by Debra Dunbar
The demon’s roar dramatically increased in pitch, ending in a note so high that Gabe was certain only dogs could hear it. He took advantage of the situation and scrambled across the table, grabbing a water glass and bouncing it off the demon’s head on the way. Now that he was no longer crushing the Gormand’s privates with his hand, the demon quickly recovered, and punched Gabe hard enough to send him back across the table and onto the floor, landing beside Nyalla, who was attempting to drown the skinny demon in the ornamental pond.
“Gabe!” Nyalla gasped.
He turned and saw the Gormand rounding the table, his hands forming a ball of electricity that surely would have killed him. Just before he launched the bolt of lightning, a metal pole punched through the demon’s stomach. The electricity leapt from his hands to the rod, shooting backward to where the other end touched the earth. The demon snarled, swinging around and knocking a neighboring table aside with the long pole.
“Fuck you, pig-face. I will burn your ass right where you stand if you don’t get out of here now.” Terrelle shouted. She had two black rods in her hands that shot flames out the end. Gabe had no idea what they were, but they certainly looked impressive. Evidently the Gormand thought so too. He backed up, pulling the metal rod through his abdomen and throwing it to the ground. Then he ran, Skinny demon not far behind him. Gabe stood, pushing back the urge to go after the pair of them. He wasn’t sure he could best the skinny demon, let alone the Gormand. And right now every cell in his body was screaming for him to make sure Nyalla was unhurt.
He reached for her, anger blazing through him as he saw the bruises on her wrists and felt the bump on her head. Her eyes widened and she reached up to touch his face, her fingers coming away coated in red.
“Your nose is bleeding,” she told him. “Here. Pinch right here and lean forward.”
He ignored her, anger giving way to panic. “Are you injured beyond the contusion and the bruises? I can’t heal you if you are. I can’t heal. Are there humans who have some skill? We should take you to the hospital facility I read about in the hotel room.”
“Stop. I’m fine. And I’m trying to get your nose to stop bleeding. Oh no. It looks like you’re going to have a black eye, too. Wow, he got you good.”
Terrelle knelt down beside them, a smug expression on her face as she looked from Gabe to Nyalla.
“Why don’t you see if the kitchen has something for his eye,” she told the woman. “I’ll shove some napkins up his nose while you go track down ice.”
Nyalla jumped up and ran off, while Terrelle proceeded to do as she’d said and cram several napkins up Gabe’s nose. He was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous, but if it stopped the nosebleed that Nyalla was so concerned about, he’d cope with the embarrassment.
“There. Good as new. Well, almost good as new. And thankfully that red Hawaiian print shirt doesn’t even show the blood stains.” Terrelle sat back on her haunches, that smug expression still on her face. There was a look in the demon’s eyes that let him know she was on to him. She knew — knew he wasn’t human. Or rather that he’d once not been human.
“When did you find out?” he asked the demon.
“That you were an angel?” She snorted. “Immediately. You don’t remember but I’ve met you a few times, and you always use a similar physical form when you manifest. Plus, there’s no mistaking you. As angels go, you’re pretty distinctive in personality and behavior.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” He adjusted the napkin in his left nostril.
“It is. There’s no weaselly bullshit with you, no ulterior motives. There’s no special persona you show the world that covers the seething steaming pile of shit that’s under the surface. You’re not a hypocrite. You’re a fucking dick on the inside, and you’re a fucking dick on the outside. I admire that trait in an angel.”
“Thanks?” He pulled out one of the napkins and eyed it, dabbing the edge of his nose. It had worked. There was no more blood.
“Besides,” Terrelle glanced behind her toward the kitchen. “You care about her. In spite of what happened, in spite of your obvious disdain for humans, you care about her. I can trust that you’ll do anything to protect her, even if you get a bloody nose doing it. Even if you get killed doing it.”
“Is that why you left Nyalla to deal with the Gormand alone last night?”
“I was right there, watching and ready to intervene, but I wanted to see you make a complete ass out of yourself first.”
“How did I do?”
She laughed. “Not bad for an archangel. I’m impressed. Want me to take care of those injuries for you? It will hurt like fuck and you’ll probably eventually die from my repairs. I don’t heal, but I’m assuming that you’ll be back to your old angel-self and able to fix anything I screw up before it kills you.”
He went to shrug and winced at the pain in his arm. “For all I know, I could be stuck like this for a normal human lifetime. And then I suppose I’ll die. I guess I’d rather deal with this short-term pain than cut my life even shorter than it will already be.”
She tilted her head, flashing a smile. “Silly angel. It won’t last that long. I ran the calculations, and with the power levels you were sporting the last time I met you, you should be back to your usual arrogant self in two weeks. Eighteen days max.”
“Truly?” He couldn’t even notice the pain in his hands and face anymore, not with the relief coursing through him. “Are you telling the truth, because I can’t really detect falsehoods right now.”
She held up her right hand. “Honest. If you’re going to trust a demon, trust a Noodle. Information and facts are our lives. It physically hurts me to tell a lie. I’m compelled to bore you for hours at a time with all sorts of minute details on things you never wanted to know about.”
“How do you know how long this spell will last? Nyalla said the wand had twenty charges on it.”
“Be prepared for a long-winded speech that will bore you to death.” She took a breath. “Sorcerers craft items of varying quality, and that’s a significant factor in how long these things last. They generally charge wands with a minimum of 5 and a maximum of 10 charges. Gareth, the sorcerer that the Iblis mainly purchases from, has been known to craft special orders with up to fifty charges, so this is most likely his work. That lets me know what the calculations should be for rebound on a broken object. They’re not exactly best buddies right now, and the Iblis has a habit of delinquent payment on her account so if she bought it from him, he’d charge her extra and wouldn’t be as likely to give it the same attention to detail that he normally would. Nyalla is like a daughter to the Iblis, and she’ll spend extra to ensure her well-being, so I’m pretty sure the wand was of Gareth’s manufacture. Taking all this, in addition to other factors, into consideration, as well as knowing the multiplication factor for a broken magical device of this type, because I’ve read extensively on the subject, I’d assume with a normal victim, the effect would take six to eight weeks to wear off. But you’re an archangel, and I’ve felt the kinda mojo you put out up close and personal like. I’d say two weeks before you’re back to normal with the effect starting to wear off after the first three or four days.”
“So I’ll be fully back to being an angel by two weeks?”
She tilted her head. “I can feel you pushing against it. Your stupidly high vibration pattern is chipping away at the spell faster than I had believed possible. There will probably be little things here and there than hinder you for a while, but I think you’re going to be able to significantly break through the effect in the next week.”
Even more of a relief. But could he believe her? It was so difficult not being able to sense falsehood. “Thank you. And although I appreciate your offer, I think I’ll allow my injuries to heal naturally, just in case. Although if I suffer stab wounds or broken bones, I might reconsider.”
“That’s a shame. You’re not as pretty when you’ve got a black eye. Although I think Nyalla
might go for the wounded-bird thing. Could earn you a sympathy fuck.”
He was not about to discuss their intimacies with this demon, no matter how helpful she’d been. Time to change the subject. “What were the flame-throwers you had?”
She whipped them out of her pockets, and with a click, each sprouted a flame. “Crème Brulee torches. I grabbed a few of them from the kitchen at Charlie’s last night.”
Terrelle was very resourceful, even if Gabriel was fairly certain that she never paid for the items she’d taken. “I’ve changed my mind about you. I’d believed you to be useless, but you seem quite valuable to have around in a fight. I wish I could say the same about that cowardly Low that ran off.”
Her lip curled. “Careful, your prejudice is showing. Snip is following them. I was curious about how an ancient managed to get out of Hel undetected. I’m also hoping Snip can get us a lead on the angel you’re so eager to meet as well as what this artifact is. He’s fast and stealthy. Lows are practically invisible to other demons. He makes the perfect spy.”
She was right. He’d been so busy making assumptions about these two demons that he hadn’t allowed himself to see their value or their commitment. They weren’t bodyguards. They were sent with Nyalla to help her in a different way. He’d underestimated humans. And he’d underestimated demons. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, something cold and wet smacked him across the face, blocking his vision. It smelled like frozen death, and dripped liquid down onto his shirt.
Terrelle laughed. “Nyalla, you’re killing me, girl. Why are you trying to suffocate G-man with a nice piece of rib eye?”
“That’s what you do to help heal a black eye. I read it somewhere. Or maybe I saw it on TV. I’m not sure.”
“Is this another scholarly journal? Like the one that said red wine helped your heart?” Gabe spluttered, the cold blood from the steak running into his mouth as he spoke. “I think I’m feeling better. You can take the meat away from my face now.”
This was disgusting. He’d rather suffer through Terrelle healing him than this. Plus, it was dripping blood on his already bloody shirt. He liked this shirt, too. Hopefully the washing machine down the hall could clean it properly, because he wanted to wear it again this week.
“No, it’s not better,” Terrelle announced gleefully. I think you need another steak. Actually I think he needs to eat one, because consuming another being transfers part of their life-force and allows someone to heal quicker.”
“Oh Terrelle, that is a terrible falsehood! You’re just as bad at lying as Sam. He needs steak on his face, not in his stomach. Actually I think he might like to eat steak, perhaps cooked a bit more than this, though.”
“I’m not eating one of these. The blood dripping into my mouth is making me gag. Nyalla, please take it off. I’m fine. I promise.”
He felt the meat lift from his face and opened his eyes to find Nyalla inches away. Her hand came up and with a finger, she poked his cheek.
“You will not put that meat on my face again,” he told her, although his voice lacked the usual thread of command. In fact, it lacked any sort of command at all. And he knew very well that if she slapped the steak back on his eye, he wouldn’t do more than protest.
Terrelle snorted. “Offer is always there, G-man. Say the word and your face will be just as beautiful as it was an hour ago.”
“No.” He wiped himself with a napkin from off the table and looked up at the pair. “What now? Do you think the Gormand will actually come through by midnight, or do you have a back-up plan in case he doesn’t?”
Nyalla shrugged. “My intuition says the angel behind it all, this Tura, really wants the deal to go through. Either it’s too much bother to find another buyer, or he really wants the collar. But I’ve got no idea what that ancient demon has to do with any of this. I doubt the Gormand smuggled him across the gates to Hel with all the bribes and expensive magical devices it would take to mask his presence, just so he could verify an artifact that an already-present angel could.”
“I agree.” Gabe frowned in thought. “There has to be a different reason that Sirumel is here. He’s skilled in illusion, and that’s doesn’t make sense with anything else that’s going on here.”
Nyalla shot Terrelle a quick glance. “And as a human, you’ve read about these things. Which is how you know he’s skilled in illusion.”
The information demon snorted. “I know he’s that archangel that Sam hates so much, Nyalla. I’ve met him before. And even if I hadn’t, he acts like an angel. Snip knows too. There. It’s all out in the open. And props to you for both disabling an archangel and getting one into your bed. Major props.”
“Back to the reason for Sirumel’s presence,” Gabe scowled at Terrelle. “Could he be the one who is buying the real artifact?”
“I wish we knew what it was,” Terrelle said. “Sirumel’s interest would narrow that down a bit, but we don’t even know he’s a potential buyer.”
“A rogue angel orchestrates the theft of several heavenly artifacts,” Nyalla said, ticking the statements off on her fingers. “The Traveler’s Veil is used to distract the archangels so the rebels can make an attempt to take Aaru and the elves can migrate. I’m sure any other artifacts would be used to similar purpose. What artifact would need an ancient illusion-skilled demon, an angel, the collar, a Gormand, and a skinny lackey demon?”
Gabe shook his head, perplexed. “There are thousands of artifacts hidden in a sacred place. I doubt they could have taken more than two or three and not had the theft immediately noticed. The Traveler’s Veil was stolen in transit, the angel carrying it killed. And that wasn’t exactly something I’d expect a rebel angel to choose to steal. That whole plot was convoluted. He could just as easily figure out a way to use the Kavacha, the Libretti, Pandora’s Box, the Arc, the Stone of Fire–”
“Job’s Tear,” Terrelle announced, looking at her phone.
Gabe felt as if his heart had suddenly refused to beat, then go into double-time. No. No, it couldn’t be.
“Who’s Tear?” Nyalla asked.
“Job.” Gabe replied. He turned to Terrelle. “Are you sure? Are you positive?”
She turned to phone toward him. The text was from Snip and it showed a picture of an innocuous, white nut-like bead.
Nyalla peered over his shoulder. “Is it a petrified tear or something? And who is this Job guy?”
Gabe handed the phone back to the demon. “He was a human who lost everything he loved in the world. The story is that he was a wealthy man who had every privilege, and was strong in the faith of his deity. The Adversary argued that it was easy for a human to be faithful when he had never known sorrow, never suffered. So Job was put to the test. He lost everything — his loved ones, his friends, his wealth, his health. He passed the test, because even though he believed that he’d somehow displeased his deity, that he’d fallen from favor, he never lost his faith.”
“That’s a horrible story,” Nyalla argued hotly. “Seriously? A god and the Iblis were having a philosophical disagreement and decided to settle it by ruining some poor man’s life? And he passed the test? Bravo. Good for him. He kept his faith in a nasty horrible god who tortured him on a whim.”
“That’s not…it’s not what the story is about.” Gabe waved it all away with a hand. “He got it all back in the end, but that doesn’t matter because Job’s Tear is just named so because of the story. It’s also called Sorrow’s Tear.”
“It does matter,” Nyalla insisted. “What do you mean Job got it all back? His god resurrected his loved ones? Or did this horrible deity just replace them with equivalents, because in his mind, humans are all the same and as long as he gave Job the same number and gender, he probably wouldn’t even know the difference? This is why I like demons better than angels. At least they treat humans as if they are sentient beings, and not like a bunch of little ants to play with and torture to solve petty disagreements.”
“You must be joking. Demons torture hum
ans all the time. They don’t care how many they kill, or how painful their deaths are. We at least are basing our actions on what benefits the human race as a whole, what guides you toward positive evolution. If we kill one of you, we have to do an impact analysis, file a huge report, and even face punishment if the killing is decided to be unwarranted. Do you think demons do that? No, they don’t.”
“Guys. Hey, guys.” Terrelle stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. “Argue about this later, after we figure out why Job’s Tear is so important that a rebel angel would steal it only to trade it to the Iblis.”
“It’s a cursed object, that’s why. It has the power to take away everything from someone — human or otherwise. It kills their friends, their loved ones, takes away all their material goods, deprives them of their health, and eventually even their life.”
Nyalla’s eyes narrowed. “But at the end, if the cursed person keeps faith, is all restored?”
“No. That’s how it happened in the story, but not with this artifact. What’s gone is gone.”
Terrelle sucked in a sharp breath. “But what activates it? Because I doubt the angel that stole it wanted everything taken from him, or the Gormand, or this ancient demon. Something turns it on, targets it to a specific person. And if something turns it on, then something can turn it off.”
She was a smart demon. But then as an information demon, she’d have to be.
“It’s a tool of the Adversary,” he told her. “Samael wielded it until we made him give it up. He was having far too much fun with it. He would have been doing four-nine-five reports for the next ten billion years if we’d let him continue. So yes, there is a way to target the effect, and there is a way to both turn it on and turn it off any time during the process of the curse. I just don’t know how to do either.”
“Does Sam know how to use it?” Nyalla asked.
Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh. “I doubt it. Have you seen her with the sword? If that thing wasn’t sentient, she would have sliced off her own limbs by now.”
