by Amy Sumida
“He's both right and wrong,” Shava murmured. “Of course, your magics can magnify each other; they were born together. They were made to support each other. But they are also separate entities. I'm sure that your Light in a cooling capacity has a dampening effect on your Fire but that isn't control; that's suppression. Suppression will lead to resentment—the Fire resenting you—and that would have all sorts of consequences.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
“You must accept them both. Embrace them, and they will treasure you in return.” She crossed her arms as she considered me. “A phoenix is born of fire; we feel no animosity toward it or fear of it. We are the flame. My bones are formed of ash. My breath is smoke. My blood is liquid heat. There is no separating fire from me. But you are not entirely fire. You are a spellsinger; you have magic in you that is not elemental. It's not even purely one thing but was created from the blending of two other magics. To welcome Fire and Light, you must find a place for them beside your powerful voice. At the moment, they are like children with different fathers; their mother had two offspring and then left them behind to remarry and have a third child who she seems to favor and who also is completely different from them. They are feeling unloved and unwanted. Unwelcome. You must show them that they are cherished and they all have something in common. Namely; you.”
“How do I do that?”
Shava drew me down to sit on the ground with her. “You focus, Elaria. How did you learn to spellsing?”
“I practiced.” I shrugged. “I sang.”
“And it came naturally.” She nodded. “You welcomed it by using it without reservations. I imagine that you were excited to embrace your magic.”
“So, I should welcome Fire in the same way?”
“Precisely.” Shava beamed at me and held out her hands. “Let's burn some shit up.”
I laughed boisterously as I took her hands. Then I called over to the Kyanite Soldiers, “Bring us some flammable targets!”
The soldiers scurried away while Shava and I centered ourselves.
“Fire is simple. It has one desire; to burn,” Shava said softly. “We will let it fulfill its desire. Not only that, we will encourage it. Shower it with your love, Elaria. We all need love to blossom.”
“When I gave it free rein before, I went a little crazy.”
Preach it, Sister! RS cheered.
No; you are not doing this now. We're going to let Elaria concentrate, Kyanite declared.
Fine. Whatever.
“I never said to free it.” Shava shook her head. “I said to encourage it. A mother's love is unconditional but that doesn't mean she sets her children loose on the world to wreak havoc. There is control in her love; at least until her children learn enough to be free. But Fire is a child who will never grow up. You must always direct the flames, Elaria. Without direction, Fire will consume everything you put in its path. That is its nature, and we cannot fault it for that. It has a grand purpose. We Phoenixes know it better than most; Fire is meant to consume and renew. The flames clear away the old so that the young can be born. Fire destroys entire forests but then the land is fertilized, the soil enriched, so a fresh forest can emerge. And the new forest is stronger. Never fear the flames; love them and respect them for what they do and, above all, guide them.”
I felt something brighten inside me with her words. Not the Fire but my gratitude for it. My respect and love. Under that blossoming of understanding and affection, Fire began to brighten too. I could feel the warmth spread throughout my body.
“There! That's it!” Shava declared.
“Your Majesty?” The soldiers were back with a herd of wooden sawhorses.
“Thank you, Sir Kenneth. Can you place them around us in a circle?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The soldiers quickly set the targets around us and then booked it out of the blast zone. Smart men.
“The control you must learn is not for Fire but for yourself,” Shava went on. “Fire inflames. Any emotion you feel while using it will be affected by it. So, you need to concentrate on staying calm. Remaining calm while embracing Fire for its true nature seems to have been an issue for you. So, let's try that first. Select a target and direct Fire at it but do not feel triumph or satisfaction or anger; nothing but warm approval. Warm but not hot and not cool either. You want to encourage without inciting. It's a delicate balance. Playing with fire is not for the weak of heart.”
“Okay. I'll give it a try.”
I set my stare on one of the practice targets and called to Fire. It erupted out of me like a volcano corked by a boulder; pressure building beneath the rock. The sawhorse exploded into hot ash. Shava and I both gaped at it and as we did, this seed of satisfaction sprouted in my chest. I had done that. Me. I felt powerful. I felt whole again. Maybe I couldn't create worlds, but I could conquer them.
Flames burst around us in a circle, consuming all of the sawhorses at once. My skin started to singe my clothes and a heat haze settled around me. Why did I think this would hurt my loved ones? This was what would protect us. With Fire at my call, no one could oppose us, and with Darc beside me, his Darkness and Water would complete us and makes us invinc—
Shava slapped me across the face.
I jolted out of my delusions of grandeur and gaped at her. She flung a hand out and the flames vanished. Beyond the charred ring, my men, friends, and soldiers stared at us with slack jaws. Shava let out a long sigh.
“What did I say about giving it only warm approval?” She asked me in a calm tone.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“We're going to need more targets!” She called out to the soldiers.
Chapter Seven
We worked for hours. I haven't been so exhausted since I'd fought at the Battle for Primeval. When we were finished and every target—the news one my soldiers had fetched for us—had been burned to cinders, Shava and I both stumbled past the crowd of onlookers we'd attracted and into the castle. I offered her a tower for her use while she trained me, and she accepted. So, we split up; Sara showing Shava to an unoccupied tower while Odin, my men, and I went up to mine... where I promptly passed out on my bed.
I woke to the sounds of an argument, angry voices wafting up the stairs from the floor below. I groaned my way into a sitting position and then stretched my arms above my head. A glance at the clock showed it to be 8:42 PM. I'd been asleep for three hours. And now, I was famished. But first, I needed a shower. I stripped and yawned as I headed toward the bathroom, steadfastly ignoring the male voices. I knew what they were arguing about, and I wanted no part of it.
Lucifer. The word alternately made me cringe and shiver. I would never confess this to my men, but the God of the Angels had got through to me. I cared about him and that made the memories of what he did to me both awful and—ugh, I can't believe I'm even admitting this in my own head—exciting. Lucifer is damn sexy in a pretty-boy, borderline-androgynous way, and I'd seen him do some very intimate things. Hell, he'd done some very intimate things to me. That was part of the problem.
An image of Lucifer's ethereally beautiful face between my thighs, his eyes staring up at me possessively, flashed through my mind, and I had to catch myself on the edge of the shower stall. Not that I wanted him; far from it. I had more than enough love in my life and more than enough sex. That's what made this even more twisted. I cared about Lucifer, and I found him attractive, but I didn't desire him. And yet I did. The memories of being aroused by him made me feel that same arousal while simultaneously knowing it was false. Those feelings had been formed without my consent. Lucifer—no; the Devil—had controlled me. He made me want him. I hated Satan for that, but the Devil is gone; sung out of Lucifer's soul by my own magic. I couldn't hold Lucifer accountable for what the bad part of him had done. How could I after I had done such heinous things as Faenestra? So, the memories of wanting him were confusing. I did and didn't hate him. I did and didn't desire him. And if I tried to push all that other stuff away, the memories
would be stripped down to the physical sensations, and I would be back to feeling aroused by him. Then it would start all over again; my thoughts spinning through emotions and memories. It was quickly becoming, for lack of a better term, a dirty fascination. A scandalous obsession. It made me feel filthy, and I didn't want to feel that way with a man. So, no; I didn't want Lucifer.
Which is why I had intended to stay away from Lucifer for as long as possible. I didn't need all of those conflicting thoughts distracting me and messing with my head. I needed focus. I needed calm. But I also needed a teacher, and he was my best bet.
Are you sure you want to do this, my love? Kyanite asked.
He's her only hope, Luke, RS said.
Who is Luke?
Yes, I'm sure, Ky, I interrupted before things got really weird. Give me a few minutes, guys, okay?
Yeah, sure.
Of course, my love.
I showered, dried off, got dressed, and slid my contact charm in my ear. It was the one Torin had given me; a piece of barite with its natural rose-like formation on one end, sloping into a point and forming a smooth cone. The cone fit into my ear perfectly.
“Cerberus Skylos,” I directed the charm.
It took a few minutes for my bestie to answer.
“You've reached Hell, how may I direct your call?” Cerberus' low voice vibrated into my ear.
“Ha-ha,” I huffed. Then I blinked. “Actually, that's kind of creepy appropriate. I need to get in contact with Lucifer.”
“And you think that I can make that happen?” He scoffed.
“Technically, you just offered to.”
“It was a joke.”
“I thought you could call Raphael for me; I'm in Tír na nÓg so I can't use a phone.”
“You want me to call your ex-boyfriend and ask him to take a message to his god, the guy who put the whammy on you both and nearly impaled you with his pitchfork? And not in the good, gory way.”
“You think impaling someone with a pitchfork is better than having sex with them?”
“It depends on the person but, either way, it's more honest to stab them than enchant them into having sex with you.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “But he also gave up his metaphorical pitchfork for me.”
“Lucifer cut off his dick for you?!” Cerberus shouted.
“No, jackass; he gave up his Devil for me.” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see me. “And pitchfork is not the best euphemism for a penis.”
“They're both P words.”
“So is pinecone and pineapple and other pine things.”
“You can impale people with a penis and a pitchfork, and the Devil has a pitchfork; thus my usage.”
“But a pitchfork impales people three times at once, and I never noticed Lucifer using a pitchfork.”
“Whatever. It was funny and you know it.”
“Can you call Raph or not?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Don't get your P words in a twist,” he muttered. “I'm dialing now.”
“Thanks, Cer.”
“Sure no prob—hey, Raph! What's hanging, Angel-Freak? Yeah. Good. Yeah, her too. No kidding? Yeah, I could probably—”
“Cerberus!” I snapped.
“Fuck, El, dial it back; your voice is literally inside my ear,” Cer growled. “Sorry, Raph, I've got a contact charm in my other ear with Elaria on the line. She wants me to ask you to give Lucifer a message.” A pause then a chuckle. “Yeah; like passing a note in class. Okay, hold on. El, he says only if you let him pull your pigtails.”
“No girl lets a boy pull her pigtails,” I reasoned. “That's just dumb.”
“Okay, he wants to know what the message is,” Cer went serious.
“Oh, uh...”
“You don't even know what you want to say to Mr. Pitchforkless?”
“Pitchforkless sounds even dumber than allowing a boy to pull my pigtails,” I said dryly.
“You're the one who said he gave it up.”
“Whatever. Tell Raph to ask Lucifer if I can come for a visit.”
“Who the actual fuck are you talking to?” Slate snarled as he prowled into the room.
“Cerberus,” I said.
“Yes?” Cerberus asked.
“No, I was telling Slate who I'm talking to,” I explained to Cerberus.
“Why are you telling Cerberus to ask Lucifer if you can visit him?” Slate stopped at the foot of the bed and settled into his Zone Lord pose; legs spread and arms crossed with a very judgmental expression on his face.
“I'm not,” I protested.
Slate started to relax.
“I'm asking him to ask Raphael to ask Lucifer.”
Slate's expression hardened. “What is this; a game of telephone?”
Cerberus chuckled. “That shit's funny. Cause it kinda is.”
“Shut up, Cer,” I growled. “Can Raph do it or not?”
“He says that you have a standing invitation to enter the City of Heaven,” Cerberus said smugly. “Said the reformed Prince of Darkness told you that the last time you saw him.”
“He did?”
“Yep.” Then he added in a tone of revelation, “Hey, you've had a God of Darkness and a Prince of Darkness! Guess you like Darkness, huh? Why are all your men so pale?”
“They're not all pale; only Banning and Declan, and Banning has the excuse of being a vampire so lay off. And I did not have Lucifer.”
“Who's he calling pale?” Slate snarled.
“Raph says you did. Says you still do.” Cerberus laughter boomed out. Then he switched conversations. “Fuck man, I'm not saying that to her.”
“Say what to me?”
“You can kiss my furry ass, feather-for-brains,” Cer went on.
“Elaria, you can't decide this without talking to the rest of us,” Slate insisted.
“You guys weren't getting anywhere,” I said to Slate. “I heard you arguing. And, frankly, Slate, this is my only option.”
“Option for what?” Cer asked.
“What can't you say to me?” I countered.
“I can totally say it to you, you're just not going to like it, and as much as I love messing with you, I don't like making you upset for real.”
“What, Cerberus?” I nearly shouted. This whole four-way conversation was making me a little nuts. “What am I not going to like?”
“Raphael said you pussy-whipped Lucifer without even using your pussy.”
“That's not entirely true,” I muttered.
“What?” Cerberus' amusement vanished and his voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “What does that mean?! I thought Lucifer was only planning on raping you? He didn't actually succeed, did he?”
“No, he didn't succeed. There were intimate moments, just not between his pitchfork and me.”
“See? I fucking told you that pitchfork is a good euphemism!” Cer exclaimed before he went sober again. “Wait. What kind of intimacy? Do I need to go with you to Heaven and kick Lucifer's ass? Maybe I should cut his damn pitchfork off!”
“No. Let it go,” I muttered. “He stopped himself.”
“Fuck you, Raph! I don't give a fuck if he's a changed god!” Cerberus growled. “What? What the fuck do you mean; he's been seeing Elaria look-alikes?”
“This is not your only option,” Slate jumped back into the conversation.
“Name one other,” I shot at Slate.
The Gargoyle went silent.
“Look, I'm sorry that I called Cerberus without talking to you guys, but we need to get this fixed fast, and Lucifer's my best bet,” I said gently.
“Your best bet for what?” Cerberus asked again.
“To help me control the Light.”
“Like; Don't go into the light, Carol Anne?” Cerberus joked.
“You know what light I'm talking about.” I sighed in irritation. “Don't be an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I couldn't pass up the chance to use a Poltergeist line.” Cer snorted. “Oh, and Raph says that if you
need help, Lucifer will be panting to give you anything you want.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” I mumbled.
“Take your men with you,” Cer suggested. “They ain't gonna allow el Diablo to get too familiar.”
“I think they might make it worse,” I said as I stared at Slate.
Slate narrowed his silver stare into razor blade slits. “Get off that call right now, Elaria. We need to talk about this with the others.”
