by Debra Dunbar
“I heard about what you tried to do for us humans. I appreciate your efforts, although they don’t seem to have made any difference in the end.” Gareth approached to shake my hand with his left, his eyes darting occasionally to my wings, as if he couldn’t help himself. His right hand was bandaged, half hidden beneath a long sleeve. I was surprised he remembered the handshake I’d taught him.
“Don’t you worry. I’m not through with those elves yet.”
His eyes swept my naked, human form with unconcealed doubt. “I can’t see how an imp could be of any further help.”
I grinned. “You should never underestimate an imp.”
The sorcerer nodded, clearly not believing me, and ran a tired hand over his stubbled chin.
“What did you do to your hand?” I gestured toward the bandages.
He held up the hand and carefully unwrapped it to reveal blackened, twisted fingers. “Ammonia nitrate and puffwretch sap.” I grimaced in sympathy. “Wish I had a curative scroll, but they’re pretty scarce right now, with the war and all. Times like this I wouldn’t mind having an elf around.”
Or an angel. Before he could protest, I reached out to grab the mangled hand, a stream of gold light pouring from me. His hand lit up in a blazing glow while he watched, perplexed. After a few seconds, I retracted the energy and was pleased to see his hand strong and tan, the skin smooth and free of age spots. Crap. I’d probably need to do the other one or he’d look strangely lopsided: an old man with one wrinkled hand and one young one.
He stared at the hand in amazement, then up at me, new respect in his eyes. “Demons don’t heal.”
“This one does.” I didn’t want to say the word. I wasn’t an angel, just some weird mutated demon. Yeah, that was it.
“A sorcerer with one hand is a sorcerer without a career,” he said slowly. “Please tell me how I can repay this gift.”
I got right to the point. “I need an elf button, something to get me in front of Taullian without having to fight my way past hundreds of elves.”
A look of regret came over his face. “The city and palace are warded, locked down tight. Taullian is not about to be surprised at breakfast—he’s learnt from what he did to Feille.”
Damn. “A relay device?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “That’s not Wythyn magic, and I haven’t had time to attempt a copy.”
There had to be some way. I couldn’t fly in without setting off all sorts of alarms, and I didn’t want Taullian to go into hiding while his elves slowed me down with an endless stream of attacks.
“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” The sorcerer walked through a door at the rear of the room, partially hidden behind a tower of baskets. He was gone only a few moments before he returned, thrusting an amulet into one hand and a bundle of fabric into another.
“Clothes,” he said, pointing to the bundle. “As delectable as that human body is, you should probably cover at least a portion of it.”
Dirty old man. I grinned, and his eyes twinkled in response. He was right, and I was getting a bit tired of being naked all the time. Human flesh was susceptible to nicks, cuts, and bruises unless protected. The elves wouldn’t care, but I’d have more of a commanding presence if I were clothed.
“This,” he indicated the amulet, “allows for an hour of enhanced non-detection.”
“Invisibility?” I turned the amulet over in my hand to admire the glyphs engraved on the back.
“No, enhanced non-detection. It’s not the normal ‘look away’ or ‘no-see’ spell, and it does more than hide you from sight. It allows you to travel in an inter-dimensional rift. No one can see you, smell you, or sense you in anyway. Magical detection spells don’t register it either.”
That was huge. Some of the sneakiest magic leaked enough of its own special energy signature and set off alarms. “The flight wards?”
“You can fly in undetected, but you only have an hour. It may not be enough.”
It would be, if one had the wings of an angel.
“It’s my most precious item.” He looked at the amulet fondly. “Almost a decade of my time went into its making. It took me almost as long to perfect as the item I made for Ahriman.”
I weighed it in my hand, realizing the significance of the gift. This was worth far more than the healing of his hand warranted. In spite of his doubts, he dreamed of freedom for humans and was willing to give his most valued creation for the cause. I liked this guy.
“What did you make for Ahriman?” I was curious what magical item would have taken two decades to make and would have been considered valuable enough for the ancient demon to offer a lengthy period of protection.
“I called it a breeding box. It does the forming process when two demons procreate. Just add the portions of each spirit-being, and it acts as a catalyst. I’m not sure why he wanted it. I just assumed he had some sort of fertility issue he wanted to overcome.”
I frowned. Ahriman hadn’t seemed to have any difficulties breeding. Suddenly I remembered his anger over Feille’s death, how he mentioned he needed the elf for some project, and all the pieces fit together. The forming magic that the angel on Oak Island had boasted of, how they could now breed again without needing us at all. But why would Ahriman want to assist the hated angels to procreate?
“Ahriman gave me all the specifications for the device. He was very adamant that it only produce a demon with certain traits,” Gareth continued.
“What traits?”
The sorcerer ticked the traits off on his newly healed fingers. “Warmongering, avarice, anger, envy, and devouring, all hidden until the offspring reached the age of one hundred. Oh, and all offspring would turn into demons at that point, which I truly didn’t understand. Why would they be anything but demons?”
Because they might be angels—Angels of Order, and that just wouldn’t do if an ancient demon wanted to eat up Aaru from the inside. It wasn’t just a coup facilitated through devouring spirits under his control that Ahriman planned; it was more. Desperate angels would create monsters that would crack the virtues of Aaru and turn heaven in upon itself. Another war. More death. But Feille was dead, Ahriman was dead, and I could only hope that Wyatt managed to get my message to Gregory, that he ended this twisted plan before it could begin.
“Thank you,” I told Gareth, turning the amulet over in my hand. Saving Aaru was momentarily out of my hands. My immediate task would be to ensure the humans in Hel actually had an opportunity for a decent future.
“Thank you.” Gareth wiggled his healed fingers toward me. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any more of those chicken wands, would you?” I hoped so, because that thing had been amazing. Maybe Taullian was just as terrified of chickens as Feille had been. Maybe it was an elf thing.
Gareth smiled. “If you pull this off, I’ll ensure you have a steady supply of chicken wands as long as I live.”
I slipped my bundle under one arm and gave him a quick salute, tucking my wings in tight to my body. “Consider it done.”
33
I stood outside the Western Red Forest at its narrowest point, feeling an odd sense of homesickness. I’d played in these woods as a child, eaten grubs and hidden from cruel siblings. That imp seemed like a different demon from who I was now. I wasn’t even a thousand years old, yet I felt like I had lived several lifetimes. Did Gregory feel the same when he thought back on his past? At over six billion, he must feel as if he’d been through a kaleidoscope of lives. What would he make of me now, standing in the humid summer heat, insect song surrounding me, fifty feet of feathered wings arched to soak in the warmth of the sun?
He’d wanted my redemption, wanted me to take responsibility, but what if the changes he longed for turned me into a creature he could no longer love? He’d fallen for an imp, not… whatever I was right now. I glanced sideways at the black wings. I refused to be an angel. Refused.
Closing my eyes, I breat
hed in the thick damp air. The humans were mine. Mine. The word reverberated with purpose, with intent. It was time to be more than an imp. I slid the amulet over my head and said the activation words.
The air shimmered, thinned, and I felt as if I were standing inside a long tunnel of a gate. There was no time to explore the odd sensation. I had only one hour to travel nearly four hundred miles. Hoping the passageway was wide enough to accommodate a fifty-foot wingspan, I took to the air. If not, the elves would see an odd image of black wingtips against the sky. Which would probably just look like a bird if I stayed high enough.
The incredible power of my new wings propelled me forward faster than I’d ever flown. I’d loved the demon ones I used to form, but these…. It was like driving a Formula One racecar after thinking your suped-up Charger rocked the world.
The cold air bit at my sensitive feathers, tearing my eyes and stinging exposed skin, the heat of summer falling before the chill of speed. Trees far beneath blurred, but even with my odd new abilities, I still worried my time would run out.
The air began to shimmer and thicken as I dove for the center of Cyelle’s capital, near the palace gates. A crowd was gathered there, and I hesitated a fraction of a second, realizing I’d probably be detected by the time I landed, destroying any chance at surprise. Sure enough, I felt the protection of the amulet give way just as I raced in for landing, trying desperately to hit the ground with enough time to hide before I was truly visible.
No such luck.
The wards shrieked when I was ten feet from the ground. Worse, my hot approach was completely beyond my ability to control. I’d only had these wings a few days, and I hadn’t quite figured them out yet, especially under speed.
The crowd screamed and scattered as I slammed into the ground, tumbling and digging a trench in the cobblestone street before I came to a stop by crashing into a fruit vendor’s cart. Yep, no matter what had happened, I was still an imp. I scrambled to my feet, shoving apples aside and shaking grapes from my huge wings. The guards surrounding me with nocked arrows lowered their bows to look at me, mouths agape.
“Where’s Taullian,” I demanded.
The guards continued to stare. I heard the clink of arrows hitting the ground, a murmur from the crowd. A young elf reached out his hand toward one of my wings, and his mother yanked it back with a quick whisper about manners.
Did they know? How could they know? Surely these elves had seen winged demons before. Some of us did feathers, although it was always considered a weak affectation. Yeah, they were big, and they were black, but it’s not like I was an….
“Angel.”
I really wished people would stop call me that. Just as I was beginning to ask them in simple tones to take me to their leader, I heard him. I heard the stomp of the guards, saw the crowd parting to let them through, heard his ringing, scornful tones.
“So the imp has slipped her leash. Shall I call the pound?”
The guards that arrived first through the crowd came to an abrupt halt as they saw me, causing a mini traffic jam behind them that must have irritated Taullian to no end.
“You think to invade my kingdom, to deliver more threats? You have no leverage, imp. You’re not the Iblis, not a demon of any stature. You’re just a plaything of the powerful, a Low with no household to speak of, no money, no property. You’re….”
He’d pushed his way past the shocked guards to see me.
“Say it, you pansy-ass elf boy.”
He didn’t. Instead, he took off at a run, and I sprinted after him. Everyone parted to make way for me, some of them bowing as if I were royalty, others dropping to their knees. Running with huge wings isn’t easy. I pulled them tight against my back, trying to streamline my profile and reduce the wind resistance as I ran.
Taullian was fast, as all elves were, but the crowd didn’t part for him, and he found himself shoving people aside to make his way, slowing him down considerably. Everyone was too busy staring at me to exercise any respect for their ruler. He could run, but he couldn’t hide, and eventually I’d find him. With the crowds, the elf couldn’t find a decent exit, and I finally cornered him, the stone palace wall at his back and sides, a large market table in front of him.
“Ahriman is going to kill you for this.” His voice was high and thin with desperation. I jumped with both feet to land on the table, crouched like a gargoyle with my wings trailing behind. Taullian trembled, meeting my eyes, and once again I wondered what exactly I looked like. I’d need to find a mirror and figure out why everyone was suddenly so shocked with my appearance. It couldn’t just be the wings, could it? They were just big-feathered things sticking out of my back. There had to be something else about me that was different.
“Not unless he can return from the dead. Now, I’m not ruling it out—he was a pretty powerful demon. But I’m thinking it’s not going to happen.” I jumped off the other side of the table and slowly edged toward the high elf, stalking him like the predator I was. At least that hadn’t changed.
I halted a few feet from Taullian and stared him down. To his credit, he lifted his chin, and in spite of his trembling, managed a fairly good sneer.
Showtime. I’d killed Ahriman. Everyone was staring at me as if I were the baddest thing to walk the surface of Hel. Time to live up to my very recently acquired reputation.
I leaned toward Taullian and let anger take over. I let myself glow and smiled at him with as much cruelty as I could muster. “The humans belong to me. All of them. They are mine, and you will let them go.”
He swallowed, eyes darting around to the elves and humans hanging on my every word.
“You rule these kingdoms because I allow it. If you betray me again, you will find yourself in exile, and it will be you who will be a demon’s plaything.”
His eyes widened, recognizing the truth in my words.
“Not my toy either. No, I will not give you such an honor. You’ll serve the Lows, entertaining them with your pain. Do I make myself clear?”
He nodded, the movement full of fear, his eyes shifting from mine to the wings visible on either side of me.
“Hel is mine. I grant both the peninsula and the adjoining hundred miles that extends into the Western Red Forest to the humans. And if I find that you’ve hindered them, mistreated them in any way, I will carve off more and more of the elven lands until you find yourself ruling over a cesspit at the edge of the swamp.”
“No!” He clamped a hand over his mouth. The Western Red Forest was sacred, and it would pain them terribly to give away a third of it to another species. Too fucking bad. I ramped up the wattage, and Taullian’s eyes watered, squinting in my light.
“I question your ability to rule, but in the spirit of mercy toward my elven citizens, I will give you another chance to prove your value to me. Don’t fail.”
“Yes.” It was a whispered word. I raised my eyebrows and cupped an ear. “I will do as you say.” His voice rang out that time, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“I’ll be watching. In the dark of the night, hidden in the shadows of the day, I’ll be watching. This is your last chance, elf.”
I spun about, not caring that my wing knocked him to the ground as I extended them for balance and vaulted the table. The crowd parted for me, and I took to the air, once again setting off alarms as I rose through the wards of the city. I’d have to keep a close watch on things here, returning often to Hel to make sure the humans were truly free.
Returning. What was I thinking? I was stuck here. My heart was like a stone in my chest. Feille was dead, the humans were free, and I had escaped Ahriman’s deadly clutches. But I was still damned to Hel.
34
I flew low over the forests of Cyelle, confident the elves wouldn’t attack me. I wasn’t so sure about the demons, so I landed at the southern edge of the Western Red Forest, just inside the neutral zone, and walked out to sit on a rock by a mess of trumpet reeds to wait for Dar.
I saw him from nearly a mil
e away—on four legs so he could move with greater speed. He had some kind of pack strapped to his back and was running in a strange leaping hop which popped him above the tall grass at regular intervals. He slowed at fifty yards, walking upright the remaining distance before depositing himself beside me on the rock.
“I haven’t run this much since I was a nestling,” he puffed, rubbing a hand over his round belly. “I’m gonna lose my figure if I keep this up.”
“What’s in the bag?” I gestured to his back.
He yanked it off, grinning, and began to dig through it. “Check it out. I found all kinds of stuff at Ahriman’s house. I had to hide a bunch of it since I couldn’t carry it all. And some things were too big to sneak out easily.”
I watched with amazement as Dar pulled goblets, bones, candles, a timepiece, and a gaudy hat from the bag. He was such a packrat. I should be pissed. These weren’t Ahriman’s things anymore—they were mine, but I wouldn’t begrudge my brother his trinkets.
“I call dibs on any shoes.” Okay, maybe he wasn’t the only packrat in Hel.
He shot me a quick smile and a thumbs-up. “I’ll keep my eyes open. How did things go with Taullian and the other elven assholes?”
“Everyone freaked at my wings. They all think the apocalypse is at hand.”
I refused to say the A-word. Angels, not apocalypse. The former was far more terrifying.
My brother sighed, putting his treasure carefully back in the bag. “So, I guess it’s back to Wythyn for me?”
I shook my head. “Let Taullian deal with them. I really don’t care about elven politics anymore. As long as they free the humans and let them live peacefully in their own lands, they can do whatever they want to each other.”
Dar raised a shaggy eyebrow. “And if they don’t?”
I stood up to face him, snapping my wings to their full span. Golden light hummed from me, and I leaned close to Dar. “I’ll be watching. In the dark of the night, hidden in the shadows of the day, I’ll be watching.”
