Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers

by SM Reine

  “Is this all you’ve got, girl?” Moloch asked, laughing. “You came all this way just to die here now, didn’t you?”

  He lashed another attack, and Laila barely parried. Damn. Moloch was good. Did I bite off more than I can chew? His blade kept lashing, her blood trickled, and Laila let rage overpower her fear. I am Laila, of the night, of hellfire and godlight. I won’t die today. She had to move from defense to attack. When his next blow lashed, Laila didn’t bother parrying, but leapt forward, blade flashing down. Moloch’s sword dug into her shoulder, and she screamed, bringing down her sword.

  Moloch checked the blow and punched Laila’s face. She flew back against a column, shattering it, and slumped to the floor, mouth full of blood.

  As her head spun, Moloch walked toward her, blade drawn. Laila dared not move, but stared at him through the circles of light that danced before her eyes. Blood drenched her shirt.

  “So sad...,” Moloch said, tsking. “Michael sent you here to your death, didn’t he?”

  “I didn’t come for Michael,” she grunted, blood in her mouth. It was hard to speak. She sat slumped against the column, unable to rise, Moloch’s blade held above her. “I came for Hell. It’s mine.”

  “Is that so, Laila? Listen to that sound outside, the crackling and hissing. Those are my pits of hellfire, reignited. Soon they will blaze again over Limbo, destroying the last of your army. You won’t live to see it, Laila, but I want you to die knowing it.”

  “And you, Moloch,” Laila said, “you can die knowing that, frankly, only sissies wear rubies in their clothes.” She drew a gun from her belt and pointed it at him.

  He laughed. “A handgun? You think human weapons can hurt me?”

  Hand trembling with weakness, Laila fired. Michael’s holy water squirted onto Moloch’s face, burning him, raising blisters. He screamed.

  “Well, a water gun, to be accurate,” Laila said, rising to her feet. With a swipe of her blade, she sliced off Moloch’s screaming, blistering head.

  She leaned against a column, clutching her wound, wincing. Angels rushed into the hall, catching her before she fell. They lay her on the ground, bound her wounds, let her drink honeyed milk. She did not rest long.

  “Let all know who rules in Limbo today,” she said, struggling to her feet. She took Moloch’s severed head, flew out the window, and stuck the head upon the highest steeple of the palace. She looked over Limbo, a land of flame, water, and blood. The armies blustered around her.

  “I am Laila!” she shouted from the tower, so loud she thought all of Limbo could hear. She spread out her wings, and her halo crackled with flame. “I am Lucifer’s daughter and new ruler of Hell. I rule now in Limbo. See the head of Moloch! It is I who rule in his stead. Demons, return to your caves and homes, and leave the fires dead. Obey me, and I will let you live.”

  Her voice rang across Limbo, and the demons who saw Moloch’s head shrieked, bowed before Laila, and scrambled about, spreading the news. Soon demons were bowing around her, kissing her feet, bringing her gifts. The last pits of fire were doused, and the last demons loyal to Moloch slain.

  “Seal the gateways into the lower levels of Hell,” Laila told the archdemons who came to swear fealty to their new mistress. “None now may pass between Limbo and Hell’s other circles.”

  The scaly beasts bowed and flew to do her bidding. Battalions of demons spread around the fortress, chanting for her, rolling into the distance. Laila stood upon the steeple, overlooking Limbo, tears on her cheeks.

  I am Laila, of the night. I am Queen of Limbo. This is my new home.

  18

  Bat El sat in the dungeon, ankles shackled.

  Only a bar of light shone above, peeking beneath the dungeon door atop the stairs. Bat El could see dust flying, but no more. The air was icy down here, and she could feel ants racing along her legs. A bowl of brackish water lay before her, untouched alongside a loaf of dry bread.

  Zarel had returned to the fort, so now Bat El sat chained here, entombed, alone with her anguish. “It’s only until Zarel leaves for her next battle,” Beelzebub had promised. “Once she leaves the fort, I’ll let you out.”

  Yet how long could she keep this up? For how many more months or years could she live this way, spending her days shackled underground, loving Beelzebub when Zarel was away? Bat El lowered her head, her hair covering her face, tears in her eyes. “I chose this,” she whispered, tasting the saltiness of her tears mixed with ash. “I chose to stay here, I chose captivity.”

  She could have let Michael kill Beelzebub. She could have escaped then, returned to Heaven’s camp, yet she had sided with Hell. No. Not with Hell. I sided with Beelzebub. Because I love him. Even here, chained underground, the thought of Beelzebub sent shivers of love through her, made her heart leap with light. His eyes, wise yet forever slightly mocking; his smile, knowing; his lips, his hands, the goodness she saw in him, the angelic side she knew still pulsed through him. All these things she had discovered. All these things made her love grow every day.

  “He will come for me soon,” she told herself. “He will free me from this dungeon. Someday he’ll leave his wife, he’ll leave Zarel, and he’ll be mine. It’s me he loves. I know it.”

  The thoughts of a young girl, she knew, lovesick. Yet still they filled her. The ants raced over her, and Bat El shivered. For Beelzebub she would endure this pain. She would endure the dungeon, the chains, the damage to her soul. She had never kissed a man but him, never loved anyone but him. “I give all this to you, Beelzebub; you have broken my will, you have shattered my righteousness, made me a slave to your love, mindless, powerless. I stood against Michael for you, I betrayed Heaven and my god for you. This is what you’ve done to me. And still I cannot hate you, only wish for your love. You have destroyed me, Beelzebub.”

  Her tears hit her legs, and she shivered until the light under the door died, and night fell, like night had fallen over her soul.

  + + +

  It was Zarel who first told him about Limbo.

  He had stepped out of bed for the first time in three days, and had made his way down to the fort’s main hall, still weak and sore, but healing fast. Beelzebub wore his breastplate and blade, and he was beginning to feel more like himself, strong, coolheaded, in control again. He stood by the statue of himself which he had carved, the same statue he completed that day Laila returned from exile into Jerusalem. He was gazing at his artwork when Zarel fluttered into the fort, hair aflame.

  “She took Limbo,” was all his wife said. “The bitch took over the first circle of Hell.”

  This Beelzebub had not expected. He had known for two days now that Laila had invaded Hell with an army—demons and angels spoke of it across the world—but he had expected Moloch to do his job and defend the place. Beelzebub stood facing his wife, hand on the hilt of his sword, and took a slow, measured breath.

  “And Moloch?”

  Zarel spat a glob of lava onto the floor. It sizzled. “She stuck his head upon his tower. As far as I know, it still rots there.”

  Beelzebub tapped his fingers against his statue. Well, well, little Lailoosh; you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? “This is not good,” he said. “I’m not liking this, Zarel.”

  “Beelzebub, this is all your fault. I could have killed her before, but—”

  “Hush, Zarel. Let me think.”

  “Less thinking, more killing. Come with me now to Hell, we’ll—”

  “Zarel, be quiet!” he roared, and at once regretted it. Demons stared from all corners of the hall, and Beelzebub cursed under his breath. He had sworn to show control, yet everything seemed to aggravate him lately. Beelzebub missed lying in bed by Bat El, missed her kisses. He walked over to a table the shades had set up with wine and food, chose a bottle, and drank. He paced the hall, bottle in hand.

  “What is Michael thinking he can accomplish here?” he wondered aloud. “To take Hell? He must know he can’t keep it. He wants Earth, not Hell.”

&nb
sp; Zarel shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “Would you quit thinking about Michael? Michael this, Michael that. Don’t you realize that it’s not Michael you’re fighting now? It’s Laila we must kill.” Tongues of flame ran across the Demon Queen’s body, and her eyes crackled. “Michael might want Earth, but it’s Laila who’s after your throne.”

  He stared at her. “Laila is a girl. A pup. She can’t take Hell. Eight more circles of Hell lie below Limbo, and there’s not enough water on earth to douse their hellfire. She took Limbo? Let her keep it.”

  Zarel barked a laugh. “You’re a madman, Beelzebub. You’re so obsessed with Earth, you’re going to let Hell slip from your grasp. And then what will you do?” Bloody tears filled her eyes, bubbling in the heat of her flaming hair. “She enlisted Angor. She has my father fighting with her. It’s Angor who dug a tunnel to Limbo, who doused the hellfire. Forget about the war on Earth, and look upon the rebellion against you in Hell.”

  Beelzebub tossed his bottle against the wall. It shattered, sending wine and shards of glass across the room. “Damn it, Zarel, will you stop being so overdramatic? What is Limbo? A city. That’s all. In size, it’s less than one percent of Hell. A rebellion against me? Like hell. Your dad is nobody. Worthless. I only kept him around because he’s my father-in-law, and I’ll gladly kill the beast next time I see him.” He stepped toward Zarel and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close to him, and whispered into her ear with clenched teeth. “What will you have me do, Zarel? March into Hell with my armies, leaving Earth unguarded for Michael to take? Will you have me start yet another front? Let Laila remain in Limbo. She’s more a threat to me on Earth than underground. Let her stay there and play her little games of dominion. It’ll keep her out of my hair.”

  Zarel glared at him. “You still think you can take Earth. You couldn’t even take Jerusalem.”

  Beelzebub shoved her aside. She fell, rolled across the floor, and glared up at him, crackling with flame. “I killed Raphael in Jerusalem,” he said, voice strained. “I killed an archangel, and several seraphim to boot. You want to call that a defeat? Go ahead. I destroyed most of Michael’s garrison and killed my brother, Zarel. I killed my baby brother, doesn’t that make you happy, my sweet wife?” His voice was maniacal, and he struggled to keep his fists from destroying the room. “With Laila underground, with Raphael dead, with Michael’s army beaten and bloody, I will take this world. It won’t be a month, and this place will be ours. And then, Zarel... then the hellfire will burn below Laila, and above her. So why do you worry, my dear?”

  She looked up at him from the floor. “Because Michael almost killed you, Beelzebub, and I was scared.”

  He turned his back to her. “You don’t need to fear for me.” He stared at the wall, where the portrait of Michael used to hang, showing the archangel alight, lance in hand, slaying the devil. Beelzebub could still see the lines on the wall where the portrait once hung.

  Zarel stepped up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He could feel the heat from her body. She leaned her head against him, pressing her body against his. “How did this happen, Beelzebub?”

  “Laila taking Limbo? Because Moloch was useless.”

  Zarel embraced him from behind. “I don’t mean that, Beelzebub. How did this happen between us? How did we grow apart?”

  He turned to face her. She looked up at him, her hands on his shoulders. “We are not grown apart, Zarel,” he said.

  “We are. You spend all your time with the angel girl, I know it, and with your human whores by the lake. Why can’t you love me, Beelzebub? Have you ever loved me?” For once, her voice was not mad or accusing, but pleading, tragic.

  He stood impassively. “Of course I love you.”

  Zarel snorted, though it sounded like half a sob. “Gee, your sweet words make me melt, Casanova.”

  He sighed. “What do you want me to do, Zarel? Bring you flowers? Take you out for a candlelit dinner and a moonlit stroll? I didn’t know archdemons went for those kinds of things.”

  With a snarl, she slammed her fist against his armor, raising sparks. “Damn it, Beelzebub! Show me that you love me every once in a while.” Bloody tears stained her cheeks, and she trembled. “I’ve always loved you, since I was a girl. I was happy when you killed Lucifer, do you know? I was promised to him. For centuries, my dad raised me to be a bride to Lucifer, and when you killed him, I laughed. I laughed because I loved you, not Lucifer. But you only wanted Laila, didn’t you? And now you want Bat El.” Sobs muffled Zarel’s words, and her face twisted in bitterness. “Who was I ever kidding? You were born an angel. You’ve never forgotten your angel side, and that’s all you want—Laila with her mixed blood, her sister with her godlight and unscaled flesh. You never wanted to marry me. You only married me because I’m Angor’s daughter, because I’m strong, because Laila wouldn’t have you.” She slapped his face. “I hate you, Beelzebub.”

  He stood, watching her sob, arms crossed against his chest. He waited silently until her sobs died, the flames of her hair fading to dull embers. She lay on the floor, claws digging into the stone.

  “Are you done?” he finally asked.

  She glared up at him, spent. She nodded.

  “Come with me.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her across the hall, down a corridor, and into his bedroom. In this bedroom, he had made love to Bat El countless times, but of course Bat El was gone now. With Zarel returned, Beelzebub had locked the angel in the dungeon, though it tore at his heart. Beelzebub forced his thoughts away from Bat El. Today, let me think only of my wife.

  He took Zarel there on his bed, the same bed where he would make love with Bat El. He took her violently, loudly, leaving the sheets in tattered, burned shreds. They left the room in ruins, the walls chipped and the desk shattered. He thought they could almost topple the fort.

  “Beelzie,” Zarel whispered as they lay in what remained of the bed, “why don’t you just nuke Limbo?”

  He ran his fingers through her hair of flame. “That is not a demon’s way. Those are human weapons, crude and heartless.”

  Zarel nestled against him, running her claws across his chest, raising steam. “Crude, yes, but effective. You kept the humans’ nukes for a reason. Use them now. Blow Limbo away.”

  Beelzebub left the bed and stared out the window. Past boulders and some burned palms, the sea whispered. He spoke softly. “Limbo is part of my domain. I would not destroy it, even if Laila now rules there.”

  Zarel snorted, smoke rising from her nostrils. “It’s no longer part of your domain. Laila doused the hellfire and named herself queen there. She blocked the way to the deeper circles of Hell, cutting herself off completely. Nuke the girl. Or do you still love her, and dare not?”

  Beelzebub frowned. “Your jealousy is talking, not your brain. If I nuke Limbo, it’s lost to me forever. We can recapture it.”

  “With what army?” Zarel came to stand by him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked out at the sea with him. Her hair crackled, raising sparks. “Would you attack Laila with armies you could use against Michael? If you open a second front, Beelzebub, you will lose this war; you yourself said so.” She tightened her grip on his shoulder and stared at him, eyes blazing, fangs and scales glittering. “You could never nuke Michael; he’d just nuke us back with his own stash, and we’d end up destroying this world. But Laila has no nukes. Armies, yes. Archdemons, yes. Pluck and some strength, I do admit it. A way to survive a nuclear assault and retaliate? The answer to that, my dear husband, is no. Who needs Limbo, after all? It’s the smallest circle of the nine, and in time, we could rebuild it, even if it takes centuries. Blow it out of Hell, Beelzebub. Finish off this second front and destroy Michael’s greatest ally. Do that, and Earth will fall into our hands like a ripe pear.”

  Beelzebub said nothing, staring at the waves, the swaying ash in the wind. She makes sense. Beelzebub hated to admit it, but Zarel was right; this was what he should do. It was just that.... Beelzebub shut his eyes, re
membering a time long ago. He had loved Laila then, a decade ago. He had asked her to marry him, even killed Lucifer—his best friend—for disapproving of the marriage. Who would have thought Laila would grow to be this enemy? Could he kill her now, roll the nukes down to explode in Limbo? He could imagine the blasts of light tearing through Laila, turning her to ash.

  “I’m going out for a fly,” he said and opened his eyes. Without waiting for Zarel to reply, he flew out the window and was soon gliding under the cloudy sky, the drizzle wetting his hair.

  Did Zarel truly care about this war, or did she merely want Laila dead? Beelzebub wasn’t sure. He loved his Demon Queen, but the past decade of marriage had strained his nerves. So much jealousy, mistrust, fighting.... So what if he sought distraction with other women? He was King of Hell, too great for any one love. Could Zarel not understand this? He found himself flying north over burned fields, heading toward the Sea of Galilee. Perhaps the thought of other women’s comfort drove him there. He had found the prostitute—Kayleigh, she said her name was—a year or two ago, and she had become his favorite. She was not the prettiest woman Beelzebub had seen, what with her squat face and jutting chin, but her green eyes sparkled bright, and her curves seemed to perfectly fit the shape of his hands. I’ll go see her, he decided, and why not? Zarel would never know, and prostitutes never beg you to nuke anyone. With a woman in his hands, he could forget this war, forget Raphael’s blood on his hands, forget Laila taking Limbo from him.

  He descended into a field on the way, caught a lamb, and picked some dandelions. Kayleigh worked for little more than a good meal and some sweet words, he remembered. The lake was still empty when Beelzebub arrived, its floor muddy. The rain had died, leaving the world wet and glistening, erasing the footsteps of armies. Flowers and grass grew around the lake’s banks, unaware of this war.

  He found Kayleigh by her usual tree, dressed in her tattered smallclothes, flowers in her knotty blond hair. She seemed agitated, pacing to and fro, and when she saw Beelzebub, she rushed toward him and embraced him. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, her cheek against his chest.