All Hell Breaks Loose

by Cate Corvin

  I realized I was dawdling, utterly awed by the full map of the underworld. I forced myself to turn around and face the High Priestess. “I’m sorry. I came here to ask for your help in finding Vyra, not to look at maps.”

  She inclined her head, her veils fluttering as she slowly strolled the perimeter of the room. “Yes. I know why you came. And it’s only because you gave your magic to help my own that I will help you.”

  I decided not to point out that healing Rhalys had actually been a favor to Asmodeus, but the High Priestess turned her face towards me, and I caught a vague hint of what might’ve been a knowing smile. “You think you did this for the Prince of Lust. No; you did it because you are a friend to us. So, we will repay however we can.” She paused near the painting of Dis, her clawed fingers rising to gently stroke the city. “Unfortunately, your efforts here will be in vain.”

  I felt a bit like my breath had been knocked out of me. “Why are they in vain?”

  The tip of one of her golden claws touched the gleaming little dots of light. “This room is part of the temple beyond. Every succubus communes with our sacred Mother when she comes of age. The Mother guides us; she sees our souls, tastes our hearts, learns our names and protects us. And once our Mother knows us, she always knows where to find us.”

  She tapped the dots again. “Every succubus who has undergone the ritual to commune with our Mother is on this map. Short of falling into Tartarus, a land even lower than Hell, we will be able to find her.”

  I glanced at the white door. “And this ritual- it involves sex, yes?”

  The High Priestess nodded. “When a succubus comes of age, she chooses the one, or ones, who will help her complete her ritual. The sacred power generated in the temple will unlock her mind to the ways beyond; she will be able to commune with the Mother directly, learn her secret name, and receive the gifts she was born to have.” She flexed her claws, making it clear what she meant by ‘gifts’. “She will be taught how to wield her magic. And, of course, the Mother will feel her soul in the exchange, and always keep her daughter in her heart and mind. If her daughter possesses the bravest of souls, she might be permitted to join the ranks of our Mother’s sacred guard, the Silverthorns.”

  The dots on the map of Dis seemed to shine even brighter, mocking me.

  Vyra wasn’t on this map. She was a virgin, considered freakishly abnormal by other demons; she’d never undergone the ritual to meet with her true Mother.

  “She’s not here,” I said, keeping my tone even and swallowing my bitter disappointment. “That’s why my efforts are in vain.”

  The High Priestess stepped away from the wall, lowering her claws. “Erisvyra D’ailani did not lead a life typical of our kind. We tend to live communally, but she was abandoned, and found not by a succubus, but by a dark god who raised her as his sister.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I’d always thought Azazel and Vyra just had a strange family tree, but I hadn’t considered they weren’t related by blood. “Azazel. He loves her deeply, like his own.”

  “He does. Otherwise, we would have dared to defy him and taken her by force. But for all his darkness and the dreaded bloodline he was born from, he’s treated her well… except for allowing her to bypass our rituals.” The High Priestess faced the opposite wall, the dark lands of Irkalla. “If she had been persuaded to meet her birthright, we would be able to find her now.”

  “He just wanted her to be her own person,” I said, stubbornly defending him, but… what dreaded bloodline was she talking about?

  “Completing the ritual doesn’t make a succubus less of a person,” the High Priestess chided me. “It’s our birthright, and she loses nothing of herself in the process. But I do regret that she is not known to the Mother. We never willingly abandon our own; I too feel pain that one of my sisters is lost to us.”

  I shook my head, looking at the specks of light on the walls. “So there’s nothing I can do to track her. Aren’t there any succubi who could search by air?”

  The High Priestess spread her hands. “Look at the entirety of Hell. They could spend their entire lives searching and not find so much as a single hair on her head.”

  Anger was rising under the surprise of what I’d been told. I’d come all the way here, hoping they’d be willing to go find one of their own, and here I was being told there was absolutely nothing to be done.

  “Then why invite me in at all? Why bring me here? You could’ve just told me to abandon all hope at the door.”

  She took several steps closer, and one hand rose to close gently around my shoulder. “Because you should not abandon hope. We have too many injured to care for now to waste womanpower on a fruitless search, but you have other means available to you. The Order of the Chain, they follow you, yes?”

  I nodded silently. It was impossible to not feel comforted by the High Priestess’s touch, as though she were maternal comfort incarnate, but all I wanted to feel was anger. “Yes. They’ve attached themselves to me, for whatever reason.”

  She squeezed a little tighter. “Then it is time for you to commune with them. Our Mother has never felt Vyra’s soul, but you have a strong bond with her: the bond of sisterhood. As Vyra’s unusual family shows you, blood does not determine the strength of the bond. Between you and Lord Azazel, you will have a way to find her.”

  I stared up at her, wishing I could read her face through the veil. I hadn’t considered the Chainlings as a means of searching for Vyra.

  “As for why you were invited in, it is because of this.” She waved her hand at the ceiling. “You will likely go far. Make note of the lands, and the warnings depicted here. The Mother can’t commune with you, but she requested that I offer this gift of knowledge, for caring for her wayward daughter.”

  I nodded jerkily, and the High Priestess sank into the middle of the floor in a graceful lotus position, clearly going into meditation behind her veil.

  I walked the walls for over an hour, combing over everything, committing every detail to memory. The names of the kingdoms, where the rivers flowed, where the conclaves of succubi were gathered.

  It was the sort of intel not many people would ever see. This map must’ve been centuries in the making, the combined efforts of thousands of succubi on behalf of their communal good, and from some of the warnings written in faint script, many didn’t return from their travels.

  Once my head started spinning from the sheer amount of information I’d crammed into it, I finally stopped pacing the walls, pausing with my hand over a black splotch of ink.

  Something in me recoiled when I saw my fingers were touching the sphinx statues depicted on the city in Irkalla’s depths. Even though the walls were cool stone, there was an almost slimy sensation about running them over this portion of the map.

  The High Priestess was still meditating. I crept around to face her. “Thank you for showing this to me. And for your advice.”

  For a moment I thought she was completely tranced out, but her head tilted back. “Thank you for searching, and for healing one of us.”

  I might not have gotten what I came for, but at least I had another lead. With the map of Hell fixed in my mind and new hope, I left the High Priestess to her meditation.

  Still, the question of Azazel’s dark lineage haunted the back of my mind. Whatever this dreaded bloodline was, it was why people feared him.

  And perhaps why he held a monster inside his skin.

  7

  Melisande

  I felt eyes on my back as I rode Capheira back down to the Seventh Circle.

  It wasn’t an unusual feeling. After being the center of attention in Belial’s arena for weeks, and then becoming something of an object of curiosity elsewhere, I was definitely used to feeling eyes on me.

  But whoever was watching me… it didn’t feel normal or innocent. There was a creeping feeling of malice that made the little hairs on the back of my neck rise, along with the downy feathers along my wings.

  I kept mysel
f sitting straight up in Capheira’s saddle, trying to keep my wings from puffing up into a quivering mass, but the sense of malevolence from the unseen watcher was almost palpable. With one wing bound, I couldn’t take to the skies.

  I was a sitting duck. Or rather, a duck sitting on a horse with absolutely no defense.

  I pretended to look around and survey the damage, but I no longer saw the piles of rubble or raucous celebrations over the bodies of the dead. Instead I was scanning windows and rooftops, the shadows between buildings, looking for anything out of place.

  The problem was, everything was out of place right now. Between the clean-up crews, demons were running amok or wandering aimlessly, burning still more effigies alongside the pyres, flying drunkenly across the open sky.

  It was impossible to tell in the middle of this upheaval if anyone was stalking me. Whoever they were, they were good at remaining unseen, but it would also be the height of stupidity to start craning my head around on a swivel and looking for them openly.

  I spent the whole ride downwards with my hands tense on the reins, half expecting an arrow to rip right through my chest.

  By the time I reached the relative safety of the Seventh Circle, I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. The sense of malice was gone, but I didn’t relax until I’d passed through the gates of my arena and brought Capheira into the stable for her grooming and a treat.

  I was dead tired, after all. Maybe I was just imagining things after exhausting my healing magic today and spending another hour on top of that memorizing a mind-bendingly enormous map.

  I’d just released Capheira back into the cool waters of her lily pond when a Chainling appeared at my elbow, his hands folded neatly inside his voluminous sleeves.

  “Your presence is requested within, Lady Wrath,” he said. He had a reedy sort of voice, and his chain necklace clinked with every movement.

  I placed Capheira’s saddle on its rack, my arms trembling with the effort. Every tiny motion seemed to sap me of even more energy. “Right now? What’s happening?”

  The Chainling sniffed disapprovingly. “Your guest is awake.”

  All of my exhaustion was immediately forgotten. Michael was finally conscious?

  I practically sprinted past him, only slowing down because the jolting motion of running hurt my wing, and almost ran into Belial at the arena doors.

  He reached out and stopped me, planting his hands on my shoulders. “There you are. I was about to hunt you down.”

  I pushed a wayward strand of hair out of my face and looked up into his aquamarine eyes. He looked tired, his arms still dirty with ash up to the shoulders, and several scratches had been ripped right through the front of his shirt.

  “What did you get into?” I asked, looking him over. It looked more like he’d been in a fight than excavating the remains of his arena.

  Belial shrugged one shoulder. “Just had to put a few old bones back to sleep. What took you so long in the Second Circle? Get a little distracted?”

  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but despite his teasing, he seemed distracted.

  I just took his hand and led him inside. “Not in the way you’re implying. I found out a few things I’d like to look into later, but the messenger told me Michael’s awake-?”

  I left it hanging on a question, waiting for Belial to confirm, but he just scowled.

  “Are we upset that he’s awake?” I asked, confused by his reaction. This was supposed to be a good thing.

  “If by ‘awake’ you mean eating all the food and drinking all the bottles of vintage whiskey this land will never see the likes of again… then yes, he’s awake.”

  “Good,” I said brightly, pulling him along. “A drunk archangel is a loose-lipped archangel.”

  Belial just shook his head sadly. “He’s drinking them like water, angel. Like water. Do you have any idea how many years I’ve been holding those back?”

  The Chainlings guarding the door ahead were both peering into the room. It was impossible to make out their expressions under their hoods, but at one point they shared a glance, and jumped and straightened up when they saw us coming.

  “I’ll get your more whiskey and you can age it for the next millennium,” I told Belial. “I just want to know what the Hell happened in Heaven. If there was any chance Gabriel was in on the plan with Satan, then we might be watching our backs for yet more enemies.”

  For all my eagerness, I paused when we reached the door. I still didn’t quite like archangels, with the exception of Tascius, after years of being tormented at their hands.

  But I’d never met Michael before. Trading information would mean having to give him the benefit of a doubt.

  And even if he did try to raise a hand against me… well, he wouldn’t make it far after that, not with Belial at my back.

  I stepped into the doorway and stopped in my tracks.

  The archangel was sitting on a makeshift bed, his hands free but his ankles still in manacles. He had a plate balanced across his lap, piled with meat, and a tankard in one hand.

  Azazel and Tascius were already in there, both of them watching him with incredulity.

  “More,” Michael said hoarsely, holding out the tankard.

  Azazel stepped forward, tilting a glass bottle until the last topaz drops fell into the outstretched mug. Behind me, Belial let out a small groan of dismay.

  Michael held up the tankard and drained it, his throat working as he drank.

  I just stared at him, feeling the same incredulity as everyone else, but this was what we had to work with. If he’d been awake for even a fraction of his time in the sarcophagus, he might’ve overheard discussions, plans, maybe even something Lucifer had said.

  I decided to introduce myself, taking another step closer. It was hard to not assume the military formation pose of our Choir in the presence of an archangel, with my left hand clasped around my right wrist behind my back, but I was no longer of Heaven’s army, and I didn’t owe him my fealty.

  “Hello. I’m Melisande. I’m not sure how much they’ve explained to you, but-”

  Michael looked up at me and squinted. “But I’m in Hell, I missed the Apocalypse, and I’ve spent the last century sleeping under the Dragon’s flaming arsehole. We’ve covered the basics.”

  I instinctively bristled, but tried to calm myself. I’d probably be in a foul mood too if I woke up in the Pit and was told I missed out on something that important. “Right. Now we have some questions for you. Starting with why you attacked someone you believed was Gabriel.”

  Michael placed the tankard on a small table that had been dragged nearby, but his movements weren’t delicate. He moved like he held a sword in hand, nearly planting the mug right through the tabletop. “Because Gabriel was the bastard who told me Raphael was in Hell. I landed right in a trap. Now, why don’t you tell me why there’s a brand-new archangel in here with us? Who died?” I realized his voice wasn’t hoarse from thirst. He just had a deep, booming voice edged with rasp.

  But my lips twitched at his question, almost splitting into a smile at the memory of Gabriel’s bloody demise. “We already told you this, but Gabriel died.”

  “I’m his son,” Tascius added quietly, still watching Michael with a suspicious eye. “Nephilim-born.”

  Michael paused with a leg of mutton halfway to his mouth. “Gabriel is… dead?” He sounded disbelieving, and clearly had zero memory of fighting Tascius the moment he was released from the sarcophagus.

  “As a doornail,” I said smugly, but Michael launched to his feet, sending meat scattering and the tray clanging across the room.

  “You deprived me of his murder?” he roared.

  Within a split-second, Belial had me behind him, his teeth already lengthening and a deep snarl ripping through him. “You will watch yourself in her presence,” he growled, and Michael took a deep breath.

  He couldn’t go anywhere with the manacles around his ankles, but his fists clenched and unclenche
d at his sides. His breathing was ragged, his wings trembling but tucked in against his back. Belial didn’t protest as I edged around him.

  “Apologies,” Michael said stiffly. He slowly sat back down and frowned at the mess. “Fuck. Waste of good meat.”

  Every second spent in Michael’s presence was opening a small crack in the back of my mind, one that started small and was growing larger by the second. He was an archangel, but… he drank, he swore. Things that were proscribed to the Choirs. Even Gabriel and his like had tried to hide their worst tendencies among others of their kind.

  “I just wanted to be the one to rip the little cunt limb from limb,” he finally said.

  I sympathized. Really, I did. “Tascius already did that. So, you can rest easy now- he’s dead and gone.”

  The gears in Michael’s head were clearly turning. He looked up at me and squinted, his gaze running up and down and finally resting on my wings. “You were in Heaven, then? Did they ever find Raphael?”

  I slowly shook my head. “Nobody was looking for him. We were forbidden to discuss his absence.”

  “Forbidden by who?” he demanded.

  I set my jaw, hating the memories. “Gabriel, of course. And Barachiel, Raguel, and Selaphiel.”

  His lips twisted in a sneer. “I should’ve known. Raphael vanished years before Gabriel betrayed me, but those four… they were tighter than a virgin’s-” He cut himself off before finishing that sentence, catching Tascius’s narrow-eyed glare. “They were good friends. Let’s just say that. After Raphael disappeared, God became… distant. He no longer spoke to us as he had before.”

  Michael stared at the ground, then raked a hand through his tangled hair.

  “Then what?” I prompted gently, my heart pounding. Everything I’d feared was turning out to be at least somewhat true. Gabriel and his kind… they were the worst kind of traitors.

  “I suspected foul play, that’s what!” Michael boomed. “For an archangel to vanish without a trace? Unthinkable. And God’s silence… he was turning his face away from us. But I was the fool who trusted Gabriel’s word when he said Raphael had been seen in Hell…” He shook his head. “Pure fucking idiocy.”