At The Gates (Demon Squad)

by Tim Marquitz

  Far from the prison cell quaintness I’d expected, the room I appeared in was cavernous. I recognized it immediately as a part of my uncle’s private chambers, a section squirreled away in the deepest recesses of his old quarters. A quick glance to my left made it clear the area had been sealed off from the rest of the rooms. Where once a massive archway had led out to a series of uninhabited rooms, there was now a seamless wall of stone. There’d be no Shawshank Redemption with that hunk of rock.

  Amused that Baalth had chosen to imprison Asmoday in Lucifer’s old dominion, I took a look around at what’d been done to the place. Comfortable furniture littered the open space, the walls buttressed with overflowing bookshelves. Works of great art, clearly stolen from the world above, hung in a rigid array along the walls. Their bright colors threatened to overwhelm the dull tones of the rest of the room.

  “Has the prodigal son come home at last?” a smooth, quiet voice asked from behind me, interrupting my sightseeing.

  I spun to see Asmoday leaning in an arched doorway, a glass of wine dangling at his fingertips. Always lean, he looked damn near anorexic, like a piece of wood chiseled to its bare essence. His jet black hair and beard were unkempt and greasy, brown specks floating in them. A connoisseur of fine suits, it surprised me to see him dressed in flowing black robes that had seen better days. Dark stains marred the bulk of them, and the sleeves were tattered and frayed at their ends. Powder gray dust was visible on the loose threads. The mangy sandals he wore on his feet were speckled in what looked like dried mud, his feet nearly brown.

  The iron stare that had long inspired fear amongst the Angelic Choir flitted dull and fidgety; his brown eyes little more than murky puddles in sallow sockets. His presence, which had once wafted from him, thick with steel and arrogance, was the wispy breath of a barren grave. His power was gone.

  My mind jumped on the last part, my eyes glancing to his wrists and dirty ankles. Seeing no manacles, my stomach twisted into a knot. If ever I needed some kind of benchmark to comprehend just how powerful Baalth had become after inheriting Glorius’s magic, Asmoday was it.

  As one of the first Fallen, a top lieutenant to Lucifer himself, Asmoday was power incarnate. In the top ten of supernatural entities, he was a god amongst men; was being the operative word.

  Without any artificial assistance, Baalth had shut him down as easily as flipping off a switch. That reality settled over me like tsunami.

  “Hardly.” I fought to keep the satisfaction from my voice.

  He didn’t seem to care as he strolled to a velvet couch and plopped down, waving me to a seat across from it. He stared at the stone floor. “Then to what do I owe the great pleasure of your esteemed company?” He knew why I was there. Even banished to Hell, robbed of his magic, Asmoday was a demon lieutenant; there wasn’t a war he didn’t know about. Each and every battle was a song that rang clear through his blood.

  I sat, my wounds reminding me they were still there, and took a second to collect my thoughts. Having lost everything he valued, Asmoday wasn’t gonna be swayed by a sob story, so I played to his ego. “I need your help.”

  Though he sat a little straighter, taking another sip of his wine, he didn’t lift his gaze. “I have none to offer.”

  “Actually, you’re the only one who does.”

  His eyes peeked up at me from under drowsy lids. “Why not ask Baalth? Surely he can assist you.”

  “Baalth has his own agenda, and I have mine. They rarely coincide conveniently to my benefit.”

  Asmoday straightened, his wine glass hovering at his lips as he stared at me. “So Baalth doesn’t know you’re here, Triggaltheron?”

  I shook my head, cringing at the use of my given name, but I let it go.

  He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Then I can expect nothing for my assistance.”

  Settling back into my seat, I tried not to smile. While he might have seemed uninterested, I knew the game well. We’d reached the bargaining stage. “I can certainly speak with Baalth to see what I can manage…” He shifted on the couch and looked to his glass. I waited a moment, letting the line trail out a little. “Though I believe I have a more…accommodating solution.”

  He glanced up, his brown eyes curious at last.

  “While Baalth may hold all the cards at the moment, fate has a habit of reshuffling the deck.” I leaned forward as though confessing. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Longinus is back among the living.”

  Asmoday gave a curt nod as though it were old news, motioning for me to continue.

  “What you may not know, is that I helped get him there. He owes me.”

  Expressionless, Asmoday waited for me to sweeten the pitch.

  I did my best, though I couldn’t help but twist the knife a little. “Though Gabriel seems to have turned his back on his former allies, I have no doubt Duke Forcalor, and his newfound friends, would be more than willing to reward your loyalty to the right cause.”

  He drained his glass and sat silent. I knew what he was thinking so I headed it off. “Away on business, Baalth would, no doubt, be appreciative of someone looking out for his interests, especially if things in Heaven are as bad as they seem. It’s only a matter of time before the war spills over and affects the rest of the realms.” Though I shouldn’t have told Asmoday that Baalth was gone, he probably already knew. Besides, he wasn’t in a position to take advantage of the info. While it might come back to bite me in the ass later, I could worry about it then, if I was still alive to care.

  He laughed, a hint of life finally coloring his voice. “It already has.”

  “The storm?”

  He nodded, accepting our arrangement by default. His powers bound to Baalth, there could be no contract between us. He had only my word. With no other offers on the table, it was apparently enough.

  Asmoday stood and went to refill his glass. “Lucifer once told me a story.” His wine replenished, he sipped at it and returned to his seat. “After a fierce argument with God, he stormed through the Garden of Eden, on his way to Earth. As he neared the Tree of Life, he noticed small black dots spring up and speckle the trunk. As he moved closer, the dots grew, the blackness spreading.

  “Intrigued and curious, as Lucifer had always been, he set his hand upon the tree and the trunk split about his fingers, a festering wound exploding beneath. In the wake of its ashes, life around the Tree withered.” Asmoday smiled, his face becoming animated. “Uriel, perhaps sensing the Tree’s distress, arrived and chased Lucifer from the Garden before he could experiment further, but the damage had been done. Soon after, we were cast from Heaven, barred from setting foot in Eden, forever.”

  My mind spun in dizzying circles as it tried to piece everything together. “So, it’s not something Gabriel is doing directly, but rather a consequence of the war in Heaven?”

  Asmoday raised his glass in a mock toast. “Created in paradise, the Tree is sensitive to its environs. Assailed by hate and rage, bathed in the bloodshed and death of war, it suffers. The blood of angels wears upon its sensitive bark. As its roots are woven through the entirety of existence, as it suffers, so shall we all.”

  “Which means there’s gonna be more storms.”

  “Unless tranquility is returned to the Garden, they’ll grow worse, devouring everything in their path.”

  Damn. Why can’t it ever be good news? It’s always the end of the world, the Apocalypse, Armageddon—blah, blah, fucking, blah. Just once I’d like to wake up and hear, “Today’s forecast will be mostly happy, with no chance of death.” Or maybe there could be a blowjob storm. I’d drag my fat ass out of bed for that.

  “I guess this means I’m going to Heaven.” Asmoday and I both chuckled at that. “The only problem is, Gabriel has barred all the portals and the Nephilim have plopped their asses outside Eden’s gate. It’s not like I can just stroll up to it and knock.” I thought back to what the old warrior had said. “Is there some way to open the gates from the outside? A key, maybe?”

 
; Asmoday raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps.” He set his glass aside and walked to one of the cluttered bookshelves, his finger leading the way as he read through the titles with a bored casualness. At last, he pulled out a thick leather tome and flipped through it, the pages creaking in the bind. “Ah, here it is.” He lifted the book to show me the page, and then began to tell me what it said.

  “It was rumored that during his exile, after the murder of his brother, Cain longed for God’s forgiveness. However, as he was banished from His heart, Cain’s prayers no longer reached God’s ears. As such, he devised a plan to confront God in person, so to speak. It was said he learned of a way to enter Eden. He had found a key of sorts, but ultimately chose not to go through with his plan. His reasons for not doing so are unclear, but it is implied the cost was too much for him to bear.”

  “Is it true?”

  Asmoday gently placed the book back on the shelf. “Honestly, I know not.” He returned to his seat. “Outcasts as we were, the Fallen had no interest in a Heaven we could never attain while God still ruled. If there was such a key, its location died with Cain.”

  The information was like a striptease; just when you got to the good part, the show was over. “Thanks for the help.”

  Asmoday smiled and a flash of his old demon self lighted up his pale face. “I’ll look for you when the crisis has passed.”

  Anything but subtle, I got the hint. “I’ll stay true to my word, Asmoday. You have my…uh, word.” I smiled back, thinking Scarlett might not be so honorable. “See you soon.”

  Frustrated by how little I’d actually learned, I returned to the gate. Once inside the circle, I felt the portal trigger and I was on my way back to Earth. Scarlett wasn’t gonna be happy, but at least I had an idea where to start.

  It could only go downhill from there.

  Chapter Six

  After rounding up Scarlett and dropping by the house for a quick fix of my uncle’s blood, I put in a call to DRAC for help. Not ten minutes later, Katon and Michael were at my door and we were on our way, courtesy of a Rachelle portal.

  While it wasn’t common knowledge, though I guess it could be presumed, my uncle had a soft spot for Cain—at least until he became repentant.

  Back in the early days, when Lucifer was still pissed at God, Cain was one of his early successes at getting under the Big Guy’s skin. He was pretty proud of it. It was one of those stories that got him animated when he told it; and he told it often.

  Though it all went south once Cain was sentenced to wander eternally, Lucifer kept tabs on him and even secretly helped him to settle down as a kind of thank you. When Cain died, Lucifer sent the family some gold to build him a monument. Rough as life was back then, they ended up spending most of the money to get by. They did save enough to construct a small cenotaph for Cain, though they chose to leave his name off of it to avoid God’s wrath. My uncle was a little miffed by that, but he let it go. In the grand scheme of things, he had bigger issues to worry about around that time.

  That made our starting point easy. We packed our bags and headed for northern Iran, just a short distance to the west of the Caspian Sea. Once we arrived, the oppressive heat of the desert settled over us. Though we had come from our own little desert of El Paseo, there was no way to compare the two. It was like stepping into an oven or standing too close to Jessica Alba. It was that hot.

  Despite that, it was nothing like home. Low grasses and tiny shrubs stretched out as far as I could see. Surprisingly green, it was like stepping into a Hallmark card. There were none of the imagined wastelands of sand you see so often in movies depicting the Middle East. The Caspian within spitting distance, the area didn’t lack for water and it showed.

  The time difference screwed with me. It was morning when we left and now it was late afternoon. I took a second to catch my breath and get my bearings.

  Surrounding us was an open plain, with several large hills popping up to the south. Just to the north, in stark contrast to the flatness of the plain, giant poplar trees sprung up tall and verdant orchards circled a small cluster of mud-brick huts. Dark shapes could be seen shuffling off in the distance, the sun at our backs as it crested over the sea.

  “Here we are…the village of Noqdi.” The row of blank stares told me my fellow travelers were impressed, or so I pretended. I gestured to the land behind us for a little bit of clarity. “Behold, the Land of Nod.”

  When Scarlett realized where we were, her eyes narrowed and glanced toward the distant mountains to the west; toward the earthly gate to Eden.

  “Relax, cuz. Unless you can take out a hundred of the Nephilim, we’ve gotta find another way in.”

  Katon sighed, taking a gentle hold of Scarlett’s sword arm. “It’s more like a thousand, now.”

  Scarlett’s head snapped toward Katon and he tightened his grip.

  He nodded, daring her steely gaze. “It seems Gabriel has decreed amnesty for those who take up arms in his name. He intends to reward them with a piece of Heaven for their loyalty.”

  “Betrayer!” Scarlett shrugged loose of Katon. Her shimmering wings, the manifestation of her power, sprung from her back, their light blinding. She crouched, ready to leap into the air, an angel of fury.

  Fearing for my balls, I stepped in front and blocked her. It was like using a Volkswagen Bug to stop a tank. I had to think fast or she’d bowl me over. “Ten or ten thousand, they can’t do shit from outside Eden. As long as the Nephilim are sitting there, we know Uriel and Forcalor still stand.” My hand on her chin, I pulled her fiery eyes to mine. “Twice now, we’ve been told of a key. That means, somewhere out here, there’s a way to get into Heaven. Regardless what you believe your duty is, if we’re not the ones to find that key then Heaven is lost.”

  She snarled and shoved me away, but she didn’t take off.

  Arguing with Scarlett was like tea-bagging a wolverine, only usually more fatal. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart, quite the opposite, it was just that she was ruled by her emotions and had a hard time rationalizing things on the fly.

  Unlike the Demonarch, angelic society had a rigid structure; they followed God’s commands, they smote His enemies, they defended Heaven. God led, they followed.

  Now that He was gone, they struggled under the concept of free will, something they’d never tasted before. They’d only seen it in man, and you know how that turned out. It wasn’t something they thought much about until it fell into their laps.

  For Scarlett, whose bloodline was tainted by her father’s devilish heritage, she had to go above and beyond to prove to the Choir she belonged. She turned her back on her past, and she’d succeeded in gaining their trust. With God out of the picture, the angels were all she had. That was until Gabriel struck them down in their sleep.

  I understood her rage, but we needed her. Waving Katon over for support, I told her, “Save the Kamikaze antics. There’s always another good day to die.”

  A willing Katon stepped alongside and gave her a warming smile. “We’ll save them, Scarlett. Just give us some time.”

  Their eyes met and her wings dispersed as she loosed a quiet sigh. She nodded, giving his hand a quick squeeze. Much less likely to set her off than me, I was more than happy to let the enforcer take over. After a minute, they dropped down onto the grass and started to talk, Scarlett still somewhat aggressive in manner, Katon keeping his voice low.

  Hopeful she’d stay put now, I turned to Michael. “Somewhere around here is a monument to Cain. Head over to Noqdi and ask the villagers what they know. We’ll wait here.” In the interest of avoiding unwanted attention and an international incident if we could help it, Rachelle had gated us in a little ways from the village.

  “You got it.” Michael gave a quick wave, a crooked smile on his lips for the length of the walk ahead of him and then drifted off. After just a few minutes, he was just another of the black shadows in the distance, his merging with those of the village.

  The sun beating down on us like a masochist�
��s wet dream, I watched Katon and Scarlett as they chatted. I felt a strange pang of something weird well up in my gut as they sat close, whispering. I felt the irrational urge to insert myself in the conversation or to break it up. Watching them talk so comfortably, Katon’s hand on her knee, I wondered if what I felt was some twisted sense of jealousy.

  Nah, that couldn’t be it. It wasn’t like I had feelings for Scarlett, certainly not romantic ones—she was my cousin after all—but the situation nagged at me for some reason. There was something about Katon’s attention, even as oblivious as Scarlett was, that riled me up.

  Then it hit me what it was—

  —Katon blocked my view of her cleavage.

  I stepped to the left a little and felt much better. We stayed that way until Michael came strolling across the grass toward us. Katon and Scarlett, seeing the mentalist, got to their feet as he arrived, my view once again obscured.