by R. J. Blain
Then, before he retreated from my memories, he guided me to the very beginning, piercing the distance haze to one of my mother and my father cooing over me, holding me, and showering me with their affection in the first days of my life.
Paul’s laughter drew me from my memories. A shower of feathers rained down, someone squawked, and Xena laughed. Angels and their wings took up a lot of space, and the newcomers tripped over each other, confusion reigned, and the gentle devil from my newer memories rubbed Dean’s nose.
One of the stallion’s ears turned back, but he tolerated the attention.
“You gave me cake, but then you took the memory.”
“It was necessary. The time wasn’t right, but I wanted to forge a connection. That requires exposure. I knew it was only a matter of time before my plans would come to fruition, but your heritage awakening early would’ve spoiled the workings in progress. Isn’t he a lovely specimen?”
“Why are you petting Dean?”
“I like unicorns. They amuse me. The white ones are masters of deceit, and I appreciate such things. This one is stunning, isn’t he?”
“Instead of putting your hands all over my unicorn, you should bring me some more of that cake. You’re the reason I made a fool of myself over a pixie dust cupcake, aren’t you?”
“My cakes did help a little, but those cakes were special. They contained more than sugar and spice and everything nice. They were infused with demonic essence, the same kind that sustains succubi.”
Paul chuckled. “I had wondered about how she’d emerged from such a life so unscathed. You’d been sustaining her. More openly in later years.”
“I’ve been providing for many years, slipping in unseen or sending a possessed human into the system to ensure she was sustained. Part of her advanced maturity is my fault. I couldn’t act openly quite yet, and it’s very difficult to manage the dosage of energies. It’s worked well. Her unicorn would have been unhappy if she’d emerged from captivity starved. She’ll have a chance to adapt to feeding herself, and he’ll have a chance to adapt to being her primary provider. Anyway, some of my devils are slower than others at revenge. I’m talking about your sire. His desire for revenge came second only to his love for his wife and child. He’s been delightful, making a mess of every hell he could worm his way into on his quest for revenge.”
“You’re an asshole,” my father snarled.
“Yes, I am. Admit it. You’re secretly pleased I safeguarded your child. You’ll forgive me in a few decades. The time wasn’t right, and you’d worked so hard for quality revenge. And your revenge? It was a work of art. You might say I’ve shown you my favor this way. You destroyed one of my generals, and had I been home attending to that matter rather than flitting around the mortal coil, you would have been robbed of such satisfying destruction. As you destroyed one of my generals, you’ll just have to clean up your mess and take his place. Such a tragedy. You certainly gathered enough support among even demons. You’ll have more demonic soldiers than devilish one, but this will be your strength.”
More feathers fell around me, and I caught one, a large one with a velvety texture. “Can I use these to make a pillow?”
The devil who’d earned my father’s wrath chuckled. “Sure. If those pesky angels wanted to keep their feathers, they would’ve knocked before entering like polite beings. I knocked and entered properly. My wife has been very insistent I act like a somewhat civilized being and knock before entering. I do it to humor her and when I decide to just pop in, it’s far more entertaining because they expect me to knock first.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the Devil, little girl. Shouldn’t you be asking who you are? That’s a better question. Who I am doesn’t at all influence who you are, and who you are has changed compared to a few hours ago. I do love when angels do the heavy lifting, so I don’t have to. I am not nearly as gentle and considerate as the asshole angels.”
My mother, who matched my earliest memories, jumped on a purple-winged angel, bludgeoning his shoulders with a black purse. “Don’t you touch my husband, you freak of an angel!”
“And that would be your grandfather,” the Devil explained before he pointed at the other newcomers, all of whom had colored wings. “They are also more distant relatives, and while I appreciate that they contributed to the existence of my devil’s bride, they live to annoy me.”
“My mother seems to dislike him.”
“She loves him to a shameful degree. Alas, he is a rather aggressive archangel. He does like to wade into battle and ask questions after. She’s showing her love through wholesome violence. Don’t kill each other. That would make things complicated and cultivating her seed for my devil would be troublesome. Do you know how hard it is to find an appropriate lineage for a seed’s renewal?”
“No. I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me. And if my name isn’t Layla, you can tell me, but if it’s stupid, you’ll just have to keep calling me Layla.”
“You got the rather stereotypical Lilith, as you’re the first demoness born of this era, and your species does like to lead men into temptation. You’re not all that good at leading men to temptation, as you’re disgustingly monogamous for a succubus. In that, you’re a lot like my wife. I’m not good at sharing. Neither are you. Your father is also not very good at sharing. Your mother doesn’t mind sharing, but your father keeps her amused. This sort of thing happens with my demons from time to time. Many are gloriously naughty, but every now and again, I’m given a corrupted seed. These corrupted seeds produce demonesses like you. But you corrupted a unicorn, so I’m quite pleased with you. You went for quality over quantity, and I can live with this.”
Dean sighed.
Paul snickered and gave the unicorn a slap on his rump. “Don’t worry, Dean. He likes you. If he didn’t, you’d already be a smear on the wall. The Devil does not like when anyone bothers his favored demons and devils. That’s his angelic nature toying with him. He always enjoys when the underlings pull a fast one on one of the generals, and your father wiped that devil from existence, took the seed, and locked it in a box. He spends every morning dribbling holy water on the seed out of pure spite.”
“I really should reclaim that seed, but my devil is having a good time, and I’d hate to ruin his fun. It’s extended revenge, although he’ll be a little less motivated in his daily torture sessions.” The Devil laughed. “Who am I kidding? Your father will invite you to his home so you can have fun with the seed, too. You’ve my permission to gift the seed to your daughter should you want or keep it for yourself. The seed will be fully purified for your enjoyment.”
“I’ll leave that up to her,” my father replied. “But thank you.”
“Just be aware it’s a devilish seed, and it should be replanted sooner than later. It’s a little unbalancing with it just sitting around doing nothing.”
My father held out his hand, and a small, black box appeared in his palm, which smoked and stank of sulfur. “Do you wish this child, Layla? You have choices. You can have the seed planted in a new life lost, you may choose to carry the seed to term more naturally, or you can choose not to have the seed at all. That devil has paid his dues for his crime, and a devilish child would be a challenge for you both. Devils do thrive in loving homes despite their nature. It would be a good way to cultivate more alliances between demons and devils, too.” My father sighed. “You’ll be a disgustingly doting mother, I’m sure. Your mother certainly is, and she’s been giving me the eye.”
“Says the disgustingly doting father,” my mother said, still hard at work beating the archangel with her purse. “Don’t fill her ears with lies. And don’t you pretend you aren’t planning on requesting a seed for another child. You’ve been sighing over that seed each morning, but you absolutely wouldn’t.”
“Because of me?”
“It’s impossible to raise a child while knowing you were somewhere out there,” my mother replied. She draped her chin over my—our—grandfather
’s shoulder. “He’ll want time to settle, get to know you, and then have another child once you’re safely settled with your stallion.”
“The seed can wait. It exists, and that is sufficient to maintain the balance,” the Devil said, his tail lashing side to side. “It’s been a while since there’s been an equine devil born. It would be the first of this age. I like it. Perhaps as your third or fourth born. He would be loved but not your heir, and that is for the best. I like surprises, and I’d like to see what surprises the heir of a demoness and a unicorn will become without any meddling.”
I considered the problem of the devil who’d made a mess of my life, and after a few moments of thought, unlike my father, I couldn’t bring myself to want revenge at all. Revenge changed nothing for me; it would not undo the circumstances of my life, and it seemed like a waste to me. My father had handled the matter, and I saw no need to add to the tragedy.
“You’re a smart one,” the Devil praised, reaching over and patting me on the head.
I snatched the nearest paintbrush, snapped the handle in half, and went for the Devil with the jagged edge. Before I could sink the splintered wood into his face, Paul wrapped his arm around me and held me back.
“Stop making everyone want to kill you,” the angel complained.
“But it’s fun, Paul. What will make someone snap? All I had to do was tell her she was smart, and she went right for my face. It’s like there’s a little violence switch, and if you say anything nice to her, her fuse blows and off she goes. Isn’t she cute?”
Dean whipped his head around and bit the Devil hard enough to draw flaming blood, and since that wasn’t enough to satisfy the stallion, he surged forward a stride, bucked.
The Devil crashed into me, and Paul lost his grip on my waist.
Before I could stab Satan, my father waded into the fray, took my paint brush, and gave me the box containing the precious seed. “Guard this until you figure out what you want to do with it. While the Devil loves a good brawl, let’s not flatten the entire hotel, please.”
The angels, for all they lacked heads, had one hell of a stare, which concentrated on my father.
“That’s so creepy. How can beings without eyes do that? They’re staring at you. They’re really staring at you. I can feel it. I can’t stab their eyes out to make them stop because they don’t have any eyes!” Of all the things that’d happened, it amazed me I reached my limit coping with the headless angels.
My father smiled. “You’ll get used to it eventually. Don’t you worry about them; they’re mostly harmless.”
Epilogue
My life had changed, and I wasn’t sure what I thought about that.
In the days following Paul rummaging through my memories and helping me to discover the truth, I’d discovered the angel had done more than just add buffers to give me a chance to adapt to my new life and circumstances.
He’d done something, something that offered little nudges in the right direction when I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do. The first of my obstacles involved displays of affection. Before Paul rummaging about in my head and making some key adjustments, I’d reacted with violence, reaching for the nearest item I could turn into a weapon.
A still, quiet voice reined in those instincts, buying me enough time to determine if I wanted to accept the offered affection.
It’d taken time, but I’d learned to accept Dean rubbing my feet, and he waited for when I was ready to handle more.
As such, he broke through those walls first.
We’d been watching a television show, although he paused it more often than not to explain the nuances of reality versus dramatic portrayals meant to entertain. The shows ate away time, but I’d learned a few important things: I liked Dean’s voice, I loved his patience, and I enjoyed his company.
The longer I stayed with him, the more I recognized I’d fight to keep him.
Then, after watching my mother, the cues from that still, quiet voice made sense. She often pounced on my father or our angelic great-whatever grandfather seeking affection. Sometimes, she’d even target a member of Dean’s family, although she left Dean alone.
He was mine, and I appreciated she recognized that.
Every time, her victim would feign surprise over her latest assault and fall prey to her. Once she’d subdued her target, she snuggled close and simply relished their company.
It had taken me a week of watching how others asked for or demanded attention before I’d decided to follow my mother’s example.
Waiting for a moment when no one else was in the room, I pounced and drove him to the floor, snuggling him into submission. Making him laugh, as he’d done after figuring out who had pounced him and why, had rose to one of my top priorities.
I hadn’t yet found the courage to seek affection from anyone else, but I planned to target my father next. He liked cuddling, even with angels, and accepted attention from anyone who would give it to him. After my father, I would target my mother, as she seemed like she would require more affection than my father before being satisfied. It bothered me I struggled when everyone else so readily sought and received attention from others.
Even the Devil liked being with people. Once, after a shopping trip with Xena to the art store, I’d returned to the hotel to a pile of angels, my parents, the Devil, and unicorns snuggled together watching television.
I’d taken a picture, as I doubted anyone would believe me if I told them what I’d witnessed without evidence.
Then, to help make certain I closed the doors of my past behind me for good, the unicorns took me out of the city, created a crystal grove in the middle of the forest, and staged a war meeting.
They wanted the blood of my former slavers, and they meant to turn it into paint. I’d vetoed that before anyone could get carried away. I didn’t want to paint with blood. To keep me from murdering his stubborn family, Dean had promised to take me to a museum nearby, one that had an exhibit of my artwork. The herd fixated on their next scheme: returning all of my art to me, so I could decide what should become of my life’s work.
My first trip to the museum ended with a deep sense of awe, that I’d somehow created something so beautiful while trapped in a cell, unaware I’d done nothing wrong to deserve my fate. Through my long and slow walk through the gallery, where I faced my memories, Dean stayed by my side.
Angels, devils, and demons alike kept claiming they loved me. The still, quiet, and guiding voice promised I only needed to look at Dean to understand it was possible for someone to love me, a flawed succubus with zero understanding of how to be a good succubus.
My second trip to the museum warned me of life to come. An over-enthusiastic herd of unicorns in their human forms dragged me through every exhibit, studying every last inch of the building preparing to test its security in the hopes of robbing the place blind.
I hadn’t enjoyed that trip as much. My parents had kidnapped Dean, using him to make sure I attended our first family dinner.
In Hell.
With the Devil, his wife, and his spitfire cat of a daughter.
His daughter interested me, as she’d caught herself a stallion, too. Hers was a blue-gray tinged with green, and he liked showing off his teeth, which were meant for tearing through meat. He had a human form, too, and he seemed resigned to his fate when dealing with his father-in-law but so in love with his wife I wondered how I would change if I, too, could be capable of such an emotion.
I wanted to paint the entire lot of them and capture that love somehow, displaying it for the world to see.
The Devil, being the asshole ruler over all other assholes, had exposed my thoughts, resulting in a date to sketch and paint to my heart’s content.
It’d been a rather cordial affair, and I’d learned my mother had waited my entire life for a chance to dress me up as a doll.
To my horror and dismay, I’d liked it. I’d even, under threat of death if she told a soul, tested patting her shoulder. As the displa
y of affection hadn’t killed me, I hugged her.
She’d hugged me back, and she’d rubbed my back like I’d seen people do on television. Afterwards, in the safety of my hotel room, in a gap when Dean and his sister had been stolen for a strategy session, I’d cried for everything I’d lost.
Until then, I hadn’t known I could cry at all.
The third time, I had gone with my parents, who had treated my paintings as priceless treasures they wanted gracing their walls and their walls alone. Dean felt the same way.
In time, my parents would wage war with the unicorn, and I’d be stuck in the middle.
I looked forward to it.
Unfortunately for my parents, I planned to side with the damned unicorn. I’d somewhat adapted to having parents. I’d figured out how to handle hugging someone else without trying to stab them with improvised weapons.
I’d even won the museum curator’s grudging respect, although we developed a love-hate relationship. He wanted to keep my art, but he didn’t want to be haunted by devils, angels, the Devil, and a bunch of nosy, prissy and beautiful unicorns. If I let any of them have their way, I’d be the grand prize of their battle.
With the museum’s blessings, the unicorns schemed and went to work. Either way, the paintings would be given to me. If the herd busted through the museum’s security, the paintings would be paid for in labor, shoring up the building’s defenses against people seeking priceless treasures. If we failed to rob the place, we’d buy them for a sum of ten million dollars.
I really hoped we succeeded at robbing the museum, as Paul’s meddling helped me understand the value of such a number. Apparently, everyone thought I could earn as much or more with new paintings, too.
My artwork had traveled the world, and museums sought exhibits like the one we’d purchase from them.
Until my first visit, I hadn’t known something as fascinating as museums could exist.