Demon Angel

by Meljean Brook

  Other hands touched him. Taylor. Detective. Talking into a phone, a civilian down.

  “Stay with the police,” he said to Savi, not even sure she heard him. “Don’t be alone.”

  She nodded, tears streaking her face. “Okay. Okay.” And more voices now, but they were fading. No—

  He was.

  Colin stumbled and it saved his head from being split in two, and the nosferatu’s blade slashed his cheek open instead. It would heal, but only if Sir Pup stopped playing with that demon and killed the nosferatu, because it didn’t look like Colin was going to last much longer—

  But the nosferatu paused, and Colin realized that the demon had given the creature a command in some unrecognizable language.

  “Your friends have abandoned you, vampire.”

  There was a sickening clench in his gut as Beelzebub spoke again, and the nosferatu laughed. The hellhound lay on his side, whimpering, the demon’s sword through its belly. Oh, no. No, no, no.

  But he forced himself to speak evenly, though the scent of Hugh’s blood, the hellhound’s blood, his own blood maddened him. “So they have.” He smiled, his most charming expression, but could not hide his fangs. “Would you like to strike a bargain?”

  Delaying, forcing the demon to wait to hear the terms; he could not believe he was going to end this way, in his basement, surrounded by ugliness and death. But why would the Guardian come back for him? Hugh was injured, badly, and Colin had spent two days sucking the lifeblood from her. “You have nothing we want; vampires are good for nothing but feeding their betters.” The demon smiled. “It is another type of halfling that interests us.”

  What kind of halfling? he wondered, and said: “But I’m extraordinarily handsome.” He used the demon’s flummoxed pause to leap forward, avoiding the nosferatu as best he could. Take out the demon first—the nosferatu was but a lackey, a valet, waiting for instructions from his master. No way to get out of this, might as well do as much damage as—

  Selah appeared in front of him, and he slammed into her. He would have laughed and kissed her on the mouth as they teleported, as the world ripped away from around them, but something went wrong. Her eyes were wide and blue, and he could not see his reflection in them—but he saw the sudden horror and fear.

  He recognized this place. “Don’t look, don’t listen,” he said, his throat tightening. “Try again. Keep on trying.” Just please don’t leave me here.

  The nosferatu and demon would have been preferable to this.

  Lilith fell through the Gate with a rush of seawater, landing atop a stinking pile of—

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  No guards at this Gate, or in this territory. She glanced around, orienting herself. Barren, with red sand and crimson sky—it hadn’t always been so. One thousand years ago, before the war between Belial and Lucifer, this had been one of the few almost pleasant territories Below.

  But Lucifer had reshaped it after Belial had claimed the territory abutting this one, erasing temples and fountains, and setting loose packs of hellhounds to keep the rebellion from encroaching further into Lucifer’s holdings.

  Lilith quickly took to the sky; the hellhounds didn’t differentiate between Lucifer’s followers and Belial’s, and it would be suicide to stay on the ground for long. Whatever she had landed in had probably fallen prey to them.

  No, that wasn’t right—hellhounds wouldn’t have left any carrion. So it had been killed by something else; whatever it was, she didn’t want to meet it. After the Second Battle, Lucifer had never managed to call forth another dragon from Chaos, and had slowly lost access to that realm and its creatures—including the wyrmwolves, from which he’d bred his hellhounds. But the things he continued to experiment upon and create from the remnants of Chaos were almost as frightening as a dragon, and usually uncontrollable.

  She flew toward the throne. Even from this distance it was easy to see, rising like a gargantuan spear from the center of Hell. If not for the demon’s false corporeality, she would have thought it grossly phallic; but Lucifer had no masculinity to prove, and it was a symbol of military power in its simplest shape—and the most inescapable height. The ground Below had no curvature, and the column was visible from every corner.

  Just as Belial’s temples, newly built in the outlying territories, could be seen from the center though they stood not even an eighth as tall.

  Perhaps men had existed as long as they had because the horizon and poor eyesight saved them from perpetual insult. Lilith grinned, trying to imagine Earth if all men, instead of a few in power, were constantly aware of their enemies’ progress, and continually measured it against their own. Demons had not been blessed with such happy ignorance, and war had decimated the population on both sides. Unsurprising that many demons had gone rogue, or chose to live on Earth in whatever capacity they could, whether congressman or FBI lackey.

  Much better than here, where the stink of death permeated everything. Lucifer’s empyreal throne: built on rot, gilded by deceit. His cities had deteriorated since last she’d come Below. Though a simple thing for him to reconstruct them—little more than a thought—buildings lay in ruins, pitted by the sulphuric air. The lake had grown beyond its boundaries, and liquid fire ran in rivulets down the streets, melting away gold and dulling the black marble with smoke.

  It had never been beautiful—too gaudy for beauty—but Lucifer’s pride had disallowed him to rule over a kingdom in disrepair.

  Strange, that it was now. She did not know what to make of it. But she did not know what to think of many things of late.

  No. She took a deep breath, let the stinking air fill her. This was not the time for confusion, or for uncertainty. Not the time for sentiment.

  She circled around the cities; though war had reduced their populations, the air above them was still busy with demons, like bees over a hive. And though a confrontation and fight might have steadied her nerves, she dared not risk it. Lucifer might approve of such squabbling—or he might not, depending upon his mood.

  And it was the territories closer to the throne she needed to focus on, to get through, before she could think about fighting.

  She flew through the barrier ringing the throne’s territory—Lucifer’s magic vanished her wings, and she plummeted. She’d known the barrier was there, could have prepared for it, but she’d seen halflings and demons try to avoid the fall and be punished for it. None could approach Lucifer without being reminded from whence they all came.

  But she had no intention of crawling to Lucifer on broken limbs; it would inspire hatred, not pity. She controlled the descent, fast but not reckless, and rolled at the last moment. Breathed a prayer of thanks to the scales and hardened flesh.

  A growl from beside her made her quickly amend, “Thanks to the Morningstar for giving me scales and flesh of stone,” she said with an ironic smile, but Cerberus only cared that the words were correct, and thought nothing of the tone.

  She did not stand half as tall as the hellhound’s shoulder; a few more centuries and Sir Pup would be as large. “Your son is well; he begs for pettings and obeys my every command, just like a human’s dog.” Rage darkened the hellhound’s eyes, and Lilith added, “I’d have a treat for you, but I fed the pup the last of the meat I had for being such a good boy.”

  Cerberus went still, as if deciding whether to kill her. But he would have only left the throne at Lucifer’s behest and most likely to fetch her. Lucifer would not mourn her death, but he would punish Cerberus for disobeying him, and the hellhound weighed that decision now.

  As Lilith had known he would, he let her live, pushing her forward with a violent shove. Through another barrier, from heat to ice. On Earth, the cold did not affect her; here, it bit and clawed, tore hungrily at her feet. Magic, most likely. Use of which Lucifer kept a closely guarded secret, as he did most knowledge.

  She tripped as Cerberus pushed her again, and she sprawled flat—and squeezed her eyes shut too late. Only inches from hers
: a face, frozen into the ground, frozen in an eternal scream of horror.

  Darius. One of the demon halflings; once a murderer, Lucifer had transformed him—then later, destroyed him for taking pride in his human accomplishments. Impossible to serve Lucifer if one prided oneself in giving—or taking—life. When Darius had made that last trip to the throne, the halflings and demons had lined up, watched him walk though the frozen wasteland. He’d walked with his head down, placing each step carefully, though it was not so packed with those terrible visages and stepping room available. The demons had mocked him for his cowardice, for refusing to meet their eyes with pride as he marched to judgment. Such it was Below; to be destroyed for pride, and then mocked for lacking it.

  But the halflings watching him had known Darius was thinking of how soon he’d be in that frozen stretch, and that he did unto others as he would have done unto him. They would not do the same—not until their own destruction came and they had nothing left to lose. Only a halfling already doomed would dare betray such a human sentiment.

  Lilith rose to her feet; the ground was uneven, the faces mounded together with barely space between them. How many halflings were down there? How many had Lucifer determined had failed in their service to him? Once, the cities Below had swarmed with halflings; now, they populated this frozen stretch of Hell.

  And though Lilith was the last of the halflings, she would not end like them.

  As she always did, Lilith kept her gaze fixed on the Throne, stumbling across the field, refusing to look at those she stepped on. The silence in this realm was absolute; though her feet—taloned, softer than the cloven hooves, less likely to crunch and shatter frozen flesh—must have made noise as she walked, it didn’t reach her ears. Nor could she hear Cerberus, though he walked next to her now.

  Only the frozen, silent screams of the damned who had reneged on their bargains. Those who had been greedy or stupid enough to bargain with a demon, but not greedy or stupid enough to uphold their part in it. Not all halflings, but many were.

  Lilith had been in the Pit, received Punishment there; the thought of that pain was less terrifying than an eternity trapped here, motionless. Particularly as the ice did not offer numbness or oblivion. Their eyes were not frozen. They wept and pleaded for release that never came.

  His death will be yours to give, or your soul mine to keep. Lucifer had chosen his bargain well; no matter her decision, it would bring torment.

  But was one Punishment truly worse than the other?

  Her eyes burned with cold; it must have been the cold. She looked down and took care where she placed her feet.

  CHAPTER 24

  Though the exterior of the throne and much of the interior did not lack for decoration—indeed, sculpted marble friezes and fretted gold adorned every inch—Lucifer’s den was comfortable and understated.

  As was Lucifer.

  Lilith stifled her uneasy laughter as she took in his appearance: a human male, skin just beginning to wrinkle; soft brown eyes and a short brown beard, only a shade darker than the thinning, graying hair on his pate. A blue cardigan and gray slacks completed his look as a friendly, unassuming, middle-class retiree.

  He waved aside her formal greeting, then sat in a wingback chair near a fireplace and invited her to take the matching seat. He gestured to a steaming pot on a small table, and said, “Would you like to take tea?”

  Biting her lip to halt the bubbling, hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt, she simply nodded. Her hands were shaking, and she willed them to stop as he poured the tea into delicate cups, folding them together in her lap.

  She had to sit perched at the edge of the seat to make room for her wings; she dared not vanish them, despite the human form he’d assumed. The wingtips lay on the floor on either side of the chair, the spread of their bulk leaving her unable to see behind her chair, even if she turned—she was vulnerable and exposed. Her cloven hooves looked ridiculous against the thick white carpeting; and when he gave her the tea, her claws were inadequate for holding the small porcelain cup.

  Fear that she’d scratch the teacup made her tremble again, and he watched intently as the liquid sloshed near the rim. Suddenly certain that he would kill her simply for staining his carpet, she froze.

  He smiled. Took a slow sip.

  She didn’t know if she should do the same. To leave it untouched would be an insult to him; to drink would be human.

  Raising the cup to her lips, she held it there and spoke over the rim. “Thank you, Father.”

  Apparently, it was the correct response, as he didn’t immediately destroy her.

  “Ah, Lilith,” he said, leaning back and crossing his legs at the knee. “You are such a disappointment to me.”

  “Stupid and weak,” she agreed.

  “Yes. I’m not certain what to do with you.”

  “In your infinite wisdom, I’m certain that whatever you choose will be the correct decision, Father.”

  “Of course.” He set his cup on the table and steepled fingers that could tear apart mountains. “You told the human the truth of our bargain.”

  “Yes, Father. I find their terror is best prolonged and thereby better enjoyed when they know their damnation is imminent and inevitable.”

  “I prefer surprises.”

  She dipped her head. “I am but a lowly halfling, Father, and do not always make the best decisions, though I would try to emulate you.”

  “Do you think you could be as I am, Lilith?”

  “I could never be half as magnificent, Father.”

  “You should lie to the human. You should lie always.”

  She lowered her eyes. “You are so very benevolent, Father, to share your wisdom with a worm such as I.”

  Perhaps she had gone too far with the last remark; he stared at her without expression, but the fire in the hearth leapt and crackled.

  “I can smell his seed within you. It defiles my Realm.”

  “It was not my intention to defile, Father, only to offer proof of his weakening.”

  “And your own?”

  “Is but a part of my design, Father. He thinks to save me, and I give him as much hope as possible toward that end: I plan to make him believe that my reaction and desire is genuine before I take that false hope away and destroy him, as per our bargain,” she said, and her stomach clenched as she realized she’d done exactly as Hugh had predicted: attempted to lie to herself.

  “Your pleasure was genuine.”

  She shrugged carelessly. “It was but a physical manifestation of the pleasure I took in deceiving him.”

  “You lie.”

  “As you wished, Father.”

  “You care for him.”

  She fell silent, not daring to hope that Hugh had been right about Lucifer’s response as he had been of hers, that his plan might work after all.

  “How delightful, then, that you must kill him.” He sat forward, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. “I have a surprise for you, Lilith. Two surprises, actually.”

  Tensing, she prepared to flee. “Yes?”

  “The first is a visitor. We found him wandering the Pit.”

  She frowned, confused. But she recognized the long, confident strides of the Guardian who entered the den, his physical scent.

  Michael.

  Lucifer did not rise from his seat; nor did she, or turn to acknowledge him, though it left her blind to the Guardian’s expressions and appearance.

  “You are embarrassing me, daughter.”

  Anger in that statement; she leapt to her feet, forcing a smile. “I’m certain that the Doyen understands he is not worthy of notice when in the company of such as yourself, Father.”

  Michael nodded slowly, his obsidian gaze unreadable as it traveled between Lucifer and Lilith. With his black feathered wings, soot-stained toga and bronzed skin, the Doyen looked more the denizen Below than Lucifer, but she did not make the observation aloud.

  “Would you take tea?” Lilith said.


  “No. I have only come to look for someone I misplaced. I will be leaving shortly; I wished to pay my respects.” Michael’s tone made it clear he had little, if any, respect for the demon lord.

  “Misplaced?” Lucifer echoed, and laughed. “Careless of you, I daresay. Be certain that if I find this lost soul, I shall find a place for him.”

  “Yes.” Michael did not look away from Lilith. “I sense your halfling is eager to return to Earth.”

  “I have a bargain to fulfill,” Lilith said quietly, wishing the Guardian would not speak of, or to, her at all. His attention would only put her in line of Lucifer’s anger.

  “Hugh. Do you truly believe you’ll succeed where you failed before?” His lips quirked, and he turned to Lucifer. “You have indeed made her in your image; she fails too often to be anything but your daughter.”

  “She’ll not fail in this,” Lucifer murmured.

  “All of those you transformed have been worthless, the result of a faulty ritual—else they would still populate this realm,” Michael said. Lilith stood, absolutely still, and they spoke as if she did not exist. Vexing, but safer than notice. “And applying that false transformation to the nosferatu will not save you from inevitable ruin.”

  “It gave the halflings power; there was nothing faulty in the ritual, only the recipients.”

  “You could not make true demons from a human template.”

  “And that is why I shall succeed with the nosferatu,” Lucifer said, smiling. “They are pure, of the original angelic orders, and their power will add to mine.”

  Michael started, as if in realization. Strange, Lilith thought; she had never seen him react with such obviousness. Would Lucifer know it was unusual?

  “Their power to kill men,” Michael said slowly. “That is what they trade; they would kill in service of you.”