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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Chapter 5.

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Brandon Fitzsimmons faced one last chance to turn from his dark path.

—excerpt from The History of the Tyrants’ Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Saturday, June 22nd, 2013 – Brandon Fitzsimmons – Rennes-le-Château, France

My cab dropped me off in front of the motherhouse of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene. A tremble ran through my body. The Magicks of the Witch of Endor were inside. All I had to do was claim the book and, hopefully, I would have the power to defeat Mark.

The nuns would want that. They didn’t have to know about my plans to make my own Pact with the Devil.

I marched up to the old, oak doors bound in black iron. I reached up and rapped my knuckles on the door. I winced. The door was as hard as iron. I shook my hand and then sucked on the tips of my knuckles as footsteps echoed inside. I pulled my hand away from my mouth as a lock twisted and the door creaked open.

“You must be Monsieur Fitzsimmons?” a graceful woman with olive skin asked in a thick, French accent. She wore a gray nun’s habit belted about her slim waist, a white veil draped across her head covering her dark hair, and a white stole that hung about her neck and fell almost to the floor. “I am Mother Superior Maryām. Please, come in.”

She couldn’t be the Mother Superior; she looked like she was eighteen. I ignored my question. “Please, call me Brandon,” I smiled, putting on the charm. I couldn’t afford to offend her. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Americans,” she sighed. “So informal. Monsieur Brandon, please follow me and we shall talk.”

I followed her into the stone building. The floors were covered in worn Persian rugs. She led me through the tight corridors to a surprisingly modern kitchen and motioned to a wooden chair at a small table.

“Tea?”

“I would love a cup,” I answered. Tea wasn’t my thing, but I didn’t want to be rude.

She grabbed a porcelain tea pot sitting on a towel on the counter, steam rising from the spout. Then she gathered two porcelain cups and set them before us on the table. More steam rose as she poured the dark liquid into the cups.

“Now, you said you were interested in a book, no?” she asked as she spooned sugar from a pot into her tea. She savored the aroma of the brew and then took a sip.

“Yes, it is called the Magicks of the Witch of Endor,” I answered, picking up my cup and taking a quick sip of the bitter drink.

“Good, no?”

“Yes,” I nodded and forced myself to take a second sip. I would really love coffee right now. Or a nice brandy.

“And why would you want that book, Monsieur Brandon?”

“Academic research,” I lied. “I have an interest in esoteric texts.”

A dangerous smile appeared on the Mother Superior’s face. “And what is the real reason, Monsieur Brandon?”

“Like I said…” Her dark eyes stared at me, suddenly so ancient and wise, pinning me to my seat. How could you lie to a soul that old? I swallowed, trying to think but it was hard. “My wife was taken by a Warlock. A vile man named Mark Glassner.”

She cocked her head, eying me, peering into my soul like a scientist peering at a germ beneath her microscope. “Yes, that is a truth. Not the whole truth.”

“No, I just want to get back my wife,” I protested as her eyes bore into me. “Okay, and to get some payback against Mark. The bastard stole my wife from me. Made her be his whore.” The last sentence growled out of me as the anger flared. Every surveillance photos Doug Allard took of Mark debasing my wife flashed through my mind.

She did not enjoy it no matter what the images looked like. The motherfucker made her writhe like a bitch in heat.

“And if you had this book you would, what? Defeat Mark and free your wife? And then what would you do? Nothing else with it?” Her eyes narrowed into points. “No, I do not think so. I can see the ambition dripping off of you. The lust for power fills your soul. You did not come here for Desiree. That is the lie you tell yourself. You came here for power for its own sake.”

“Of course I want to free my wife!” I shouted, slamming my fist on the table. The porcelain cup in my hand shattered and hot tea burned me. I ignored it. “And I need power to do it!”

“Why?” she asked. “Your wife does not love you. Deep down you have always known it. She married you for your money and you married Desiree for her beauty. No, you want what Mark has. You are jealous of his power, lust after it, and want it for your very own.”

“No, I love my wife,” I protested. I did always had lingering doubts about Desiree’s motivation to marry me and I had hired Doug to follow her. But I loved her. She was so gorgeous, so generous, how could I not love her?

“Like you loved your first wife?”

Why did the Mother Superior bringing up that slut? My eyebrows furrowed as I puzzled out her intentions. “I did love her,” I said carefully, “until Maryanne whored around behind my back and made me look like a complete idiot.”

“And is that why you beat her?” The Mother Superior leaned forward. “Because she cuckolded you?”

How could she know that? “She didn’t listen,” I protested. “If she only listened, I wouldn’t have had to… correct her.”

That fucking smile played on the Mother Superior’s lips and those eyes seemed to spear right through me. A sneer touched her lips. She thought I was filth. Shit. She was a cunt like my ex-wife.

“And how long would it have been before Desiree would need… correction?” the Mother Superior asked.

My anger roared inside me. How did this cunt know anything about Maryanne? This fucking slut was standing in the way of me and rescuing my Desiree. My fists itched. Maybe this bitch needed some… correcting.

My eyes glanced to the counter and the block of knives. That would show the bitch.

“Just let me have the book, and I’ll do what you fucking nuns can’t seem to do!” My anger exploded out of me and my fist slammed into the table. “I’ll kill Mark Glassner and his whore, Mary.”

A mocking laugh escaped the Mother Superior’s lips. Not fear nor surprise, but derision and dismissal. The gall of this bitch. She didn’t even respect the fact I could leap over this table and beat her bloody. Or I could grab a knife from the kitchen and really teach her a lesson.

Her eyes bored into me. “There is that darkness that drove Maryanne right into the arms of her lover.”

“She was a whore!” I growled. “I gave her everything! Every goddamn thing the cunt wanted.”

“All she wanted was a husband who didn’t beat her,” Maryām calmly answered, sipping her tea. “Go, Monsieur Brandon. There is nothing for you here. You will not have the book.”

The knives were a few feet away. Let see this bitch refuse me when I had a blade to her throat. Then the bitch would respect me. I only had to grab the knife. I couldn’t let this cunt stand between me and my wife.

I had to take control of my destiny.

The Mother Superior’s fucking eyes bored into my skull. My brain throbbed. My hand clenched about the broken shards of the tea cup. Maybe I would cut out those fucking eyes. That would teach the cunt. She couldn’t stare at me like I was dirt without any eyes.

I acted.

I bolted for the knife, my chair falling backwards. The bitch didn’t even move, save to sip her tea. I grabbed the knife. The wooden handle was cold and hard. The blade rasped as I pulled it out of the block. Her fucking eyes still bored into me like I was a fucking, annoying insect. If I was an insect, then here was my stinger.

I lounged forward, stabbing at the bitch.

Motion blurred from my side. Pain flared in my right hand. The knife clattered to the floor.

“Fuck,” I screamed.

A tall man, young and fit, stood next to me, his hand iron on my arm as he squeezed. I groaned in pain, falling to my knees. I looked into the man’s face. It burned with righteous anger. There was something familiar about his face, about his blue eyes. If he was older, wore glasses, and had jowls and a balding head, he might be…

“Doug?” I moaned through gritted teeth.

No, that was impossible. This man could be Doug’s son, certainly, but not my P.I. Doug was in his forties, and this man was at most eighteen or nineteen, and easily seventy pounds lighter than Doug. He even had a full head of hair.

“Brandon, I should rip your head off,” the man growled. It was Doug. But how? “Did you even think for a moment what would happen to me when you sent those photos to the media?”

“Wh-why would that b-be a problem?” I stammered. Maybe I could feign innocence. “Please, you’re hurting me, Doug.”

“Because Mark captured me,” the impossibly young Doug growled. “He sent me to kill you, Brandon! Did you give one fucking thought about me? I could be dead right now, no thanks to you. My wife could have been in danger.”

“I-I told you he was dangerous,” I squeaked in protested. “You should have taken precautions to avoid capture.”

“And you should have told me you planned on plastering my surveillance photos across the evening news!” Doug squeezed my arm harder.

I winced. His grip was tight. My bone creaked. Would he break my arm? “Sorry,” I groaned. “I’m sorry, Doug. I didn’t think… he could …figure it out.”

“Sorry?” he sneered. “You put me in danger and all you can say is sorry? Mark easily could have gone after my wife! And don’t give me that bullshit. You didn’t think of it because you were too selfish to even give one damned thought about me.”

“Please, Doug. It was a mistake. I didn’t—” I screamed in pain as Doug twisted my wrist.

“Brother Doug, release him,” the Mother Superior said calmly.

The iron grip vanished. I scrambled to my feet and backed away from Doug. The hatred burning in his blue eyes scared me. I rubbed at my arm. I threw a look over my shoulder. The exit was right behind me. I could escape.

“Do not come back, Brandon,” Doug growled.

“Monsieur Brandon, I give you this warning,” Maryām stated. “I know my refusal will send you to Cologne to get the copy of the book in the possession of Altgrave Bernard. Only pain and suffering lies down that road. Forget the Warlock Mark Glassner. Forget your possessive lust for Desiree and try to live your life with love. Otherwise, I’m afraid, it is the Abyss for you.”

What did this cunt know of anything? I would have my sweet Desiree back. Once freed of Mark Glassner’s control, she would love me again. Then I would make Mark Glassner pay for stealing her. Then Doug would pay. He obviously told the Mother Superior all about my first wife. And finally, the fucking cunt herself would suffer. Maryām, with her name so close to Maryanne’s, would pay for treating me like a piece of dirt. She would pay for making me feel like a powerless insect.

Once I made my Pact, everyone who had ever wronged me would suffer. I would be feared and loved by all.

* * *

Doug Allard

“You should have let me kill him,” I growled as Brandon Fitzsimmons fled the kitchen, his feet crashing down the hallway to the front door.

“No, that is not the way, Brother Doug,” Maryām replied sharply. “We should not raise a hand against our fellow men unless we must.”

“And if he gets that other book? What if he learns its secrets?” I demanded. I understood the level of evil Brandon could cause. He would get Mark Glassner’s power but with ten times the ambition that Mark possessed. So much had been revealed to me last night after I was given the Gift. By Maryām and later by the Angel Sophia in my dreams.

My cock stirred at the memory of the Angel. She shone like bronze as her naked body pressed against me. Her merest touch was enough to cause my cock to spurt and when her pussy embraced my dick, I kept cumming and cumming with every plunge into her tight, wet hole.

It was called the Ecstasy because the touch of an Angel was pure bliss.

Maryām touched my arm gently. “He has yet to make that transgression. If he claims the book and its secrets, then and only then, will he be our problem, Brother Doug. But he must be allowed his choice. Free will is the greatest Gift endowed by our Creator.”

I snorted. “I didn’t get much of a choice last night.”

“You can give up your Gift at any time,” Maryām answered. “Do you want to?”

“No, my task is too important,” I answered.

It was strange. I once had been a devout Christian. My faith survived my first wife’s death when a drunk driver killed her. But not my second wife. We had only been married three months when she went to bed beside me and didn’t wake up. A brain aneurysm, impossible to predict or prevent the doctors told me. Not impossible for the Creator though. So I cursed Him and spent many bitter years hating Him.

But I felt the Creator last night when Maryām freed me from Mark’s control. And my faith was suddenly rediscovered, reborn.

Maryām handed me the scroll case. “You must keep the original copy safe,” Maryām intoned. “As I have kept it safe for two thousand years, now it falls to you.”

“I still don’t understand why I have to hide it,” I told her. “Let me go after Mark. Let me help those nuns sent to face him.”

“Because, the Adversary has learned where we hid the scroll and, through his followers, he has posted that information on Wikipedia for the entire world to see,” Maryām answered. “Because, if Gabriel’s plan fails, the Warlock Mary shall seek me out, and this book must not fall into her hands. And who knows what other servants of the Adversary are out there, plotting and waiting.”

“But aren’t there other copies?” I asked, frowning. “You mentioned one in Cologne in Altgrave’s possession.”

A smile cracked Maryām’s face. “Altgrave is a title for a German noble, not a first name. The one in Cologne and the one in New York are but copies. This is the original, and it possesses passages not found in the other copies. It is the coal that shall ignite the hope in mankind once more, and nothing must be allowed to extinguish it. I charge you, Brother Doug, to hide this book, to keep it safe in the Wilderness for forty years until it is needed.”

“And my wife will be joining me?” I asked, remembering Tina’s smiling face. She wasn’t a pretty woman, but when she smiled, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Sister Catherine Sarah has already given your wife the Gift,” Maryām answered. “She should be arriving in Toulouse soon. You should meet her if you leave now. From the airport, the two of you must make your own way. Trust no one. And tell no one where you are heading. Just survive the coming darkness and carry the World’s hope into the future.”

“I will,” I said, clutching the scroll case to my chest. “For the future.”

To be continued…

Click here for Blonde’s Sexy Fun, Chapter 1.

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I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!