Personal Demons

by Lisa Desrochers

  I feel his grip loosen on my hair as he bats at the snapping dogs with his other hand. Luc is pulling my arm. Dogs are everywhere, snapping and snarling.

  “You don’t want me!” I scream. I yank myself away from Beherit, leaving behind a large handful of singed hair, and Luc pulls me across the room. One of the dogs follows me, and I crouch, ready to unleash a kick, but Luc pulls me back just before my foot connects with its shoulder.

  “You really don’t want to piss Barghest off. Especially after he’s just saved our sorry asses.”

  “Barghest?”

  “An old friend of mine. I was on what you might call canine patrol for a long time—guarding the Gates of Hell. Barghest and I were pretty tight for nearly a millennium, though it took him a little longer than I would have hoped to recognize me in all my humanity,” he gestures to the bleeding claw marks across his chest.

  Barghest tips his head to the side as he whimpers, then he turns and sits, his back to us, and growls at the foray at the bottom of the stairs. I can’t watch as the dogs rip at Beherit, so I turn back to Luc and try to find a spot I can touch him.

  “Why didn’t they attack me too?” I ask, nestling into his right side.

  “I told them not to.” He grins again. “And my talisman—your red bra—came in handy for scent. Now it’s Barghest’s job to protect you.”

  I let go of Luc and turn to look at the dog sitting in front of me, his shoulders at the same height as mine. “Protect me from what?”

  Luc’s face darkens for just a moment. “Hell,” he says, “and everything in it.”

  I start to tuck back into his side when I feel something brush through my wild hair. Luc suddenly pulls back and doubles over. “Ahhh.”

  “Luc? What’s wrong?”

  He groans and looks up at Beherit, his face contorted in pain and his eyes glowing red. Then I see the glint of the handle of a dagger sticking out of his shoulder. As Luc pulls it out, I understand. Gold. Luc’s weakness.

  Heart pounding out of my chest, adrenaline on overload, I turn to Beherit and see Gabe advancing down the stairs, enveloping him in white light. It’s almost like looking into a cloud during an electrical storm. Little flickers of lightning flash in the white light. The hair on my body stands on end, and the smell of ozone is thick in the air. And when the lightning bolt shoots out of Gabe’s palm and hits Beherit, I scream.

  Beherit’s face twists in agony, and his groans roll through the house as the dogs continue to attack. But his focus is on Luc and me, and, under the pain, there’s a triumphant sneer.

  As I stare, frozen with fear and rage, another golden dagger materializes in Beherit’s hand. That shocks me out of my stupor.

  “Stop!” I yell. “Leave him alone. He doesn’t matter to you anymore.” I step forward, between him and Luc. “I’ll come with you if you leave him alone.”

  As Beherit roars in victory, Luc grabs my hand, still doubled over. He’s shaking his head, his eyes wide and bulging as he bites back an agonized moan. Curls of black smoke issue from the bleeding knife wound in his left shoulder. “No. Use your Sway.”

  I can’t think. I choke back a sob and turn to Beherit. “Stop!” I yell again, and Barghest growls as I pull loose from Luc and take another step forward. “Leave Luc alone! I’ll come with you. Just leave Luc alone! Please!”

  My heart’s throbbing as I move slowly across the floor toward the stairs. My shirt rips where Barghest tries to get a mouthful of it, but I keep walking. Gabe’s white light flashes brighter in a warning that I ignore as I step within reach of Beherit.

  Beherit raises his head and roars again. At the same instant I feel talons pierce the flesh of my shoulder, I crouch and lunge for his other clawed hand, where he’s still holding the golden dagger. I grab the dagger, swing around, still in a crouch, and leap up, pushing it hard into his chest. “Go to Hell!” I scream.

  But it’s drowned out by his scream, high and long, a sound I can’t imagine doesn’t rupture my eardrums. As I hit the ground, I close my eyes and hold my breath, not knowing what the sensation will be when he kills me.

  As Beherit’s scream dies away, intense heat sears through me. But instead of agony I feel serenity settle over me. Maybe death, even at the hand of the devil, isn’t so bad after all.

  But then I realize the heat is coming from behind me, and I open my eyes to find Barghest between me and Beherit, tearing at Beherit’s arm. When I turn, Luc’s there, and it’s not just his eyes—his whole body is glowing red. It’s his heat I feel coursing through me as he wraps me in a protective field.

  Gabe’s light flashes again, nearly blinding me. Beherit shrieks, and, through the glare, I see thick black ichor oozing from where the dagger pierced his chest as tendrils of thick, oily smoke enfold his upper body in a cloud. What feels like a sonic boom knocks me back a step, and when Gabe’s light fades, all that remains where Beherit was is a bellow of hissing black smoke and the stench of burnt meat and brimstone. He and the dogs are gone.

  Gabe rushes down the stairs, his glow fading as he comes, and now I can see the expression on his face. Anguish.

  “Gabe?” He runs past me, and I feel black dread squeeze my heart just as I hear a thud behind me. I turn back to see the image that I’ve been unable to shake since I awoke with it in my head: Luc lying crumpled on the floor, corpse-white under smeared crimson blood.

  22

  Redemption

  FRANNIE

  The hospital is too cold and too bright and it smells and I hate it. But I can’t leave, even though they already told us Luc isn’t going to make it. I can’t leave him here.

  The only thing getting me through this is Gabe. His arms are around me like a cocoon, and he hasn’t let me go, even when they stitched my shoulder.

  “I don’t get it,” I say through my tears. “He was human, so why would it matter that Beherit took all things Hell with him? That wasn’t Luc anymore.”

  There’s pain in Gabe’s eyes and sympathy on his face. “You changed him physically, but his life force was tethered to Hell. It’s what he was for over seven millennia. There can’t really be a separation. And, in the end, he embraced that side of himself. He called on that infernal power to save you.”

  I think about Luc—his heat and how he glowed as he used the last of his power to wrap me in a field—and my heart shrivels into a hard ball. He should have saved himself, not me.

  People walk through the hospital waiting room like it’s any other day. Like the world didn’t just end. How can that be? The world should be crashing down all around us.

  My shoulder stings where the anesthesia is wearing off, and I can feel the tug of the bandages and stitches, but I wish it was worse. I wish Beherit had killed me. Then maybe Luc and I would be together. I bury my face in my hands and I feel Gabe’s arms around me, pulling me to his shoulder. “This can’t be happening. It’s all my fault.”

  “I’m so sorry, Frannie.”

  “This is so not fair. He was good—I know it. He doesn’t belong in Hell.”

  “He wasn’t tagged for Hell. There’s no guarantee that’s where he went.”

  “But you said Beherit took him back to Hell.”

  “No, Frannie. I don’t know that.”

  My breath catches. “You mean he could be in Heaven?”

  He strokes my hair. “It’s possible. His mortal soul was clean.”

  LUC

  It’s quiet and white and … empty. A void. Just like my mind. I’m aware of a body—mine, I guess, but I can’t see or feel it. I can’t see anything. I’m peaceful and I let myself drift. But then I’m being pulled through time and space in a dizzying rush.

  King Lucifer.

  When I stop and the vertigo settles, I open my eyes, sure I’ll find myself in Pandemonium. But instead I’m at the end of a long white corridor that fades into the distance. In front of me is a pair of swinging wooden doors with a peeling plastic sign taped to it reading LIMBO.

  Limbo. Where untagged souls
go after death to be sorted.

  So, guess that means I’m dead.

  The sudden realization that I won’t see Frannie again—touch her—kiss her—hits me hard, rocking me back on my heels. I fight to get air into my lungs, but then I remember that I don’t need to breathe anymore. I’m dead.

  But Frannie’s not. She’s safe.

  It’s that knowledge that helps clear my head. Frannie’s safe. Without me in the way, she’ll let Gabriel tag her and she’ll be fine. He’ll protect her. This is good. The only way I could ever leave her. She’ll be better off now.

  I gather myself and push through the swinging doors into an endless room. The ceiling is low, with humming florescent fixtures, but the walls stretch away into oblivion. In front of me there’s an old wooden desk with various magazines scattered over its dark, nicked surface and a handwritten sign taped to the front. The writing is a sloppy cursive scrawl in heavy black marker and reads, TAKE A NUMBER AND HAVE A SEAT. Next to the sign is a plastic red number dispenser. I step up to the dispenser and look beyond the desk. As far as I can see, stretching into infinity, there are rows of black plastic chairs, most of which are occupied by the countless souls waiting to hear their fate. Others mill around aimlessly, wailing and crying about being dead. All are in shades of gray or beige, some shot through with black, vermillion, or ochre—the middle ground. These are the souls that weren’t tagged before death because they didn’t clearly fall on one side or the other.

  I look down at myself for the first time, expecting obsidian black, but instead I find bright white with swirls of sapphire blue and dusk rose. White? I gaze in awe for more than a few minutes then collect myself and draw a number from the dispenser. The paper tab tears off, and I look to see a large ONE stamped on the green paper in gold leaf. I look up at the lit monitor over the desk. “Now serving number 64,893,394,563,172,289,516,” it declares. I look back at my number.

  One.

  “Number one, please report to office number one.” I hear the androgynous, monotone voice clearly in my head, but the monitor doesn’t change. And as I stand here wondering where I’m supposed to find office number 1, a carved wooden door materializes in front of me with a large golden 1 painted on it. I turn the knob and push the door slowly open.

  Gathering myself and stepping through it, I find myself in a large, brightly lit room with an immense mahogany desk and a high-backed chair in the middle. The room looks deceptively inviting. The comforting scent of hickory wafts from a cheerful fire burning on the hearth of a large fireplace in the back of the room. Beige leather couches and chairs are scattered between numerous bookshelves. Among the titles strewn across a low mahogany coffee table near me, I see Dante’s Purgatorio and can’t help smiling. Michael has done his homework.

  His back is turned to me as he hovers just off the ground to one side of the fireplace, white robes blowing gently in a nonexistent breeze.

  Very theatrical.

  He turns slowly and smiles, but there’s no warmth in that smile. He tugs on his black goatee and studies me. His dark hair and skin contrast with his pale blue eyes, making them appear to glow and giving him an ominous look—meant to intimidate, no doubt. Michael is known for that.

  “Welcome, Lucifer. Apparently the Almighty has put you on the fast track. I would have made you wait.” He gestures to a comfortable-looking leather chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  “No thanks. I prefer to stand.” I’ve been around too long to let my guard down around an archangel. Especially this one. An eternity of passing judgment has given him a God complex.

  The whole innocent-until-proven-guilty concept applies to Heaven and Hell as well, and Limbo is under Heaven’s control. Michael’s, specifically. You’d think that would work in their favor, but Michael believes in strict quality control, so actually the numbers usually come out to Hell’s advantage.

  I take one more step forward. “What’s the deal? Why am I not in Hell?”

  “If you’re that eager to burn in the Inferno for all eternity, so be it. I mistakenly thought you might want to discuss alternatives.” He waves his hand dismissively and turns to glide behind his desk.

  I swallow my pride, along with the thick lump in the back of my throat. “Wait.” I follow him to the desk and slide into the leather chair. “What alternatives?”

  His eyes soften and his expression hints at amusement. “It appears there’s someone in the mortal realm who wants you back. Quite desperately, actually. It’s really quite touching. It also happens that this someone has a fair amount of Sway, which apparently extends to the celestial, because Gabriel is having a difficult time saying no.”

  My head spins. Is it possible? Could Frannie have enough Sway to will me back to life? I’ve never heard of such a thing happening. But I’ve also never heard of a demon becoming human …

  “From the look on your face, I take it this would be an acceptable alternative?”

  I snap out of my musings to find a smile on my face and a tear coursing down my cheek. I wipe both away and look hard at Michael. “Is it possible?”

  “It is. But there are conditions. This isn’t a free pass.”

  My heart sinks. A catch. There’s always a catch. “What conditions?”

  “What we know is that Frannie changed you. Her Sway is powerful.” What he doesn’t say, but I read in his eyes, is that by powerful he means dangerous. A mortal with Sway over mortals is one thing. But a mortal with Sway over the infernal and celestial is quite another. He’s scared of her.

  As if he read my thoughts, because I’m sure he did, his temper flares. “She wants you now, and she got you by making you mortal.” He spits out the last word as if it tastes bad. “What none of us knows is what will happen when she doesn’t want you anymore. Humans, after all, can be quite fickle.” A self-satisfied smirk settles across his features as he listens in while I ponder that.

  I know it was Frannie’s Sway—her love—that changed me, but I’d never stopped to consider what would happen if her feelings changed. If she didn’t want me anymore, would I stay human? Die? Change back into a demon?

  “What conditions?” I ask again with a heavy heart. There’s no use putting up a front when he’s in my head.

  “Convince her to forgive herself so Gabriel can tag her for Heaven.”

  It sounds simple enough, and it’s what I’ve wanted her to do all along, but I don’t miss the look in his eye as he says it. Something vacillating between greed and lust.

  “What will happen to her once she’s tagged?”

  “That’s not your concern,” he says dismissively with a wave of his hand.

  I spring out of the chair. “Like hell it’s not.” My hands on his desk, I lean across it, toward him. “She wants a life. If she’s tagged for Hell, she won’t have one. She’ll be King Lucifer’s puppet. Tell me that won’t happen if she’s tagged for Heaven.”

  “I can’t say what will happen. It’s not my call.”

  My voice shakes as I fight to keep my rage in check. “I don’t believe you.”

  He stares at me and shakes his head. “You poor, pathetic boy. Acting like you have any pull here. You will do this, or you’ll burn in the Inferno.”

  I look back at myself. White. I can’t see how it’s possible, but I’m clean. No black. No gray. No red. White. “What sin sends me to the Inferno?”

  His smile is amused, but there’s frustration hidden behind the façade. “You’re joking.”

  I can’t read his thoughts, but I can read his eyes. He’s bluffing. I keep my voice soft—calm—as I call him on the lie. “You don’t have to send me back to Frannie, but you can’t send me to the Abyss.”

  His eyes flare red for just a second before he pounds his fist through the top of the desk. To my ears his voice sounds as indistinct as a thunderclap, but in my head I hear the words within the roar clearly. “Maybe not, but I can make you wish I had!”

  Can Heaven be a living Hell? If there’s anyone who could make
it that, it would be Michael. But it’s better that it’s my living Hell—not Frannie’s. Before looking into Michael’s eyes, I would have thought Frannie being tagged for Heaven was a good option. They generally don’t use their own too roughly, and with Gabriel looking out for her …

  Now I’m not sure. Frannie’s only chance at a life may be if she stays untagged. Gabriel wouldn’t betray her … would he? “Fine. The Abyss it is.”

  Shock stretches his eyes wide. Apparently that’s not the answer he expected. In his misplaced confidence, he forgot to spy on my thoughts. “I don’t think you understood me. You’re doing this. I’m giving you a second chance. You should be grateful.”

  “I don’t believe in second chances.” I turn and walk out the door. As I slam through it, Michael’s growl trails off, and everything goes quiet and white. I’m drifting again. If this nothingness is Heaven, I may have made the wrong choice. I’m not sure I can just drift for all of eternity.

  But then I picture Frannie’s sapphire eyes, and I’m no longer drifting, I’m soaring. I hear Frannie laughing, smell the clove and currant of her soul, feel her touch as surely as if she were here with me. And then my essence is swirling and blending with hers.

  This is Heaven.

  FRANNIE

  In my dream, Luc and I are dancing under the stars—spinning and laughing like we’re one person, sharing one body. I feel him everywhere, inside and out. His touch feels like Heaven, and I hear myself moan. I want to be this close to him forever—to die right here in his arms.

  “Frannie?” Gabe’s voice is soft in my ear. As I open my eyes and they adjust to the harsh lighting, it takes me a second to get my bearings. We’re still in the waiting room at the hospital, and I’m cradled against Gabe’s chest. “Hey, Frannie, wake up,” he says, smoothing a hand over my burned and snarled hair.

  It’s the sting in my shoulder and the telltale smell of singed hair that confirms that it wasn’t all just a really bad dream.

  “Frannie?” he says again.

  “Yeah, I’m awake. Can we just go home? Please?” I say into his chest as I feel tears sting my swollen eyes.