Queen of the Damned

by Debra Dunbar

  I made my way back from Tasma’s house with less speed, looking for any trace of the angel. If he’d been attacked in the street, there would be blood from his physical form, traces of energy from the fight, traces of his energy. I just needed to go slowly, work the streets in a grid pattern trying to detect any sign that Bencul had been there.

  Dis was a huge fucking city. It would take me weeks. He was either dead, or maybe would turn up in a few months when some demon got drunk and bragged about his toy.

  “Iblis!”

  It was Gimlet, his fat little legs pumping away, his bulgy eyes huge as he ran toward me.

  “Iblis, I found him! I found the angel!”

  I grabbed the Low, lifting him off the ground. “Where? What happened?”

  He panted, catching his breath. “Bereari took him.”

  Damn it all to fucking Hel. I dropped Gimlet and ran, summoning my sword. I used the weapon to blow through Bereari’s wards, cut through three demons who got in my way, and pound my way through the front door. Bencul lay on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Beside him were three dead demons. Standing over him were three live ones.

  “What the fuck gives you the right to grab someone off the streets of Dis?” I snarled.

  One demon ran, darting behind me and out the door. The other backed slowly away, looking desperately for a way out that didn’t involve getting anywhere near my sword. The other demon laughed. Bereari, I assumed.

  “He’s an angel. He’s not allowed in Hel, and he was walking around all by himself. If I find a treasure discarded in the streets, it belongs to me.”

  True, aside from a few little details. “He’s marked as part of Remiel’s household. And he’s not a treasure, not a thing for you to lay claim to.”

  The demon flashed his pointy teeth at me. A sword appeared in his clawed hands, fire licking up along the blade. “Remiel and the other Ancients have gone to Aaru. If he left this pretty thing behind, then it’s logical to assume he no longer wants it. And yes, he is a thing. There is no blood price assigned to an angel.”

  There wasn’t one assigned to Lows before I came along either. This had to stop. Now.

  “I’m the Iblis. This angel is under my protection. Step back now, vow that you’ll relinquish any claim on him, and I’ll let you live.”

  His response was with the sword. I raised mine and easily deflected the blade. “Last chance.”

  He swung again and I stepped in, sliding my blade along his until our hilts met. Fear flickered in his eyes as I grabbed his spirit-self and pulled. “Yield.”

  “I yield,” he gasped. “The angel is yours.”

  Bereari ran, and I knelt down to help Bencul up, alarmed to find that he was far more injured than I’d first thought.

  “Heal yourself,” I told him, quickly inventorying his wounds. Broken bones, internal bleeding, punctured lung, a nearly severed arm—nothing he shouldn’t have been able to heal.

  “Can’t.” His voice was rough and breathy. Suddenly his eyes met mine and he grinned. “Killed three of those insects. Could have probably taken another one down before I died.”

  “Yes. Good boy. You killed three demons.” Why wasn’t he able to heal himself?? I triaged his wounds and took care of the critical ones. Then with a muttered apology, I reached into his spirit-self. And gasped.

  “Is this…did they do all of this?” He was horribly damaged. No wonder his ability to heal was compromised. It was a surprise the angel was still alive at all with these injuries.

  “No. Most of that was from the demons I met when I first got to Hel. Couple of times I didn’t think I was going to make it. That last time I wouldn’t have made it if Remiel hadn’t come along. Then he did some damage of his own. He’d get excited and lose control. Wasn’t his fault.”

  Yes, it was his fault. And not all of the injuries I was finding were old either. These demons had really worked him over. They’d clearly intended on killing him. And I thought they had succeeded.

  “I’m going to try to heal you,” I told him, wishing Gregory was here. This wasn’t really my greatest skill, and I hadn’t been an angel for long.

  “Think you’re too late,” he gasped. “These five just wanted to play, but I swore I’d never let anyone do that to me against my will ever again, and when I fought back, when I killed those three, they just wanted me dead.”

  “Hush,” I told him. Then I tried to heal him. Everything I repaired fell apart as soon as I pulled back. This poor angel was held together with wet tissue paper, and this last fight had been too much.

  “You stupid fucking idiot,” I snapped, tears coming to my eyes. He was hurt. He was more than hurt. And as fast as I healed him, other sections of his spirit-self were falling apart.

  “Olapiret. I needed to find him. He’s the only thing that matters to me.” The angel’s face crumbled. “Especially now that Remiel has abandoned me. Olapiret is all that matters.”

  What a stupid name. It sounded like he needed to be on top of a music box, spinning around in a tutu.

  “I was working on it,” I told Bencul. “I’d found your angel over at Tasma’s and took him to safety across the gates to the human world. I was coming back to get you.” Well, not at first, but I was sure he wouldn’t catch that minor fib. “Why didn’t you stay at my house where it was safe? Couldn’t you trust me?”

  Even dying, Bencul gave me “that look”. Of course he couldn’t trust me. I was an imp, the Iblis, an Angel of Chaos. And I’d been the one who’d thrown him through the gates to Hel.

  “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but that he’s safe.” The angel gasped, sections of his spirit-being already shredding and fading away. “What does he look like?”

  “He’s cute.” I struggled to find some way of describing the little angel’s human form. “Um, he’s cute. And he spat at me.”

  Bencul laughed, then his face twisted in pain. “That’s my boy, my little Angel of Order. Promise me. Swear it right here before I die. Swear it.”

  I didn’t need to ask him what he meant. Damn it all. I kind of hated this angel, but I kind of felt sorry for him too. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I would absolutely take responsibility for the care and upbringing of his offspring. I was the head of Bencul’s choir as a Fallen. I was the Iblis and thus the Queen of Hel and Remiel. And these little angels… Gregory was right. They were the new Aaru. Karrae, and this Elephant-pirouette were the beginning of our future—a future I needed to safeguard and nourish. However the fuck an imp was supposed to safeguard and nourish, that is.

  “I swear on all the souls I used to Own, I vow it as the Iblis, that I will care for, defend, and raise your offspring. And I’ll get help, because I’ve got no idea what to do with any kind of baby, let alone one that’s an Angel of Order.”

  Then I gathered Bencul in my arms and teleported him out of Hel to the area just outside the seventh circle of Aaru. And there I lay him down and sat with him, holding his hand until his spirit-self unraveled into oblivion and all that was left was a shell, a human form with gold tracings of wings fading away like the remnants of fireworks in the sky.

  Chapter 30

  “Why are we on this plane again?” I pressed a hand to my forehead. I’d gone back to Hel after Bencul had died and hired a steward to get shit organized and running in my various homes. I’d also pressed some demons into the service of my household, laying down rules for how Lows and others were to be treated. They were acting as my deputies when I wasn’t in Hel, enforcing shit and being my eyes and ears. Then I’d gone home and kicked all the Lows out of my guest house, assigning them all tasks and putting them to work in Hel. There was a new sheriff in town. It was me. I wasn’t happy about it, but as long as I carried the sword of the Iblis, Hel needed to be on the top of my list of priorities.

  Gregory leaned his head back and rested his arms on his lap. “Gabe suggested mechanized air travel as a way for us to better understand the ‘human condition’. You remember, we voted
on it during the Ruling Council meeting? You voted for it?”

  Yes, I remembered. Didn’t mean I had to like it. There was a time when flying in a metal box full of humans was the highlight of my day. Now I just wanted to get somewhere as quickly as possible. Or, barring that, travel in the lap of luxury with free alcoholic beverages and other goodies.

  We weren’t in the lap of luxury. We were wedged three-to-a-row in coach next to an old guy with the worst body odor ever. I didn’t even get a free pack of peanuts.

  “Why isn’t Gabe on this flight?” I complained. “Where the fuck is he? I’ll bet he’s flying first class. I’ll bet he’s in a private jet or something. Actually, I’ll bet he came up with some lame excuse about how he needed to teleport instead of flying on an airplane. How come he’s not on this plane? This was his motherfucking idea after all.”

  The child two rows back screamed. Again. It was one of those ear-piercing, I’m-pissed-off-at-the-world screams. He’d been doing it constantly along with loud garbled furious shrieks nearly every second of this eight-hour flight.

  Okay, I was exaggerating, but not by much.

  “Gabe is most likely taking a different flight.”

  I snorted. Yeah, right. He’d pushed this nonsense through a Ruling Council vote and was laughing behind our backs as he teleported to Reykjavik. Actually I didn’t think Gabe had the ability to laugh. But I was pretty sure Rafi was laughing. And there was no way in Hel he and Ahia were stuck on an eight-hour flight in economy class with a screaming child.

  There was another shriek, this one longer and higher-pitched than the last. I think I felt a trickle of blood from my ear. Shoving my upper half into the aisle, I looked back, shocked to see that the instrument of my torture was near the rear of the plane.

  Yeah. The little shit was that loud.

  Another scream, then angry loud shrieking. Did he want something? Could the parent responsible for this little monster not understand what he wanted, what would make him shut up? A toy? Candy? A boob-in-the-mouth? Eight ounces of vodka in a sippy cup?

  The cheap vodka, because there was no sense in wasting the good stuff on a baby, especially one that screamed for eight hours straight.

  Another scream. I snarled, wondering what would happen if I manifested into my first form. That would shut him up. Although a giant dragon with poisonous spikes might not go over too well with the other passengers.

  Scream. Shriek. Shriek.

  “I’m going to kill that little waste of sperm and egg.” I unsnapped my seat belt and went to stand only to have Gregory shove me back into my seat.

  “Cockroach, you don’t want to know what kind of four-nine-five report you’d need to fill out for killing a human infant.”

  “I’ll bet his FICO score is sub-par,” I argued.

  “He’s an infant. He can’t legally enter into contracts and therefore doesn’t have a FICO score.”

  “See? Score of zero. I’ve killed people with better scores. I mean, I’ve inadvertently fatally injured people who have proven to be beyond my ability to rehabilitate.”

  “No.”

  “What if he accidently fell out of the plane? ‘Oops, so sorry. What a horrible tragedy.’”

  Gregory reached over and buckled my seat belt, which put his hands right where I liked them to be. I squirmed, capturing one between my thighs and wiggling my eyebrows. “Oh baby. I didn’t realize bored, angry children turned you on.”

  He pulled his hand from my crotch. “Sit. Stay.” I loved it when he ordered me around.

  Gregory got to his feet and edged past me into the aisle. He was built like a weightlifter and insanely tall, just the sort of guy these tiny airline seats weren’t made for. When he squeezed past me, his ass was literally right in my face. So I bit it.

  If only he’d been facing the other way, I would have done something quite different with my mouth.

  “Stop.” His voice was stern and commanding, which sent heat right down between my legs. To contradict the order, his spirit-self reached out in a slow, sensuous caress.

  “Not making me want to stop,” I told him.

  “Later. Right now I’m going to save you from a horrible, horrible report and punishment.”

  He strode down the aisle, blatantly ignoring the fact that the fasten seatbelts light was on, and stopped in front of the mother with the screaming child.

  “Give me your baby.”

  The woman stared at him. The child stared at him. Then she passed the little bundle of piss and vinegar to my angel. I unsnapped my seatbelt and scooted out into the aisle to watch. Was he going to throttle it? Lock it in the bathroom? Shove it in the overhead bin? I loved this angel who was going to take on that enormous four-nine-five report, just so I wouldn’t have to.

  The kid reached up, shoved a finger up Gregory’s nose, and giggled. I held my breath, waiting for the violent smackdown.

  Instead he smiled, singing the kid some stupid tune about love and redemption and forgiveness. The child grew quiet, yanking his fingers out of the angel’s nose and patting him on the cheek, the whole time staring into Gregory’s dark eyes with rapt attention. It was sickeningly adorable.

  And no, I didn’t feel my ovaries stirring or whatever the spirit-being equivalent might be. Nope. Not one bit.

  “Ma’am, you need to return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt while the captain has the light on.”

  I turned so I could see the flight attendant slightly behind me, but continue to keep Gregory in my line of vision. He was still softly singing and rocking the kid.

  “He’s not sitting. He hasn’t got his seatbelt on,” I complained, pointing at the angel.

  “He’s keeping that screaming kid quiet. You’re not. Sit.”

  I wanted to argue, but I’d seen that video on YouTube of the airline staff dragging some dude down the aisle and thought better of it. On the ground that might be totally worth it, but not at thirty thousand feet.

  “Fine.” I sat. I buckled my seatbelt. And I closed my eyes, lulled into a peaceful sleep by an angel’s song.

  I awoke as we were landing. Gregory had somehow managed to return to his seat as I’d slept, and miraculously that baby was quiet. Sadly, the dude in the window seat still smelled like he hadn’t bathed in the last decade.

  In spite of my complaints, it seemed we weren’t the only ones who had flown commercial. Just outside the security area we ran into Dar and Asta. They were standing there with luggage in hand, as if they were waiting for us. I waved, then my smile faltered as I saw what Asta was holding in her arms.

  It was a baby. And it wasn’t her baby.

  “Here you go.” She walked up to me and thrust the baby into my arms. “Here’s your angel. It’s been two days, actually it’s been more than two days, and you made a vow.”

  I had, and not just to her either. I’d promised Bencul I’d take care of this angel. Ugh. How the fuck was I going to get out of this one?

  “And I totally intended to come collect him, but something came up. Something is still up, and I’m hoping you can watch him for just a little bit more.”

  “No.” Dar pulled Asta back a few steps as I tried to hand the baby back to her.

  “I’d owe you a favor—”

  “No,” Dar insisted.

  “He’s very sweet,” Asta said. “Anytime you want a playdate or something, let me know. He and Karrae got along beautifully.”

  “But not now,” Dar told her. “No playdates for a couple of years or so.”

  Asta pouted. “He’s adorable. Sam clearly doesn’t want him, and it would be wonderful for Karrae to have a brother—”

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Dar was practically dragging the angel away. “That one isn’t ours. We’re not keeping it. Nope. Not happening.”

  I watched them leave, then stared at the angel in my arms. He was kind of cute, and far more quiet than that human infant on the plane. He’d grown some bright gold fuzz on the top of his head since I’d seen him last, a
nd one of his blue eyes had darkened to brown, giving him an appealing, mismatched look.

  “What do you have…oh.”

  I froze at Gregory’s voice, realizing that any ideas I’d had of tossing the kid in the recycling bin or leaving him on the luggage carousel were no longer feasible.

  “Remember that angel I tossed into Hel? Well he and Remiel created. The angel sire died, and Remiel doesn’t want an Angel of Order offspring, so as the head of the Fallen and the Queen of Hel, this little guy is now my responsibility.”

  Gregory held out his hands like he’d been enchanted. I passed the young angel to him and felt something twist inside me at the look on my beloved’s face.

  “He’s mine,” I told him. “Not just as head of the choir, either. I made a vow to his sire that I’d raise him, so he’s mine. I didn’t fuck up so bad with Nyalla, but she’s human and she was eighteen when I bought her out of slavery from the elves. This…I’m not sure how good I’m going to be with this. I’m hoping you’ll help me. I’m hoping that he won’t just be mine, he’ll be ours.”

  “What’s his name?” Gregory asked, rocking the angel gently.

  I snorted. “Olapiret. It’s a horrible name. I don’t even know where Bencul came up with it.”

  “It means light,” Gregory smiled. “It’s fitting.”

  “No, it’s not. It sounds like elephants dancing ballet or something, not ‘light’.” I eyed the infant angel. The airport fluorescents over Gregory’s shoulder were shining through the baby’s golden fuzz with a luminescence that made him look like he had a halo. “I’m calling him Lux.”

  It meant light. And sounded a whole lot more cool than elephants-pirouette.

  Gregory smiled down at the angel, then turned that smile to me. My heart stopped, then beat like a runaway train as I fell into him. His love washed over me with the touch of his spirit-self.

  “Then Lux it is, Cockroach. Our Lux. Ours.”