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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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The Miracle resounded across the world. When Saint Rachel beheld it, she immediately turned to her husband and wife. “We must join the pilgrims and travel to our Gods. They prepared us to serve them.” Saint Jacob and Saint Leah embraced their wife and wept for joy.

—The First Book of Vivian 15:45

Doug Allard – Near the Israeli/Jordanian Border

The land rover’s engine was a quite hum as I drove through the dark desert. My wife slept on her side, her youthful face pressed on the glass. The GPS provided the only light, flooding through the car and taking us ever farther south to her destination.

Jebel al-Lawz—a mountain in Saudi Arabia near the Red Sea.

When my wife and I arrived in Tel Aviv late last night, we rented a car. The rental place had it waiting for us, Providence at work. When we reached into the car, I started it up and the GPS turned on. It had a destination already programmed in.

Jebel al-Lawz.

The scroll case holding the original copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor was in the bag held on my wife’s lap. Even as she slept, she hugged it, protecting it. We were supposed to hide in the wilderness, staying safe against the coming darkness.

A mountain in the remote desert of Saudi Arabia definitely counted as the wilderness.

“Approaching border checkpoint with Jordan,” the stilted, feminine voice of the GPS spoke.

“Tina,” I said, shaking her shoulder.

“Hmm,” she whispered and stretched. She let out a yawn. “Are we at the border?”

I nodded.

She yawned again, her eyes bleary in the blue-white light of the GPS. She opened the satchel and pulled out our passports. I licked my lips as we slowed to the checkpoint. It was a simple affair, a swing-arm gate, striped white and black, draped across the road, a pair of soldiers manning it, Israeli on one side, Jordanian on the other.

The Israeli soldier didn’t give us a second glance. It was the Jordanian who stopped us. We slowed to a halt and he stared at our passports. My stomach twisted. We didn’t have any visas. Arab countries were stricter to enter than European. Would we have to bribe him?

We didn’t have much money.

The soldier yawn, handed back our passports, and waved us through, muttering something in Arabic. He looked too tired to do his job. The gate lifted up. I let out an explosive sigh and drove through into Jordan. In an hour or so driving down the Gulf of Arabia, we would reach the border with Saudi Arabia.

We were almost to our exile.

* * *

Sister Theodora – South Hill, WA

“Everything’s ready, Theodora,” Duncan said.

I sat on the couch in Kaeden’s living room. Duncan and Kaeden were both members of a Pierce County Sheriff SWAT unit. Each were strapping men, strong, powerful—soldiers. They had the black aura of Thralls. The poor men were compromised by Mark Glassner when they raided his house. Mark gave them orders, turning them into his Thralls, but he never bothered to ensure one of us nuns couldn’t control them.

A mistake.

Since last Thursday night, Agnes controlled Kaeden and I controlled Duncan. Between myself, Sister Agnes, and Sister Isabella we had to control twelve SWAT Officers, but so far only Sister Isabella had two.

“All the members of your unit will be there?” I asked Duncan. We needed all twelve. That was what the angel Ramiel told me.

Soldiers are needed. Four and four and four.

Duncan and the other three under our control had spent all day cajoling and brow beating to get the other eight members of their unit to have a get together at Kaeden’s house. The SWAT officers were leery of getting together. They were in a lot of trouble.

A scandal had erupted when footage of an orgy at Mark Glassner’s house, starring the SWAT officers, was leaked to the news. Duncan moped, his wife furious at him. They were all victims of Mark and his powers.

“Yes, ma’am,” Duncan nodded. “They all promised to be here Tuesday night.”

Tomorrow would have been better, but Tuesday night would work. Last night Ramiel taught me the Prayer of Qannow and told me where I would perform it. On Wednesday, I needed to be at the Blue Spruce Motel, room 14. I would wait until I heard the door slam in the next room over and perform the prayer on the woman I found in there.

My Sisters and I need all twelve of the SWAT officers by Wednesday under our control, so the party on Tuesday would night be fine.

On Wednesday it would all be over.

I only hoped no one else is hurt besides the Warlocks. Ramiel said the SWAT were only the backup plan. My stomach was a knot of nerves, twisting inside me until I felt like vomiting. Please God, let the Qannow prayer work! Please don’t make me send the SWAT officers in. I don’t want innocent blood on my hands! I beg of you God, if it’s your will! Amen.

* * *

Mary Sullivan – Somewhere over Washington State

I sat on Mark’s lap on the seat of our Gulfstream private jet. We were both naked, my cunt sticky with his cum, as we watched Monique and Lize fuck each other. They knelt on the floor and worked a double-headed dildo in and out of their pussies, their asses pressed close together. Each end of the dildo was buried in their cunts, and they fucked each other while moaning like two bitches.

In the back, the bodyguards writhed in a noisy orgy as they fucked and sucked each other. All six had to abstain this weekend, and they were finally able to relieve their tensions with each other. Sam was back there, busy translating the Magicks of the Witch of Endor.

Sadly, no fun for her. We needed to know what was written in that book.

We were supposed to land at Thun Field, South Hill in about a half-hour or so. It had been a fun weekend New York City. Mark and I had visited several amazing art museums, including the Metropolitan Art Museum. Mark was so sweet, not complaining at all as I dragged him to all these amazing art exhibits.

I yawned. I was tired.

While it had been a fun weekend, it also had been a long weekend. And tomorrow promised to be a long day. We were holding our second bodyguard tryouts all day on Monday. And then on Tuesday, I had my second wedding dress fitting while the bridesmaids’ fit theirs. While I did that, Mark had to go to family court to get Desiree’s marriage annulled so she and Allison could wed.

But nothing was going on Wednesday. A nice, peaceful day. That would be nice.

* * *

Brandon Fitzsimmons – Cologne, Germany

My hands shook as I picked up the Altgrave’s copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. I sucked in ragged gasps of air. My face burned from exertion. My fingers slid across the leather cover. I felt the weight of the book. I did it. Nothing would stop me from defeating Mark and reclaiming my wife.

I would even keep Mary as my own whore. Her and all the others of Mark’s sluts. They would all worship my dick as Mark watched in humiliated chains. He would know what it meant to be cuckolded before I killed him.

Blood smeared the leather cover. I blinked, noticing the blood on my aching knuckles for the first time. I walked over to the Altgrave’s bathroom, careful to step over the Altgrave’s battered, unmoving form. My fingers kept stroking the book.

I did it.

The blood ran pink down the sink as I washed my bruised knuckles. I tried to control my beating heart and slow my breathing. Sweat ran down my face. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Dismay struck me. It wasn’t sweat.

Blood streaked my face, painting it in drying ribbons of dark crimson.

I didn’t want to hurt the old man. But he just wouldn’t listen. Just like Maryanne, my ex-wife. I never would have hurt either of them if they would have just listened. If they would have just did what I told them to without arguing.

It was really Mark’s fault anyways I had to kill him. The old Altgrave just kept babbling about his orders. “I can’t let you have the book, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” he pleaded in his thick accent. “The man on the phone was quite clear on that.”

Mark fucking Glassner.

But that really didn’t matter now. I had the book.

I dried my hands then opened the book, excited to see the knowledge contained within it. Disappointment struck me. There was nothing but tiny, square letters written in fading, brown ink. The letters weren’t even close to English.

A hysterical laugh filled the room.

Who could be laughing? Surely not the Altgrave. He would never laugh again.

Then I realized it was me.

“Well, Brandon,” I said to myself in the mirror, wiping away the drying blood on my face with a white towel, leaving it stained, “nothing easy is worth doing. The writing looks like Hebrew. I just need to find some scholar I can pay to translate it.” I laughed again. “But first, I really needed to get out of Germany, and maybe get a drink.”

Having a drink always made me feel better after I was forced to correct Maryanne.

“You can drink once you’re on the plane heading back to America,” I promised myself. “Just one drink, it couldn’t hurt.”

I needed to get far away before anyone found the Altgrave. The authorities back in the States never understood that Maryanne made me hurt her. And I doubt the German authorities would be any more understanding that the Altgrave made me kill him.

I clutched the book and stepped over the Altgrave and strolled out of his penthouse apartment. I had my future in hand. Mark Glassner would pay.

To be continued…

Click here for Jealous Passion, Chapter 1.

Click here for Tales from the Orgy Chapter 7.

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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!