The Devil's Duet: Chapter 3: Dark Ballet
The Price of Admission
Previously in The Devil’s Duet…
In Chapter Two, we stepped back to the beginning—Los Angeles, 1972. Raven St. Clair was just another voice in a city full of dreamers, until a fateful night at the Canyon Club set her on a path she couldn’t turn back from. The music, the hunger, the thrill of being seen—it was intoxicating.
But fame doesn’t come without a cost. And in the shadows of the Strip, something—or someone—was already watching.
Now, in Chapter Three, the offer is made, and the real game begins.
Chapter 3: Dark Ballet
The Canyon Club, 2100 Laurel Canyon Blvd, 1972
Lucian's eyes glittered with an intensity as he surveyed the crowd. "Maeve," he purred, his voice a silken command, "bring our songbird to my suite for a celebratory drink. It's time for her to finally become a star."
Maeve nodded, a subtle smile playing on her lips. She turned to me, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and something darker, something I couldn't quite decipher. "Come, Raven," she said, her voice a hypnotic invitation. "Lucian has something special planned for you."
A shiver of anticipation, laced with a touch of apprehension, ran down my spine. I followed Maeve into the nearest taxi and down the blurred neon of the Sunset Strip. We soon found ourselves trampling through the labyrinthine corridors of the El Dorado, my heart pounding in my chest. We reached a door marked with an ornate gold plaque that simply read “The Córdoba Suite." Maeve pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated room bathed in a soft, golden light.
Lucian stood in the center of the room, his presence radiating an aura of power and magnetism. He gestured towards a plush velvet chaise lounge. "Raven," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. "Come closer."
I obeyed, my steps hesitant, my senses heightened. The air in the room crackled with an unseen energy, a palpable tension that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
"You have a gift, Raven," Lucian said, his eyes boring into mine. "A gift that needs to be nurtured, unleashed."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine. "But power," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, "requires sacrifice. Are you willing to pay the price?"
My breath caught in my throat. "What price?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Lucian smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "The price of greatness," he said, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light. "The price of immortality."
He turned towards Maeve. "Bring her closer to you," he commanded.
Maeve moved with a grace that belied the darkness in her eyes. She pulled me close while Lucian looked on. We swayed softly as if we were dancing to some sort of invisible jukebox. And somewhere in this dark ballet, Maeve reached behind her head and pulled a pin out of her hair.
“Shhh…” Maeve intoned tying to put me at ease.
Maeve dragged the point of the pin across her wrist until crimson ran down her forearm. Holding her wrist up to my mouth she pushed her wrist to my lips. I hesitantly parted my lips as I felt the copper-y, brassy taste of her blood enter my mouth.
"Drink," Lucian said, gently pushing Maeve closer towards me. "Drink, and become one of us."
I stared at her wrist, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel Maeve's eyes on me, urging me forward.
"Drink," she echoed, her voice a hypnotic chant. "Embrace your power.”
I could still taste some of Maeve’s blood on my tongue as I pushed back from her, and in that moment I could see that Maeve was bathed in an otherworldly glow. “What is it?” Maeve asked with an air of concern.
“You’re glowing,” I said stammering.
“That’s the blood,” she told me assuredly, “Your eyes can now see talent as it radiates off of others like I did when I first saw you,” she told me as her words reverberated in my soul.
“That’s how I knew how to find you,” Maeve continued, “For him,” she said motioning to Lucian, “For us,” she continued, motioning to both of us.
“Now you’re one of us, talented, unbound, unlimited, unstoppable. But you must drink to become more powerful. Drink, become the star you’re meant to be, and never die.”
I began backing away revolted at the thought of what I had become, what they were and what they wanted me to be.
Maeve, sensing my fear, pulled up her skirt exposing her thigh.
Looking at me with a knowing stare, Maeve carved the pin into her inner thigh as rivulets of blood began to run down her leg shimmering against the darkness of the suite. The sight of the blood repulsed me but then in a moment, I could almost smell it, it smelled like promise, like freedom, like fame and I had to have it. I dropped to my knees and pulled Maeve close and pressed my mouth to her thigh as my mouth hungrily sucked and drew every last drop of blood from Maeve’s wound.
I hesitated, a flicker of doubt battling with the overwhelming desire for power and fame - I wasn’t sure if the hunger for fame or the hunger for the blood was stronger. But from the corner of my eye Lucian's gaze held me captive, his eyes promising a world of unimaginable possibilities.
With trembling hands, I held her thigh to my lips pulling her body closer to my face. The liquid tasted metallic, warm, and strangely alive. As I swallowed, I felt a surge of energy coursing through my veins, a power that both thrilled and terrified me.
Lucian smiled, his eyes glowing with triumph. "Welcome to the eternal realm, Raven," he said, his voice a seductive whisper. "The world is yours for the taking."
Maeve stepped back, her eyes filled with a chilling intensity. "And now," she said, her voice laced with a hint of menace, "it's time for you to learn the true meaning of sacrifice."
Maeve lead me to a sofa where we sat comfortably. She explained the pact, the role of the seeker, and the need for willing victims. I heard the rules of the pact into which I was now bound:
“The role of a seeker is to Drink unto the talented and you will forever be talented.”
“Seekers must also deliver the talented to Lucian so you can both absorb their talent and leave their souls for Lucian to feed upon for sustenance.”
“But,” Maeve added with caution, “The souls upon which he feeds must be unafraid and offer themselves to you both without resistance because the fear makes their souls tainted and unpleasant in taste for Lucian. You must do whatever you can to make them submit themselves. Promise them fame, promise them immortality, whatever you have to do to get them to give up their souls freely.”
“Maeve’s given you an overview of your new life and what’s expected?” Lucian asked as he glided over to the lounger where we sat.
“Yes,” I told him with a quiver of nervousness even though his otherworldly glow and presence almost put me at ease.
Maeve’s words had painted a dark and disturbing picture, a world of manipulation, betrayal, and blood. But as I listened, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, a sense of power that overshadowed the horror of her words.
I was no longer just Raven St. Clair, the struggling musician. I was something more, something greater. I was a creature of the night, a predator, a seeker.
And I was ready to claim my place in the Devil's Duet.
1038 Carol Dr, West Hollywood, CA, 1972
I returned to my apartment and fell into what could only be called fitful restless sleep, I dreamed I was drowning in a sea of crimson blood that swirled around me like a whirlpool threatening to pull me under.
As day broke and the sounds of Sunset Blvd crept into my room, there was a light rapping at my door.
I opened the door bleary eyed to see Marion. “Lucian is here?” Marion said. “Lucy Thorne something?” Marion stammered.
“Lucian,” I said correcting her as I pulled my hair into a rubber band.
“Lucian, the tall creepy guy, that’s the one,” Marion clarified.
I emerged at the front door looking like a dog’s breakfast.
Lucian said “Excellent," his lips curving into a predatory smile. "Then let's get to work, shall we? Michael Davies is eager to start recording your song.”
“Lucian,” I protested, “I look like hell.”
“Nonsense,” Lucian huffed, pulling out his antique mirror again, “Look?” He motioned. And in his mirror I looked glowing and well rested.
“How do I look?” Looking to Marion for reassurance.
“Like a spring daisy,” Marion told me earnestly in a tone that made me believe that what I saw in his mirror was the genuine article.
He led me out of the apartment and into a waiting limousine. The plush leather seats and the tinted windows created a sense of seclusion and unreality. I sank into the soft cushions, my mind still reeling from the events of the past few hours.
The limousine glided through the winding roads of West Hollywood and towards the heart of Hollywood. We pulled up to an unassuming brick building on Sunset Boulevard. A faded sign above the entrance read "Sunset Sound.”
Sunset Sound, 6650 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA, 1972
This was it, the legendary recording studio where countless iconic albums had been born. A thrill of anticipation shot through me, mingled with a touch of awe. I was about to step into the hallowed halls of music history.
Lucian and Maeve led me through a maze of corridors, the walls lined with gold records and framed photographs of music legends. We reached a studio door marked "Studio 1," and Lucian pushed it open.
The room was dimly lit, with a warm, inviting atmosphere. Vintage recording equipment lined the walls, and a grand piano sat in the center of the room, its polished surface gleaming under the soft lights. Michael Davies greeted me with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
"Raven," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "Welcome to Sunset Sound. Are you ready to make some magic?"
I nodded, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
The session musicians were already in place, their instruments poised and ready. As I stepped into the recording booth, I noticed something strange. They were all glowing, their bodies radiating an otherworldly light. I blinked, wondering if it was a trick of the light or some side effect of the pact I now found myself a part of with Lucian.
I could feel a primal urge rising within me, a hunger that gnawed at my senses. I wanted to touch them, to taste their talent, to absorb their power. But another part of me, the part that still clung to my humanity, recoiled at the thought.
I took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. I was here to record a song, to unleash my own talent, to become a star. I couldn't let this newfound hunger consume me.
I put on the headphones, adjusted the microphone, and nodded to Michael Davies. The music started, the familiar chords of "Where the Cypress Grows" filling the room. I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me, and began to sing.
Raven St. Clair - Where the Cypress Grows
My voice soared through the studio, infused with a power and passion I had never felt before. The lyrics flowed effortlessly, each word imbued with the magic of the bayou and the darkness of my newfound reality. I sang of cypress trees and whispering spirits, of voodoo queens and haunted grounds. I sang of a girl who danced with shadows and embraced the mysteries of the night.
As I sang, I could feel the eyes of the session musicians on me, their glowing bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. The hunger within me flickered, but I pushed it down, focusing on the power of my own voice, the magic of my own creation.
When the last note faded, a profound silence fell over the studio. Then, a wave of applause erupted, and I knew in that moment that I had created something extraordinary.
New Vision Studios, Los Angeles, 1972
Following a breakneck week at Sunset Sound, I was summoned to New Vision studios for a photoshoot with legendary photographer Eric Rupert who had photographed for every major music publication around and now the single cover for “Where the Cypress Grows.”
New Vision was a whirlwind of activity, a stark contrast to the hushed reverence of Sunset Sound. Bright lights flashed, assistants scurried around with props and wardrobe changes, and the air buzzed with a frenetic energy that mirrored my own excitement.
I stood in front of the camera, trying to strike the poses the photographer instructed, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The reality of my situation was finally sinking in. I was no longer just Raven St. Clair, the girl from the Ninth Ward. I was a rising star, a creature of the night, a singer with a song about to climb the charts.
I knew what I had to sacrifice to get here but the fact that this was my secret and mine alone made the whole thing feel so secret, illicit and frankly, thrilling. The thought that I would now drink blood and harvest souls for a whatever Lucian is, was not exactly a highlight but this beat sleeping with a creep in exchange for fame as many I knew would be more than willing to do in exchange for any morsel of fame.
"Perfect, darling, perfect!" Eric exclaimed, snapping another photo. "That's the look. Sultry, mysterious, with a hint of danger. The world is going to fall in love with you."
I couldn't help but smile. It was intoxicating, this feeling of power and allure. I could feel the transformation taking hold, the pact weaving its magic through my veins.
Lucian appeared at my side, his presence radiating an aura of confidence and control. "You're a natural, Raven," he said, his voice a silken purr as he stroked my neck. "The camera loves you."
"Thank you," I replied dutifully, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I have something else for you," Lucian said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've arranged for you to appear on 'The Rex Ewing Show' next week."
My heart skipped a beat. "Rex Ewing?" I gasped. "The Rex Effect?"
Lucian nodded, a sly smile curving his lips. "Indeed. It's time to introduce you to the world, Raven. And what better way than on the most popular late-night talk show in America?"
I could barely contain my excitement. This was it. This was my chance to truly break into the mainstream, to become a household name. Rex had a well-known ear for up and coming talent and the “Rex effect” propelled many an unknown to stardom. This was it, I was on the verge, I could feel it and like the blood I could taste it.
"Thank you, Lucian," I said, my voice trembling with gratitude. "This is... incredible."
"You deserve it, darling," he replied, his hand gently caressing my cheek. "You're a star. And now, the world is about to see your light.”
“And,” Lucian added, “There’s more…”
“More?” I gasped excitedly not sure how much more revelation I could take.
“Based on the promise you’ve shown thus far,” he said as his eyes said so much more, “Today I’ve officially greenlit your debut album, ‘Born from Night.’ The best songwriters, producers, whatever you need, its yours.”
The following day as The limousine purred along Sunset Boulevard, the vibrant energy of the Strip unfolded on the way to Sunset Sound. As we passed a bustling coffee shop, the rebellious strains of The Doors' "Break on Through" spilled out onto the sidewalk, a primal scream of defiance that resonated deep within me.
The song's raw energy ignited a spark in my imagination. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was inspiring but something was welling up inside of me.
I scribbled a few lines in my notebook, capturing the essence of the song's rebellious spirit, the yearning for something beyond the confines of the everyday. The words flowed effortlessly, infused with the raw energy of the music and the burgeoning darkness within me.
Break on through to the other side,
Shatter the walls, let your spirit ride.
Embrace the shadows, the wild unknown,
Unleash the power that's all your own.
I closed my notebook, a slow smile spreading across my lips. I didn’t know how this would help me but I held it close to me as the song burrowed into a little cozy corner of my mind waiting for its moment to emerge fully formed.
The limousine pulled up to the curb outside Sunset Sound, and I stepped out, my senses heightened, my mind ablaze with creative energy.
Sunset Strip, West Hollywood, CA, 1972
As I left Sunset Sound one night, the neon lights of the Strip glowed like a siren's call, drawing me into the pulsating heart of the Strip.
I stepped out of the studio, the thumping bass still reverberating in my chest, I had spent the last few days at Sunset Sound, recording, rehearsing, and smiling for the cameras, but the weight of my choices pressed down harder than ever. Fame felt like a shimmering veil, thin and fragile, and I was losing myself behind it.
The alley was dark, cloaked in shadows that felt both inviting and dangerous. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, smoke, and spilled drinks. I leaned against the cool brick wall, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the chaos of the Strip fade away. But that familiar hunger gnawed at my insides, the primal snarl of an insatiable beast that demanded to be fed. It was a hunger I had never known before, one that didn’t just whisper but screamed for release.
A group of partygoers stumbled past, laughing and oblivious, and the urge to drain them of their life surged within me. I had tried to resist; I had thought I could control it. But each passing night tested my resolve, and I found myself spiraling deeper into the darkness.
English Disco, 7561 Sunset Boulevard, 1972
I stumbled into the English Disco as the club throbbed around me, a pulsating beast of sound and light. Sweat slicked my skin as I pushed through the throngs of dancers, the scent of cheap cologne and even cheaper perfume stinging my nostrils. Mirror balls scattered fractured beams of light across the writhing bodies, creating a strobe effect that made it hard to focus. But even in the hazy darkness, I could feel the music sinking its teeth into me, a raw, primal rhythm that seemed to echo the growing hunger inside me.
Each bass drum thudded against my chest like a second heartbeat. I could almost taste the inspiration on the air, thick and sweet like the promise of something new. It was in the way the dancers moved, abandoning themselves to the rhythm, their bodies glowing with an almost supernatural intensity. I saw it in the flash of a smile, the arch of a neck, the raw energy that crackled between strangers lost in the music.
I closed my eyes, letting the wave of sensation wash over me. This was it. This was the sound, the feeling, the raw power I needed to tap into. This was where I belonged.
But aside from the sudden jolt of inspiration, the bodies wildly thrashing about caught my eye. I was surrounded by the beautiful wearing feathers, leather, all scented with expensive smelling cologne and perfume. I didn’t want to just dance among them, I wanted to consume them, their youth and vitality, I wanted to know what they tasted like.
And then in the middle of the throngs, I saw the crowd part a shimmering godly man took shape before me. I almost couldn’t believe it, it was him, a spectre from beyond the grave. “Hi,” he said to me slowly reaching out towards me his voice sounding more like a whispered breath while his face took on a ghostly air with ringlets of hair that cascaded in front of his eyes, “Dont believe we’ve met?” he said introducing himself as his hand unfurled towards me as if he were inviting me to see a hidden secret.
I smiled and said, “Raven, you?”
“Jim,” he said as he leaned in. “Are you new to this side of the line?”
I looked at him perplexed.
“The glow,” he said matter of factly, “You can see it, right?” He asked motioning at the crowd thrashing about around us.
“How did you know?” I asked hesitantly not wanting to give too much away.
“I see it myself,” he confessed gravely. “Or rather, I used to. I’ve walked this line too, Raven. The price is steep, but the thrill can be intoxicating”
“Wait,” I said examining him closely, “Do I know you?” I asked urgently.
“Maybe you do,” he said mysteriously as he leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Break on through, Raven.”
As I turned to look at him one last time, I found myself looking into nothingness, he was gone.
My heart stopped beating somewhere in my throat, I could not believe it but I knew exactly what to do. First, I needed air, fresh air and I needed to fucking feed, bad.
Pushing my way out of the club, I caught a glimpse of a young man leaning against the wall, a half-empty drink dangling from his fingertips and had a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked lost, vulnerable. My instincts kicked in, and I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I approached, a predatory smile playing on my lips.
“Hey there,” I purred, my voice low and sultry. He looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes, followed by a dangerous allure. I could feel his energy pulsing, vibrant and alive, and it beckoned to me.
“Want to have some fun?” I asked, stepping closer. He nodded, entranced.
Before I knew it, I was pulling him into the alley, the darkness swallowing us whole. The moment my lips brushed against his skin, the hunger erupted—a tidal wave of need that overwhelmed my senses. I pressed my mouth to his neck as my teeth bared themselves, and the taste of his blood flooded my senses like a rush of euphoria. I drank deeply, losing myself in the warmth and sweetness of his essence.
But with every drop, I felt a flicker of panic. I could sense his life slipping away, the pulse in his veins weakening as I drained him. The reality of my actions crashed over me like a wave, but I was too far gone. I craved more.
“Stop!” a voice echoed through the shadows, pulling me back to my senses. I jerked away, gasping, my heart racing. Maeve stood there, her expression a mix of concern and fury.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping forward, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t just feed like this!”
I staggered back, the realization of what I had done settling like lead in my stomach. The young man slumped against the wall, pale and barely breathing. Guilt washed over me in a rush, but the hunger still roared, demanding satisfaction.
“I…I didn’t mean to—” I stammered, my voice shaky. “I just needed—”
Maeve interrupted, her voice fierce. “You’re new to this, Raven. You have to learn control. You can’t just drain whoever you want. As a seeker, you need to deliver willing souls to Lucian.”
“Willing souls?” I echoed, panic rising. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you can’t just be a mindless predator. You’re a seeker now, not just a feeder. You need to lure them in, promise them what they desire. Make them submit willingly.” Her gaze softened slightly, but the intensity remained. “You leaving a trail of bodies, will attract attention. We can’t afford that right now or ever.”
I looked at the young man again, the horror of my actions sinking in. He was just a kid, lost in the nightlife, and I had reduced him to this. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on my chest.
“What do I do?” I whispered, the question hanging between us like a noose.
Maeve took a step closer, her demeanor shifting to one of partnership. “We’ll feed on this one together. And I’ll help you get rid of this one, but you need to focus, Raven. Control your hunger, lets find some willing souls and then we feed.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay,” I said, determination flooding through me. “Let’s do this.”
With that, Maeve and I stepped into the night, our fates entwined. The hunger still simmered beneath the surface, but now I had a purpose—a dark, twisted purpose. We would hunt together, and I would learn to harness this power instead of letting it consume me. The Strip was our playground, and we were ready to play.
1038 Carol Dr, West Hollywood, CA, 1972
The night after my feeding frenzy with Maeve, I woke in my bed, well rested and well fed. I looked in my mirror and marveled at how my skin looked supple and my cheeks flush with a rosy pink while my hair glowed and shined as if sitting under an eternal spotlight. I noticed my nails were becoming a peachy pink color that seemed to shine in the early morning’s light. I also noticed that my monthly visitor who would be arriving to wreck havoc on my life around this day was mysteriously absent.
Sunset Sound, 6650 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA, 1972
Later that morning, I showed up at Sunset Sound ready to resume recording but as we were just about to start working on a song I had written called “Moonstone,” I called a momentary halt.
“Michael,” I called out to Michael Davies.
“Yes, Raven?” He asked pulling off his headphones.
“I had some ideas I wanted to talk to you about,” I declared.
“Hit me,” he said game.
“I am very Laurel Canyon but that really speaks to me and the artsy canyon folks like Joni, Cass and Joan, but I feel like we need to be speaking to the kids on the Strip,” I said.
“What are you thinking?” Michael asked intrigued.
“Disco,” I said plainly. “And I know where to start, I want to do a discofied cover of The Doors’ ‘Break on Through,’” I said. “I have some notes and sheet music here,” I said hoisting my notebook towards him.
“Let me take a look at what you’ve got and we’ll get working on it,” Michael said gamely.
1038 Carol Dr, West Hollywood, CA, 1972
The aroma of pastrami and rye hit me the second I stepped through the door. Marion, ever the bustling hostess, was already plating up sandwiches at the tiny kitchen table. "Raven!" she chirped, her smile bright against her cherry-red lipstick. "Just in time! Roy and I snagged some Maxxie's – best cure for a long day, am I right?"
Roy, perched on a stool with a newspaper, lowered it just enough to wink at me.
"Heard a little birdie told me someone's got a date with destiny," he said, his voice a low rumble.
I grinned, tossing my bag onto the threadbare couch. "Something like that," I admitted, pulling up a chair. The familiar warmth of the cramped apartment, with its faded floral wallpaper and mismatched furniture, suddenly felt comforting.
Marion slid a plate piled high with a sandwich towards me, the scent of mustard and pickles making my stomach growl. Despite my newfound hunger, I still loved a good Maxxie’s sandwich.
"So spill," she demanded, pouring generous glasses of ruby-red wine. "Tell us everything. Sunset Sound, fancy producers... is it as glamorous as everyone says?"
I took a bite of the sandwich, savoring the tangy explosion of flavors. "It's... different," I said between chews. "Kind of intimidating, actually. All that vintage equipment, the history... you can practically feel the ghosts of rock and roll watching you."
Marion's eyes widened. "Ghosts? Ooh, spooky! You see any?"
I laughed. "Not exactly. But the vibe is definitely there. And the musicians... they're incredible. So talented."
"Well, you're no slouch yourself, Raven," Roy interjected, taking a long pull from his wine glass. "That song you played for us... haunting. Real magic in that voice of yours."
"Thanks, Roy," I mumbled, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
Marion, ever the cheerleader, bounced in her seat. "And Rex Ewing! Raven, you're gonna be huge! We'll be watching, we’ll have the TV tuned in waiting for you to start and invite all the neighbors – we’ll be cheering you on from our couch. But we'll be cheering the loudest!"
The genuine excitement in their voices warmed me. It was good to have this little slice of normalcy, this reminder of the life I was leaving behind. Even if it was all built on a foundation of secrets and blood.
Sunset Sound, 6650 Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, CA, 1972
The studio hummed with a different kind of energy this morning. Instead of the reverence of "Where the Cypress Grows," a pulsating, almost frantic beat vibrated through the room. The studio was filled with a swirling chorus of pounding four on the floor beats kissed by snarling guitars, stabbing synths, crashing drums and thundering bass as my vocals leapt for the rafters.
I stood in the vocal booth, headphones clamped tight, feeling the bass line thrumming through my bones. This "Break on Through" was a beast unleashed, a wild, seductive creature compared to the original's brooding intensity.
Raven St. Clair - Break on Through (Michael Davies Edit)
Michael Davies, ever the maestro, guided the session with a grin. "That's it, Raven! Ride that melody! Give me that raw edge!"
I poured every ounce of my newfound power into the lyrics, my voice soaring over the disco beat as the roiling guitars shot the melody towards the heavens. It was a strange alchemy, blending Morrison's rebellious spirit with a raw, sensual energy that was all my own. I could almost see his ghostly grin in the darkened studio, urging me to push further, to break free from every constraint.
A hush fell over the control room as the last note faded. Then, a burst of applause erupted, and I knew we had captured lightning in a bottle.
"That," Michael declared, beaming, "is going to blow the roof off the Strip.”
I sang the song to the best of my ability, or as Aunt Dominique used to say, with a vocal power that could raise the dead. I only hope that came through on tape.
Surely it did, I sang with enough power to please the devil himself. And sure enough, just then, the booth door swung open, and Lucian glided in, followed by Maeve. He moved with a predatory grace, his eyes scanning the room, taking in every detail. His gaze settled on me, and a slow smile spread across his lips.
"Raven," he purred, his voice a silken caress, "you've outdone yourself. This is... exquisite."
I felt a thrill of satisfaction, a surge of pride mixed with something darker, something I couldn't quite name. Lucian's approval was intoxicating, a validation of my power, my transformation.
Maeve stepped forward, her eyes glittering with a mix of admiration and envy. "You've captured the essence of the song," she said, her voice low and husky, "but infused it with something new, something dangerous."
"Danger is my middle name now, darling," I quipped, unable to resist the playful jab.
Lucian chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Indeed it is, Raven. Indeed it is." He turned towards Michael, his expression shifting to one of business. "Ensure this track is given the attention it deserves. This is not just a song; it's an awakening."
Michael, ever the professional, nodded eagerly. "Of course, Mr. Thorne. I look forward to this song being on every radio station in the country within a week."
Lucian's smile widened, revealing a hint of sharp teeth. "Excellent. The world is about to hear Raven's voice. And they will dance."
As they left the studio, I felt a surge of exhilaration. This was just the beginning. I had the power, the talent, and the backing to conquer the world. And I wouldn't hesitate to use it all. The hunger within me pulsed, eager for more, for the next challenge, the next victim, the next song. The night was young, and I was ready to play.
Next in The Devil’s Duet…
The deal has been made, the path set. But the Strip is never what it seems, and neither is Lucian Thorne.
As Raven steps deeper into the world she’s been promised, the lines between desire and danger begin to blur. The music is louder, the stakes are higher, and the hunger—the one she swore she could control—only grows stronger.
In Chapter Four, the descent begins.