The Third Throne: Angel of Death

by Tabitha Barret

Lucifer’s anger was clear and sharp as he turned to look at the source of Hades’ distraction. She saw the exact moment when he realized that she was bleeding and in pain. His anger evaporated in a second, replaced by agony. He ran to her side and seemed unsettled by her disheveled state.

  “Dear Lord, I did this, didn’t I? Anjali, I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I only heard that someone was admitting their stupidity. It didn’t register that it was you. My darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to treat you like…,” Lucifer’s throat tightened as tears threatened to consume him.

  He’d been without her touch for months and he was mired in darkness. Seeing her, really seeing her, lightened his heart and spirit. He hated himself for what he had done. He tried to wipe the blood from her head, but she recoiled from him. He knew that she was afraid of him.

  “Like a servant,” she snapped. She pulled her arm from his hold and managed to stand up on her own. She didn’t need the further humiliation of being treated like an invalid and a girl in front of Lucifer’s top henchmen, not to mention Hades. No doubt, Hades would bring this up at an inopportune moment in the near future when she needed extra salt added to a new wound.

  Despite the trembling in her legs, she quickly composed herself and threw off Lucifer’s attempts to aid her. She straightened up and held her head high, as high as she could without further enraging the splitting headache that was rampaging through her skull. She couldn’t look him in the eye, but she wasn’t about to cry in front of everyone and lower her already crappy standing among the Fallen. She was royalty here, even if she was a servant to Lucifer. She needed to work through this setback and regain some of her dignity.

  “Please, you need to take care of this. Let me help you to your room,” Lucifer was desperately trying to figure out how to touch her or comfort her without upsetting her further.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said dismissively. She ascended the black marble dais to take her place atop her Fire and Ice Throne. “As I was saying, I am the reason that Mark knows about the Rusalka, though I didn’t tell him. He overheard my conversation. Regardless of the fact that Mark told the Council of your activities, I believe that it was necessary to interrogate the war criminal, Skylis, to discover all of her offenses and to achieve that goal, torture was needed. She is a bloodthirsty, highly intelligent criminal, who manipulates those around her through lies and seduction, who would not break under any other means than torture. Personally, I agree with what you did to obtain the information, my lord,” Anjali ignored the mixed reactions of the Fallen and shifted in her chair to find a comfortable position to sit.

  On the outside, she sounded confident and authoritative, but on the inside, she was shaking uncontrollably and wanted to crawl into bed, lick her wounds, and cry. This was not the first time Lucifer had inadvertently taken his wrath out on her, though it was the first time he had caused her serious injury. The other times had been more of a sacrifice to save a Fallen or a servant whom Lucifer was treating harshly and unfairly. She had stepped in front of a raging devil and taken the blows since he was beyond listening. He’d had little control over the incidents since she was actively stepping into the middle of the beatings. He had stopped immediately once he’d realized what she had done. Regardless, the blows had stung like a bitch and she resented that she had to stop Lucifer’s rage in such a manner since words were not enough to persuade him to reconsider his actions.

  Hades frowned and waved his hand. “My lord, while I may agree with Lady Black and her assessment of the prisoner’s treatment, the fact still remains that the Council made a decree and it was ignored by Hell. I too wanted to smack that smug look from Skylis’ face, but there comes a point where ignoring too many of the Council’s rulings will cause them to appear and make an example out of someone. I will be pissed if it’s me, so I will remain the voice of reason in this matter, as scary as that sounds,” Hades rolled his eyes when he thought about the last time he’d taken the brunt of the Council’s anger and had been chained up for weeks. They hadn’t been concerned about his treatment, so he wondered why they suddenly cared for the treatment of a Rusalka.

  Anjali sighed. “Michael’s still pissed about our failure to keep Dioma from escaping and creating havoc in Heaven. Of course, I can’t blame him since the monster destroyed Michael’s private quarters as revenge for his capture. Mark told me that Dioma fried all of his belongings and burned down the whole building. Having Michael and the Council here will not go well for any of us. We all know that Michael holds serious grudges,” Anjali tried to remain still so that her bones would heal correctly.

  Her head was pounding and blood was running through her hair, soaking the back of her dress, though she did her best to ignore it. She didn’t want to give Hades the satisfaction of knowing that she was in pain, or allowing herself to look weak in front of the servants. She didn’t need any of them believing that they were stronger than she was. She was still trying to live down the attack by Aganon.

  Lucifer slowly ascended the dais, watching Anjali closely; trying to ascertain what part of her was injured. “Michael’s best and worst quality, I’m afraid. Speak to Mark and do your best to delay a visit from our Heavenly counterparts, my lady. They will want all of us present for the inquisition, so it is best to make ourselves scarce for as long as possible. I’m sure Gabriel will inform you when they have lost their patience with us.”

  Yes, surely her father would let her know when the Council was through waiting for them to convene. Anjali knew that Lucifer used her relationship with her father, and his status as a Council Member, to his advantage.

  “Yes, my lord, I will try to smooth things out with Mark and let you know about the Council’s mood though Gabriel,” Anjali nodded slightly in his direction, still avoiding his penetrating gaze.

  Malcolm stepped toward the dais. “My lord, what of the Rusalka? She is being held in the Hall of Torment. Should she be moved to the Hall of Shadows?” he took his recent promotion to Lead Punisher of the Realms very seriously, which always caused Azazel, the former Lead Punisher, currently in charge of the Realm of Fire, to twitch.

  “Make accommodations for her in the Hall of Shadows and arrange to move the prisoner. Let’s make sure she is well looked after,” Lucifer chuckled wickedly.

  Everyone understood the meaning of his words. No one was happy that Heaven had a say in the way the Fallen ran Hell. They would be damned if they listened to the Council on affairs that did not concern them.

  Malcolm and Azazel bowed and left the Throne Room.

  Hades pretended to look at his perfectly manicured nails as he studiously ignored Lucifer and his pathetic attempts to rectify the situation with Lady Black. He was pissed that Lucifer had dared to treat her like that. As much as he hated Lady Black, he didn’t like to see anyone else harm her. If she were going to be harmed or killed, it would be by his hands and no one else’s. She was a sick obsession admittedly, but there was little to be done about it. Besides, they had made an uneasy pact to refrain from killing each other, which he was still trying to reconcile. He supposed that it made them allies. Why he had agreed to such a truce, he had no idea. He wanted to believe it was because she was looking at him with trust in her eyes, but he knew it was because her bountiful cleavage had been enticingly close to him, making him forget his name, and forcing him to agree to anything she had to say. He had been stupid and he knew that he would pay for his lust-filled agreement.

  “Anjali, please, let us retire so that I can bathe the blood from your wounds and tend to your injuries,” Lucifer knew he was pleading, and in front of Hades no less, but he didn’t care. He had to fix things before she used this as a reason to leave him alone at night. He had the vague memory of the sound of bones breaking while he had been muttering to himself about Mark. The thought made him sick.

  “My lord, it’s not necessary. As you said, it’s best for us to go our separate ways to keep the Council at bay long enough to avoid a possible visit. I’m sure some ot
her emergency will capture their attention and our indiscretions will be forgotten. Besides, I must return to the Mortal Realm and continue the search for my Angel of Death,” Anjali carefully rose from her throne, bowed slightly to Lucifer and then Hades. As gracefully as she could, she walked out of the Throne Room.

  She was about to enter the Hall of Mirrors and retire to her room to wait out the worst of her injuries, but something stopped her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Harbinger’s Annex, or as Lucifer loved to call it, Mass Murderer Alley. It was the hallway that had housed the Predznak when they resided in Hell.

  She had ventured inside the hallway only once, but didn’t enter any of the rooms. There was too much evil associated with the Predznak’s former dwelling. It was as if all of the violent thoughts and actions of the Predznak permeated the walls and threatened any who dared to enter. On a smaller level, it seemed like snooping. Taking a deep breath, she turned and entered the Annex. She needed to learn more about Alazar from the angel himself.

  Walking past each door, she instinctively knew who had once resided there. She could feel their temptations calling to her. Emotions swelled inside of her; dread, lust, hatred, panic, and apprehension. Pushing them away, she walked until she felt the stillness of death. She stopped at the last doorway on the left, half-expecting Alazar to be inside the room. Slowly opened the door and paused to listen for signs of life. When all remained silent, she entered and looked around the room.

  It was a small room by comparison to Lucifer’s room or even her own. The word cell was prominent in her mind. It was unclear whether that was her thought or Alazar’s lingering animosity screaming out at her. The room was tidy though covered in a fine layer of soot from disuse. It struck her as odd that the room was tidy and had not been smashed to pieces. She had assumed that he would have demolished it before storming out of Hell. Instead, the bed was made and the books on the shelves were aligned. It looked like Alazar had simply gone out for a stroll only to return in a matter of moments. It was unnerving.

  The most prominent feature in the room was the large stained glass window that peaked at the top. The stained glass depicted a sun-filled sky with clouds, not something she would have associated with Death’s room. Below the window was a ledge wide enough to sit on. It held a red plush cushion that had seen better days. It saddened her to know that Alazar had spent many days looking out the window down at the Realms of Torture. She wondered what he thought about. Was he waiting for her, or was he hiding from Lucifer’s wrath that threatened to invade his small, peaceful corner of Hell?

  Sitting down on the windowsill, she carefully moved her broken wrist to assess the damage. It was healing slowly, though the pain was lessening. Feeling the back of her head, she was relieved to find that the bleeding had stopped. She waved her hand and removed the bloodstains from her hair and dress. She was angry when she thought about Alazar sitting in this very spot, nursing his own wounds. Had he cursed her for not being there to save him or comfort him? She wondered if he would have protected her from Lucifer’s attack, or maybe he would have allowed it. Worse yet, he could have joined with Lucifer to finish her off. Anger filled her when she thought about her father’s decision to keep her from her angels. While she understood his reasoning, she was still upset that she had been kept in the dark.

  Looking around the room, she tried to imagine what Alazar was like. The bed was covered in dark handmade sheets. They were old-fashioned but in good condition. Oddly, there was no headboard or footboard on the bed.

  A hand-carved wooden wash table sat against the wall near the door. An antique hand blown glass bowl sat on top. The lower cabinet doors were ornately carved with small sunbursts that didn’t form a specific picture, but were pleasing to the eye.

  At the foot of the bed was a wooden, hand-carved trunk. The same sunburst patters were carved throughout the entire box. She carefully tried to open it, but it was locked. Already feeling guilty for invading Alazar’s privacy, she didn’t force the lock. Part of her didn’t want to know what secrets Death kept hidden away from everyone.

  A tall bookshelf across from the bed was filled with hand-bound leather books and scrolls tied with twine. She tried to read the titles of the books, but some were too worn to make out. They were written in various languages and held different subject matter. Some of them were histories of the angels written by Heavenly Angels. Others were storybooks from the different writers of their times written in Greek, Latin, and Sumerian. The largest book held countless hand-drawn maps that someone had carefully bound together. They detailed the known civilizations from various centuries. Each map was an elaborate work of art onto itself.

  Above her was a group of scrolls piled on top of the shelf that appeared to be older than the books. She pulled them down and counted ten scrolls in all. The outer paper read, “The Harbingers of the Apocalypse,” in beautiful script, written in the language of the angels.

  She sat down on the bed and opened the scrolls one at a time. Before her, laid out on the bed, were the faces of her angels. Someone had sketched each of their faces in charcoal. For the first time, her angels seemed real. They were no longer ideas or descriptive words based on their temptations. They were people with distinct identities and personalities. Above all, they were beautiful.

  Under each face was the word that would forever define them, Death, Vengeance, Fear, Distrust, Illness, Desire, Anger, Agony, Deception, and Hunger. She picked up Alazar’s scroll and memorized the lines of his face. He was arrogant and stubborn, but also strong and determined. The artist had been fascinated by his eyes and gave them the most detail.

  One by one, she touched their faces and tried to discern for herself what they were like. She no longer had to rely on Lucifer’s tainted view of them or Gabriel’s sentimental descriptions. For the first time, she could form her own opinion of them. She looked into their eyes, forever captured by the artist’s strokes, and saw the same thing in each of them; strength.

  She paused when she reached Sacha’s picture. Dropping the scroll, she shuddered. She knew him, she knew Sacha. For four years, she had sat in front of him, conversed with him, and even admired him. Holy shit. Her high school teacher Mr. Timmons was Sacha, the Angel of Deception.

  It was unfathomable that her favorite teacher was one of the very Predznak that she was destined to command. How had she not known? Her lie detecting ability had failed to uncover his deceit. She had never once suspected that he was deceiving her, nor had she ever felt a kinship between them. The only indication that something was different about him, aside from his unearthly beauty, was what had happened the time he had touched her. During her blinding migraine, caused by Lucifer trying to lure her into Hell, Mr. Timmons had been concerned about her well-being when she appeared ill in class. He had rushed over to her and placed his hand on her forehead to check her temperature. The skull crushing migraine was nothing compared to the burning and clawing inside of her that overtook her senses when his flesh connected with hers. It had felt like her body was ripping apart. Thankfully, he had stepped away quickly and ordered CJ to take her to the nurse.

  She now knew that the burning and clawing in her chest was her power trying to break free. Obviously, it had recognized her angel, even when she hadn’t. She had no idea if the power wanted to hurt him or seize control of him. Looking back, it was probably a good thing that her darkness hadn’t broken free. The entire school could have been wiped off the map, and CJ would have died.

  She recalled CJ telling her that when Mr. Timmons had touched her, he had looked terrified. CJ also said that her expression had changed. She had suddenly appeared angry with Mr. Timmons and looked like she wanted to hit him. She had no recollection of the incident, aside from the pain, but she now believed CJ’s strange tale.

  Sacha must have known that something was wrong with her, but he hadn’t said or done anything to help her, or warn her. She wondered why he had stood by and done nothing. More to the point, why had he never told her wh
o he was or who she was? She was annoyed that she had been that close to her angel and hadn’t been told the truth. It begged the question, why would he go to such lengths to see her every day? What had he wanted from her? Thinking back on all of their conversations, the only one that stood out was his explanation of how Lady Macbeth had tempted Macbeth to commit murder and how the guilt consumed her and made her take her own life. She had helped to bring about Macbeth’s demise. Maybe it was his small way of telling her how hard it was to tempt people. She racked her brain trying to think of a time when he had tried to influence her to do something bad or had attempted to tell her who he really was. She shook her head when she came up empty. She had no explanation for Sacha’s trick, which made her angry. Yet again, she was left with more questions than answers about her angels.

  A sense of urgency filled her mind. She needed to find them, all of them. If Sacha could stand in front of her for four years and fool her, then they were indeed powerful and dangerous. He could have killed her a thousand times over, if that were his intent. Even if he had been there to protect her, he had failed when Lucifer invaded her mind. The only way to find the truth was to find him.

  Looking down at the scrolls, she was relieved to no longer search for faceless sins in the dark. Now she would search for her Predznak who had suffered in Hell too long and had paid the price for her naiveté and innocence. It was time to find them and ask for their forgiveness.

  ∞

  Gabriel paced through the long hallway that led to the Hall of Truth where the Council Members convened. He knew that Michael wanted to storm into Hell because of the miscommunication over the Rusalka, though he didn’t understand why Michael cared so much. He needed to find a way to derail Michael until he forgot about the issue. He didn’t want to see his daughter in the middle of a fight. Michael wouldn’t care that Anjali had little or nothing to do with Lucifer overruling the Council’s decree. As one of the three Heads of Hell, Michael would take his wrath out on her as well. He needed to find a worthy distraction.