Imp Forsaken

by Debra Dunbar

  By the time I heard the dungeon door again, I was able to change rapidly between my three shapes. I quickly reverted to the pond scum, not wanting to show any weakness. Let them think I was just being stubborn. I’d bide my time and take the first chance that came.

  A whole host of feet appeared, separated from me by the bars of my cell. Three booted ones, a pair of brown, short boots, and what I assumed were Feille’s fancy, slippered ones—this time spring-green with topaz designs. I wondered if he’d had to toss the previous ones. I hoped so.

  “She looks just like she did before.” The sorcerer sounded confused. “Has she not changed shape at all?”

  “She’s like this every time I come here,” the guard chimed in. “But look, footprints! She must be changing when she’s alone.”

  Dammit! Once again this stupid, fucking dusty floor was giving me away.

  “She’s stubbornly keeping to that form so I’m unable to punish her properly,” Feille snapped. “Make her into something easier to hurt. I can’t do anything to pond scum. Make her into a human.”

  There was a heavy silence, then the sorcerer released a careful breath. “My Lord, transformation spells have never worked on demons. I’d be happy to do your bidding and attempt it, but I must counsel you that the end result will most likely be failure. If she wants to be pond scum, she’ll remain that way.”

  Awesome! They’d have no choice but to leave me here and hope I eventually got bored enough that I complied—or escaped. Normally demons lost any kind of waiting game, but I got the feeling Feille had even less patience than I.

  The high lord in question stomped a slippered foot and smacked me through the spelled bars of my cell with a staff. “Do it. Do it now.”

  There was a flurry of activity, and I saw the door slide open. The sorcerer began to chant, spreading a line of white in a circle around me. Two inches inside was another ring then a triangle inside that. Once finished, he dropped to his knees and began to inscribe a set of runes around the edge of the outer salt circle. This guy wasn’t taking any chances. Even if I could convert myself into something deadly, I wasn’t getting past two circles and one triangle, all reinforced. Nothing that didn’t come from the sorcerer was getting through that.

  The rune circle took a while. I saw a wheeled cart and realized Feille had ordered a food delivery. Even though I didn’t have a stomach at the moment, the idea of food took over my mind. I’d spent forty years eating human food, and memories of Hunan bean curd, deep-dish pizza, fudge brownies, and fries sprinkled with vinegar were driving me insane. I would have killed for a dozen hot wings at that moment. From what I could see, Feille’s food wasn’t as appealing as a batch of hot wings. Still, the colorful fruit, hearty breads, and thin slices of meat made me long for a form that actually consumed food.

  The sorcerer’s knees made a crackling noise as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Be a lot easier if there was more than one of us,” he muttered to himself as he surveyed his work.

  Feille had a habit of losing sorcerers. And mages, and apprentices. Regardless of the minuscule odds of success, a large number of his magical staff tended to cut and run. Personally, I believed the cause of the exodus to be his winning personality and collaborative management style. I’d retrieved a number of sorcerers and mages for him in the past, but I wasn’t always good at bringing them back in one piece. That fact deterred future runaways, but many still took their chances. That Gareth guy was still at large, as far as I knew, up somewhere in Eresh with his apprentice. I’d killed the sorcerer Feille had sent to work with the angels. From the comments of his elven staff, I was fairly certain this guy was the only one left. He probably had a dozen or so mages, but few of them would be skilled enough to advance to the highest level, and it often took decades.

  Taking a scroll from his pouch, the sorcerer set it at one side of the circle on top of two twigs: one of willow and one of maple, both crossed to form an “x”.

  “Stand back,” he commanded.

  There was a backward shuffle of feet, and I was amused to see Feille’s jeweled slippers edging safely behind a set of large boots. Pussy.

  “Neadian lil-hamma.”

  The scroll and twigs burst into blue flame. I felt a surge of energy rush into me, cold and sharp. Parts of my spirit self expanded, ripping and tearing the scars that were mending my wounds. It was agonizing, and if I’d had a mouth I would have screamed. The energy swelled. I felt as if I might burst apart. The salt triangle around me glowed red and bubbled; the inner circle began to smoke. I writhed on the floor, shifting my semi-liquid form around in search of relief. I felt an explosion and, at first, wasn’t sure if it was me that had combusted or something else. Oh shit, not this again.

  Then the overfull feeling receded and I tried to hold still, shaking inside the pond slime that housed my spirit self. The triangle of salt was gone, in its place a deep groove of black etched into the floor. The inner salt circle had fused into a ring of gray. I was in pain. As much pain as I’d been when Gregory had snatched me from death and gated me to Aaru.

  “That’s as powerful as it gets.” The sorcerer’s voice held a note of resignation mixed with curiosity. “It should have at least forced a brief change.”

  “Do it again,” Feille insisted.

  I didn’t think I could survive if he did it again. Everything was raw and open, split between thick lines of scarring. Was I back to square one? Had this undone the little progress I’d made so far? Or perhaps, broken me so completely that I’d never function again?

  “With all respect, My Lord, I cannot do it again. I’ll need an additional scroll, and more salt. Plus the result will be the same. Our magic just doesn’t have enough power to force a demon to change form.”

  “Then use the demon energy we have in storage. That should work.”

  Crap. I wondered how much they had, and if it was sufficient for their plans. I’d hoped when I blew up the facility that everything went up with it, but they must have been sending a supply over as they collected it.

  There was an awkward silence. “My Lord, you have us working on other things with that. Our shipments have temporarily halted. Shouldn’t we conserve what we have for… you know, the coming events?”

  “We can spare some, and we’ll be getting more soon. I want her transformed into a human, and I want her to stay that way.”

  Getting more soon? So Feille knew about the destruction of the facility. The fact that it was in the process of being rebuilt made me realize that this went far deeper into Aaru then the two angels working with Baphomet. There had to be another angel, or even more, involved to start up the process again so quickly. How long would it take, and would I be able to somehow reach Gregory and alert him in time? I hated the thought that I’d sacrificed myself for nothing, although at least I had bought everyone some time. I just needed to let Gregory know what some of his angels were up to, and warn the demons of what was coming their way.

  “My Lord, I am not sure even that will work. I think something is wrong with her, that she may be broken or injured somehow.”

  Feille strode into the cell and stabbed at me again with the staff, careful to keep his precious shoes away from me. “She’s not injured; she’s just a rude, insubordinate, stubborn imp. She’s doing this deliberately, to defy me and avoid punishment.”

  “My Lord, we haven’t even tested this out on anything beyond a few Lows. Perhaps we should just leave her as she is and wait for her to change on her own. I hate for us to waste resources, and I have concerns what might happen using the new magic on one with her unusual skills.”

  Feille snarled, and I saw the staff whirl past me to whack the sorcerer in the leg. “We’re about to use it on demons far above her level. It better work on her.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” The sorcerer sighed. He clearly had no choice in the matter. No wonder so many of them ran away.

  “Dismissed,” Feille told him. “Go prepare and be back here in twenty-four hours.�
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  The sorcerer caught his breath, and I got the feeling that twenty-four hours wasn’t nearly enough time for him to do what he needed. I knew it wasn’t nearly enough time for me either. Who knows how much progress that stupid spell of his had undone.

  “You too. Everyone leave.”

  The guards hesitated then left, wheeling the food cart along with them. With a screech of the dungeon door, it was just the two of us in the cell. Feille and I. I tensed, waiting for the stick to fall. Even though it didn’t hurt, I still didn’t like the idea of being beaten.

  “Az, Az,” he said, his voice soft. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. Keeping to this disgusting form may save you from pain today, but it will only mean a future of woe. Change your shape and I’ll give you a quick and painless death.”

  He lied. And I didn’t want a quick and painless death; I wanted to jump on him and rip his head off with my bare hands.

  The slippers approached, right to the edge of the outer circle. I hoped he breached it—the only thing containing me at this point. Not that I could do much to him, but I really wanted to ruin one more pair of slippers, or perhaps bite his leg.

  “No? Maybe you should reconsider. Once you’re in human form, I’m going to collar you. Know what that is? It’s a device that will keep you from changing form, using any kind of demon attack, or fixing any of your injuries. You’ll be as weak and vulnerable as the human flesh around your demon soul.”

  He didn’t just have a stash of demon energy to fuel his magic; he had collars. It wouldn’t matter one bit to me in my current condition, but I shivered, thinking of what would happen if those collars wound up on high-level demons. It would shift the entire power structure of our society. It would be so easy too. All he’d have to do was throw a big festival and give a bunch of them out as gifts, all blinged up to the max. We are such suckers for gifts, and even the most ancient among us wouldn’t hesitate to put on a gaudy bauble. We’re demons. Top of the food chain. A simple necklace would seem nothing compared to our powers. Our hubris would be our downfall.

  “Then I will stripe your skin with acids, tear long lines of flesh from your body, insert burrowing beetles into every orifice. I’ll heal you myself, just enough so you don’t die, but not enough to relieve the pain.”

  Yeah. I’d had worse. These elves were pansies. If I could just manage to convert to a more fierce form, I’d fuck this guy up big time. But I worried that whatever the sorcerer had done had put me back to square one. I was terrified I might not even be able to manage the lizard form anymore.

  “When my troops ride into battle, I’ll make sure you watch. Maybe I’ll actually drag you out to see the carnage, watch the vultures pick the flesh off the bones of your household. I’ve already taken control of Li, Allwin, and Tonlielle. Cyelle and Kllee are already lining up to sign an alliance with me. Once that’s done, we’ll conquer the demons. They’ll serve as energy sources for us. Mindless, restrained in collars and chained in cells, only kept alive to supply us with their power. With their power, I’ll take the northern elven kingdoms and rule all of Hel.”

  Not if I could help it. The elves might fall to his might, but the demons wouldn’t go down easy. Controlling us was like herding cats—really big cats that shot lightning and threw fireballs and started plagues and decimated crops. He had a finite supply of demon energy right now, and an interruption in his supply chain. I needed to do something to ensure he couldn’t collect from any demons within Hel—ever. Here the energy flowed thick and heavy all around us. It was so easy to pull it in. Even a Low could supply him with an infinite source here in Hel. I had to make sure he never got his hands on one of us. Of course, I couldn’t do much as pond scum.

  “And we’ll sell them to the angels. Yes, that’s right—angels. When I’m done playing with you, I’ll drain you of every drop of energy then pull you apart like meat from an overcooked roast. I’ll section you, put you into special storage containers and sell you to the angels.”

  Fuck him and the horse he rode in on. My new mission in life was to see this elf dead—before breakfast, if at all possible.

  “Or maybe I’ll keep you alive and use you as my personal pet. I’ll keep you collared and chained like a dog by my side. Maybe I’ll pull your teeth, cut off your fingers. I’ll feed you nothing but human flesh. I know you’re fond of some of them. I’ll find them, make them watch as I torture you, and you can watch while I eviscerate them before your eyes. You’ll be forced to choose between starving and eating their flesh.”

  And they said we were evil. This guy needed to die. He really fucking needed to die. I lay silent, in my pond scum form, and fumed. I could do nothing right now. Nothing. And after that fucking sorcerer had messed me up, who knows how long it would be before I repaired enough to warn the demons, and Gregory. I’d never been the most powerful demon, even as the Iblis, but this feeling of helplessness enraged me.

  “No? Well, Az, we’ll see how loud you scream after tomorrow. Rest easy, dear friend.”

  The slippers retreated and the cell door closed behind them. I heard his footsteps as he exited the dungeon and the screech of the door as it closed. What could I do? I needed to get out of here and kill that motherfucker, but I wasn’t in any state to take him on right now. At the very least, I needed to escape to let the other demons know of his plans, to warn them about the collars. I also needed to somehow let Gregory know that the angel I’d killed wasn’t the only one involved in this little “project”, but I wasn’t exactly mobile at the moment. If only there was some way to stall Feille, to delay his attack until I could regain enough of my skills to take him out.

  I tried once again to change my form into the reptile shape. I was in so much pain, the dull ache had once again become a sharp blade of agony lancing through me. I tried to concentrate and transform—tried to create legs, a head, eyes, anything. Nothing. The only good thing that had come of this was that the thick scarring that was restricting some of my newfound abilities had loosened. I had become more flexible, but it didn’t do me any good if I couldn’t convert or store energy.

  I wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon, and I couldn’t think of any way to get a message to Dar or any other member of my household. No one came down here but that asshole Lyte, the guards, and the crew with Feille. So a warning was temporarily out of the question. I needed to somehow delay Feille. Smash his store of demon energy, destroy the collars, disrupt the magic necessary to use either of them.

  The sorcerer. He was Feille’s only sorcerer. I’m sure there were still some mages and apprentices, but he had one sorcerer. If I killed him, Feille wouldn’t have the magical ability to go against the demons. He’d need to wait until a mage came up to speed, or he could transfer and train a sorcerer from his new kingdoms. It might buy me six months, it might buy me a year. But how to kill him?

  Pond scum couldn’t do much. Maybe if he ate me, but I doubted that would be a possibility. If he had an open wound, I could probably infect it, but that would take forever, and I didn’t think he’d get close enough for me to transfer any bacteria or virus. I’d just need to watch and take any opportunity I could find to kill him.

  A twinge of guilt went through me. Wyatt would not approve, and I wasn’t sure I did either. I was reluctant to take an innocent life, and this sorcerer was a victim. He was a slave, living under Feille’s iron thumb and, no doubt, wondering if every day would be his last. He had some job security in that he was the only sorcerer that the high lord had. Feille wasn’t likely to kill him—yet. Once he fully absorbed his conquests, he’d have their sorcerers. And he could demand tribute from the allied kingdoms as well. Once that happened, this guy’s life would be hanging by a thread.

  I toyed with the idea of trying to win him to my side, but I didn’t have any way to communicate with him. Plus, I’m sure his fear of Feille would trump any juicy deal I could make with him—it’s not like I was in a great bargaining position. I hated the choice I was about to make, but the
man was a tool that would be used to take down all of Hel. If his death would prevent it, or delay it long enough for me to come up with a viable plan, then he needed to go. Someone needed to do the dirty work. Guess that someone was going to be me.

  6

  Gabriel looked at the woman walking toward him, then beyond her to the humans playing in the sand at the surf’s edge. He could smell the ocean’s salt, its mix of life and death, a mini cosmos in its own liquid sky.

  “A coffee shop would have been nice,” the woman huffed. “My physical form isn’t equipped for this sort of activity.”

  “I always pick the shore. I’d think that over billions of years, you would have realized that.”

  The woman plopped down beside him, spreading her legs out in front of her. The sun glinted off her red hair, turning it the color of flame around her pale face. It was odd that only two of them could create red hair. The one a dark auburn, then this one a bright crimson. Gabriel had tried, but the only color he could manage was deep black. Flexibility in corporeal forms was not a strong skill for Angels of Order.

  “Still female, Uriel? Bit off the median, aren’t you?”

  Angels tended to alternate genders fairly regularly, always keeping within a tolerable distance of their balanced center. With a new Iblis, they’d found themselves compensating, sliding further right of an acceptable mark, especially when in close proximity to her. It irritated Gabriel, who continued his excessively masculine form outside of her presence, as if he chose this of his own free will. Uriel did the opposite, forcing herself into a painfully feminine form even when in Council meetings.