Bitter Aries (The Zodiac Book 1)

by Paul Sating

  "Almost as funny as your reason for hanging out with him?" I said, winking at my best friend, whose ears turned pink at their tips.

  "At least hanging around him means I get to talk to incubi," Bilba argued.

  "None of which talk to you in return. And how is that a justification? Ralrek wouldn't even know what to do with an incubus."

  "Neither do you, Segregate," Ralrek said, standing a little taller.

  Bilba chortled.

  I did not have time for Ralrek and his power plays, or my friend's need to encourage the tall demon. "Whatever, guys. I've got to go."

  As soon as I turned away Bilba called after me. "Come on, we were only having a laugh."

  The next cattle call came, predictably, from Ralrek. "Running away again, Zeke? You'll never make it in the Overworld by quitting." His voice rose as I walked faster. "You're nothing down here and it'll only be tougher for you up there. Best learn to deal with stuff now."

  I strode away as quickly as I could. Their crap was the last thing I needed. That was the problem though, wasn't it? Bilba's unfortunate sense of humor and Ralrek's schadenfreude was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but their combined effect only ripped the scabs off old wounds.

  As big as the Fifth Circle was, it wasn't large enough to hide from the reminders that I fell short in every category.

  My head was pounding with a stress headache by the time I walked up to the door of the massive Angel Oak tree I called home. Topping out at over two hundred feet—we grow things big here—it's wide-ranging branches reached to the ends of our property line. The thick trunk was only slightly narrower than the neighboring houses, which were built from the same crop as our home. Ours was the last one from the grove not harvested into lumber, mostly because my parents did not have the money for it or they would have. The tree needed to be put out of its misery and keeping up with other demons is extremely important to us for some reason. My parents rented out the top half of the tree because, even in the Underworld, real estate is increasingly unaffordable for the middle class.

  The door thumped as I pulled it open. You would think my father would use his Construction magic to fix it, but he never has—I think it's because he was never a strong caster to begin with.

  "Whoop!" My mother yelped, bolting upright and holding a tiny hand to her chest. Far be it for anyone to consider me to be even an average sized demon, but Lilith Sunstone made me look like a giant. She had thousands of years to break five feet tall and never managed it. If her weight broke triple digits, it would only be due to a curse from Lucifer—not that I would ever think to ask her. "Oh, Ezekial. You scared the death out of me!"

  "Sorry," I leaned and pulled the door closed. The three-foot thick solid piece of oak had to weigh two hundred pounds, twice as heavy as my mother, and was always a beast to open and close.

  Mother pulled my attention back. "What's wrong, dear? You don't look happy."

  I couldn't tell her the truth about Bilba and Ralrek or the whirling vortex that was my self-deprecating brain, so I did the next best thing. "Why do I have to go to the Overworld? Why can't we just tell them no, that I don't want to? They've got to listen to reason, right?"

  The heat in my voice combined with the unanswerable question might have caught her off-guard, at least by the look on her square face. You don't mess with mothers with jawlines like that. She used the distraction of wayward hair to pause before responding.

  Mother didn't help herself with the haircut she insisted on having. Mother loved flipping it over to one side, saying it was something that got Father's engine running—yes, demonic parents can be just as gross as your human ones. With her hands covered in flour she couldn't do that so, instead, she jutted her bottom lip out to one corner, looking like she was trying to drink water from a faucet with one side of her mouth. She kept blowing short bursts of air at her hair.

  I took a deep breath and repeated the question, knowing my parents loved avoiding answering it since receiving the notification. "Why, Mother?"

  She stopped, bottom lip still extended out, and stared at me. The thing about Mother, besides her intimidating jaw, was her hard eyes that observed the world around her. Even after having six thousand years to get used to the way she could pry open my head with a glance, I still shut down each time she turned those serious eyes on me. Just shy of a hundred pounds and thin as a cornstalk, she could still snuff out the Hellfire with just a firm glance.

  "Please don't be so flippant." She said without turning back to her dough. "It's disrespectful."

  "To who?"

  She huffed, her shoulders drooping and hands cupping the mound of white sitting on the board in her lap. I worried for the fate of that dough and anyone who ate it. Mother had outlived hundreds of millions of humans and most of them could still out-cook her if Lucifer decided to cast a Reanimation spell on the lot of them.

  "To everyone. All of us. I know it's not easy," her voice softened, "but it is your fate. One you must face. Do so with humility. If not for yourself, then for us."

  I wasn't about to chase that rabbit. Mother was real good with diversionary tactics. Maybe it was an after-effect of her Manipulation magic, who knew, but there was no denying her skill. I only picked up on her tactics in the past five hundred years or so. I wasn't sure Father had yet.

  Speaking of the devil—that's such an odd adopted colloquialism for us to say in the Underworld—the pounding of Father's boots announced his arrival before the door opened. An authoritarian to the day Lucifer no longer needed him, my father was a tough negotiator and an even tougher communicator.

  "You didn't answer," I said quickly, taking a seat next to her. "Why me? Why the Overworld?"

  In my focused determination to wait out her answer, I didn't recognize the door had already been pulled open. Mother and I were no longer alone.

  "How was your day, Love," my mother's face bore a radiance dedicated to those times when Father was near.

  "Fine, dear."

  I stood to greet him. Father was tall, well over six feet, and his hair was a thick mass of white, combed and greased straight back. Unlike Mother, Kanthor Sunstone didn't like things out of place, including hair, so each morning he spent a few minutes greasing it until it was a hard shell that conformed to his skull. Five thousand years older than Mother, he could almost pass as one of the Founders, the first generation of our race created by Lucifer after The Fall. He blamed it on his job even though he's an 'all-work-no-play' kind of demon. He rarely found humor in my perspective on anything.

  He also never saw the truth.

  "And you, son?" He raised a thick eyebrow at me. "Did you accomplish anything today?"

  I pointed at my swollen and red face that still throbbed from Bilba's little magic trick. "When I left this morning I wasn't sporting this."

  He inspected it from across the room, giving a simple grunt before turning back to Mother. What could I expect from a man who'd spent thirty thousand years toiling in the pits to keep the Hellfire stoked?

  "Well," Mother stated, setting down the ball of dough in a puff of powder and standing to hug Father, "get yourself cleaned up and get back down here for dinner. I don't want it getting cold."

  Father and I looked at the ball of dough with more than a hint of skepticism, but neither of us had the courage to say a word regarding Mother's optimism over how soon dinner would be ready.

  "Father, before you change," I said before he could get away, "can I ask you something?"

  "Sure."

  "Why do I have to go to the Overworld?"

  My question dropped on the table like the finished ball of whatever Mother was making. She groaned. Father went rigid.

  "We're not having this conversation again." His voice was unwavering.

  "That's not fair. Don't you think I deserve an answer since I'm the one who is being sent? Why can't you tell me?"

  His chest rose with a deep breath. Calming himself before the fire inside him burned through. Father's fire was somet
hing I would have to out-wait instead of survive.

  "It's your course," he answered. "It's not for me or you to question. You know that. We raised you better than that."

  More non-answers, the only thing I received since the notification that I'd be going without understanding why. Even an eternal lifetime wasn't long enough to understand the machinations of Underworld politics, apparently.

  "Hardly a question of how I was raised more than it is my right to know what they want from me," I replied.

  At that, my father chortled. "Rights? Since when do you have rights, son? None of us do. We have a duty, not rights. You'd do well to understand that. Now, not later."

  "I just want to understand."

  Mother crossed the small kitchen, getting on her tip-toes to wrap an arm around my shoulder. "Oh dear, I know it's frustrating, but you have to trust the Council. They wouldn't have selected you if you weren't right for their plans. Instead of questioning, why don't you recognize what a compliment this is?"

  "Compliment? How is this a compliment?"

  She pulled back, that square jaw turned on me. "How can it not be? You've been chosen to go to the Overworld."

  "Do you know how many thousands of demons would trade places with you in the flap of an angel's wings?" my father interjected.

  "Let them." They weren't hearing me and, worse, still hadn't actually answered. The situation, my situation, wasn't any clearer now than it was when they broke the news.

  My father fell into a dining table chair, pulling off a boot and tossing it the twenty feet back to the door, earning a disapproving glance from Mother. "You're acting like an impling. The Council chose you for a mission. You'll accept it and you'll do a good job, whatever it is."

  I crossed my arms. "Why wouldn't they tell me. Heavens, why won't they tell you? I'm your son, you have the right to know what's happening with me, don't you?" I hoped my mother would let the curse go. There were more important things to focus on and, plus, it's not like I'm not an adult—even though I live at home.

  Halfway done unlacing his second boot, he stopped. "You don't get it, do you Ezekial? For Lucifer's Sake, wrap your head around this or you'll find yourself abandoned in the Overworld."

  "Kanthor!" My mother gave him the square jaw, but Father wasn't the type to back down.

  "He needs to hear it, stubborn as he is."

  She dipped her strong jaw in his direction. "That comes from you, love. Now." She clapped her hands, turning on me, "Your father didn't mean that, son. You won't be abandoned, here or in the Overworld. Neither the Council nor Lucifer Himself would do that."

  "Wife." The cautionary word came from my father and somehow I knew he understood better than she did.

  "No, I'll not hear it, Kanthor." Referring to him by his name for the second time in a few breaths meant he was truly on the edge of a talking to. "Our kind don't do that."

  "We have," Father corrected.

  "We're not talking about this," Mother huffed. "Ezekial, we don't have any information on why the Council chose you, it's not like they have to explain their decisions to us. Still, you were, and we're proud. Like your father said, it's not our place. It's all for the Balance and you'll be part of that. Honestly." She swiped a stray strand of dark hair out of her face. "You'll find out soon enough and all will be settled."

  I shook my head. Old demons, I just didn't get them. "Does anyone care to hear my opinion about this?"

  "Nope." My father's answer came as soon as I closed my mouth.

  Mother huffed. "It's not that no one cares, dear, it's just that …" She seemed to search for the right way to say whatever it was she had in mind. "Oh dear, you must understand. You have to do this regardless of your feelings about it. So accept it. Do the best you can and come home with a million stories about the Overworld. That's best."

  Best for who? My parents? The Council? Lucifer Himself? Who knew? But the one thing I did know was that it wasn't best for me. The dread pressed heavily on my chest. I was heading to the Overworld with no idea what I was getting into.

  Unless …

  If I was the only demon in the history of demons without an Ability, could I also become the only one ever to run away from the Underworld?

  3 - Underworld

  "You want to what?" Bilba's eyes were round and large. Even the tips of his big ears, which always stood out like drooping flower petals—yes, we have flowers in Hell, what do you think we fill gardens with?—were pink with rushing blood.

  "I think I'm going to run away," I repeated for the third time. Bilba might be able to cast spells, but he was sometimes slow on the uptake in terms of everything else.

  "But … you, you can't," he said.

  "Why not?"

  The pink spread to his cheeks. "Because … um, because."

  I stopped him. "By now, you should know I'm the last one who'll accept being told what can and can't be done. Plus, it's the only way out of this mess."

  Bilba threw his hands out, palms up, scaring red and black butterflies out of the bush behind him. "What mess, Zeke? You have no idea how lucky you are, man. Imagine, being allowed to go to the surface. Seeing the sun. You. Could. See. The. Sun!"

  I picked a thick blade of Kentucky Bluegrass, placing it between my thumbs and blowing into the pinched greenery. The whistle cut through the small clearing. Bilba plugged his ears.

  "Stop doing that." He grimaced, lowering his hands. As soon as he did, I made the blade whistle again. "You're an ass."

  "Just don't want you to think you can talk me out of this," I replied. "Why would I want to be sent to the Overworld. Do you know how dangerous it is up there?"

  "Why shouldn't I at least try to get you to see that this could be good for you?"

  "Because you can't?"

  He leaned forward, grunting as his gut pressed against his angled legs. "Zeke, you just can't. For starters, where would you go?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. Another Circle?"

  "Another Circle? How?"

  "How do other demons get authorized to travel between them?"

  Bilba's neck sank into his thick shoulders. "Heaven if I know. They probably have passes or something, and I guess they'd need to have a reason to be there, like a job. You can't just flit between Circles, Zeke."

  I placed the blade of grass to my mouth again and Bilba pulled back. An angelic smile spread across my lips, giving away the fact that I was only more than happy to screw with my best friend if it meant putting an end to his resistance to my plan. "Where there is a will, there's a way, my friend."

  Bilba lay back, looking up into the canopy of branches filled with thick broadleaves. "What if … I rat you out?"

  At first, I thought I misheard him. I blinked and narrowed my eyes, flicking the grass away. "What did you say?"

  Bilba pushed himself up onto his elbows. His usually jovial face looked as serious as a Librarian's in Hell's Pantheon, the largest bookstore on the Fifth Circle. "You heard me, Zeke. Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I don't want to tell anyone, but I will if you even think about running away. Heavens, I'd be doing you a favor."

  I held up a finger. "One, stop swearing. You've been doing it too often and it's becoming a habit. Your dad wouldn't be cool with it and you know that." I added another finger to the total. "Second, how do you figure you're doing me a favor?"

  He picked a small mushroom and popped its head, releasing a thin puff of spores. "Because, if you run away, they'll find you, and when they do, you'll get punished. Or worse."

  "Worse? Like abandonment?" I gave him a quick shake of my head. "Don't try it. Kanthor already tried that line and I'm not buying it. They don't abandon demons except for serious stuff, and someone like me isn't even on the radar of bad stuff. I'm basically bad-light, at most."

  "You're hopeless, Zeke." Bilba fell back to the floor of the garden and immediately pulled himself up to his elbows again at an epiphany. "And you're a fool. You'd rather run away than go to the Overworld, like you somehow know the other
Circles would accept you. Even if they did, which I doubt, it doesn't mean they wouldn't send you back here or keep you there and use you for some shitty job or something. So which would you rather have? A short trip to the Overworld or live a miserable eternity in the Ninth Circle?"

  I tsk'ed. "We're only eternal, immortal, in the eyes of mortals, you know that. Us, eternal? Nothing is."

  For long seconds, Bilba didn't say a thing, occupying himself by stretching out his arms. "Jokes and attitude. Don't want to be considered an impling? Then stop acting like one."

  "That's easy for you to say," I said. "You aren't being sent to the Overworld."

  "Only if I could," he said. "What an honor! Lucifer knows my family could use a break. Sending me would change our freaking lives."

  The Ravenous family did have an unfair amount of bad breaks over the millennia I'd known Bilba. His father was unemployed for at least five hundred years and Bilba's mother left during that period and never came back. Through periodic letters, he maintained a good relationship with her, but things were never the same once she left. Then it hit me. His mother didn't just leave, she ran away to another Circle. No wonder he objected so vehemently! What the heavens was wrong with me?

  "Hey." I threw a pebble at him. It bounced off his forehead.

  "Ow!" He shot upward. "What did you do that for?"

  "The pebble was an accident," I offered. "So was my comment." When he gave me a confused look, I clarified. "I didn't think about your mother. I'm sorry, bud."

  He tipped his head and frowned, breaking eye contact. "It is what it is."

  "And it was a dick move." I took a deep breath, ready to be real with my best friend. "I'm scared."

  This time when Bilba struggled to get to his knees, his eyes burned with intensity. "Of what?"

  "Gee," I said, "calm down. No need for that much excitement."

  "Well, I've never heard you admit to being scared. It's not excitement, by the way. But for you to say that, it must be something significant. Are you talking about the Overworld? You're scared of it?"

  "Yes." I plucked a few more thick blades of grass, promising not to whistle with them, though it crossed my mind, wondering how loud that would be. A quick image of Bilba's pained face helped bring a bit of light to this miserable day. "I've never met anyone who has gone. All we ever get are messages, propaganda, from the Council about the exploits of those they send, but how do we know those are real and, if they are, how do we know those demons are telling the truth?"