A gust of icy wind swirled around me, chilling me, freezing my pain. My teeth chattered, and when I ground them closed my body shook violently. I doubled over as the wintry gale teased my flesh with goosebumps. Pit swallow me, it really was a cold day in Hell.
Over the sounds of my shivering: the sound of wings slapping the air.
I looked up to the skyway above, my hair swirling around my face, stinging my eyes. Against the dot of red sky, a white spec winked. As I watched it grew larger, soon taking the outline of a man with bird's wings. I felt His presence—power, sweet Sin, such raw power!—long before I saw His face. The frosty air that surrounded me was nothing compared with the tendrils of cold fear that worked their way up my body, icing my heart, chilling my courage.
"Too late," Meg said like a sob. "Jezzie, I'm so sorry."
The shape slowly approached from above, the powerful wings beating the air as if it were insignificant. Now I saw His features: the frozen beauty of a winter sunrise, the threatening power of a snow-capped precipice a breath away from an avalanche. It wasn't so much that He glowed; He was the epitome of light, captured in flesh—alabaster, pure, a living statue of ivory. From His dove's wings to the thick wavy locks crowning His head, He was white—save for His eyes, which blazed with emerald fire.
I'd seen those eyes before, set in another's face, but on Lucifer, they had brimmed with bitterness and sorrow, had glinted with dying hope. On the creature hovering above me, those green eyes burned with cold fury.
His bare feet touched the dais, stark white against the bloody red velvet. His wings beat once more, then folded against His back, poised to strike, weapons even at rest. He wore beauty like a garment cut from expensive cloth; His naked body was too perfect to be handsome, far too cold to ever suggest the warmth of desire. He stared down at me, those green eyes weighing me, finding me wanting.
Michael, Archangel, King of Hell.
Cowering on the floor, my limbs half-frozen, I tore my gaze away and touched my forehead to the ground. Always show respect to those who could destroy you on a whim.
"Alecto Erinyes," He said, His voice as soft as falling snow. My heart jackhammered so loudly that I almost didn't catch the words. "You have succeeded where your sister failed."
"Yes, Sire," the Fury said—not smug, not proud. She spoke simply, as if she'd confirmed that yes, she did place the order for lunch. Nothing about her tone conveyed that she, like her sister before her, had betrayed me.
Mental note: Stop trusting the Erinyes.
Mental note, part two: Learn important lessons before imminent death.
I wondered what dying felt like when you were already dead.
"So," Michael said, "this is the tempter who thought she could outwit Hell." Something nudged my ribs—His foot. I hadn't heard him approach. Paralyzed from fear and cold, I remained prone, hiding my face. "She doesn't look like much."
"The Light Bringer held her in high regard, Sire," Alecto said. "His kiss is still visible on her lips."
He did? It was?
Lillith's voice, snide, mocking: He would ask about you.
That did it: all female residents of the Abyss were utterly insane. If I weren't beside myself with terror, I would have told Alecto that her mother obviously had dropped her on the head one too many times. (Not that she actually had a mother.)
The prod jabbed into a sudden kick, and I grunted.
"You constantly remind Me that the Light Bringer had done this, or the Light Bringer had done that," Michael said, His voice like frostbite. "I grow sick of such constant reminders, Fury. What do I care for what the Light Bringer has done? His reign is over."
"Sire, I meant no disrespect."
"I grow sick of you, Alecto, you and your sister both. Perhaps Tisiphone would serve Me better as an advisor."
Tension hummed in the air like a diamondback's rattle before Alecto spoke. "I'm sure our other sister would be honored, Sire."
"I will think on it." The voice moved away from me, but my body felt even colder than before, as if His kick had laced me with ice. "Tell Me, you who were Jezebel. What was it that finally brought you back to Hell freely of your own accord? How did the Fury convince you?"
"She didn't, Lord." My words were a bare squeak. As mind-numbingly frightened as I was, I couldn't bring myself to call Him "sire." For me, there would be only one true Sire of Hell.
"No?" Amusement tempered the chill of His voice. "What, then?"
I swallowed hard before I answered. "Lillith stole the soul of my love."
"Did she now?" Frost, hinting of an impending blizzard.
"He was innocent, Lord," I said through clenched teeth. He could destroy me only once; I had little to lose by venting my anger. "She had no right to claim him for Hell."
"You don't say. Tell Me how your former Queen stole the soul of your love."
"I heard sounds from his apartment. When I entered, I saw Lillith seducing him. She had taken my shape, tricked him into thinking she was me." My voice wavered as my mind flashed on Paul bucking beneath Lillith, her hips on his, her eyes on mine. "And then she killed him and took his soul, abandoned it in the Endless Caverns."
"And how do you know this?"
"I returned to Hell to save him, and she attacked me. When I bested her, she admitted to me where he was."
"How do you know she did not lie?"
"I found him, Lord." The words fell from my lips, and as I spoke, something tightened in my chest: Anticipation. "I saved him from the Caverns. He's Above. Safe."
A long pause, and then He said, "So the one-time Queen thinks she can ignore My rule?"
I felt something icy brush past my mind, an arctic gust riding the air, but I couldn't make out the words behind the power. A command from the King of Hell, but not for my ears. And then a rending sound, as if the air itself were being torn asunder: a door opening like a scream. With the scream came smells—garlic, raw and overpowering; new money, crisp and heady; burned coffee and old sweat; roses; sautéed onions. Beneath those odors, weaving them together, was the cloying stench of wet dog covered with dirt. The sound of footfalls on marble, the palpable feeling of hatred and cold certainty of terror—the crushing sense of a sudden throng.
Despite myself, I looked up. And then ducked my head, wanting desperately to be anywhere else, even at the bottom of the Lake of Fire.
They lined the walls of the throne room, four rows thick, wearing human forms and radiating malefic ire—the demon lords, the principals and dukes, entourages to the most powerful of the nefarious. Prone on the ground, their heads touching the floor, they waited, an undeniable anxiety working its way through them, bordering on panic. Bowing before the throne, ten figures offered supplication: the great Kings of Sin and Land.
This, I thought bleakly, was really bad.
"My Court." Michael's voice filled the room with ice. "I have summoned you here to witness My judgment on one of your own."
A sudden smell: a splash of scented oil. Then a startled squawk and a gasp.
I glanced up again, and this time my gaze held. In the center of the chamber, Lillith and Asmodai hastened to untangle their sweaty limbs, the smell of their sex play wafting over them. Together, naked, they fell before the throne, displaying absolute reverence.
"Lillith, First Woman. I know you of old," Michael said. "With the Almighty's command, I cast you from the Garden."
Her body folded over itself, Lillith showed no reaction. She was much braver than me; if His voice had been lacerating me like that, I would have pissed myself.
He said, "You have come far. You have prostituted yourself since the dawn of Creation, offered yourself to whoever could increase your power. You were a Queen of Hell."
I saw a shiver work its way down her back.
"You have ambition," He said. "You wish to sit by My side, to have My ear. You wish to be My mate."
Next to her, Asmodai stirred but said nothing.
Michael said, "Your ambition ends here."
She looked up. Because I was sprawled before the throne, I saw her face clearly, her beautiful, malleable features stamped with abject terror.
"You are charged with stealing the soul of an innocent, with abandoning it in the Endless Caverns for eternal damnation." He spoke without passion, almost as if bored. "How do you answer this charge?"
"Sire," she whispered, "please, let me explain—"
He said again, "How do you answer this charge?"
She swallowed, averted her eyes. "Not guilty, Sire."
"You lie. Your guilt stains you like a pox."
Tears glinted in her eyes. "Sire, please. Mercy."
"No."
Smoke drifted up beneath her, and a look of horror crossed her face. My nostrils pinched with the stink of burning meat. Biting my lip, I stared at her wide-eyed as Michael passed judgment.
The flesh of her legs bubbled, flowed off her like oil, and the muscles slid away from the bones. She screamed, reached out, begging forgiveness as her body slowly melted. She screamed as her legs disappeared, as her spine peeled away from her back, as her breasts flapped off like discarded wrapping paper. She screamed until her tongue fell from her mouth and her face slid off her skull. Her skeleton reached out once more, then crashed to the marble floor. There it, too, melted, until all that was left of her was a pool of shifting liquid, now bronze, now golden, winking with all the colors of every race of man.
Lillith, once the Queen of the Succubi, was gone. Oh fuck.
"Asmodai, King of Lust."
The incubus was staring so intently at the bubbling liquid that had been his lover that at first he didn't respond. His dusky skin had gone pale, and his handsome face was drawn into an ugly grimace. Then he shook his head. Blinking shocked eyes, he turned to face Michael. "Sire?"
"Your Queen insulted Me with her action."
Sweat beaded on Asmodai's brow. "Sire, she acted without my authority. I had no idea she was seducing the innocent—"
"Indeed. And what else are you unaware of, little King?"
Asmodai's mouth clicked shut. Rivulets of sweat meandered down the sides of his face.
I watched, horrified and fascinated, like it was an oncoming car crash. I knew what was about to happen and I was powerless to stop it.
"You allowed yourself to be blinded by your Queen." Michael shook His head, a parent disappointed with its progeny. "You are a fool, Asmodai. And I do not suffer the presence of fools."
"Sire—"
Michael said nothing. He didn't move, didn't narrow His eyes—didn't show any reaction. But Asmodai's voice gave way to a tortured scream, and even before his flesh began to bubble off his frame, it was clear that once again, the King of Hell had passed judgment.
Smelling Asmodai's slow death, I turned away, forced the bile back down my throat.
An indeterminable amount of time passed, punctuated with the sizzle of frying meat. Finally, Michael said, "My Court. You have witnessed My judgment. Learn well from this lesson. Especially you, Pan. You are now King of the Seducers. I encourage you to do better than your predecessor."
I didn't see the satyr god, but I heard him mumble something that was either a thanks or a curse. Maybe both.
"We shall discuss your coronation later. For now, you are all dismissed. Go."
At Michael's command, the demons vanished, only their lingering stench marking where they had been. I stared hard at the spreading stains on the floor, the reddish brown marring the perfect white of the marble. I had despised Lillith more than anything in all of Creation, had wished for her annihilation too many times to count. But I hadn't wanted her to die like this.
I didn't want to be the cause of her death.
Bless me, I was such a sorry excuse of an ex-demon.
"Now then," Michael said. "Whatever shall I do with you, little whore?"
Eep.
Alecto cleared her throat. "Sire, now that You have the runaway, I most humbly request that You release my sister into my care."
"Denied."
Something cracked on Alecto's impassive face—the slightest pull of her lips, the barest hint of anger flashing in her eyes. "Sire, You promised…"
"I am beyond such limitations, Erinyes."
All living beings have a breaking point, that fabled point of no return, when absolutely nothing can faze them. In the past twenty-four hours, I'd been manipulated, threatened, broken up with, betrayed, assaulted, seduced, killed, terrified, and tempted. I'd run the fall gamut of emotion. I was done. Finished. Nothing could scare me beyond where I'd been—I thought that nothing could shock me further. But Michael so blatantly breaking His word pushed me past that breaking point. Demons lie, but Kings are supposed to rule. If Kings lied, their rules are meaningless.
King Lucifer had never lied, not in all the thousands of years I had known Him.
Alecto's mouth opened, possibly to beg for her sister's pardon, possibly to insist on it; I'd never know. Because that was when I said, "Let her go, Lord."
A heavy pause, then: "Who are you, to demand anything of Me?"
I sat up, held my chin high. Michael was leaning back in the marble throne, brooding. As I dared to meet His gaze, His green eyes narrowed, and His hands gripped the armrests tightly.
"Her friend, Lord," I said. "Let her go."
"Would you take her place?"
Shit. "Yes, Lord."
From above: "No."
I glanced up at Meg, saw something close to horror on the ruins of her face. "That is not acceptable," she whispered. "The punishment is mine, not hers."
A cold smile blew across His white lips. "And you agree with your punishment, Megaera, don't you?"
"With mine, Sire, yes. But it is mine alone."
"Indeed." He stared at me, that damned smile playing on his face. "I won't let her go."
By my side, my fists shook. In one word, I expressed my disgust, my despair: "Why?"
"I could tell you it is because her sister tries My patience, continues to push Me in directions I do not wish to go. I could tell you that I wish to continue punishing her for failing to retrieve you when you ran away." Michael's eyes gleamed, brightened, and the smile melted from his mouth. "In truth, it is because you balked My authority. You, a minor succubus. And so I keep Megaera here, serving as a reminder to all that if they, too, choose to balk My authority, they will pay a price."
"Take me instead." My voice cracked and my lip trembled, but my gaze never wavered. "I'm the one who embarrassed You. Let her go. Hang me upon Your wall, use me as a Christmas tree ornament, whatever You wish. But let her go."
He watched me for a moment before He said, "You love her, don't you?"
"Yes, Lord."
"Love. How quaint." Michael shrugged. "If she really wished to leave, even I couldn't stop her. Megaera suffers because that is what she wants."
My mouth dropped open. Staring up at Meg, I asked, "Is this true?"
Hiding herself behind her curtain of matted hair, she didn't answer.
"Bless me, Meg," I cried, "I forgive you."
Her voice soft, she said, "But I don't forgive myself."
Chapter 21
The Throne Room (II)
"Forgiveness," Michael said. "Another charming concept."
"Charming?" I looked away from Meg to see Michael smiling tightly, the look almost a smirk. That condescending sneer transformed His wintry beauty into something bordering on repulsive—rot creeping beneath the petals of a peace lily. I said, "You of all beings should know that it's all about forgiveness."
The smirk froze into place. "You dare… ?"
"You insult friendship. Fine. That I understand—this is Hell, and Hell has no patience for any loyalty other than to it itself. But forgiveness?" I spread my arms wide, taking in all of the Abyss. "If not for forgiveness, how could the damned be redeemed?"
He smiled again, bemused. "Who said anything about redemption, little whore?"
That hit me like a sucker punch in the gut.
"Times ar
e changing," Alecto said from behind me, her girlish voice strained, tired. "Times must change. The damned no longer have any hope for Heaven. They remain here, for the eternal amusement of the Nameless Evil."
A shudder worked its way up my spine. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, but I couldn't stop from shivering. "But King Lucifer said the entire reason for Hell was to make mortal souls worthy of Heaven. That's our purpose."
Michael shouted, "He is no longer your King!" He pointed at me, His alabaster finger threatening to shoot me into oblivion. "You will not compare Me to Him! Do you hear Me, slut?"
Biting my lip, my eyes fastened on His feverish green gaze. In my mind, my Sire's voice whispered: Listen.
"I hear You," I said, either to Lucifer or to Michael—one King or another, it didn't matter. I listened as Michael spoke…
"I am sick of always hearing His name. His reign is done. He has been removed from here by the Almighty. I am King of Hell, not Him. No one has the authority to refuse Me."
And through the growl of cosmic power, over the undertone of rage, I heard the insecurity in His voice, the sheer frustration that danced along the edge of dejection.
Bless me, He was just a little boy. The oldest of little boys, and almost on par with God in terms of power, but just a child needing to be praised.
Listen.
I thought of Ranger from Spice, of all my customers in the Champagne Room who begin so nervously, who think they have to prove something before they can get what they want. Most of my clients think they want me to dance for them, think that the fantasy of flesh is what they crave. Even they don't know that usually most of them want to talk, to have a sympathetic ear, to be told that their small lives are important.
That they matter.
"It must be hard," I said to Michael.
His eyes glinted, jade sparkling in an ivory frame. "What is?"
"Having Your subjects think of Him when they hear Your words. Always being compared with someone else."
He stared at me, hard, His eyes drilling into me, seeking the truth behind my words. "Alecto," He said. "Leave us."
"Yes, Sire." A tickle of sulfur, and she was gone. Suspended above, Megaera said nothing, faded into the background like a shredded painting.
The Road to Hell Page 23
