The Devil's Fool (Devil Series Book One)

www.RachelMcClellan.com

This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover design by Rebecca Hamilton
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright © 2014 by Rachel McClellan
All rights reserved

When the darkness comes, keep an eye on the light—whatever that is for you—no matter how far away it seems." –Jan Berry

I always knew my father was a monster, but watching him torture someone other than me made me ill.

A girl dangled before him, her pale hands clinging to the rope around her neck while her naked toes struggled to touch ground. I leaned over, high on my perch of a Scotts pine tree, and drew in the crisp night air. Normally the smell of our home’s dense woodlands—a rich earthiness laced with the aroma of an approaching storm—would’ve soothed my nerves, but nothing could calm the growing turmoil in my gut. The scene below wouldn’t allow it.

The towering full moon shined into the forest’s wide clearing, spotlighting four figures as if they were actors in a play. My father stood at the center, pacing near the young girl, stage left. I’d seen her once from the window of our home. She was the daughter of our closest neighbor, almost a mile away. We resembled each other with our honey-blonde hair, though she may have been a year younger. Sixteen, maybe.

Her mother, Madelyn, kneeled to the right, hands clasped together and tears pouring from her eyes. She was wearing only her nightgown.

And finally, there was my own mother—a mere spectator in this production. She sat on a blanket spread out on the grass; her long black gown gathered up, exposing her thin legs all the way to her thighs. Even the chill in the air didn’t seem to faze her. The only thing holding her attention was a jasmine plant resting in her lap, which she repeatedly plucked leaves from and tucked into a leather pouch.

“Please, stop.” The girl coughed, her hands tugging on the rope.

“You’re begging the wrong person,” my father said, his gaze focusing on Madelyn. “You have your mother to blame for this.”

The rope tightened, and the girl’s legs kicked harder. Strangling her wasn’t enough for him; he had her feet only a blade of grass away from the ground, as though her false hope was some sort of sick tease.

As the pain in my stomach worsened, I doubled over. My balance slipped, and I almost lost my precarious seat on the thick limb. But then I vomited, sending my dinner onto the branches below. I worried I might’ve been heard, but a growing wind smothered my sounds. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and inhaled deeply; cold air rushed into my lungs, and for the moment, the pain in my stomach subsided.

The girl tried to speak again, but the noose tightened further, silencing her. For a moment, it sounded as though she’d been trying to say “Mama”.

“Please, Erik,” Madelyn said, her arms outstretched. “I will take back my words. I’ll tell everyone I was drunk, that I mistook what I saw. Please!”

Madelyn had been speaking like this for some time, trying to convince my father that those in his affluent circle of New York’s upper class would easily discount her accusations, but my father only watched the girl, using only the power of his gaze to tighten and release the rope. The noose itself was just as disturbing to look upon as the dangling girl–it hung from the air as if tied to an invisible tree limb.

“Please,” Madelyn begged again. “You’re not devil worshipers. I see that now. You’re more like Gods.” She gasped at this revelation and forced a smile. “Yes, Gods!”

This got my father’s attention. His gaze bore into her, and she cowered. “You
people
,” he said. “How is it you can still believe in the power of God, but not in the power of anyone or anything else? It wasn’t so long ago that world believed in witches. Why should now be any different?” He leaned close to her face. “But you believe now, don’t you?”

She nodded quickly.

“You thought we were devil worshipers. Why? Because you saw something that frightened you?” He straightened. “
We
worship
no one
, understand?”

She nodded again but cried out when the noose constricted even tighter, her daughter’s arms falling limp. “No, please! No one believed me! They thought I was crazy!”

“Damage to our reputation has been done. You made them question us.”

Though I was hidden well behind the pine branches, I saw the girl’s eyes bulge from the pressure around her neck. A blood vessel must’ve have popped, because the whites of her eyes now shined red.

“No! Please,” Madelyn said. Tears spilled onto her bare trembling shoulders. “Take me. Let her go!”

His head held high, my father tugged on the sleeves of his tuxedo, lengthening them around his wrists. By the way he was dressed, he had probably just returned from another fundraising event for the next mayor of New York City. Elections were in one month. It monopolized a large part of my parents’ time.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “A lesson needs to be taught. I need to make sure you never say another word again.”

“Then take me! Kill me!” Her sobs drowned her words.

My heart ached for Madelyn. I wished desperately I wasn’t so terrified of my parents. Maybe if I was stronger, I would—

“I can’t kill you,” my father said. “Not after accusing us of such ugly things. It would appear suspicious. But a suicidal daughter of a deranged mother—well, now, that only proves our case.”

In what I can only imagine was an act of desperation, Madelyn sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. “But, Sir, if you kill her, then what will stop me from telling the whole world what you’ve done?”

It was at this moment my mother finally decided to speak. Keeping her eyes fixed on the jasmine, she said, “You have two boys at home, correct?”

Madelyn’s head jerked toward the cool voice. “You stay away—”

“Erik, dear,” my mother said, rising up like a ghost from its grave. “I’m bored. Are we about finished?”

He inhaled deeply, nostrils wide. “These things take time,
dear
.”

My mother returned his venomous glare. “Actually, they don’t.” With a flick of her wrist, the rope tightened and cut into the girl’s flesh. Her body convulsed for several seconds until blood pulsed from the wound, covering her in a blanket of red.

I cried out, but quickly covered my mouth; my terror was masked by Madelyn’s relentless screaming.

They killed her. They actually did it.

And in that moment, when the forest swallowed a young girl’s soul, hatred for my parents seared my heart.

I remained hidden while my mother returned home and my father oversaw the pitiful efforts of Madelyn calling the police to tell them that she had found her daughter dead in the woods. A suicide hanging. When my father finally passed below me, I held my breath. I didn’t want to inhale any part of his evil wake. This terrible power was what corrupted everything around him, and I wanted no part of it.

I waited until I could no longer see him before I moved. Under my breath, I whispered a command. The great branch of the tree lowered, taking me with it. When it bent as far as it could, I leapt to the ground. For most people, the fall would’ve injured them, but when I said, “Extendam,” the ground stretched and lowered, softening my impact. Once the earth returned to its natural state, I walked away.

This would be the last time I would ever use magic, I vowed. My parents had been trying to get me to use it for as long as I could remember, but now I knew why I had kept my abilities a secret. Deep down, I must’ve known how my powers would change me—turn me into heartless monsters like them.

But not now.

Not ever.

I would rather die than be like them. From that day forward, I was no longer a witch.

A splash of cold water hit me in the face. The shock of it forced me awake, and I gasped for air.

“You shouldn’t sleep in, Eve,” said Jane, my tutor and sometimes an unwilling maid. She held an empty glass in her hand.

I moaned and pulled the covers over my head, already wishing the day away. Tonight, Erik and Sable, my father and mother (though I’d never call them that again after what I’d witnessed in the forest several weeks ago), were hosting an early All Hallows Eve ball to try and raise more money for their political favorites. It was also my eighteenth birthday, but like my other birthdays, it would go unnoticed.

“Why are you here so early?” I asked from beneath the covers.

It was a Saturday, and Jane only showed up on weekdays to tutor me. I wish I went to an actual college, having obtained my high school diploma almost a year ago, but my parents said that was only for good kids who did what their parents wanted. And since I wouldn't use magic, I was never able to attend any type of public school.

“As if I had a choice,” she said. “Your parents wanted me here early to help you get ready, so get up so I can get out of this hell.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled and sat up. I was painfully aware of how much she and everyone else who worked for my parents hated the employment, but either the pay was too good to pass up, or they were too afraid to quit. Jane had been working for us for almost ten years. She was almost old enough to retire. “I can dress myself.”

“Not according to your mother.” She jerked the covers from my lap. “Hurry. You don’t want to make her angry.”

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, cringing when my bare feet touched the marbled floor. “Is she ever anything else?”

“Yes—terrifying.” Jane fumbled through my closet, her wide backside knocking several of my schoolbooks off a chair. She handed me a black slip. “Put this on. Your mother is coming.”

“Why?”

Jane’s pudgy fingers wiped sweat from her forehead. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun; parts of it were already falling loose. “She wants to make sure you look your best. Now hurry!”

She took a deep breath and fled the room.

This worried me. Sable never cared how I looked before. Something different was going to happen tonight, and with my parents, different was never good.

I removed my gown and pulled on the slip. Goosebumps broke across my skin, but I don’t think it was because I was cold. I moved to my vanity and combed my hair. After the restless night I’d had, thanks to another nightmare, it would take time to untangle my long tresses.

Just as I set the brush down, Sable burst through the door, bringing with her a gust of icy air and two women I’d never seen before. Her face, framed by gold hair curlers, was the same color as her white satin robe, making me think of a blizzard. Instinctively, I pulled my arms against my chest.

“You slept in.” She said the words as if I’d committed a treasonous act.

I glanced at my alarm clock. A little after eight. I kept my voice calm. “Did you want me up sooner?”

“I want you to use your brain. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

Sable’s thin upper lip twitched; her left eye mimicked the movement. I might have considered her beautiful if it wasn’t for the hateful expression permanently plastered to her face.

Sable closed the distance between us. She smelled like jasmine and my father’s cigars. I’d learned early in life that those smells brought pain. Inwardly, I trembled, but I willed my stomach not to churn.

“This is a rat’s nest,” she said, grabbing a fist full of my hair and snapping my head back. “If tonight wasn’t so important, I’d have it shaved.” She let go of my hair and inhaled deeply. “This is going to take a lot longer than I thought.”

The next two hours were a whirlwind of demands and insults. The two women Sable had brought with her were hired to help me look my best. I’m sure Sable had paid a high price to find the very best stylists around. The dress she chose for me was a backless, blood-red evening gown she’d purchased from some designer I’d never heard of. This was not like Sable at all, who could care less how I dressed. It was Erik who purchased all of my clothing for the times they wanted to parade me in public, which wasn’t often.

After I dressed, Sable instructed one of the girls to sweep my hair up into a tight French twist, leaving no strand out of place. The poor girl, who couldn’t help but check the time on her phone every few minutes, had to redo the style four times before Sable appeared satisfied.

“Can we do anything about her green eyes? I prefer blue,” she said, her lip twitching again.

The girl frowned. “Do you want her to wear contacts?”

“You’re useless,” Sable snapped, but she continued to stare at my eyes as if conjuring a spell.

I remained silent throughout the entire ordeal. I’d learned long ago that it was easier to endure than to open my mouth, even if I was trying to help. Sable looked me over one final time and left with a flick of her wrist and an unsatisfied grunt. The two women followed after her.