by Jenn Stark
“I was thinking you have a scent in your hair that shouldn’t be possible. One I haven’t experienced in…a long time,” Stefan murmured. There was no point in making a fuss over it.
“Because you healed me?” she asked.
He pursed his lips, rolling that idea around in his mind. It was as good a reason as any. “Probably.”
“Is it a good scent?”
He chuckled. “It’s a fantastic scent. It takes me back a bit.”
She lifted her head and regarded him curiously. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything from before that time—and don’t try to,” she added hastily. “I don’t want that to cause you pain.”
“It…” He frowned. Cressida was right, it should have hurt him to even consider the scent of starlight. “It doesn’t cause me pain, so it’s not from the, ah, time before. It must still have been around me during the change.” He didn’t push too hard, though his reticence had as much to do with his own self-preservation as with her entreaty. But there was no pain as he mentally poked at the edges of the lingering aroma. “It’s clean, and cold, and something else. The scent of possibility. As if the heavens have drawn in a breath and are holding it before whispering a new creation into being.”
“I like that,” she sighed, snuggling closer to him.
He did too. About as much as he liked the feel of Cressida Frain in his arms. He didn’t want to explore that truth too closely. He knew where those paths all led—to a brief and absolute goodbye, before anyone did anything—or said anything—they couldn’t take back.
He decided to move the conversation into safer territory. “What will you do once you defeat Ahriman?”
She glanced up at him again. “What do you mean?”
“What’s next after that? For the coven, for Earth. Surely you’ve turned the page after you’ve read ‘Ahriman is blasted back across the veil’ to see how the story ends.”
She was quiet such a long moment that he thought she’d fallen asleep. He’d had that effect on human women before, but only for the best of possible reasons. Then Cressida shifted, her head resting on his chest as she stared up toward the ceiling. She frowned, suddenly distracted. “You changed the lighting fixtures too?”
“You had terrible lighting in here,” Stefan said. “I don’t know how you could see well enough not to run into the furniture, except for oh, yeah, you had hardly any furniture.”
She snorted but didn’t allow herself to divert from the topic. “Ahriman has served as the focus for the Scepter Coven since our inception. He was the strongest demon to terrorize humankind, the endless adversary, the reminder that we’re not as powerful as we think we are, hidden in the shadows. Defeating Ahriman will remind all witches that we weren’t meant to stay in the shadows. We were meant to work together in the light, in a spirit of cooperation and lasting goodwill.”
“You can’t rely on that. I’ve lived among humans for a really long time. Goodwill that lasts beyond a few months is about as rare as a Fae sighting.”
“You’ve seen the Fae? I thought that was a myth.”
He snorted. “Live anywhere long enough and you’ll find that most myths prove out, one way or another.”
“Well, the goodwill of the covens isn’t a myth. It’s a blood oath, and it would be sworn to us were we to remove the threat of Ahriman. More to the point, however, it would shift the balance of power between the witches and the demons. We’ve always had control, but it’s been a control hard-won, fraught with danger and confined to sacred circles. With such a defeat, we could join together to find ways to hold back the horde that’s been dumped across our world.”
“Hold them back?”
She shrugged, the move a study in Stefan’s sensual awareness as her sleekly muscled shoulders shifted against his belly. “We no longer have the luxury to hide in our covens, picking and choosing which demons we wish to control. Ordinary humans are being affected with the resurgence of the horde, and Connected humans are at the greatest risk of all.”
Stefan’s brows lifted, though Cressida couldn’t see that. If she could, she’d be very impressed with his focus, he was certain. “How so?” he asked casually. It was one thing for witches to assert themselves against the demon horde. They had skills in that regard, and a certain birthright to their efforts. But they weren’t always the most sophisticated of Connecteds, he found. They tended to rely on their potions and ancient books, while many of the strongest Connecteds relied on drugs and nanotechnology, both enhanced by magic. It made for an uneven playing field, to say the least.
Her next words sent a stab of concern deep into his belly. “They believe they know enough through their science and technoceutical development to combat not only the most modern of assaults against their magic, but the most ancient,” she said simply. “They’re wrong. Demons don’t care how sophisticated a human is or how finely attuned their psychic skills. They care only to kill or to possess or to control. There’s no other option for them.”
“That’s certainly true,” Stefan said, his voice carefully neutral, though his heart spasmed with unnatural pain at her innocence. Demons didn’t have much use for humans other than as food, one way or another. Either they used them as mules to procure drugs or to feed other vices, or the humans themselves were the vice. Harming a child of God was an addiction all its own. Not all demons actively pursued it, but those that did couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop, really, until they were blasted to the other side of the veil.
Which was why an influx of the horde was such a dangerous thing. Up until now, the number of demons roaming the earth was fairly constrained. There was a pile of them, but it wasn’t like there were new ones immigrating in every day. Those that had slipped into this world at the dawn of humankind remained until they were routed out and only a scant handful found their way here to stay through the summons of the unwary. Witches weren’t counted among that latter group, not usually. They knew enough about their ancient enemies to keep their guard up.
But now, things were different. A knot of demons focused in a small area could do real damage, particularly to sensitive Connected. No one was prepared for a demon invasion. And, though there were some humans who were able to guard against such an invasion and even, in rare instances, fight back, only witches had the power to both summon demons and reroute them. Most witches called demons from the other side of the veil, so returning them to that location was merely the closure of the circuit. But witches also had the ability to summon demons who were already on this earth. Generally speaking, they returned them back to whatever bolt-hole they found them. But it didn’t have to be that way. Technically.
“Do you know how to return a demon to the other side of the veil when they didn’t originate there?” Stefan asked.
“Of course,” Cressida said. “Though most of the demons who answer our summons are from the other side of the veil. The grimoires were created using those names that hadn’t ever crossed over.”
“Really.” Stefan had never thought of it that way, but it did make a certain sort of sense. The ancient books had been written when the knowledge of demon kind was still fresh and the stories that had been handed down were from the dawn of recorded human history. At that point, there were far more demons on the other side of the veil than those roaming the Earth. In addition, the earthly demons weren’t in any hurry to reveal themselves. Not only did they not want to be the hired help of a witch, they didn’t want to be discovered by anyone, most especially not an angel of the Lord. Or, arguably worse, a member of the Syx.
But again, times had changed.
“Your ancient book may well call upon a demon who’s now living above a noodle shop, not in the ninth circle of hell,” he contemplated. “Have you made adjustments for that?”
“You may not have realized this, but there’s been precious little demon summoning going on for the past hundred years or so. It still happens, of course, but more as a pro forma, a learning exercise than t
rue witch-over-demon authority. That’s a problem. Even before this influx, demons were losing their place. Forgetting that the role of the witch was to control, not be controlled.”
“Well, speaking from personal experience, I can tell you the idea of being controlled by a human is less than palatable, particularly if you’re not on board with the whole ‘one of God’s children’ thing. By and large, you guys aren’t that smart. It chafes.”
Cressida rolled over to face him, weary amusement lighting her eyes. “Hey, now. You’re a demon. You don’t exactly have room to judge.”
“Look, we’re not the ones who invented Twinkies, is all I’m saying.”
“Uh-huh. And what is it you think the purpose of demons is, if not to serve?”
Her teasing words struck him more harshly than he was sure she intended. “There’s no reality on this plane or any other where it’s a purpose of demons to serve. You’ve found an avenue to yoke them to your will, and good for you for doing so. But don’t ever make the mistake of thinking they’re answering some sort of higher calling by doing your bidding. Demons exist to give a black pit of despair a face. That’s it. Nothing more.” Irritation raced through him, and he flinched away from her, his own self-loathing flaring hot and bright.
Cressida sensed the change in him, though she took its meaning wrong. “I’m sorry, Stefan,” she said hurriedly, peeling off him. “I meant you no disrespect—”
The word had barely dropped from her lips when Stefan was yanked out of one plane and into the next, with a speed and urgency that could only mean one thing: a summons from the archangel.
“What in the actual—” The wind was sucked out of him as he took form once more surrounded by mist. The archangel stood before him, pale and waxy in the smoky space. “Now what? I’ve been doing everything you asked of me!”
Michael regarded him with a smile that was little more than sneer. “You’ve done quite a bit more than I’ve asked of you, even you would admit.”
“Well then, I’ve been doing my job. What more can you possibly want?”
“You misunderstand my intervention,” Michael said. “I come not to reprimand you, but to warn you. I couldn’t do so in front of the witch.”
There was an edge to the archangel’s voice that Stefan hadn’t heard before, and he narrowed his eyes. “Before we get to that, what is the angels’ take on witches, exactly?” he asked. “It’s been too long since I walked among you guys to know, even if I could remember. You can’t be fans.”
“They’re God’s children as well, for all that they do not claim Him,” Michael said evenly.
“That’s maybe true, but it doesn’t answer the question.”
“And since when do you feel it is within your rights to demand anything of me? Even something as minor as an answer?”
“When you are about to demand something of me that isn’t technically within the letter of the Father’s law,” Stefan shot back. He could tell the instant he said it, his words were a direct hit. The Archangel wanted something above and beyond his pay grade, and Stefan was the one he’d chosen to deliver it. “And before you get all uptight, just spill it. No threats or warnings are needed. If I can do it, I’ll do it.”
The archangel regarded him a long moment. “Ahriman is ready. He won’t wait until the full moon to be summoned. He wishes to move now. He can too, with the breach the witches have opened to him. He will come and he will kill Cressida Frain without your help.”
Stefan blinked. “What?”
“There’s no other possible outcome. The grimoire of the Scepter Coven witches created this illusion that a demon needed to be a minor part of the equation, not the key element of the equation, but make no mistake. Without a demon of sufficient strength and cunning, Ahriman will remain on this earth, when by all rights, he should have been obliterated from it thousands of years ago. He has run strong in the darkness. He has grown more cunning with the turn of each millennia. When he defeats both a witch and a demon to maintain his power, he will set himself up as the true father of the demon horde.”
“I thought Satan had that position already sewn up.”
“Evil takes many faces, whatever is the most expedient,” Michael returned stonily. “When one grows too familiar, almost quaint, represented in popular fiction and media as a wily old uncle or rakish player, that face loses its power to inspire fear and horror. Even the Devil of the Arcana Council is no true Devil—he’s an archetype, a construct of magic with a specific goal and purpose. Ahriman isn’t here to be an archetype. He’s here to rend human souls.”
“Then why did God create him in the first place?” Stefan demanded. “He had the choice not to do that—humans don’t. They only have the choice to be eaten.”
Michael’s laugh was dark. “It’s not your place to question the ways of the Father,” he said. “Or to limit the reach of mortals placed in the greatest extremities of challenge.”
But Stefan wasn’t having any of that. “I’ve met a lot of mortals. They could do without the extremities of challenge. Most of them are simply trying to get through this life without coming apart at the seams—they’ve got enough to manage without the be-all, end-all of evil showing up to crash the party.”
“Then it would appear that you have your work cut out for you.”
“I’m not the strongest of the Syx—you know that.”
“You’re not,” Michael agreed, with a candor that would have stung Stefan to the quick as a Fallen, when the world was a picnic blanket of bounty laid out for him to sample. Now it merely made him tired. “What you are is much more important, though. As you’ll eventually learn by touch and taste and sight—and pain.”
“I have zero time for riddles right now,” Stefan snapped. “How do I take out Ahriman?”
“He has already begun his approach, thanks to the Scepter Coven’s actions. Belessunu has paved his way, and other demons of great strength are taking note. They know the importance of this summons.”
Stefan’s eyes flew wide. “Belessunu! That’s who that was? She’s still alive?”
“Despite your puny efforts to destroy her during the revolt of Babylon, yes. And her memory is long. I recommend you return to help Cressida take up the battle before Ahriman catches her completely unawares.”
“So all this has been the mother of all setups? You just decided now was the time to take out Ahriman and that Cressida was the one to do it, so you put that whisper in her ear when she was still a kid?”
“Not exactly, though she is better positioned than most to finish the job. However, Cressida isn’t the first Scepter Coven witch to take on the challenge, as you yourself have attempted to point out to her—breaking the rules of your incarceration, I might add.”
“It was right there, man,” Stefan muttered, waving Michael off. “She would’ve figured it out eventually. I thought maybe she should do it when it still mattered.”
Michael nodded, apparently willing to let this infraction go. “There have been one hundred and twenty-seven witches since the Scepter Coven’s inception who have made the attempt, and one hundred and twenty-seven who have failed. She is the one hundred and twenty-eighth. She will be the last, one way or another.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we are running out of time,” the archangel said, and Stefan had never heard him sound so weary. “A reckoning is coming for the children of God. There are a million and one potential outcomes of that reckoning, but with Ahriman as part of the equation, the odds for any success at all among the human ranks decrease dramatically. He has remained in the shadows, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t watched and learned, much as the witches of the Scepter Coven have watched and learned. When he emerges, as he is emerging now, it’s only because he feels his strength and his quarry are sufficient to grant him the glory he needs.”
Michael turned more fully to Stefan. “There are many threats to God’s children, creatures who have the ability to
destroy that which the Father spun to life from His own hand and heart. They’ve survived by lurking in the darkness. The strongest of them have the sense to stay in that darkness, no matter the temptation presented. This one, we’ve goaded into the light.”
“We, or you?” Stefan narrowed his eyes. “How and why exactly did so many of the horde make landfall all those weeks ago anyway? Did you have anything to do with that?”
Michael stared at him impassively, and Stefan shook his head. “Fine, fine. It doesn’t matter. They’re here, and Ahriman has decided he wants to party, which means he’s officially sticking his head out of his hole far enough that we can lop it off. So you want me to get that job done.”
“By any means possible, regardless of the damage to those surrounding you. Even if, especially if, it is Cressida Frain who must fall.”
Stefan felt the stab to his gut, but kept his face carefully neutral. He’d been a demon for six thousand years. In the end, no human survived their brief and tumultuous time on Earth. They were always destined to return to the Father…some sooner than others.
He just needed to keep reminding himself of that.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cressida flinched back as Stefan shuddered hard, his face somehow completely different from the demon she’d been staring at a second before.
“We have to go back,” he said abruptly, then lifted a hand when she would have spoken. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t offend me, I promise. I just needed a second to regroup and, ah, remember what was important here.”
“What’s important,” Cressida managed, but then hissed in a quick breath as he gathered up her hands. His fingers were practically on fire, and when she stared down at their joined grasp, she could almost see the vestiges of that flame sparking up. “The fire is growing within me every time we touch. I don’t know how well I can control it.”