than he thought at first.

“Yes indeed. I need you to take a grimoire most ancient off of my hands and add it to your personal library. Simple enough, no?” Was anything simple with the Devil? He scrapped one hoof against rock and hellfire spread from the sparks. It flickered as warm as a campfire and as insubstantial as witch light.

Alex was thankful for it though. He folded arms under mud spattered cloak and nodded. “However I may assist you, Ol’ Nick. You only have to ask. I think the task of putting a book a shelf should be something I can handle. I suppose asking why is out of the question?”

“You would not understand. It is just where it needs to be.” The satyr rolled tongue against sharp teeth before he cocked his head suddenly to look toward town. His face tightened with displeasure. It was not a look any mortal’s eyes should bare so Alex turned his gaze away. “In addition, and this will be a bit more difficult, I need you to fracture the Thirteen.”

“What?” The human was taken aback and stammered for a moment before lifting a hand in a pleading motion. “We have gathered for both our safety and your glory! Have we displeased you in doing so?”

“Not you, Alexander, not you.” With a sniff the Black Man leapt down to the earth and hat slid fashionably to one side of his head. He flexed talons before relaxing. “However there are plans in motion that you know nothing of. Plans I do not approve of. Speaking of which prepare yourself, Lord Blackmoor. We are about to have company.”

Alex didn’t look as the demon came closer. How could he? The goat-man opened his red tome once more and pulled a smaller volume from between two pages and offered it out. His disciple accepted the book without question. It was a rather innocuous thing with a black cloth cover and thick pages. Given that he was a sinful man Alexander gave into curiosity and flipped it open for a peek. It looked like a lot of mathematical diagrams. It was only then he noticed that there was no rain spattering its pages, or his hair, or his cloak.

Verdant green eye rose to take in the stunned carpet of nude forms with their frantic copulations halted in mid-thrust. Alex was in the middle of the tide of sweaty bodies and at a loss for what to do. Above him frozen wings covered with baleful eyes stretched up toward a sky that while cloudy was not storming. Beside him Charles had appeared as well but lacking a tree to hold him up promptly fell backwards into a pair of ripe tits. Have the soft round flesh envelope the back of his skull and the woman who own them squeak was enough to wake him up.

“Alex. Where the hell are we?” The lawyer sat up slowly and held the front of his head with a woozy sound. Above them both the wings shattered into a very thin but icy mist. It lasted just long enough to painfully perk nipples and make erections crawl back up toward warm abdomen.

Alexander took a moment look around and gather the answer to that very query. It didn’t take more than a few moments him to realize they were standing in the Pentagram Grove behind St. Agatha’s. Its dense tree cover obfuscated the blasphemous shape from the eyes of passer byes and at each point the silhouettes of the first five warlocks of the Thirteen stood silent vigil. In the middle of the star and consequently orgy was the Black Mass altar which had not been used in a generation until this night. Its black stone was covered with fresh slick of blood and the shallowly breathing body of a woman atop it.

“Take out your barker if you would, Mr. Ritter.” Alex snapped the book closed hard after giving Charles the order and started toward the profane altar. As his boot crushed defiled pieces of the Host made soggy with blood, urine and other fluids he was thankful for the coating of mud that protected fine leather. His rain cloak warded off lingering cold. His nose wrinkled at the thick musk of sex in the air. Usually it was one of his favorite scents but tonight it made his stomach churn.

“You stop right there, Alexander Blackmoor!” The snarl of a voice didn’t impeded Alexander’s progress but the infernalist looked over. Rufus Chadwick stood and tried to summon up imperial dignity despite being naked and pasty. His fingers to forearms were stained with blood and chest raked with welts from a woman’s nails that was not his wife’s

Lord Blackmoor jabbed a finger in his direction. Fire befitting a priest at Sunday pulpit took over his voice. “Be silent Mr. Chadwick. You are not the leader of this Coven of Thirteen. I am. I would say that I am surprised and disappointed at your brazen disregard for-“

“My disregard!” Rufus was built like a farm boy or back street brawler and his brutal sensuality had attracted many a woman to his bed. At the moment however he puffed up like an angered bulldog. His voice shrilled and blue eyes narrowed. “How about your disregard for our hollowed traditions? If it was not for your failings I would not have had to be the one to lead this Black Mass tonight, coward.”

The assembled witches, warlocks and Satanists remained silent and sat up. The moment of ecstasy had been ruined for them and now it was time to see how the long bubbling fight over power was going to play out.

“The coven in the time of our fathers decided to forgo the ritual. It never worked anyway save for drug fueled delusions anymore and would see us caught and hung.” Alexander kept moving and looked away from his political enemy. His gaze settled on the poor form of the broken woman atop altar. She was in quite an abused state, laying on her stomach and shallowly breathing at best. A great deal of the blood was actually hers; it still oozed from wing shaped wounds flayed in her back. “And what the bloody hell is this? I do not recall anything about slicing skin from the virgin, just deflowering.”

“Cowards! They were cowards are you, Blackmoor.” Rufus’ face was even more hound like as his sneer grew. With a wide gesture and slow look he pointed out the heads of the other Thirteen Bloodlines of Devonshire. “Ten of the families are where with me tonight. Only one has travelled with you and it is the sniveling Ritter.”

“I suggest you keep your insults in line.” Charles frowned deeply and aimed his muzzle at the nude man.

“You do not have the balls.” High on confidence and bloodshed Mr. Chadwick ignore the threat of the gun. Instead he riveted his gaze on Alexander. “In any case the point I that I have the vast support of the Thirteen behind me.”

“Hush, Rufus. I will be with you in just a moment.” On the other hand the master diabolist didn’t look over to the naked man. Instead he settled the volume of dark math down and gently stroked matted hair from the defiled virgin’s face. “Sh. Are you still with us, child?”

The broken nun barely moaned and her eyes struggled to flutter open before falling shut. Alexander recognized her youthful features form a visit to a town over. He’d specifically stopped by the church and attached abbey to catch up with the head priest. It was good to have friends on the other side; it kept him abreast of possible threats. He caressed against the converted Jewess’ cheekbone. She had a classic and somewhat exotic beauty and Alexander well imagined her leaving the faith of her Mother to accept the Christian lie well, this wasn’t how she expected to end up. His fingers slid to her throat and caught death’s encroachment in her pulse.

“This is going to bring witch hunters down on us, Chadwick.” The nobleman growled lowly and threat bubbled in his throat. The woman was going to die any moment. He leaned in to whisper his apologies against the Jewess ear. “What has your little ritual accomplished? Not a damn thing. Did our Dark Lord come and visit you or a single fallen host?”

Alex whirled around with a flare of rain cloak and accusing finger rose once more. Thunder rolled in the air with perfect timing befitting his accusation. The other man cringed in a craven way while the rest of the nude around them moved to cover themselves. Among the crowd the heads of the other Thirteen did not look away from the unfolding scene, nor did they speak up on either side besides Charles Ritter.

“No.” Chadwick’s admission was not quiet or cowed. His wife finally reached him and offered a frock coat to slip into which he snatched away from her with a baleful look and waved her back off to whatever feminine lover she was wooing this evening. Once it was across his shoulders and buttoned Rufus looked back to his better. His eyes were full of loathing and rage. “However that does not mean we should not pay homage to our Dark Lord. You are quite mistaken as well as to the purpose of our Mass this evening. It is not to invoke some far off demon, no not at all.”

From the crowd the other family leaders found courage at random. No one was surprised as the elderly Wilson drew up behind Chadwick with the look of a hungry vulture and a nose to match. His line long had practiced charnel arts most of the Thirteen disapproved of. As Charles walked sideways with firearm still at the ready to Alexander’s side Rufus gained a third supporter in the form of Lady de Luca. Her full Italian body glittered in the dim light with its sheen of sex’s sweat. What the mistress of nigromancy was getting out of the alliance was anyone’s guess.

“Then why? To indulge in your own sick pleasures?” Alexander hissed and shook his head strongly. “We can and have had an orgy without the need for bloodshed and such potentially damning actions.”

“We are all already damned.” With a roll of words off of seed-stained tongue de Luca purred.

“You are a coward. An old woman shivering in the dark that should not be leading this coven or even paying homage to Satan!” Rufus spat and lifted his chin in superiority.

“Oh is that so?” After slapping his hand down on the book Alex skewered his rival with a cruel look. “Then why is it that the Devil himself visited me on the way to break up this travesty and gave me this book by his own hand?”

“Lies.” With a cutting motion of one arm Rufus Chadwick tried to cut that facet of the conversation short. “No one has credibly reported speaking to the Prince of Darkness in decades if not longer. You would like us to believe you are that special?”

“You saw the wings that brought him here.” The youngest of the Thirteen, Israel Hoffman, moved closer to Lord Blackmoor and frowned. He’d just taken time to slip into some pants and now rubbed at scarred side. “We all did. Those were not just a flashy spell. That was a symbol of power, true power.”

“Iz is correct.” While he did not rise from sitting the far too hairy Tolstoi clearly threw his lot in with Blackmoor was thick beard motioned in that direction. He was a bear of a man, in more ways than one. No one in the Thirteen was as good at skin walking as he. “That was a sign and I feel the fool for giving into your madness, Chadwick.”

“You were cheering me on and you know it. Parlor tricks! Just parlor tricks.” Rufus tried to stare the man down before failing and having to look back at Alexander. Everyone was murmuring now and clearly trying to decide on whose side they stood on. This matter would come to a head tonight.

“No. I leave parlor tricks to you.” Alexander laughed bitingly. “Everyone put your clothes on. We are done here. I shall take up your… misconduct at the next meeting, Chadwick. I want everyone to have time to think their actions over.”

“Coward.” Obviously seething Chadwick’s fingers traced out arcane symbols into his coat and started to draw in fell power.

At the moment however the Jewess nun whimpered and then inopportunely perished – and distracted Alex. He turned his tortured gaze down to suddenly still body and sighed with great discomfort. A much as he loathed the Church and used Hell’s powers it was for his own gain and sexual satisfaction, not out of a twisted need to strike back at God like Chadwick and his ilk. Thus despite shouted warnings from the smattering of supporters and friends Lord Blackmoor did not have time to react to Chadwick’s attack.

By the time he turned the scalding hex was already shredding his cloak and skinning away jacket and waistcoat. He smashed back into the stone altar. Pain spiked through his flank and across bones before he slumped. The defiled corpse rolled off from the force of impact crashing against his body and tumbling like a ragdoll onto his legs. The mathematical volume cracked off of his crown and fell open atop the nun’s ruined back. Alex struggled to focus his eyes as the demonic symbol burned into the skin of his chest. The hair there was never meant to smolder unless Jenny was using candle wax. Dimly he was aware that Charles pulled the trigger.

The lead however did not find its mark. Lady de Luca shrieked as she pulled Chadwick down to the ground. Undaunted Charles lined up his next shot not carrying if he hit the Italian whore or traitor. The elder Wilson however was faster with his witchcraft. No one was quite sure where the withered necromancer got the vial of corpse dust from given his boney form wasn’t wearing a stitch. Charles dropped his gun and writhed screaming in agony the second the cloud of pulverized dead hit him. Dozens of unseen claws raked at his body and the blood which spurted out disappeared into thin air. Within seconds he hit the ground quite dead and his line with him.

“Off of me woman!” Always one to look a gift horse in the house Rufus pushed his Italian ally aside and got back on his feet. People were gasping and shouting in alarm at the sudden spurt of violence that had already left one of the cabal dead at another’s hand. This went against every principle their coven was founded on.

Chadwick stumbled forward while preparing to deal the killing blow and with it take over the… well the Twelve now. His breath steamed in the night while unsteady drops fell from the sky. “You asked what this was for? It is all for her glory! You are a coward Alexander Blackmoor and the old goat you serve is a coward. She will see this world finally a-cinder and Heaven’s towers fallen.”

Now Alex really wanted to ask a few follow up questions as Chadwick babbled but it took all his concentration just to formulate some defense, and it was a desperate gambit at that. He leaned forward and curled over the corpse in his lap so he could look at the open book before him. Perhaps it was just the damage to his senses but Alex reckoned there was a reason that the Black Man brought him here tonight with this book and everything fell into place as it did. That and the ink on the page shifted in small ways like a waiting thing begging to be freed. He slapped his hand into the middle of a circle of formula and angles he didn’t quite understand.

“Not today…” Alexander didn’t have the mental fortitude at the moment to form a spell so he pushed all of his considerable will and magic blindly into the living ink. The book bucked like an unbroken horse out of his hand and the pages shredded as writing exited in a torrent. The ink washed not onto him but down into the lacerations which covered the dead nun’s back.

Her lifeless state did not last. Eyes flared wide and she took in an agonized second breath and sat up with a blink. The sudden resurrection gave Rufus pause and energy sagged out of alexander. The wounds sealed up leaving something akin to tattoos of wings behind as the woman looked to at the man who had called her back from the brink. Blood vessels oozed their contents across white until her eyes were nothing more than orbs of wrathful red. Cracked lips pulled away from white teeth and she let out a harmonic hiss. However her blood thirst was not taken out on Alexander. She merely pressed her hands against his chest and thigh before standing up.
He in turn offered her the best comforting smile he could. “I am sorry.”
For a moment rage washed from her face leaving confusion behind as she studied him from within becoming and strong features. Her hair too steadily lost its plain brown hue for something close to brick red.

“I am sorry.” He repeated and closed his eyes not wanting to look at this creature of judgment. , for he knew it to be no fallen angel.

The reborn nun nodded quietly and moved away from the wounded infernalist with feral grace. Fury returned as soon as gaze found the man who had ruined her, murdered her. Rufus made a strangled sound.

“What the hell?!” Chadwick floundered and took halting steps backwards.

“No.” The nun ran forward and drove the over ambitious cultist to the ground with her own weight and savage strength. Several of Rufus Chadwick’s bones audibly broke as they hit the ground but he wasn’t able to scream. Her hands locked around his throat and crushed.

As much as Alex always assumed he would enjoy watching his rival die he found he had not the stomach after all. Even as he used the stone altar to stand he turned his eyes away and down. All Lord Blackmoor had ever wanted out of satanic worship was a few hedonistic pleasures and none of the bloodshed. The last thing he expected to come out of a book the Devil gave him was an avenging angel. Math apparently was a killer.

‘Once she is done with the weakling kill her again.’ The sultry voice slithered into Alex’s grey matter as he leaned heavily against the altar. His unfocused gaze swung around he could not place where it came from. The trees around the pentagram swayed manically. ‘Put her on my altar and kill her again Alex. Oh the glory we shall have.’

“What?” He mumbled trying to ignore Rufus last gurgling breaths. “Who?”

‘You can do it. You can force the agent of Heaven onto this altar and take her life again. Oh that would easily be all I need… yes all that I need to rise.’ The woman’s voice was cast for a bedroom heavy with the scent of self pleasuring, the sort of situation Alex enjoyed walking into the most. As soon as the thought of that smell it invaded his senses. ‘Come, Alexander. Take the reins of destiny.’

“Who?” The question spilled from him again. Rufus stopped struggling and his head cocked at a sharp angle as the nun’s hands twisted.

The scent and voice pushed further until Alex psyche suddenly was filled with visions of the speaker, well more aptly her spacious hips. They had the comfortable slope to them which in their nude state filled a man’s blood with the need to sew his seed deep within them, so soft and pale with enough on each side to hold onto. At their apex her sex gleamed with excitement and was the picture perfect peach shape it should be. Alex’s breath caught and maleness tightened. He felt time slip away and slow as the temptation continued. A pale hand with fingers eager to wrap around his shaft traced down to the very pit of the womanly stomach and then draw the vision up along soft flesh contracting visibly with need. Her chest was ripe with just the right amount of breast and aching nipples.

‘Just lay her down and slit her throat, give me her power and I will be yours, Alexander, body and soul. Oh the things I will do for you, such things no human could ever do.’ The voice worked its way into his lungs with each breath and stoked sexual desire to a fever pitch. Rufus’ weakness had been power and Lord Blackmoor’s was lust.

‘No human could ever do.’ A withered and scaly hand caressed under one breast before twisting the bud atop and pulling it. The rest of the arm attached was as monstrous as the extremity. All of its taunt flesh was covered with golden-brown scales broken here and there by boney spurs. Her chin dipped into view, its shape was matchless begging for ball sack to be rested against it. Forked tongue slithered past plush lips and slithered around the outside of her chin and down to neck. ‘Kill her in my name. Help me rise and Hell with it.’

“Agatha.” Alex shuddered before punching himself in the side of his head. The sudden spike of stars jolted him out of the temptation even if it did little to ease his arousal. After clearing his eyes he glanced over to Charles’ corpse to firmly anchor him back into reality. The long dead witch who had drawn the first Thirteen together was purged from his mind by the time he looked over to the ink-stained woman as she stood up from strangling Chadwick. She didn’t look back at him immediately but scanned over the crowd. So instead Alex fixated on the shape of her ass until she cleared her throat. His fertile green eyes met hers as the red receded back to the edges. Their gazes remained locked for a moment before her tattoos burst into full fledge wings of liquid black.

Without a word she zipped off into the night sky and was gone.

Alexander sat on the edge of blood stained altar and just breathed. Tonight had been insane. Chadwick’s lesbian inclined wife screamed as she collapsed against his body. She even went as far to cradle his head atop boneless neck into her lap.

“Damn you to Hell, Alexander Blackmoor! The Thirteen will not stand for what you have done against it this night!’ Her sharp features turned to Alex as words came out along with globs of spittle.

“Thanks to your husband there is no more Thirteen.” He groaned softly in retort before crouching and gingerly picking up the volume. The black book was shook at her in reprimand. “As the leader of the coven that remains at twelve now I am formally dissolve it. The Thirteen is no more. Anyone who wishes to protest this can take it up with me later. For now I am going to get my friend bundled up and head home…”

No one protested and that was exactly what Alexander did. It was hours yet until he finally moved up the lane to Blackmoor Manor’s door. The sun would be crawling from its cradle soon and morning birds were already singing their praise. He was just damn bone tired. At the door he waived off their butler and did not answer any concerned questions. Instead he picked through a ballroom full of still drunk and sleeping guests as a short cut to the library.

Once there he gave a long and uneasy look at the book of ciphers and magic formula’s gifted to him by the Black Man. He doubted that the devil wanted him to release some sort of angel into the world that was for sure. Just what was this book? He cracked it open and flipped through it as the morning grew rosier. While some of it made sense with his Oxford education a great deal seemed nothing more than gobbity-gook but he was sure it had power. While sucking in his lips Alex closed it gently before sliding into place on the shelf. This wasn’t something for him to solve, of that he was sure. After he gave the spine a tap Lord Blackmoor left the library and skirted upstairs.

Most pleasantly he found Jenny and his wife half-tangled naked and spent against one another in the bed. This would soothe what ailed him for now, that was for sure. Alex quietly stripped and wiggled in between both of them. Both moaned but hardly out of complaint, nor did they rouse so he resigned himself to having to get some much needed sleep. He’d deal with honoring Charles properly after some rest.

As Alex drifted off he wished whatever one of his decedents was supposed to use that book the best of luck.

Fin

Session One

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