Chapter 8: Both Sides/Unnatural Tendencies

New allies, new challenges and maybe...a way out?

Previously in The Devil’s Duet…

In Chapter Seven, Raven’s world spiraled deeper into Lucian’s grip. She found herself increasingly isolated, trapped between the chaos of her relationship with Jefferson and the suffocating hold of her new life. The highs were higher, the lows were darker, and the lines between desire, control, and destruction blurred beyond recognition.

Raven now finds herself at a crossroads with New allies, new challenges and maybe...a way out?

2736 Hollyridge Dr, Hollywood, CA 1981

Seraphina and I took turns passing back notebooks with lyrics for “Here to Stay,” during a writing session at her house under the shadow of the Hollywood sign in Beachwood Canyon as we worked on our long heralded duet.

“Here to Stay” had already been rattling in my head for some time now, originally I wrote this song as a song for myself during my days fresh off my split with Jefferson and my return to the El Dorado. But now, “Here to Stay” was becoming not just an anthemic declaration of freedom but it would soon become a calling card for a young, up and coming artist as the duet would anchor not only Seraphina’s debut, Unnatural Tendencies, but Lore, my long in the works follow up to Playing with Fire.

One thing I had to give Seraphina is that she was a great collaborator, I would give her a page of lyrics and notes and she’d pass the page back to me with numerous lines scratched out with her feared blue felt pen. But in the place of her sizable edits, she’d add helpful pivots and thoughts designed to uplift and inspire as opposed to being cutting and cruel.

And, on top of our camaraderie, creatively speaking, Seraphina was a real girl’s girl. After long sessions writing, we’d take a break and head down to The Lantern, a poorly lit bar on Franklin Avenue to throw back some Jack and Cokes, ward off leery men and on more than one occasion take a few leery men back to Seraphina’s where we’d show the boys who was boss.

But in between the productive work and the fun nights, something darker began to emerge.

Back at Seraphina’s one night after an epic session at The Lantern, the dim light threw soft shadows across the room, giving the rustic house a surreal, almost cinematic feel. The owls hooting outside only added to the ambiance accented by the hum of cars heading up canyon. The guys from the bar lounged comfortably on the plush sofa, laughing over some half-drunk joke, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange passing between Seraphina and me. Seraphina leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper, warm against my cheek, “Raven,” she murmured, eyes glinting with a knowing spark casting across her angular, androgynous face. “Why don’t we show them what it really means to live on the edge? Aren’t you hungry?” Seraphina purred adding, “I could really go for a snack and learn more about my new sister here,” she said ribbing me gently.

Something in her tone dared me to follow her lead, to step over a line I hadn’t even realized was there. I was so careful to keep being on “both sides of the line” such a closely guarded secret but as Seraphina had proved to me twice now, she clearly knew more about me than I knew about her and I was curious to know more. She nodded subtly toward the taller one, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze as she watched me hesitate.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” she whispered, her voice electrified at the thought of her intended target, her words sliding under my skin. “Take what you need.”

There was something in the way she said it—as if she already knew what I was, as if she could see past all the walls I’d built to hide my darkness. Her smile was an invitation, a test, or maybe even a thinly veiled challenge.

I lead one of our prey to the study pushing him down into an arm chair and straddled the young buck’s lap and whispered into his ear, “you're a musician aren't you?” As Seraphina took up the sofa directly across the study watching intently.

Narrowing his eyes towards me he asked as he pawed at my ass, “Yeah, why, you get hot for musicians?”

Far from entertained, I huffed pushing his hands off of me, “Only the real talented ones, and I can tell you’re very talented,” I said with searing intensity as my hunger peaked.

“Oh yeah—how you know that?” He asked in a dumbfounded tone that was one step above chimpanzee and one step below fraternity brother.

The man’s heartbeat thrummed in my ears, steady, pulsing, almost louder than the blood rushing in my own veins. I could feel his warmth calling to me, the quiet, unknowing lure.

And in that instant, I felt her watching me, urging me on.

The taste of his life force filled me, almost intoxicating. When I finally let go, I glanced up, expecting shock or at least some hint of surprise. But Seraphina just looked at me with a soft, almost approving smile, her eyes sharp, gleaming.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

A shiver traced up my spine as I realized—she wasn’t just along for the ride. She was leading it.

Seraphina and I then took turns feeding on the other two woeful boys letting our hold on them go just before draining the life out of them. After we did, Seraphina called out to me in her darkened house. “Raven, help me get them into bed.”

Not sure what she meant, I helped her drag their bodies to her guest room where I piled two of the boys into the bed, their bodies heavy like sacks of cement.

The boy I drained in the study, I laid out on the study couch.

“Thank you,” Seraphina said, “Now,” she added, “Let’s ensure we stay safe.”

I was not sure what she meant but she stood over the two boys in the bed, and in the dark night, the light coming in from the street allowed me to see as she closed her eyes into narrow slits and her lips began to move ever so slightly as she held her hands over the boys foreheads before pressing her palms to their foreheads. I saw her repeat this with the boy on the couch in the study.

“That way they’ll wake up with a hangover and no memory of this,” Seraphina said calmly motioning to me. “They’ll think they tied a few too many on at The Lantern, nothing more,” she assured me.

“Come smoke with me,” Seraphina said beckoning me out to the patio with a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of red wine and a small mirror. I curled up in a papasan chair as Seraphina lit us both cigarettes, took a swig of wine out of the bottle and began tapping out some lines of cocaine on the mirror.

“I think we should talk,” Seraphina said forthrightly.

“I would agree,” I said boldly eager to know more.

“First off,” Seraphina said bravely taking a sniff of a line followed by a swig of wine from the bottle, “I know that you’re a Seeker for Lucian Thorne,” she said as the weight of that truth hit me as no one besides Lucian and Maeve had ever said it aloud.

“And I know all about Lucian Thorne and what he is,” Seraphina said knowingly. “And don’t worry,” she assured me, “I am not here to put a stake through your heart or anything.”

“But,” Seraphina added, “Lucian on the other hand,” she said as my nervousness swelled, “Lucian is an Empusa.”

“A what?” I asked confused.

“A demon from ancient mythology that is a soul-devouring entity. Empusas are shape-shifting, vampiric demons who serve the goddess Hecate. Empusas are known to seduce the young and nubile, to drain their life force, and feed on their flesh and blood.”

Seraphina kept telling me more about Empusas as I heard wild tales of demons serving gods, consuming souls and tricking mortals into becoming shapeshifters who could assume various forms to deceive and lure humans, usually young men and women, into a false sense of security before draining them of their life force.

I kept drinking and snorting to blunt the truth I was hearing as my inner self was screaming as if chained inside a padded room in a dark room where my jailer had forgotten the key.

After I heard all I could think of hearing, I asked Seraphina, “How do you know all of this?”

“Well,” Seraphina confessed, “my mother is a witch.”

My eyebrow must have raised because Seraphina cut me off, “She doesn’t have green skin with flying monkeys if thats what you’re thinking, thats just a silly myth.”

“She is a hedge witch, also known as a siphoner, we learn spells that help us to absorb life from nature, and if necessary, other humans,” Seraphina said plainly.

“Is that how…?” I asked letting the silence ask the question for me.

“I got a record deal?” Seraphina said with a tinge of hurt. “No, but I can see why you would think that, I got my record deal just on pure old luck and passion,” Seraphina clarified.

“Also, when I feed,” Seraphina added, “I can’t absorb talent the way you do, blood is like drinking a glass of wine to me with one hell of a head rush.”

“So,” I asked broaching the next steps very slightly and carefully, “What’s to become of us?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Seraphina asked, “We’re sisters now, we’re going to finish our duet and have a hell of a good time.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked shakily.

“Of course,” Seraphina said graciously.

“Remember that night at El Sol?” I mentioned.

“Of course,” Seraphina said, “Why?”

“I noticed that every time you’re near Lucian, he recoils and seems to not be able to touch you or be very close to you for very long. Do you know why that is?”

“Oh, of course,” Seraphina said as if I asked her where she got her dress, “It’s because Empusas cant be in the proximity of hedge witches for too long, our souls dont work like normal humans, so we give off a bad vibration that Empusas don’t like. Also, because our souls are protected by magic from birth, we can’t fall prey to Empusas’ temptations, we are like a walking puzzle they can’t figure out, when we are around them, it could drive them mad just knowing they can’t have us.”

Taking this in, I asked, “Could you kill an empusa?”

“I could restrain one and give up one hell of a fight,” Seraphina said bravely jutting our her chest, “But only an object sealed with magic can kill a demon that strong - it has to be an object that’s been imbued with a spell designed to separate the demon from their human form, release the human souls they hold and send the demon back to hell.”

So this was what he was—a demon feeding off the promise of stardom, weaving shadows that bound and betrayed. And somehow, I’d let myself be woven into his web. In the stillness of the night, a night of so much revelation, I sat here enshrouded in the darkness but also comforted by it, too, for the first time possibly ever since I gave into this pact, I actually had a friend, someone who understood me and didn’t judge me.

As we sat under the night sky, the streetlights casting long shadows on the patio as the canyon breeze blew the tree limbs which shattered the moonlight hitting the deck as the branches shook, Seraphina took a slow drag of her cigarette and looked past me, her eyes glazed as if she were staring into a distant memory she hadn’t visited in years.

“You know, Raven,” she said finally, her voice barely more than a murmur, “I didn’t always understand what my mother was.”

Me too, and I still don’t I thought. The way she said it made a chill crawl up my spine. I watched as she absently twisted a silver ring on her finger, her gaze distant.

“She was a hedge witch, yes, but it was more than just spells and potions. She had… rituals.” Seraphina’s voice took on an almost reverent tone. “There was one she performed every year on the longest night of the year, a ritual that went on until dawn. I was nine when she first let me watch.”

I could see her shiver slightly, the memory rippling through her like a forgotten echo. She took another drag, her fingers trembling just a little.

“Mother would start by drawing a circle in salt, right in the center of our living room. She’d lay black candles around it and place a bowl of ash in the center—ash from the bones of a fox she claimed had been gifted to her by the spirit of the forest.” She paused, the words hanging heavily between us. “She called it a ritual of resistance. Said it kept her blood ‘protected’—untouchable.”

Seraphina looked at me then, her gaze piercing. “I remember her whispering incantations that I didn’t understand, her voice soft, almost like a lullaby. But when she reached the climax, she’d lift her hands over the ashes, and the strangest thing would happen. I could see… shadows, like figures circling her, like they were trying to break through.”

I felt a prickle at the back of my neck. “What were they?”

She shook her head slowly, still lost in the memory. “She never told me. But they were desperate, Raven. These shapes would press against the circle, almost like… like they wanted her to let them in. Her whole body would go rigid, like she was holding something back. And then, just before dawn, she’d let out this…sound, this scream, like she was pushing them back into whatever dark corner of the world they’d come from.”

A shiver ran through me, but I didn’t dare break the silence.

“When she was done,” Seraphina continued, her voice steady but her eyes far away, “she’d look at me, her face pale and drawn. And she’d say, ‘Our blood is a fortress, Seraphina. As long as we honor the spirits and keep our circle unbroken, no one can claim us. No one can pull us into their darkness.’”

She smiled faintly, almost bitterly. “I didn’t understand it then, not until I met Lucian and saw how he looked at me. Like he couldn’t quite figure me out. Like he wanted to unravel me but couldn’t get close enough.”

I glanced at her, feeling the weight of what she’d shared. The kind of life she must have lived, the protection woven around her since childhood. It explained so much—the unshakable confidence, the way she never wavered, even under Lucian’s gaze.

Seraphina took a last drag of her cigarette and leaned back, her expression almost defiant. “He can’t touch me, Raven. Not truly. My mother made sure of that. And if I ever need that strength for you… I have enough to share.”

The words were barely more than a whisper, but they felt like a promise. For the first time, Lucian’s hold on me felt…vulnerable. It was dangerous to even consider, I thought.

I awoke in the morning in Seraphina’s bed, I was hungover, emotionally drained but yet somehow, lighter, the revelations of the night had suddenly and dramatically opened up a part of my soul like a highly sought after apartment that suddenly becomes available in a coveted building.

As I laid there emerging from the night’s limbo listening to the birds, the breeze and the other soft sounds of the canyon drift in through the window, as Seraphina’s words faded into the shadows of last night I felt something settle inside me—a strange sense of ease I hadn’t known since the pact. Seraphina’s understanding, her own darkness, it had a way of pulling mine into the light, if only for a fleeting moment.

With her, the weight of my secrets seemed to lift, no longer solely mine to carry. I didn’t have to stand on both sides of the line alone.

But as much as the comfort settled around me, a flicker of something sharper slipped through it—an edge to the bond forming between us. A kinship like this wasn’t without risk. If anyone could understand what I was, it was Seraphina. And that realization held its own dangers.

She saw through my darkness too easily, like a mirror held up to a part of myself I hadn’t wanted to face. She could see the hunger, the lurking shadows, and part of me wondered if she would make it harder to keep them in check. And if the daughter of a hedge witch could see me so easily, surely there were others on both sides of the line as Marie had foretold out there with unknown objectives and agendas or scores to settle. Seraphina was a sister, yes, but the kind whose closeness could just as easily unravel me. And maybe that was the price of being truly understood.

But if Seraphina could hold her ground against Lucian, maybe, just maybe, I could too.

As we sat in the dim light of Seraphina’s home enshrouded in the loving embrace of the canyon and the darkness that held us, too, the weight of what we were doing—the pact we were forming between each verse, each whispered secret—started to settle over me. Seraphina lifted her glass, her eyes glinting with that unmistakable spark of rebellion, the kind that dared fate to even try to break her. She raised her glass in a half toast, her lips curling into a distinctive smirk as she said, “Here’s to us—the ones who don’t stay down, the ones Lucian can’t tame.”

I felt the power in her words, an electric charge that seeped into my own resolve. I clinked my glass against hers, a smile creeping onto my lips as I repeated her words back, softer but no less daring. “To the ones who can’t be tamed.”

She leaned back, a flicker of fierceness softening as she caught my gaze. “You know, Raven, I don’t think he ever saw you coming,” she murmured, voice low, uttered like a confession. “And I don’t think he could ever handle what we’re about to become.”

I let the thought linger, but more than a thought it was a daring challenge to Lucian hanging in the air between us. With Seraphina, I felt like I was stepping out of the shadows Lucian cast, finding a strength that felt both new and ancient, as if it had always been there, just waiting to be drawn out.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like his haunted songbird, tethered to a promise I’d given in a moment of desperation. With Seraphina beside me, I felt braver. Less like someone being hunted. More like someone ready to fight back.

Cherokee Studios, Los Angeles, 1981

Seraphina and I pulled up to Cherokee Studios just past noon, the sun glaring off the glass entrance that gave the studio an imposing if not intimidating fortress like quality. The building looked modest from the outside, but inside, it was a sanctuary for every rock and pop god who had ever graced the Strip.

Seraphina stepped out first, all legs and leather, her hair perfectly tousled. She paused to put on her sunglasses, squinting up at the building like it was a new lover she was about to seduce. She took a breath, looking up at the building as if the weight of its history was just hitting her. “You know, Bowie recorded here,” she said with a glint of excitement. “And Fleetwood Mac.” Her fingers drummed against her thigh, a slight hint of nerves.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound calm, though my heart beat faster just being there. “And they didn’t have Keith Forsey ready to make them legends.” Keeping my big sister role intact, I said to Seraphina, “You know, you never forget your first time,” I said blushing slightly, “Just be sure to enjoy it, because your first studio day can never happen again,” I said trying to hold down a grin, but the thrill was creeping in, even if I tried to stay cool. The thrill of recording a song I felt really happy about, not just for me but for Seraphina, I couldn’t wait to sing this song to the heavens.

We pushed through the heavy glass doors and were greeted by a wave of cool, dense air tinged with the faint scent of old vinyl and polished wood. Inside, the reception area was dimly lit, with dark wood paneling and old record plaques lining the walls—a silent testament to all the hits born within these walls. Each plaque gleamed like a ghostly reminder of what could happen here: history, legacy, immortality. Or in the case of Seraphina and me: bravery, fearlessness, defiance. We weren’t just fighting to make a hit record here, we were fighting for our souls and so much more.

Keith appeared at the end of the hall, a tall, lean figure with an unmistakable shock of bleached hair, his presence somehow larger than life even though he moved with a quiet confidence. He wore a well-worn leather jacket over a faded band tee, his intense gaze softened by a half-smile that told me he was sizing us up, curious but not unkind. He extended his hand to Seraphina first, clearly familiar with her flair. “Seraphina,” he nodded. “Glad you’re here.”

Then he turned to me, his eyes sharp but friendly. “Raven,” he said, giving me a nod that felt like a small but genuine acknowledgement of everything that had led me here.

“Ready to make magic?” he asked, gesturing toward Studio 1, where our day would really begin. The studio’s heavy doors opened to reveal a space that looked almost sacred—richly layered in thick carpets, soundproofed walls, and a massive mixing console that seemed to pulse with its own life force.

Seraphina wandered to the microphone stand set up just a few feet from the glass, her fingers tracing the mic’s edge almost reverently. Her eyes gleamed as she looked back at me, her nervousness replaced by an electric confidence, like she’d finally stepped into the spotlight she was destined for.

Hovering over her shoulder I whispered, “Enjoy every last fucking second…you’ve earned it.”

Keith positioned himself at the console, leaning over the rows of dials and buttons with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to wield sound as if it were fire. “Okay, ladies,” he said, pulling on his headphones. “Let’s give this a run-through. I want power, I want energy, and don’t hold back on the attitude.”

Seraphina flashed me a look of pure determination, a silent dare. “You ready to show the world what two queens can do?” she asked, voice low, almost conspiratorial.

“More than ready,” I replied, my pulse hammering as I took my place beside her. I held my hand up indicating I wanted one moment alone with Seraphina who I could tell was being overcome by nerves, “Hey,” I said trying to project calmness, “I know you’re nervous, but here’s a way to think about it, m’kay?” I asked as she nodded, “You remember that story you told me about your mom being overcome by all those spirits wanting to break free? And how she did so with that scream? The same thing is happening here, you have to let those nerves not get you, let them swirl around you and try to get you, but you just open your mouth and sing, let it out, scream and push the fear away.” Seraphina smiled and mouthed, “I’m ready.”

And with a nod from Keith behind the glass, the track began to pulse through the room—an atmospheric wash of synth pads, with a deep, driving bassline kicking in right on cue. The electric guitar struck like lightning, a raw edge that cut through the synth’s polished beat. I watched as Seraphina closed her eyes, swaying slightly, letting herself sink into the rhythm, that first spark of performance overtaking her.

Then, with a shared glance, we leaned into our mics, and our voices came together in that opening line, strong and sure, as if we were speaking to the entire city outside. Pianos, synths and guitars roared to life as if rising from the depths to meet our voices.

Out of the night, we take control,

The city’s ours, heart and soul.

We’re running wild, two queens in flight,

Chasing our dreams in the neon light.

The lyrics poured out, and as our voices filled the room, I felt the weight of what we were doing settle in. This was more than a song. This was a declaration.

As we continued to play off each other, the guitars and thundering drums pounded behind us creating an urgent intensity, we weren’t just singing over music— we were the music itself.

We don’t bow, we won’t break,

Every chance, every risk we take.

We stand tall, under the neon sky,

We’re the ones who’ll never say goodbye

Fight for the light, we’ll never fade

We’re burning bright

We’re here to stay

Raven St. Clair & Seraphina Jones - Here to Stay

As the final notes of the chorus echoed through the studio, the room went still, the hum of the amplifiers fading into silence. I took a breath, letting the electric pulse of the song settle in my chest, still vibrating with the beat we’d just given everything to. My pulse raced, a heady mix of adrenaline and something deeper—something that felt like defiance, something that verged on feeling like freedom.

I looked over at Seraphina. She stood there, eyes closed for a moment as if savoring the last lingering chords and banishing the ghosts of anxiety and fear as a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met mine, her gaze steady, fierce. In that single glance, a silent understanding passed between us—a knowing, wordless promise.

“That’s ‘Here to Stay,’ ladies, and I think the Strip is about to get a wake-up call” Keith announced proudly clapping as the sound of his hands meeting each other echoed throughout the studio.

It wasn’t just about the song or the thrill of the studio anymore. It was a pact, an unspoken vow to see this fight through together, no matter what Lucian—or anyone else—threw our way. We had drawn our line in the sand, and as I held her gaze, I knew that we weren’t just making music. We were making our own liberation.

Sunset Sound, 6650 Sunset Blvd, 1981

A shadow moves in silence, where light and dark intertwine,

A life lived quietly, on both sides of the line.

There’s a place in the middle, a space out of sight,

Where whispers linger, just past the light.

Caught in the echo, a choice that remains,

A path that’s hidden, bound to no name.

Both sides of the line, where shadows reside,

Where promises fade and secrets hide.

Living in the quiet, neither lost nor found,

Walking in the spaces where silence abounds.

I’ve seen both sides, and I know the cost,

Of holding to things, already lost.

Between fire and shadow, where nothing’s clear,

The weight of choices, too close, too near.

As I sang the last few lines of “Both Sides” I let the words hang in the air a few moments longer before opening my eyes which had remained tightly closed while recording.

Raven St. Clair - Both Sides

As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw Lucian looking on standing beside my producer Tom Dowd who looked up from his console smiling and clasping his hands together, “Raven,” he said breathlessly, “What do I even say, that was transcendent.”

“Wow,” I said with a tinge of self consciousness, “For not being sure what to say, that’s pretty high praise from such a legend.”

“Dont be so modest, Raven,” Lucian said through the microphone from the booth, ‘Both Sides’ is another hit song on what’s quickly becoming a hit album, Lore is going to become your piece de resistance. It’s going to define the sound of the 80s,” he said in such an earnest way I almost believed him.

The funny thing about Lucian here was that he didn’t know and would never know that “Both Sides” was actually inspired by my night of revelation with Seraphina, It was written to be imbued with a sense of defiance, I was not just singing a catchy tune, I was telling the world what I was, confessing in a way. And in an added bit of irony, Seraphina actually helped me write the song in the first place. I guess in our own way we were striking back at Lucian. Every note, every line, was laced with a truth he’d never hear— the secrets he assumed I kept only for him and in this way I was showing him that pact be damned, I still owned some semblance of my own soul.

“Both Sides” had become my reminder that he didn’t control every part of me, that even within his grasp, there was a place he couldn’t touch, a place real, raw, honest and still wholly mine. And standing in that studio, with Tom looking at me like I’d just spun gold for him from thin air, I felt a rare surge of triumph. For once, the power wasn’t Lucian’s alone. It was like a slow-burning rebellion hidden in plain sight, a quiet victory wrapped in an inescapable melody.