The Devil's Duet: Chapter 4: Break on Through
The Threshold Beckons
Previously in The Devil’s Duet…
In Chapter Three, Raven stood at the crossroads—fame within reach, but not without sacrifice. The Strip shimmered with promise, the music pulsed through her veins, and Lucian Thorne made his intentions clear.
The door has been opened. There’s no turning back now.
Now, the real transformation begins.
Chapter 4: Break on Through
The Troubadour, 9081 Santa Monica Blvd, West Hollywood, CA, 1972
The Troubadour hummed with a low-key energy, a haven from the wilder chaos of the Strip. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of stale beer and cigarettes. The murmur of conversations blended with the mellow strumming of a folk singer on stage, his voice barely audible over the clinking glasses and quiet laughter. We snagged a table near the back, the dim lighting casting long shadows that danced with the flickering candle on our table.
Maeve, ever the picture of cool elegance, sipped her whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. Her eyes, though, held a spark of amusement as she watched me practically vibrate in my seat, my leg bouncing with restless energy.
"Relax, Raven," she chuckled, her voice a low purr. "You've earned a celebration. That session today was electrifying."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the jittery excitement – and the gnawing unease – churning in my stomach. "I can't believe how Lucian reacted," I said, my voice still breathless. "It was like... he felt it. The hunger, the darkness, all of it."
Maeve's smile held a hint of knowing. "He did, darling. That's the power you wield now. It draws people in."
“But,” Maeve added, “The power has a price.”
“Beyond being a seeker and having to do all this?” I asked pointing at my teeth clearly getting my point across.
“Yes,” Maeve clarified, “The price of our, shall we say, unique abilities, is what happens when they get taken away,” she said as her face darkened. “There was one before you,” Maeve said as I leaned in, “Vicki…” Maeve said whispering her name as if releasing a secret into the void, “She was young, talented, and beautiful, like you are. But the hunger became too much for her, she couldn’t fully commit to what she had to do to keep up her end of the pact so…Lucian took her hunger and in turn, took her fame from her. It drove her mad, it drove her to the Hollywood Sign and she jumped from the sign to her death rather than live without the hunger.” Maeve told me.
“The fame, the rush, the hunger, is everything until its not,” Maeve said, “You can leave at any time but once the feeling and the hunger for it is in you, that never leaves,” Maeve explained.
A shiver ran down my spine. The thrill was warring with a cold dread that coiled in my gut. This power, this darkness... it was truly intoxicating, addictive like Jim said. I was already feeling a taste of this thorny exchange.
My fingers tightened around my glass, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat creeping up my neck. Just then, a familiar melody drifted from the bar's speakers, cutting through the haze of sound. My heart skipped a beat. It was "Where the Cypress Grows," my song, playing softly in the background.
"They're playing it here?" I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper. Disbelief mingled with a surge of pride I couldn't quite suppress.
Maeve nodded, her eyes gleaming with pride. "It's everywhere, Raven. Your song has taken flight."
As if to punctuate her words, a car rolled by outside, its windows down, the radio blaring. And there it was again, my voice, soaring through the night, filling the streets with its haunting melody.
A lump formed in my throat. This was it. This was the dream I'd clung to for so long, finally taking shape. My music, my creation, out there in the world, touching people I didn't even know. But was this my creation? Or was it Lucian's, fueled by the blood and souls that now sustained me?
Tears pricked my eyes, a mix of joy and a strange, aching sadness. It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the life I was leaving behind, the innocence I was shedding with every drop of blood, every stolen soul.
Maeve reached across the table, her hand gently squeezing mine. "You've done it, Raven," she said softly. "You're a star."
I looked at her, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "But at what cost?" I whispered, the question a heavy weight on my tongue.
Maeve's expression softened. "That, my dear," she said, her voice low and laced with a hint of warning, "is for you to decide."
I swallowed hard, the question lingering in the air. Was I truly free to decide? Or was I already trapped in Lucian's web, my fate sealed with the pact? The doubt gnawed at me, a bitter taste that even Maeve's praise couldn't wash away.
NexTV Studios, Burbank, CA, 1972
I scrunched up my nose at the white feathery boa the stylist suggested for me backstage at The Rex Ewing Show — the night I had been waiting for. Weeks of rehearsals, countless takes, and endless whispered promises had led to this moment. But now, standing here under the bright lights, surrounded by racks of costumes that looked like they belonged in another world, I suddenly felt small, like a kid playing dress-up in someone else's life.
Lucian, as always, glided into the greenroom like a shadow, his presence commanding yet unnervingly quiet. He barely needed to speak, a subtle glance here, a raised eyebrow there, and the room seemed to shift, the tension thickening like smoke.
“You’re not seriously considering that boa, are you?” His voice was smooth, dripping with amusement as he reached past the stylist and pulled a dress off the rack. It was covered in sequins, each tiny reflective surface catching the light like it had been made from a skinned disco ball, shimmering in silver and black.
The silk beneath the sequins seemed to ripple with the movement of his fingers, like the dress was alive.
“Wear this,” he said softly, draping the dress over my arm. “It’s your moment, Raven. Let them see the star you’ve become.”
I hesitated, my fingers tracing the sequins, feeling their sharp edges. The reflection of the dress in the vanity mirror flickered under the fluorescent lights.
This was it. This was the night I’d been rehearsing for. I was set to perform “Where the Willow Grows, ” the song that had catapulted me into the spotlight, and my bold new cover of “Break on Through” by The Doors. Two songs, two sides of me, and both charged with the darkness and hunger I had come to embody.
Raven St. Clair - Where the Willow Grows
Raven St. Clair - Break on Through (Michael Davies Edit)
“Don’t let the nerves fool you, darling,” Lucian’s voice purred cut through my thoughts, a soft command as he stepped closer. “You’ve been waiting for this. They’ve been waiting for this.” His eyes gleamed with something otherworldly, that familiar intensity that always seemed to stir my deepest ambitions. “Tonight, you’ll give them more than just music. You’ll give them a glimpse of your power.”
My stomach twisted with a blend of excitement and dread. My power. The weight of those words hung in the air. Lucian saw the doubt flicker across my face and tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing with a knowing smile.
“Don’t forget what brought you here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “What keeps you on top.”
My pulse quickened. I knew what he meant. The souls I had taken, the power I had absorbed, it was all building to this moment. Every drop of blood, every stolen breath had led me to this stage.
I glanced at the clock ticking above the vanity. Fifteen minutes until showtime.
Behind me, the bustle of backstage buzzed with life, producers barking orders, makeup artists fluttering between performers, the hum of the cameras being prepped for the broadcast. The palpable energy of live television simmered all around me, but inside, I felt a strange stillness, like the calm before the storm.
Lucian leaned in close, his lips barely brushing my ear. “Remember,” he whispered, “they’re not just here for the music. They’re here for you.”
With that, he turned and left the room, leaving behind the lingering scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, much like everything he offered.
I stared at the shimmering dress in my hands, then slipped it on, feeling the cool silk slide over my skin. The sequins caught the light, flashing like stars against the black fabric. I looked into the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back at me. The sequins reflected a thousand tiny pieces of her, fractured and shining, like she had already broken through something far greater than just this moment.
The stage manager poked his head into the greenroom. “Five minutes, Miss St. Clair.”
I nodded, my throat tight as I rose from the chair, my heels clicking against the tiled floor as I made my way toward the side of the stage. The bright studio lights were blinding, and the applause of the audience felt distant, like it was coming from somewhere far away.
I heard Rex Ewing’s familiar voice echo from the stage. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the voice that’s been taking the world by storm, her album Born from Night is coming soon, this is the one and only Raven St. Clair!”
The applause swelled, thunderous, as my name rang through the studio, and for a brief moment, the fear gripped me. But then I felt it, that familiar hunger, that insatiable need, bubbling beneath the surface. It surged through my veins, steadying my breath, sharpening my focus. Lucian’s words echoed in my mind: “They’re here for you.”
I stepped into the spotlight, the roar of the crowd engulfing me. The shimmering dress caught the light, sending a thousand shards of brightness across the stage. I gripped the microphone, my fingers steady now, as I glanced at the audience, they were waiting, expectant, hungry for something they didn’t even understand yet.
I’m about to give it to them, I thought, a slow smile curling at the corner of my lips.
The first notes of “Where the Cypress Grows” drifted through the air, haunting and ethereal, as I began to sing. My voice felt like an extension of my soul, pouring out into the crowd, weaving through the spaces between their breaths, pulling them in.
But it wasn’t just the music that captivated them. I could feel it, the darkness, the power coursing through me, wrapping around their hearts, their minds, drawing them closer with every note.
As the last chord of “Where the Cypress Grows” faded, the applause was deafening, but I didn’t pause to bask in it. There was more to give. There was always more.
I nodded to the band, and the atmosphere shifted as the opening riff of “Break on Through” sliced through the air. The energy in the room crackled like electricity, raw and untamed. I let the music take me over, my voice rising above the pulsing rhythm, each note charged with the rebellious, fiery spirit of the song.
Raven St. Clair - Break on Through (Michael Davies Edit)
I wasn’t just performing. I was commanding.
And as I belted out the final refrain break on through to the other side, I realized I already had.
El Sol, The El Dorado Hotel, 8800 Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, CA, 1973
I sat in the El Sol after returning from the Rex Ewing show eating a bowl of El Sol’s famous gazpacho as I indiscriminately picked at a side of their Avocado and Shrimp salad. I was doing my best attempt to at least look like I was interested in eating regular food when in reality, what I craved was much more “specialized” than anything El Sol had on their very upscale and varied menu.
As I sipped the soup delicately, I felt as if I almost had my hunger in check when, like a breeze blowing in from the Mississippi River Delta, a surge of hunger came riding into my senses riding on a chariot of music.
I heard the strains of music floating in from the lobby bar. As I approached the lobby bar, I saw Lucian watching the young girl on a stool singing her little heart out as her fingers flew over the guitar strings with a manic but carefully practiced intensity,
Gold
The city’s gold, but it feels like stone,
Walking these streets, feeling all alone.
Dreams once bright now lost in the haze,
Chasing a shimmer that fades with the days.
Gold, gold, what is the price?
For a taste of fame, would you roll the dice?
In the glow of lights, will you find your soul?
Or lose yourself chasing fool’s gold?
I see the stars from a distant hill,
They promise riches, but I’m standing still.
Hearts grow weary, but we carry on,
Hoping the gold’s not already gone.
“She’s very powerful, Raven,” Lucian uttered under his breath and I knew in that moment that we could both see the glow emanating off of her.
“I have to have her, and you must have that song,” Lucian said and I knew what I had to do.
As the audience applauded I approached her as she left the stage, “Wow,” I exclaimed, “That’s quite a voice you’ve got on you,” I said. “You sure you’re not a lost member of Big Brother and the Holding Company?” I asked laying it on extra thick.
“Ah,” she said with a sort of gee-shucks affability, “You’re just being nice,” she said before it clicked in her mind, “Holy shit,” she exclaimed as I knew I had my hooks in her, “You’re Raven St. Clair aren’t you?”
Realizing I had her, I guided her to the corner of the lobby bar, “You got me,” I said playfully, “I don’t typically haunt the El Dorado lobby bar looking for talent,” I reassured her. “But, those are some pipes and that song…did you write it?” I asked.
“I did but I’m nowhere near Raven St. Clair,” she said bashfully. As I kept talking to her, I could feel Lucian looming over us.
“Child,” he said reaching for her hand, “Your name?”
“Melissa Kaplan,” she said reaching out to shake his hand in a way her mother had probably trained her to do just so as a young girl, “Just arrived here from Billings, I’m so excited to be here,” she said as my heart cried a bit knowing that there would be a house in Billings with a mom and a dad who would never get any answers about what happened to their little Melissa. While this painful truth ate at me, I told myself that her end would be a noble sacrifice, she would feed me, she would feed Lucian and her memory would not go forgotten, I would take her song, “Gold” and make it my own as well as any other songs she created, this girl would disappear but she would not be forgotten like so many who’ve come here to Los Angeles to ‘make it.’ If anything, Melissa Kaplan would live on into Eternity, her music becoming more in death than she would ever be in life.
I pushed the mirror towards Melissa as she gawked at the grotesque glamour of the Cordoba Suite. Melissa looked down at the lines of cocaine examining the temptation they promised and as she stared, I saw her looking at her reflection in the mirror itself. Christ, I thought, she reminded me so much of myself looking into that damn mirror in Lucian’s pocket.
And now, here I was doing the exact same thing, luring in another ingenue with a mirror that promised nothing but a void of death and destruction.
Melissa’s hand hovered over the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she bit her lip. “I’ve never really…tried this before,” she admitted, her voice wavering. But then her eyes flicked to mine, and I saw the yearning there, yearning for approval, for belonging, for something bigger than herself. Her hand steadied, and she leaned in, exhaling sharply before taking the plunge.
“Being here, in Hollywood,” Melissa said softly, staring at the lines. “Like I’d know I’d made it when it happened. But now I’m here… and I’m not sure if this is it.” Melissa leaned forward and inhaled deeply as she put her head back and tapped at her nostril. As she did so, she reached for the guitar leaned up against the chaise lounge she sat on. “I wrote a ton of songs on my drive to LA from Billings,” she said as I listened to her sing, ‘Canyons':
Canyons
Sunlight spills, a golden dream
Over hills, where canyons gleam
City sprawls, a concrete sea
But in its heart, divisions we can't foresee
Canyons deep, they carve the land
Like fault lines where we can't stand
Side by side, yet worlds apart
In this city of dreams, with a fractured heart
Her song was so heartbreakingly simple and straightforward both in its message and instrumentation, I had a hard time lying to her.
“I think it’s absolutely fantastic,” I said awestruck, “I think Lucian will love it, too,” I said reaching out to touch her knee in a show of comforting support. As I did so, she put her hand on top of mine, “It’s truly so great to meet you, Raven,” she said with heartbreaking earnestness.
“I think you should come by the restaurant tomorrow to meet him again and to talk about ‘Gold’ and ‘Canyons’ some more,” I said. As I did so, I could practically hear her vein pulsing with the excitement of the thought of having pleased me, her body coursing with life that was waiting for me.
I took her hand in mine and flipped it over so I could see her palm, her veins practically vibrating with her life force, and her talent coursing beneath the surface. I stared at her wrist and gently, delicately moved her wrist to my mouth, I could feel and practically smell her fear but as her wrist neared my mouth it was as if the clouds of her fear parted opening up to a sense of almost clarity and acceptance as my mouth touched her wrist, my lips creating an almost sparking sensation as they touched her delicate skin.
As my teeth punctured her skin and I began to drink and as I did so, I could hear Melissa’s voice and see her journey to Los Angeles through my own eyes as the scenery of the American West passed by me and I heard her voice singing out through my mind,
Dreams once bright now lost in the haze, Chasing a shimmer that fades with the days, Gold, gold, what is the price? For a taste of fame, would you roll the dice?
As I fed on her, I could see her arm out the window of maroon Chevy Vega as her fingers traced the wind and the landscape of the road undulated and rolled by like ocean waves. I could hear songs crackle over the radio and I could feel Melissa’s hope, dreams and happiness swelling in her the way a shot of whiskey warms the throat and stomach. And along the way, I could smell what she smelled, the verdant scent of breezes blowing across the open expanses of the reservations of Wyoming, the dusty deserts of the Southwest and the smell of diesel fumes lining the highways and byways that lead her here closer to her dream until she met me.
As I felt her becoming a part of me I also felt her sadness, her realization of her fate and into that sadness, I poured my own for what I was doing to her. As I tried to give her sweet release in between feeding myself, I saw Lucian appear in the room like a dark shadow blotting out the light as he put his mouth onto her neck and began to feed as I scurried away and tried to hide my gaze by staring at an antique vase in the corner of the room as the room overtaken by her last gasps of air at which point I looked back upon Lucian as her skin crumpled and eventually turned to dust. I had killed once again, I was no longer just a girl caught in a pact, I was a prisoner in a prison of my own making and my own complicity was my jailer.
The El Dorado Hotel, West Hollywood, CA, 1973
I opened my curtains on a crisp morning in February of 1973. The California sunshine warmed me through the panes of glass kissing me with its embrace. Across the street from my new apartment at The El Dorado was a giant billboard for my album, Born From Night powered by the hit singles “Gold” and “Canyons.” Two songs that were never meant to be, two songs that belonged to Melissa Kaplan, not Raven St. Clair, and now every morning, I had to face this stark reminder of my true nature, my crimes, my hunger, my real self.
On the billboard, I was laid across a piano wearing a silky black gown that looked like I was wearing the night sky itself staring up at the sky, I now was on full display for all on the Strip.
I was in good company though, just down the Strip you could find a veritable who’s who of music, Elton, Stevie, Paul, The Stones and The Carpenters to name a few. I was just the latest to take up space amongst the greats. And yet, I still didn’t feel like I was actually one of the greats, I felt like an imposter. Instead of “making it” on the virtue of my talent, I was not discovered, I was recruited. Recruited into something dark, deranged and unholy. I was never religious growing up but growing up in New Orleans it was hard to avoid the constant push and pull of good vs. evil and spirits, monsters and voodoo curses. My life felt like it had quickly become a hushed tale told amongst children in the Ninth Ward.
At the moment, and I was recognized everywhere I went. My reservations aside, I was now a famous artist. I divorced my concerns as much as possible so I could continue my newfound fame. In essence, I had signed my life away to two different pacts now, the one I had with Lucian and the one I had with fame and myself. I wasn’t entirely sure yet which one would consume me first.
The apartment was at first, Lucian’s idea, to keep me, his pet,—his prized seeker—close. It was a cruel irony that from my new apartment window, I could just barely make out my old apartment on Carol Dr. From here I could see where I moved in with Marion, so young, so dumb and both so full of big dreams that felt bigger than the small apartment. And in spite of it all, I loved the apartment for everything it was and everything it wasn’t, it was a house, it was love, it was laughter, it was greasy takeout from Maxxie’s and pizza from Kings Rd. Pizza, it was home.
Here I was so close and yet so far from where it all began and in between my past and present, there was an enormous billboard with my face on it. The hubris could not have been more apparent at that time and yet I would not see it until much, much later.
The day I moved in, Lucian came to my apartment to “check in” on me but as with everything Lucian did, it was cold, calculated and laced with cloaked malice.
“I hope you’ll find yourself comfortable here, Raven,” Lucian purred as he lead me to the window.
“Look,” he said motioning his hand to the passersby on the Strip below, “All these people want what you now have,” he said trying to bend me to his will, “They would kill to have your talent, they would do anything to have the life you now have,” Lucian unfurled.
Turning towards him with tears beading in my eyes, I managed to choke out, “I have killed for you, Lucian, I’ve done what you’ve asked.”
Pulling my face close to his, he whispered, “Don’t cry child.” He took a sniff of my mouth declaring, “You have fed,” he told me knowingly, “To survive, yes, to record a hit album, even better,” he said detailing my diet on the Strip.
“But now,” Lucian told me, “You must feed me,”
I looked at him in horror as Maeve had warned me this was coming but I was still unready for it even as it approached me like a city bus hurtling towards me. “How?” I asked, horrified at the potential answer.
“You are famous, your face is known to anyone,” Lucian told me, “Go out on the Strip, find someone as talented and hungry as you are and bring them to me, promise them the world and then bring them to me. Or perhaps,” Lucian asked menacingly, “You dont have what it takes to satiate my hunger?”
“Of course I do,” I shot back confidently. “Just to see that you do,” Lucian continued, “Let me remind you what you have to lose.” Lucian squinted his eyes towards me and I felt a cold sensation shoot through my body. It was like the reverse version of an orgasm in that in the place of a rush of pleasure, I was feeling a rush of emptiness, my body suddenly feeling empty and hollow.
“You see?” Lucian asked, “Your talent which I can so naturally give you, I can also take away.” He said as the stakes became so real to me. “This is what it would feel like to have all your talent taken from you, your fame ripped away.”
Lucian held me in a frozen state as I felt the hollowness of being nothing as it ached and clawed at what remained of my soul. Lucian blinked his eyes and suddenly it all came rushing back as if it had never left but the experience was sobering and terrifying none the less.
I met Reagan Lance, 22 years young and fresh out of Palmdale, at a party hosted by influential radio DJ, Rodney Bingenheimer, at a house high above Sunset Plaza. I found her flitting about with Rodney as he hopped from conversation to conversation as he was want to do as the unofficial “Mayor of the Sunset Strip.” As Lucian foresaw, Reagan made a beeline to me already excitedly chattering about how honored she was to be in my presence and that she wrote a song that would be ‘perfect’ for me.
I entertained Reagan’s fawning and I sickeningly found that drawing her into my web was far too easy. I didn’t need to excessively dangle promises of fame and fortune, Reagan was practically giving herself to me willingly. I could have told her to leap from the balcony and she most likely would have.
Reagan had a soft, doe-like naiveté about her that added to an aura of pureness around her in addition to the glowing aura that told me that she was incredibly talented, I could practically smell it on her, it smelled like an intense aroma of oranges and sunflowers. Reagan smelled like a spring day without a cloud in the sky.
“I wrote this song that I think would be perfect for you,” Reagan told me as I continued to entertain her intense interest, “It’s called ‘Embers’ and I think it could really make your voice soar.” Naturally, I saw this as a perfect place to sink my teeth into Reagan, metaphorically speaking.
The mention of meeting Lucian Thorne came almost too easily. Moments after mentioning it, Reagan was already offering to call a taxi. I told her that we would take my limo instead and this put her at ease with dumbfounded awe. With Reagan exceedingly disarmed, I lead her back to the El Dorado and to the Cordoba suite.
As the door opened, Maeve looked at me and Reagan and smiled. I introduced Reagan and Maeve lead us into Lucian’s salon. I found Lucian sitting with two other men in impeccable suits. “Raven!” Lucian exclaimed standing to greet me.
“Lucian,” I said nervously, “This is Reagan, a very talented musician I discovered tonight,” as I stood aside so Lucian could shake her hand and take stock of the prize I had just delivered to him.
“Raven, Reagan,” Lucian said introducing the two men, “This is Tom Partridge, CEO Monotone Records and Glen Walker, head of A&R for Capitol Records.”
“Gentlemen,” Lucian continued, “I think you know Raven, and this is her new find, Reagan.”
The two men joined Lucian in staring at Reagan with awe.
“You’re glowing,” Tom said dumbstruck.
“You must be so talented,” Glen said pushing his way towards Reagan.
“I’d love to share my songs I wrote with you,” Reagan said nervously.
“I have to have you…” Glen stammered before quickly course correcting, “…for Capitol, you’d be such an asset to the label.”
“So,” Reagan asked nervously, “What do we do next?”
“We become one,” Lucian said ominously as his eyes flicked to meet mine. I brushed my hands over Reagan’s hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck, I pushed my mouth to the soft, white flesh of her neck and pressed my teeth forward until they began to puncture her virgin skin and blood began to fill my mouth, within seconds, I could feel her songs, her talent, her life becoming a part of me. The song she wrote with me in mind was actually really good.
Even as Reagan’s life drained, I could hear and feel her words for “Embers" as an imaginary band swelled behind me and my voice shot skyward.
Raven St. Clair - Embers
This burning ember, it will not fade,
A wildfire burning, as the shadows play.
I'll dance with the flames, and rise above the fray,
This burning ember lights my way.
As I continued to feed, I felt another mouth grip the other side of her neck as Tom and Glen began grabbing at any part of her they could, her arms, any bit of exposed flesh as we all began to drain her of her blood and life. As I fed, Maeve pulled my hair back and stroked the back of my neck.
At a certain point, the blood tasted watery and I felt Maeve pulling my head back. “She’s dying, Raven,” Maeve told me, “Let her go before her soul dies, too.”
I released the hold my mouth had on Reagan’s body as she slumped back onto the floor.
Lucian straddled her body. “Help me,” Lucian commanded rolling up the sleeves of his expensive looking shirt as Maeve placed her hands around Reagan’s face helping to open her jaw and her mouth.
Lucian leaned forward pressing his lips to her open mouth and began to breathe in deeply as Reagan’s skin turned ashen gray and crinkled like paper maché. Lucian continued to suck up what he could until Reagan’s body crumbled into ashes.
Lucian looked up at me, his eyes completely black like two marbles stuck in his head.
“The sacrifice has been delivered,” Lucian said, “Thank you, Raven. My hunger is satisfied.”
I had just participated in the first of what was to become many horrific acts and I guess now I knew what my part of the duet I was now destined to play.
“Shall I get the broom to clean this up?” Maeve asked Lucian obediently motioning to the pile of ashes on the floor.
“Raven can handle this,” Lucian said training his eyes on me.
Maeve lead me to the closet off the main salon where I retrieved the broom and dustpan and I went about brushing up what remained of Regan Lance. As I did so, I could hear Maeve’s voice rising the the adjoining room. I could hear cries along the lines of “What about me?” To which I heard Lucian say, “What about you?”
The rest of the conversation drifting in played out like a radio drama.
“I have proven myself to you.”
“She’s the one I have been looking for.”
“Are you telling me to go?”
“I’m telling you that you are no longer needed, you are released. Go, live your life, your pact is finished.”
The doors to the salon pushed open as Maeve crashed through them crying running to the front door of the suite.
I jolted to my feet dropping the dustpan as I lurched towards her outstretching my arms.
“Maeve,” I cried, “What is it?”
Through tear-stained eyes, Maeve sputtered, “You’ve replaced me,” she said sobbing.
“He doesn’t want me anymore,” Maeve cried, “You have to keep him fed and you have to take care of yourself.”
I assured her I would and pressed her further to make sure she was okay which she clearly was not but Maeve protested, “You have to promise me you won’t get lost in all of this,” Maeve said motioning around at the suite, “He already has your soul,” Maeve told me, “You can run from him, feed him, please him, but in the end, there’s no escaping the fate that comes for us all. The final note will always be his.”
“Dont worry about me,” I told Maeve projecting a front of steel.
I felt the ominous presence of shadows looming over us as I heard, “Raven.” I turned and saw Lucian looking on at us. “Join me,” Lucian said extending his hand towards the salon.
That moment was the last time I ever saw Maeve Blackwell. That is, until everything changed.