by Debra Dunbar
I thought about Kirby’s marble. If I could just get Feille alone, surprise him at a moment when he’d let his guard down, I might be able to kill him. I was good at killing, and it would be a great feeling to have Feille’s neck snap under my hands. I think even Wyatt would approve.
Yes. I’d kill that asshole of an elf lord. As far as restoring Taullian’s kingdom, that was his job. Without Feille, there’d be a scramble for power. Every elf for himself. If Taullian couldn’t pull his shit together for his own people, then he didn’t deserve the crown on his head. But the humans… they deserved more. And I’d help them if it was the last thing I did.
11
Meandering cobblestone streets separated the weathered brownstone row houses and provided a quaint ambiance of yesteryear. They also acted as an effective speed deterrent, Gabriel noted as he watched the cars inch along, vibrating even at slow speed on the uneven terrain. Pedestrians walked by, eyes downward to avoid an ankle sprain. It was especially amusing to watch the female humans in their high heels tip-toeing across the street. This town looked the same as when he’d last visited it a thousand years before—maybe a little bigger, certainly much less odiferous. Not that he could smell much of anything with his purposely inhibited sensory organs. All the better to avoid the temptations of the corporeal world.
Gabriel approached a table and sat down opposite an olive-skinned man whose dark brown hair was combed back, curling at the edge of his shirt collar. This angel was better than most at reproducing a human form, and that alone made Gabriel suspicious. He too could produce a convincing form, but there was a price. Driving his spirit so far into the flesh, committing himself so fully, created a painful sensory overload. Eventually, angels could get used to it; come to enjoy it even, but it threw them off balance. It pushed them away from their righteous center, and it made all those forbidden things so hard to resist.
He recognized this angel as one of Uriel’s, and not a minor member either. He’d petitioned to change from Sidreal’s choir to his current one a few centuries back. It was typical for angels to make strategic moves as they gained prominence, and the third choir was known for being one of the more welcoming. This particular angel was one to watch. There had been talk of his potential candidacy for a Ruling Council slot in the next hundred years or so.
“Tura. Where’s Uriel?”
He was making a joke about his sibling’s fondness for coffee shops and was surprised to see Tura stiffen, his hand white on his coffee cup.
“He’s not here. Did you expect him?” Tura relaxed back into his chair, the movement oddly forced.
“She. Uriel seems to fancy being female lately.”
Tura shrugged. “Really? I haven’t seen him… err, her in a long time.”
Was that a lie? Gabriel watched the angel toy with his coffee cup and decided to let it pass. Angels didn’t often see the heads of their choirs on a regular basis. Even though Tura seemed strangely nervous at the mention of Uriel’s name, Gabriel wasn’t here to interrogate him. Not at the moment, anyway. This visit was all about information, and he wouldn’t get any if he took a hardline approach with this angel.
“I’ve heard you have some interest in our project.” Tura continued. “We could use a supporter at your level. An angel on the Ruling Council giving it his backing would make things happen faster.”
“It’s a far-fetched notion. A fantasy that will only end in madness and broken dreams.” Gabriel waved his hand, turning his face from the other angel dismissively. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager.
“But here you are.” The words hung in the air.
Gabriel observed the cars rumble slowly by. One small and blue vehicle had four grown men stuffed into it, their heads practically hitting the roof with each bump. Where were they going? Sharing a ride to work? Heading off to some sporting event? The angel shook his head, irritated at his own curiosity about human lives. Slowly he turned to face Tura.
“Yes. Here I am.” It was a fine line, dancing between interest and aloofness—draw him forward, push him back.
They sat in silence, Tura rubbing a finger along the edge of his coffee cup, Gabriel looking about with casual interest at the other café patrons. With a sigh, the younger angel put his cup down and reached for something under the table. Gabriel couldn’t help a quick smirk of amusement. If this were a human across the table from him a thousand years ago, he would have expected him to pull a knife. But Tura was an angel, and above the need for human weaponry, and he was too smart to try anything against one of the Ancient. No, to go up against even one of the brothers, an angel needed an army at his back.
Instead of a knife, Tura pulled out a glass tube and slide it across the table toward Gabriel who picked it up and admired the iridescent green swirl that churned about inside.
“Genie in a bottle,” he mused, feeling the instant pull of attraction.
Except the demon wasn’t in a bottle but some strange glass tube. There had been times when human magic users had been able to bind demons, pull their spirit selves out of a corporeal form and house them captive in a vessel. He’d always found it quite amusing. Usually they snared the imps and tricksters, the ones whose curiosity left them open to capture. Sometimes the demon would remain there for decades, centuries even, until whichever human owned them at the time accepted their bargain for release. Favors. Everything came down to favors with the demons, usually in the form of three wishes. Sadly, the humans were too much like their captives and often wound up dead and Owned following the genie’s release.
“Not quite. This one is not worthy of such as you, but we can easily find one that is. And it’s only a portion, not the entirety of the spirit being.”
Gabriel peered closely at the contents of the tube, carefully extending his spirit-self to examine it beyond the restrictions of his form’s physical senses. An imp would be below him, far below him, he thought, feeling a twinge of irritation at his eldest brother’s folly, but this demon in the tube wasn’t even an imp. It was a Low.
“Why do you show me this portion of a Low?” he asked, his voice harsh with distaste.
“It would violate our treaty to join and breed with a living demon,” Tura said, extending a tanned hand for the vial. “This is simply the portion you would use to create new life. It’s more than enough, actually, but we would supply the extra to ensure a successful birth.”
How in all of creation had they gotten it? Gabriel swallowed down the bitter taste that rose in his throat. Dead. They’d killed a Low demon and parted him out for breeding. It wasn’t a genie in a bottle; it was a severed body part in a bottle.
“You killed him, chopped him up into bits and stored the parts?” His voice was gruffer then he would have liked. Why should he care? They killed demons all the time—the ones that violated the treaty and crossed into the human world. Might as well put them to good use.
Tura drew back, and Gabriel felt the atmosphere chill between them. “Of course not! That would be barbaric. Demon essence is needed to breed. It would violate the treaty and our vow to have an actual breeding exchange with a live demon, so this is the solution.” Tura peered at him, obviously trying to gauge his reaction. “I cannot divulge the identities of our contacts, but we have a system of donation in place.”
Donation? “Without naming names, how is this donation brokered? You do understand I need to ensure compliance with angelic law. Breeding aside, we should have no contact with demons unless they break the treaty, and then only the Grigori are allowed to dispatch them. How would that scenario lend itself to a donation?”
Tura grinned. “It’s quite complicated. Humans act as our go-between on this side of the gates and elves on the other. The elves compensate the demons, humans compensate the elves, and we, in turn, compensate the humans for their efforts.”
Humans. Once again, they were meddling in human lives, involving them in matters beyond their abilities. Humans were the sole link to the elves, and the elves were the only beings in Hel t
hat could truly be trusted. But the involvement of the very species they were supposed to be shepherding toward a higher existence wasn’t the only troubling point in this project.
“This is all very interesting, but the main hurdle is in the formation. Angels can’t form. And donated bits of demons can’t form.”
Tura shifted in his seat, again picking up his coffee cup. He hadn’t taken a drink from it, and Gabriel was beginning to think it was a prop, something to occupy his hands during nervous moments.
“We’ve overcome that obstacle. The method is proprietary information, but I assure you it is lawful.”
“So you’ve created new life using a Low sample and…?” Gabriel asked. What angel would seriously consider combining their essence with a Low? The very thought made him shiver in disgust.
“A volunteer. I know what you’re thinking. The results were destroyed, and now that we’ve been successful with a Low, we’ll try with more reputable demons. Those offspring we’ll keep.”
It made sense. Lows would be plentiful and cheaper to use in experimentation. No sense in wasting good demons on testing. Still, the idea made something inside him knot in protest.
“What happens if the result is… you know, an angel that would not be allowed in Aaru per the treaty?” Gabriel tried to keep his tone casual, wishing he too had a coffee cup to toy with.
“’We’re working to perfect the technique so only Angels of Order are produced. Right now, offspring are already predisposed to order, and every test has resulted in the desired offspring. In the remote chance that an Angel of Chaos is born, we’ll send it to Hel.”
Gabriel had a vision of a helpless angel, dropped through a gate and quickly set upon and ripped to shreds. Everything blurred, and he nearly rose from his seat. Clenching his teeth, he smoothed the tablecloth before him and tried likewise to smooth his emotions. Samael. Was this a fate he would have wanted for his brother? Newly formed and discarded in hostile territory?
“I can guarantee there are some on the Ruling Council that would not approve of the project unless creations of order were a guaranteed result.”
Tura nodded. “We are close. By the time we present, we’ll have that guarantee.”
“So why all the secrecy? It seems to be a noble purpose. It doesn’t violate the treaty or threaten our positive evolution. You should have plenty of support and backers in this endeavor.”
Again Tura shifted in his seat, running a finger around the lip of the white, porcelain cup. “You certainly know, Ancient One, that there are some in Aaru who would not approve of this, who would feel it skirts too close to the limits of our vow. There are also others who have begun to regret their actions in the war and the subsequent treaty. Time has dulled their memories, and they would disapprove our project.”
Gabriel nodded. Aaru was a realm divided, and the last two millennia had seen an increase in unrest. There were those who secretly held sympathies towards the demons, and on the other side there were the isolationists. A storm was brewing, and these factions threatened to tear Aaru apart once again, just as the war had so long ago.
“Even more,” Tura continued, “can you imagine what would happen if we announced we had a method of creation? We’d be overwhelmed with requests—demands for the opportunity. Once we have the technique perfected, we need to ensure an appropriate method of evaluation and a waiting list. We wouldn’t want every angel to have this opportunity, only those deemed most evolved, those with the highest vibration level.”
“Of course.” It wouldn’t do to have Aaru overrun with inferior offspring. Before the war, breeding had been a long, drawn-out affair involving petitions, negotiations, and detailed deliberations. Sometimes after a century, a pair would walk away from a contract, unable to agree on terms or specifics of formation. Even with Angels of Chaos in Aaru, creation had been a rare and celebrated event. This would change all that. There would need to be rules and standards put in place.
“So, what would you require of me?” And that unspoken other half of the sentence—what will I get in return?
Tura smiled, his shoulders dropping as he let out a relieved breath. “Merely to assist us as needed, Ancient One. We’ve had a small setback. We’ve lost a few of those who were to supply us with donations. We will continue to fine-tune the technique with the stock we have. We hope to be receiving a higher quality of demon donations within the next six months.”
“I cannot commit to something so vague,” Gabriel cautioned. “You need to be more explicit in what help you’ll need or I won’t guarantee you’ll have my assistance.”
“We may need you to cover for us. The angels working on this project are not Grigori and may be questioned as to their brief and occasional presence among the humans to collect donations. Most importantly, we would request your support in presenting our findings to the Ruling Council when we have confirmation of success.”
Gabriel caught the surprise, before it creased his face, and schooled his expression into calm disinterest. Were the two murdered angels, who’d been among the humans without permission, somehow involved in this? It was a farfetched idea, and far more likely they’d journeyed out of Aaru to sin with the humans.
“I can present your findings before the council and ensure your work continues without scrutiny until it is time to organize a rollout,” Gabriel vowed.
Tura shook his head. “We want to present the findings ourselves. We have a team of dedicated angels. I know, Ancient One, that angels such as I are not allowed in the presence of the Council, but it would mean a great deal to those who have worked so hard in the service of order. To look upon our highest angels, to tell them of our work, would be the highlight of their immortal lives.”
Gabriel hid a frown. Normally he struggled with the sin of pride. Not so much as his eldest brother, but enough. Tura’s speech should have filled him with a sense of his place within Aaru, blinded him to all reason with its subservient and adoring tone, but it didn’t. It rang false, and that allowed Gabriel to keep his wits about him.
“Of course,” he said magnanimously. “I would be happy to sponsor you and your team at a Ruling Council meeting.”
Tura smiled, the first genuine smile he’d had during the meeting. There was a hint of triumph in the smile. He took the glass vial from the table and stood, bowing low to Gabriel before vanishing.
The angel sat back in his chair, picking up the coffee cup Tura had been holding and running his hands over it. Smooth, but with a slightly porous feel to its white surface. He felt the clay, the liquid within, the traces of energy from the angel that had held it. The meeting had gone well, but Gabriel still wasn’t satisfied. As things stood, he might not hear from Tura until they were ready to present to the council, and that was unacceptable. He needed to know more; he needed to be involved.
Smiling slightly, he dipped a finger into the liquid in the cup. Acidic and dark, burned beans steeped in water then strained. What the humans found to like about this was beyond him. All these trips here were taking a toll on him. All the smells and sights, the emotions were pulling him, calling to him with their siren song. But still, he delayed returning to Aaru. Perhaps, just perhaps he’d stay a while and watch. Just observe as he used to so long ago.
12
I languished in my cell another two weeks, occupying myself by carving obscene pictures in the stone walls with my eating utensils. The only regular visitors I had were the elven guards that accompanied the humans who brought my food. They didn’t trust me enough to send a human servant into the dungeon solo. Neither elf nor human spoke to me in spite of my repeated attempts at banal conversation. The humans seemed curious like they wanted to linger, but the guards always hustled them along.
I tried making extra limbs, scales, claws, elongated teeth, all the while terribly anxious that if I changed into something else, I may not be able to return to my current, human form. A human with four legs or fangs might be ho-hum in Hel, but I could hardly walk around Earth like that. And
I clung with all my might to the hope that I’d be able to return to the people I loved. I shouldn’t have worried—nothing came of my efforts. The only thing I managed was grow my hair and nails at a quicker rate, which made me hope that the ability to quickly fix injury wouldn’t be far behind.
Worse was my realization that I could no longer manifest my wings. I mourned them the most and feared deep in my heart that I’d never have them again. Few demons could create them at all, but I’d always had wings. They were part of my first form. I’d flown before I could properly walk. The permanent loss of my wings would be a terrible blow. I fretted that my stolen flights above the Potomac River and flying with Gregory through the ice fields in Alaska would be the last times I flew unassisted.
Finally, I heard the door to the dungeon open and a sound I’d been waiting for—many feet on the stone floor. Taullian came into view wearing a more subdued, leather version of his usual attire. Gone were the gilded robes, in their place was form-fitting, body-concealing protective clothing—practical and, at a distance, undifferentiated from the ones his guards wore. Clearly, whatever the elf lord had planned, he intended on being right in the thick of things with his people. Maybe he wasn’t such a wiener after all.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked, careful not to get to close to the bars. I’d already zapped myself on them dozens of times in the past few weeks. It always hurt like fuck but didn’t seem to do any lasting injury.
“We’ll move in two weeks. We have a magical device that will allow us to gate in and take them by surprise. There are some final logistics, then we’re ready.”
He didn’t look ready. He looked like a man about to face his death.
