Darlings of New Midnight

by Andrea Speed

  Only then did Ceri wonder how conscious he had been when they spoke. “I’m Cerberus Morningstar, remember?”

  Logan seemed startled. “The Destroyer? You?”

  Ceri looked down at himself. In an attempt to blend in, he’d made his glamour shift to wearing clothes similar to Logan’s, only he made his T-shirt green so they didn’t look like they were wearing the exact same thing. “Yes. I told you that back in Hell.”

  “Back? This isn’t Hell?”

  “No, this is a motel room.”

  Logan looked around as if trying to find a flaw in the illusion surrounding them. “You’re in my head, right? This is a con.”

  “No. I escaped Hell and took you with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to be there anymore.”

  Logan squinched his forehead like he was having a hard time understanding this. Ceri chalked it up to trauma. Later he learned it was skepticism, but Ceri hadn’t encountered that a lot and didn’t know what it looked like.

  “Why take me?”

  “Because my father was going to kill you. I didn’t want him to kill you.”

  “Why not?”

  At this point, Ceri was wondering if Logan had suffered a brain injury. In retrospect, he realized Logan didn’t believe him. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I didn’t want him to kill you.” Why he didn’t tell Logan he was probably in love/lust with him was simple—he didn’t know he was. At the time, he thought it was a weird compulsion. Later, he figured it out.

  Logan was still eyeing him like he thought Ceri was lying to him. Because he was, of course, but Ceri was too naïve to realize that at the time. “You have to have more of a reason than that to disobey your father.”

  “I do? I don’t think so.”

  Logan canted his head, and he seemed to relax a little, or so said his body language. But not much. “How old are you?”

  “Hell time or earth time?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Yes. Hell has its own measure of time. I’m twenty-three by earth time, I believe. In Hell time, I’m… ten? Maybe. It sort of depends.”

  “But you’re twenty-three years old in human years? I’m not sure I understand the math.”

  “Demons can live up to five hundred years, unless you’re my father. He’s immortal.”

  Logan relaxed more at that. “Holy shit, you’re really just a kid, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not. I’m twenty-three. And in demon time, no one past the age of four is considered a kid.”

  “Have you ever been out of Hell before?”

  Ceri shook his head. “Well, I’m told I was born here, but I have no memory of that.”

  “Goddammit.” Logan ran his hands through his hair and then studied his hands as if they were different. Ceri realized belatedly they were; his father had broken several of his fingers. Ceri had healed them. “How am I not hurt?”

  “I healed you.”

  “You have the power to heal people?”

  He nodded. “So does my father, but he doesn’t use it much.”

  Much to his surprise, tears appeared in Logan’s eyes, but he seemed to blink them back as he hid his face in his hands. “Motherfucking son of a bitch. How does my life keep getting more complicated?”

  Ceri pondered the question but wasn’t sure how to answer it, so he didn’t. When Logan showed his face again, there were no tears. “How many days have I been gone?”

  “From Hell? It’s only been a couple hours your time.”

  “No, I mean the date. The last time I remember being on Earth was Sunday the eighteenth. What day is it today?”

  Had he seen the date? Yes, come to think of it, he had. There was a newspaper on the check-in desk. “Wednesday the twenty-eighth, I believe.”

  “I’ve been in Hell for ten days? It seemed like two! Okay, now I get what you mean about time running differently.” Logan moved to the edge of the bed, looking distraught. Again, this was something Ceri didn’t understand until much later, but Logan had been deeply concerned about his sister. “Is there a phone? I need a phone.”

  There was, as this motel had an actual landline phone still, but it was on the far side of the opposite nightstand, and Logan had to stand to get it. When he did, he hesitated and then sat back heavily on the bed, grabbing his head. “What the hell did you do to me?”

  “I just said. I healed you.”

  “Then why the hell did I almost black out?”

  Ceri was concerned then—had he gone overboard somewhere healing him? He started combing through his mind, trying to figure out what he had done, when Logan put a hand on his stomach and grimaced. “Wait—how would that time dilation affect my stomach?”

  “Uh… I don’t know. I don’t think it would have any effect, no more so than the rest of your body.”

  “Did I ever eat anything down in Hell?”

  Ceri almost laughed. “Oh no. Even if you were physically able to eat, which I’m pretty sure you weren’t since he broke your jaw, he wouldn’t have fed you.”

  Logan stared at him, and only when he spoke did Ceri know why. “So I haven’t eaten for ten days?”

  Oh shit. He hadn’t thought of that.

  So his first night on Earth was a complete learning experience. Not only did he realize humans needed food—he didn’t; he could absorb energy, and in fact consume souls if it came down to that, but he’d never willingly eaten one—but when the pizza guy showed up with food, Logan stopped him from imposing his will on him and paid him with the cash in his wallet, which he still had. Because who in Hell was going to steal money? There couldn’t be anything more useless there. Logan told him to save the will-imposing for the bosses, not the workers, which was a lesson he took to heart.

  Ceri also had his first bite of pizza and his first drink of soda that night. The pizza was good, but he instantly fell in love with the soda. Eventually he would figure out he absolutely loved sugar, but that took a little while for him.

  Logan inhaled most of one pizza and made a couple of phone calls to his sister, Gill, leaving increasingly alarmed messages for her. His last one was the saddest. “Dude, please—just call me back. I need to know you’re okay.”

  What both he and Logan hadn’t known was a series of unfortunate events had unfolded concurrently. Sunday night, while Logan was out at a bar drinking alone, he was beset by several demons. Logan had almost fought his way out of it, but then Lucifer showed up and Logan was doomed. Hurting Ceri’s father was difficult, and even if one were prepared for Lucifer, it wasn’t easy to get any kind of advantage on him. So Logan was kidnapped and taken down to Hell for torture and possibly leverage against Heaven.

  In the meantime, Gill realized Logan was missing and tried to find him. Eventually she pieced together that Lucifer had taken Logan, and she made several attempts to summon demons or find a way into Hell. Which Ceri knew was a nonstarter, but Gill quickly found that out herself.

  The problem was an angel had contacted Gill.

  This angel—they didn’t know his or her name—told Gill that she could retrieve Logan from Hell and make the world right if she agreed to die and be reborn as an angel. Then they could save Logan, remake him as an angel, and they’d survive the apocalypse together, on the right side of things. An eternity in Heaven didn’t sound so bad, did it?

  Logan had been sure Gill would see through the bullshit of that pitch and not fall for it. But some time before Ceri decided to leave Hell and take Logan with him, Gill agreed. She died and was reborn an angel.

  As all this drama unfolded, Ceri was with Logan. At first, it was because Ceri had to protect him from his father, which was in fact the case and became extremely apparent four days after their return to Earth. Although the sigils worked, they didn’t stop demons in random areas from spotting them, which was what happened, and Logan and Ceri were ambushed—a tragedy for the demons because they didn’t know how to handle Ceri.

  He was not godlike on Earth, technically. B
ut all Ceri had to do was let one of the demons grab him, and then he absorbed all trace of energy in their body. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as when they grabbed Godslayer, but it was dramatic enough. The demon went from living to dead in less than a blink. A fragment of a second. He didn’t even look different—he died with his eyes wide open. The demons who had been fighting Logan paused, looked between their now-dead comrade and Ceri, and Ceri told them, “If you don’t want to join him, leave now and don’t come back. Let it be known I’ll kill everyone who comes after us.”

  These demons were smarter, or at least had a better sense of self-preservation than the ones in Hell, because they ran so fast one would think it was their superpower.

  Logan seemed surprised too. He wiped the blood off his lip and asked, “Why are you helping me?”

  “I’m helping me,” Ceri told him honestly. “I’m not going to be my father’s weapon for anything, and I think my best chance of survival is sticking with you.”

  Logan scoffed. “Kid, you don’t need me to survive. You don’t need anyone to survive.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Logan looked at him like he didn’t understand—a look that Ceri would become accustomed to—but by then, Ceri was beginning to get how he felt about Logan.

  Logan was many contradictory things, Ceri learned as he got to know him better. He was tough and adaptable, pretended to be bulletproof, and had nearly crippling PTSD from a number of experiences, of which being tortured by Ceri’s dad was only the latest. He was painfully handsome and seemed to know it, but only in a halfhearted sort of way. His looks and charm could get him through the door, and he had weaponized them both, but that was the only way Logan really thought of his looks—as another weapon in his arsenal. Beyond that, they had no real meaning to him. He loved fiercely but assumed he didn’t deserve love because he was so damaged. Logan kept many secrets that he eventually gave up to Ceri. Like the fact that he had considered suicide several times and come awfully close to doing it. He usually found something to keep him alive, such as looking after Gill or his mother. He felt he had failed them both, since now they were dead. He struggled mightily with depression, but he kept going, putting one foot in front of the other. He thought of himself as tough, but was extremely kind. He didn’t trust people, but he still treated them well, unless they gave him cause not to. More than once, Ceri had seen Logan intervene on the behalf of someone getting pushed around, bullied, or beaten, even though there was no reason for him to do so. But stronger people picking on weaker people made him instantly furious.

  What Logan didn’t really get was that Ceri needed him to teach him how to be human. Ceri didn’t know how to do that. He grew up in Hell, and he knew how to be a demon—and even how to be a god—but a human? No clue. He’d gleaned a little from TV shows and movies, but they weren’t really great at teaching him what he needed to know. A couple of days with Logan and he felt he understood what being a human was about. Or at least being a good human.

  Logan would surely grimace and deny it, but it was true. Ceri was kind of relieved the man he gave up Hell for was a good one. It could have turned bad so fast.

  He wished he could help Logan with his Gill problem, but he couldn’t. Dying and being reborn an angel was pretty much the end of the line. There was no Undo button on that. If she died an angel, she wouldn’t come back as a human. She’d simply be a dead angel. Logan had been looking for something that could reverse it, asked Esme to look for a spell, but Ceri knew it was a lost cause. It was a shame, but even his dad didn’t have the power to reverse that. Logan wasn’t ready to let go of his sister yet, but he was going to have to eventually.

  HERE AND now, Ceri had nothing to do but stand at the doorway of a house he couldn’t enter and try not to think of the danger Logan might be in that he couldn’t protect him from. Not that Logan needed protection exactly; he was an excellent fighter, but he was still human. Yes, Ceri had given him Godslayer, but he was still nervous. Still, Logan had a hellhound, a harpy, and a mummy with him. He should be fine.

  Esme gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Logan will be fine. He’s always fine.”

  He gave her a wan smile. “He says he is, but you know he isn’t.”

  Esme shrugged. “He’s mortal and he’s still alive, in spite of all this Heaven and Hell nonsense. He’s a tough bastard. Normally I wouldn’t put money on a plain old mortal to survive this shit, but I’d put money on him. He manages somehow. I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse.”

  Yes, he knew Logan wasn’t sure about that one himself. The parties in the house were upstairs now, out of their limited view, and Ceri couldn’t help but worry. He was pretty sure Logan was the only person he had ever loved. He knew that because Logan was mortal, he would lose him someday, but he tried not to think about it. He certainly didn’t want to lose him anytime soon.

  A shift in energy rippled across Ceri’s back like a metaphysical wind, and as he turned, he warned Esme, “Company.”

  Ceri faced the now-trap-neutralized lawn as several well-armed demons suddenly appeared, along with a witch whose aura sizzled black and a higher demon that was one of his father’s lieutenants, Astaroth. Astaroth never bothered with a glamour around people, because he wanted them to fear him.

  His demon form was kind of startling. Because the higher demons were essentially a species apart from the lower demons, they looked immensely different. Whereas lower demons all looked vaguely lizardlike, Astaroth looked like the offspring of a goat and Bigfoot. He was seven feet tall and as broad as a refrigerator, standing on human legs that ended in thick black hooves. Everything from ankles to shoulders looked roughly human, save for the stringy black fur, but his head was basically a goat’s head, if slightly larger to fit his proportions. His horns were huge, black, and curved around like ram’s horns. They looked like they should be too heavy for him to hold up, but they weren’t. His eyes were a vivid, glowing yellow, and as always it was weird hearing a human voice emerging from a goat mouth. “If you want your human pets to live, nephew, give me the codex.”

  Unconsciously, Ceri started to reach for Godslayer but remembered he’d given it to Logan. No matter. He wasn’t called the Destroyer because of his sword. “You think any of your lackeys can fight me and live?”

  A spell came at them, but Esme rebuffed it easily. The witch with the deep-black aura was actually a warlock who wore more leather than was ideal for a day this warm. His aura alone said he’d sold his soul for extra power, and it was hardly a stretch to assume Astaroth was his patron. Why else was he here?

  Esme hadn’t sold her soul. She was simply the descendant of a long line of powerful witches, and she could pull power from ley lines if she had to, which was an exceedingly rare talent for any witch. Ceri was fairly certain there was a line close by. That didn’t bode well for the warlock.

  “Now, nephew, you know I don’t give a shit who you kill. But you know as well as I do that you can’t kill me. So give us the codex, and your friends live until the end of the world. Which is… what? Three days from now? I’ve never really gotten the hang of earth time.”

  Astaroth was supposedly immortal. But so were angels, and Ceri knew for a fact he’d killed those. So if Astaroth wanted to be this silly, fine.

  It was his funeral.

  “Leave now, or I will destroy you,” Ceri said. Pun slightly intended. Logan would have liked it.

  A large pink tongue lolled out of the side of Astaroth’s mouth in what for him was grotesque amusement. “I’d like to see you try, Junior.”

  Ceri glanced at Esme, who had her hands up in a protective casting mode and what Logan called her “game face”—a look of grim determination—on. She was going to kick ass and maybe feel a little bit bad about it later, but mostly she was annoyed. She gave him a slight nod, as if reading his mind.

  “Don’t say I never warned you,” Ceri said, calling up energy into his fist, “if you can speak when you’re dead.”

  Ceri hope
d Logan and Lynneia were doing okay. They were going to have to handle things on their own for a while.

  AHMED STOOD in front of a room four doors down from the stairway on the right. When they got there, he said, “I’m getting a lot of bad mojo from behind the bookcase. But it’s not a rollaway kind. If it’s a secret door, I have no idea how you open it.”

  The room was small and had no furniture in it whatsoever, save for that empty built-in bookshelf across the room. The floor was carpeted, and Logan considered that a bad sign. Nothing was on top of the rug, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something under the carpet. Too bad it wasn’t the kind one could check underneath. Logan admitted, “I’ve always wanted to find a secret bookcase door.”

  Lyn gave him enormous side-eye. “You know it’s probably a trap, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. I’m not an idiot. It’s still kind of cool, though.”

  Ahmed briefly turned into a pile of sand and then blew over to the bookcase, where he piled up and re-formed as a human. Admittedly, that was kind of cool too. “Maybe we should just punch a hole in it.”

  Lyn took the first step into the room. Logan followed warily. “I’m good with that,” she said.

  And suddenly they were no longer in a tiny room, but a large cave, where a humongous spider the size of a bus was running toward them. As an illusion spell, it was disorienting, but worse, Logan could see Lyn was here too. “What the hell? How did it get you too?”

  Lyn was looking around, confused. “Fuck if I know. It didn’t get Ahmed, did it?”

  “How could it? He’s made of sand.” Admittedly, trying to figure out the physics of Ahmed was relatively impossible—he seemed fleshlike, until he wasn’t, and how did he retain any sense of consciousness while a pile of sand?—but that’s the way it was with magic. And a curse was made via magic, so he was magic in all its messy contradictions. “Ahmed, me and Lyn just got hit with an illusion spell. If you could knock us out of it, we’d appreciate it.”