by Holly Hunt
I looked at her, then away, to the dark window. "I don't feel pain in the way you do, I think. It's just a dull ache to me." I rubbed at the bullet wound in my left arm, and she lifted the spaghetti to her lips. I could tell she was sniffing out poison. "I'm not going to harm you, Clarissa," I said, insulted.
She blushed again, making me smile.
"Well, at least your blood's back up to volume." I grinned at her. "Especially if you can turn so red so quickly."
"Where's your dinner?" she asked me, taking a small bite, trying to ignore my remark.
"I ate before I brought yours in. I thought you could use a little more sleep." I smiled at her again. I seemed to be smiling a lot more lately. "I could go and get some more, if eating with me makes you more comfortable than eating in front of me?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "If—if you don't mind? I don't want to put you out."
"It's no trouble." I stood up from the bed, heading out of the door. I should have expected this. Most humans felt uncomfortable eating in front of someone who wasn't eating as well. I put some more spaghetti into a bowl and added the sauce, grabbing a fork from the drawer on the way back to the bedroom.
Clarissa was still playing with the same forkful when I entered the room. I sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the bowl in one hand and eating with the other.
"How's your stomach?" I asked, crossing my legs. The spaghetti was a little cold from sitting for so long, but that was okay. It still tasted delicious. "Does it hurt, or sting or anything? Did you take the painkillers I left you?"
Clarissa nodded as I twirled spaghetti around my fork, lifting it to my mouth. She watched me eat it, then finally ate the mouthful she'd been playing with. Apparently, she thought that any poison I ingested would act immediately.
We ate in silence. I was watching Clarissa, making sure that she wasn't in pain and hiding it from me. She glanced up at me every now then, blushed, and looked back at her plate.
Clarissa finished before I did, putting her now-empty bowl down on the tray and picking up the glass of water. She sat back and I put my empty bowl in hers, taking the tray back to the kitchen. I returned to the room to find that she had emptied the glass and was waiting for me. I smiled at her, sitting at the end of the bed again.
"So, seeing as I'm trapped here—"
"You're free to leave whenever you want," I said, shaking my head. "I won't stop you."
"Oh," she said, clearly not believing me one whit. "Well, I wonder if you would mind answering a few questions for me? About the Fall, and Heaven and such. It's not every day that you get the opportunity to ask someone who didn't learn it from a preacher or a book."
I smiled, taking her glass and putting it on the chest of drawers by the door. "What would you like to know?"
"Are you the Devil? Like, rules Hell, the Devil?"
I sighed. "Yes, but not through my own choice. And I hate being called 'the Devil.' Just call me Lucifer, Luce or, if you prefer, Your Highness." I cracked a grin at my bad joke.
"Okay, Lucifer. I know the humans' story of the Fall and how you were given that title," she said, putting a hand on her wound and watching me with half-closed eyes. "You rebelled against God, thinking you could run the universe better, and He threw you from Heaven."
I laughed darkly, looking away from her and folding my arms over my chest. I looked back to her to find her pushing herself away from me. I forgot my anger and resentment, and instead became puzzled.
"What? I told you I wouldn't harm you."
"I—but you—you look so demonic, like you're going to kill me!" Her eyes were wide with panic, trying to push herself through the wall. She whimpered suddenly and clutched at her stomach. Her eyes rolled in her skull and she fell to the bed, holding her wound.
I climbed up the bed, uncurling her and undoing the buttons of her shirt near the wound. She was still trying to get away from me, but I ignored her movements, looking at the bandaging. There was a spot of crimson blood leaking through, quickly reddening that part of the bandages. I cursed, pulling gently at the cloth to bare the wound to the air. The stitches in her muscles must have ripped from their beds, judging by the speed and spread of the blood.
"Looks like you've torn some of the stitches," I explained, climbing off the bed. She whimpered as I darted out of the room.
I headed into the kitchen to retrieve the needle, thread, a glass of scotch, and the cotton dressing I had left on the counter. I returned to the room to find that Clarissa was holding her wound tightly, as though hoping that she could push the pain out through her back with just her hand. There was blood seeping out between her fingers, starting to dribble down her arm to my bed.
"Don't touch it," I said, sitting down next to her and putting the supplies on the bedside table. "You'll put an infection in it."
Clarissa watched me with wide eyes as I unwrapped the bandage, being careful not to make her sit up for too long. Using her stomach muscles might tear the stitches more, and I didn't know what damage that would do. I helped her lie back and let her drink a little from the scotch glass, then dipped the needle and a ball of dressing in it.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked, relenting and holding her shirt up above the wound for me while I removed the old stuffing.
The light was too dim in the bedroom for her to see what I was doing, but I could see the damaged muscles inside the wound well enough. I swabbed out the wound again and replaced the torn stitches, being careful not to cause her undue pain.
"Because you remind me of someone I used to know, a long, long time ago."
"A Demon?"
"An Angel," I corrected, closing off the stitches and repacking the wound. "I knew her in Heaven, before the Fall. I raised her, with the help of her brothers Azazel and Aspen."
"I know someone called Aspen. He's a terrible cat." She relaxed back into the pillows, only the rigid set of her jaw showing that she was in pain. "I thought all Angels were created—born—whatever, fully grown?"
"Not all of them were. At least, her entire family were born, rather than created. Her name was Sera. She was my wife, my best friend aside from Aspen."
"Oh. So do I—"
"Yes." I swabbed the wound again, pressing fresh dressing into her stomach to try to staunch the blood. "In the right light."
"Did she fight on your side during the Battle of Heaven?"
"There was no battle, but yes, she was on my side. The Fall was pretty much the end for her and her family, the Grigori." I wrapped a clean bandage around her stomach. "She Fell to Earth with me, but God didn't save her as She did me. She let her die on the ground below while I watched. She held me back from helping her."
"She...died?"
"Yes. While I was becoming this"—I gestured to my red skin, self-contempt in my voice—"she was falling from Heaven at thousands of miles an hour. I found her, broken and bleeding, in the woods near here. I buried her there and now I live nearby. I was trying to keep her close."
My voice turned sorrowful, mourning, and I tried to fix it, clearing my throat as tears welled in my eyes. I could tell by her sad expression that Clarissa had noticed. Let her pity me properly. "She was four months pregnant with my daughter."
Clarissa gasped. "I'm sorry, Lucifer," she whispered. "No one should have to deal with the death of their child and their other half at the same time. Not even the Devil
himself."
Clarissa was quiet as I sat back down the end of the bed, dwelling on my memories of Sera. I could feel a tear falling down my cheek. I swiped at it with my left hand, and stopped. The tear bounced light like nothing I had seen before, fascinating me. With a snort of contempt for myself— I was acting as though I'd never shed a tear before—I shook it off. I huffed and folded my arms, looking off to the side, remembering.
"Lucifer, if—if there was no Battle for Heaven, then why would God throw—?"
"Because I refused to do one small, little thing that would have destroyed my entire extended family,"
I growled, and Clarissa trembled. I stood up, pacing the end of the bed, trying to work off the anger, the hatred, the past. "God told me to destroy my family, split them in half, and I refused to do it."
"What—what was it?"
I stopped, looking at the woman, sizing her up. I stood there watching her long enough that she opened her mouth to ask me something else. In for a nickel, in for a dime..."She asked me to sleep with Her," I lied, watching Clarissa. Well, it's half of the truth...
"Her?"
"God is not always a man," I said, sinking down onto the end of the bed again, facing away from her. "He—or She—can swap genders as often as He—or She—wants."
"So—so He turned into a She and tried to—to seduce you?" Clarissa sounded confused. "Why?"
"I don't know." I put my head in my hands. "I've puzzled over Her actions for five thousand years, and I still can't see why She wanted it!"
"Why didn't you do it?"
"I had a wife!" I shouted, shooting to my feet and pacing again. "If I'd slept with Him—Her—God, I would have committed adultery, and I would have Fallen to Earth anyway!" I stopped pacing turning to look at Clarissa, a real tear in my eye. "I didn't want to destroy my family like that. I love—loved my wife. Why would I want to sleep with God when I had Sera?"
"So—so who was thrown from Heaven? If there was no Battle, no armies and no losers, then who was thrown from Heaven?"
I could tell she was changing the subject, but I let her. "Can't you guess?" I asked, bitter. I sank down on the side of the bed, rubbing at my arms. "She threw out the male Grigori, splitting my family Herself. All the Demons named through the ages are, one way or another, related to Sera, part of the extended Grigori family."
Clarissa's eyes widened. "That's not fair!"
I laughed bitterly, folding my arms and sitting against a wall, drawing my knees up to my chest. "Of course it isn't. God makes Her own rules, ones that change without a second's notice. She doesn't care what anyone else thinks, or how fair it is."
"How can you say that?" Clarissa asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "God is supposed to be the epitome of justice, moderation and fairness!"
"Clarissa, look around you! How much of the world is fair? Animals kill each other, humans kill each other, innocents are slaughtered by the thousands, children are dying, an entire continent has been in famine for the last six hundred years, and no one cares! If God were fair, then Her world would be fair! Mankind would be fair. Made in God's image, remember?"
Clarissa sank back, unfolding her arms and fear flashing across her face. I calmed myself again.
"I'm sorry. I have a very bad temper when it comes to talking about my former life." I tried to relax. "I've never been a fan of injustice. Please, continue asking your questions. Please don't be afraid of me."
She swallowed, trying visibly to relax. "So, you really do have the wings and the tail? I mean, I saw them, but I don't believe I saw them."
I nodded. "Do you want to see them properly?" I asked her, smiling. "I don't have horns, though. Sorry if that's a disappointment."
She nodded, a little hesitantly, a small smile on her face. I smiled wider and took off the white shirt I was wearing. She frowned at me.
"They get squashed between the material of the shirt and my back, or they shred the material. The tail's all right, it can just slide down my trouser leg, but the wings are too big to fit under my shirt." I scratched at my shoulder as I released my wings. "I only had to ruin a couple of shirts before I worked that one out."
Clarissa's eyes widened. "You know, I think it's easier to pretend you're normal without your wings," she said, and shuddered. "The wings are just a bit much." She tried to smile at me. "Without them, you just look like any normal blond sun-worshipping surfer. Even thought you look critically sunburned."
"So you don't like them, then?" I asked, grinning. I folded them and started to put them away.
"Can I touch them?" she asked quickly, then blushed.
I laughed, walking to the side of the bed. I sat a little closer to her, one foot hanging from the mattress so I was facing her. I folded my left wing around my shoulder, holding it out to her. "Go ahead."
She reached out hesitantly, gently touching the thin membrane between the fingers of my wing. She frowned when she noticed a hole in the red leather. "Don't those bullets hurt you? You're still bleeding from them, slightly." She wiped her hand absently on the shirt she was wearing.
"They're uncomfortable." I shrugged, using the already-bloodstained bandage to mop up the blood dripping lightly down my chest. "When you're starting to heal, I might need your help to pull the bullets out of my arm and chest for me."
She looked panicked for a second.
"You can't hurt me, and the wounds won't heal until the bullets are out." I smiled, pulling the wing back, and flicking my tail out to her. "Be careful, the edge is razor sharp."
"Oh." She looked at my booted foot hanging off the edge of the bed, hesitantly testing the edge of my tail on her finger.
It sliced easily and I sighed. I handed her the bandage to hold to the cut. "As though you need to lose more blood."
She screwed her nose up at me and looked to my feet again.
"No, I don't have hooves, cloven or not." I carefully pulled my tail back from her and loosened the boot. It fell to the floor with a heavy clunking sound. I pulled off the sock and wiggled my toes. It felt good not to wear shoes every now and then, especially with the claws that came with the wings and tail. They weren't just on my fingers, unfortunately.
Clarissa giggled, apparently feeling silly for entertaining the thought of me having hooves. "You don't have the legs of a goat either, do you?"
I shook my head, rolling up the leg of my pants. "Nope. Nothing here but Angel—or human, depending on your logic—legs."
She laughed, then yawned.
"Ah. You need to get some more sleep." I stood up, picking up my boot. "The bathroom's through the door across from here, and I'll be out in the living room if you need me." I smiled, heading to the door and putting my wings and tail away. "If you're up before me, don't worry about making a noise. I sleep like the dead."
I smiled at her and turned the light down to the dimmest setting, closing the door and heading back down the hall. I removed my other boot in the kitchen, leaving them by the front door and throwing my socks into the clothesbasket in the bathroom. I made my impromptu bed on the couch, before heading back into the kitchen.
I cleaned up the saucepans I'd used for dinner, putting them back into the cupboard. I didn't own a dishwasher, as I liked to do the washing-up myself, usually thinking as I did it.
~ * ~
As the dawn rays started to creep though my kitchen, I headed for bed. I crossed to the couch, switching off the lights. I lay down and rolled over to face the kitchen, closing my eyes.
I can't believe I found someone to be my friend after searching all these years for someone who wouldn't go running at the sight of me. Actually, I can't believe God slipped up and let this woman cross my path. It's been so long... And God was so annoyed with us all, especially Sera, Aspen, Azazel and me for beating the crap out of Her...What could She be planning?
My thoughts turned dark as the light behind my eyelids turned them a rich dark red, the color of the light shining through my skin.
But what if she doesn't want to know me? What if she learns the truth of the Fall and blames me for Sera's death? What if she hates me? I need a friend so badly now.
I could feel a tear falling down along my nose.
She should hate me. I got Sera killed, and my daughter smashed among the trees, at the mercy of the Earth. But how could I have saved her? God had me chosen as a victim even before I went up to Seventh Heaven. I could be like Beelzebub, throwing party after party, hosting a whole nightclub, for a distraction from the monotony of eternal life. I could be like Azazel, a drunkard seeking respite from his own private torture in the bottom of a dozen different bottles, at t
he same time. Could I still gain a friend through this?
Would she still wish to be my friend in the morning?
Six
Clarissa Avario
I woke up as the sun rose, as I usually did. For a second I was disorientated, looking around the room. It wasn't my room, but it was familiar. The light blue walls made the room seem cool but spacious, and the matching quilt was half off the bed, as my blankets usually were when I woke up, regardless of how tightly I tucked them in the night before.
I lay still, thinking and breathing in an unfamiliar scent as my memory fought to come up with an explanation for me being there. Did I have another one-night stand last night? I asked myself, examining my head. There was a dull ache, but not enough to let me know that I'd gotten smashed last night.
