Jovienne

by Linda Robertson

  You told her. You got it off your chest, then she threw it right back on you. She hates you. And she should.

  He snatched the vodka and drank straight from the bottle as if emptying that bottle could fill his inner void forever. The burn in his throat reminded him it was a temporary exchange.

  Change was supposed to be good for the soul. But not this. Not change that left him alone with his guilt. Not change that made the cringe happen twice in a night or amplified it until he felt like he was being burned up like a cinder.

  He tipped the bottle up again. The sharp sting made his eyes water, but that was okay. They weren’t tears. Not really.

  THIRTEEN

  DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!”

  Jovienne’s desire to flee had vanished. She couldn’t believe this giant bug was just an imp, so she wasn’t certain what method would slay it, but she reasoned she’d slay it if she kept causing as much damage as possible. Starting with its core.

  She stomped toward the huge creature, wings fanned behind her. Although not intended to be a weapon, the intangible ghost hands, like all tools, could be manipulated to meet other needs. This demon disliked them earlier. Hoping all insectoids inherited a do-not-swat-at-me reflex, she thrust the ethereal hands forward.

  The fiendish bug cowered like a beaten dog, and then lurched away, swinging giant claws defensively and sending geist slinking and slithering this way and that.

  Pouring more energy into the ghost hands, she thickened them as she swirled them around the triangular face like a blindfold.

  The bug’s pinchers smacked at the ghost hands.

  Stinging welts appeared on Jovienne’s arms, but that didn’t slow her down. She seized her sword from where it fell and darted forward while it couldn’t see her.

  The claws snapped like scissors at the ghost arms and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out and giving away her position as she scurried between the hairy tarantula legs. Yet, with each new throb of pain her raging desire to kill this thing redoubled.

  Squatting below the tender underbelly, aware that it needed only to sit down and this would be over, Jovienne readied the weapon two-handed. Even as strange punctures opened on her forearm from the infernal thing’s bite, she focused all her hostility onto that razor tip and shoved it at the exoskeleton. The outer shell cracked and split. She flexed her legs for more power and rammed it hilt-deep.

  The bug chirped a series of surprised shrieks and another scrape appeared. Tiredness flared over her arms like a hot wind, a warning of extended use.

  She pumped her arms to slice circles within that soft inner tissue and quickly backed away, slicing its belly open. Darkblood poured from the shell.

  The unhurt pincher closed around her. She drew a dagger and, as the claw closed around her throat, shoved her elbow up through the opening. The dagger caught between the claw sides, tip cracking through the exoskeleton a fraction, but keeping it from closing fully and decapitating her. Using her arm as leverage, she kept her neck from breaking as it lifted her, stumbled, and jerked.

  It emitted strange sounds without end, as if it was trying to form words but managed only garbled nonsense.

  She hacked at the outer edge of the pincher with her sword. The other pincher swiped by with part of the serrated dagger still embedded in it. She kicked the claw away and continued chopping at this claw with the sharp edge of her sword. When the exoskeleton cracked, the sword became lodged in that opening.

  The demon bug swiped at her a second time and the pincher grasped the sword blade, snapping it in two.

  She screamed wordless hate and outrage.

  The bug lifted her higher over a pool of its darkblood. It roared a sound like glass on metal. The grip of the pincher spasmed, weakened, and she slipped through. Beating her wings wildly, Jovienne soared twenty feet up.

  Still, she did not flee. This thing wasn’t dead yet. Though it passed up numerous opportunities to kill her, she wasn’t feeling as generous.

  Wary of its writhing form and the scorpion-like tail thrashing about, she circled. Geist scattered as the stinger slid along the building edge. The tail flicked upward and Jovienne quickened straight up to avoid the stinger.

  Deciding to eradicate that threat, she drew the second lion-headed dagger and dived. She collided with the tail and wrapped her legs and wings around it as she chopped at the tip.

  The bug squealed as the stinger was severed. Darkblood erupted, spurting into the sky. Jovienne sprang into the air, circled behind the bug and used her dagger to splinter legs and mutilate the exoskeleton. At the last, she made a swipe at the head.

  A flow of darkblood seeped from a slit she made across the back of its neck. Jovienne slammed her booted feet between those odd eyes and leapt again to the air. Her push-off forced the weighty head down, ripping the slice wider. The head thudded to the rooftop. She circled many times, diving in to dismember any limb still twitching.

  The darkblood dried as it cooled, becoming ash. This was unlike anything she’d been taught. It was something else. Something new.

  When the carcass fell completely still, her feet touched down a few feet away from the butchered body. This demon didn’t dissolve into sludge. Like it’s blood, it turned to ash.

  Jovienne stood stoic, watching.

  She couldn’t be impressed with herself for killing the big bug. It hadn’t even fought back. Though she’d defended herself against its death throes, it had rejected every opportunity to slay her. Nothing stayed her hand. Not even its pleas to talk.

  More than ever, she felt like a monster.

  Was it that or the fading of her fury that left her cold inside? Inside. There was darkblood inside her. Demon blood.

  Will this get me released from my servitude?

  Once all her weapons were wiped down and sheathed, all but the pieces of the sword under the ashes, anyway, she sat halfway between the building ledge and the bug’s remains. She wasn’t up for digging. She’d wait for the night winds to tear it apart.

  Why doesn’t a demon get to choose between good and evil?

  A flap of wings from behind brought her to her feet, spinning and drawing the dagger from her thigh sheath, wings spread wide. But the theatrics were wasted.

  Damnzel landed on the ledge, her lily-white arms crossed under her barely covered breasts. She pouted and shook her head making that disappointed tsk, tsk sound. There was a slight orange glow around her, which must have meant she, like Jovienne, was making herself invisible to the rest of the world.

  Jovienne shoved the dagger back into the sheath. She tucked down her burnt feathers. “Wing off.”

  “I came to see if it was true.”

  For an instant, she wondered how Damnzel knew, then, “Your geist told you.”

  “Don’t you have an informant yet, sweetie?”

  “No. Do I need one, bitch?”

  Damnzel tilted her head. “Geist can be coerced into telling you what they’ve heard.”

  “From your lips, coercion sounds like torture.”

  Damnzel’s cheeks rounded and she nodded enthusiastically. “It’s your, what, third night? And San Fran got infested by a Grand Count or an Infernal Duke, depending on your source.” She shook her head. “They went to a lot of trouble to get Zaebos here.”

  “Zaebos?”

  “The Father of Lies wanted to talk to you. I don’t envy you, witch wings.”

  Jovienne would have preferred any comment on slaying the giant beast, or at least an approving nod, but all she got was more insults. “Let me get this right…I just murdered a huge, high ranking bug-demon while you were torturing ghosts for information, and you want to call me a witch?”

  Damnzel scowled. “This is your job, sweetie—”

  “My name’s not sweetie.”

  “A little research and coercion is essential. If you don’t know that, I’m surprised you haven’t been slain yet.” Damnzel regarded the ashen figure. “What did he tell you?”

  “I didn’t let it tell me anythi
ng. I did my job.” She asked firmly, “What is your sunset trigger like? Right before the demons come?”

  Damnzel hesitated, as if a real question was foreign territory. “What? You mean the Call That Follows?”

  “No. Before that.”

  “You’re fucking with me.” Damnzel squinted, sneered, and shook her head in quick little jerks. She turned to leave.

  “Have you ever seen things crawl out of the ground?”

  Damnzel stopped. Her shoulders lifted high, then lowered with a put-upon sigh. She turned back. “I’ve seen a few demons rise.”

  “No. Not demons. The things that summon the demons.”

  Damnzel’s brows rose, and then she looked heavenward and snapped, “I’m so glad you gave me a psycho neighbor.”

  She was tempted to ask how long Damnzel had been an abhadhon, but her curiosity about the effects of nonresistance to the Call was outweighed by the knowledge that Damnzel didn’t see cinders. Maybe none of the abhadhim did. Just me. And Andrei. Why?

  Damnzel strolled before the decaying body. The red abhadhon scanned the bug demon from one end to the other, and then tapped her scarlet boot tip on the ashen carcass, causing the form to fall in on itself. All that remained was a nondescript pile.

  That irked Jovienne. “Just can’t resist stepping on my sandcastle, can you?”

  Using her ghost hands, Damnzel shoved at Jovienne.

  Since Damnzel was obviously spoiling for a fight, Jovienne drew her dagger. “Bring it or go the fuck away.”

  “Make me.”

  Jovienne threw the dagger at Damnzel’s face.

  Blocking it, the dagger sank through Damnzel’s scarlet-gloved hand. She sucked air through her perfect, straight teeth and it almost seemed pleasurable as she drew Jovienne’s weapon out of her torn skin.

  The wound closed behind the exit of the blessed weapon. Blood spilled, but Damnzel didn’t wipe it away. Instead she poked at the new holes in her glove. “Now you’re in trouble, girly.”

  Damnzel tossed the dagger up in the air, caught it without looking, and threw it.

  Jovienne ducked under the dagger, spun, and plucked it from the air as it passed.

  Their weapons were useless against each other, so she sheathed it, hit super-speed, and extended her arm for a clothesline. Damnzel leapt over her, quickened behind Jovienne, and slammed into her from behind when she stopped. Both fell against the ledge and rolled over it, falling from the building.

  They grappled and dropped a dozen stories before Damnzel kicked out and pushed away. Tucking her wings in tight, she swooped down and sped away. Jovienne followed.

  Damnzel spread her wings wide, slowing suddenly.

  Jovienne slammed right into Damnzel’s heels, but grabbed the scarlet-booted ankles and used them as leverage to twist and kick up at Damnzel’s straight, pearly teeth.

  Damnzel turned her face away at the last and Jovienne’s boot connected under her ear. She flipped and gained a thick handhold of Jovienne’s hair and yanked.

  “After all the training an abhadhon gets,” Jovienne grumbled, “you fight like a girl!”

  “I don’t need to try any harder than that for the likes of you.”

  Jovienne punched Damnzel in the jaw and threw herself against the other abhadhon. Wrapping her arms around Damnzel’s waist, she pumped her wings and slammed her against the building.

  The darkened office window shattered.

  They rolled across the floor amid debris. Papers swirled off desks. Security alarms screeched. Jovienne was on her feet first. She kicked Damnzel in the stomach twice.

  Groaning, the red abhadhon grabbed a chair and threw it at Jovienne, knocking her backward against a desk.

  Jovienne hefted a computer monitor above her head. Ready to drop it on Damnzel’s head, a guttural growl spewed from her lips.

  Shocked by the demonic sound that came from her own mouth, she went stock still. Remembering the rage she felt for Zaebos after the darkblood was inside her, she hesitated, questioning those actions…and these.

  Damnzel used her wings to push herself upright even as a scarlet boot heel kicked out and rammed into Jovienne’s stomach. The monitor crashed to the floor between them, sparks flying as Jovienne stumbled and her back slammed against a desk edge.

  Overcome with pain, she felt heat in her core.

  As Damnzel advanced, kicking right then left, Jovienne twisted and pushed a wing back to divert the next kick. Rotating again, she caught the offending boot in the crook of her elbow and jerked Damnzel off-balance.

  Scarlet wings spread wide and beat, sending office supplies flying into Jovienne. A monitor hit her in the face. The heat within her instantly redoubled. She thought to twist Damnzel’s leg and rip it off—

  With a gasp, she released Damnzel.

  Damnzel rammed her heel against Jovienne’s sternum, sending her over backwards and into a chair that redirected her against a desk. She collapsed. The pain fed the heat. The heat fed the anger. And the anger was cruel.

  Her weapons wouldn’t harm Damnzel and she wanted that bitch to hurt. Amid the tumbled office supplies, she spied a single prong holding various small pieces of paper.

  Before she could reach for the item, an ethereal voice pierced her mind. It sang and beckoned her to fly, to soar high into the night and answer the melody. A trumpet followed.

  The Ascension. Eitan told her it was a song.

  Damnzel quickened to the broken glass, pausing only to flash a wicked grin at Jovienne half under the desk. “Cowering is exactly what I expected of you, sweetie.” Damnzel leapt through the window.

  Jovienne screamed and thumped her fists on the floor. She grabbed the metal memo holder and ran, diving through the window.

  Speeding upward, Jovienne burst through a night-darkened nimbus cloud, landed one fist hard against Damnzel’s cheek and, grasping the base of the memo holder, shoved the single prong toward Damnzel’s face.

  The red-winged abhadhon kicked out, catching Jovienne’s elbow. With her dagger, she sliced Jovienne’s wrist deep enough to sever the muscles needed to hold the new weapon. When the prong fell, lost to the whiteness of the clouds, Damnzel grabbed Jovienne’s arm.

  “How many times must I flush before you go away?” she asked as she slammed her knee against the back of Jovienne’s elbow. The joint gave and Jovienne screamed.

  Grinning, Damnzel twisted the damaged arm. The grinding fragments felt like termites gnawing on nerves.

  “Bitch,” Jovienne growled through clenched teeth.

  Damnzel pushed her away. “You bet I am, witch wings. And better than you.”

  The sky filled with other abhadhim ascending. So many it stunned Jovienne. A pair dived away from the rising throng and glided toward them. “Come on, Damnzel,” one called.

  “Ta ta!” The scarlet abhadhon waved goodbye as she joined her friends.

  An icy eruption numbed Jovienne’s arm as the healing began, crackling and snapping within. When the bones realigned and the muscles and skin knitted, the cold began to fade. The angry heat she’d experienced did not return.

  She rejoined the Ascension.

  The abhadhim swooped into the fluff of a large cumulus cloud above her and disappeared. Jovienne thought to slow herself to enter the blinding mist, but those around her sped onward, so she maintained her approach and shot into the cloud.

  Within the white, the frigid atmosphere around her grew warmer, welcoming and embracing. Shimmering light passed over her, blue and purple and green, and the air filled with the scent of sweet honey and frankincense.

  The cloud abruptly ended. She soared high into a cavernous demesne with a sky made of mist above golden fields and green trees. This world tapered in the distance. But this wasn’t just an artifact of perspective, the mist sky turned a corner there, like a cornucopia. Beams of light shone from somewhere beyond that narrowed turn, and those rays stretched and contracted in time with the echoing voices of a distant choir.

  Tens of thousands of figu
res landed on the field beneath her, aligned in uniform rows not unlike the ones the backyard animals had formed for Gramma beyond the sliding glass door.

  Into the midst of the abhadhim she glided, fascinated by the diversity of her peers. There were wings of every color and combination, a reflection of every kind of bird she could imagine, and many she couldn’t. The armor was varied, as unique and personal as the abhadhim.

  Touching her arm, she thought to flee, certain someone here would sense the darkblood infusion. But then, if other abhadhim could detect what shouldn’t be flowing in her veins, wouldn’t Damnzel have said something nasty about it?

  Landing at the end of a row near the back, she stood silent like the abhadhim around her.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  A dark-skinned woman with white wings grinned at her. “Your first Ascension?”

  Jovienne nodded.

  “This is the third heaven. A place between corruptibility and incorruptibility.”

  “You mean between Heaven and Earth?”

  “Yes. That land,” she pointed to the far fields of lush green perched on the sloping side of the cornucopia like gravity didn’t matter at all, “is Eden. There is the Spring of Milk, there the Spring of Honey, the Spring of Wine, the Spring of Oil. Between them all, the Tree of Life.”

  Jovienne was surprised. “That’s not on Earth?”

  “Not anymore.”

  The choir’s song completed and the beams winked out. A more brilliant light replaced them, a light that bent to emit its radiance across the faces of all those gathered. Every knee bent. Every chin came up. Every eye focused forward. A wave of warmth spread over them.

  Jovienne wondered if all the abhadhim were orphans rescued from the brink of death by an infusion of the quintanumin. Some seemed younger than her, some older, but none were children, none were wrinkled. Every face looked formidable. Every expression conveyed knowledge and acceptance. They knew they belonged here.

  But she didn’t.