Niki Slobodian 04 - The Devil Was an Angel

by J. L. Murray

  The woman looked at me, defeat in her eyes. “I'm the necromancer's wife.”

  “You will have to forgive Dorana,” said the man. “She has a penchant for the dramatic.” He smiled again, but I saw his hand squeeze the shoulder of the woman he called Dorana. She didn't flinch, but I saw pain register in her eyes. He let his hand drop after a few seconds and Dorana quickly took a few steps back. “Don't go anywhere, my dear,” the man said without taking his eyes from me. “I would so like you to join us.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “You will join me for a drink, won't you? I understand you have some questions.”

  “Sure,” I said slowly. “You're the necromancer?”

  He smiled once again, the effect chilling me more each time I saw it. “Let me guess, you thought I would be taller, yes?”

  I looked at Gage, who looked as though he was having trouble processing everything. “Sorry,” I said, aware that my tone did not sound the least bit sorry. “I've just heard your name pop up so many places lately that I didn't know what to expect.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, extending a clawed hand. “My name is Zagan. The necromancer. And you are Nikita Slobodian. Our new Death.” I shook his hand and his eyes widened as he grasped my gloved hand with both of his. “Gloves?” he said.

  “Trust me,” I said with a tight-lipped smile. “It's for your own safety.”

  “How intriguing.”

  “And it's Niki.”

  “Niki?” he said.

  “My name. Don't call me Nikita.” I pulled my hand away.

  “Whatever you say,” he said. “Please. Follow me.”

  “This is weird,” Gage whispered, leaning closer to me as we followed the necromancer and his wife across the strange village. It was like an organized garbage dump. “You feel that power coming off that guy?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered back. “What was it?”

  “Dark shit,” he said. “Really bad stuff, sis. We've gotta get out of here. Ain't worth our lives to ask a few questions.”

  “Bobby,” I said. “Look up.” He did and his eyes squinted at the same thing that had caught my eye the moment we started walking.

  “That looks like—”

  “A casting?” I said. “I know.”

  He shook his head. “Ain't no caster did this. Look at it.”

  It was a dome, essentially, but black and slightly transparent. Oddly it didn't dim the light that permeated the village. But it had a bizarre depth to it, like if I touched it it would absorb me. It went all the way around the town.

  “Dark magic?” I said.

  “Hell yeah, it's dark,” he said. “This didn't come from no book.”

  “It's very rude to whisper,” said Zagan, smiling. He had stopped in front of the structure I saw him come out of earlier. “This is our destination.” He gestured at the doorway of the house, which was made of rusted tin and half-burnt wood scraps. I entered and Gage ducked through behind me. There was a large spool that looked like it had once held wire. It was surrounded by four cubes of wood that were meant to be chairs. Stacked against the unstable walls were piles of supplies: guns, burlap-like bags bulging with god-knows-what, and several large barrels with ancient-looking writing painted on the side. Gage and I sat, his knees practically under his chin.

  I inspected the table. “Where did you get this?” I said. “It looks like it's from the world.”

  “Things do tend to fall through the cracks,” said Zagan, reaching behind him and pulling out an unlabeled bottle and several cups made of wood. “At least they used to. We don't find much anymore. We used to be able to scavenge and find all manner of things from the world. As you can see, we used a great deal of it. These days, we don't find much of anything. Pity.”

  “Aw, Christ, cut to the chase, creepy,” said Gage, sounding exasperated. Zagan looked at him, surprised. “Is Kane here or not? What's with all the theatrics?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the necromancer. “Kane's not here,” I said quietly. “His friend is, though. But that's not why you wanted to keep us here, is it?”

  Zagan chuckled, the glee reaching his eyes. “Oh, very good,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “You are so much more fun than Samael. Maybe we should keep you around, yes?”

  “Keep me around?” I said. I frowned down at the table. I saw that Zagan had filled five cups with wine. “Why is there an extra cup?” I said.

  “Because I am expecting one more,” he said. The humor dripped out of his eyes. “Now sit still and wait,” he said coldly, an odd note in his voice. Like an echo that couldn't be heard. I tried to move my hand to reach for my gun, but found I was unable to move my arms. Or my fingers for that matter. I locked eyes with Gage, who looked half-crazed.

  “Drink your wine,” said Zagan calmly. He raised his own to sip demurely. My arms seemed to unlock, but I couldn't reach behind me for my pistol. I couldn't reach into my pocket for the tiny derringer that I wasn't even positive would still fire. I couldn't even take my gloves off. The only direction I could get my hands to go was toward the glass that was sitting in front of me on the makeshift, scavenged table.

  “Boshta is here because my beautiful bride took him in as a child. He just keeps coming back, no matter how many times I get rid of him. Like a disease.”

  “You sold him like an animal,” said Dorana quietly.

  “It was a good price,” said the necromancer, without a scrap of regret.

  “This is all going to come crushing down around you, Zagan,” said Dorana. She tipped the cup back and drained the wine in one long drink. “You've lost your grip.”

  The slap was jarring, from the sound alone. I would have flinched, but I couldn't move. “I did not bring you back to tell me I'm not living up to your lofty expectations,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

  Dorana seemed unfazed by the strike to her face. “You've been holding that over me for a hundred years, husband. I don't recall ever being given a choice in the matter. Look at yourself. You're holding Death hostage. And not just Death, but the woman you know for a fact that Lucifer is infatuated with. You told me yourself.”

  “Silence!” Zagan looked at me, and for a moment I saw fear in his eyes. He was unsure of what he was doing. But the coldness had settled back in after a split second. “Lucifer won't be a problem for very much longer,” he said, looking right into my eyes.

  I tried to speak, I tried to scream, but my mouth wouldn't work properly. I could feel something hot and bright and frightening welling up inside of me. I hadn't been this angry since I had become Death. Even seeing the bodies that Kane had left in his wake, though they had made me murderously enraged, hadn't touched on anything like what I was feeling the beginnings of. I hadn't felt this sort of fury since Sasha was killed and I had unmade the world. I breathed in deeply. I couldn't let myself go like that. Not ever again. I pulled back the anger in my mind. I couldn't hurt any more people, or let them get hurt for me. I looked at Gage. He was staring at me, wide-eyed. He had seen something happen in me. I cast my eyes away from him.

  There was a rumble that shook the table. My still-full cup of wine tipped and spilled, sloshing across the rough wood and dripping into the hard dirt floor. It seemed even the air around me was shaking. I looked at Dorana. She shook her head.

  “I'm sorry,” she said.

  The rumbling stopped. I heard the sound of people, as though the Outsiders were emerging from their dwellings. Children shrieked a word over and over. I frowned, trying to listen. It was muffled. But then I heard it. Ba'al, Ba'al, the kids were crying. They sounded happy to see him. I heard men laughing. A woman laughed. And then the curtain was thrown aside and a giant ducked through sideways, tucking his head so his great horns wouldn't catch.

  Zagan stood, laughing. He embraced the god, his squat body disappearing as Ba'al hugged him. Ba'al's red eyes fell on me. He shook his head at the necromancer.

  “Let her loose,” he said, his voice a friendly growl. There was hard menace behind
it, though.

  “She will be troublesome,” said Zagan.

  “Let her speak. She has that right.” Ba'al crouched down on his haunches to look at me eye-to-eye. “Know this, little Death: everything that happens now is because of you. You broke your promise.”

  I felt something pop in my head and with a jolt I opened my mouth. My jaw was working now, though I still couldn't move anything else. “What the hell is this?” I said. There was so much to say, to scream, that for lack of saying them all at once, all I could do was open and close my mouth, like a fish out of water. Finally, trying to gather myself together, I formed one coherent thought. “What promise?” I said.

  “You said you'd keep him in check,” Ba'al said. “You didn't.”

  “Are you talking about Lucifer?” I said, confused. “What's happened?”

  “He's going away,” said Ba'al. “Where he can't hurt anyone ever again. You may forgive me in time. But you must understand that I have to keep you here for a little while.”

  “What have you done?” I said, my voice almost a whisper. But I wasn't afraid. I felt a dark sense of calm.

  “He did it to himself,” said Ba'al, his lip curling. “He killed three lords tonight.”

  “Why?” I said through gnashed teeth.

  “Why did he kill them?” Ba'al said. “Maybe for the right reasons. But he killed the wrong lords.”

  “Who hired Kane?” I said. “Who?”

  Ba'al smiled as though pleased. “It wasn't me,” he said. “I've been helping the Outsiders for a great long while. Can you think of no one on the fringes of acceptance? Someone who would do anything to climb up from a social catastrophe? Like a son born to a human, perhaps?”

  “Grazial,” I said. He nodded. “Where's Lucifer?”

  “On his way to the Pit,” said Ba'al. “And you cannot stop it.”

  “The Pit?” I said. “Jesus, they'll tear him up down there!”

  “I think you greatly underestimate your lover's power in Erebos,” said Ba'al. “At least when he's not recovering from a bolt of lightning through his heart.” Ba'al rubbed his fingers together and I saw threads of purple course from his fingers to his thumb and back, singeing the air with the smell of electricity.

  “Don't do this,” I said. “You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

  “Neither do you,” he said.

  “While we wait,” intercepted the wheedling voice of the necromancer, “perhaps we could kill two birds with one stone.” Ba'al stared at him, his face inscrutable.

  “What's he talking about?” I said.

  “There's not enough,” said Ba'al, ignoring me. “We can't do it here.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I said. Ba'al looked at me.

  “I made a promise, too,” he said. “To an old friend. A promise I intend to keep.”

  “The tragic story of a man who died for the woman he loved,” said Zagan in a mocking tone. “But sadly, it was his brother that she wanted all along.”

  “Why are you talking about Sam?” I said. “What did you promise him?”

  “I was resurrected once,” said Ba'al. “Samael brought me back. I always promised him I would do the same.”

  “He brought you back?” I said, genuinely shocked. “But he said—”

  “That you were the only one?” said Ba'al. “Samael was many things – many great things – but honest was not one of them. He did what he had to do to get things done. He learned to manipulate people. I never approved, of course, but then, I am able to leave my house without people screaming in terror.” He shrugged. “Usually. But Samael was lonely. He did everything he could to surround himself with bright things. Like yourself. Don't hate him. He did not have an easy life.”

  “Don't do this,” I said. “He won't come back the same.”

  “Who told you that?” said Zagan. “Lucifer?” He snorted derisively. “Cassandra was not my fault. There just wasn't enough.”

  “Enough what?” I said, appalled.

  “Soul,” he said.

  “Oh, hell,” I said. “You're going to take it out of me, aren't you?”

  “Niki,” said Ba'al, “it was never yours. You were just carrying it. Don't make this difficult. We're trying not to kill you. But bad things could happen if you wriggle.”

  “No,” I said. “This is never going to happen. I will never let you take my soul out of me.”

  “It won't kill you,” said Zagan. He smiled. “Much.”

  “You'll be fine,” said Ba'al. “Don't you want to go back to your old life?”

  My old life. The life where I was helpless, much the same way I was restrained now. Only in my old life, it was permanent. Unable to work, paralyzed under bills I couldn't pay, harassed by cops, and treated as a second-class citizen. The only thing that had made that life worth living was Sofi. And Sofi was gone. But this new life, there was a brightness to it. It was dark, yes. There was death, and I saw suffering and blood and cruelty every day. But the entire universe shifted, and I felt it. I could feel the stars burning coldly in the sky. When I was in the world, I could feel the grass turn from brown to green. And there was so much love. My eyes teared with the thought of it. In between the sadness and death, there was an underlying meaning to everything I did. Between the cracks, there was life. I saw the love, raw and bare and hurting. A parent's love for a child, a man's love for his wife, a wife's sobbing for her family. It was love that made it hurt. And it was the same love that made it more beautiful than anything I had ever seen.

  “That life isn't mine anymore,” I said. “And when this is over, I'm going to find Lucifer. I'm going to search the Pit if I have to. I'm going to rip the throats out of every depraved monster you have in there if it will bring me one step closer to him. And when I find him and bring him back, you're going to wish you'd just walked away. There isn't enough of Sam's soul in me to do this.”

  “Another pretty speech,” said Ba'al. “You really are very good at those.”

  “We don't need her permission,” said Zagan. His eyes were bright. He was practically frothing at the mouth. “We can bring the angel back. Just let me look at her soul. Just a touch will tell me if there's enough.”

  Ba'al narrowed his red eyes. “Just a touch,” he said. “You don't act unless I tell you to. Understood?”

  “No,” I said. “Don't do this.” I could feel the darkness growing larger. I didn't know what it was, but it felt so familiar.

  I could hear voices all around us, as though the Outsiders had gathered there, curious. There was whispering, excited and nervous twittering. I looked at Bobby. His eyes were wide with terror. He looked from me to the men and back again.

  “I tried, Bobby,” I said. I looked to Ba'al. “Send my friend away. Please. Do whatever you want to me, but send Bobby away. I don't want him to see this.”

  Ba'al studied me for a moment. “Done,” he said. He looked to Zagan. “Send the caster out.”

  The necromancer sighed. “Very well. Dorana, take the human. Human, stand up and go with my wife.” Dorana stood and held out her hand to Gage. He took it, his movements robotic. His eyes blazed with anger. “My love,” said Zagan. Dorana turned to look at him. “If you try anything, I will end you. This time for good.”

  She turned away from him, leading Gage out of the hut. I heard the murmurings outside grow louder as they pelted Dorana with questions. Zagan was smiling at me. “This should be fun,” he said.

  “I could call my father,” I said, suddenly remembering. “My real father. You know who he is, don't you?”

  “Do you think he would dare enter the void ever again?” said Ba'al. “The Unsung no doubt terrifies him by now.”

  “Who is her father?” snapped Zagan. “What aren't you telling me?”

  “He doesn't know?” I said.

  “Calm yourself, necromancer,” said Ba'al. “The Watcher will not trouble us.”

  “Watcher?” said Zagan. He wasn't smiling any longer. “You didn't tell me she had Watcher
blood.”

  “It changes nothing,” said Ba'al. With one hand, he pushed the makeshift table as far against the wall as he could. The whole structure shuddered as the wooden spool nudged the rusty tin. He leaned over and lifted me up, my body rigid. I tried to move my fingers, using all my willpower, concentrating on the power I had felt coursing through my limbs before. Nothing happened. My eyes stung with tears. I couldn't even fight. This creepy little man was going to reach inside me and make a monster out of my insides. A monster that looked like Sam. And there was nothing I could do about it.

  Ba'al laid me down on the hard ground, kicking the wood blocks we'd been using as chairs out of the way.

  “Not to worry, girl,” said the necromancer. “You're not going to die. I'm just going to have a little look.” The darkness I had felt coming off of him was stronger now. Something shone behind his eyes as he looked at me. He lifted my shirt, exposing my bare stomach. He touched my skin with his rough, scaly hand. His head twitched like he had a tic.

  “You need to stop this now,” I said. I could feel whatever I had felt inside me welling up. It was growing more intense, and making it harder to breathe. I felt a tingle against my belly, and then I could feel Zagan's fingers inside my body, pushing through the skin like a ghost, his whole arm becoming transparent. A chilling cold spread out from his hand. My teeth started to chatter despite the spell holding me still. My fingers went numb; though when I tried to flex them, I could move the thumb of my left hand. The cold crept out through my body, the iciness something I somehow recognized. And then I remembered. It was death. Not the death as I had been seeing it, but death as I had experienced it. It was a lack of warmth, of heat, of feeling. It was cold and despairing emotions. It was a void of everything. And the necromancer was filling me up with it.