The Demon Beside Me

by Nelson, Christopher

  I bit my tongue, remembering their last meeting, when Opheran had decked the angel with one punch. From the hastily hidden smirk on Tink’s face, she was thinking along the same lines. “Well, the entire Host is turning out for this event,” I said. “The Choir will have a hard time penetrating the security of any location, let alone this one specifically.”

  “That’s what Opheran said,” Caleb said. “At least three dozen high security meetings across the world. I’m sure he wasn’t telling me the full truth, either.”

  Opheran had told me at least twice that number. It wasn’t that we couldn’t trust Caleb; it was that we couldn’t trust that the Choir wouldn’t extract information from Caleb. Ostensibly, the meetings were to discuss local defense plans if the Choir decided to follow through with their plans. I was sure local defense plans weren’t the only thing under discussion.

  “You’re sure today’s the day?” I asked. My sense of time had been thrown off by spending those months in bed.

  “Definitely. It’s been sixty six days since War appeared.” Caleb cleared his throat, looking down at the table. “How are you doing, Isaiah?”

  I held my hands up. “See anything different about them?”

  “No?”

  “Two months ago, they weren’t there.”

  Caleb grimaced. “That’s a lot closer than I’ve ever come.”

  I tapped my fingers on the table. “The strangest thing is that they feel completely natural, like I never lost them in the first place. I think that’s because I was unconscious when Victor did it, and then went into the coma, and so I never experienced being without various pieces of my body. You have no idea how thankful I am for that.”

  “Demon, we don’t need the gory details.”

  I glanced over at Tink. “I didn’t think you were that squeamish.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “But it reminded me of what Deshavin did to my old conclave. I didn’t need those memories brought back up. I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  We sat around the table in silence for a moment. “So, I guess now you agree that the next time we see Victor, we need to kill him,” Caleb said.

  “After recent events, I’d say so, yes.”

  Tink slapped her palm on the table. Caleb and I both jumped and looked at her as she stood up. “I’m getting some coffee,” she snapped.

  “Get me-“

  “I’ll get you whatever I damn well feel like.”

  I watched her stalk away, then shrugged at Caleb. He chuckled. “Still the same old Anna. I’m glad. She wasn’t taking it well at first, especially when you were knocking on death’s door.”

  “She didn’t mention that part.”

  “Of course not.”

  I sighed. “So what about you, Caleb? I’ve heard that you’ve become a political dissident.”

  “To an extent.” His face fell, but his eyes flashed. “I don’t make much headway.”

  “But you’re not getting reeled in by the Cherubim or Seraphim?”

  “Not exactly, though I have been quietly advised that I may want to tone it down a bit. I haven’t been speaking against the powers that be, just publically deploring the atrocity visited upon you.” He chuckled. “You’ll be unsurprised to know that the majority of angels I spoke with could not care less about atrocities visited upon a demon, even a halfblood. Still, the notion is out there. Maybe a few angels will start thinking of demons as actual beings, not avatars of evil.”

  “You’re trading on your special status,” I said.

  Caleb put his hand on his shoulder, covering the spot where his Independent Choir insignia was etched into his skin. “To an extent,” he repeated. “They aren’t about to censure a hero.”

  “A hero.”

  His gaze met mine and flashed silver. “Yes, a hero.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not arguing that point. I’m just surprised you would refer to yourself as such, especially here and now. Some of your people would undoubtedly consider Victor to be a hero for what he did to me.”

  “Victor’s a monster,” Caleb said. His voice was flat. “You will not compare the two of us.”

  I held my hands up. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  The awkward silence between us only broke when Tink returned to the table with three cups. I took a cautious sip. Black. I made a face and she smirked at me. “Man up, demon,” she said.

  I sipped at the coffee and winced. While most of my wounds had healed, there were some lingering aches and pains that I suspected would stick around for years to come. I’d need to conduct a thorough internal investigation when I had some downtime. If I was lucky, I’d be able to do that within the next year or two.

  “So what are we going to do with Famine?” Tink asked.

  “Obviously not the same thing as we did with War,” I said.

  “No shit, demon.”

  I put my cup down on the table. “In truth, and no offense Caleb, but I wish that we could strike directly at the Choir with this, just to try to convince them to back down. But I don’t think starting a famine anywhere on this planet will affect them.”

  “You’d be right,” Caleb said. “I simply don’t see how we can invoke a famine anywhere that won’t cause a lot of havoc, but neither the Choir nor the Host will be affected. We simply have too many distributed resources.”

  “And once again, humanity takes it in the shorts,” Tink said.

  I toyed with the idea of taking another sip, but the last one had left a bad taste in my mouth. Without details about how this famine would work, how could we make a decision? If there were some way to aim the damage at the Choir I’d have to take it, but as Caleb said, we couldn’t invoke it anywhere without causing significant damage to the area, which would disproportionately affect the humans living there.

  “Well, we can rule out invoking it against a first world country,” Tink said. “Think about it. Hitting the US, for example, would screw over a lot of the world. Think about all the food we export here.”

  “And then hitting a third world country would just result in massive deaths,” Caleb said. “They don’t have the same resources to deal with it as a first world country.”

  “So where do we go with it, then?” I asked. “Maybe we can simply cause a famine on some tiny little Pacific island.”

  “Giving them no chance whatsoever,” Tink said.

  I threw my hands up. “All right, so we need to do as little damage as possible, while giving them a chance to survive. Let’s see how impossible that is.”

  “Some country in the Mideast?” Tink asked.

  “Destabilizing that region isn’t smart,” Caleb pointed out.

  “What about China?”

  “Very dangerous.”

  I sighed and slumped in my chair. “I wish Famine would just show up so we could figure this out.”

  At that exact moment, someone stepped up to our table. “Are you Isaiah Bright?”

  I looked over, then down. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old, wearing a flowery dress that no one had dared wear in public since the 70s, with golden blonde curls framing a ridiculously innocent face. “I am,” I said. “I take it you’re Famine.”

  The ridiculously innocent face split to give me an even more ridiculously cute smile. “You’re so smart, Mr. Gatekeeper.”

  “You have a horrendous sense of humor,” I said.

  “You have to have some sort of sense of humor in this line of work,” she said. “May I have a seat?”

  I gestured and she hopped up on the empty chair. Caleb and Tink stared at her. “Famine, the Second and Third Gatekeepers. Tink, you should be happy to meet her. You’ll be able to see eye to eye with her.”

  “Go eat shit, demon.”

  Famine clicked her tongue. “Such dirty language, Ms. Glass. Why are you so sensitive about your height? I find that being underestimated is a wonderful thing in today’s world, especially when one
is as powerful as you or me. They don’t expect the uppercut from this level.”

  Caleb and I exchanged looks. “Uh, Famine, if you’d mind not giving her any ideas, we’d appreciate it.”

  “It’s nothing that hasn’t crossed my mind before,” Tink said.

  “So, Gatekeepers, I’m here. Let’s hear it. Where shall I strike?” She toyed with a curl of her hair. “Oh, wait. I’m sure you have eighteen questions for me, very few of which I can answer, and even fewer of which I will answer. Maybe I’ll be nice. Maybe I’ll give you more answers than you’d like. What do you think? How would you convince me to give you a hand?”

  I looked down at the little girl staring up at me. “Victor,” I said.

  Her lip curled. “That was somewhat monstrous, yes.”

  “Somewhat?” Tink glared at the little girl. “That’s putting it mildly. I know you’re some super powerful being from beyond time and space, but would it kill you to pretend to take it a little more seriously?”

  Famine looked up at Tink and I felt supernatural power surge. From Caleb’s reaction, he felt it as well. “Famine,” I snapped. Her eyes flicked to me and I felt myself falling inward, into those dark pits.

  Children sitting, staring into space, limbs like twigs-

  Grown men fighting, killing for a scrap of bread-

  Fields of golden grain, now rotting and barren-

  Once clear and full, a river dry and brown-

  Mothers weeping over the body they couldn’t nurse-

  Desolation as far as the eye could see-

  I broke eye contact and shivered. A small hand touched mine. “I’m sorry,” Famine said quietly. “That wasn’t meant for you.”

  “That shouldn’t be meant for anyone,” I said.

  “Don’t you think we know that?” I looked up. Her eyes were clear and blue once again, but they were infinitely sad. “Gatekeeper, what do you know of us?”

  “Of the Horsemen? Not much. The lore of the end times tells us you’re the harbingers of destruction, but Conquest indicated you’re the agents of change. I question the necessity of changing the status quo, personally.”

  “Do you?” Famine smiled again, her eyes lighting up. “So you would prefer for your cold war to continue indefinitely?”

  “As opposed to a real war?” I looked across at Caleb. His brows were drawn together, as if he was deep in thought. “Speaking from the side that’s bound to lose, yes, I think that the prior situation would be an improvement.”

  “Bound to lose?”

  “Do you know something I don’t know?”

  The little girl smiled. “Of course I do.”

  I raised my eyebrows and attempted to give her a winning smile. “Would you tell me if I gave you some ice cream?”

  “Are you attempting to bribe a Horseman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, but when you decide to look like a little girl, you should expect to be treated like one.”

  She pouted, and then burst out laughing. Heads turned. “I had never expected the Gatekeeper to be so much fun to play with.”

  “I’m glad to be so entertaining.”

  “You don’t seem to be very happy.”

  “Nothing personal, Famine, but there’s going to be a war within the next month, and we’re looking at potential genocide of my race. I’m not much in the mood for fun and games. I thought I’d have more time to make plans.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I slapped my hand down on the table. Tink and Caleb both jumped. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I ever opened those damned Gates. I’m sorry I let you four jackasses out. I’m sorry I ever said anything to Conquest other than ‘get out’. I wish I had listened to Hikari back then. Maybe none of this would ever have happened.” She started to say something, but I didn’t let her. “I don’t care if it’s something that’s supposed to happen. You aren’t the one living with this. It’s my fault that this war is happening, my fault that my people are facing annihilation, and my fault that humanity is on the verge of witnessing a war that might just destroy their world. What do you Horsemen know of that sort of guilt?”

  Famine snorted. “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself, Gatekeeper? Listen to me, because I am only going to tell you once. Who do you think we are? Why do you think we exist in this form?”

  I frowned. “Who you are?”

  Caleb cleared his throat. “I suspect the more important question is who you were.”

  “Good. Very good.”

  “Who were you?” I asked.

  Famine’s eyes locked on mine. “We were angels. We were demons. We are your past.”

  “But who were you?”

  Once again, she gave me a carefree and innocent smile, but then her eyes flicked over to Caleb. “I am a Godslayer.”

  Before I could do anything more than frown, Caleb was on his feet. Angelic magic and might poured from his presence, and every single demon in the cafe immediately snapped to attention. “You are the Betrayer!” he snarled, and his sword immediately appeared in his outstretched hand.

  “Caleb, wait!”

  The sword flashed down, splitting the table in half. Famine didn’t even flinch, even as the sword passed within an inch of her nose. Tink and I spilled back out of our chairs and the few true humans in the cafe started to scream. The Asmodeus guards leapt into action, a few of them taking care of the human witnesses, the rest moving in on Caleb. I held a hand up, warning them off, even as Caleb’s sword flashed forward. Famine caught the tip of his sword between her thumb and forefinger. “You did not let me finish,” she said.

  Caleb’s muscles strained. “Finish what?”

  “What do you think he did as he died? He cursed us, just as Lucifer cursed the Thrones. He didn’t fight back either, Gatekeeper. He knew it was to be this way. He surrendered his life.”

  I held my breath. If either Caleb or Famine said one thing wrong, his identity would be blown, and nothing I could do would stop the demons in the cafe from jumping on him. Tink caught my gaze and held her hand up. A bloody rune decorated her hand. I shook my head. There wasn’t any reason for us to panic. Not yet.

  “Why?” Caleb asked.

  “Do you think that’s a question I can answer?”

  “Yes.”

  Famine let go of the tip of Caleb’s sword, then gestured for him to sit down. Caleb sat. The table snapped back into place, as if it had never broken. Tink and I picked our chairs up as well and sat as well. The tension in the room started to drain. “He cursed us. All four of us. Our identities merged. I am not solely the Betrayer, as you call him, but he is a part of me.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “How is that possible?”

  “Omnipotence,” Tink said.

  “Exactly. Power that overwhelms.” Famine nodded. “Not only were we cursed, we were given power, and purpose. There was only one piece missing, and that was the other side of the scales.”

  “Lucifer,” I said.

  “So you’re formed out of the identities of the Betrayer and the demons who accompanied him, as well as inheriting the powers of God and Lucifer?” Caleb shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Not exactly. Those four were used as a template for our design. We are completely constructed beings, not born of life, but born of power, power which came from both sides.” Famine reached across the table toward Caleb. “We are a force of change in this world, Gatekeepers. We are here to divert the course of events away from what will be, to what should be. We are bound by contract to correct the mistakes of the past.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “So you’re trying to tell us that the Lords of Heaven and Hell had this planned out?”

  “The Schism was an error,” Famine said. “Both agree on that in principle, though it took far too long for them to admit to it. At that point, the differentiation between angels and demons had gone too far. They could not bring them back t
ogether as the races had become distinct, and neither would compromise their own people. In the end, what they could both agree on was that they needed to die, in order to free their respective people from their overwhelming will. They agreed that humanity was the key to bring angels and demons together once more. Finally, they agreed that while they would attempt to guide their people together peacefully, they could not force them together as they had forced them apart. And so, we exist as a tool for the Gatekeepers, who are the ones who have passed a simple test to demonstrate that cooperation between all three races was possible.”

  “A tool,” I said.

  “It was their hope that through visiting damage upon the human world, it would draw the Host and Choir together to aid them.”

  I shuddered. “And instead, so far, I’ve screwed up and used your powers to push us further apart. I wish Conquest or War had been so forthcoming.”

  Famine’s hand rested on mine. “If you know what will come about as a result of your actions, you see further into the future than we do. Don’t be afraid.”

  “No, he shouldn’t be afraid.” Something thumped into the plastic tabletop, hard enough to crack it, just an inch from our hands. Tink leaned on her knife and got right in Famine’s face. “You’re the one who should be afraid. What sort of monstrous arrogance does it take to do this? Why do you hate humanity so much?”

  “This isn’t about hating your race,” Famine said.

  “Then what the hell is it about?”

  “Because you aren’t a race.”

  “What?”

  “Humanity is a fractured, immature species, Anna. You are broken along lines corresponding to the place where you live, where you were born, the color of your skin, the language you speak. You were not consulted in this matter because who would we consult? Every government? Every single group of rebels rising against their government? Every tribe and clan? Every town and village?”

  “That’s exaggerated for effect.” Tink put just the right amount of scorn into her tone. “The demons are separated by House, aren’t they? The angels are stratified by rank. They have multiple structures too.”

  I shook my head and saw Caleb smiling. “Anna,” he said. “Famine’s point is that humanity doesn’t answer to a single authority. The Host answers to their High Council. The Choir answers to the Seraphim. Humanity has never had a central government. You exist in a state that we passed out of long before the Schism.”