Queen of the Damned

by Debra Dunbar

  He laughed. “Every fight is my fight. No, I don’t want to stay in Aaru. That place is horrible. I feel like it’s trying to kill me, like it’s trying to corrode the flesh right off of me and let my spirit-self shred to oblivion. I’m positive if I stay there more than a day or two, I’d be dead.”

  It was something the other Lows and demons who had fought with me there had mentioned. It made me wonder. I’d been terrified the first time I’d been dragged up there to be thrown into a jail naked and restrained, without my physical form or the means to create one. I’d expected to die every second of that punishment, but hadn’t. Were the demons feeling that same irrational fear, as beings who’d been born and lived their lives only experiencing corporeal form, in a world where to live as a being of spirit spelled death? Or had our devolution drifted us so far from the Angels of Chaos we once were that we couldn’t live as beings of spirit any longer?

  I’d survived, but if Hammer, or Snip, or even Dar were to go to Aaru and shed their form, would they? Or as they feared, would they die?

  “Then why go?” I asked. “Why risk your life fighting for a cause you don’t give a shit about in a place you hate?”

  “Wings, baby.” Hammer wiggled his sparse eyebrows. “I got a collection going, if you haven’t noticed.”

  We’d reached my house, and headed in the door when something struck me. I laughed.

  “I guarantee you that if you go to battle with the Ancients in this campaign you won’t score any more angel wings. None. Zippo. You’re coming back empty-handed, if you come back at all.”

  He scowled. “Are you doubting my abilities? Have you seen the beautiful trophies I have on my wall? I will kill angels, and I will bring back at least three, maybe four, sets of wings.”

  I rolled my eyes. Clearly there was no changing this guy’s mind. I’d totally struck out today.

  Hammer left and I went inside, wondering what I should do now. I had to get back to the other side of the gates for Gregory’s party, but I didn’t want to give up on this. Maybe I couldn’t convince Asmodiel or Hammer, but some of the Ancients might be swayed. Doriel was on the fence, and both Harkel and Tasma weren’t interested in the battle for Aaru.

  But would it matter? Five Ancients marching on Hel versus three hundred Ancients… No, it wouldn’t matter. They’d arrive, find it empty, set up house and call all their buddies in Hel to join them. Why bother to make the effort when just one Ancient entering heaven would blow the whole thing? The angels we’d been keeping this from would now know about their banishment, the Ancients would gleefully have their revenge. It would be a complete turn of the wheel of fortune.

  Everyone would hate me. Well, not the Ancients and the demons. They’d probably love me, although they might not be thrilled that they didn’t get to kick ass and take wings in the easiest battle they’d ever not-fought. The angels would hate me. Thousands would be calling for my death. My household wouldn’t be safe. Nyalla wouldn’t be safe. I’d need to retreat to Hel with everyone I loved, sneaking out occasionally to see Gregory when I could.

  It sucked, but there was nothing I could do to change it. Nothing.

  My doorbell shrieked, and in the silence that followed I heard something that sounded like a rock being thrown against my door. I walked over, thinking that maybe Hammer forgot something, or wanted to borrow a chicken wand for the upcoming battle.

  It wasn’t Hammer. There standing in front of my door, just on the outside of the magical wards, was Lash.

  “Change your mind?” It was gratifying to think that I may have won out over oatmeal and Legos.

  “No, I’m very happy where I am, Mistress. I’m a good little Low, and Mister Tasma loves me.”

  That sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself, but I let it pass. If Lash came back, I’d welcome him. It needed to be his choice, though.

  “So is this just a visit? I’m the only one here, so I don’t have much in the way of food or drink.”

  “Mister Tasma would like to see you,” Lash told me. “I need to hurry back, because he worries about us when we leave the house. That’s why we always stay, because nobody wants to worry Mister Tasma and make him sad. But he needs to see you, and since I know where your houses are and can still get by the gate guardian if I need to, I volunteered.” Lash puffed out his chest. “And that makes me an especially good boy.”

  Blech. I wanted to see Tasma again about as much as I wanted a hole in the head, but I figured if he was sending Lash to track me down, it must be important.

  “Lead the way,” I instructed, even though I obviously knew how to get to Tasma’s house.

  I passed through his security system and by two demons and a dwarf who were sifting through a pile of burned wooden blocks. Lash led me to a room just off the front hall with lots of pink furry pillows and a bunch of tiaras next to a bowl of potpourri on an end table. The Low left me alone to go summon his Master and I plopped down among the furry pillows, sticking a tiara on my head just for the fun of it.

  I knew something was wrong when Tasma didn’t mention my appropriation of the tiara. He straightened his sweater and lowered himself gracefully into a chair.

  “We have a problem,” he began.

  “Did all your Lows wake up from whatever drug you were feeding them and run off? Are they on a hunger strike from healthy vegetables and high fiber, whole wheat bread? Are they refusing to go to bed on time?”

  He scowled. “No. There is an angel in Hel.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. It’s me. Wings and all, baby.”

  “Not you, a real angel. An Angel of Order.”

  For a hot second I wondered if there had been an emergency, a tragedy horrible enough for Gregory to break his vow and the treaty and venture into Hel. Was it Nyalla? One of his siblings? Did the elves break loose from Elf Island and take over the planet?

  Nah.

  I laughed. “Is it Pristal? Sometimes he does these feathered wings as a joke. He flies around and scares the fuck out of everyone.”

  “No, a real angel. It seems one of them wound up in Hel, and fell into the hands of an Ancient. I’m assuming he was Fallen, that the angelic host banished him to Hel, although they must have known it would be a death sentence for an Angel of Order to show up here. He would have been killed if an Ancient hadn’t scooped him up and decided to keep him for his own.”

  Shit. Shit, fuck, damn. There was an angel, one I’d thrown through the gates to Hel myself.

  But it didn’t matter. He was dead. Either dead or some tortured slave in the hands of an Ancient. Bencul had tried to kill people I loved. He’d entranced a human woman, impregnated her, and had every intention of taking her Nephilim away from her to hide away in safety once the baby was born. He’d used Harper as a brood mare, and would have happily killed her once she’d had the baby.

  The angels had their ways of punishing one of their own, well so did I. Maybe I’d eventually break Bencul out of this Ancient’s dungeon. Or maybe not.

  “How did you find out about this?” I demanded. I’d thrown Bencul into Hel last year sometime as far as I could remember. Why was this just now coming to light?

  “The Ancient that has him asked a favor of me.”

  Could the dude possibly be any more vague? “And…? You saw the angel strung up in a dungeon while you were visiting? The Ancient trotted him out to show off?” Crap. Another idea occurred to me. “Or the Ancient’s angel has something to do with the favor he’s asked of you?”

  “The latter.” Tasma shook his head. “The favor I am performing is of the utmost secrecy, so I cannot reveal it to you, but I never vowed I would keep the presence of this angel in Hel a secret. And as the Iblis, you need to be aware of his presence.”

  “Okay. Thanks for the heads-up. I’m now aware. But why is it important that I know some Ancient has an angel to torture?” I asked.

  “It affects this Ancient’s status, that’s why. We Ancients were angels once, and we’ve had millions of years to nur
se our grudge and let our thoughts of revenge fester. The majority of us want to take Aaru back, to kick the angels out. We want the archangels turned into four piles of sand. And although taking back Aaru is not something I want any longer, every single one of us would love to have a whole choir full of angels in our dungeons to torment. One of them got his wish. For some reason, he’s been hiding the fact that he has an angel as his own private prisoner, but it’s about to come to light, and when that happens, the other Ancients will rush to follow that one’s lead. The squabbles over who is in charge will be over. Asmodiel will step aside, and this Ancient will take charge. And he plans to make an attack on Aaru within the next few days.”

  Fuck. Double Fuck. This was all moving too fast, and was just as unstoppable as a runaway train.

  “Who is this leader?” I demanded. “Who is the Ancient that scooped up Bencul and stuck him in his dungeon?”

  Please don’t say Samael. Please don’t say Samael. I didn’t know what was worse, Gregory’s brother being dead and lost to him forever, or his brother torturing an angel and preparing to lead an army to Aaru. Would it happen all over again, the war, the fighting between brothers, the anger and eventual banishment? Would this time someone die?

  I’d rather Samael be dead than have my beloved go through that again, to dredge up all that hate and pain. I’d hoped for some wonderful reconciliation, but if I couldn’t have that, then I wanted Samael to be long dead.

  Tasma shot me a smug look. “The Ancient’s name is Remiel.”

  I nearly fell over with relief. “Who the fuck is Remiel? Never heard of him.”

  No wait, I had heard of him. He was one of the top six potential leaders of this army of Ancients, and he’d made the cut to top four. But beyond that, I knew nothing about him.

  “He was the angel in charge of purging sin and purifying angels who had strayed from the path.”

  I blinked at the demon, trying to figure out what the fuck he was talking about.

  “Basically, a prison warden,” he clarified. “Angels have very strict rules and when one of them broke the rules, Remiel would rehabilitate them. We don’t really have rules here in Hel aside from a few basic ones, and rule-breakers generally forfeit their lives unless the injured party has something more creative in mind than just killing them.”

  I thought of the whole “naked and restrained” punishment I’d been sentenced to for my tardy four-nine-five reports and shuddered. “So Remiel was the creative type.”

  “And I’m sure he still is. When he was in Aaru, he was less about punishment and more about putting an angel on the right path, getting them to repent and correct their ways and be upstanding members of the angelic host and all that shit.”

  “But now he’s Fallen; he’s an Ancient.”

  Tasma nodded. “He’s been banished, and all of us Ancients…well, after millions of years, we’re not quite right anymore, myself included. I’m glad he’s been asleep for most of our time in Hel, because he’s not an Ancient I’d like to encounter on a daily, or even yearly, basis.”

  I thought about Ahriman and caught my breath. There were a few exceptions—a few Ancients who had somehow managed to keep their sanity. Harkel was one. Ahriman wasn’t. Tasma most definitely wasn’t. And it sounded like this Remiel wasn’t either.

  I didn’t want to encounter him either, but I needed to. Somehow, I had to convince him to hold off indefinitely on this invasion. I hadn’t made any headway with Asmodiel, but when I’d spoken to him this morning, I’d thought I was out of options.

  “I need to see Remiel. Can you use your connection with him to get me an appointment?” I asked Tasma. “Anytime tomorrow morning or after will work for me.”

  I had a sliver of a chance. I might not be able to stop the runaway train, but if I was very very lucky, maybe I could send it off the tracks.

  Chapter 21

  I was never so grateful for Nyalla and my friends as I was tonight. I came home from Hel to find they’d completely organized Gregory’s born-day party, including decorations. The downside to not being in charge of it all was that there did not appear to be any strippers or blackjack tables. And instead of tequila, there were a dozen bottles of some wine that Jaq had brought, and a huge selection of beers provided by Wyatt and some of the other guests.

  My house was packed, and this time there were no Lows. Ahia and Raphael were prepping deli trays in the kitchen. Amber and Irix were hanging the last few streamers. Snip and Harper were organizing gifts. Asta and Dar were putting out paper plates and plasticware. I walked over to the table and eyed the variety of foodstuff that covered nearly every square inch. Bean dip. Crab dip. Little sausages rolled in crescents. Sliders. Hot wings. Chips and tortillas. And…ewww.

  "What the fuck is that? What. The. Fuck." I pointed at the revolting contents of a fancy Spode bone china bowl on the table. Who would do this? Would could possibly think a kale and beet salad would be an appropriate dish to bring to my beloved’s born-day party?

  Nyalla snickered then slapped a hand over her mouth. Before I could congratulate her on what had to be a prank another voice spoke up.

  “It’s a healthy food for the humans. We should be providing them with a nutritious food that won’t lead them into sinful sensory pleasures or gluttony.”

  Gabe. I had no idea who invited him to my party. I’d been shocked when he teleported into my living room, a neatly wrapped gift in his hand. He hadn’t been holding this revolting kale-crap when he’d arrived, so I assumed its appearance was an impulse on his part, no doubt to counteract the pizza, egg rolls, barbeque, and vast quantities of beer. Oh, and chicken wings.

  “Bean dip is healthy,” Amber chimed in. “And red velvet cake. It’s got eggs in it and flour.”

  She had a gleam in her eye as she exchanged a devilish glance with Nyalla. What were those girls up to?

  “Cake is full of sugar.” Gabe glared at the beautiful confection as if it were devil’s food and not red velvet. “Nyalla will eat the kale and beet salad, won’t you?”

  Nyalla’s smile vanished. “Uh, actually I had some beets and kale for breakfast this morning. I’m good, thanks.”

  Gabe turned his scowl on my girl. “That is a lie.”

  I’m sure it was, but whatever. “My house, my rules. Nyalla gets to eat whatever she wants. All the humans get to eat whatever they want. I guarantee you that salad is going in the trash.”

  “A significant part of your responsibilities lies in improving human vibration patterns and their FICO scores. Healthy eating is a vital part of positive evolution.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not in my book. You want to take over that part of my responsibilities? If you think you can do better, then you be in charge of that.”

  “I don’t want your job, I want you to do it.”

  The door opened and Candy and Michelle walked through, each carrying a present. Candy eyed the food table as she passed by, nodding in approval. “Oh, kale and beet salad! I love that.”

  For fuck’s sake. I snarled and stalked off to the kitchen, unable to tolerate Gabe’s smug expression. Wyatt was there helping Nils fill a huge jug with mojitos. Wyatt looked hot as always, relaxed and laughing at something Nils said. Nils didn’t look as hot. In fact, he looked like someone had driven over him with the tractor, backed up, then driven over him again.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, screwing the lid on the mojito jar and grabbing some mugs from the cupboard.

  He glanced out the pass-through into the dining room. “Ran into a door.”

  “Repeatedly? At Mach 6?” Nils might be a Fallen, but he still had an angel’s ability to heal. For him to look this way, the cause of his injuries had to have been insanely violent and probably recent.

  “I said something stupid,” he muttered. “I won’t do it again.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Yes, doors tend to take it personally when you say stupid things.”

  There was an uproar from my dining area including
a series of squeals that meant the girls were excited about something. I peeked through the window and saw Nyalla with Austin in her arms. The Nephilim was playing with her bracelet—a pretty chain with green and blue sea glass that seemed to be her favorite piece of jewelry lately. Ahia reached out for the child, bribing him with a potato chip as Raphael watched, a sappy expression on his face.

  Babies. Blech. My house was full of fucking babies. Well, two babies, but that was two more than I wanted here. Austin tended to be furry more often than not, and wasn’t exactly housebroken. Karrae sometimes crawled, sometimes toddled, with considerable wiggle room in her human form’s age and abilities. I’d had a whole lot less contact with the young angel, but the last time she was here, she alphabetized my DVD collection, lining them up so uniformly on the shelf that I could have sworn she used a ruler. After she and Dar left, I found all the porn movies in the kitchen trash.

  Austin, wooed by the prospect of a potato chip, went to Ahia and gleefully shoved the snack into his mouth, sprinkling crumbs all over the floor. I heard a squawk of outrage and looked down to see Karrae at Gabe’s feet, incinerating each crumb with a chubby, indignant finger. Nyalla thankfully picked her up before she could set my floor on fire, smiling at Gabriel as she rose with the angel in her arms.

  Huh. Why was Gabe staring at Nyalla like that? Or was it Karrae he was looking at with a weird sort of intensity? First the kale and now this bizarre behavior. I swear if he didn’t knock it off I was going to get an elf-net and stick him in the basement until the party was over.

  Which might be a good idea. He was a fucking stick in the mud. Kale. And beets. What the fuck? But I had no time to wrestle Gabe to the floor, net him, and lock him in the basement. I had a party to organize. Gregory would be here any minute, and there were still two trays of hot wings in the oven.

  There was a knock on the door. Right on time, and just as I’d instructed. I left the wings and ran out of the kitchen, hushing the crowd and flinging the door open.