Blood of the Devil

Chapter 1 - Singing in the Kitchen

When the boy woke, his sister’s brown eyes glowered down at him. As he groaned softly, clearly awake, relief flickered in her eyes. It was short-lived.

“I’ll kill him.” She said the words simply but harshly, by no means an empty threat.

Groaning again, her brother sat up, watching her stride to the door and fling it open. The old wood slammed against the wall. The boy flinched, but swung his legs out of bed before she could leave.

“I’m fine, Letha. Look.” Pulling himself onto shaky legs, he paled suddenly, a shudder wracking his spine. Letha managed to catch him before he fell.

“You’re far from it, you idiot,” his sister scolded, shoving him carelessly back into bed. With more compassion, she tucked the brown doona up to his chin.

“You’re not fine,” she repeated, “and I’m going to kill him.” The boy sat up in protest, but Letha was already at the door, a venomous look on her face. “If you even put a toe out of bed Hadrian, I’ll kill you next.”

She watched him sink back reluctantly before charging from the room. Her footsteps echoed across the landing. What had once been an entire second floor had been hollowed out, leaving only two bedrooms and a bathroom along with the cavern. Even the light dared not venture into the shadows and the whole place had smelled of sulphur since they’d moved in.

Practically throwing herself down the stairs let Letha tumble into the kitchen within seconds of leaving her brother’s side. When she did, none of the men looked up. There were seven of them crowding the kitchen, each with fiery red hair much like her own, but skin much paler. To anyone else, the charismatic and attractive charades each bore would have been the end of it, but Letha, as usual, saw more.

The man directly opposite her, sitting at the kitchen island with his face buried in the newspaper, licked a finger to turn the page. His forked tongue flicked gently down his taloned finger. When he gripped the pages again, their sharp points tore the paper. Letha’s lip curled up in distaste. The creatures eyebrows rose as he read, and when a lock of hair tumbled into his vision it was his tail that brushed it aside. The scaled rope then continued to whip dizzingly about his head.

“Another shooting,” he said with a chuckle to no one in particular, “murder-suicide.”

A chill swept up through Letha’s feet, settling into her bones. Something brushed against her back, but she knew better than to flinch. Turning slowly, the girl craned her neck to look up, her expression carefully neutral. What stood before her was well over 6 foot, with a head the size of a watermelon. Whenever Letha saw him, she was always put in mind of legends of trolls or ogres. His skin was wrinkled and swelling in rolls, an icky grey-green, and his mouth hung open, leaking.

“Uncle Acedia,” Letha said mildly. Her uncle didn’t move, his unfocused eyes roaming the room.

“Acedia!” the voice was used to being obeyed, “get out of the doorway.”

The creature began to blink rapidly, his face muscles twitching. He morphed, his skin bubbling and twisting. It changed from the sickly green to the pale colour of his brothers, and bright red sprouted from his previously bald head. By the time his transformation was complete, Acedia looked completely like the image he portrayed to humans, though he was still blinking furiously.

“Good morning, Letha,” Acedia smiled, slipping past her. He’d shrunk and was shorter than his niece now. He turned slowly, continuing to back into the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”

Before Letha could reply, his blinking slowed. His smile grew lazy, his mouth dropping, and he was his other form once more. As though immeasurably tired, Acedia drooped, coming to a complete stop to sleep, still standing in the middle of the kitchen.