by Vox Day
Take, for instance, Moloch’s splendidly malevolent plan to use the dormant roots of Teutonic paganism to eliminate the cursed Seed of Abraham once and for all. Sure, millions had been charred into sweet-stinking incense and ashes, but in the years following the devastation, Melusine and the rest of the Fallen had watched in gradually dawning horror as the Enemy’s Chosen made their long-prophesied return to the Promised Land after nearly two millennia of Diaspora, thanks in part to Moloch’s idiotic intervention.
A rhyme suddenly occurred to her, and she hummed to herself as she constructed a little piece of doggerel in her head. She grinned at the aptly vulgar meter, and made a mental note to tell it to Puck. He deserved no less. One of her fonder memories of Provence suddenly came back to her as she remembered those pathetic bits of rhyme slapped together in her honor by unpolished country courtiers. The poems had generally ranged from badly-rhymed, meter-less flattery to labored reworkings of hoary old standbys, but despite the abysmal quality of the poetry, there had been something wonderful about being the focus of the poet’s attention. It was so much fun to play the role of a muse inspiring the efforts of others, however shoddy they might be, to preserve in words something of her beauty, glory, and fame. What there was of it. She ran her hand over her head and shivered.
It was unfortunate that none of the poems written in her honor had stood the test of time, mostly because they had been, like their authors, destined from the very beginning for a miserable end. And her own destiny, she thought, was beginning to have all too much in common with those helpless, hopeless, talentless mortals dead so long ago. Maybe Puck would change all that. Right, for the worse, if history was any guide.
The bus arrived at her stop, and as her mind ceased its meanderings, her anger began to reassert itself. She marched down the crowded sidewalk like a shaven Erinys, forgetting that her attire was wholly inappropriate for the workaday mortals that inhabited this part of the city at this time of day. Realizing that she was drawing too many stares, she ducked into a Christian Science reading room and transformed into a more appropriately bourgeois aspect, complete with power skirt and Manolos.
With happy hour approaching, the pub was lively, and a waitress protested as Melusine pushed right past her and nearly upset her half-laden tray. She stormed up the stairs, and her ire was not in the least diminished by the sight of the one who had summoned her hence with his mysterious manipulations. Puck was sprawled in the corner, comfortably ensconced with his legs dangling over the side of a large wingback chair. His welcoming smile was impudent in the extreme, and it was all that she could do to stop herself from smashing her fist directly into it.
“Why, Melusine, how delightful to see you!” he exclaimed, sipping at a vile-looking blue concoction through a straw. “Whatever brings you here?”
“What are you doing messing around with Incandazael? And who hooked you up with the authority to sign death warrants in this demesne?”
“I signed nothing.”
“You know what I mean! Don’t play the idiot with me, Puck! It’s a little late for that. I already know what a conniving rat you are.”
“Oh, but I’m so good at it!” He batted his eyelashes at her. “Very well, I’ll come clean with you, just for old times’ sake. And, more to the point, for all the fun we’re about to have… together.”
“No, no, oh, no you don’t. I’ve already gotten into enough trouble in the last year without your help. Being a good little temptress and keeping my nose out of everyone else’s business is the height of my ambition for the next sixty or seventy years.”
Puck looked pained. “You don’t know how it saddens me to hear you say that, Melusine. Such thoughts are really beneath you, you know. You should be tempting kings and destroying nations, not wrestling with Guardians over every naughty thought that goes into that little boy’s head. But I knew you’d feel that way; unfortunately, I can’t permit it.”
“You can’t permit it?” Melusine felt her throat tighten with the effort to avoid snarling at him . “I don’t recall you having much say in the matter.”
“Yes, you’re quite right. But I think I can persuade you to see things my way.”
“Color me skeptical.”
“As you like. Here’s how I see it. Incandazael is the worst kind of fool, the sort who honestly believes he’s quite clever—”
“And you’re not?”
“I know I’m clever, darling, I don’t merely believe it. The difference is crucial. But as endlessly fascinating as the subject is to all and sundry, enough about me. And since I’d prefer to avoid a wholly uninteresting tangent on the inadequacies of your colleague, let’s just say that he’s bound to make a hash of it. I have no idea precisely how it will fall apart, but one way or another, this attempt to extinguish his charge will go wildly askew, bringing attention and the inevitable wrath to follow down on everyone who is responsible for mortal souls in that particular family. Including, I am not at all loathe to say, you.”
Melusine wasn’t sure that she bought that explanation, which sounded rather on the flimsy side. But then again, if he didn’t want to tell her the truth, there wasn’t much point in pressing him. He’d simply come up with another, probably more convincing lie.
“Do you hate me?”
Puck looked genuinely surprised. “Perish the very thought!”
“No, seriously. What am I supposed to think. You show up after five hundred years, we chat for two seconds, then you disappear for two weeks only to show up and announce that you’re arranging to have me hung by my toenails… if I’m lucky! So, I’m asking. Do you hate me?”
Puck smiled indulgently and shook his head. “Don’t be silly. The fact of the matter is that I need you. Well, actually, I need your flamboyant protégé, but since I have no idea of how to go about pushing his buttons, I need you very much. And isn’t that really all that a girl wants to hear?”
Melusine snorted. “You want Jehuel? Puck, all you had to do was ask! I would have cheerfully given you his insides on a stick, preferably a sharp one—no, better yet, a very dull one with a tendency to splinter.”
“Oh, dear, is he as bad as that?”
“He’s much worse.”
Puck spread his hands and beamed at her. “There, you see? That’s exactly why I need you! The insight is invaluable!”
Melusine felt her lips twitch even though she was still furious with Puck and there was a definite sense of things beginning to spin out of control again. For all his proud cunning, it seemed Puck had miscalculated. He didn’t need her to tell him that Jehuel was an insufferable, pig-headed monster. Thirty seconds conversation with the jerk would have told him that.
“Well, are you in?”
Melusine chewed at her upper lip and glanced at the window outside. She needed time to think, but Puck didn’t seem inclined to give it to her. She shook her head, frustrated. Why couldn’t she simply say no to him? And then, she realized there was no way she could do so. It wasn’t that she was overly concerned about Incandazael’s idiocies. The salient fact was that Puck had not only been willing to intervene in the situation, but he demonstrably had the power to do so. In fact, she suddenly came to the realization that his confession to her had been nothing of the sort. No wonder it had sounded false, as his actions with regards to Incandazael were really more of a delicate warning. An angel that could make Incandazael’s life easier could also make hers more difficult. Much more difficult.
With Puck, she reminded herself, it wasn’t the words you heard that mattered, it was the ones you didn’t. She shivered as she grasped the full implications of his insidious hint. The fact that he did not even bother to voice his threats, but simply dangled them before her to see if she was sharp enough to notice them was somehow more intimidating than the furious bellows of a more obviously dangerous angel. No, it was much better to submit and give him what he wanted than to sit on edge for weeks, even months, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.
“I’m in.”
>
“Excellent!” He beamed happily at her and air-kissed her hand. Then he snapped his fingers and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Ah, yes….and by the pricking of my thumbs, something with shockingly bad taste comes.”
A flash of gold in the mirror caught Melusine’s eye, and she looked back to see Jehuel himself at the top of the stairs behind her. Speak of the hag-ridden devil! What was he doing here? She whirled around to face Puck, had the audacity to tap his fingers and waggle his red eyebrows as if some mad scheme of his was coming together, and she and Jehuel were nothing more than pawns on his chess board. Which was probably close to being the case, she thought ruefully.
“At least he’s on time,” the one-time fae mused so that only she could hear. “Not that anything could possibly excuse that dreadful raiment. Dear oh dear oh dear.”
“Melusine?” Jehuel looked personally affronted by her presence, and put his clenched fists on his waist. In combination with the gold lamè cloak, it was a particularly unfortunate stance for an angel that wished to be taken seriously. Melusine had to bite her lip, and Puck, less accustomed to Jehuel’s theatrics, appeared to be mere seconds away from an apoplectic burst of laughter.
“Why is she here, Lord Robin? You told me that we were to discuss matters of tremendous import?”
“And so we are,” answered Puck gravely, without betraying a hint of the mirth that was surely gnawing at his insides like a starving wolverine. Now he was calling himself Lord Robin? Melusine rolled her eyes. What was up with that?
“Why is she here?” Jehuel scowled at her. “You ruin everything. Why can’t you keep your nose out of my business for once.”
“Because your business is my business, dear Boggie.” Jehuel flushed red at the sound of his dryad name, humiliated by her reference to a time he’d no doubt been hoping to put behind him. “You’re ludicrous—and dangerous, I might add—machinations aside, it would serve you well to recall that you are still an assistant Tempter. My assistant Tempter, to be precise.”
“That’s enough!” barked Puck. “Melusine, don’t bait him. You infringe upon my demesne when you do so—let there be no mistake, if there is taunting to be done, I am more than equal to the task! And Jehuel, when I told you to come as a mortal, I was intending for you to blend with the crowd, not give them the impression that you’re dying to go on stage with Siegfried, Roy and the big white kitties.”
Oh, dear. Jehuel’s failure to bother modifying his aspect had caused Melusine to miss the fact that he was fully in the material plane with them. No wonder people kept stealing bemused glances their way. She shook with silent laughter as Puck ordered Jehuel off to the bathroom, with a very detailed description of how he was to look when he came out again. A minute later, a disgruntled young man with bleach blond hair and a soul patch stalked out. Only his striking violet eyes betrayed any resemblance to the supernatural being that had vanished, and they burned now with rebellious indignation.
Melusine sighed. She’d seen that look before. His wounded pride was like an open sore, and the Lewis twins had been less petulant when they were going through the terrible threes together. But she ignored him and turned her attention to Puck as he lifted his legs over the side of the chair and sat upright to address them both.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen… oh, sorry, wrong speech. As a matter of fact, why don’t we dispose with speeches altogether, since you’re both going to end up doing what I tell you anyhow?”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because you’re here,” Melusine told Jehuel. It was true. Once he set a hook, Puck seldom failed to land his fish.
“Because I’m going to see that you get your sword back, my dear princeling. La bella Arabel, the sword that slew the lords of Chaos, the sword with which you made your name, or, to put it more succinctly, the only thing that you love anywhere nearly as much as you love yourself.” He winked at Melusine. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the greatest love of all.”
He closed his eyes, hugged himself and began make kissing sounds, until Melusine kicked him in the shin. “Knock it off, Puck.”
“Do you mean it,” Jehuel asked softly. He looked more vulnerable than Melusine had ever seen him before, not even when he’d been a lowly, semi-sentient dryad had he looked so innocent and hopeful. “Can you… do you know where it is?”
“Well, no,” Puck confessed. He quickly held up a hand to forestall an imminent explosion. “But I’m quite sure I can find it. I spoke to someone who knows a fair bit about mystical weapons of great power, and I have some very good reasons to suspect that your little toy is hidden somewhere in Albion.”
“Albion?” Jehuel looked blank.
“England,” Melusine explained. “In case you’re too thick to have noticed, Jehuel, my dear assistant tempter, we’re being coerced into helping Puck put his master back on the throne of England. Which was once known as Albion when Puck’s master ruled over it.”
“Are you lying about the sword?”
“Nope.” Puck met Jehuel’s intense gaze without flinching. Which meant nothing, Melusine knew; he’d always been an accomplished liar. “Nor would I. You see, without the sword, you are useless to me, Prince Jehuel. In fact, unless you promise to do something for me after I arrange for you to recover it, I will not even permit you to accompany us on our little adventure.”
“Us?” Melusine said. “But—”
“I wouldn’t wish to deprive you of the pleasure of my company even if the princeling here proves recalcitrant, darling. But the question is moot, as he most certainly will cast his lot with we few, we happy band of desperados. And he will have to do it soon, as it is in all of our best interests to vacate this sheep town in the very immediate future. It occurs to me that I may have been remiss in neglecting to mention one small detail.”
“What’s that?” Melusine braced herself.
“Do you know that broadcast tower near the Lewis house? The tall one, with all the blinking red lights?”
“Of course. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“It wouldn’t, except that someone finally figured out that ugly pair of slobberknockers who interrupted our little tête-à-tête the other night have gone awry. Fortunately, the posse appears to have split up for the nonce, which allowed me to take an old acquaintance by surprise. I’m afraid we parted on unamiable terms, though, as he’s currently impaled upon the top of the radio tower. In, as they say, the meat.”
Jehuel and Melusine looked at each other. She wasn’t sure of the implications of Puck’s savagery, and she knew he wasn’t either, but they couldn’t be good.
“He’s not dead? Will he die?” Jehuel asked.
“Death, what is death to we who know not its sting? I don’t see that it matters. Either way, they’ll be looking for him soon, if they’re not already. In that neighborhood, no less. I can’t imagine that it will take long to learn that the former Lord of the Sword is, or, as I soon hope to say, was, lurking about. I very much doubt they’ll be blind as to the implications.”
“What implications?”
Puck smiled at Jehuel, a shark’s amoral smile. “Why so pale, my lordly friend? Look at it this way. There’s every chance you won’t have to deal with your tedious young charge ever again. The Mad One’s Eyes aren’t exactly known for a wide range of imaginative solutions. From what I’ve seen of them in the past, they’ll simply slaughter every angel and human in the broad vicinity and then go looking for you.”
It was strange, thought Melusine. Not even the shock of dispersal in the Void had been enough to quell Jehuel’s foolish pride, yet Puck’s unique blend of friendly charm and unpredictable ruthlessness seemed to cow him as Prince Bloodwinter and Lord Kaym could not. She smiled, not able to help despising him as he swallowed hard and nodded his head.
“What do I have to do for you?”
“Kill someone. Someone very special, who, I am told, cannot be slain other than by the likes of your sweet l’objet d’amor
. And, since I am also given to understand that no angel other than your own bad self can properly wield this sword of swords, that makes you something on the order of a necessity in my book.”
“He sounds powerful.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Puck waved a disdainful hand, and Melusine was impressed at how convincing he managed to appear. She knew better. “Simply a tad on the hard-to-kill side, that’s all. So, what do you think? I find you the sword, you stick the sword in someone’s chest, we shake hands, compliment each other on a deed well done and go our happy, but separate ways.”
“That sounds like a good plan to me,” answered Jehuel, whose color had returned to him. Ever the dramatist, he slashed his palm and held it, smoking and leaking flame, upright towards Puck, who grinned and leaped from his chair. He, too, slashed his palm and pressed it against the fallen seraphim in a sacred, if obscene, vow of commitment.
Melusine shook her head at the sight of the weirdly incongruous pair binding themselves to a common purpose. The rhyme she had conceived earlier seemed more apropos than ever, and she recited it in a childish sing-song. Let Puck make of it what he would, but if he was going to force her into this mess, at least he’d know that she was participating under protest. And when it all blew apart around their ears, she’d have the satisfaction of telling him “I told you so!”
“If the best laid plans of mice and men,” she sang.
“Gang aft agley, what think we then
Of demon’s schemes that come to pass
And bite us always in the—ow!”
She leaped into the air as something seemed to sink its teeth into her own backside. Puck’s eyes were gleaming with amusement as he brandished the responsible thumb and forefinger at her and bared his teeth. They were white and sharp and there was suddenly more than one row of them.
