Dancing on the Head of a Pin

by Kiernan Kelly

  “Then what? Talk to me, Malak.”

  “When he cursed us, I saw it, Cael. I saw Hell. What it’s like down there, the agony. What souls go through… what you went through. I heard the screams, Cael. I don’t think I’ll ever stop hearing them.”

  “Don’t worry, love. You’ll never set foot there. I promise,” Cael whispered, kissing Malak’s brow. He wasn’t sure if it was a promise he could keep, but he knew he’d put himself between Malak and every demon in Hell if that was what it would take to keep Malak safe.

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. I don’t want you to back there, Cael. Not ever. Not even after the End of Days.”

  Cael sighed, tipping Malak’s face toward him, taking a long, deep kiss. “There are some things no one can prevent, Malak. That’s one of them. Don’t worry about that now. Besides, if we don’t get moving, the End of Days may be sooner than later.”

  “Huh? We beat Merihim, didn’t we?” Cael watched Malak’s eyes wander to the black smear that was all that remained of Hell’s general.

  “Yes, but there’s still one Horseman to come. Although that’s not what I’m worried about right now. The Hounds are still loose. Merihim sent them to the warehouse, remember? We need to destroy them and the virus.”

  “How?”

  “Come on. I have an idea,” Cael said. He stood and helped Malak to his feet. After picking up his knife from the floor where it had fallen, he slid it into his boot, then ejected the empty magazine from the Škorpion and slapped a new one in its place.

  A slight smile tilted Malak’s lips. “Lock and load, huh?”

  “Yeah, lock and load. Oh, and I love you.”

  “What do you know? He can be taught!” Malak said, although Cael could tell he was still smarting from his recent glimpse into Hell. Sadness and pain still flickered in his dark eyes, and Cael wanted nothing more than to erase what Malak had seen. He wondered how long it would take Malak to get those visions out of his head. Three thousand years later, Cael was still trying to do it. Then again, Malak had only seen the horrors—Cael had had a front row seat to a production that was heavily into audience participation.

  Cael led Malak upstairs, back through Big Tex’s office to the reception area. A quick check confirmed that the offices were empty, which was perfect as far as Cael was concerned. He didn’t want any more human casualties than absolutely necessary. The Horsemen had done a good job of supplying Heaven with martyrs already. He had no wish to add any more.

  On the second floor, he found the room he’d been looking for—the one filled to the rafters with weapons and explosives. He found the C-4 and took several bricks, handing some to Malak. Grabbing a handful of blasting caps, a roll of duct tape, and a large, heavy coil of fuse, he grinned at Malak. “Hounds go boom,” he said, hefting the roll of fuse.

  Malak was eyeing the explosives warily. “Since when did you become an action hero?”

  “Hey, I saw all the Die Hard movies at least twice. That makes me an expert.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but Bruce Willis, you ain’t.”

  “Yippee-kay-ay, motherfucker,” Cael growled.

  He led Malak downstairs and out the back door, toward the nearby warehouse. Along the way he planted two of the C-4 bricks, attaching blasting caps to both and trailing fuse behind him. He cut the fuse halfway across the lawn between the buildings.

  Reaching the huge warehouse, they peeked inside a dusty window strung with spiderwebs. Inside, the Hounds milled around a cargo plane, loading crates up a ramp into the plane’s belly. Crates that he had no doubt held the virus.

  Creeping around the building, Cael and Malak planted an additional four bricks of C-4, setting the blasting caps and attaching the fuses. Cael trailed a long length of white fusing behind him to where the fuse from the office building ended. Kneeling on one knee, Cael looked up at Malak.

  “When I light this, hit the air and fly—pardon the pun—like Hell. We only have about five minutes to get clear. This place is going to blow sky high. Okay?”

  Malak nodded, shedding his “borrowed” clothing and shimmering his wings into visibility.

  Cael ripped his shirt over his head. His own wings, blood red, unfurled from between his shoulder blades. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” Malak replied, bending his knees, ready to launch himself into the sky the moment Cael lit the fuse. It was dangerous to remain close by, but they needed to see the Hounds and the virus destroyed with their own eyes before they could rest easy.

  Cael grinned at him, then looked at the fuses that lay on the ground like a pair of sleepy pale snakes. “Okay, fire in the hole!” he cried as he flicked his thumb.

  A flame appeared along the edge of his thumbnail, flickering in the breeze. He touched it to the fuses, which began to burn backward toward their respective charges.

  Together, Cael and Malak took wing, flapping hard to put as much distance between themselves and the coming conflagration as possible. Even so, when the buildings blew, one immediately following the other, the shock wave pushed hard at their backs.

  Turning, hovering, they watched a pair of huge black clouds billowing into the sky.

  Wearily, they turned toward home. The world was safe for another day.

  BOOK FIVE: THE PALE HORSE

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

  —The Bible, King James Edition, Rev 6:8

  Chapter Nineteen

  LUCIFER’S RAGE shook the very fibers of the universe, echoing even in the halls of Heaven.

  “What was that?” The voice was as soft and as golden as Anael, musical notes floating on the air.

  “Lucifer, I think. Only the Lightbearer had lungs like that,” Gabriel answered.

  Anael looked troubled. “I haven’t heard his voice in more millenniums than I can count. Since… you know when.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and he looked from side to side to make sure they were alone before uttering even those innocuous words. Angels had been punished for lesser infractions than uttering the name of the most embarrassing war in Heaven’s history.

  “The Fall. We can say it now, Anael. Enough time has passed to soothe even the most ruffled of feathers.”

  “I’d rather not take any chances. What do you suppose he’s so angry about?”

  “I haven’t got the foggiest notion, nor do I care. Lucifer made his eternal bed—now he can lie in it and howl to his little black heart’s content.”

  “Gabriel! That isn’t very forgiving.”

  Gabriel shrugged, his wings bobbing. “Lucifer doesn’t care about forgiveness, only power.”

  “And that hasn’t changed, not even after all this time.” A new voice reached them as Michael joined them. “He’s also as sneaky a bastard as ever.”

  “Michael!” Anael gasped, his shock at Michael’s choice of language clear. He cringed, as if expecting a thunderbolt to sizzle Michael in his sandals.

  Ignoring the youngest of the archangels, Gabriel turned his attention to Michael. “What do you know that I don’t know?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Michael. “I can tell by the look on your face that something’s up.”

  “Indeed. Something is up… or rather, down, as in down on earth. Lucifer has loosed the Horsemen. Without Heaven’s permission.”

  “What?” Gabriel cried, jumping to his feet. Instantly, he was garbed in his armor, sword sheathed at his side, trumpet hanging over his shoulder from a rope of braided gold. The horn was his pride and joy and his burden to carry. He was to blow it at the Crack of Doom—the End of Days.

  “Easy, brother. We’re not to go to war.”

  “What?” Gabriel repeated, looking no more surprised than if Michael had spat in his face. “Why not?”

  “Well, it seems that we’re not needed,” Micha
el said, almost enjoying the incredulous look on Gabriel’s perfect face. “Three of the Horsemen have already been defeated.”

  “By whom? Surely not the humans!”

  “Hardly. No, by… perhaps you’d better sit down first.”

  “By whom, Michael?” Gabriel asked again, frowning.

  “Malak.”

  “Who?”

  “Malak. You remember Malak, don’t you? The young seraphim that was wounded at Sodom?”

  Gabriel gaped. “The one who made the pact with the demon?”

  “Well, he hardly had a choice in the matter, Gabriel. Although from what I’ve heard, he finally gave in and shared his soul with the demon not long ago. In any case, they’ve been fighting the Horsemen… and winning.”

  “No! A demon and a fallen angel are saving mankind? And it’s being allowed?”

  “Malak isn’t a fallen angel. He gave his soul out of love. You know how the Boss feels about love, Gabriel. Plus, they’ve actually been doing a pretty good job of it. Very few casualties.”

  “Bah. Who cares about casualties? If the Horsemen have been sent out, then it’s war! We should be there, Michael! Strike hard, strike fast, and don’t leave anything standing. Remember?”

  “Tsk, tsk, Gabriel,” Michael said, wagging a finger at him. “Heaven didn’t decree it to be the End. And until Heaven does, we aren’t to fight. They’re doing just fine without us. Besides, raining fire and brimstone down on a world that has fire extinguishers and sprinkler systems won’t work.”

  Gabriel snorted. “You’ve been helping them, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe just a little push in the right direction now and then. You should have seen them take out Merihim, Gabriel! With all the pyrotechnics, it was almost like the old days.” Michael grinned.

  “What’s next?”

  “The last Horseman. I only hope the two of them can pull it off,” Michael said, “or you may be blowing that thing after all.”

  THE THRONE Room was deserted. The quick got away with their hides intact. The less swift remained behind in smoking, greasy black puddles. A temporary reprieve at best—they’d reform shortly and be sent to the deepest Pits, where their screams would echo for eternity.

  That was the fate Lucifer decreed for those who failed him—which had been everyone to date.

  Lucifer paced back and forth, his fury tangible, crackling in the air around him in streaks of blue and red lightning.

  How? How could one pathetic angel and one lesser demon manage to take down three—four if he counted Asmodai—generals of Hell? How?

  He snarled as the answer came to him.

  With help, that’s how.

  Michael.

  That sanctimonious, behave-or-I’ll-smite-your-ass archangel! He had to be helping them. There was no other conceivable explanation. His twin brother had to have been sticking his holier-than-thou nose into Lucifer’s business… again.

  The thought only served to infuriate Lucifer more, until his entire being shuddered with waves of rage. How dare he!

  Identical twins from their silky blond hair and ice-blue eyes to the graceful arches of their feet, Lucifer and Michael had once been so close they could have been the same person.

  Until the day he’d realized that he, along with his angelic brethren, were destined for greater things than being footstools for a Being no more powerful than themselves. The day Lucifer had realized that, he put in motion plans to assume his rightful place in Heaven.

  Choose, Michael. Choose to remain in chains, or choose to live free, to become who you were destined to be. Fight at my side and you will be a god!

  Lucifer would never have thought that Michael would choose to stand against him. It was the wound that cut most deeply. The one that still bled, fueling his rage. But Michael had made his choice, and the Heavens had run red when their swords had met in battle.

  For eons the war had raged, until finally the unthinkable happened.

  Lucifer lost.

  If there was one thing Lucifer hated above all else, it was losing.

  He’d had the last laugh, though. Hell was meant to be his prison, but it had become his Kingdom instead, and Earth was his playground. The humans made for excellent entertainment. Frail little monkeys with their precious little souls, Heaven’s Conceit, as Lucifer called them

  He pitted them one against the other, inspiring greed, envy, and hatred, dusting the little blue planet with famine and war. They were so malleable, so easily influenced that time and time again Lucifer had succeeded in bringing civilizations to their knees. Lucifer’s borders were packed with the souls of those he’d corrupted.

  But after a few millennia, it became almost boring.

  The one thing he looked forward to was the day it would all end, when the world would stop spinning on its axis. For on that day, when mankind breathed its last, he would be free to finish what he’d started. On that day, the Gates of Hell would open wide, and he would march his army of the damned into Heaven and grind those sanctimonious angels beneath his boot heels.

  Michael would be the first one he’d stomp into dust, and he looked forward to that most of all. Oh, how Michael would pay for his betrayal! He’d pay in flesh, in blood, and Lucifer would dance on his bones.

  But Heaven was obstinately closed-mouthed in respect to when the End would begin. His spies had not been able to gather any information whatsoever about a date. Tired of waiting, he’d finally set the End in motion himself.

  Now that he’d begun it, he would allow no one to stop it. No one. Not Heaven, not Michael, and certainly not a pair of hapless underlings like Cael and Malak.

  The trouble was simple—his generals were weaker than he’d thought. Fools, all. This time he would leave nothing to chance.

  If you wanted something to be done right, the best course of action was always to do it yourself.

  MALAK LAY on his back as Cael’s lips, teeth, and tongue wreaked havoc on his body.

  Fiery kisses and licks, nips with sharp teeth on delicate skin, Cael skillfully drove Malak to the very edge, teasing him with the promise of pleasure, only to renege on that promise time and time again. Malak felt the white-hot rush boiling up, only to have Cael withdraw at the last possible moment with an evil little chuckle.

  Writhing underneath Cael’s weight, Malak threaded his hands in the silky strands of Cael’s hair and pulled. Hard.

  “Stop teasing. I want to come, Cael.”

  “All in good time, angel. Getting there is half the fun.”

  “I’ve been there at least a half-dozen times in the last hour, but you keep putting up detour signs. Let me come, Cael!” Malak hissed as Cael gave his turgid erection another long, languorous lick.

  Cael’s only answer was another evil little chuckle.

  “At least give me something to do while I’m waiting,” Malak said. “Get your ass up here.”

  “My, my, but you’re in a pushy mood today,” Cael answered with a smirk, but he did as Malak had ordered, positioning himself so that his head hovered over Malak’s cock while his ass filled Malak’s vision.

  From his vantage point, Malak had a perfect up-close view of Cael’s firm sac, heavy and furred, dangling enticingly before his eyes.

  Oh, Cael’s ass was indeed a thing of beauty. Malak often wondered how he’d managed to resist Cael for so long. Cael’s body was built for pleasure, from his petal-soft lips, his long, talented fingers, to his thick cock, but it was Cael’s ass that never failed to fascinate Malak.

  Firm muscles played under his fingers as he ran his hands over Cael’s sinfully soft skin, kneading the cheeks. Between them, Cael’s small hole winked at Malak. The ring of ridged russet flesh beckoned, and he didn’t hesitate to take.

  Pressing his face into Cael’s crack, he inhaled deeply, savoring the heady spice that was uniquely Cael. Holding out for as long as he could, Malak finally flicked his tongue over Cael’s hole for a taste of paradise.

  As Cael’s musky flavor filled his mouth, his
fingers reached around Cael’s thigh and wrapped around Cael’s length. Sensations bombarded him, making his head spin: Cael’s soft mouth sucking hard on his cock, hands deftly manipulating his sac, the taste and scent of Cael filling his mouth and nose. Malak’s hips thrust his cock into Cael’s willing mouth, keeping time to the wild beating of his heart, hand sliding over Cael’s hot flesh.

  Malak found himself trapped between rapture and ecstasy, at a place where the pleasure was so sharp and biting it was almost painful. It sliced through him like a razor, every star in the universe dancing in his vision as he came. With Malak’s tongue inside his body and Cael’s cock in Malak’s hand, Cael followed him into bliss, screaming his pleasure.

  The very earth trembled.

  “Did you feel that, Malak?” Cael asked, his breath still ragged, looking over his shoulder.

  “Yeah. Good job, hon.”

  “I don’t think that was me. Or you. Or us. It was something else, Malak.”

  “What?” Malak’s eyes fluttered closed as he drifted down from the incredible high of his orgasm.

  “I think what we just felt was the arrival of the last Horseman.”

  Malak’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up, pushing Cael off him. “Are you serious?”

  “Deathly.”

  “Well… who is it? Where is it?”

  “Do I look like I have GPS? I don’t know, Malak.”

  “Well, we’d better find out, and fast. Anything powerful enough to cause a tremor has to be bad news, Cael.”

  “Yeah. And whatever it is, it’s big and nasty, and it’s already pissed me off. Nobody rocks your world but me, angel.”

  Chapter Twenty

  THE BIKE roared like a ferocious beast, belching a stream of black smoke. A silver blur, it hugged the curves of the two-lane road that wound through the mountains as if it were one with the blacktop, a single entity of metal and macadam.

  As it passed, grass withered in its wake. Leaves grew brown and brittle and fell, leaving blackened branches reaching for the sky. Animals grazing at the side of the road fell over dead, eyes casting over with a bluish-white pall.