by Debra Dunbar
He halted and frowned, his red eyes leaving me to stare at the Low to the side. “Was the entertainment not to your liking?”
His voice sounded dry and raspy, as though he hadn’t spoken out loud in eons. The little demon in question shook and I felt a stab of anxiety, worried that Bwoof would be in trouble for my social breach.
“No. I mean, yes. Very much so. We talked. Had conversation. He’s quite personable. I’m just a bit tired and not really in the mood. Perhaps later. He’s very appealing, and normally I would be happy to break off his limbs or something like that.”
Ahriman ignored my babble and shot out an arm, removing Bwoof’s head with a quick snap of his fingers. The body tumbled to the ground where it convulsed and spilled fluids across the ornate carpet. I hastily swallowed a quick gasp of shock and horror. I’d been living among the humans so long that I’d forgotten this sort of thing happened regularly here, that no life was sacred and could be thoughtlessly ended at the whim of a more powerful demon.
I’d failed him. If I had hurt him, done some physical damage to him, then perhaps he would not have been killed. Even when I tried to do the right thing, innocents still wound up dead. I realized there was a possibility that Ahriman would have killed him anyway, that it was his right as master to take the life of any household member for no reason at all. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, but in my heart I felt differently. I should have put aside my own changed values and done a distasteful deed for the good of another. I hadn’t, and now Bwoof was dead.
Schooling my face into a mask of indifference, I picked up a chunk of meat and stuffed it into my mouth, struggling to chew the tough fibers with my human teeth. Ahriman glided toward me, his forward movement faster than the sway of his legs indicated. I choked a bit on the meat, hastily swallowing the mass with a dry throat as he halted mere inches from me. Would my headless body be the next on the floor? I was aware I didn’t exactly look like consort material at the moment, but after all, he was the one who’d presented a breeding petition to an imp.
You appear to have enjoyed your stay with the elves, he commented, abandoning verbal skills in favor of mind speech. His claw examined my blisters. I winced as he lanced one, digging the talon into my flesh as the sore oozed and bled down my hand.
“The food sucked. Other than that it was a total hoot. Elves are such fun.”
Elves are of little importance to me, he announced with a wave of his hand. You’re late. You were due to present yourself to me nearly a month ago.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” I told him, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. “Time slipped away from me, especially in the dungeon where it is hard to keep track of the daily cycles.”
He nodded, tilting his head in an undulating movement. Yes. I, too, sometimes find it difficult to keep track of time.
Silence pressed thick and heavy between us as he continued to examine me with his glowing red eyes and sharp-ended hands. I was grateful he was no longer stabbing me with his digits, but the scrutiny was beginning to make me feel rather ill.
I have heard rumors that you are enslaved to an angel, bound to him for service. You’ll understand if I ask for proof of your ability to agree to this contract?
I nodded, my mouth dry as dust. My tattoo was gone, my bond broken. Would the contract have been declared null if I’d been bound at the time of signing? Of course, I had no proof of that with my currently free status. It was probably just as well. If he had found me bound, his anger would have been considerable. I shivered slightly thinking of what he might have done to me and my household.
He held out a black, smoky hand, fingers ended in long needles of nails. I placed my hand in his, and he gripped my wrist tightly, twisting it to look up the inside of my arm. I knew only smooth flesh met his gaze.
I am relieved to find you unbound. Not that I expected otherwise. Angels no longer bind us, and even if they did, they’d hardly be likely to bind an imp.
I overlooked the insult. It wasn’t terribly hurtful given that he’d presented a breeding contract to one of my status. Clearly, I had attributes that warranted a higher consideration than my demon type.
Dropping my arm, he walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink from a stoneware jug. I shook my head at his offer and tried not to wince as he kicked Bwoof’s head aside, returning to me.
Az, in good faith of our contract that you’ve agreed to by signing my breeding petition, I have already shielded your household. They have been spared attack and theft by the weight of my name and protection.
“Thank you,” I stuttered after a long pause. He seemed to expect a response, and I wasn’t sure what to give him. It had been so long since I’d been here in Hel, playing the games demons played, and I’d never had contact with someone of this high level.
In return for exclusive breeding privileges of my choosing, I offer you the position of consort. I will embrace your household within my own, protect them and provide for them as a master. You will be allowed freedom of movement, including trips among the humans if your behavior is such that I grant my approval. You will be allowed to retain all of your current funds and possessions as separate holdings. The term of our contract is one thousand years.
I couldn’t breathe. I just couldn’t. Everything inside me locked up and I struggled to present a composed façade. I couldn’t let him think I was panicking over this whole thing. I needed my wits about me to negotiate and clarify the terms. This was the last chance I had to carve out some independence in what would be a gilded cage.
“You will not have the right to discipline my household staff,” I told him, trying not to look at the headless body on the floor. “Any issues you have with them should be directed to me for remedy.”
He was silent a moment, considering, before he nodded.
“Breeding privileges will not exceed ten occurrences in the duration of the contract period.”
No. His voice was like a whip inside my mind. Unlimited. I need the flexibility to produce the specific type of offspring I’m wanting.
My temper flared, overwhelming my judgment and paltry survival instincts. “It shouldn’t take you unlimited breeding chances to figure out how to achieve what you want. I’m not turning into a puppy mill bitch just because you can’t mix and match genes properly.”
And now I probably was going to be a dead demon. I tensed, refusing to lower my eyes for the blow I knew was coming. Instead, he reached a hand forward and ran a needle-like claw down my face, licking the blood from it as I tried to control my breathing and heart rate.
One thousand then. That’s one occurrence per year. I doubt I’ll actually use that many, but it satisfies my need for flexibility and should keep you from feeling like a puppy mill bitch.
A slight sigh of relief escaped me. “I am concerned that my autonomy of movement and ability to tend to my human household across the gates is subject to behavior standards and your approval. I want full control over that portion of my life.”
He laughed. The sound chilled me all the way through. It was like a rusted echo of long forgotten mirth. Az, you are notorious for vanishing and refusing to come when called. You were even late in appearing for our contract. How can I possibly trust you to be where I need you to be?
“I’m an imp. I can hardly be held to your behavior standards—it’s not within my nature. And I have responsibilities that may require me to make timetable changes. I can vow that I’ll inform you if the need to reschedule something comes up.”
Ahriman sighed. You no longer have responsibilities beyond those I give you. I’ll take your imp nature into consideration, but it’s high time you learned to be a demon. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to play with the humans. Time to grow up.
“Six months of each year on Earth.” Fuck, I was beginning to sound like I was begging.
No. One week per decade.
“Three months per year concurrent.”
Three months per year concurrent, as long as you app
ear when requested and do not directly violate any command or order I’ve given. If you do, all visitation privileges are off and you will lose your freedom of movement.
This was as good as it was going to get. “Done. But that doesn’t include my duties to appear at Ruling Council meetings or other meetings necessitated by my position as Iblis.”
Ahriman jerked his head upward, his red eyes filled with surprise. An imp, the Iblis? What an amusing idea. Yes, of course I will allow those duties to take priority, but you’ll understand that I first need to see proof of your assumption of the office. I’ll need to see the sword.
Fucking sword. I hadn’t been able to summon the thing since before I’d been held captive on Oak Island. I’d needed it desperately, and it had abandoned me. Doubting I could make it appear, I tried. Nothing. No sword, no feathered barrette, no shotgun. It refused to appear in any of the forms I usually saw it. I couldn’t even feel it near. It was gone, abandoning me as it once had its original master.
“It’s been a little shy lately,” I told him, well aware he thought I was lying about my possession of the sword. “It will come later.”
Probably not. I doubted I’d ever see it again. But if I was no longer the Iblis, why did I still feel the weight of the office, the crush of responsibility? And to be honest, I’d grown to rather like being the Iblis. Huge reports aside, I enjoyed interacting with the angels, shaking up their order with my presence. Sword or no sword, I was still the Iblis, although, if I couldn’t convince Ahriman of the fact, I’d not be able to make any meetings for the next thousand years. Hopefully they’d hold my spot for me. I couldn’t see anyone else wanting it. It had been vacant for nearly three million years before I came along.
Well, once it comes to you, please let me know. Until then, there will be no special exceptions for Iblis duties.
I felt the noose tightening around my neck. There was only one more thing I needed to address.
“I’ve made a commitment to do some things for one of the elven kingdoms. An assassination, then fighting for them in a war.”
I held my breath and watched him raise a thin hand to run along his jaw, lightly tapping a long finger against his coal black lips.
How very interesting. Normally I would be in favor of any outing that involved bloodshed and assassination, especially of elves, but I’m afraid I must decline your request. You’re late in presenting yourself to me, and I find I do not want to delay the start of our contract period.
“There is some significant impact to the demons if this particular elf lives,” I hinted, hoping to lead him along, spark his curiosity. His red eyes glowed with interest, and he nodded for me to go on.
“There is an elven high lord that plans to take over all of Hel. He has already seized the five southern elven kingdoms, and his sorcerers worked with rogue angels to develop a method of draining us of energy, of completely restricting our ability to repair injuries, change form, or defend ourselves. After that, he kills us, parting our spirit-selves out to send to the angels. If he continues unchecked, he’ll rule all of Hel and the demons will be nothing but slaves.”
A deafening silence met my words. I squirmed, suddenly realizing how farfetched it all sounded. The elves had been living side by side with us for nearly three-million years without any more than the occasional squabble. Their kingdoms had changed rulers and boundaries quite frequently over the history of our coexistence, but there hadn’t been any actual wars between our kind. Ever.
Internal elven issues are not my concern, Ahriman announced, his thoughts smooth and emotionless. If this high lord conquers all the elven lands as a tyrant, his actions mean nothing to me.
“But he has this technology,” I protested, desperate to explain the threat. “He’ll grab groups of Lows and drain them to fuel his weapons against us. The elven kingdoms will fall first, and then we’ll be next. And he’s selling us out to the angels!”
Ahriman shrugged. The movement left a faint trace of blackened smoke hanging in the air over his shoulders. I care not if this elf takes Low demons, or even if he takes entire households. The weak will fall, as always, making room for the strong.
“But if we… I mean I don’t move against him now, he’ll grow strong enough to attack the high level demons and defeat them.”
I doubt that, he cut me off. No elf will ever be strong enough to take on a high-level demon and win, even with an army of sorcerers and this mysterious technology. No. Not allowed. You’re stalling, Az, as you always do.
“But I….”
No! You are forbidden. You will not participate in this elven war, and you will not, as appealing as the idea is, assassinate this high lord. Am I understood?
I lowered my head. “Fine. Shall we move on, then?”
This was the next stage of the contract negotiations, where he told me what types of attributes he was looking to produce in his offspring, and what portions of my make-up he favored and admired. I only hoped the things he wanted I still had the ability to give him.
No such luck.
I greatly admire your energy storage capacity and would like progeny to have that attribute as well as your detailed conversion and matter creation ability.
I no longer had those skills. They were lost, gone, shredded away when I nearly died. Who knew when, or if, they’d ever return. There was nothing for me to give him. He was going to kill me.
But most importantly, he continued, unaware of my mini panic attack, I want my creations to devour.
I caught my breath. I knew he was aware of the devouring—his messenger had told me so back in Atlantic City and assured me that my disgusting habit wasn’t a deal breaker. I’d never expected that would be the very thing Ahriman would consider most important. Deliberately creating a devouring spirit? Most demons tried very hard to avoid passing on any inclination to devour.
Of all your admirable traits, that is the one that must be present in full degree with each exchange of spirit.
Weird and kinda creepy, but I still had that ability. At least I thought I did. I hadn’t tried devouring since my terrible injury, but I felt the familiar, gnawing hunger, right there beneath the surface as always. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill me after all.
Those who formed you did an exemplary job with your devouring drive and ability. Why they saw fit to put such potential into an imp, I have no idea. I intend to rectify that terrible mistake.
So much for ‘admirable traits’. It seems I was a ‘one good trait in a huge ball of shit’ in Ahriman’s opinion. Imps aren’t very high in the demon hierarchy, but the insult still stung.
But your ability to devour… such hunger, barely within your control, coupled with your ability to store a vast amount of energy… you truly are remarkable. I long to examine you, see how your creators put you together in such a way and still gave you a measure of control.
Oh no—there would be no examining. If he got that close, he’d really find out the extent of my devouring ability, and I wouldn’t be sorry. No one got that close except for my angel.
“This is a breeding contract,” I interrupted. “Not a dissection one. You will receive the portion of my spirit per our agreement, but you will not be allowed any intimacy beyond that.”
He smiled, a puff of oily black curling from his body. Of course not. But as we grow to know each other and you begin to understand the value there is in being my consort, you may change your mind.
My stomach turned at the thought. Demons don’t join, but Ahriman was old enough to have remembered when we did such things with angels before the war. He could keep that little fantasy to himself because I wasn’t going to be angel fucking with him. Not now, not ever. Ick.
“I need some time to wrap up matters within my household. Can I have two months before the start of our contract?”
That creepy smile turned to a frown, the smoke increasing slightly. No. You’re late already, and you should have taken advantage of the time you had, rather than playing around with elves.
/> “I’m not ready.” My mind desperately searched for some reason I could give him to stall. I needed time to take out Feille at the very least. “I’ve… I’ve got some enemies I’m torturing and I don’t want to rush things.”
He paused, once again tapping his chin with a long finger. Ah. Yes, these things should not be rushed. So few things bring joy anymore that we should all savor the moments that do. Two weeks.
I swallowed. Two weeks to assassinate an elf lord. Two weeks to try and convince Taullian to free the humans. Two weeks to regain whatever skills and abilities I could so Ahriman wouldn’t kill me for deception in contract.
“Thank you. I appreciate the extension.”
It seems we have a deal. Ahriman seemed rather pleased. I, on the other hand, wanted to throw up.
He held out his hand and once again I placed mine in his. The long fingers close around my wrist, snaking a curl of black up the inside of my arm in a caress. This was the final act that announced to all of Hel our partnership. The demon moved in close, his physical form a mix of solid and vapor as he raised my arm upward. A memory flashed—me pressed against an abandoned gas station wall, terrified as an angel bit down on my arm. It seemed so long ago, and yet here I was again, this time with a demon, but equally terrified.
The foul smoke of him choked me, heavy and thick in my nose and lungs, leaving a greasy sheen where he touched my skin. He bent forward and opened his mouth, unhinging the lower jaw and extending several rows of serrated teeth. The whole process was painfully slow, and I got the impression he was deliberately delaying for effect, enjoying my discomfort and fear.
His teeth hesitated over the soft skin of my upper arm, right where the other tattoo had so recently been, and he rubbed his spirit-self along mine in a sudden grope. I recoiled within my physical form, trying to remain as far from his as possible. Ahriman chuckled and bit.
Gregory’s bite had been a painful pleasure, quickly shifting into all pleasure. Ahriman’s was all pain. His teeth shredded like a shark’s, but the tearing of flesh was only part of the agony. His smoky aura burned, spiraling down through my physical being to mark my spirit-self. No matter what shape I took, the mark would be there. Even without shape, my spirit-self would bear the mark for one thousand years, or until negation of the contract by death of either party, or by mutual agreement.
