Imp Forsaken

by Debra Dunbar

  Imp Forsaken

  By

  Debra Dunbar

  Copyright 2013, All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedication

  To Dr. Hadley Tremaine (1939-2001), Chairman of the Department of English, Hood College, Frederick, Maryland, who taught me that there is great treasure to be found in what others consign to Hell.

  1

  What is that?”

  The elf’s incredulous voice was punctuated by a stab with an especially long branch. He jumped back after poking me, as if he thought I’d leap up through the stick and attack him. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but, rather, the form I’d managed to create seemed to lack the ability to move about of its own volition. It was a significant design flaw that I’d been unable to correct for the three days I’d lain here in the forest. Luckily, I didn’t seem to need food or water. I guess whatever I was at the moment was capable of either absorbing nutrients from the ground or photosynthesis. I couldn’t tell.

  “I don’t know.” The other elven scout peered at me, leaning close. He was taller than his friend, his brown hair closer to blond in its tight braid. I had no eyes, but still managed to register a vision of my surroundings and the two scouts cautiously circling my form.

  “Is it some kind of pond scum?” I received another jab from the branch. This was beginning to piss me off.

  “There’s no pond for five miles. I honestly don’t know what this thing is; I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I had no idea where the nearest pond was. Since I had no head to raise, and no ability to move, I’d been staring at a canopy of tree leaves, a mossy covered ground, and the red-orange lichen on the trees closest to my… whatever. Three days I’d been here. The longest three days of my life.

  The second, taller elf moved even closer, his face distorted by whatever lens I was viewing him through. I wondered what I could do to him if he touched me. Might be fun to find out. Come here, mister elf.

  “Is it a demon?”

  The one with the stick poked me again, arm outstretched to its full length, just in case I was, in fact, a demon. I was, but I couldn’t seem to do anything demonic right now. Anything beyond oozing all over the ground and soaking up the sunshine.

  “Ugh, they are so disgusting! I’ll bet it is a demon. It would be just like one of them to draw us in close, then leap on top of us.”

  The one with the stick nodded, not daring to stab me again now that my potential species was in debate. “Remember the rat one last year? I nearly peed my pants.”

  The taller one snorted. “You did pee your pants. Fairy.”

  I was pretty sure he was slandering his partner’s fae race and not his masculinity, although, with elves I think the insult had the same meaning. Clearly affronted, the first elf stabbed me again with his branch. “Let’s take it in. We’ll net it, just in case.”

  The other seemed doubtful. “We’ll look like idiots if it’s some kind of rare fungus and we’ve netted it.”

  The pair looked at me for a few moments, considering their course of action and weighing any potential ridicule. I continued to lie there, a gelatinous ooze on the ground.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” the one with the stick finally said. “Get a bucket and a shovel, and let’s take this thing in.”

  I was scooped unceremoniously into a bucket, netted, and hauled through the woods. My mind raced, going through the potential places in Hel where Gregory might have banished me. I wasn’t sure how the whole thing worked. Did I go back to a designated spot? Near one of the gates? My childhood home? I couldn’t believe the angel picked the spot himself, since he’d never been to Hel.

  More worrisome was that I couldn’t feel him at all. When we were near, I’d been able to sense his emotions, read some of his thoughts. Now that our bond was broken, I realized I’d had so much more. There had always been a sense of connection, no matter how far apart we were. It was gone now. I still had the red-purple of his spirit self networked throughout me, but it was no longer tied to him. None of me was tied to him. If I’d had an arm, I would have checked to see if the tattoo was still there. I’m sure it would not have been. Once again, a sense of loss crashed through me. I missed him. I missed my angel. And I missed Wyatt and the girls. I missed Candy and Michelle. I felt so terribly alone.

  Once the elven scouts had shown up, my heart sank even further. Not that I currently had a heart. I’d been undecided whether it would have been better to be found by demons or elves. Demons didn’t tolerate weakness and would have probably killed me outright. Elves would normally be a better choice, but I’d pissed off almost every High Lord in Hel. My only hope was that they somehow couldn’t recognize me, that they’d think I was a strange slimy being, and just dump me back in the woods.

  But then, I wasn’t sure that was a better scenario. Maybe in time I’d be able to form something more mobile, but if not… well, this pretty much sucked. I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my life as immobile ooze, unable to communicate. The only good thing about my return to Hel was that the excruciating pain I’d felt in Aaru had dulled to an achy throb. Something in my spirit-self was scabbing over and recovering. I just hoped it was the parts I needed to survive.

  “What should we do with it once we get to Chime?” one of the scouts said. I couldn’t tell which one had spoken, since I was deep inside a bucket.

  “Let’s put it in a cell for a few days and see what happens.”

  Great. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to live in a dark stone cell. And Chime? That name sounded familiar. I dug through my memories and realized with dread that Chime was in the elven kingdom of Wythyn. Of all the elven kingdoms, that was the absolutely worst place I could have found myself. This past winter I’d cursed at the high lord, Feille, refused to do his bidding then had Gregory yank me out of his grasp. If that wasn’t enough, I’d returned to threaten him, blown the top off his fancy-dancy throne then stole my horse back. I could only hope Feille never realized it was me in one of his dungeons, and that I somehow managed to regain the ability to escape before any of these elves discovered who I was.

  Eventually we must have reached the city of Chime. Even from the depth of my bucket I could hear the city gates open, the greeting of the guards, the ring of footsteps on stone. Murmured voices grew louder, and I could make out the conversations of those bartering for goods. The noise drifted away, and eventually all I heard was footsteps and the opening and closing of doors.

  “So, we just stick it down here? What do we tell the guards?”

  My bucket shifted, and I assumed the elf carrying me had shrugged. “That we need a secure place to hold it until we figure out what it is?”

  “Riiiight. I’m not about to become a laughing stock. I’ve got an idea.”

  I heard a crash, and the elf not carrying me berated someone.

  “I’m sorry, sir! I’m so sorry!” The voice was high—either a child or perhaps a young woman.

  “Stupid human. A few days in the dungeon should make you less clumsy.”

  The human gasped and the sound of soft crying accompanied us down another long set of stairs. The temperature dropped noticeably, and I sensed a dusty dampness.

  “We’re punishing this clumsy human,” the other scout told someone.

  A new voice replied. “Fine. Glad to see you brought a bucket to clean up any of her—holy Goddess! What is that nasty stuff in there? Ugh!”

  I felt my container shift. “Part of the punishment.”

  We were quickly ushered down the stairs, and I felt the thunk of my bucket hitting the floor. There was the sound of shuffling
feet, a soft thud and a whimper.

  I was unceremoniously dumped out of my bucket onto a filthy stone floor. The two scouts jumped back and clanged the cell door shut, locking it quickly. Huddled in a corner was a young woman, her scant wrap clothing smudged with the thick dust that lay everywhere. Her terrified eyes looked from the elven scouts to me.

  “What… what is that?” I could hear the fear in her voice and see the emotions flash across her expressive face. No doubt she thought she’d need to eat me, or clean me up, or smear me all over her body for the amusement of the elves.

  “It’s a demon,” the taller elf told her smugly. “We’re feeding you to it. First it will encircle you with its poisonous form then slowly creep up your body, searing your flesh bit by bit. Eventually it will cover every inch of you, drowning you as it pours down your nose and throat. But you won’t die, because it will Own you. For all eternity you’ll repeat this torture over and over until it’s all you know.”

  Fuck, this elf should write novels. I’d buy that one.

  The girl made a choking noise and huddled further into the corner, obviously trying to make herself as invisible as possible. The elves laughed and chatted to each other about some wine purchase as they left the dungeon. Assholes—scaring the poor thing like that. Her fear flowed off her in waves, sparking something primitive in me. Her terror was like an aphrodisiac. The demon I used to be wouldn’t have been able to resist slowly tearing her apart, trying to draw out as much of that lovely emotion as possible. But all I felt now was sympathy and frustration that I couldn’t communicate with her, couldn’t reassure her that I had no intention of causing her harm.

  In time the girl’s sobs tapered off and she looked at me with curiosity. Carefully, she rose to her feet and circled the perimeter of the cell. One of her legs twisted at an odd angle, causing her to shuffle slightly. The elves would never have taken a disabled changeling baby, so her injury had most likely been acquired during her stay among them. She approached, looking cautiously at me, and I noticed two toes missing from her left foot.

  She was practically naked, wearing just a thin, plain linen wrap, and I saw a network of ridged flesh, scars in a pattern of lines and crosses, all over her body. Some were old. Others fresh – red and angry. One was clearly in the shape of an elven word. I couldn’t quite make it out from my angle, but it looked similar to the symbol for excrement. Although humans on earth sometimes indulged in decorative scarring, I doubted these were voluntary, especially given her other injuries. I couldn’t imagine that anyone would willingly put the elven word for “shit” on their upper thigh either.

  “Is this some cruel joke?” she whispered, reaching out a tentative foot toward me.

  I wondered what it would feel like to have her touch me with her toes, then suddenly worried whatever I was might harm her. Her foot hovered, shaking slightly before she drew it back.

  “I’m too scared.” Her laugh wobbled. “Although, after everything they’ve done to me I might welcome death. As long as it didn’t hurt too much.”

  She might not have been brave enough to touch me, but she managed to turn her back on me and carefully examine the cell. It wasn’t very impressive from what I could see from my prone position. Stone walls with chipped and flaking plaster were home to scurrying insects. A deep trench circled just inside the walls and door, broken only by a metal-covered grate. I was willing to bet that both the iron-barred door and the metal on the grate were spelled to keep magical and demonic prisoners safely inside. The filthy walls and floor were probably strengthened by runes just under the surface. It looked like a regular human dungeon, but elves took special precautions. Confirming my suspicions, the bars sizzled slightly as the girl accidently brushed against them. She yelped and retreated to her corner.

  Time passed, and I heard the girl’s stomach rumble. No food came. Nobody came to let her out. I wondered what they told her owner? Not that he or she would probably protest the human’s mistreatment if the scars on her body were any indication. Finally she sighed and shifted, wincing as her hip rolled on the hard floor.

  “Looks like we’ll be here for the night. Not that I mind. The bright spot of my evening was going to be cold broth strained from the cooking pan, or possibly a half-eaten fruit someone dropped on the floor. The rest of it would be full of beatings and other ‘fun’. I think I’d rather starve here.”

  She smiled, and I saw faint humor in her tired eyes. “Not that you aren’t lovely company, Mister Algae. Some of the finest conversation I’ve had in the last decade.”

  She got awkwardly to her feet and stretched, shivering in the damp chill of the dungeon. “What have you done, Mister Algae, to anger the elves? Tainted their water, perhaps? Stained their embroidered shoes? Maybe you’re just the wrong shade of green.”

  Nope. I’d threatened to kill their high lord. And if they figured out I was that demon, this girl’s future would be roses and sunshine compared to mine.

  I heard a clang, and the girl evidently did too. She started then dashed over to her corner as fast as she could, huddling in the shadows. Footsteps grew near, and the two scouts came into view.

  “I don’t see any blood or bones,” one commented casually.

  The taller elf sighed. “Because she’s still in the corner, where we left her. And the demon is still on the floor, where we left it. This is stupid, Lyte. Let’s just dump it down the drain and be done with it.”

  Yes, please dump me down the drain and be done with me. Even if I wound up in the sewage system, it had to be better than the dungeon of my enemies.

  “No. It’s a demon. I’m sure of it.”

  “Then why is it still like that?” the tall one demanded. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be able to resist a human. Why is the wench still alive?”

  “Maybe it just needs incentive.”

  The lock grated, and the door opened, but instead of walking toward me, the elf strode to the human, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. She caught her breath, and I tensed as the elf pulled out a knife and slashed her arm from wrist to shoulder.

  The girl gasped, biting off a scream. I struggled to do anything—shoot the fuckers with a bolt of lightning, suffocate them with my gelatinous form, anything. I felt helpless—again. Just as I felt when I watched Stab being murdered. What a cruel turn my life had taken that I finally cared and couldn’t do anything to help.

  “Lyte! Don’t kill her. Humans are expensive, and this one has a lot of fun left in her.”

  The elf slashed her other arm, then did the same to her legs. She stood shaking, dripping lines of red from her limbs. They were shallow cuts, not likely to kill her, but the girl looked like she was on the verge of collapse. She was half starved, probably dehydrated. She couldn’t afford to lose any blood, even the small amount decorating her body.

  “Idiot.” The taller scout curled his lip. “The pond scum doesn’t look any more interested in her now than when she wasn’t bleeding all over the dungeon floor. I’m done with this nonsense.”

  He left the cell, his footsteps ringing on the stone. The other scout shoved the human girl to the floor and waved his knife at me. I wasn’t particularly alarmed. Poking with a stick hadn’t bothered me; I doubted being stabbed would do any damage.

  “I know what you are. Let’s see if you can resist her now.”

  He left, locking the cell door carefully and leaving me with a thin girl, dazed and bleeding in a dirty corner. I wished I could do something to help her, to help all of them. I thought of Nyalla, of what she’d been through. Terrible as it had been, it was nothing compared to the life of this poor creature before me. I stared at her, at the defeated look in her eyes and swore that if I could regain any of my powers, if I could somehow manage to even move about, I would help her. I would help them all.

  “If only you were an angel, Mister Algae,” she sighed, her voice wandering as if she had a fever. “If only you were an angel to heal me, to avenge my hurts and shelter me under your w
ings. An angel like those in the songs and stories.”

  If only I were an angel. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t even sure if I was the Iblis anymore. I was only a powerless imp trapped in a dirty elven prison cell.

  2

  Gabriel stood outside the decrepit Cape Cod style house, under the spreading canopy of an ancient maple tree. Cicadas filled the humid summer air with their mating song. Blue light flickered from the windows, illuminating the gray dusk. The angel hesitated, uncertain of the modern protocol of requesting entry into a human’s dwelling. Should he vocalize something? Rap on the entrance with his knuckles? One of his angels had told him to push the little beige button beside the door, but he suspected that angel’s knowledge might be less than accurate.

  Eventually he gave up. Eldest brother? May I speak with you?

  He felt like a child, or a lesser angel requesting an audience. The uncomfortable feeling grew as his request was met with a long silence.

  A moment. I am killing undead at present.

  Undead? Necromancy was a lost art, but the humans had made some impressive medical advances lately. Clearly those advances had gone wrong if the head of the Grigori felt the need to temporarily put aside his duties to address the issue. One more thing the humans had messed up in their frenetic evolutionary pace. Gabriel frowned at the window, wondering if intervention would be welcome, or if it would be perceived as a slight upon his brother’s ability to massacre animated corpses unassisted.

  Just as Gabriel was about to rush the door, it opened. A tall figure stood in the entrance, blocking the light from within the house. With a few words to someone behind him, the angel closed the door and headed toward Gabriel with a relaxed stride. The older angel carried some sort of bag in one hand. It crinkled noisily as he folded the top down.

  “This better be good. I’ve left the fate of the world hanging in the hands of a human with rather poor fine-motor skills.”

  Gabriel was momentarily distracted by the glossy orange and tan bag at his brother’s side. Did it hold some substance that neutralized undead? He’d never seen a weapon like this before, but humans had changed considerably since he frequented their home. Who knew what they were capable of? Too far, too fast, he thought with a scowl.