by Andrea Speed
Lyn smiled at her. It lit up her hazel eyes and reminded Esme that her girlfriend, while also being a badass harpy, was a thrill seeker. Little could hurt her permanently or kill her, so she was always out there doing crazy shit. Storming Heaven certainly qualified in that department. “Yeah, but they’re great stories.”
“I don’t like going into a fight without a plan,” Logan said. Which was a fair point. Yes, it was human thinking, but he was traditionally the weakest of their group, accomplished demon fighter or not. He had to think in terms of strategy, to maximize the odds he’d live through the encounter. He must have forgotten he really didn’t need to anymore. Helldragon.
Ceri reached over and rubbed Logan’s upper arm. Yep, you could tell who the couples were at the table. “We have a plan—it’s just very loose. Besides, you really shouldn’t worry that much. You have the Scourge now, remember?”
Logan looked at the tattoo on his arm like he’d forgotten it. “Oh yeah. It kills angels too, right?”
“It’s not called the Scourge for its sparkling personality,” Ceri replied, giving him a smile so he didn’t take it the wrong way.
“Am I sitting this one out?” Ahmed asked. “I can only harm someone with a physical body. They’re energy beings solely in Heaven, correct?”
Ceri grimaced. “Well, if I understand it properly, it’s kind of optional.”
Ahmed raised an eyebrow at that. “What is optional?”
“Whether to retain physicality or not,” Ceri said. He’d managed to snag a small chunk of tofu in his chopsticks, which impressed the hell out of Esme. “So you could hurt some of them, assuming they kept a form.”
“Hmm.” Ahmed almost looked pleased, but with him it was hard to say. He wasn’t very emotionally expressive, or his sand physiology didn’t allow him to be. “Well, I’ve never seen Heaven, and this is probably my only chance to do so, so why not?”
“We need to do this as soon as possible,” Alex said. “We can’t give them a chance to anticipate or regroup. We have to strike now.”
“Why? There’s nothing they could do to stop Cthylor, is there?” Esme asked. Why was Alex so invested in doing this now?
“Of course not, but you never give an opponent a break in a fight. You go for the throat, or why are you even fighting in the first place?”
Lyn nodded, agreeing with the point, but Esme hadn’t expected such a sentiment from the wee gender-fluid person sitting at the opposite end of the table. Being the messenger of an eldritch god seemed so at odds with the outer package. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Cthylor wouldn’t choose a goth or an incel creep; they’d go with the most harmless person they could find. The eldritch gods seemed to be real fans of irony. Sure, they were going to burn the world to cinders, but no one said they couldn’t have fun doing it.
“Well, creepy,” Logan said, putting down his now-empty cup of tea. She was surprised he wasn’t hitting the sake harder, but it was an acquired taste. Also the grizzled, slightly paranoid borderline alcoholic she’d met months ago had slowly been transforming. His relationship with Ceri had done him a fuckton of good, although she was hesitant to say that, because he was one of Lyn’s exes, and while she wasn’t threatened by him, she really didn’t want to like him. But Logan was a tragedy writ large, a human who could barely function in the human world anymore because his entire life had been all about fighting demons and angels. He didn’t know how to exist outside the monster world; he was, in many ways, a freak without a country, belonging neither to humans or monsters. Except now he did; he was one of the many freaks who made up their over-powered and yet somehow still-doomed troupe. Ceri had opened Logan up in many ways. He seemed more relaxed now, more focused, and less haunted by the demons of a really fucked-up childhood. In fact, everyone here had a fucked-up childhood, didn’t they? Except Lyn. Even growing up in an all-female “rookery” of harpies, she had nothing but happy childhood memories. Of learning to fly over cliffs overlooking the Adriatic and learning to fight in many games and tournaments. It seemed like living with the harpies was an ideal most people should shoot for. Too bad outsiders were generally killed. “But correct,” Logan finished his comment. “If we’re not all about this fight, we shouldn’t be in it.”
They all turned to Ceri, who sighed and looked into his teacup as he considered. No one ever named him leader of the group, but by virtue of being Satan’s son, he was. Esme almost resented that at times, mainly because they were both god destroyers, but she got past it. Besides, Alex was now lucky world destroyer number three. Who knew there were so many mystical tactical nukes in the world? “As long as everyone’s in agreement, we can go. But we do need to establish some ground rules before we go in.”
“Such as…?” Lyn wondered.
“We stay together. I think the angels will assume getting us separated is the best way to defeat us, so we should stick together. If we get separated, we have to rejoin one another as soon as possible. We’re great, but they can overwhelm us with numbers.”
“Not for long they can’t,” Alex said, as always, smiling. Esme wished she could be that anxiety-free—and she was an all-powerful witch! Some people had all the luck.
Logan sighed, sagging back in his chair. “Can you cause a natural disaster in Heaven?”
Alex’s smile seemed to grow even wider, which was surely a violation of physics. “More like an unnatural disaster. But yes.”
Esme expected Logan to make another comment, but he decided to refrain for once, although he looked puzzled. She understood that. What was an unnatural disaster exactly?
Logan suddenly sat forward, shoulders tense with anxiety. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but if you encounter my sister, can you leave her for me? I mean, I get if she attacks you, you gotta defend yourself. But in all other cases?”
“We make no promises about angels,” Alex said. The sudden use of the collective “we” was a little disturbing.
“Hon…,” Ceri said in a way that suggested there was some history about Logan’s sister. Hard to imagine there wasn’t.
“I know becoming an angel wipes out the human, but there’s still a bit of her in there, and I think I can reach it. At least give me a chance.”
Esme felt bad for him, even though he really needed to let go of the fantasy that his sister could be saved. Angels were insidious, and there was no way to undo becoming one. “What does she look like?” she asked.
Logan dug out his wallet and quickly searched it before pulling out a small photo. Esme had no idea anyone had physical photos anymore, and the fact that he carried a picture of his dead sister with him was super sad.
Gill and Logan did not look alike but were both extremely attractive—was that the angel blood?—in completely different ways. While Logan was honestly so handsome she could see why some people liked men, Gill’s beauty was of a more subtle variety, more of an innocent, girl-next-door vibe. Logan reeked of danger and sex; Gill looked like safety and cuddles. Gill’s hair was light brown and naturally wavy, where Logan’s hair was straight and dark brown, shading to black. Gill had a friendlier, more open face, whereas Logan’s was chiseled marble, handsome and cold. Gill’s eyes were baby blue, whereas Logan’s were deep green. They appeared to be mirror reflections of each other, with Logan representing physical, dark earth and Gill representing ethereal, weightless air. Which made it extra funny—or terrible?—that Gill was the angel and Logan was the one left behind.
“This is her when she was a human,” Logan said. “I’m gonna assume she’s kept the same look.”
Lyn, the only one at the table who had met Gill while she was human, glanced at it and shook her head. “I should have known on sight you two had angel blood. The both of you are ridiculously good-looking.”
Logan shrugged as he put the photo back in his wallet. “Our mother was pretty, if that means anything.”
“I’d think the angel blood would be so diluted in the line that the mother’s genes would have more influence on the
m than anything else,” Ahmed said.
Esme noticed that Ceri and Logan shared a quick, knowing glance before Logan looked away and shrugged. “Guess so.” What had that been about?
“If anyone needs any protective amulets or charms, we have some that might work for a bit against angels,” Ceri said.
“I can cast a spell on us that will give temporary protection,” Esme offered. “But it will be temporary. Celestial energy cuts through most things.”
“I won’t need any,” Alex said. Yes, they all knew that. Why else had Esme said “most”? Until Cthylor came along, angels had been at the top of the power food chain.
Holy shit—angels had been replaced as top of the food chain. Once they figured this out, it would be full-on panic time. She better get some combat spells ready beforehand, because something told Esme the angels weren’t going to take this lying down.
But throwing a huge fit was about all they could do. They couldn’t win the fight, but they were going to make it as unpleasant as possible.
Too bad. She might have felt an ounce of pity for them if they all weren’t such horrible assholes.
LOGAN COULDN’T help it—he was so nervous it was like his whole body was vibrating to the pounding of his heart. Could he kill Gill if he had to?
During dreamscapes was different. He could go full chainsaw massacre on her and not feel bad because he knew he wasn’t actually hurting her. This wasn’t the same. He’d be in Heaven, and if Gill had a physical form, he could make her bleed. The Scourge could kill her regardless of form. Logan liked to think he was angry enough at his sister—former sister—that he could kill her. But in all honesty… he’d basically raised the fucker, tried to spare her the worst of their mother’s screwed-up behavior. There were times he’d wanted to kill her, and yet he hadn’t really wanted to, as tempting as it was. They’d been through so much together. Was this really the end of it?
He and Ceri sat in their quiet bedroom, enjoying the relative silence, and Logan couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last. No, he couldn’t think like that. You had to believe you were going to win or you’d beat yourself before you started. Despite the fact that he never really experienced things like jet lag when Ceri teleported them places, he felt a bit off since they returned from Tokyo. No, it wasn’t the sake, but it probably hadn’t helped.
Ceri touched the back of his neck, his fingers delicately massaging his nape. Logan closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. “If you want to sit this one out—”
“You know I can’t.”
“I know. But Gill made her choice, as you have made yours. Respect it, even if you hate it.”
Logan looked up at him. He hadn’t activated his glamour, so he had his bifurcated face on. It should have been startling, but it never was. This seemed like the most pure expression of him. “Is this your way of saying I may have to kill her, so suck it up?”
“No, this is my way of saying that whatever happens, guilt doesn’t fall on you.”
Logan was touched, although he didn’t completely agree. The fact that Gill chose the angels made him feel like he had failed her in some fundamental way, and the facts in the case didn’t matter. He had left Gill alone to battle the demons and angels, and that was all on him. Well, partially on him and partially on Lucifer, the bastard who kidnapped him.
Ceri kissed his forehead. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?”
“I am, it’s just… I think I’m gonna need a few years before the guilt fades.”
Ceri shook his head and gave his neck a last caress before stepping back. “How about I give you Godslayer?”
Logan sighed as he sat forward, trying to steel himself. He should come to terms with the fact that he was never going to be ready to face Gill, but he couldn’t. Was he in denial about his denial? It was almost comical. Sad but really funny too, in a pathetic sort of way. “Absolutely not. I have the Scourge. Everybody has to have at least one weapon, and that’s yours.”
He rose to his feet, feeling his age a bit, and found Ceri smiling at him. “You’re just taking one weapon? Since when?”
“Since my others won’t work on angels.”
Ceri went to the footlocker at the end of their bed and popped it open. He hadn’t even looked for a full minute before he pulled out a weapon sheathed in a black leather harness. It had warding symbols written on it to block anyone who was trying to search for it through mystical or equivalent means. Despite that, outside of the warded trunk, it seemed to have a strangely heavy energy to it, and gave you a taste in your mouth like rust. “Then take the blade of Alastor.”
Logan stared at him, not so much in disbelief but surprise. “I thought we were saving that for a last resort.”
“Unless we can convince Alex—and beyond them, Cthylor—that moderation is warranted, we may be taking part in the final fall of Heaven. If we can’t use it now, when?”
He had a point. Still, Logan reached for it with great reluctance. This was another Hell-forged blade. Not as powerful or as instantly lethal as Godslayer but perhaps worse in its own way, especially for angels. The blade was cursed. Anyone stabbed with it took a one-way rocket ride to Hell. According to Ceri, angels weren’t immune to it. If he wanted to send an angel unprepared into the arms of their greatest enemies, this was exactly how to do it. It wouldn’t kill them… right away. But it was probably worse than death.
As soon as Logan touched the sigil-embellished leather sheath, he could feel the supernatural heaviness of it. It had a gravitas that was unnatural. It wasn’t like Godslayer, but it was definitely within the same family. “Now I feel over-powered.”
Ceri smiled faintly at his weak joke. “Stick close to me, okay? The angels will know how I feel about you. They may single you out.”
That and they had Gill. They could still use her against him whenever they wanted, and undoubtedly they would. Just like Alastor’s blade—if not now, when? Logan simply nodded.
Logan tied the knife sheath to his right upper thigh, and he would swear it was giving off a very low-level warmth, like a smoldering coal. Not painful but noticeable. After, he and Ceri shared a kiss, and a long moment where they simply rested their foreheads together and embraced like they were about to jump off a cliff in tandem, which they kind of were. Declaring a war on Heaven and taking it right to their doorstep wasn’t something someone who wanted to live forever—or even for the next ten minutes—did. They were fucking insane. But hey, at least they weren’t alone.
And of course, they had a secret weapon that wasn’t so secret. They came out of the bedroom and into their living room, where the rest of their misfit team waited. Ahmed stood stock-still, dressed in a blue-and-gray plaid suit that seemed almost understated for him, while Esme and Lyn sat together on the couch, holding hands like they were preparing for the same cliff dive. Alex was sitting on the other end of the couch, posture perfect, hands on knees, smiling at nothing and still wearing those awesome yellow boots. The most adorable weapon of mass destruction ever.
Esme stood up with a sigh, finally letting go of Lyn’s hand. “Okay. So, I’m gonna hit us with the biggest protection spell I have, but keep in mind, it’ll be lucky to last a minute. So empty the clip once you’re through the door. If ever there’s an actual time for stupid sports clichés, go big or go home applies here. Although really, it’s more go big or get dead. And I have these cursed charms that should reunite us should we get separated.”
She started tossing them to people, save for Lyn, who was already wearing hers. The one Logan caught looked like a tiny starburst, something you might find hanging off a charm bracelet. He slipped it into his pocket.
The charm Esme tossed at Alex landed in their lap, and they looked at it a moment before putting it on the coffee table. “Thanks, but I don’t need this.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the thought that counts,” she said with a small sigh.
Logan watched Ahmed put his charm in a pocket that suddenly formed on the front of hi
s vest and then sealed up and disappeared again. Logan thought that was actually pretty handy. He would like the ability to randomly create and dismiss pockets. That hardly qualified as a superpower, but it would be useful.
“You’re going to need an anchor,” Ceri said, addressing the room. “Something that will help keep you tied to your reality while the world around you is going crazy. Most humans find pain an adequate anchor, but if you’d like something a little less traumatic, a resonant memory or a song can work as well. Just remember, your eyes and ears will deceive you. Neither Heaven nor Hell can be completely trusted.”
“No one can be trusted,” Ahmed said. “All you can trust in is physics, and even that may abandon you from time to time.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sunshine,” Esme said, rolling her eyes at Ahmed’s unabashed cynicism.
“Cthylor can help you if you need help,” Alex chimed in. “No angel tricks will work on her.”
“And she’d help us?” Lyn asked. Her voice was frosty with skepticism.
“If I ask her to.”
That wasn’t hard to believe, but it wasn’t comforting at all. In fact, Logan recalled feeling Cthylor’s approach and shuddered. “Isn’t that a way of imposing fear? Even her shadow is ridiculously terrifying.”
Alex shrugged. “Not to me.”
“Okay, let’s consider that a last resort,” Ceri said. “If you’re really in the weeds, call out to Cthylor. But know what you’re in for.”
“Almost paralyzing fear,” Logan said. “It feels like swallowing half your body weight in liquid nitrogen.”
“Again, last resort,” Ceri reiterated.
“Just say fhtagn,” Alex continued.
Everyone, save for Alex, shared glances that ranged from mild alarm to general consternation. “Was that a word?” Logan asked.
“It was,” Ahmed—of all beings—said. “It’s Cthulhu language. They all sound like they’re coughing up hairballs.”
“It’s an approximation of the noises people make upon seeing them,” Alex said. “Before they die. Or while dying. I’m not really sure which.”
