Queen of the Damned (Imp Series Book 9)

by Debra Dunbar

  I sank down on the demon-hide sofa and thought back on my childhood—the jockeying for position among my peers, the struggle to survive, the fear I’d had that someone might discover my devouring. But even with all that, I’d had a sense of wonder, a curious joy about the world around me. I’d chased durfts, played with elves, swam in the swamps. I’d carved doodles into Oma’s table while she fed me lunch and scolded me. I’d hid behind Mere or Pere when Pasquit was tormenting me, feeling safe in their ability to blunt the powers of any demon and keep me from harm. I remembered all the punishments, the lessons in survival as a little imp in Hel, my first journey across the gates with Dar, the very first human I’d Owned.

  I was less than a thousand years old. Where had those feelings gone? Had becoming a sort-of angel, becoming the Iblis, assuming all this stupid responsibility stolen my youth?

  It had all changed in a flash, seemingly overnight. But the change wasn’t complete. I could feel it waiting just outside, waiting to blow through that dusty feeling of stagnation, that sense of bored desperation, and blow everything the fuck up. The humans were free. The elves were gone. The Ancients were on the move. It was happening here. It was happening in the world of the humans. It had happened in the homeland of the angels.

  The angels would say the worst was yet to come, but as I pulled a durft-fur blanket up over me, I decided to disagree. Chaos. Change. This disruption brought uncertainty and pain, but it was oddly exhilarating.

  The best was yet to come. But the process of getting there wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be painless. The best was yet to come, but for that best to arrive, we first needed to get through the apocalypse. We first needed an Armageddon.

  Chapter 19

  I was up at dawn, gnawing on some dried jerky-like bitey fish that I’d found in my cupboard. There wasn’t much left in the house to eat. Lows were like a pack of piranhas. I was probably the only demon in Dis that liked bitey fish, so it was no wonder they were still in there. Otherwise I would have been stuck with stale willow crackers or bone meal paste.

  I needed a steward. My last one had left in a huff just after Ahriman burned down my house and I’d never replaced him. Snip was kind of my acting steward sat this time, but there were limits to what the Low could do. Besides, I needed him to run errands and basically be my right hand, not do things like make sure there was enough food in the cupboard, that the blood got cleaned off the walls, and that Poo-poo wasn’t locked in the third floor closet.

  Hammer showed up just as I was cramming the last of the dried bitey fish in my mouth. I’d done a lot of thinking last night, and before we headed out I wanted to make one thing clear.

  “I’m not going to sneak in as your squire,” I told him. “Let them think what they want, but if they ask, I want you to tell them I’m the Iblis. Tell them I’m the one who lead the demon army into Aaru, the one who got you in the door.”

  “Technically didn’t that angel get us in the door?” Hammer scratched his nose. “I seem to remember an angel showing up at your house and bringing us in.”

  “That was so we arrived at the correct time and location for the battle. Without me, you never would have gotten into Aaru. Without me, you never would have been able to fight angels and get those wings hanging on your walls. Asmodiel reached out to you because you’ve made sure everyone in Hel knows about those wings, but he doesn’t know the part I played in your acquisition of them.”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “But you’re an imp.”

  “An imp with a sword. An imp with angel wings. An imp who brought you into her household for that battle. I’ve kept my part in that quiet until now, but that ends.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why keep quiet? You should have bloody, tattered angel wings on your wall. You should have Ahriman’s skull on a pike outside your house. You shouldn’t have a household full of Lows and be gone out of Hel nearly every moment of the last forty years.”

  I winced, because he was right. In his eyes, I was a demon and needed to act like a demon. But I wasn’t really like the other demons, not anymore.

  “That battle aside, I’m not advocating the wholesale slaughter of angels. I’m building an alliance with them—an alliance that will bring us rights on the other side of the gates as well as the ability to form unions and work together with angels. It’s kinda hard to do that when I’m slapping their severed wings on my walls. And that’s why I’ve been outside of Hel so much lately. As for Ahriman, well I dusted him. And he was in one of those smoke like forms when I killed him, so even if I hadn’t turned him into a pile of sand, there wasn’t really a head to mount on a pike. I like Lows. They’re loyal and smart and useful, and if the rest of you demons don’t realize that, then it’s your loss. Now, any more questions before you lead me to Asmodiel’s house, and introduce me as the motherfucking Iblis?”

  Hammer blinked. “Uh. No. We’re good.”

  I followed Hammer down one of the main thoroughfares of Dis, to the cluster of mansions that were all owned by Ancients. Many preferred the outskirts of the city. Others preferred to make their main home in Eresh. But most Ancients liked to have a presence in Dis, and liked to rub their power and status in everyone’s faces by occupying one of the ostentatious buildings in this row.

  Asmodiel’s house was a tall pillar with solid gold walls in a shiny raised pattern. There didn’t appear to be any windows, but I figured some of those gold panels could be like the mirrored glass walls in human skyscrapers and give the residents a view of the outside world. Footprint-wise, it wasn’t the biggest building in the row, but it was the tallest by several stories. I mentally compared it with Doriel’s understated shack in the middle of a woods, and chuckled. I had no doubt that Asmodiel was powerful, but I’d come to realize that the more an Ancient shouted their worth through impressive possessions and displays, the less confidence they had in themselves.

  But I wasn’t here to make jokes about how Asmodiel’s home was obviously compensating for a small dick.

  The demons at the door let us in without even questioning my presence, then took us up what felt like a dozen flights of stairs and left us in a huge room with fifteen-foot ceilings and see-through walls. I’ll admit that it was impressive and far removed from either Ahriman’s, Doriel’s, or Tasma’s style of décor. I liked it. And I hoped that I liked the Ancient this home belonged to just as much. It would be so much easier to get things done in Hel if I had a number of Ancients on my side. Doriel was reclusive, and Tasma reluctant to acknowledge our agreement publicly, but if I could at least get Asmodiel to recognize me as a peer, it would go a long way toward building respect among the demons.

  When the Ancient entered, I felt my heart drop. Doriel had clung to the physical form angels seemed to prefer among the humans, even though the gloss had clearly rubbed off her halo along with decay of her wings. Ahriman had given in, becoming a smoky husk that was more demon than the angel he’d once been. Tasma had gone off the deep end and alternated between a mixed-up demon form and his frighteningly bland human appearance. Asmodiel was in a category all his own.

  The demon made his way to us, his human-like form shimmering and wet as if he’d walked out of a shower fully clothed without grabbing a towel. His eyes glowed like red coals, and his drowned sooty-colored wings were a mix of demon leather, and mildew-covered feathers. He was gray—gray skin, gray clothing, gray hair. Even the water dripping from him was gray.

  I’d done a bit of research last night, digging through Ahriman’s records and books, and found that Asmodiel had been one of Samael’s generals. He’d left an Angel of Order on the other side of the war, or maybe like Uriel, he’d left Asmodiel. The Ancient had vanished soon after the Fall, supposedly either dead or slumbering, only to awaken three thousand years ago to build this structure and gather a household. He was one of the few Ancients to have ventured into the human world across the gates, and his choice of clothing and construction style told me that his
visits had either been in this century, or he’d had a member of his household bringing back copies of Architectural Digest.

  Hammer bowed. “Asmodiel, I’ve thought about your offer and I would like to join your household and fight once more in Aaru, if the head of my current household allows me to do so.”

  The Ancient patted Hammer on the back, leaving a wet handprint. “Splendid. I’m sure the head of your household will have no issues. Who is he? Chaunta? Elantiel?”

  “Me.” I stuck out my hand and recited my list of names. “I’m the Iblis.”

  Asmodiel looked at my hand in surprise, as if he’d expected my outstretched digits to be offering a gift. “You’re an imp.”

  “Very perceptive of you. I’m also the Iblis.”

  “You’re that imp that devoured Haagenti, the one who broke her contract with Ahriman.”

  “Let’s just say Ahriman wanted to add a few amendments to the contract that weren’t agreeable to me, so I killed him. There was nothing in our breeding contract that forbade me from killing him, so technically I did not break my vow.”

  Startled glowing red eyes met mine. Wet lips twitched. “I never liked that Ahriman. Smoky bastard. I always reeked of sulfur for days after meeting with him.” Asmodiel reached out and took my hand. I gave it a quick pump then let go, resisting the urge to wipe my fingers on my jeans. It was like clasping a slimy long-dead fish.

  “I’ve been aware that all of the Ancients have awoken and that they have reason to believe now may be the time for them to retake Aaru,” I told the Ancient. “Hammer has told me that it has finally been decided that you will lead this campaign? And that you would like him to join you as he has had recent experience with me fighting in Aaru?”

  Listen to me, sounding just like an angel there. Clearly I’d been picking up a thing or two from the few times I’d not slept through the Ruling Council meetings.

  Asmodiel tilted his head. “I would have thought Hammer lied had he not shown me proof of his battles in Aaru. Those wings are from recent kills. They could have easily been taken from angels who were killed while they were in the human world, but Hammer’s description of Aaru causes me to believe that he actually has been there.”

  “Once. I’ve been there many times.” The Ancient wrinkled up his face in disbelief, so I went on the describe the sections of Aaru I had knowledge of—primarily the fourth circle and the heavenly jailhouse where I’d spent a good bit of time naked and restrained for failure to complete reports in a timely fashion.

  When I was done, Asmodiel gave a satisfied nod. “I would like Hammer to join my household and my army. I would also like these other three warmongers and two greed demons to join as well. It’s important to have demons in the front lines with recent experience, you see.”

  Yes, I saw. And I understood that there was one name he was leaving out of his wish list of soldiers. Me.

  “I’m assuming there’s a reason you are not inviting me to this party?” I drawled.

  There was an awkward second where the Ancient was clearly searching for an explanation that wouldn’t offend. “You’re an imp.”

  “I’m the Iblis.” I stared him down then finally took pity on the guy. He’d been fairly respectful so far, and I didn’t want to push him to the point where he was forced to throw me out.

  “Look,” I told him. “I get it. No one wants an icky devouring imp front and center in their army, whether she’s got wings and a sword or not. No hard feelings, dude. I’m happy to sit this one out if you’re not interested in my mad skills. However, I’m not particularly inclined to allow my household members out of their affiliation just on a whim.”

  “I can offer restitution,” Asmodiel hurriedly assured me. I could tell he was relieved that I hadn’t decided to pitch a fit over his slight and cause a scene.

  “We’ll get to that later. I’ve got other concerns I’d like to voice at this moment.” I put a fatherly hand on Hammer’s practically non-existent shoulder. “My boy here isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, pun intended, and I’m worried that in his zeal to add to his wing collection, he’s neglected to make sure this whole campaign has even a remote chance of success.”

  Asmodiel jerked his head back, affronted. “What do you mean? We are Ancient demons, the Angels of Chaos who fought in the war two-and-a-half-million years ago. We are the Fallen, the banished ones.”

  I waved my hand, the one not on Hammer’s shoulder, in a circular motion. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You guys lost that war. How do I know you’ll even be able to get in? What if you just bounce off the perimeter and fall like a bunch of fiery meteors back to Hel?”

  “We can get in now. All of the Ancients feel it. We know that the banishment is not as iron-clad as it once was. It’s why those of us who still slumbered awakened.”

  “How?” That was the question I really wanted the answer to. How the fuck were they getting in? What had changed? Was it the banishment I’d done? Was it me gaining the sword? Was it that a group of demons and I had entered Aaru to fight for Gregory?

  “We don’t know how.” Asmodiel waved a dismissive hand. “And it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that when we mount our attack, we will be allowed entry.”

  This was scaring me. I got a feeling he might be right. So far all the Ancients had corroborated this view, this idea that they suddenly could enter Aaru. I wasn’t going to be able to dissuade them with doubts about their ability to get in, so I’d need to try something else.

  Because these guys couldn’t take Aaru. I couldn’t let them barge in and steal Gregory’s homeland from him when none of the angels were there to fight for it.

  “What guarantee do we have that you’ll win this one?” I asked.

  I swear I heard the Ancient grinding his teeth. “We cannot give such a guarantee. We do, however, have the element of surprise on our side. And we nearly won the last war. It ended in a stalemate. The Angels of Order won on a technicality.”

  “They still won. And you all were banished. That doesn’t sound like a stalemate to me.” I gave him a hard look. “What are the odds of success?”

  I wasn’t sure if it was sweat or water dripping off the Ancient’s brow. “Normally I would say fifty percent, but your Hammer here has told me that the angels are fighting amongst themselves. Fractured and weakened by their own battles, with a surprise attack, I say our odds are closer to eighty percent.”

  “Three hundred Ancients and a few hundred more demons against tens of thousands of angels,” I scoffed. “You can surprise them all you want, pop out of a fucking cake maybe, and your chances of success aren’t going to be eighty percent. You’ll prevail at first, maybe take one choir, then you’ll be slowly driven back out of Aaru. Again.”

  Asmodiel’s red eyes flared like gasoline on a fire. “Then we will die fighting. We will never allow ourselves to be banished again. If we had known… Never. Never again will we leave Aaru. Heaven will be ours, or we will die there, fighting to regain our homeland.”

  I felt his agony as if it were my own. “Hel isn’t so bad. And there’s always the human world. I’m working to make it so that we have the ability to go there. I’m working on getting changes to the treaty—”

  “No.” The red in his eyes dimmed to orange. “For nearly three million years we have been trapped in corporeal form, unable to live as we were meant to. I’ve felt my spirit-self rot, my wings twist and lose their once glorious feathers. My light has dimmed. I am empty, having been cut off from the source for so long that I am as one in the last stages of starvation. So many of us have died since the Fall. And I know that I too will die if I cannot live in Aaru as a being of spirit once more.”

  I felt great sympathy for this Ancient. What had he been like before the war? What sort of angel was he? I’d been happy with my life in Hel. It never occurred to me that the Ancients might consider every moment to be torture.

  “You may die in this battle. You may lose. The odds are that you will lose,” I told him softly.

/>   “Then I will die in Aaru. Better to die there than live one more day in Hel as this.” He gestured to his sodden form.

  I took a deep breath, feeling as if I’d been boxed into a corner. “I need to discuss this with Hammer. He’ll give you his decision tomorrow. I’ll allow him and the others to switch household affiliations if they’re still inclined then, but it’s temporary for this battle only.”

  He extended his hand, which I reluctantly shook. Yuck. Then as we turned to leave, I hesitated.

  “One more question, Asmodiel.” I waited for his nod. “You left an Angel of Order behind in Aaru, one you loved. If you face him in the battle, will you raise your sword against him? Will you kill him?”

  The Ancient sucked in a harsh breath. “His name was Perciviel. And no, I will not kill him in this battle because I already killed him—in the last battle before our banishment, two-and-a-half-million years ago.”

  Damn. Just….damn. There was really no reply to that, so I left, Hammer by my side, because I knew there was nothing I could do to dissuade the Ancient. He was a fallen angel. And he had nothing left to lose.

  Chapter 20

  “This battle won’t be like the last one,” I warned Hammer. “Don’t go. Stay here and let the Ancients fight this one alone.”

  “I’m a warmonger,” he countered. “It’s what I do. How can you ask me to pass by a sweet opportunity such as this one? Fighting in the front lines in an army of Ancients—it will be epic.”

  “An epic failure. This isn’t your fight. This is something that doesn’t involve demons. It’s a battle to bring closure to a war that happened long before any of us were born. Let the Ancients avenge their wrongs. It’s not your fight. You don’t give a fuck whether they regain Aaru or not. It’s not like you want to stay there.”