by Debra Dunbar
“How many Ancients are there in Hel?”
“Not many, and some of them won’t bother to go. Tasma isn’t going. Harkel won’t, and he said he’s not the only one. So…a hundred? Three hundred tops making the war-march to Aaru?”
“Three hundred Ancients in Aaru.”
I suddenly saw it. After the initial excitement and fuck-you exuberance, it would be a hollow victory. No angels to kill or punish or torture, just a huge big empty space with three hundred insane, bored Ancients who weren’t even truly angels anymore. They’d been forced to be in corporeal form for two-and-a-half-million years. After so long, a life as a being of spirit wouldn’t be nearly the relief they’d hoped for.
And they’d be so lonely. Yes, Remiel would have Bencul, but the others would have no one, not even their demon household. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few thousand years we managed to retake Aaru only to find they’d all died.
And that wasn’t what I wanted either. It was terribly undemonic of me, but I wanted a happy ending. Was it wrong to want a happy ending? Could the apocalypse sweep through with all its painful change, and leave us in a better place? And could that better place be one where there was forgiveness and reconciliation on both sides?
It was the closest thing to a prayer I’d ever said.
“So…” Gregory kissed the top of my head. “Who is this Ancient who has fallen in love with a very bad angel?”
Gregory would know him, of course. He fought against these angels, and I doubt he’d forgotten any of the powerful ones who had opposed him.
“Remiel.”
My beloved sucked in a breath, every muscle in his body tensing.
“Not good, huh?” I asked.
“No.” He let the breath out with a reluctant laugh. “Not good at all, Cockroach.”
“Is it bad that I kind of like him? I mean, he’s scary as all fuck, and bat-shit crazy, but under all that he still seems to be brilliant and open-minded for an Ancient. I mean, he did fall in love with Bencul, and as much as their affection makes me want to puke, it’s genuine and very deep. That can’t be all bad, can it?”
“Remiel was in charge of purgatory. He was the angel who took those who strayed in hand and got them back on track, so to speak. His methods were unbending, and so was he. He is not one to forgive or forget, and he’ll never give up the pursuit of vengeance for those he felt wronged him during the war.”
“But he forgave Bencul,” I argued. “Maybe once he gets into Aaru, he’ll forgive the others as well.”
“Bencul was rarely a combatant in the war. He was mainly a messenger angel, occasionally organizing small groups of intelligence gathering expeditions. Any fighting he did was small back-alley type skirmishes. Outside of being on the opposite side of the conflict, there wouldn’t be anything for Remiel to forgive Bencul for. And I’m sure he punished the angel for being on the other side and was satisfied that Bencul had paid his dues.”
The other angels wouldn’t be willing to submit to Remiel or the other Ancients’ ideas of punishment, especially because I was sure most of those punishments were death.
“I can’t let them take Aaru,” I told Gregory. “I have to do everything I can to stop them. Remiel thinks my household and I are joining in the attack. Since I’m the Iblis and I’m allowed in Aaru, I won’t be required to pledge to his household. Maybe I can get there early, and stand at the entrance and…I don’t know re-banish them or something.”
“Let it be, Cockroach.” Gregory took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. “Let it be. Isn’t that what you advised us to do at the last Ruling Council meeting?”
Don’t paddle furiously against the waters, but instead ride them to their conclusion, gently navigating but not fighting a battle that we could not win.
“Yes, I did say that, but I meant here in the human world. I meant that the result would be better if we just worked with what fate threw at us, with what we’d unwittingly started in motion. I still believe that’s the right thing to do here. I don’t think it’s the right thing to do in Aaru.”
“It is. The pain of being cut off from our source is very real, as is the chance that I may never see Aaru again. Maybe our children will. Just as my banishment didn’t account for the demons, the products of inbreeding among Angels of Chaos, maybe your banishment didn’t account for future generations, or demons who aren’t in your household. There’s always a loophole, and you’ll eventually find it. I have faith in your ability to land on your feet, as always, and make this somehow turn out right.”
“But if you never see Aaru again?”
He brushed his thumb along my cheekbone. “My heart, I am six billion years old. Perhaps it’s time for me to no longer be an archangel. Perhaps it’s time for me to begin my decline and make room for a new generation of angels to take our place in Aaru.”
No. No fucking way was that ever going to happen. Not on my watch.
“I don’t want you to decline,” I argued.
He smiled. “I’m sure you will keep me alive and kicking with your crazy antics, Cockroach. Never fear that I will waste away from boredom. Not with you at my side.”
“Then what will you do?”
He shrugged. “Stay here with you? Watch the humans, and occasionally intervene because I can no longer just stand to sit and watch. You’ll scold and screw things up, and I’ll try in vain to fix them. We’ll have a wonderful life together. And the children will be the ones to rule Aaru. If we have one of our own, we’ll call him Micha, just to keep some consistency.”
“Like hell we will.” I grinned. “And I still haven’t agreed to this creation thing. I don’t do babies, especially angel babies.”
“Fine. We’ll call our firstborn something else. What do you suggest?”
I opened my mouth to propose Samael, then snapped it shut. “We’ll discuss that in a few hundred thousand years. Until then, Dar and Asta’s baby will have to rule Aaru. Or maybe Rafi and Ahia’s.”
Let it be. Could I? It stuck in my craw to think that the Ancients would have Aaru instead of Gregory, that he might be banished forever. And in spite of what he said, it was my fault.
I needed to get him back in. And in order to do that, I needed to get back in. If I showed up with Remiel and his Ancients, could I sneak in with them? Would the banishment I’d stupidly included myself in be negated?
Or…maybe if I joined Remiel’s household, I could get in that way. Was that the loophole I’d been looking for? Either way, I had to try.
Chapter 24
“We’re going to war,” I announced at breakfast the next morning. “Right now. We leave in five minutes, so put those coffees in some go-cups and grab a box of fruit bars and let’s go.”
My words were not met with the cheers and enthusiasm I’d hoped they’d be. Gimlet, Snip, Rutter, and seven other Lows were clustered around my dining room table, eyeing me solemnly.
Gimlet slurped his coffee. “Fuck that.”
He wasn’t in my household. The others were, which is probably why they weren’t saying a word.
“We’re going up to Aaru with the Ancients. We need to be in Hel pretty much immediately or we’ll be late to the party. Come on guys, it will be fun.”
“Wasn’t fun last time we were in Aaru,” Snip complained. “I’m itchy there. And there’s a whole lot of angels trying to kill me.”
No angels this time, but I couldn’t let the others know that. Not right now. “We won’t be there long. Just get in, and get out.”
Rutter frowned. “I thought you said it would be a war. That’s not usually a get in and get out sort of thing.”
I looked at the clock. “There is a war. We’re not really doing the war part. We’re just going to tag along as a sort of experiment, and to be the voice of reason.”
Gimlet snorted. “An imp. Voice of reason. That’s almost funny enough to convince me to go with you.”
“If there’s any fighting to be done, I’ll handle it,” I promised. “T
hink of how much street cred this will buy you. I’ll even have shirts printed up. ‘I’ve been to Aaru and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.”
Rutter stood. “I’m in. If there’s a T-shirt in the offering, I’m in.”
“We need to be impressive if we’re going to be going to war with a bunch of Ancients,” Snip said. “Can we get the T-shirts before we go? Maybe ones that say ‘I’m with the Iblis’?”
“No time for that.” I grabbed a stack of Styrofoam cups off the counter and started passing them out.
“He’s got a point,” Gimlet told me. “We need to make an entrance. You’re the Iblis. You need to impress these Ancients. They’re supposed to walk in awe of you. You can’t just show up strolling through the streets of Dis with a bunch of ill-clad Lows following you.”
“I don’t have time to have shirts made up. We need to leave now or we’ll be late.”
No one seemed to be listening. They were all pouring coffee into go-cups and talking excitedly amongst themselves.
“We should all be riding flying unicorns,” Rutter announced. Five of the Lows agreed wholeheartedly.
“Or fiery chariots,” one of the others suggested.
“Or purple and green dragons with glowing eyes,” another proposed.
“I don’t have those things. Come on. Let’s go.” I tried to herd them unsuccessfully into something resembling a very small, ten-Low army. I was beginning to wish I did have a fiery chariot. Snip was right. I was the Iblis. Teleporting us all into Remiel’s front lawn where the gathered Ancients would be treated to the spectacle of my ragtag Lows puking their guts out while holding Styrofoam cups probably wasn’t the best strategy.
“Those Ancients will probably have flying unicorns and fiery chariots and amazingly cool armor,” Gimlet groused. “We don’t even get matching T-shirts and an airbrushed cargo van. You suck as an Iblis, you know.”
“Fuck you,” I told him. I didn’t have an airbrushed cargo van, but I had something fairly close to that. And I was just crazy enough to use it.
“Everyone in the SUV,” I told them. “Get your asses in there right now, and buckle up, because we are out of time.
We burst into Hel, Suburban and all. The only problem was we weren’t on the ground.
The Lows screamed, coffee sloshing all over my leather seats. Gimlet tried to grab the wheel, which didn’t do anything since tires turning four hundred feet in the air didn’t do much.
“It’s all good,” I shouted over the screams and his shrill cursing. “This happens sometimes. I’ve improved quite a lot in my teleportation skills, but occasionally I miss the mark.”
If I could just concentrate, I could maybe manage to slow the car down and set us gently on the ground in front of Remiel’s place. Gently. I closed my eyes and tried to channel whatever angel mojo I might have going on.
“Brace for impact!”
Gimlet’s shriek told me that my efforts were not doing squat, so I opened my eyes and saw the pavement rising to meet me. Might as well get a good view before the front end of my SUV went through my head.
The Suburban hit, then flipped a few times before coming to rest on something soft and squishy. I unbuckled my seatbelt and hopped out, prepared to thank whoever thoughtfully left a mattress in the street to cushion our landing, only to see that we weren’t on top of a mattress.
We were on top of a giant panther-thing. It was the same thing that had been prowling around Remiel’s house the other day, the thing that had bit me.
My Lows groaned as they climbed from the SUV. They were covered in coffee, but the seatbelts had done their job. None of them were injured, or dead that I could tell.
“Don’t think this is gonna help you look any more Iblis-like,” Gimlet said as he hopped out of the SUV. He tilted his head and walked over to the panther-thing, nudging it with his toe a few times before declaring it dead.
“Good riddance. I hate that fucking thing. It tried to eat me last time I was here. I’m pretty sure I got rabies from it.”
“This is Remiel’s mount, the one he was probably planning to ride triumphantly into Aaru on,” Gimlet told me. “He’s gonna be pissed.”
I walked around the back of the Suburban and yanked on the panther-thing’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Snip asked me. He, Gimlet, Rutter, and the other Lows were more interested in the beast I’d landed on than the army of Ancients and demons beginning to descend upon us.
“Checking for ruby slippers. I just dropped the equivalent of a house on a Wicked Panther-thing of the West. If I’m gonna get stuck with a mortal enemy bent on revenge, I hope I could at least get a sweet pair of shoes out of the deal. Bonus if they’re magic.”
Gimlet shook his head, eyeing me sadly. “Pantheramias don’t wear shoes. Although maybe his foot will bring you luck if you chop it off and carry it around.”
“That’s rabbits’ feet.” I eyed the paws. “And these are too big to fit in my pocket.”
It was too late to be chopping feet off of dead panther-things anyway, because an army was making its way down the main street of Dis. Hundreds of Ancients, and a handful of reluctant demons marched in perfect timing with each other. It was a magnificent sight. All the Ancients wore ornate armor that glowed with magic. Their wings filled the spaces between them—tattered, rotted feathers that were a complement to wasted, skeletal human forms, desiccated demon bodies, and wispy, smoke like frames. It was like a horror movie, like zombies and once-dead monsters had taken up arms and were ready to do battle.
They stopped in front of Remiel’s home. I’ll give them credit, no one batted an eye at my wrecked Suburban.
The entire lot of them snapped their heels together and stood at attention, waiting. I, on the other hand, fidgeted against the side of my SUV. Gimlet pulled a blanket from the back seat and settled in to take a nap. It was noon. It was Dis. It was a million fucking degrees. Sweat rolled down my skin. I was sure my tires were about to melt. And I had no idea why the fuck Gimlet needed a blanket in this temperature.
Just as I was about to succumb to heat stroke, the door opened and a line of demons came out. They went to the left and right of the door, alternating, until there was a nice organized line on the porch. Then came Remiel, his ratty wings bursting into view once he was through the door. He had on armor and the most ridiculously ostentatious head gear I’d ever seen. I didn’t have much time to ogle it because right behind him was Bencul.
The angel still looked like someone had worked him over in a back alley and denied him medical attention, but he was clean and dressed in a scaled-down version of Remiel’s armor, minus the hat. His golden hair glowed, and his wings as he came through the door were snow-white with tips of gold on the feathers. The army collectively caught their breath. I could feel their wonder, their admiration.
It had been a long time since they’d seen an Angel of Order, since they’d seen anyone as golden and pretty, as pristine and relatively unscarred compared to themselves and the demons in Hel. Bencul was a gorgeous, shiny thing, and Remiel was their leader because he’d managed to score such loveliness for his very own and give them a chance to take back Aaru and have their revenge upon the angels who had ousted them.
The Ancient addressed his army, never introducing or acknowledging Bencul. It was weird, like the angel was an appendage, not an individual being. He wasn’t a slave. He wasn’t an equal. It was as if he were a beloved object to covet, but not to give too much notice to. I would have been pissed if Gregory had treated me that way, but Bencul didn’t appear at all upset. His eyes never left Remiel, his gaze worshipful and adoring.
Maybe he was a slave. Could someone be a slave to love? Bencul wasn’t right from before I’d known him. He’d strayed so far from the path of what it was to be an angel, that it seemed to have affected his mind somehow. Other angels took human lovers and created Nephilim, but from what I knew, the majority of them actually loved their human partners. Bencul hadn’t. Something had broken in him, and
turned him into this desperate being who had bewitched Harper, who had no identity outside Remiel anymore.
I didn’t want to blame it on Remiel’s “punishments”, because I truly think it was something inside Bencul that had long ago gone wrong.
The speech finally ended. It was a whole lot of rah-rah pep talk about taking their rightful place in Aaru, killing the deceitful angels who had betrayed them, and kicking out or enslaving the rest of them. Basically we were going to teleport into the seventh circle—which Remiel felt was the weakest—then take over. Once the seventh circle had been occupied, certain groups would expand out to push into the other regions. Speed was key. Remiel’s goal was to immediately take possession of two to three areas, then hunker down and fight his way into the others, taking as long as needed to oust the angels completely.
I wasn’t really paying much attention to the logistics, because I knew what was on the other side.
Done, Remiel marched down the steps, Bencul behind him and the rest of his household falling in, only to stop in front of me, open-mouthed.
“What…what…?” he sputtered, gesturing toward a giant furry paw sticking out from under a tire. Bencul glared at me, then his gaze traveled to the same paw. The angel blanched.
“Yeah, well, you know a panther-thing isn’t really the best mode of transportation for the powerful and impressive leader of our forces,” I told him. “I mean, no one rides a panther-thing anymore. The angels would just laugh at you. It’s not impressive. So outdated. So two million years ago. I brought something better.”
He looked at the SUV. “It’s a metal box. You’re telling me this is what the angels, the archangels, are riding on now? A metal box?”
“Oh yes. It’s a Suburban. All the powerful angels have one. You should see Michael driving, err flying around on top of his with his flaming sword and his wings outstretched. The other angels tremble before him. Fuck burning bushes and panther-things. If you’re going to make an impression when you conquer Aaru, you need an oversized, gas-guzzling sport-utility vehicle.”
