Demons of the Rich and Famous (Demon Whisperer)

By Tawny Stokes

Supernatural possession is the new “disease” and teen exorcist Caden Butcher is the cure…

Caden Butcher, known as the whiz-kid exorcist to the stars, loves the Hollywood limelight. Or at least that’s what he wants people to believe so he can earn enough cash from his high profile exorcisms to take care of his ailing father. The problem is, not everyone’s happy with Caden’s star status, particularly Remy Martin, a high ranking member of the International Order of Exorcists, who suspects the truth, that these Hollywood exorcisms are staged with the help of Caden’s demon BFF, Dan.

So when a real exorcism goes bad and a nasty demon jumps bodies, the crap hits the supernatural fan. The Order strips Caden of his exorcism license right before he discovers the unleashed demon is one he knows well, very well. This demon is hell bent on destroying Caden’s life and everyone else who gets in his way. Now with the help of his demon buddy, and Caden’s girlfriend Aspen Spencer, a necromancer in training, Caden must defy the Order, track down the rogue demon and send him back to hell before it’s too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tawny Stokes
• Release date: Mar 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497751446

Tawny Stokes

Biography Tawny Stokes has always been a writer. From an early age, she'd spin tales of serial killers in love, vampires taking over the world, and sometimes about fluffy bunnies turned bunnicidal maniacs. An honour student in high school, with a penchant for math and English, you'd never know it by the foot high blue Mohawk and Doc Martens, which often got her into trouble. No longer a Mohawk wearer, Tawny still enjoys old school punk rock, trance, zombie movies, teen horror films, and fluffy bunnies. She lives in Canada with her fantastical daughter, two cats, and spends most of her time creating new stories for teens. You can visit her at www.tawnystokes.com.

Book preview

DEMONS OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS

By

Tawny Stokes

Chapter 1

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The skin on Alan Bigby’s pock-marked face rippled as if something was alive underneath it.  Something big and bad and nasty wanted out to rip something apart.  Unnatural black veins popped out on his forehead and temples as he bucked and writhed against the iron shackles chaining him to the chair.  The fat rolls of his enormous ass hung over the sides and jiggled with each spasm.  If it had been under different circumstance I would’ve laughed at that.

I’m going to rip out your innards, Butcher, and eat them raw, he spat at me.

Then he really did spit.  Viscous green phlegm spewed from between his thin cracked lips and landed on the toe of my black Doc Marten.  Disgusted, I shook it off, and then dug into the beat-up, brown leather bag I had slung over my shoulder and across my chest for the holy water.  It was time to get busy.  No more messing around.  I had to exorcise this guy and be done with it.  The money from this one would pay the rent for the condo my dad and I had.  Groceries too for a few months.

Not today, you’re not, I said as I unscrewed the silver cap on the bottle of holy water.

I glanced over at Eleanor Bigby standing in the corner wide-eyed, wringing her hands as she watched in horror as her husband twisted and pulled at the restraints I had put on him.  He was bound to a metal chair in the middle of a pentagram that I’d inscribed in blessed chalk on the blond hardwood floor of their big expensive house overlooking the Hollywood Hills.  I could see the white sign out the front bay windows.

She probably had no idea that when she called the Butchers to exorcize the demon possessing her husband that it would look like this.  She probably thought watching her fat husband crab-walk across the ceiling of their bedroom was disturbing enough.

Dude, is he going to hurt himself?

I glanced over my shoulder at the guy holding the camera trained on Alan Bigby.  He had shaggy blond hair and a freshly clipped soul patch that I nearly envied.  Except I didn’t like him much.  He was a dick with too much time and money on his hands.

"For the last time, dude, shut up.  I’m the only one supposed to be talking," I answered, forgetting that the exorcism was being televised.

Trey Summers was an up-and-coming film maker, touted to be the next Tarantino, but I thought he was a hack.  He’d directed one lousy music video for some useless pop star and voila, he was an insta-star.  I thought he was a talentless hack with delusions of grandeur and of getting a lot of ass.  Although he did appear to be getting quite a bit by the looks of the two chicks he’d come to the house with.

The red-head smiled at me around the little white straw she had in her mouth.  She was enjoying the drink just a bit too much.

I didn’t smile back.  It kind of made my stomach churn that she’d come to an exorcism for a good time.  The fact that the house was full of people, watching, waiting, while drinking and enjoying finger food passed out by waiters in tuxes, made me down right nauseous.  Why in hell did I hang out with these people?  Why did I ever agree to this being put on TV?  Ten thousand, that was why.

Seven in my pocket, well me and my dad’s pockets, and three to the International Order of Exorcists.  Because they were going to be some pissed that I agreed to the recording.  It was against the order’s mandates to involve the media in what we did.  The world knew we, meaning exorcists, existed but we preferred to keep our business on the down low.  But since I’d been crowned the exorcist to the stars, I figured it was good publicity for everyone involved.  I was hoping the three grand would appease the more militant members of the I.O. into letting me off with a warning.

I returned my attention to Alan, who was still struggling against his restraints and mumbling under his breath.  He was speaking Latin.  I recognized the dialect but not the particular words.  As far as I knew, it was probably a bunch of gibberish.  A bunch of scary sounding Latin words strung together nonsensically to sound menacing and ominous.  It was par for the course.  Every exorcism was the same.  Demons were so predictable.

I took off my black wool cap, shoved it into my bag, and then ran a hand through my short mess of brown hair.  I was starting to sweat a little.  It wasn’t the exorcism that had me sweating, it was the scrutiny from the masses of people watching.  I had to be careful with this one.  More cautious than I usually was in situations like these.

I took a step toward the pentagram, making the sign of the cross with the bottle of holy water.  It splattered everywhere.  Drops landed on Alan Bigby.  Smoke curled up from blackened spots on the back of his hands and two pinpoints on his cheek.  I winced as the demon inside writhed from the pain.  Holy water was like acid to them.

"Dues, et Pater Domini nostril jesu Christi..."

I started the exorcism, incanting the Rituale Romanum, in the original Latin.  I’d done the ritual so many times before it was like reciting Jingle Bells at Christmas time.  Cake, man.  Cake.  Although this time, like all the other times, I changed a few words.  The last thing I wanted to do was send the demon back to hell.  It just had to look like I did.

If I did accidentally send him back, Dan would be so pissed at me.  And I really didn’t want him mad.  He was a bastard when he was angry.  I knew that well.  I still had the scar on my chin from his last temper tantrum.

As I continued to say the verse, I recapped the holy water and slid it back into my bag.  I figured I’d inflicted enough pain for the crowd’s enjoyment.  I didn’t want to damage Alan Bigby anymore than he already had been.  His wrists looked pretty raw from rubbing against the iron handcuffs.  But he’d heal.  Besides, Alan Bigby was a dick.  He screwed around on his wife and he bilked two of his business partners for millions.  I’d done my research on the guy.  My marks always had certain traits—they were rich, influential and total assholes.  People who had it coming to them in all kinds of ways.

Karma was definitely a bitch.

Exorcisms were never all that easy on the possessed.  Some demons really messed around with their hosts.  Inflicting all kinds of horrors on their bodies and minds.  I’d seen one demon tear the fingernails off an eight year old girl just for fun.  That image still made my gut roil.  Luckily, Dan was cool.  He’d never do that.  Deep down he was a decent shit for a demon.  Besides, that was part of our deal.  No permanent physical or emotional damage.

For show, I thrust my hand out toward Alan and said the words even louder, letting the pitch of my voice rise higher and higher over the din of the murmuring crowd.  They were leaning in, eager for more.  I glanced around me and took in all the awestruck faces.  They were mesmerized, enchanted by the scene.  By my power.

Man, did I have an enormous ego.  My dad was right.  It was going to get me into trouble one of these days.  Hopefully not today.

As I neared the end of the ritual, Alan twitched and convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his sockets.  That got a gasp or two from the crowd.  The demon was really putting on a show now.  Undulating like rippling water beneath Alan’s pale skin.  At one point, it looked like it he was going to punch a hole through Alan’s midsection.  Mrs. Bigby cried out, putting a shaky hand to her mouth.  I hated doing this to her.  She was a decent lady—she just managed to marry a dickwad—but hell, a guy had to make a living.

"Qui cum Patre et eodem spiritu sancto vivit et eregnat Deus..."

I could feel Trey pressing in behind me with his camera, like a media happy vulture.  I wanted to whip around and knock the guy once or twice in the face.  He had no manners.  And he had no understanding about personal space.  Because he was definitely invading mine.

But I didn’t need to do anything, because the demon inside Alan took that moment to focus on Trey.

Trey Summers, you lecherous son-of-a-bitch.

It was funny hearing those words with Alan’s voice.  Especially since the two men were business partners.  Alan was funding Trey’s first movie.  Which after tonight, I imagined was going to be in the dumper.  I mean, who would want their exorcism broadcasted to millions on YouTube.  Alan really wasn’t looking his best right now.  No one looked good with a demon inside them.

I glanced behind me and saw Trey’s face pale.  I had to bite down on my tongue to stifle the laugh that wanted to burst out.  Not that I enjoyed wallowing in other people’s misery, it’s just that his misery was fair game.

Have I ever told you how much of a loser I think you are, Trey?  You suck.

Trey looked around, his cheeks reddening.  That’s just the demon talking, right?  He looked at me, pleading in his gaze.  Right?

I let him suffer for a few more moments while I finished the incantation.  Amen.  I signed the cross in the air.

Alan’s body made one more desperate back breaking spasm, and then slumped down into the chair, his head hanging slack, his mouth open, drool dribbling down his double chins.

Yeah, Trey, it was the demon talking.  I could hear his sigh of relief.  I crossed the lines of the pentagram to unlock Alan’s wrists.  But guess where he gets his material from?  I tapped my finger against Alan’s forehead.

That roused Alan from his stupor and he blinked up at me, spittle coating his chin.  Wide-eyed, he looked around, taking in the spectacle that was his exorcism.  He would’ve had no idea what was going on.  The last thing he likely remembered was whatever he’d been doing twenty four hours ago before he’d become possessed.  Everything else would be a blank.  Although some demons allowed their hosts to be aware of what was going on.  It was the biggest mindfuck of all to watch yourself do horrible unimaginable things and be unable to stop.

I knew Dan kept his hosts dumb.  It was also part of our bargain.

I unlocked the cuffs and helped Alan to his feet.  He stared at me, his dark bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion.  Who the hell are you?

Caden Butcher, sir.

The exorcist?

I nodded.

What the hell are you doing here?

Saving your soul, sir.

Mrs. Bigby took that moment to rush to her husband’s aid.  She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his doughy cheek.  Oh Alan, I was so scared.

He didn’t immediately respond to his wife, but continued to gape around the room as more people started to crush in on him, wanting to welcome him back, or take pictures.  I saw flashes out of the corner of my eye.

Who are these people? Alan sputtered.  Someone tell me what the hell is happening here?

I put my hand on his shoulder, preparing him for my big speech I’d practiced like a hundred times before in front of a mirror.  Doing exorcisms in Hollywood was very much like acting.  Alan Bigby, you were possessed by a level one demon and I performed an exorcism on you to banish the demon back to hell.

He looked to his wife for confirmation.  She nodded vigorously as she continued to cling to him and kiss his cheeks.  I was so scared, Alan.  You were actually crawling up the walls in the bedroom.

He looked back at me.  You’re serious?

Completely.

Shaking his head, his gaze settled on Trey who was still holding the camera on his shoulder.  His face darkened.  Are you taping this?

Trey licked his lips nervously.  Ah, yeah, I am, Alan, but it’ll be really-

Alan shrugged off his wife’s hands and rushed toward Trey.  Turn that thing off you asshole!

Smiling, I got the hell out of the way.  Good thing I got my fee upfront.  There was no way in hell Alan Bigby, up-and-coming producer, was going to pay me for making him look like an ass on TV.

Chapter 2

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Once Alan calmed down and withdrew to his study accompanied by his wife and with his lawyer on the phone, the party got into full swing.  With ten big ones in an envelope tucked into the inner pocket of my black leather jacket, I snagged a beer from one of the waiters making the rounds and started to relax.  No one cared that I was underage.  It was another job well done.

As I made my way through the party, I received tons of congratulatory pats on the back and a few flirty smiles.  I usually just breezed through the parties letting people in the know see me, then I retreated to my hotel room to eat pizza and watch payperview movies and call my dad to let him know the job went well. But tonight I was in such a good-humored mood that I allowed Trey to interview me for his lame-ass show. 

Trey sat across from me, on the edge of the sofa, his camera propped up on his shoulder.  How many exorcisms have you performed?

I don’t know.  I don’t keep count.

I heard in the last year, you’ve done about six.

Really?  That many.  I wondered where he’d gotten that figure. I didn’t think it had really been that many.  I thought four at the most.  Anyway, who was keeping count?

"You’re what? Nineteen?

I nodded, although I was really seventeen.  My ID and passport claimed I was older.  My dad had arranged it with the I.O so I could travel around freely, without having to answer the tired old question of ‘Where are your parents young man?’.

Isn’t that a little young to be doing this job?

I shrugged.  Exorcists are trained young.  I started my training at eight years old.  Apprenticed at thirteen.  Theoretically, I’ve been doing this close to over ten years.

Your dad, Frank Butcher, is a world-renowned exorcist, isn’t he? Why isn’t he here with you?

I smiled, but there was no humor in it.  What I really wanted to do was reach across the small space between us and slap the guy across the face.  He’s enjoying his retirement back in Toronto.  He gets to relax while I do all the hard work and make all the money.

More laughs all around.  Which I didn’t think Trey liked so much.  He was losing the upper hand.

Why do you think there are so many demonic possessions in Hollywood?

Maybe it’s because your type is so easy.  I tried to keep the loathing out of my voice, but I had a feeling by the raised eyebrows around the room it came through loud and clear.

What do you mean by that?

Demons can’t just possess anyone.  There has to be a way in.  A weakness they can exploit.  I gestured to the room.  Like greed or gluttony.  Or lust.  That got me a few snickers.  It was all part of the game, the con.  I had a reputation to flaunt.  A reputation that kept people guessing and kept the Butcher name in their cell phone address book.

So sin?

The seven deadly big ones, dude.  Where else but Hollywood are they so celebrated?

Everyone around me laughed at that.  But they had no idea how true my statement was, or how deadly.  I’d seen a lot of sin in the past two years.  More than a guy my age should ever see.  And none of it was very pretty.

Now. About your past, Trey asked, and I saw the gleam of triumph in his eyes, what was it like being in a coma?  Can you share with us any insight into that time?  He leaned in even closer.  Do you remember any of it?

I sat up straight.  Everyone knew that particular subject was off the table.  No.  Interview’s over.  I pushed to a stand.  What I experienced during the year I was in a coma was not suitable material for conversation.  Especially not to some punk ass filmmaker trying to make a name for himself.

You don’t remember anything?  Trey persisted even as I started to walk away.  You didn’t dream?  You didn’t have an out of body experience?

Nope.  Nothing.  I lied.

Ten minutes later, I was in the top floor bathroom taking a piss.  I was humming to myself when I felt a rush of hot air behind me.

So what was our take this time?

Startled, I said, For cripe’s sake, Dan, I’m taking a piss.

I can see that.

After squeezing it off, I tucked back in, zipped up and turned around.

Dantalion, a powerful Great Duke of Hell, leaned against the wall smoking a cigarette, menthol and king-sized most likely.  Those were his usual.  He was looking like Sid Vicious today.  Tall and lanky, wearing black leather pants, black leather jacket, no shirt, trademark chain and lock around his neck, and black spiky hair.  Underneath his jacket his pale smooth skin nearly glowed.  It was quite the contrast to the No Future he’d carved into his skin, still fresh and bloody.  Dan had a remarkable sense of humor.  It was sick and twisted.  This was probably why he was my best friend.

Well, best friend might be pushing it a little.  We were friends as much as a demon could be friends with a human, and as much as I could with a spawnling from Hell.  Our friendship was more of a symbiotic relationship based on trust, mutual consent, and the fact that we both got what we wanted from each other.  Damn it, if it didn’t sound like we were dating.

You know that tortured heroin-addicted look is so last year, right?

He blew several smoke rings, and then said, Hey, I knew Sid.  And his style is never out.

Well anyway.  I whirled around to wash my hands.  Why are you here?

To see what my take is.

"Dan, you know we always settle up when I get back