by Eve Langlais
The demon, his voice musical with condescension said, “Yes, it’s hard to believe this human-born creature has the power to destroy the status quo.”
Zing. Beth didn’t appreciate the insult and sprang to her feet. If I could have, I would have fist pumped and shouted, “Get ‘em, Beth!”
“Where are my friends?” she boldly asked.
Demon Jerk and Asshat Angel stepped aside, giving her a proper view.
I did my best to give her the appearance of confidence. A don’t-worry-about-me-I-got-this kind of look.
Idiot let her mushy feelings get in the way of the right choice. I’d known what she’d say even before she squared her shoulders. “I came as you asked. Now, let them go.”
“Why would we do that?” replied the demon. “Once you’re dead, I look forward to taking the feisty one back to Hell with me. While Gabriel here has shown an interest in the little bunny.”
Wait a second. No way was I going anywhere with that ugly dude.
“That wasn’t the deal.” Beth looked absolutely furious.
Anger was all well and good, but I wondered if she’d noticed the armies surrounding us. I had. A demonic horde on one side, and an angelic detachment on the other. Sneaky bastards had appeared out of nowhere as if a gray curtain fell to reveal them in all their dangerous glory.
Kind of flattering that they thought my friend dangerous enough to merit such a show of force.
Yet the dumb demon laughed. “And who are you going to tell? You came here alone, you stupid Nephilim.”
“I am not a Nephilim,” Beth stated, which seemed at odds with the fact that she’d let her wings pop out in a shower of grey feathers. Her chin tilted at a stubborn angle I recognized. “I am a Hybrid Misfit, and I am done taking shit from either of you. If you won’t free my friends, then I guess I’ll do it myself.”
Total fist-pump speech. The kind that would have had people cheering in a theatre if it were a movie. But this was real life.
My life. And this involved my best friend. The idiot who launched herself into the air, flapping her wings.
Hope began to beat in my breast as Beth hurtled towards Claire and me. Then, I kind of got a little worried when I saw the knife in her hand. I’d seen her cook, she’d almost lost a finger chopping carrots once.
She hit the ground in front of us and yanked my gag out before attacking the ropes around my wrists. Halfway through, I tugged hard enough to snap them, leaving her free to untie Claire who, losing the rag in her mouth, shouted, “Behind you!”
Beth ducked without looking and swept her feet in a semicircle, displaying very cool superhero speed and agility.
When had she been practicing?
Since I couldn’t do much with my feet still tied, I fumbled at the knots, while my friend grappled with the demon.
But I had other things to worry about than whether Beth could handle one demon and an angel.
Claire and I kind of had two armies advancing; though whether to go after us or each other, I really didn’t want to know. But I did have a smartass reply.
“I’ll take the legion on the left, if you handle the army to the right.”
Claire’s reply? “Eep.”
Things looked really grim. A hush of anticipation hung in the air.
The certainty of death.
My death, which was totally not cool.
Like, seriously, I did not want to die. I’d yet to do so many things, like buy really ridiculously expensive shoes that I’d never wear out for fear of scuffing them. Or getting a Brazilian wax—while drunk, because that was the only way anyone was getting near my bush.
I wanted to live, which meant I had to do something that didn’t involve the hyperventilation Claire indulged in.
“Lana,” she squeaked. “I’m losing it.”
Not a good thing. At all. “Hang in there. I’ll figure something out.” Since I didn’t have an Uzi or some kind of cool Potter-type wand, I’d have to use the only weapon I had.
I cleared my throat. “Um, Claire, I need you to block out my voice.”
My best friend shot me a glance. She didn’t ask why, just nodded. “Knock ‘em out. I know you can do it.”
I loved her enthusiasm, I just wished I had the same self-assurance. I’d not truly sung in years. My last attempt in the forest, with no one around, had resulted in scientists quarantining the area to study the dead bodies of the furry wildlife that had all expired for an unknown reason.
I couldn’t always entirely control what came out of my mouth. But today, I couldn’t let that matter. I couldn’t let stage fright stop me. The army all around us didn’t seem to care that we’d gotten caught in a quarrel not of our making. We’d get crushed in the mix.
Unless I stopped them.
Where deep bodies of water terrified me, singing didn’t. Despite the forest massacre, I longed to open my mouth and scream the notes I held bundled inside. To let the melody take flight.
And now my chance had arrived.
Live or die?
I chose to live.
The song started out soft. The first notes of a haunting symphony I loved emerged tremulous, hesitant.
Beside me, Claire flinched, and I stumbled. But she nudged me with her shoulder. “Ignore me. You can do it. Louder, Lana. Sing loud and strong like that broad in The Phantom does.”
I could do louder, but I worried about Claire. I couldn’t hurt my friend. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the music slipping past my lips, following the trembling waves, widening them to avoid Claire, forming a bubble of protected silence around us.
As the song oozed out, I grew more confident, the melody emerging so perfectly, its command so clear.
Lay down your weapons. You don’t want to fight.
I shaped the tune to my needs, and it worked.
Barely.
I opened my eyes to see the armies paused, their faces puzzled, weapons hanging by their sides, heads cocked.
There were so many on that barren field.
So damned many, and I couldn’t hold them all. Already, I trembled. Some began to shake their heads. A few took some hesitant steps.
Then a door opened in the sky, and even more weird creatures poured in.
Chapter 2
The words to my song stumbled, but I didn’t die as the spell lost its grip.
The demons and angels had other things to concentrate on.
Some woman, aloft on gold-colored wings, her wings I might add, led the charge. “Attack!” The gleam of her sword pointed at the demons. She swooped and went after them. She wasn’t alone.
A new army had arrived. Although could a cloud of tiny fairies with glittering wings be called an army? I had flossers in my bathroom with sharper points than their swords.
With the good guys—which were a motley group of what appeared to be pointy-eared elves, warty, green-skinned goblins, and a whole bunch of things my mind couldn’t even start to comprehend—having entered the battle, I finally had a chance to let my voice rest.
Just in time, too. The magic inside me was gone. Sucked almost completely dry in the spell I used to stay in one piece. Despite the situation, I felt more relaxed than I’d felt in a long while.
And thirsty. More parched than ever.
But there was nothing to drink on this gray battle plain, and no time to go looking. Beside me, Claire trembled, a woodland animal succumbing to her instincts. Most of the time, she reminded me of a cute, cuddly bunny. Always happy, bouncy, and there for a friend—even holding her hair while she puked. That Claire also hid her eyes when watching horror movies and slept with a nightlight.
Right now, instinct wanted her to run and hide. Hide where? We were surrounded. All I could do was offer comfort. A tug pulled her huddled body against mine. My arm wrapped around her shivering frame. “It’s okay, Bugs.” My nickname for her. “No one is coming near us.” For the moment. That could change, though, as battle raged around.
It still boggled the mind that the an
gels and demons fought on the same side. Like how the fuck did that happen? Angels should have been stomping all over those ugly bastards. Laying down some holy law.
Instead, they wielded shining weapons against the even shinier jewel-colored ones carried by the elves. Angels held netting wide and rushed at the pixies and fairies causing mischief aloft on glittery wings. I winced when they caught more than a few. Some of those forelimbs looked bent afterwards.
It was horrible to watch. Yet, observing the fight was preferable to looking over to where Beth lay on the ground. Dead.
I’d been unable to stop the blow that felled her. The strike that had left her bleeding on the ground, earth that soaked it up like a sponge.
So unfair, dammit. She’d come to save us. And died instead.
My heart ached, while her boyfriends, late to the battle, raged. Which sounded tame. See, Beth had hooked up with some seriously wicked and cool dudes. A tanned djinn named Gene, currently surfing around on a carpet, lobbing fireballs. Then there was Simon, her other dude, a frost dragon with icy scales who breathed frosty death.
Seriously fucked up. While I had no problem with attacks on the demons, there was something perverse about going after angels.
Then again, an angel was responsible for all this. Was being the keyword. The asshole with the golden curls had died quickly once the battle started. He’d probably remain that way too unless someone could reattach his head. The woman with the golden wings had been the one to take him out with her mighty sword.
An ululating cry drew my attention to a new section of the battlefield. A group of demons had banded together to surround some green-skinned ladies in leaf-like skirts with long, brown hair. Their wispy branches whipped from their trunks, dozens of them at once, only to be cracked and sliced, leaving them defenseless.
I opened my mouth to see if I could croak a note, only to hold my tongue as a set of hot hunks joined the melee.
And I meant hunks. Humanish with a normal number of arms and legs. Muscles that owned their own set of muscles. They appeared naked under their protective gear: a chest plate that stopped short of covering the entire stomach, and arm and shin guards. A jockstrap with a hard-looking cup at the groin.
They were as hot as those Spartacus guys in that movie. Oiled skin, bulging muscles, and old-school fighting abilities. The kind that involved pure strength and agility. They spun and ducked and threw solid punches. Long daggers made appearances as well, their manageable length easy to weave around the demonic maces and clubs of the enemy.
No one wielded a gun, which I found interesting. But magic… Some used it freely.
Those that had it did, at least. The guys who looked as if they’d stepped out of a Vikings episode didn’t seem to have anything but enthusiasm as their secret weapon.
Kind of hot. All of them were, but especially one of them. Hard to tell from where I sat on the ground how tall they were, but there was definitely one bigger than the rest. Tougher, too.
He caught me staring, and amidst a gory battle, winked.
I would have given him a fuck-you finger back except that was when shit went sideways in Limbo.
It started with a change in the air. A soft, warm breeze hinting of…life?
The ground showed it first. A carpet of vibrant green sprang forth from the ground, radiating out in a circle from Beth’s body. Except she wasn’t a dead body anymore. Beth had come back to life—and not in a zombie, brain-eating kind of way. She rose and, kind of like someone’s kid, opened her eyes and lived again.
Quite an epic moment. The armies all stopped fighting in astonishment.
And while not a word was spoken aloud, we all heard the announcement. Hail the Queen of Limbo. My best friend, a freakin’ queen. Radical shit.
At this point, I was grinning from ear to ear. Beth lived. As did Claire and I. It was cause for celebration. For some reason, my gaze turned and sought out the big dude I’d seen earlier.
He stared at me still.
He winked again.
Rather than flash him a rude hand gesture, my cheeks flamed, and I swung my gaze elsewhere. To the flowers blooming from the ground, a vivid carpet of color now everywhere underfoot. Yet the growth wasn’t done.
Limbo came alive. The only appropriate word to describe what happened. Bulging humps on the ground inflated, growing, rising until they burst, and a sapling suddenly sprang into existence. I heard the babbling of water even over the noise of people exclaiming. My mermaid side always found the water.
And the meatheads.
Big, Viking dude was coming my way. I pretended not to notice. But I knew. Every inch of my being decided to attune itself to his approach.
Perhaps he did have some magic. The kind that seduced.
My eyes widened. He must be an incubus. A being who fed on sex.
Definitely not my type.
That didn’t prevent me from shivering when he stopped just behind me.
So close. My mouth so dry. Usually, I’d just have to hum a note, a little one, to tell him to fuck off. But I’d used up all my magic, and my lips wouldn’t move.
It didn’t help that he leaned close, his hot breath feathering my lobe. “Hello.”
Just one little word.
And you know that expression, the one that says, “you had me at hello.”
I suddenly understood.
Chapter 3
A suave hello. That was all Jory had to say when he reached the woman.
He should have planned something. Perhaps a remark on her looks. Definitely not her voice, though.
The moment he stepped through the portal into Limbo, he’d heard it. Heard every note the siren pitched, hitting him like a physical blow. The song lacked a certain finesse. More a shove than a gentle nudge, but she made up for it in strength. The melody demanded that he give up his arms. Kneel and…
Wait a second. Jory knelt for no one. Which was how the song lost its pull. A warrior always stood tall and fought. His men, however, appeared to lack some of his mental fortitude. Like the demons and angels already here, they stood slack-jawed.
It didn’t last, though. As soon as the siren ended her tune, people jumped into action.
Jory among them. “One with the least kills pays for the drinks tonight.” He raised his fist and yelled.
The response was instantaneous. The men who’d joined him rushed forward with excited cries. The clash of battle filled his senses, the musk of exertion, the moisture of death and sweat, the cries of those going to meet their god—if they’d wisely chosen to worship one.
Jory joined them, fist swinging, his dagger extending his reach and giving him an edged bite against the demons. He ducked under the slash of claws and jabbed, his weapon striking true. One down, thousands to go.
Usually, nothing could distract Jory from the fight. He lived for these adrenalized moments, and yet he found his gaze seeking. Looking for the one who’d sung. She wasn’t hard to find. Her blondish hair with its greenish cast drew his eyes.
He stopped and stared.
Her gaze met his. The clearness of her hazel eyes captivated.
A shock of awareness tingled. Right down to his damned toes. As for that spot between his legs?
He blamed the erection on bloodlust. Surely not a pair of eyes. Eyes weren’t sexy. Delicious, yes, if properly pickled.
He winked. Waited for her to reply in kind. A subtle, let’s-hook-up-after-this-is-over moment. She didn’t reply, even with a smile.
She turned away, and he kept staring, harder than a fucking spear. And he was going to get killed if he didn’t pay attention. He ducked in time to avoid the claws determined to decapitate.
But he had no sooner vanquished his foe than he looked again. Winked again, only to have her ignore. Not exactly surprising. The singing maids were usually reticent creatures who stayed on their island, keeping themselves safe with the magic of their song. Power that manipulated. So how did she make it to Limbo? Who would dare put a siren in the midst of b
attle? With only a few remaining in the world, there existed rules to keep them safe. The supernatural version of protecting an endangered species. So long as the sirens stuck to humans as their victims, no one cared what they did. And in return, they really didn’t involve themselves in any politics outside their island.
So why was she here?
Had she come to witness history? After centuries and centuries of being forbidden, a Nephilim was back from extinction.
But before he could truly wonder what it meant, the Nephilim—a woman of dark hair and shadowy wings—died on the gray fields of Limbo.
Then rose again. Jory wasn’t the only one to stare when that happened.
The death was the trigger to a certain prophecy. A cure for a curse. An end to an era, and the start of a new one.
It also meant that the fighting fizzled. Everyone stopped what he or she was doing to ogle in slack-jawed astonishment as prophecy finally fulfilled itself. As the Nephilim who was more than her ancestors hung in the air. Rays of magic radiated off her. Most people pointed at the ground and exclaimed as life returned to the dead space.
Jory, however, felt things a little deeper. Looked a little farther. On the horizon of this flat unbroken expanse, the dome that had sealed off Limbo melted away. The magic pooled outside that wall flooded into the space. A rush of life that tore through the land, waking it and making it a fertile nexus point once again.
The doors to the other worlds were open again. The Summerlands for the elves. The mountains for the dwarves, and even that place where the lion used to rule until those children came along.
The world had just become a whole lot bigger, and no one was interested in shedding blood or keeping score anymore.
Bummer. What was a man with too much adrenaline coursing through his veins to do?
For some reason, his gaze went looking for the siren.
It didn’t prove hard to home in on her. Since their eyes locked that first time, Jory had felt an instinctive affinity with her. A single pivot and he stalked in her direction, ignoring the back slaps, the grumbling—damned angels, never happy with anything—the propositions—mostly from the demons who fornicated more than they fought.