The Imp Prince Read online

  That meant Lyndon had a choice.

  He could wait until Ferdinand sent someone else to finish the job. Or he could leave the ruins and all connection with his previous life.

  Or he could seek some way to strike back.

  Such was Lyndon’s combination of anger and despair and new-born hate for his cousin that there was really only one option.

  He wanted revenge.

  He had no time to incite a rebellion among the servants as Ferdinand had accused him of planning to do. He could not enter the Keep swinging his scythe like a weapon and hope that he met Ferdinand before he ran out of strength.

  But there was something he could do.

  Quite by chance, he’d found himself surrounded by books filled with dark lore. There was a pentagram burnt into the floor that even now looked ready for use.

  And he had a supply of fresh human blood.

  Lyndon didn’t know if what he planned was even possible.

  But he intended to find out.

  Chapter 7: Summoning

  He followed the directions he found in the book as precisely as possible.

  The preparation took the longest. Lyndon had to cut Jules’s heart from the dead man’s chest. He managed it using a combination of garden shears, a handsaw to cut through the ribs, and Jules’s own knife to slice through the veins and supporting structures.

  Only his lingering drunk combined with his ongoing hate for his cousin allowed him to do so without retching or giving up part way through. Although by the end he was curling his lip in disgust at the feel and sight and smell of it all, his hands were steady enough to get the job done.

  Despite what he’d thought at the start, it wasn’t a need for revenge that drove him. Not precisely. It was a combination of that and an understanding that if his cousin was prepared to set his footmen to murder, then Ferdinand would likely never let him be. The housekeeper could argue until her tongue withered and died, and Ferdinand would pay no attention.

  It seemed that in Ferdinand’s mind, Lyndon was set against him. Perhaps that madness would fade over time. Or perhaps, as had happened with his mother, it would grow stronger.

  With Jules’s heart gripped firmly in his bloodied hands, Lyndon snarled in anger. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted any of it. To even think of killing a man and holding his heart in his hands was nothing short of monstrous.

  Yet he would not back away. He had chosen his course, and he would see it through.

  Likely, the end result would be nothing more than failure. But if it were possible, if any man could, then Lyndon would raise a demon and set it upon his cousin. Just as Ferdinand had set Jules on him.

  As per the book’s instructions, he pierced the largest part of Jules’s heart and drained the blood from it into his goblet.

  Then, carefully, he dipped his fingers in the blood and drew the symbol of the demon Arosat within the pentagram on the floor, while at the same time reading aloud the words he saw on the page.

  “Haec est dies, et furorem irae, anima mea in cinere, ardet Cor Meum, est sanguine bullienti, hoc iram in die irae et, et est videre in statera bina favente.”

  As he spoke, he felt the air grow colder. And yet, his own blood became somehow warmer, as if the words were drawing all heat toward him.

  The book had warned him that this might happen, but still, he was surprised. A large part of him hadn’t expected any tangible result for his efforts at all. It shook him a little to know that what he did might be possible.

  Almost, he hesitated. But then he remembered what Ferdinand had said and done. He hardened his heart and gritted his teeth and quickly lit the thick candles that stood at each corner of the pentagram.

  Then he continued the chart.

  “Me defensorem evocant, vellem fortis evocant, ego daemonium evocant Arosat!”

  A cold wind swirled within the basement. The candles flickered but didn’t go out. Lyndon felt his heart start to boil, and repeated his chant from the beginning again.

  “Haec est dies, et furorem irae, anima mea in cinere, ardet Cor Meum, est sanguine bullienti, hoc iram in die irae et, et est videre in statera bina favente.”

  This time, the wind was stronger. The trapdoor banged open and shut. Lyndon’s blood was pounding in his temples so hard that he feared his head might explode.

  Still, he continued. He was determined to see this through, no matter the cost.

  “Me defensorem evocant, vellem fortis evocant, ego daemonium evocant Arosat!”

  All at once, a great gust of wind blew into the room. The candles were snuffed out in an instant, leaving only Lyndon’s oil lamp for light. Lyndon’s head throbbed as if he’d been hit with a club. His heart was beating faster than it had done during his fight with Ferdinand, or even when Jules had attacked him.

  He’d never been so scared in his life.

  And yet, once the gust faded, everything was strangely thick and silent. It was as if the wind had packed the basement with too much air while simultaneously blowing all sounds away.

  The stench of sulfur filled Lyndon’s senses.

  He blinked. It took a moment for his eyes to readjust to the gloom.

  When they had, he found himself staring at the disembodied, ghostly face of a demon.

  It was insubstantial enough that he could see right through it, and yet there was no doubt it was real. Pale red in color, the face could have passed for a human were it not for the large, curled horns growing out of its temples. And its eyes. Its eyes were as black as coal, as black as Lady Ivy’s eyes, hard and soulless and as evil as anything Lyndon could ever imagine.

  When he had been chanting, the wine in his blood had protected him from the harshest of truths. It had made him feel disconnected, as if what he had seen and done hadn’t been real.

  It had protected him from the worst of his fear.

  Now, he was suddenly sober. That meager protection was gone.

  He stared into the eyes of the demon with all of his fears laid bare.

  In truth, he hadn’t expected the summoning to work. And now that it had, he felt a visceral terror the like of which he’d never experienced before. The demon was real. He had summoned it. And it was looking at him with such evil that he felt his knees quake and his innards turn to water.

  If he’d had to look at the demon any longer, he might have collapsed where he stood or thrown up on the spot.

  He only saved himself from doing one of the other by turning his head.

  “Who dares to summon Me!” the demon said in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

  Lyndon couldn’t help himself. He was compelled to look and saw that the demon’s teeth were fangs.

  For a moment, he was frozen in fear. He could do nothing but stare at the translucent, disembodied head that floated above the symbol he’d drawn in the pentagram. His brain refused to function. And yet, the demon had asked a question. It demanded an answer.

  Lyndon turned back to his book. He found the section he wanted and prayed that his tongue wouldn’t fail him now.

  “Adiuro vos iterum ira, adiuro vos iterum dolore, adiuro vos oderint ter, adiuro te statim ultra in nomine tuo, ad hanc iram in die irae et frugibus suis circum nos tibi daemonium Arosat!”

  As he started to speak, Lyndon’s fear began to fade. At the same time, the demon’s expression gained a hint of doubt. As the incantation continued, the demon’s doubt turned into rage. It howled and cursed and gibbered in tongues that Lyndon couldn’t understand.

  He nearly paused in his reading, but somehow he knew that doing so would be a grave error. So he pushed on, determined to finish it.

  The demon shrieked and thundered at him to cease his pronouncements.

  But Lyndon didn’t listen. He read the words all the way to the end, and when he was done, he felt triumphant. He slammed the book shut on the last word and glared at the demon as if at an equal.

  “Now, Demon Arosat, you are in my power! You will do what I command of you!”

  Fo
r a moment, there was silence. The demon had ceased its howling and gibbering and cursing. It stared at him with malevolent hate, its ghostly features flickering in the light of the oil lamp.

  It was silent for so long that Lyndon began to fear he’d made a mistake. Had he mispronounced a word? Was the binding not complete?

  Was the demon about to reach out from the pentagram to wrest his soul from his body?

  Then the demon spoke once again.

  “Your will, master,” it said, seething in anger.

  For the first time since leaving the Keep, Lyndon started to smile.

  Chapter 8: Darkwood Keep

  “I want power,” Lyndon said. Now that the demon had acknowledged Lyndon as its master, Lyndon was no longer afraid.

  He was angry instead. Angry at Ferdinand and everything that his cousin had done.

  “I want the power to become invisible when I wish. I want the power to cross in one moment great distances. I want the power to fly, to go through the ground, to pass through solid objects without dying.” Lyndon gritted his teeth and spat out the words. “I want that power to hurt Ferdinand as he has hurt me.”

  The demon glared at him with a loathsome expression.

  “It is not in my nature to be able to grant powers such as this. There is only one way —”

  Lyndon’s anger was such that he didn’t want to listen to the rest of the demon’s words.

  “If there is a way, then do it!” he said.

  The demon looked at him for long moments. Perhaps it was deciding whether or not to explain further. In the end, it simply nodded.

  “As you wish,” it said.

  And with that, the demon left the confines of the pentagram. It reared up within the basement until it filled every available corner, and Lyndon felt an instant of panic.

  Like a collapsing wave, the demon plunged into Lyndon’s body.

  He had no defense. He raised his hands and gave voice to an inarticulate scream of pure horror.

  Lyndon had a moment of panic where he wondered what he had done, and then the demon flooded his senses.

  He felt its laughter and glee and realized he was outmatched, overwhelmed.

  Then there was nothing.

  <<<>>>

  Lyndon didn’t know how long it took to come back to his senses. He knew only that when he woke, he was not as he had been.

  He was still Lyndon, still Ferdinand’s cousin, with all the memories and thoughts that he’d had in the past.

  But he was something else as well. He could sense the demon within him, its passions and hate. He knew it was there and understood that it was somehow now part of him.

  Lyndon also knew that he had been granted the powers that he desired.

  He felt strong. Invulnerable. Filled with abilities that he’d never before known.

  He and the demon were one.

  Despite his panic when the demon attacked, Lyndon felt like laughing. He did so, for long minutes.

  Then he focused his mind on Ferdinand.

  In the blink of an eye, he was back in the Keep.

  <<<>>>

  Lyndon moved through the Keep like a ghost, invisible and undetectable, but filled with grim purpose.

  He’d been away for less than a day, and so much seemed to have changed. Though not yet late, the atmosphere was completely different from what it had been.

  The mood then had been somber. The staff had continued to do their work but had been mindful of Lady Ivy’s condition. They tiptoed and spoke in whispers, and where possible, they altered their routines to fit around her needs.

  Even so, there was a quiet bustle of activity that never seemed to end. The kitchen was always busy. Work was always being done.

  Now, it was different. The mood had changed from somber to funereal. Somehow, even though Lyndon had thought the Keep to be bleak and grim before, now it truly lived up to the description.

  It even seemed colder, as if the stone walls could no longer keep any warmth inside at all.

  Lyndon knew intuitively what had happened. In the time that he’d been gone, Lady Ivy had died. The people of the Keep were in mourning. And if they weren’t, then they at least respected the needs of those who were.

  On another day, Lyndon might have been tempted to respect that grief. He might have quietly withdrawn, to return and wreak his vengeance at a later time.

  But on this day, he had a demon within him. He was filled with its strength and power.

  Ferdinand could have sent word that his mother had died. Instead, he’d sent Jules with a knife.

  With a surge of hate, Lyndon gave voice to the demon’s power.

  “Ferdinand!” he yelled, calling himself to his cousin with an inhuman cry.

  Without transition, he found himself standing at the foot of Lady Ivy’s oversized bed.

  Ferdinand was there. He was kneeling at the side of the bed, grieving, his misshapen face wet with tears.

  Lyndon made himself visible.

  Ferdinand looked at him with an expression of shock, which quickly turned into horror. Lyndon didn’t know it, but his eyes were those of the demon, as black and hard as lumps of coal.

  Lyndon allowed his hate to show, and Ferdinand flinched back.

  “You — you can’t be here!” Ferdinand stammered. “You are dead!”

  If Lyndon needed any further proof that Ferdinand had ordered his murder, those few words were enough.

  “Do I look dead to you?” Lyndon asked. He gave his cousin a broad, nasty grin. As with his eyes, his teeth had taken on the appearance of those of the demon. They were pointed, like fangs.

  Ferdinand turned white with terror. “You are a demon!” he cried.

  It wasn’t the first time Ferdinand or his mother had leveled the accusation, but this time, there was some truth in it.

  Lyndon stopped smiling and offered a snarl to let loose some of his rage.

  “You threw me out!” he yelled. At the same time, he launched himself at Ferdinand in the same way that the demon had launched itself at him. He flowed through the room, picked his cousin up by the lapels, and crashed him into the wall.

  “You tried to have me murdered! And all because of some paranoid fear!”

  Lyndon pressed his cousin into the wall hard enough to make Ferdinand gasp in pain. His expression was a mixture of awe and shock. He tried to babble a response, but Lyndon wasn’t listening.

  “I tell you this truly, cousin,” he spat in Ferdinand’s face. “I have never wanted your Keep! Your justification for your accusations was false! And while your mother viewed me with naught but suspicion, she took me in when I had a need. She is family! I grieve for her also!”

  Ferdinand was making short, gasping noises. It was unclear whether or not he heard Lyndon’s words or could make sense of them.

  Lyndon snarled at his cousin. He took one hand from Ferdinand’s lapel and smashed it into the wall beside his head. Ferdinand gave a squeak of terror and moaned.

  “Please,” he whimpered. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you say. The Keep is yours. Just let me go.”

  Tapping into his own rage and the malignant hate of the demon all at once, Lyndon let out a roar of pure fury.

  “I do not want your Keep!” he bellowed.

  Ferdinand, still held by Lyndon against the wall, tried to shrink into his jacket, as if he was hiding from what Lyndon might do to him.

  And all at once, Lyndon had had enough.

  “But I don’t want you to have it either! You tried to take everything from me. Now you will see what that feels like!”

  With that, Lyndon deliberately grabbed a handful of Ferdinand’s oily hair and ripped it from his scalp.

  Ferdinand screamed. He brought his hands up to his head as if to protect himself, but he was already too late.

  “What does it feel like?” Lyndon demanded. He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he hit Ferdinand very hard in the stomach, mimicking the blow Lyndon had suffered during their fight.
<
br />   All of the air exploded from Ferdinand’s lungs.

  “What does that feel like?” Lyndon demanded.

  Even if he wanted to, Ferdinand couldn’t answer. He was struggling for breath.

  “You sent Jules to murder me!” Lyndon said. “He would have sliced my throat with his dagger. This dagger!”

  Still holding Ferdinand against the wall with one hand, Lyndon drew the weapon from his belt.

  “No! Please!” Ferdinand gasped with what little breath he still had.

  Perhaps it was the demon inside him. Perhaps it was his own rage and hate. Perhaps it was the pent up frustrations of living with Ferdinand and his mother for so many years.

  Whatever the reason, Lyndon didn’t listen to Ferdinand’s pleas. He drew the knife sharply across his cousin’s throat, opening the flesh all the way to the bone.

  Blood spurted. Ferdinand gagged and choked. His hands and legs jerked spasmodically, but there was nothing more he could do.

  Lyndon held him against the wall and watched him die with a sneer on his face.

  <<<>>>

  When it was over, Lyndon let the body of his cousin go. It collapsed onto the floor.

  Lyndon shuddered. His anger and hate had drained away with Ferdinand’s life. He’d killed his own cousin and was horrified by it. From being so sure and strong just a few moments before, now he was confused. He didn’t know what to think.

  He didn’t know how he felt.

  Had this been his plan all along?

  Did the demon inside him have something to do with?

  Or was the wine he’d drunk still in his blood?

  He turned around to find the housekeeper staring at him from the doorway. There were others there as well, including the young serving maid.

  All of them were looking at him with expressions of horror.

  He staggered over to a wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He brought his hands up to cover his face and said out loud, “What have I done? What have I become?”

  Deep within him, Lyndon felt the demon start to laugh.

  Introduction to The Fae’s Prince

  There are some family interactions that go beyond toxic, verging on poisonous. This next story examines the challenges of trying to leave such a situation for one that is more conducive to happiness and contentment.