Ashes to Ashes

by Carrie F. Shepherd

-40-

  “I won’t stand for it!” Raziel cried as she stormed through the library to pound her fists on Noliminan’s desk. “Loki has no business being a member of the Small Council!”

  “Lucias and Raguel must eventually be replaced.” His lips thinned as he looked up at her. She saw, for the first time, the angry wound upon his face. She had the better sense to be frightened. The only one who could give him such a cut was Lucias. Clearly, the pair of them had argued hand to hand and Lucias, quite possibly, had won. “Lucias insists that Loki is the better choice to represent him as the Hells bound Lord of the Council. He has the right to pick your replacement. Just as I have the authority to determine who will replace Raguel.”

  “Whom?” She felt her teeth shake in her gums. She didn’t like the idea of him sitting a Queen at his side. She thought of herself as his Queen now that she warmed both his bed and Lucias’ throne.

  “It’s still under consideration.” He replied. “The time for me to take a new wife is long overdue. Yet, my decision must be tempered with what is best for the Sixty Realms and not in the direction that my heart and mind would fly.”

  Her lips pursed. She bit her tongue to hold her anger at bay. It was no secret that, like Loki, Noliminan had a gaggle of his own. He merely showed more discretion than the younger God when slipping into their beds.

  “Choose wisely, Nol.” She warned him. “And make it clear to her from the start of it that she is to bow down to me.”

  His eyes flashed. She knew her words had been a mistake the moment he laced his fingers together and tented them under his chin. The calculation in those cold orbs made her shiver.

  “And you, my dear, will ever bow down to Lucias.” She lowered her gaze, terrified. “Or is a reminder of your true place required?”

  “No.” She replied. “Forgive me.”

  “You will tolerate Loki because it is what Lucias desires.” He advised her, unwinding his fingers. She had never been more relieved in the full of her life. “And, when the time comes, you will tolerate whomever I choose to marry because it is what I desire. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Noliminan.” She found a smile for him that seemed to please him. He hadn’t said that she needed to respect or obey Loki or this new other. Just that she should tolerate them. Which meant that she still held the power to Lucias’ throne. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Good.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “Now leave me. I have much to think about this morn.”

  “Of course.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Will you be by tonight?”

  His eyes trailed the length of her as he granted her a haughty smile. It was all the answer she required.

  -41-

  Metatron’s brow furrowed as he stared at the door. The hour was late and he was unused to receiving visitors. As such, it wasn’t until the second knock that he put his book aside so that he might greet his caller.

  When he opened the door, his heart fell into his stomach. There stood Lord Loki, wearing a tight, uncomfortable smile.

  “My Lord?”

  “May I come in?” He asked, looking over Metatron’s shoulder and into his humble cottage. “I won’t take up but a shift of your shadows.”

  “Of course, my Lord.” Metatron stepped back to allow him entry. He had never felt so uncomfortable in the full of his life. He and Loki hadn’t truly passed any real words since what had become to be known as ‘the incident’. “How may I serve you?”

  “An announcement is going to be made at the next Council.” He replied. Metatron frowned. He hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t the announcement that they all feared was coming. “Before it does, I want to give you the opportunity to make a choice about something.”

  “Oh?”

  “You do know who Gorgon’s father is, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” His nostrils flared slightly. It was common knowledge that Gorgon was Lucias’ child, but few knew that she had been the one to birth him. “I do.”

  Loki gave him a tight smile. “And how do you feel about that.”

  “How am I supposed to feel about that, my Lord?” He was curious as to this line of questioning. “Who Lucias beds is not mine to be concerned with.”

  “Do you understand why she is having children?”

  “It is the natural order of things when one person loves another.” He frowned at Loki. He had a child of his own that he had no business having seeded. Not that Sappharon had ever let him see it. “Planned or otherwise.”

  Loki smiled at him, raised his hand and grasped his bicep for the barest moment before releasing it. His touch burned Metatron and shame overwhelmed him.

  “She’s having children because she’s building a Quorum.” Loki advised him. “Michael became the first member, although I believe she means to wait to call him into service until such time as he’s sired a son amongst the gargoyles.”

  Metatron nodded. He had visited Michael out of anger when he had learned it had been Michael, rather than himself, that Lucias had released from Noliminan.

  “I’ve come to ask you if you want to be the second.”

  Metatron recoiled with surprise, “My Lord? She means to grant me her succor?”

  “No.” He sighed. “But, if you are willing to serve me, and serve me well, then I do.” He gave Metatron a weary smile. “We’d be seeing quite a lot of one another.”

  “My Lord . . . I would be . . . grateful.” He swallowed and shook his head. “But how are you to manage it? Noliminan will never—”

  “Let me worry about Noliminan.” Loki’s lips thinned beneath his goatee. “He and I have come to somewhat of an . . . understanding.”

  Metatron wasn’t certain, but he would have sworn that Lord Loki’s eyes flashed as he said that last word. He didn’t know if it pleased him or terrified him.

  He thought, perhaps, it was the latter.

  “You’ll be hearing from me soon.” Loki advised him before turning away and heading toward Metatron’s door. He stopped when he reached it and looked over his shoulder to meet Metatron’s gaze. “You and I? Are we past our . . . eh . . . issues with one another?”

  “Of course, my Lord.” Metatron, greedy for his freedom, replied. “It will never be thought of again.”

  Loki’s brow furrowed slightly as he opened the door. As he left he gave Metatron a tired, almost wintery smile.

  His parting words were, quite simply, “You know, I doubt that.”

  -42-

  The twins had been attempting to return to the castle when they heard the stomping of many feet upon the road. They darted off, Louis pulling Melody behind him, and bounded upward and into the trees. From there, they watched as Iykva’s army of vampires and fallen demons marched toward Wisterian.

  When they had passed, Marchand pulled upon Louis’ sleeve and asked, “Do we follow them?”

  “It’s what Jamiason would want.” Louis agreed, turning his dark eyes to Melody. “What do you think?”

  “I agree.” Melody replied. “Judging by the expression on Iykva’s face, he isn’t up to any good.”

  “The pair of you should return to Jamiason to make a report that the elves returned safely home.” Marchand lowered his gaze. It had become clear to them as they journeyed that the twin who Melody was interested in was Louis rather than him. Now, looking at Louis’ eyes light up at the thought of being alone with her, he knew that the feelings were reciprocated. “I’ll go back and warn the elf.”

  “Is it safe for you to travel alone?” Melody asked, blinking at him.

  “Don’t worry about my brother.” Louis replied, grinning. “He can hold his own against anything.”

  Marchand, nodding, hoped that was true.

  -43-

  “You try my patience!” Noliminan growled as he slammed his fist onto his desk. “Trading Michael for Gorgon was one thing. He has use to me. But I will not trade Metatron for a near sighted bull!”

  “I didn’t offer Taurus to you.” Loki snapped. “He’s
far too young.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to take Lucias’ daughter!”

  Mihr, who was serving King Noliminan in Raphael’s stead while her brother saw to a task that he had been put upon, flinched. She understood all too well the displeasure that the King of Lords had felt upon first looking at her and her sister in their true female form.

  “Of course not.” Loki replied, eyes wild with fury. “She’d have you on your back and in her bed before you knew what hit you.” He smiled then. “And we all know how you like your women submissive. She’d never suit you.”

  King Noliminan made to cross the desk to throttle Loki, but the younger of the two Gods didn’t even flinch. He merely smiled and pointed his finger at the gash across the King of Lord’s cheek.

  Which, to Mihr’s surprise, stayed her Lord and Master on his side of the desk.

  “Why do you need Metatron anyway?” Loki asked, almost seething. “Simply to do your dirty business for you?”

  “It would seem to me that it is you that is up to dirty business, Loki.” King Noliminan groused; then he smirked. “Or perhaps you now have a taste for the flame.”

  “You know damn well and good that isn’t the case.” Loki flew to his feet. “But say it again. Let us see what I can do when I mean to strike you!”

  “I know not where your powers come from, nymph.” He leaned forward so that his face was about as close as it could come to Loki’s without their noses touching. “But the barest moment I figure it out, I shall strip them from you. When I do, your soul will repay for the damnation of every sin ever made in your blasted name.”

  “Until that day comes,” Loki shot back, “you will bide me.”

  “Not for a single shift more.”

  Loki backed away and lowered himself into his chair. Mihr, sitting quietly on the floor in her waiting stance, had become fascinated with this repast.

  When had Lord Loki become so brave?

  “I want Metatron.”

  “Take him then.” King Noliminan, following Loki’s lead, fell into his chair. “But in exchange, I keep Samyael.”

  Loki’s face went purple with rage. “What good will Samyael do you?”

  “He’s proven useful.” The King of Lord’s smile was chilling. “You’ve trained him well.”

  “No good can come of a demon in your service.” Loki snorted.

  “Just as no good can come of an angel in yours.” He grinned. “The next time you see Sam, he will be wearing wings of white. Upon sight of them, you will send him back to my service.”

  Loki, as angry as anyone Mihr had ever seen, flew to his feet. He glared at the King of Lords for a long painful moment before kicking his foot behind him and knocking over his chair.

  As though he finally realized that common sense was the better part of valor, he stormed past Mihr and out of King Noliminan’s library, slamming the door behind him. Mihr watched him until he was gone and then turned her surprised gaze in the King of Lords’ direction.

  As her eyes clashed with his, she realized that it would be she who would pay this night for Loki’s disobedience. By morning, my sister understood, all too well and for the first time in her life, just how far Noliminan is willing to go to make his point.

  Upon receiving her battered and broken body, Lord Loki, who had barely even noticed that she sat in the room, cried out in anger and fury.

  As for me, I wept.

  Scrawled upon my sister’s forehead was a message that was meant to be a warning to all who looked upon her from that day forward. It was simply one word; it was my name.

  Its purpose? To remind everyone what, ultimately, happened to those who eavesdropped on conversations that they weren’t meant to hear.

  Mihr, who had always been meek and mild, buried the message deep in her heart. Fearful of what might happen to her if she did, Mihr chose not to utter another word to anyone—about anything—for a very, very long time.

  -44-

  Metatron cradled Mihr in his arms, his fiery gaze dancing upward to look upon Lord Loki’s profile. The young God had just explained to Samyael that he was meant to return to Noliminan’s service in Metatron’s place.

  Samyael, having opened the door to Mihr when she had tripped her way to Loki’s apartment, shivered.

  “Must I?”

  “You must.” Loki sighed. “I’m sorry Sam. You no longer belong in the Hells. Not with wings of white.”

  Metatron swallowed and lowered his gaze. At his foot sat the dog that was always following Ishitar around. Its mismatched eyes were watching him with great curiosity. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that its black lips were curled into a tight smile.

  “I’ll never obey him.” Samyael whispered.

  “You will.” Lord Loki’s tone was firm. “Sam. You must. You see with your own glams how he treats his own. One toe off the plank and he will punish you if only to destroy me.” His eyes flicked to Mihr, who whimpered against Metatron’s chest. His expression was immediately one of excruciating pain. “I’ve hurt enough innocents this day.”

  “Yes my Lord.”

  “Now go.” He couldn’t even look at Samyael. “Knowing you are always welcome here.”

  “He’s been looking for an excuse to rid himself of her since Tristan made his mischief.” Metatron corrected him after Samyael was gone. “And it won’t be long before you have Uriel as well. Mark me on that.”

  “Can she be protected until that day comes?”

  “Doubtful.” Metatron muttered under his breath. “But she has Camael to defend her if needs be. He loves her fiercely.”

  “Ansibrius.” Loki barked.

  The dog turned away from Metatron and whined.

  “I know that you love Ishitar.” The dog whined again. “But you are needed elsewhere.” Now she growled. “None of that. Go to Camael and Uriel’s cottage and keep your eyes and ears peeled to them until you are certain that Uriel can weather this particular storm.” He flicked his eyes back up to meet Metatron’s gaze. “He’ll destroy her if for their love of one another alone.”

  Metatron, his lips pursing, nodded.

  “Before you go,” he held his hand out to the dog, “I have a formal introduction to make.”

  Metatron watched with quiet curiosity as the dog padded toward Loki. When she reached him, she looked up at the God, her whines returning.

  Loki smiled down at her and then looked back to Metatron.

  “Enough of these games of deception.” He said. “If you are to be in service to me, I demand complete and open honesty between us. On both sides.”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  “And enough of that as well.” Loki frowned at him. He returned his gaze to the dog. “Na’amah.” Metatron froze. He had heard that name on Sappharon’s lips once when she had slipped and spoken their child’s name. “Meet your father.”

  The dog looked over her shoulder. As their eyes met, her form changed.

  There was no denying whose child she was.

  “Na’amah.” Metatron whispered. “I’m . . . so pleased . . .”

  She rose and walked toward him. When she reached him, she bent forward and kissed his brow.

  Lord Loki cleared his throat. They both looked in his direction.

  “I’m sorry, but there isn’t time for a proper family reunion right now.” He said. “Get to your task, Na’amah. And be quick about it.”

  She gave Metatron another glance, smiled sadly at him, then returned to her dog’s form.

  Metatron, overwhelmed with the pain of the years he had survived, turned his face into his sister’s tight blond curls lest his weakness show and Loki judge him for it.

  Loki didn’t. Rather, he walked toward the pair of them, patted Metatron on the shoulder and made himself scarce.

  -45-

  Marchand clung to the side of the tower, hovering just outside of the window so he could listen to Iykva speak with the human. His fingers ached from the sheer effort it took to keep his bo
dy from being caught by the wind and hurtled to the ground below. The fall certainly wouldn’t kill him, but it would break him to the point where it could take decades, if not a full century, for him to heal.

  When the demons and vampires had turned off of the road that led to Wisterian, he had, at first, hoped this meant that they would abandon their course. Now, as he listened to Iykva speak of the Devonshires and their alliance with the elves, he knew better.

  A chill ran through Marchand, causing him to shiver. He momentarily lost his grip and slipped slightly against the stone. He thought that Iykva might have heard him, but if he did he showed no sign of it. Perhaps, he thought Marchand to be nothing more than a bird pecking at the outside of the window.

  Had the vampire a breath in him, he would have sighed with relief as Iykva and the human left the room.

  He hadn’t heard everything, but he’d heard enough to know what he must do.

  As swiftly as his arms would allow, Marchand shimmied down the side of the building, jumping the last story to land with bent knees and one hand to the ground.

  He had a falcon to send.

  Not to any King or Prince, but to a doxy.

  This falcon was meant to fly to the elfin girl named Sezja.

  -46-

  Aiken, who was paying more attention to both the vampires and the elves than was probably good for him, frowned as the pixie he had set upon Marchand returned to him with news of what the youngling had overheard. Shaking his head, Aiken thanked his tiny friend and allowed the creature to blend himself back into his skin.

  “Damn it.” He muttered. “And there’s nothing I can do.”

  “My Lord?” Aiken turned toward Samyael, who was hovering in the doorway. “Ill news?”

  What are you doing here, Sam?

  “Nothing to worry yourself about.” He gave Samyael a guarded smile. “And you?”

  “Worry comes in spades.” His eyes flicked around the room before landing upon Aiken. “The King of Lords . . .” Aiken’s own eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Loki told me I’m to serve him in trade for Metatron.” Aiken’s eyes darted upward and he noticed, for the first time, the change in the color of Samyael’s wings. “And after what he did to Mihr . . .”