The Demon Lover's Chronicles (The Complete Series)

By Julian M. Coleman

The IAN 2016 Outstanding Paranormal/Supernatural book of the year, The Demon Lover's Chronicles is an intense and erotic urban fantasy series that eager readers have compared to 'Salem's Lot, Let the Right One In, and Anne Rice's iconic Vampire Chronicles. In this compilation of all three full-length novels, author Julian M. Coleman weaves a twisting tale of sacrifice and redemption; all set against the backdrop of a vividly realized, paranormal underworld with roots in the fascinating and unspoken shadows of the African American experience.  

 

When she was young and innocent, Angelina Thrust nearly lost her soul to César - a darkly beautiful creature brimming with otherworldly power and seductive sensuality. Now, decades later, César has orchestrated for their paths to cross again - and this time, the brooding and malevolent entity intends to consume and corrupt her entirely. Only Angelina's daughter and sister stand in the way - but in order to summon the power needed to fight a timeless evil such as César, both women will have to venture on dark and dangerous journeys of their own; from which neither will return the way they'd left.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian M. Coleman
• Release date: Aug 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393551744

Julian M. Coleman

I'm a 2016 IAN Paranormal/Supernatural Award Winning author who grew up in Richmond, Virginia. My family was poor, but my imagination was rich. I suffered from bad dreams. I still dream about demons, but now those dreams provide the sauces to my stories.  By day I'm run-of-the-mill analyst grinding out data within a dark blue cubby, but by night I churn out horrific stories based on the demons that haunt me in nightmares. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

1939

RACHEL PUSHED AGAINST the drowsiness gluing her eyelids together. As her heart thumped fitfully against her ribcage, she fisted her eyes to dissipate the foggy caress of sleep. She knew instinctively her sleep was too deeply imbedded to be normal. She remembered tidbits of her nightmare, and a fear she hadn’t tasted in eons rushed over her stupor. Immediately, she sat upright in bed.

Rachel was shaking and sweaty as she tossed aside the covers. She tried to rise on boneless legs and fell back on the pillows, while the grogginess draped over her like a heavy coat. Again, she fought the unnatural urge to sleep and this time she stood with more determination. She had to wake up. She needed to wake up, she told herself as her head pulsated angrily.

New pieces of the nightmare slithered into her consciousness. Although the segments were vague and somewhat abstract, true terror seized her heart. She snatched her bathrobe from the bedpost and swept down the hall. Angelina’s bedroom door was closed. Rachel swallowed hard as despair stiffened her body. She silently prayed before clasping the cold doorknob. The touch of porcelain in her palm was real. She was awake and this assurance forced a moan from her lips. She knew even as she cracked open the door the bed would be empty. A wedge of light angled through the open window and shone on the lace covering. Earlier in the evening she had kissed her sister goodnight, but the bed appeared unruffled, pristine. Angelina’s head probably hadn’t graced the pillow.

The windowpane was raised and a slight breeze fluttered the curtains. Rachel stumbled across the room and leaned out the window. Better to see Angelina sprawled out on the ground than with that demon, she thought. The full moon lit up the night like a lantern and washed the rolling lawn abutting a dirt road and acres of harvested cornstalks in a milky glow. Her heart threatened to tear free and crack bone. She clutched her chest and caught her breath.  She didn’t see Angelina.

Their handyman, Old Moses, had nailed a trellis to the side of the farmhouse years ago. It was a crisscross contraption threaded with the stems of a robust rosebush. Rachel noticed a sliver of fabric clinging to the trellis.

Angelina had always been a tomboy. There wasn’t a fence or a tree or apparently anything nailed to the house she couldn’t climb. How often, Rachel now wondered, had her sister slipped down surefooted just to meet up with him? Tears threatened to fall as she plucked the piece of cloth from the latticework. The world was quiet except for the weathervane, a sun-bleached rooster perched atop directional arrows creaking in the mild breeze and filling the house with ominous sounds.

She started at her reflection in the mirror and saw the worry in her dark eyes. They were so different, she and Angelina. She was reserved and cautious and Angelina was...well, a carefree tomboy. They were physically different too. She had their father’s African features, ebony skin, deep-set eyes, flared nostrils and full lips. She was wiry and quick, just like their dad. And just as tall. Angelina resembled their mother: lots and lots of enviable hair, cinnamon complexion and a gentler countenance, which belied the trouble beneath a mischievous grin that only Rachel recognized as mischievous.

Rachel placed a hand over her heart. Damn her. Leave it to Angelina to root out trouble and embrace it! Damn.

Just as it had in her nightmare, her sister’s scream came out of nowhere and rose up from the pit of Rachel’s bowels, clawed along her spine and filled her brain with blasts of pain. She absorbed the intensity and the sensation behind her sister’s scream...betrayal.

Rachel was startled into action. She ran out of the bedroom and called out to the men camped in the farmhouse. Rachel had met with her guests earlier in the evening, a dozen farmers who trusted her gifts.

Now they grumbled and hobbled as they spilled out of the guestrooms.

Wake up! We been tricked! Rachel clapped her hands in front of faces, and demanded, Ask yourself if this sleep feels different? Can you feel it? Ain’t natural. Shake it off. She’s with that demon and I gotta get her back. She don’t know what she up against, but we do!

Allen Silverstone was the only one alert enough to run down the hall and look into Angelina’s bedroom. Rachel hurried after him. She grabbed his arm and spun him again. What? Do you think I would lie to you? Now you see she ain’t here!

Allen jerked free with rage emblazoned on his face.

Rachel wanted to accuse him. She knew that if Allen hadn’t dragged his feet and proposed to Angelina, then her sister would’ve been a dutiful wife despite the temptation.

She chastened her thoughts. She was burdened with as much blame as Allen. She should’ve known something was wrong. Her intuition, her feeling, had been haunting her for weeks, told her she was being watched. But she had to get the crops to market and sometimes her feelings were wrong. No, now was not the time for blame when Angelina was screaming in her head.

She hurried Allen down the stairs. The others followed and seemed to settle into an uneasy silence. Rachel regretted baiting Allen when she saw how he struggled with Angelina’s betrayal. 

She said, C’mon! Ain’t got no time for pity! He’s got her, but I know where she is. Thank God she’s gifted. She hadn’t been able to save her parents, but she would save her Angel.

Chapter 2

Dead Eyes

ANGELINA WAS HUNCHED in the darkness. She clapped both hands over her mouth to keep the scream from escaping, pressed her back against a tree and slid to the earth. At least she had some cover in the woods. Thorns from the rosebush had scraped her skin and drawn a few beads of blood. That had been enough to show Angelina the truth. But not at first. Tears leaked from her eyes and rolled over her fingers. She had been so foolish. César had never loved her. He had betrayed her; she was nothing more than food.

Only a few hours ago the evening had seemed to hold a romantic promise like the soft petals of a delicate rose. She had snuck out of her bedroom and within minutes she was down the dirt road. He’d been waiting for her in his brand new Cadillac Coupe. Angelina had been meeting César in secret for weeks. She was still a virgin, but meeting an older man, a stranger to their clan, while unchaperoned had caused gossipy tongues to tell lies.  So they had to meet in secret.

Angelina hugged herself under the tree. While the tree’s protection was false, she felt safe blending into the darkness. Dampness from the grass seeped into her panties and drilled into her bones. Her tears flowed even though she didn’t think she had any tears left. Despite everything, she still loved him.

How could she love a monster? But she had fallen hard since the first moment they touched. She didn’t want to remember, but tried to recall any time spent with him that might have hinted he was a fiend. She rocked in the darkness as the chill left her bones and seeped into her soul. She did remember when...

...they had bumped shoulders at Wimbush Eats, a popular Second Street diner. Angelina had opened her mouth to apologize for her clumsiness when she was struck by the sight of him. She had thought how men weren’t supposed to be beautiful. He had the most incredible chocolate-colored eyes and they were fringed with long eyelashes. He had smiled as he brazenly stared back. Angelina was sure her tongue was hanging out like some kid waiting for a piece of candy to be placed there...yes, sweet candy. Oh my, she had thought.

Had she salivated? She wouldn’t have been surprised. The caramel-hued stranger seemed to favor her in the same way, or had she just been hopeful? Strangely and without uttering a single word, he had seemed to ask her to follow him outside.  He held the door open and although she felt close to fainting – like a feeble-brained girl—she followed. His scent had been earthy with a hint of spice which had stoked her with an uncommon and uncomfortable longing. They seemed to move together in a slow gait like sensual dancers, away from the diner’s entrance. She couldn’t stop staring at him.

He had a commanding presence, like someone who was used to giving orders, like Rachel.  He had seemed, maybe twenty-eight, or even thirty years old. From his curly, close-cropped black hair, down to his square chin, he was exquisite. More than that, Angelina felt he was new. His eyes were as clear as a babe’s; his skin perfectly unblemished and his attention to the sights and sounds in the city made him seem less sophisticated and more childlike.

But new?

She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been struggling with the overwhelming urge to taste his full lips. Her eyes were drawn to them. They were parted and appeared to be soft and moist. She trembled from the urge as she clamped her thighs closer together. When she looked into his eyes, she saw how he was watching her and she couldn’t read any reactions.

The air evaporated in her lungs. A fire sparked in her belly...and elsewhere.

Would you like to dine with me? he’d said.

Angelina had tilted her head as she considered his proposal. At the same time, she absorbed the sexual hunger that swelled just from the sound of his voice. He had an accent, a sweet cadence she had found fascinating.

Words tumbled from her lips. I can’t. I’m waiting for my sister. We like to come to the city once a week to have dinner. We went shopping, but we don’t like the same clothes and I was late getting back. I see that she’s not here either. Angelina wished she could stop talking.

A light wind had lifted a strand of hair against her cheek. He had brushed it aside and as he did so, his fingers lightly stroked her skin. Angelina melted and closed her eyes briefly. He leaned forward, and his voice was deep and husky, Come with me.

She had glanced at him slyly. They were close enough to kiss. Why would I do that? He seemed to regard her reluctance with surprise. She wondered if any girl had ever dared to turn him down. She tried not to laugh, but couldn’t resist. Then he laughed too. Even his laughter pricked her with naked lust.

The diner’s proprietor, Mr. Wimbush, was a member of their clan. He had tapped on the window and waved for Angelina to come inside. She sidestepped to let a middle-aged couple enter the diner. The opened door had assailed her with the sweet smells of cooked meats and the clinks of cutlery.

Wimbush Eats had the best apple pies. Her empty stomach took precedence over her immodest daydream. Only idiots fell in love with handsome strangers – and was it love? She loved Allen Silverstone, after all. She waved back at Mr. Wimbush who made a big showing of wiping down her favorite table by the picture window. Then she dismissed Mr. Wimbush when the provocative stranger took hold of her arm. His lips looked sweeter than apple pie.  Her stomach knotted up.

He filled her senses. What’s your name?

She mumbled, Angelina.

César.

An odd name, she had thought. But she whispered as if his name was a complete poem, César.

May I kiss you?

Angelina had reacted as if she had been slapped. What? I don’t go ‘round kissing strange boys. You must think I’m loosey-goosey! She turned up her nose with as much sassiness as she could muster, then she left him standing there as she strode around him to open the door. She marched into the diner, climbed into the booth and raised up the menu. When she had peered from the laminated selections, he was gone. Her heart had sank and not even the thought of warm apple pie could revive her appetite.

Mr. Wimbush, a stodgy man bent from osteoporosis, wiped down an imaginary stain as he asked too intently. Who was that young gentleman?

Angelina had taken his question as an imposition. Clan members were overprotective of Angelina, but more so of their priestess, Rachel. Angelina had shrugged and hoped that she had shown the right amount of disinterest.  I don’t know him, Mr. Wimbush. It was just conversation.

He had pointed an arthritic finger at her. You have to be careful. A young pretty girl like yourself shouldn’t be wandering the streets so late unescorted.

Yes, Mr. Wimbush.

That had been that. César was relegated to raunchy late night pretend trysts where she could imagine his kisses and touch herself. But César had shown up at the farmers’ market the following weekend.

Angelina remembered how the evening had hinted rain and the darkening sky had merged through the red horizon. He had pulled up in a shiny Cadillac Coupe and slid from it exuding such raw virility she’d gasped unexpectedly. Angelina had chastised herself. She hadn’t given her daydream version enough credit as the intensity of his gaze caused her to melt. She felt...starved. She had glanced about quickly. Rachel was supposed to be selling corn, but she was surrounded by clan wives as they laughed and probably gossiped. Angelina was glad Rachel was distracted and tried a sexy saunter over to César who smiled. Angelina had laughed at her pretense. She asked, You’re still here?

He said, You’re still here, so I’m still here.

Her smile disappeared. Don’t tease me, César. It’s not nice to make fun of me because I’m from the country.

You remembered my name? He had bowed, swept her tiny hand in his and pressed it against his lips. Angelina caught her breath as she moistened between her thighs. She had pulled herself free. She knew her desire was poorly masked. He had straightened and stared deeply into her eyes. Come with me.

Angelina shook her head. If she left with him, she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to resist. Only the previous evening she’d dreamt of taking his clothes off with her teeth. She wanted him to love her as a woman. But she treasured her virginity and shook her head again as she took a few backward steps.

He seemed to understand. I just want to be with you. We won’t do anything to hurt your reputation. But if I’m lucky, you may let me kiss you? Then he lifted one thick eyebrow and gave her a radiant smile.

Goosebumps prickled up her arms.

Somehow Angelina had slipped into his car without Rachel’s knowledge. He had driven her to Dandridge Isle, Richmond’s version of a lovers’ lane. It was an isolated stretch that forked ten miles and ended at a wooded cliff overlooking the James River. At night, especially during a full moon, the sound of the waves thrashing against the rocks was hypnotic. There were other cars at the isle, other couples and to her dismay, a few of the cars rocked gently.

Angelina strained to keep from yelling, How do you know about this place? How dare you bring me here?

César said, I asked around. I wanted to talk to you some place private where no one could interrupt us by wiping down tables. He smiled.

She said, Talk is all that’s going to happen. And she remained true to her promise. She talked for hours while César listened and smiled as he seemed to regard her with a tender expression. After their first night, they had spent many evenings on Dandridge Isle talking and listening to the waves.

Tonight had started out so wrong. Rachel had told Angelina she’d consulted the cards, which Angelina always regarded as a bad sign, and sent her sister to bed like a child.

Shortly thereafter, the men started arriving. Angelina watched the procession and grew more outraged as more trucks lined up in the driveway. When she saw Allen, she had to grit her teeth together to keep from spitting. He had glanced at her once and then looked away quickly. She’d wondered what his gesture had meant. Did he know about César? Had they been spotted at Dandridge Isle? Had Rachel said something?

When Rachel appeared to say goodnight, Angelina demanded an explanation. Rachel had said, We got to draw the demon out.

Demon?

Yes, she had been seeing someone who was not Allen, but that hadn’t made him a demon. Yes, he wasn’t a member of the clan. But demon?

Rachel had scoffed at her naiveté and questioned her virginity. Angelina had been outraged. She had called Rachel a twenty-five-year-old spinster. They had flung harsh words at each other until Rachel reminded Angelina why she might seem overprotective. She relented to Rachel’s demands, at least that was what she had promised, but as soon as the house grew quiet Angelina had used the trellis to escape.

Angelina ran away, unaware if her feet actually touched the ground, until she saw him and then she was in his arms. Her heart had filled up with love. She allowed his kiss. His lips were soft and moist and cold. She yielded as he pulled her close so she was pressed against him. His tongue parted her lips and slid inside her mouth as she wrapped her arms around him and reveled in his masculinity.

She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, Each time you leave me, I wonder if I will never see you again.

Then you have no idea what you mean to me, César had said in a manner so frank that he seemed to stun them both.

He had held her hand as he helped her inside the car. He started the engine, and appeared to whisper to himself, Is this what love feels like? Then he drove quietly down the unpaved road.

She slid closer to him as he turned on the radio. Blues filled the car like something warm and rich and reminded her of the music of her heartbeat. His scent was as warm as the music and she hungered to taste his lips again. He draped an arm around her and guided the car through the darkness. She never wanted to leave his side.

An odd feeling settled on her good mood. She noticed the car’s interior had grown cold, and feeling her shudder, César turned on the heat. But she couldn’t find any warmth even with her body next to his.

Perhaps it had been her argument with Rachel, but Angelina had the unnerving sensation he was staring at her. Although his eyes were focused on the road, it was as if he was staring directly at her and, while this didn’t make any sense, she grew more uncomfortable. With the pretense of yawning, she stretched slightly and used the moment to slide closer to the car door. If he had noticed her deception, he said nothing.

On Main Street, he had made a left turn and continued onto Dandridge Isle Road. Tonight, the lulling tranquility created by the waves seemed more like rumbling apprehension. When they reached the place where young lovers usually parked, she saw the area was deserted. Her heart sank as fear salted her tongue.

He parked the car. Without looking at her, he asked, What’s wrong?

Nothing, she lied. She studied his handsome profile and felt ashamed of her childishness. He leaned over and held her close, but a moment later, he jumped back as if shocked.

What’s this? he challenged, as he looped the cross and gold chain around his pinky, careful not to touch the symbol. Do you believe in this?

Demon, that’s what Rachel had said.

Her lower lip trembled as she said, Yes, with my whole heart. Don’t you?

Can you take it off?

She was hesitant. The way his eyes fell on the swell of her breasts, heightened her edginess. She had been wrong to kiss him. She reached under her hair and unclasped the cross.

Here, he stated, Put it in the ashtray so that it won’t get lost.

She held back her tears but not the misery in her voice. I want to go home.

His demeanor continued to change as he sniffed the air around her until his attention was focused on the light scratches on her arm. You’re hurt.

Angelina had jerked her arm free more forcefully than she meant. In the semi-darkness she could barely see the scratches and thin strip of broken skin. She had lost her footing on the trellis, slipped a rung and caught a thorn in her arm. The scrape had only drawn a little blood. She looked up from her examination and saw there was something wrong with his eyes. The chocolate had turned white.

They were dead eyes.

Angelina recoiled but César climbed on her, heavy and stiff. His kisses were insistent and biting. She had dreamt of this moment but now she only prayed to get away. She felt for and then snatched up the cross. He rotated his pelvis against hers and forced a moan from her lips. His desire was so delicious and she nearly drowned in the moment. His tender kisses, his wicked thrusts, she didn’t care if the universe shone in his eyes except when she did look at his face, she didn’t see any love. She only saw naked hunger and deformed teeth.

Instinctively, she raised the cross. He jumped as if scorched, and then he made a low noise in his throat like a growl.

She stared into his dead eyes as she reached behind her back for the door handle. There was a moment when she felt drawn in, but she had enough grit to hold the cross up like a shield.

Aware she had to escape, she worked the handle with frantic desperation but it seemed to resist her efforts while she pleaded to God to wake her up from the nightmare. During the erratic pauses between her heart beats, she forced herself to remain sane. César raised a hand to protect his eyes from the cross. When he reached for the cross, the door handle rotated down and the door opened as if from divine intervention. Angelina took flight on shaky legs. Blinded by her tears, and using her natural gifts, she mentally screamed, RACHEL!

Chapter 3

Escape

ANGELINA! HE SHOUTED. I want us to be together. I can make you so powerful that you could turn your enemies into your dogs.

She choked down a gasp. Enemies? She didn’t have any enemies. Oh God, how had she not seen? Since childhood, she’d heard whispers about unnatural deaths. She used to hush nonsense talk by reminding old folks they lived in the twentieth century and science could throw light on dark nightmares. Science couldn’t explain César. As tears slid down her cheeks, she cursed herself again for her naïveté.

Angelina rose from her hiding place. She hoped the trees would shield her while she made her way back to civilization. Hidden by the trunk of the large oak, she was only a few paces from the car. Maybe he’d left the keys in the ignition. Angelina didn’t know how to drive, but the open door was so tempting. She could be home in minutes instead of hours. Rachel would know what to do. Rachel always knew how to make things better. It was a part of her gift.

Then she saw him, marveled at his profile, at his well-muscled body and natural agility. She caught herself and wondered what he would do to her, would he really feed on her like some animal? A scream rolled up from the empty hole in her stomach and she clamped both hands over her mouth to keep it deeply and quietly inside. She was only capable of sobbing, so she allowed herself to do this silently as she considered her dilemma.

César stepped into the moonlight. Angelina caught her breath. He was so beautiful. The way the light caressed his caramel-colored skin left her awestruck. He slid out of his jacket, then his tie and shirt. Under his tight skin, muscles rippled and despite her fear, Angelina felt herself grow weak and then without further provocation, she ran from him, from the car, from the trap. Like a winged goddess on the wind, she ran because she knew her tomorrow depended on escaping to Main Street.

At first, she thought she imagined it, but now she wasn’t so sure. Was he actually close behind, tracking her by sound or scent like some untamed thing? She distinctly heard the soft thuds of his footsteps on dead leaves. At times he seemed so close she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle and she had to bite her knuckle to keep her fearful screams inside.

Then he was on her left, behind that oak. Then he was on her right, crouching in the tall grass. Occasionally, his disembodied eyes floated a few feet in front of her, and herded her in a different direction. She doubled back, she had to, but too soon she realized she was lost. The cluster of centuries-old trees hid the moonlight, and the blackness made her disoriented. Although she kept moving, he continued to taunt her with his presence. Her heart pumped blood saturated with fear each time she imagined his dead eyes floating toward her, and her horror was so intense she thought her heart would explode.

She ran, in circles it seemed, as she brushed against unyielding tree barks, scraping skin and drawing blood. And her tears flowed like the James River. Finally, the woods opened up and to her despair, she was far from her destination. Oh God, she was less than half a mile from where she’d started! He had been toying with her.

The tears streamed down her cheeks. Tired and breathless, she staggered toward the cliffs. She gasped for air, and although she was frightened, she knew she couldn’t run any farther. She peered over the edge at the long drop into the stony river where the waves battered the boulders before collapsing into white foam. This mesmerizing sight riveted Angelina to the spot and lured her into an artificial tranquility. She snapped to attention suddenly, when she sensed him. He appeared in the clearing silently ridiculing her.

A great chase, Angelina, he teased. I thought I had lost you.

She averted her gaze to keep from succumbing to his dead eyes. With a sense of mourning, she stared down at her tattered dress and remembered another life when she had chosen it just to please him. As he continued his approach, a slow and measured gait like a predator mocking his prey, she backed to the edge of the cliff.

Suddenly and surprisingly, she became unafraid. In her heart she hoped God would forgive her. She could never surrender to the evil he commanded. With that bit of certainty, she said, You have lost me, César.

She spun around and leapt into the full, white, and forgiving moon before floating down in a graceful plunge into the frigid embrace of the river. The James River first seemed as unyielding as tree bark, but after a moment of buoyancy, she sank in the chilly waters where the coldness folded over her like a garment. The weight of the river overcame her and she sank dispassionately like a stone. The water filled her nostrils, and although she couldn’t breathe, or see, she gladly drank in the fluid darkness. She didn’t offer any resistance, and as she sank, she wanted death to seal the open cavity in her chest. Her fingers grew too numb to hold onto the cross and it eased from her delicate grasp. What did it matter? She was a fool who still loved César. She couldn’t imagine living...without him.

In the cold wet cocoon, she descended without a struggle as the twisting blades of his betrayal became less and less important. Then she felt his steely grip on her wrist. Instantly alert, she tried to fight, but the frigid water made her incapable of movement. César’s dead eyes shone like beacons in the black waters which offered Angelina no comfort. He pulled her against him and crushed her like a prize. Without meaning to, she rested her head on his shoulder as he swam. She sensed his urgency and opened her mouth to drink in more water to quicken her death.

They emerged on the beach where Angelina felt very close to the end. As he lowered her gently on the sand, she hemorrhaged water from her lungs. Her waterlogged head seemed the size of a gigantic balloon and thundered with pain. After a moment of fitful coughs, she opened her eyes and saw his dead eyes piercing her soul like twin globes of moonlight. Despite the frightening visage, she wavered.

I’m only food, she wanted to say, but her lips moved wordlessly. He kissed them to stop them from working. Her heart sped up quickly. She started to cough again as the water continued to escape her lungs and caused spasms.

Angelina, he whispered hoarsely. I need your virgin blood. I have to have you. I can’t let you die until I’m satisfied.

Angelina stopped coughing, stopped moving. His desire was tangible and the power of his need forced her into obedience. She knew then he meant to take her virginity as well. No, she begged.

Without any measure of tenderness, César ripped off the fragments of her dress. The night air forced her wet nipples into erectness. He pressed his cold lips on them and suckled noisily like a greedy infant.

Angelina shuddered, but offered no resistance.

He ran his hand along her body and buried his fingers inside her warmth. His tender and skillful manipulations