by Debra Dunbar
I flew back toward the house at Patchine, craving my nap as I complained to myself about brothers, but it wasn’t really Dar I was mad at, it was me and my shitty situation. And Gregory’s. How come my brother got to take an extended vacation and snuggle with his angel while I didn’t? The most Gregory and I ever seemed to have was a few days here and there. Even our Christmas vacation didn’t exactly pan out as planned. No fair. Life was just not fair at all.
I was too busy having my little pity party to notice the incoming arrows until they hit their mark. And let me tell you, having an arrow tear through your already injured wing was the most painful thing I’ve experienced since Ahriman’s ‘affections’. My immediate reaction was to hide the things, protecting them from the missiles. Which left me two-hundred feet up without wings.
Two-hundred feet doesn’t allow for a lot of decision-making time when you’re in free fall. I quickly weighed the pain of sensitive wings punched full of holes versus a bone-crushing landing. It says a lot for the sensitivity of wings that I chose the latter.
I hit the forest canopy at maximum velocity, crashing through branches and bouncing painfully off the thicker limbs. The trees broke my fall somewhat, so I didn’t splat onto the ground like I would have in the demon areas of Hel. Still, I landed hard on my back, knocking the air completely out of my lungs.
I’d broken three ribs along with several other bones in my arms and legs on the way down. The arrows that had pierced my body had snapped, twisting the points and tearing even further through my flesh. Before I had a chance to heal myself, several elves raced over to throw a net over me and bash me with blunt objects.
And there went even more bones. Plus, I could also now add a concussion to the mix. A vision of Gregory’s dead angel flashed before me, broken and bloodied with half his spirit-self ripped away. I could live in a dead body indefinitely, but the idea of spending centuries rotting in an elven net wasn’t appealing. Nor did my particular situation do much for my street cred. It was time to show these elves who the big dog in Hel really was.
I summoned my Iblis sword, this time as an actual sword, and sliced through the net like it was water. Without taking time to heal myself, I swung the sword in an arc, blindly slashing in the hopes that something would connect.
It did. I heard a scream, then eerie silence.
The elves had shouted the second the net had fallen away. They were fast little fuckers, but evidently one hadn’t been fast enough. I kicked the rest of the net aside and healed myself, keeping the sword handy, just in case.
He was young—like barely two-centuries young. Green eyes stared at nothing, and his mouth hung open. He lay on his side, in a fetal position as he clutched what was left of his stomach. I felt sick as I stared down at him. I’d played with elves his age when I’d been just a little imp in the care of my foster family. He was just a kid. I’d killed a kid.
What was an adolescent elf doing shooting an angel-demon thingie out of the sky and beating the crap out of her? I’ll admit I didn’t exactly have the loving goodwill of any of the Southern elves, but this seemed a bit extreme. Most of them, outside of the lords and ladies, regarded me with a sort of wary awe. From my last trip, I’d had no indication there were youth lynch mobs patrolling the forests.
“Petch! Petch!”
I turned as another young elf crashed through the brush into the small clearing. The side of his head was covered with blood, and a red-tinged diagonal tear across his tunic showed how close he’d come to the same fate as the one on the ground.
He stared in horror at me then at the dead elf. And then he tried to run. Luckily, he’d suffered quite a bit of blood loss, and I was newly healed. The guy barely made it ten yards before I tackled him.
The elf was crying. It was no wonder he’d been so easy to catch. The tears mingled with the blood on his face, dripping pink drops onto his shredded shirt. His expression was a mixture of terror and resignation as he set his jaw and met my eyes.
“Why did you attack me?” I asked.
He lifted his chin. “Just go ahead and kill me. Do it.”
The depth of pain in his voice hit me like a punch in the gut. Why was he so eager to die? As bad as I felt for this young elf, I needed to get answers and get out of here before the rest of his group, and possibly an army, came back for me.
“I have no intention of killing you.” I placed a finger against the gash in his face. Elves were good at healing—second only to angels. The fact he still dripped blood was a testimony to the power of my sword. Worked on angels and demons. Worked on humans and elves. Evidently didn’t work so well on manticores.
I leaned in close to the elf as he whimpered, hating to scare him further but knowing I had a short window of time before I had to get out of here. “Answer me and I’ll let you go. Otherwise, I’ll take you home to entertain my household. Keep you as my own personal pet. Maybe I’ll introduce you to the residents in the dungeon.”
There were no residents in the dungeon. Ahriman’s captives never had lived long, and I hadn’t ever put anyone down there. Honestly, I would have been thrilled to fill the entire place with stone and dirt, to bury my nightmares along with the damp stone walls.
“You killed my brother,” he whispered.
“You shot an angel out of the sky, netted her, and attempted to beat her to death.”
I still didn’t quite think of myself as an angel, but I knew in the elves’ eyes, attacking one of them would be a far worse crime than attacking a demon. Or an angel-demon thingie.
His jaw set, teeth clenched as he shut his eyes. “Kill me.”
There was no alternative. I had to get out of here right now. I changed into my three-headed dragon form with a flash, picking up the live elf with one arm then bounding over to pick up the dead elf with the other. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the latter when I arrived at my house, but I figured it was better to take him than leave him for the other elves to find.
I’d killed one of their young. Yes, it was in self-defense, but right now that didn’t seem an excuse. And then there was that gnawing feeling deep down that this incident was going to have repercussions that extended far beyond my own personal guilt.
Chapter 6
Bringing two elves—one alive and one dead—to Ahriman’s-former-but-now-my house wasn’t a good idea. The live one fought like a bag of rats on pfew the moment we landed. Elves were a slippery bunch, and this one scratched and bit and attempted to strangle me with a nearby tetrup vine. I didn’t want to drop the dead one and use both hands to deal with crazy live elf. There was a more than good chance the dead guy would be gone in the ten seconds it took me to get live guy into the house.
So I improvised. I stuck dead guy in my mouth—well, one of my mouths since I currently had three. Then I used both hands to deal with the mobile one.
Seeing his brother dangling from the sharp teeth of a dragon didn’t do much to subdue live guy. Thankfully, scales made for more than adequate armor, but I was still flustered and annoyed by the time I managed to get through the gates and into the house proper.
My Lows were ecstatic. I was immediately accosted by screaming dancing demons who wanted to know if they could eat the dead one and torture the live one. I sent most of them off on various errands, asking Snip and Pustule to remain for the intimidation factor. Not that two Lows were all that much of an intimidation, but I figured if live elf got too feisty, they could give me a hand. Then I transformed into my human form, dumping live elf on the ground and carefully placing his dead brother on a nearby sofa. A kid. I’d killed a kid. Yeah, they’d attacked me, and I’d swung blindly in self-defense. I hadn’t meant to kill him, but I knew that would make no difference to his brother or the other elves. They’d add it to the long list of grievances against me.
“What’s your name?” I tried to speak as gently as I could, now that we were safely in my home.
The elf stared at his brother, his lips trembling.
“Come on.
” I didn’t feel physically comforting him would be a welcome move, but I did try for an even softer, more sympathetic tone. “I’m not going to let my demons hurt you or stick you in my dungeon, yet. I’ll patch you up and return you home if you answer my questions.”
He reached up to touch the gash in his face. “I can’t heal this. Why can’t I heal this?”
“Because you got slashed with my magical sword. That’s why.” I stepped closer to him and slowly reached out a hand. “Do you want me to try?”
The elf backed up, shaking his head. “My name is Tollan.”
It was a step in the right direction. “Okay, Tollan. I’m assuming you and your brother are from Wythyn?”
“No. We’re from Li. Two of the guys are from Cyelle and one from Tonlielle.”
That was a surprise. The three kingdoms were fairly friendly now the war was over, but not enough that their youth would be palling around together. Plus Cyelle was pretty far from Li—too far for a playdate.
“Why did you attack me?”
He shuffled his feet, his gaze roaming once again to the body of his brother. “There’s a bounty on you.”
“A dead or alive bounty?”
“Dead. You have to be dead.”
Well, that was pretty extreme. “And which kingdom has signed my death warrant?”
Wythyn. It had to be Wythyn. After helping Taullian take out a good section of their army and killing their High Lord, they didn’t exactly put the welcome mat out for me anymore.
“All of them.”
All of them ? “Except the North, right?”
“All of them. North and South.”
Well, hell’s bells. I hadn’t done anything to the Northern Elven Kingdoms, except for that incident three centuries ago. It was just a misunderstanding, and elves weren’t exactly the sort to wait hundreds of years to enact vengeance.
“Why?”
His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. I just wanted the bounty.”
“How much is the bounty?” It was always good to know what my life was worth. It can’t have been too sizable, or demons would have been trying to shoot me out of the sky too. The thought that I had a crappy-size price on my head annoyed me.
“Nirvana.”
And now my eyebrows shot up. Weird. I had no idea that elves were into nineties grunge rock. “Who would you go to in order to collect this bounty?”
He swallowed hard a few times, his eyes sliding over to the two Lows in the corner. Snip and Pustule were watching him eagerly. Hungrily. “An elf named Reallsh. He’s in Cyelle.”
Figures. “And what does the High Lord Taullian think of this?”
He blinked and tilted his head. “He’s dead. Didn’t you know? He’s been dead for almost two months.”
And this is what happens when my brother, my number one helper, falls in love and abandons his post to frolic with some angel in Chicago. Damn it all, an assassination, kids from three kingdoms forming a gang to hunt me down, and all the elven kingdoms banding together to put a price on my head. At least I assumed it was an assassination. Taullian had looked pretty healthy the last time I’d seen him.
“So Realsh is in charge of Cyelle now?”
“Noooo.” The elf regarded me as if I were a half-wit with poor language comprehension skills. “Lliam Thi is in charge of Cyelle. Realish is just the guy who collects your head and sends us to nirvana.”
I didn’t have the heart to break it to him that the band was no longer touring.
Now I was faced with yet another difficult decision—go after Swifty and Gareth’s gem, or track down this Realsh guy and figure out why the fuck I had a price on my head. And why the price was only concert tickets for a rock group disbanded decades ago.
Swiftethian was an elf. Finding him would put me smack dab in the middle of an entire race of people that wanted me dead, but by delaying Gareth’s project, I could miss my opportunity to catch the thief. Then I’d be back at square one, owing him a ton of favors.
I’d just have to be extra careful, because the Swifty caper was top priority. But what to do with Tollan and his dead brother? I’d promised to return him home, but he knew the direction I’d been heading, and the promise of concert tickets was evidently a very seductive offer. He’d sell out my location in a heartbeat, and the next elves that attacked me would probably not be so young.
“Do you know of an elf named Swiftethian? Fair-skinned dude with sharp features. Light-golden-blond hair, brown eyes. About 5’ 8”. Slim. Dresses like minor nobility. He’s got a long scar on the outside of his left thumb.” Reciting this over and over was getting to be very tedious. I really needed to make up a wanted poster or something.
He shook his head, gaze drifting back to his brother. “That could be anyone.”
I sensed the lie itching its way along my skin. Weird. I couldn’t often detect when elves lied.
“You sure? He might work with the mages? Make frequent trips into the demon lands to visit a sorcerer in Dis?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not sure?” I kept my voice soft, almost kind. “Because I said I’d release you back to the elven kingdoms, but I made no such promise about your brother’s remains.”
He shivered, staring at Petch’s corpse. I knew what he was imagining. An elven body would be a marvelous plaything for demons, and when they grew tired of their games, he’d serve as a yummy snack. Every demon longed to say he’d dined on elven flesh.
“Swiftethian was from Li, but he’s no longer there. There were rumors he was kicked out because of his collaboration with the freed humans.”
I could believe that. The elves hated that the humans were no longer theirs. Every struggle, each failure the group faced in trying to survive outside of servitude made it more likely they’d voluntarily return to slavery.
“Any idea where he might have gone?”
Tollan’s gaze once more slid to his brother’s body. “Yes. Release my brother’s remains to me, and give me safe transport to the Cyelle border, and I will tell you.”
‘Bout time. I was beginning to think that elves had lost all their negotiation skills. “Deal.”
“Eresh.”
Fuck. I’d need to go through one of the Southern Elven Kingdoms to get there or waste days traveling around them and through the mountains. Even going through one of the kingdoms at top aerial speed would take me all day to get there.
Which meant I didn’t have time to escort an elf and his dead brother to the border. “Snip? Pustule?”
They darted forward to stand before me, quivering in anticipation.
“You are to carry this elven body with care and reverence and escort Tollan to the Cyelle border. Ensure that no one hurts him, and keep the corpse from desecration. Got it?”
Pustule raised his hand. I wasn’t sure who had taught him that.
“Yes?”
“What’s revenant?”
“Reverence. It means ‘don’t eat, play with, or damage the body in any way’. Respect the body.” Sheesh. There were days when I wished I had more than Lows in my household. Or that I hadn’t sent Leethu to Kllee and that Dar wasn’t love-struck in Illinois.
“Got it.” Pustule squeaked. Snip saluted and went over to pick up the elven body with great care.
“But not today. Give me forty-eight hours. In the meantime, no harm is to come to either of these elves. Got it? And make sure this guy has elf stuff to eat. No beaks and blood.”
“What?” Tollan shrieked. “I’m not staying here. That wasn’t the deal.”
It wasn’t the deal I’d intended to make, but I could hardly release this elf when he knew exactly where I was heading, who I was looking for, and probably which elven kingdom I’d be flying over. Not with a bounty on my head.
“You’ve got a choice. You walk out of here carrying your brother’s body and hike through demon territory the whole way to the border. Or you wait forty-eight hours and get an escort.”
I could
see his mind working. He’d make it on his own, but carrying a body? His brother’s remains would slow him down and bring even more attention from all the demons in Patchine. “Okay, I’ll stay and take the escort.”
And he’d do everything in his power to see me dead the moment he got back to elven territory. I winced and turned my back on him, hating that I’d killed a young elf and made an enemy out of another. The bounty on my head and the disturbing situation in the elven lands were things that needed to be higher on my priority list. Everything needed to be higher on my priority list. Chasing after Gareth’s gem didn’t seem quite as important, but I had a solid lead on Swiftethian’s whereabouts. Who knows how long he’d be there.
I needed to act now, and hopefully put this one to rest, so I walked to the outskirts of the city and revealed my wings. They still hurt, the physical wounds healing with unusual slowness after my manticore-inflicted injury. Ugh. So many scars. Not even a thousand years old, and I looked like the angels who’d been through the war.
I shook off the thought and opened my wings to their fifty-foot length, stretching the muscles and tendons that had stiffened after injury. Then I took to the air, stirring a small dust devil as I rose. Eresh, here I come .
Chapter 7
I took the shortest distance through the elven kingdoms—the river Styx that ran from the mountains of the north, dividing both the northern demon areas and the southern elven kingdoms of Tonlielle and Wythyn. I rose as high as I could reasonably manage and still navigate the terrain by sight, hoping the magically enhanced elven arrows couldn’t reach this high and that any systems in place to detect aerial attack didn’t extend to a thousand feet. I’d stopped worrying about those magical alarms since the elves had been too intimidated by my odd semi-angelic status to do anything but stare and point. I guess the novelty was over, and I was once again just an unwelcome impish intruder—one with giant, black-feathered wings.
