Mandy M. Roth - Magic Under Fire (Over a Dozen Tales of Urban Fantasy)

by Unknown

  But the fire had outrun her, sparks blowing past her to jump the road and spread across the hills in every direction. The final blow had come when one of the California live oaks that dotted the grounds crashed across the dirt road, effectively blocking any further progress. She couldn’t go back; the paths she had already climbed were now obscured by a swirling cloud of smoke and flame fed by vegetation that hadn’t seen rain in months.

  Now she stood in a bend of the road, every instinct screaming at her to run, even though she knew she had no place to go. She tore a strip off the bottom of her shirt and tied it over her nose and mouth.

  Just delaying the inevitable, she thought. Anyway, wouldn’t you rather die of smoke inhalation than be burned alive?

  Not the sort of question she’d ever thought she’d have to answer. Instead, she turned and eyed the hillside above her. She had no idea whether she’d even be able to scale the almost vertical incline, but maybe she could help herself along by grabbing some of the scrubby vegetation that grew there. It hadn’t caught fire yet — well, mostly. A few spots had begun to smolder, but anything was better than standing here and waiting for the fire to claim her.

  She began to reach for a manzanita bush, then stopped as a dark shadow passed overhead. Turning, she gazed upward and shielded her eyes as best she could from the thickening smoke and falling ash. Had someone spotted her and sent a helicopter rescue?

  But she heard no whir of swirling rotors. The shadow took on more solid form, resolving into something that should have been the stuff of nightmares.

  The shape seemed at home in the conflagration, the blowing clouds of haze and soot its natural habitat. Leathery wings beat against the super-heated air as he settled on the dirt road only a few feet away from her. But it was Sam’s dark eyes that looked down at her out of that alien face, and it was his voice that came to her now.

  “Care for a lift?”

  Surely the flood of relief that hit her was pure insanity, as was the bubble of laughter she felt rising in her throat. No sane person could actually be happy to see a demon striding toward her, arms outstretched.

  At the moment, however, Felicia was pretty sure she didn’t give a rat’s ass about sanity. “I’d love one.”

  He moved so quickly she couldn’t tell exactly what had happened. All she knew was that she’d been gathered into those muscled arms and clutched tightly against his bare chest, and wings that looked as if they’d been borrowed from a dragon pushed them up and away from the fire. Then they were soaring through the smoke. The Observatory, ghostly white, passed by beneath her feet.

  They headed north and west, leaving the fire behind them. It wasn’t until Sam came to ground in the shadow of the Hollywood sign that Felicia realized where they’d been heading.

  Sam set her down, very gently, in the dry grass behind the “W.” Her legs felt as if they’d turned to rubber, and she fell to her knees. At once he was there, reaching out to her. He stopped, clawed hand a few inches away from her elbow.

  She thought she understood his hesitation. While she might have welcomed his touch when it meant rescue from certain death, she guessed he might hesitate to help her now that they were safely away from the fire.

  Part of her wanted to scream in denial, to tell her she must be hallucinating the nightmarish being who stood so diffidently a scant arm’s length away. But no matter who or what he was, he had just saved her life.

  “Actually, I could use a hand,” she told him, and found it wasn’t a lie. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate.

  At once he grasped her by the elbow and steadied her as she climbed to her feet. He let go immediately once she was upright. Then she reached up to untie the grimy piece of shirt that shielded her mouth and nose.

  “Thank you,” she said. How pitifully inadequate. But she didn’t know what else to say.

  “So now you know,” he replied.

  His voice sounded the same, maybe a bit deeper. And those were definitely his black eyes looking down at her from the alien planes of his face. As she stared up at him, she saw something flicker in his expression. Dismay? Regret? Hard to say — his form was definitely humanoid, but his features couldn’t have been called human by any stretch of the imagination.

  She forced a smile. “Since when do demons play angel?”

  He remained impassive. “I couldn’t leave you where you were. Who else was there to help?”

  Who, indeed. She’d heard sirens off in this distance, but whether they could have reached her in time was debatable at best. Somehow she doubted simple expediency was his only motive, but demanding an explanation for his actions seemed a shabby reward. “Still, it was an amazing thing that you did.”

  Once more she saw that hint of disquiet in his eyes. “More than you know. Mortals are not supposed to see our true forms.”

  Her mind latched onto the most easily comprehensible part of his statement. “‘Our’?” she repeated. “So there are more of you?”

  “Many more.” He paused, then added, “You would never have seen me at all, if I hadn’t decided to approach you in my human guise. You are not a woman who need fear a demon.”

  At first she wasn’t sure what he meant. Realization came as she remembered that he’d referred to himself as a bounty hunter. “That’s why you’re here? To — to catch souls?”

  He nodded.

  Without even knowing exactly why she did so, she took a step toward him. He stood very still, the enormous bat-like wings folded close to his back.

  She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “Why?”

  Something like a shudder moved through his body. He reached out and took her hands in his oversized, leathery ones. His flesh felt hot against hers, as if his core temperature was far, far warmer than a human’s. Then he turned her hands palm up. Deliberately, he lifted her right hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the soot-covered palm, then did the same with her left.

  “That’s why,” he said, and immediately dropped both her hands and turned away.

  If she’d tried to move, her knees might have given way once more. Instead, she stood in place, her palms burning with the memory of those kisses.

  Back still to her, he spoke. “I must leave you now. It’s bad enough that you’ve seen me; I cannot risk anyone else doing the same. I could take on my human form again, but as my clothing is at least three miles from here, I think a human shape would cause its own set of problems. It’s something of a hike, but if you follow Mount Lee downward until you reach Mulholland Drive, you’ll get to civilization in less than an hour.”

  Somehow she found her voice. The words sounded pitiful even as she spoke them. “You’re leaving me here?”

  He did not move. “I must face the consequences of my actions.”

  That cryptic statement delivered, he spread his wings outward and took to the air. Warm winds swirled around him, and then he was gone. Felicia barely had time to notice how he immediately took refuge in the smoke cloud that had risen above the Hollywood Hills before he disappeared from sight altogether.

  For a few minutes she remained standing in the shadow of the sign, face still lifted to the sky. An ache started somewhere in the pit of her stomach, and she swallowed. Her throat and her eyes were too dry for tears.

  Hands clenched into fists to somehow contain the heat of the demon’s kisses, she began walking east, heading for the road that would lead her downward, back to the real world.

  NOTHING like a hot shower to clear your head. Samael wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the stall, then breathed deeply of the steam he’d just released into the bathroom. It was a welcome change from the dry, smoke-filled air he’d been breathing in the hills above Hollywood. The only thing that could have made the shower better would have been to have Felicia in it next to him.

  He gave himself a peremptory rubdown with the towel and then dropped it on the bathroom floor. After pausing in his bedroom to pull on some boxer briefs and sweat pants, he headed out to
the kitchen.

  For a condemned demon, he was feeling pretty damn good.

  Felicia was safe. As an added bonus, she hadn’t fainted or screamed or tried to run away the second he set her down on solid ground. True, she hadn’t thrown herself into his arms in gratitude, but neither had she flinched when he took her hands and kissed them. A demon had to take what he could get.

  Leaving her in the shadow of the Hollywood sign had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he knew she’d manage. The fire was still a good mile away from there, and he’d spotted emergency personnel fanning out to make sure the flames didn’t spread in that direction. He wished he could have taken her straight home, but while he could conceal himself, he did not have the ability to shield her from curious eyes. Leaving her to walk down from the sign had seemed the safest compromise.

  Now, he could only wait. He didn’t know for sure who Lucifer would send. Beelzebub, maybe — he’d always been a prudish little petty dictator. Samael had the feeling Beelzebub would definitely get his rocks off at being able to send his subordinate back down to the Pit. Do not pass Go, and all that.

  Well, it had been a good run. He wouldn’t complain. He’d had a night with Felicia, and he’d hold that memory close even when toiling in the darkest recesses of Hell.

  But he might as well have a beer while waiting for the inevitable.

  He’d just turned away from the refrigerator when golden light filled the living room. He frowned; the greater devils didn’t usually announce their appearance in that fashion.

  Uriel stared down at the empty pizza box on the coffee table with an expression of mild disapproval. “You demons are all the same — always fouling your own nests.”

  “I — what are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to congratulate you.”

  Nonplussed, Samael decided the best thing to do would be to take a large swallow of beer. Thus fortified, he replied, “Congratulate me?”

  “On doing the right thing.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “No, you don’t. But in this case, that’s a good thing.”

  Privately, Samael thought angels were all the same, too — they just loved to talk in circles. “There’s more beer in the fridge. We can have one together while I wait for Beelzebub to show up and give me a spanking.”

  “No need for that, actually,” Uriel said. He cast a stern glance at the bottle of Oktoberfest Samael held. “You truly don’t understand, do you?”

  Demons didn’t get headaches, but somehow Samael thought he was experiencing the beginnings of one. “What am I supposed to understand? I broke the cardinal rule. I’m going to get my pee-pee spanked. End of story.”

  “No, it’s just the start.” Angels didn’t sigh, but Uriel looked as if he wanted to. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  Samael shrugged, then pushed aside a discarded newspaper and took a seat on the couch. The archangel had been right about one thing — he’d really let the place go lately. Maybe he should think about getting a cleaning lady. On the other hand, there was a good chance he wouldn’t be topside long enough to require one.

  “Have you wondered why you had such a reaction to Felicia, when you’ve only known her for several days?”

  If Samael had had time to stop and think about it, maybe he would have wondered. Now that Uriel had asked the question, though, Samael realized he’d found himself drawn to her far more strongly than he had been to any of the other women he’d pursued over the centuries. He’d tried to downplay the attraction, both to Abigor and to himself, but he saw no point in denying it now.

  “Guess I’m just a sucker for redheads.”

  Uriel smiled thinly. “Good guess, but that’s not it. Simple enough, actually — your soul finally found its match in hers.”

  “Demons don’t have souls.”

  “Ah, the old lie. You should know better than to believe everything you hear, especially if it comes from Lucifer. What better way to keep demonkind trapped in eternal toil than to trick them into believing they have no souls, and therefore can never achieve salvation?”

  Samael glared across the cluttered coffee table at Uriel, who looked serene and perfect and very out of place on the black leather couch. He had the sudden incongruous notion that the archangel would have fared much better against the backdrop of Felicia’s airy, art-hung loft.

  “So you’re saying we’re soulmates?”

  “Such a simplistic term. Let us say, rather, that there are qualities in her soul which speak to yours — and vice versa. But let us say also that it is only in this here and now that your souls had the opportunity to meet. A million things could have happened differently, and your paths might never have crossed.” Uriel paused and tilted his head to one side. Pale hair swept against paler robes; here, in the privacy of Samael’s condo, the archangel hadn’t bothered with adopting human dress. He added, “Of course, His ways are inscrutable even to me, and since it was obviously His will that you and Felicia should encounter one another, it stands to reason you if you hadn’t met this past Friday night, then you would have met each other at some other time.”

  “So this was all predestined?” Samael asked. He found he didn’t like the thought of that very much.

  “You demons have that much in common with mankind…such an emphasis on free will. I am not here to debate philosophy with you. Rather, let me say that it pleases Him very much to have another soul freed from Hell’s dominion.”

  The words took a few seconds to sink in. “Another soul — what?”

  An expression of annoyance ruffled Uriel’s perfect features. “For an immortal, Samael, you can be remarkably obtuse. Let me draw you a diagram. In deciding to save Felicia no matter what the personal cost to you, you experienced a moment of true selflessness. Redemption required that you experience such abnegation of your own needs. Most demons never experience such a thing. But you did. You’re free. I was sent here to tell you the good news.”

  If it weren’t for the fact that he’d never experienced a moment’s sleep, Samael would have thought he was dreaming. There seemed no other explanation for what Uriel had just told him.

  “Free?” he asked. “So what exactly does that mean?”

  “Precisely what it’s supposed to mean. You’re free of your duties to Hell. You’re free of Hell, actually. This is you now — this human form of yours. You had an identity here already. Now it’s the simple truth.”

  Samael sat still for a moment, digesting that statement. He didn’t feel particularly different, but then again, he’d grown used to his human disguise and wore it more often than not. Why should it feel any different, when it was a body he’d grown accustomed to over the millennia?

  “I wouldn’t jump off any more balconies, if I were you,” Uriel went on. “You’re as human as the next man on the street. Perhaps still a bit stronger, a bit healthier. But mortal nonetheless.”

  “So I can die?”

  “Of course you can die. And will, one day, a very long time from now. But you have no reason to fear death. You have paid your debt.” The archangel stood. “Be at peace, Samael. One part of your journey has come to an end. But another is just beginning.”

  He leaned down and touched Samael on the shoulder. Warmth spread through the erstwhile demon, but this warmth soothed and comforted, instead of searing. That touch brought with it a memory of a time so long ago Samael had almost forgotten it existed, a time when all in Heaven and Earth was at peace.

  A time before Hell.

  “Love is the greatest gift of all, Samael. Go to her.”

  The warmth turned to a golden glow, and Uriel was gone. Samael remained sitting on the couch, a quiet within him he hadn’t experienced in uncounted millennia.

  The sensation of a peace lasted a whole fifteen seconds, until he focused on the archangel’s final direction to him. Go to her.

  Samael pushed himself up off the couch, and hoped grimly he could find a clean shirt somewhere in the condo.r />
  TRUST YOUR AGENT TO be the one person who’ll come pick you up in a strange coffee house in Los Feliz, no questions asked.

  Well, not too many questions. Felicia managed to dodge the pointed remarks on the stupidity of going to paint in the wilds of Griffith Park without a cell phone in hand and without telling anyone where she was going. Lauren was clearly less than thrilled with her, but since Felicia had come out no worse the wear — well, except for her shirt — her agent had let the matter drop.

  “Next time I’m calling Carrie,” Felicia murmured, as she shut the door behind Lauren with the excuse that she needed a hot shower ASAP. The main reason Felicia hadn’t called her sister was that Carrie had still been on shift at work. Lauren’s time, however, was her own. She also lived much closer.

  Felicia clicked on the local classical radio station and then made a beeline for the bathroom. Being around people had helped a little; nothing could slam you back into reality like having your agent chew you out for a serious error in judgment.

  Somehow, though, she could still feel the heat of Sam’s mouth on her hands, and the strength of his inhuman arms around her.

  The hot water beat against her head, raising a ghost-scent of ash from her hair. She shampooed not once, but twice, and then sat with conditioner on her head for a long while. Was she trying to wash off more than just the scent of the fire? She couldn’t even say. She only stood there until the water began to turn tepid, and then reluctantly rinsed off the last of the soap and the conditioner and got out of the shower.

  A pair of yoga pants and a tank top were enough; the loft still felt warm from the dregs of the afternoon’s heat. Smoke blurred the sky. Part of her wanted to turn on the news and see what has happening with the fire. But KUSC was playing a Mozart quartet, and the elegant, measured tones soothed her nerves the way a blaring newscast certainly wouldn’t.

  She had started across the living room to get a glass of water when a knock came at the door. Her heart seemed to skip, and she forced herself to take a breath.

  It’s only Rosa, she told herself. Or maybe that kid from the second floor who keeps trying to sell me candy or wrapping paper.