The Reign of the Occult

  THE OCCULT

  BOOK ONE: THE REIGN OF THE OCCULT

  LAUREN LOUISE HAZEL

  Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Louise Hazel

  https://www.llhazel.co.uk

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design: Cherie Chapman

  https://www.ccbookdesign.com

  Typesetting: Redwood Tree Publishing

  Publisher: Hazel Books

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-7396568-0-5

  ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7396568-1-2

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Created with Vellum

  For Mom and Dad,

  who said I was always dreaming of stories.

  (I hope you get your Ferrari, Dad!)

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  The Underworld

  Run

  Hide

  Found

  Fire

  Down

  Nate

  Sister

  Cage

  Judgment

  The Overworld

  Memory

  Friends

  Signs

  Light

  Firebird

  Circle

  Verdict

  Coming

  The Occult

  Vision

  Division

  The Tower

  The Illusionist

  Explosion

  Father

  Epilogue

  The Occult – Book II

  Thanks very much for reading!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  When the Angels revolted, God ordered the gates of heaven shut; those in heaven remained as Angels, those in hell became Demons, and those caught in between became the Fae.

  The Underworld, where Demons dwelled, and the Overworld, ruled by the Fae, had fought for millennia; two opposing magical worlds that would forever clash.

  One world was full of darkness, where Demons dwelled and evil manifested. It was ruled by the 42—a league of its most powerful Demons who oversaw a regime of pain and suffering. They dwelled in the Underworld, a realm of fire and darkness that only the most desperate of the humans ever entered, the cursed and the damned.

  One world was full of light. It was said to be ruled by the Fae—who inspired tales of fairies and sprites over centuries. They dwelled in the Overworld, a realm high in the sky, fortified against outsiders. It was a haven for the few lucky enough to find it.

  The war between the Overworld and Underworld was ancient, as old as time itself. It was always in delicate balance—pushing and pulling—one never triumphing over the other.

  Between them was the mortal world, overrun and eventually ruled by the human race. They saw but could not fully comprehend the realms of magic. It existed on their periphery—tales of supernatural beings that bled into their history. They felt the impact of the Overworld and Underworld’s presence, whether they knew it or not.

  Often without consciousness of it, humans bred with supernatural beings, creating a child with special abilities. This offspring became known as Magic Users.

  The mortal world was wary of what it did not understand. Humans grew resentful of the magic they could not control; they feared the great powers of the Underworld and Overworld.

  Across nations, parties, governments, and regimes were created to combat the supernatural. The biggest and most successful of these parties was the Occult. Fifty years ago, it was formed to rid the world of supernatural influence. It was small at first but grew in strength as the casualties of the war mounted.

  It was the Occult that changed everything.

  Twenty years ago, for the first time in history, the Occult joined the war. They used their knowledge, weapons, and technology to fight against the magical realms.

  They turned the tide. The balance was shifted.

  The Underworld united with the Occult and decimated the Overworld. The Fae were almost destroyed—what remained of them fled to the Burial Grounds—and the Overworld was sealed. The Underworld, although victorious, was weakened by the effort.

  With the Overworld gone, and the Underworld diminished, magic faded from the mortal world.

  The only reminder being the Users, the half human/half supernatural beings who had inherited power from their parentage.

  In the power vacuum that followed, a new leader rose as Head of the Occult. He made it his mission to eliminate the human world of all that was left of magic. He hunted and captured the Users to rid the world of their evil, once and for all.

  THE UNDERWORLD

  RUN

  “Prue!” Everett gasped, unable to disguise the desperation in his voice. His legs were aching, his lungs burning, and his heart was pounding erratically in his chest—a reminder that, despite everything, he was still alive.

  Maybe not for much longer.

  He wheezed, attempting to inhale more air, but from the weakness in his legs, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Prue! Which way?” he cried, casting a panicked glance at his sister. He imagined he could hear them, the cocking of their guns, drawing near. Every flicker of movement in the streetlight, every sound, felt magnified, as though even the shadows were poised and ready to pounce.

  “Both ways are blocked,” Prue replied at last, her feet pounding the sidewalk beside Everett, faltering only as they approached the junction. She frowned, eyelashes fluttering, and clenched her fists, her nails leaving angry red indentations in the palms of her hands. She was very pale.

  “What are you talking about?” Everett gasped, slowing to a canter.

  “Nothing is certain.”

  Everett, while used to his sister’s cryptic remarks, was not in the mood for games. “That’s not helping!” he cried, skidding to a halt as they reached the turning. He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Are we going left, or right?”

  Prue froze and her eyes did too, as they often were when she saw things nobody else could. “I told you,” she said, in a detached tone. “Both ways are blocked.”

  Everett cocked the gun he’d held loosely in his palm, trying to ignore the way it slipped slightly in his grasp, dampened by his sweat-slick skin. “Does that mean we’re dead either way?” he asked, with a carelessness he didn’t quite feel. He checked his ammunition, if only to busy his shaking hands, knowing it would probably make little difference in the end. Math had never been his strong point, but he knew one gun against hundreds were never favorable odds.

  “They’re coming,” Prue informed her brother, although she did not meet his eyes. She was staring into the blackness at the other end of the street; Everett followed her gaze, but as always, saw nothing.

  “Where—?” he began, before freezing. He couldn’t see, only hear, the rapid pounding of footsteps along a cobbled street. Low at first, the sound was growing louder, clear in the otherwise silent night. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up in warning. “Ok, you’re right,” he conceded, in a generous tone, “They’re coming! No foresight needed for that. Which way do we go?”

  Prue shook her head, dark hair clinging to her bowed face, her eyes crunched in concentration. She was covered in sweat.

  “Wait—wait—” Everett muttered, in a panicked breath, realizing his sister was going to be of no help. He could see them now, shadows moving in the darkness, emerging at the end of the street. The Officers of the Occult. He shot three times in quick succession—one, two, three—and something must have found its mark, from the strangled cry of pain that followed. They were still alive, then. Good.

  Everett had only a moment to feel relief before the others swarmed. They were closing in on them. Although in range, they had yet to fire a single shot; as he expected, their aim was to capture, not to kill.

  “Something is changing,” Prue said from beside Everett. She clutched her head, fisting her fingers into her hair, as though physically trying to remove something from her mind. “Another factor is clouding things. His choices are unclear. He’s conflicted already.”

  “Prue!” Everett cried, trying to pick something of use from her incoherent ramblings. He pushed her sideways, behind the wall of a garden and out of sight—at least for the moment. They were running out of time—the Officers would be upon them in less than a minute, and then there would be no escape. “Pick a way! Which way has more chance of survival?”

  Prue gazed up at the sky, but she was seeing nothing. “Left,” she replied at last, “Maybe he will spare us.”

  Without taking a second to contemplate what his sister might mean, Everett grabbed her slippery hand and pulled, turning a sharp left, the Officers of the Occult temporarily vanishing from view.

  On the top floor of the Tower was the penthouse, overlooking the skyline. From its vast array of windows, spanning floor to ceiling, each area of the city was in sight—from the tall blocks of government buildings, to the dark entrances of the Underworld, disappearing into the distance.

  The Occult had been at the bottom of the Tower once, a fringe party with little influence and labeled extremists, but now they were at the top.

  Standing at the window, his face reflected in the glass,
was the Head of the Occult. He was tall, with gray hair dusting at his temples and frown lines creasing his forehead. He had the look of one who had been handsome once, with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. He had been an Officer before he was the Head—a specialist armorer who created the Occult’s weapons.

  Now, he was in charge. He had made it his personal mission to eliminate all that was evil in the world.

  Starting with the Magic Users.

  “Sir,” said Damian, from where he stood at the far end of the room, crouched under an archway. His features stretched tightly across a chiseled face, but his eyes were revolving uneasily, almost unwilling to look at his Master. He had been the Head’s second-in-command for many years—and before that, a military doctor. “They’re still on the run.”

  “Where?”

  “Sector 3E. They’re outrunning the ground forces.” Damian ground his teeth and admitted reluctantly: “It’s impossible to corner them.”

  The Head of the Occult surveyed him for a long moment, his expression so unreadable that he could see Damian resisting the urge to shift under the intensity. The kid had grown strong. A life in the military had pushed him to his limits. He was not a tender-hearted healer anymore.

  “Nothing is impossible,” Damian stated, “even against such wickedness. I suggest a different approach if your ground forces aren’t working.”

  “The Tracker—?”

  The Tracker was a User with the power to track anyone if she had something they owned—to link her to her target. The Occult utilized her skills frequently. She was useful but not very accurate—she could sense only general areas, rather than pinpoint locations. Like most Users, she was imprisoned. The powerful ones were kept in the Tower.

  Close, just in case.

  “No,” said the Head. A pause, then, “Not the Tracker. We already know where they are, we don’t need to track them—their expertise will be of little use.”

  “Then, who?” asked Damian. After an icy silence he added a hasty, “Sir.”

  “The boy,” the Head replied, without so much as a flicker of expression. “He’s yet to be tested. Let us see if he’s as powerful as people say he is.”

  Damian was forced to admit, “He won’t like it.”

  The Head laughed. “He won’t have much choice,” he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Send him. He should be able to trap them—no matter what they might be using.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Damian. He saluted and turned on his heel.

  It would happen, at last, the Head thought. They were within his reach. He was going to find them.

  Tall, dark buildings blinked past as Everett gazed at the streetlights, breath ragged and increasingly erratic. He followed Prue’s lead, twisting and turning down different avenues and streets, hearing the distant sounds of the Occult’s Officers behind them. They saw nobody else, heard nobody else, and Everett’s stomach sunk with dread.

  “Where are we going?” he gasped. His head was spinning as he tried desperately to inhale more air.

  “We’re trying to escape,” Prue replied, sarcastically.

  “I’m going to die,” he informed her, almost hyperventilating. They turned down another alley, the sounds of the Occult fading away, and Everett couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, despite knowing the danger was far from over. “I’m about to keel over.”

  He was still complaining when Prue froze halfway down the alleyway. Everett rushed to her side, as her fingers bit into the tender skin of her arms. “Prue,” he said. A streetlamp flickered. “What are you doing? We’ve got to go!”

  “We can’t,” she replied in a quiet voice. “Besides, they’re gone.”

  Frowning, Everett looked back the way they came and squinted into the darkness, seeing and hearing nothing following them. In fact, the whole street was eerily silent, something that in Everett’s extensive experience, never boded well.

  “They’re not following us?” he asked, uneasy. His grip tightened on his gun and he narrowed his eyes, looking out for any sign of movement in the empty alleyway.

  “They don’t need to,” Prue explained, spreading her arms wide and twisting on a heel, “They already have us.”

  Before Everett could question her, another voice spoke from the shadows. “They did say you were good,” it said, coming from a slight figure that had suddenly appeared out of the darkness. It was a man, perhaps no older than twenty, with curly brown hair, white skin, and gleaming eyes. He had the mark of a Magic User engraved on his arm.

  A User? Like Prue? thought Everett. To test his theory, Everett raised his gun and shot three bullets in quick succession. Instead of riddling the man in the leg, there was a crack of blinding light as the bullets splinted against an invisible shield; they fell and clattered to the floor, rolling out of sight in the darkness. The man’s face flinched in strain, but he remained unharmed.

  Telekinesis? Everett thought. The power to move matter with his mind. Everett was impressed despite himself. He was a powerful Magic User, then. Just like Prue.

  “Everett Leigh,” the stranger said, with deliberate disinterest; his eyes betraying him, as he looked Everett closely up and down. Everett knew when he was being assessed. “You’re Prue’s brother and loyal bodyguard. Fast, strong, and good with a gun.”

  “Half brother,” Everett pointed out. “The Occult are recruiting Users now?” He laughed loudly, in sheer disbelief; the sound echoed, rebounding off stone, almost hysterical. “Those filthy hypocrites.” Everett knew that the Occult hated magic and all that it stood for. They had created a system to eliminate it. They must be desperate to resort to Users.

  “Fight fire with fire,” said the User.

  He sounded bored—purposely nonchalant—but Everett could see that he was working hard to keep it that way, his relaxed stance and careless shrug almost too casual. Everett knew fear when he saw it. “You’re betraying your own kind!” he hissed, watching in satisfaction as a muscle in the man’s jaw jumped. Everett smirked in triumph, realizing he’d hit a nerve. He continued with gusto: “You’re helping the Occult kill your own people!” He gestured at the User’s mark—bright and tender on his wrist. A new recruit.

  “It’s not so simple…” Prue interrupted. She was the last person Everett expected to rally to the User’s defense. Everett looked at his sister with surprise, but her gaze was elsewhere. She smiled, just a small quirk of her lips. “…is it, Noah?”

  The User recoiled visibly at his own name. Everett looked back and forth between the mysterious man and Prue with increasing interest. Prue could see more than he could. She knew something. This User, for all his gifts, was not without a weakness, and Prue was exceedingly good at taking advantage of those. It was one of the reasons she and Everett had lasted so long on the run.

  “You’re not doing this because you want to,” his sister continued, her voice soft. “They have someone you care about.”

  “You’re being blackmailed?” Everett cried.

  The User was too busy staring at Prue with wary eyes to respond to Everett’s indignation, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was told you see the future, not the past,” he mused, stepping forward, shadows casting monstrous shapes across his features. The angles of his face were sharp, but his eyes were soft—a strange and striking contrast.

  “I do.” Prue was triumphant, as though she was sensing victory. “I see us freeing her.”

  “Who?” asked Everett.

  “His mother,” replied Prue.

  Noah looked pained.

  “What?” Everett croaked. He knew one thing for certain: he would never help anyone who worked for the Occult, even if they had imprisoned his mother. The thought made him sick. “I’ll do no such thing!”