Imp Forsaken

by Debra Dunbar

  Fucking piece of shit. Where had it been? I’d needed it desperately, and it had refused to come. But I wasn’t about to refuse to use it in a fit of pique. I’d use the damned thing now, and yell at it later.

  I hacked at Ahriman like a woman possessed. He pulled back, his oily smoke swirling into a column. My downward stroke tore a line of white through him. I reversed my grip to hit him on a backstroke, and his coal-black hand grabbed the hilt just above my fingers, nearly wrenching my shoulder from its socket.

  Ahriman pulled. I pulled. We danced around the dungeon in a deadly tug-of-war. He was winning. What would happen if I lost my grip? Would the sword abandon me as before? Would it betray me and go to him? Fury coursed through me as I thought of my fickle artifact, and I yanked with all my might. Ahriman held firm, and my grip slipped. He pulled. The sword slid from my grasp. By some odd turn of fate, he had unbalanced himself, expecting me to hold firm. He staggered backwards, his heels hitting something large as he tumbled onto the damp dirt floor.

  Dar. The sword vanished. I hesitated a split second, looking at my brother as he lay on the floor in a pool of blood. He was going into convulsions. With no time left, I needed to give this everything I had if I had any hope of saving Dar.

  I leapt onto Ahriman and straddled him as he bounced against the floor in a puff of oily, black smoke. White streamed from me into the demon, and I frowned. What the fuck was up with that? Whatever it was, it seemed to be working. Ahriman thrashed and screamed under me, pieces of him shattering into frozen chunks. His smoke held motionless for a second in the air before it dropped to the floor in tiny grains. Sand.

  His orange eyes met mine, full of hatred. Angel-loving bitch.

  “Damned straight.”

  I threw everything at him, and he erupted in a sandstorm of particles, blasting the dungeon walls. I stared down at the gritty floor, at the golden dust coating my hands. Holy shit on a stick, what had I done? I’d somehow managed to take down an ancient demon, one of the strongest in all of Hel.

  But there was no time to contemplate my strange new powers. I crawled through the sand and grabbed Dar, sending my spirit-self into his body.

  He wasn’t there.

  Fuck. Fuck! I expanded, frantically searching while keeping myself anchored to my physical form. It seemed like hours that I searched, panicking. He couldn’t be gone, couldn’t be dead. Not Dar. No.

  I felt a feathery wisp of his spirit-being and pulled, spooling him to safety inside my form, holding him as Gregory had done to me in the fire. He shuddered in pain, and I ran myself over and through him, hoping he’d excuse my intimate familiarity. After an exhaustive search, I finally relaxed. All the damage was on the surface. Nothing significant had been lost. I had gotten to him just in time. One more second and he would have been in the same shape I’d been, or perhaps worse.

  If I let you go, can you create a corporeal form?

  I felt his confusion. He’d never done this sort of thing before, never been without a body. Sharing mine, he wasn’t sure how to separate and create his own. We do this upon birth, but it’s not a skill we practice afterwards.

  Stay here. Hold onto me.

  I felt him cling, and I reached down to his dead body, brushing the grains of sand from it, melting the silver collar like warm butter in my hands. Dar’s form had been ripped to shreds by Ahriman’s claws. He’d quickly bled out. I couldn’t put him back inside a dead body—he’d not learned to live inside one as I had. I reached down and ran my hands over the grey fur, staring as the flesh knitted beneath my fingers. This was a day of surprises. I’d somehow gained the power to dust ancient demons, and now I could heal. The rat-like snout of Dar’s body grimaced up at me, a variety of unsavory fluid coating the lips. This was totally gross, but it was how the angels did it. I shuddered in revulsion then leaned down to place my mouth against his.

  Golden light spilled from me. The body shimmered, lungs inflating and heart pounding.

  In you go, I told Dar, snatching him and tossing him into the body. I sensed his panic, and then he grabbed hold, clinging to his rat form with all his might. I pulled my mouth away, spitting in an attempt to rid my mouth of the horrible taste, and I watched. And hoped.

  “Come on, Dar. I can’t lose my favorite brother.”

  Red beady eyes opened a fraction, then wider. He bit me, jumping as far as he could and baring his teeth.

  “Son of a bitch!” I swore, clutching my arm. “Dar, you bastard! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  His jaw dropped. “Mal? Mal? What happened? What did that shit-for-brains Ahriman do to you?”

  What was he talking about? For the first time, I became aware of my surroundings. I’d noticed the sand grains that had once been Ahriman spread across the floor, but the whole thing seemed abnormally lit up, as if someone had finally found the light switch to the dungeon. The light wasn’t coming from any fixtures, though: it was coming from me. I looked down and saw myself, a vaguely humanoid form, shimmering indistinctly with a golden light.

  And I panicked. Holy fuck, would I always look like this? I’d let all my Owned souls go; would I have the ability to recreate anything beyond this weird, alien-looking silhouette? I tried to calm myself, to steady my breathing and assume a shape, any shape—my first form, Samantha Martin, an insect, anything. The light dimmed, and I saw my hands become flesh. I breathed easy, realizing I’d created the human form I’d worn for over forty years. I had no idea how accurate it was, but anything was better than glowing, gold alien.

  “I don’t know what happened. Do I look all right now?”

  Dar’s eyes went from my face to something off to my left. I heard a rustle, felt a shiver of something beyond my back and looked in that direction, dreading what I might see.

  “Mal, you have wings,” he whispered, as if afraid someone might overhear him.

  I did. And they weren’t the leathery kind I usually created. Black feathers covered my wings—light-devouring matte-black that absorbed the dim light of the dungeon. It was noticeably darker for a few feet around the wings. I caught my breath, and they shivered in response. They were so sensitive, and I was aware of every particle of air against them.

  “You’re an angel.”

  I’ll be damned. “I am not a fucking angel. I’m a demon, an imp.”

  “If you say so.” Dar’s eyes drifted to the black-feathered protuberances.

  I scowled and concentrated, trying to dissolve them as I would my leathery ones. Nothing happened. I tried a few more times, then attempted to make them smaller, change them into leathery ones, hide them from view. Nothing I did altered the huge black-feathered appendages attached to my back. If I changed my form would they remain? I had a feeling the answer was yes, and the mental vision of myself as pond scum with huge black wings was disconcerting. They were impossible to ignore. I could feel their weight and sensitivity, like extra limbs.

  “Dar, they won’t go away. I can’t make them go away.” My voice rose dramatically, ending with me nearly hyperventilating.

  My brother reached out a paw and awkwardly patted my knee. “Calm down. I’m sure they’ll eventually go away. Or maybe we can cut them off. There’s got to be a sword somewhere, or a chainsaw.”

  “No! Don’t touch them, don’t even breathe on them.”

  I panicked at the thought of slicing them from my body. Demons have a huge tolerance for pain, but I wasn’t sure I could survive their removal. I felt every barb, every hook of each feather. My spirit-self was driven down deep into their structure, and unlike the rest of my form, I couldn’t seem to distance myself from the appendages.

  Dar expelled a breath. “Well they’re kinda pretty, in an angel sort of way.”

  They were, but that didn’t mean I had to like them. And how the fuck was I supposed to walk around with big-ass angel wings sticking out of my back? I’d cause a panic, a riot in the streets. Other demons would either flee at the sight of me, or try to kill me. I pulled the wings in tight against
my back and tried to make them look as small as possible. They were massive, either sticking out far above my head, or out to the side. I couldn’t seem to adjust them so they’d be hidden by my body from the front.

  “Maybe if I wrap a large blanket or carpet around myself, they won’t show. I’ll just look like I have a big hump or something.”

  Dar snorted a laugh. “You’ll look like you’re smuggling a small dragon on your back. They wiggle around a lot. Can’t you hold them still?”

  “No.” The wings twitched, as if they had a life of their own. “I’ll just have to hope no one rips the carpet off my back. The fewer people that see these things the better.”

  Dar nodded. “There’s got to be some way to dissolve or hide them. Other angels aren’t prancing around with their wings out all the time.”

  “I’m not an angel!” I protested hotly. “Not!”

  It was a good idea, though. I needed to find another way to contact Wyatt since my mirror had been destroyed with my residence. Once I did, I’d ask him to check with Gregory. Homesickness washed through me at the thought of both of them. I was free of Ahriman, but I was still banished. How would I ever manage to get home?

  “Sooo, carpet it is then.” Dar looked around. “I’m not seeing any down here, but I’m sure Ahriman has some in the more comfortable sections of his house.”

  Probably. I thought I saw some tapestries when we were in the room we’d used for breeding. “You wouldn’t have any idea how to get out of this dungeon, would you?” I asked.

  Dar shook his head. “The guy teleported me in. If there’s a door here, I’ll find it.”

  I watched him scurry around, his nose twitching and paws scrabbling along the walls. My heart warmed. I was so happy he was alive. A paw paused, hovering. There was a click and the wall moved, revealing a staircase. I eyed Dar in admiration.

  “You rock! I’ve been down here for weeks and couldn’t find that thing.”

  He smirked as well as a giant rat could and raced up the stairs. I hurried after him, slowing the moment I tried to wedge my huge wings through the doorway.

  “Dar! Hold up.”

  He waited impatiently while I adjusted and shifted, finally managing to negotiate the narrow stairway by shuffling sideways at a squat. I was never so happy as the moment I saw the warm, dry room through the doorway at the top of the stairs, sunlight streaming through colored windows.

  “Consort?” One of Ahriman’s servants squeaked in surprise, eyes traveling from Dar to me. I halted at the threshold, hoping my wings weren’t visible in the dim light of the stairway. The demon didn’t run away in fear, but tilted his head, as if he expected to see another coming behind me. “Is our master still in residence?”

  I couldn’t envision Ahriman taking the stairs anywhere. He’d always done his smoke-entrance thing and teleported everywhere. I hesitated, not sure what tactic to take. Would the demon’s household attack me if they found out about their master’s death? And what would they do if they caught sight of the huge feathered things permanently attached to my back? Guess it was time to find out. Ahriman was dead, and I couldn’t hang out in this stairway forever.

  “Nope. I’m afraid there’s been an early termination of the contract. Ahriman and I have parted ways.”

  I stepped into the open and felt my wings spread out to their full length, flexing after the cramped confines of the passageway.

  The demon clutched his chest and let out a scream that shook the windows. Before I could say a word, he’d turned to bolt toward the door. Dar got there first.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  The demon skidded to a halt, his eyes darting between my brother and myself.

  “I don’t want to hurt you. I know I look terrifying right now, but I really don’t want to hurt any of you. I’ve killed Ahriman, but I have nothing against any of the members of his household.”

  The demon shuddered as he glanced at my wings, then his eyes traveled to my hair. I reached up, feeling the familiar tingle of a feathered barrette. No fucking way. After all I’d been through, all the times I’d needed this thing and it had refused to appear? Now it shows up, after I’ve been through some of the most painful, gut-wrenching moments of my short life. Now it shows up.

  I ripped the barrette out of my hair and threw it against the wall where it stuck like a ninja star. It hadn’t been there when I’d needed it, and now it wanted back in my life like some dickhead boyfriend crawling back with apologies?

  “Go fuck yourself,” I shouted at the thing. Ahriman’s servant stared at me with shocked eyes, no doubt thinking my words were meant for him. “Not you. You’re fine, it’s the sword I’m pissed at.”

  Dar raised an eyebrow. I knew I sounded like I’d gone over the edge, cursing an inanimate object. I didn’t care.

  “Iblis,” the servant squeaked. “I humbly beg that you accept us into your household. We can promise you loyalty as well as all the talents and skills we possess.”

  Shit. Ahriman had to have nearly two thousand in his household, what with all his residences and alliances. How the fuck was I supposed to afford to keep them all? I couldn’t pitch them out on the streets. Probably thirty percent would quickly find a new household, but the others wouldn’t live past the end of the week. There’s no way I could provide for them, though. My home was a melted blob, and I was broke.

  Or was I? I looked around at the ornate chairs, the bone and flesh décor, the elven tapestries on the walls, embellished with blood stains. I wasn’t broke; I was rich. Filthy, stinking, rich.

  “Petition either my steward or my second,” I indicated Dar. “I don’t want to just go accepting any old demon into my household. They can decide which of you are worthy. I have more important things to do.”

  Dar choked back a laugh. He knew I was a complete pushover when it came to household petitions. Every one of them would make the cut, even the lowest of Lows.

  The servant bowed and I waved him off with instructions to compile and present me with an inventory of all my new properties and items. I knew half of it would be stolen before it ever hit the balance sheet. That’s just how things happened in Hel.

  “Nice save, Mal,” Dar commented, examining a crystal bowl filled with wood chips. “Hey, check this out. They’re chopped up bits of an Ent.”

  I looked into the bowl with morbid curiosity. Ents were tree creatures not native to Hel. Ahriman got around, and he seemed to have a fascination with saving body parts of his victims. I was just glad I hadn’t wound up as chair upholstery or part of a staircase banister. But I could contemplate psychotic decorating ideas later, right now there were more pressing things on my mind.

  “So, I’m assuming things aren’t going well in Wythyn if they bundled you up and sold you out to Ahriman.”

  Dar grimaced, turning reluctantly away from the bowl of Ent. “Wythyn still rebels. Kllee will agree to the alliance as long as everyone leaves them alone. Cyelle and Tonlielle are besties—practically one kingdom at this point. Allwin wants some assurances of military protection since they suffered the most in the war with Wythyn and don’t trust them to hold to any sort of peace.”

  “What about Li?”

  Dar compressed his lips and shook his head. “They ran Radl out on a pike after twelve hours. I sent him back in with some reinforcements and he’s still there. Last I heard, he was desecrating their holy statues with added, inappropriately placed genitals, and demanding all their songs feature the mighty hero Radl the Repulsive.”

  Better news than I had thought, given Radl’s questionable skills. “I heard Kllee was on board with the humans gaining their freedom. Has there been any significant resistance from the other elves?”

  Dar looked grim. “I was saving the worst for last. Taullian has gone back on his word to free the humans. Once he realized how powerless you were under Ahriman’s thumb, he changed his mind. The elven gates are all closed, but the peninsula remains a part of Cyelle, and no humans have been allowed to leave their
masters. All the kingdoms except Kllee are happy to follow Taullian’s lead.”

  I felt the wings at my back snap outward in fury. “Well then, I think it’s time we paid the ruler of the United Elven Kingdoms a visit.”

  32

  I flew under the cover of a rare moonless night on the long trip to Dis, worried that my interesting new wings would cause a commotion that would end with me shot out of the sky. It was an exhilarating trip. As much as having them bothered me, these things were fast, and the feeling of wind through my feathers was pretty damned close to sex. I hadn’t taken into consideration my increased speed and arrived pre-dawn, forcing me to wait around for a respectable time to pay a call to Gareth.

  The sorcerer greeted me informally in a workshop full of magical supplies. Bundled tree limbs and sticks were propped against the wall, jars of herbs and various liquids neatly shelved in rows. His smile faltered when he saw me, eyes widening.

  “Yeah. I know. I can’t figure out how to get rid of them.”

  “When? When?”

  I shrugged. “Sometime between me turning Ahriman into a pile of lifeless sand and stuffing a dying demon back into his newly healed body.”

  Gareth made a choking noise. “You killed Ahriman?”

  I heard the unspoken question—an imp killed an ancient demon that ranked at the very top of the hierarchy?

  “And the high elf up in Wythyn, and Haagenti, a few sorcerers, and a real asshole of an angel.” And a whole lot of others that I wasn’t so proud of. But my past was my past, and my future was hopefully before me. It was time to make my mark—both here and in Aaru, if I could ever manage to get out of Hel, that is.

  “I heard about what you tried to do for us humans. I appreciate your efforts, although they don’t seem to have made any difference in the end.” Gareth approached to shake my hand with his left, his eyes darting occasionally to my wings, as if he couldn’t help himself. His right hand was bandaged, half hidden beneath a long sleeve. I was surprised he remembered the handshake I’d taught him.