Dancing on the Head of a Pin

by Kiernan Kelly

  Upward into the mountains the rider traveled, and if anyone had been close enough to hear him over the roar of the motorcycle, they would have heard him laughing.

  The bike was Sorrow, and its rider was Death.

  And the party was just beginning.

  DEPOT STILL slept at that early morning hour, unaware of the evil that idled under the county’s only traffic light.

  Dawn broke, pink and cool. The green grass of the town’s neatly kept square sparkled in the new sun with drops of dew. Tranquil. Idyllic. Peaceful. About to be dragged kicking and screaming into a nightmare.

  Lucifer straddled his silver Harley, long legs planted firmly on either side of the sleek machine as his icy blue eyes scanned the streets for movement. Shirtless, he wore his black leather jacket open to expose the golden skin of his broad chest and washboard stomach. Formfitting black leather pants clung to his sculpted muscles, and buckled biker boots covered his legs to midcalf.

  His golden hair fell in a shimmering curtain halfway down his back, not a hair out of place regardless of the helmet-less ride he’d taken through the mountains.

  The bike was a plaything, a toy. He had no need for transportation, fully capable of popping in and out of the world as he saw fit, but he rather liked the dangerous bad boy image it leant him.

  He looked damn good on the bike, and he knew it.

  Ah, vanity, thy name is Lucifer. He chuckled with a sound like broken glass grinding under a boot heel.

  In Lucifer’s opinion, his narcissism was one of his greatest attributes. Beauty was just another weapon in his arsenal. But out of all his weapons, the truth had the keenest edge. They called him the Father of Lies, but in reality he knew the truth was usually more painful and cutting than any falsehood he could possibly invent. There was a reason they called it being “brutally honest.” Even the best and most believable of lies were wrapped around a kernel of truth.

  One truth Lucifer knew was that Heaven would not tolerate another Sodom. It was the best way to draw Cael and Malak to him.

  How best to start here? Lucifer closed his eyes and listened hard. He could hear the softly murmuring voices of the townsfolk as they plodded their way through their dreams.

  Old Mrs. Vellaway, who spent her days bent over the librarian’s desk, books stacked all around her like the walls of a fortress, was dreaming of Michael Fenway, the local mechanic. Michael had taken out a copy of a foreign automotive repair guide, and it was overdue. In her dream, Mrs. Vellaway was giving Michael a firm dressing-down for his failure to return the book on time. Overdue books rated right up there with capital murder in her opinion, but the poor woman was so repressed that the best she could do was wag her finger at him and lecture.

  Well, Lucifer could certainly do better than that for poor Mrs. Vellaway. He called them both into the street, along with Mr. Vellaway, the librarian’s husband.

  Moments later, Michael was dangling by his wrists from Sullivan County’s one and only traffic light, stripped naked and howling as Mrs. Vellaway wielded a riding crop against his flesh with great relish. Mr. Vellaway seemed quite pleased with the show his wife and the town mechanic were putting on, jerking off with a great deal of enthusiasm as he watched.

  Much better. He rubbed his hands together gleefully and turned his attention back to the dreams of the sleepy little town. How many inventive lessons could he create? He chuckled, answering his own question with another. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

  By the time the sun had fully breached the mountains, Lucifer had transformed Depot’s Main Street into a place that bore an eerie resemblance to Sodom in its heyday.

  Sheriff Will Stanton was butt fucking Deputy Fred Miller on top of the town’s only police car, the car’s springs squeaking noisily. The rest of the town’s police force stood in a semicircle, eagerly waiting their turn.

  Bob Mason, owner of the local supermarket, was involved in a steamy little threesome with the good Reverend Wilcox and his wife.

  Barbara Shent, who owned the Cut & Curl Beauty Emporium, had town clerk Gloria Shepard sprawled naked on the sidewalk, her face buried between Gloria’s legs.

  The entire membership of the Depot Ladies’ Book Club were involved in a clusterfuck with the volunteer fire department, while the Gazette’s only reporter, Millicent Finch, alternated taking photos and fucking herself with a large black flashlight.

  Principal Benjamin Taylor had school secretary Barbara Schmit sprawled out on the blacktop, hogtied and greased up, studiously giving his secretary a lesson in fisting.

  Screams of ecstasy blended seamlessly with cries of pain as bodies shuddered and writhed, undulating over the blacktop and sidewalks of Main Street like a solid living entity.

  It was a thing of beauty, to be sure.

  Lucifer stood in the middle of the sexual chaos, head thrown back and arms outstretched, soaking up the energy that crackled in the air, and howled.

  “Come on! Come and get me, Michael! We end this now, or this will only be the beginning! This is only a one-horse, pissant town! Want to see what I can do in New York? London? Tokyo? LA? Come on!”

  Eyes sparking with excitement, Lucifer looked out at his handiwork, laughing… and waited.

  “HUNGRY?” MALAK’S finger drew random circles over the satin skin of Cael’s chest. He flicked a nipple playfully, ignoring Cael’s answering growl. “I’m starving.”

  “What do you feel like having? Besides me, of course.” Cael grinned. “Chinese? Italian? I’ll conjure something up while you finish what you’ve started here.” He pulled Malak’s hand down toward his crotch.

  “Oh no. Not a chance. We’ve been stuck in this house for days. I want to go out, Cael.”

  “Out? Out where? Depot? What the Hell are we going to do there?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. As long as it’s not here, I’m good with it,” Malak said, pushing Cael out of bed. “Get dressed. We’ll fly into town, grab lunch, go window shopping.”

  “Window shopping? Great. Which window were you thinking of? The display of socket wrenches at Moe’s Hardware, or the gen-u-ine milk cans at the Second Time Around Shoppe?” Cael asked. He rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

  “Just get dressed,” Malak huffed, pulling on a T-shirt. “Don’t be such a snob. Depot is a cute little town.”

  “I’m not a snob. I’m just not particularly excited by rusted-over wheelbarrows and chipped crockery.”

  “Come on, let’s just go, okay? I happen to like antique stores. They’re exciting.”

  “Exciting?” Cael said grumpily, although he did get dressed without much further prodding by Malak. “Angel, one thing I can assure you is that excitement is something they’re critically short on in good old downtown Depot, Pennsylvania.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Cael.” Malak smiled. “You never know what you’re going to find until you get there.”

  “I HATE it when you’re right,” Cael hissed as they alighted on a rooftop overlooking Main Street. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the debauchery playing out on the street below before he conjured his weapons, along with Malak’s chain mail and sword. “Not only did we find excitement, but I think we just found the fourth Horseman.”

  “Where?” Malak whispered, eyes searching the crowd below.

  “Oh, I’m willing to make book that it’s that fella on the motorcycle over there,” Cael said, nodding toward the blond in black leather who sat straddling his bike.

  “He looks familiar.”

  “He should. It’s Lucifer. You remember him. Caused a little trouble in Heaven a while back, Lightbearer, the Dragon, Father of Lies… any of this ringing a bell?”

  “God help us!” Malak’s face had gone pale, and Cael could see the shudders that were running across his shoulders as he donned his chain mail. “Lucifer isn’t just any other demon, Cael. How do we defeat him?”

  “We don’t.”

  “What?” Malak’s dark eyes darted toward him. “What d
o you mean? We have to!” he said incredulously.

  “We can’t. He’s way out of our league, Malak. Or don’t you remember him taking on Heaven? How many millennia did it take how many angels to defeat him? Last time I counted, there were only two of us, Mal.”

  “Well, well, look who we have here! Finally decided to join my little party, have we?” Lucifer’s dulcet tones carried over the human din to reach them on the rooftop as easily as if he were standing next to them. In the next instant, he was.

  “I cast thee out, demon—” Malak began in a shaky voice, holding his sword before him with trembling hands.

  Cael winced. He grabbed Malak’s arm, pulling him back.

  “Oh, he is just too cute! I must congratulate you, Cael. That is one very sweet angel you have there.” Lucifer grinned for a second before his features crumpled into a scowl. “Unfortunately, sweet makes my skin crawl.”

  A flick of Lucifer’s fingers sent Malak flying backward, skidding on his back across the rooftop. Only a brick chimney kept him from sailing over the edge. Chunks of red-brown brick flew as he hit it hard.

  The Škorpion jumped in Cael’s hands, firing short bursts before the dust had settled. Cael hurried backward toward Malak as he fired.

  “Malak! Mal, are you okay?” he cried, sparing a look down at Malak, who lay with his back against the crumbled brick. Cael planted his feet on either side of Malak’s legs and spread his wings wide, trying to shield him from anything Lucifer might throw at him.

  “Aw, protecting him, Cael? You should know better than to try that. Angel, you’ve ruined a perfectly good demon. I can’t tell you how much that pisses me off,” Lucifer said. An instant later a fireball raced through the air, crackling and sizzling.

  Cael ducked but felt the heat of Hellfire crisp the hair on his arms. His finger tightened on the trigger of the Škorpion again, but it was no use. He felt icy dread swirl in his belly as the bullets reached Lucifer, hovered for a heartbeat, then fell, bouncing harmlessly on the tarpaper rooftop.

  “You disappoint me, Cael. Even though your work was less than stellar in the Pits, I still held some hope for you. But it’s not too late. Come stand beside me and I’ll forgive you your indiscretions with this pathetic creature,” Lucifer cajoled, smiling at Cael.

  It was a viper’s grin, full of thinly disguised venom. Cael bared his teeth at Lucifer in return. “Like I’d believe anything you said. Malak’s not pathetic. He’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He felt movement as Malak struggled upright, to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

  “You’ve been fooling yourself, Cael. You’re a demon, a fallen angel. You have no heart, and regardless of what you might think, you have no soul. Not your own, not his. You’re empty inside,” Lucifer hissed.

  “You’re wrong!” Malak cried, shouldering Cael aside. “He does have a soul. I shared mine with him! And he has a heart because he loves me!”

  “Pathetic. Do you really believe a demon can love anyone or anything? It’s a sham, Malak. A ruse. You’ve been taken in by the oldest trick in the book. Love isn’t real. It’s a farce.”

  “No!” Malak roared. Cael had to restrain him to keep him from charging Lucifer.

  “Calm down, Malak! You know that he lies! Don’t listen to him!” Cael ordered, pushing Malak behind him again. If anyone was going to get hit by Hellfire or worse, it was going to be him. He’d keep his angel safe, even if it meant being blasted back into Hell.

  “Do I? Think about it, Cael. How could an angel, a creature of light, love someone so foul that Heaven spat him out? You’re a bigger fool than he is if you believe that.” Lucifer’s eyes sparkled as a cunning smile lifted his lips. “But perhaps a small test is in order.”

  Cael watched Lucifer carefully, the barrel of the Škorpion following his every move. Although it had already proven itself useless against him, it was all Cael had.

  The next instant, the Škorpion was yanked out of Cael’s hand. It zipped across the rooftop to Lucifer’s feet as Cael felt himself lifted up. Hovering about ten feet in the air, he was held immobile, as if in a giant fist. The invisible fist squeezed, nearly crushing him, and he screamed in agony.

  At the same time a young woman appeared over the edge of the rooftop, dangling in midair. Her screams were no less tortured than Cael’s.

  “Choose, Malak. Which one lives, and which one dies? The demon or the innocent human?” Lucifer asked, laughing.

  “Let them go!” Malak cried.

  Trying to steel himself against the red curtain of pain that enveloped him, Cael managed a hoarse whisper. “Lucifer! Leave them be! You can take me.”

  “No, Cael!” Malak screamed. Cael shut his eyes against the look of horror on Malak’s face.

  “Oh, now this is rich. But you see, Cael, you really don’t have anything to bargain with, since I already own you, lock, stock, and broken halo. Oh yes, and I also own your angel. You’re both coming to Hell when this is over, remember? His half soul hitches a ride along with you.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  Cael’s eyes widened at the figure who appeared behind Lucifer. It was as if Lucifer had cloned himself. For the briefest of moments Cael wondered if it were a trick, but the sword Lucifer’s mirror image held could belong to only one person.

  Michael.

  “I truly tire of your half-truths, Lucy. What he’s conveniently forgotten to mention to you boys is that Malak’s soul only goes to Hell if Lucifer succeeds in bringing about the End of Days. If Armageddon plays out according to Heaven’s original timetable, Malak will go to Heaven. And Cael, since your half soul is bound to his, you get to come home too,” Michael said, running his thumb over the razor-sharp blade of his sword.

  “Don’t call me Lucy!” Lucifer growled. He opened his fingers, letting the screaming woman drop over the edge of the building, and sent a fireball flashing toward Cael.

  It hit just below Cael’s shoulder, instantly burning his skin black.

  “Malak! Get the woman!” Cael groaned as he fell to his knees. The pain was incredible, worse than any he’d felt while in the Pits. It seared him to the bone, his flesh bubbling under the intensity of Lucifer’s Hellfire.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  MALAK FELT the blood drain from his head at the sight of the gaping, blackened wound in Cael’s chest. Still, he hesitated only a heartbeat before diving over the edge of the building. Wings unfurling, he managed to catch the woman just before she hit bottom. But by the time he deposited the woman none too gently on the street below and returned, Cael was lying facedown on the rooftop.

  “No!” Malak screamed. His legs gave way, and he sank to his knees next to Cael’s still body.

  “Cael? Cael!” Malak cried, turning him over as gently as possible.

  He no longer cared about the End of Days or where his soul would go afterward, or that two archangels were poised to fight not a dozen steps away. The only thing Malak saw, the only thing that existed to him was Cael.

  “Please, Cael. Say something. Anything. Please.”

  “Spare us the theatrics, angel! It’s not as if he’s dead. You’ll be joining him soon enough… in the Pits.” Lucifer laughed, summoning a wicked-looking sword into his hand. It had a long, curved, serrated blade and a handle carved from a human femur. “And you, Michael! Don’t stick your nose into my business or I’ll slice it off and feed it to you.”

  “You know, I always wanted to be an only child. Now’s my chance.” Michael grinned. “Lucy… you’ve got some ’splaining to do… and you can start with why you thought Heaven would let you get away with this. Really, don’t you ever learn?” Michael’s sword sliced an arc through the air.

  “Don’t. Call. Me. Lucy!” Lucifer screeched, launching himself at Michael. Their blades met in a shower of red and blue sparks and a sound that rattled Malak’s teeth.

  Cael lay in Malak’s arms, chillingly silent. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch at the noise of the battle going on mere feet away. Malak cur
led his body protectively over Cael’s, trying to shelter him from the sparks that flew each time Michael and Lucifer’s swords clashed. He barely noticed them, focused only on Cael, grief overshadowing his fear.

  The two archangels fought their way across the rooftop. Time seemed to stand still, holding its breath for the outcome of their battle.

  Then Lucifer dodged a thrust of Michael’s sword and brought his own around in a swift, powerful arc. The serrated blade bit deeply into Michael’s side.

  Michael fell to his knees, his hands cupping the blood that poured from his side, his handsome face twisted into a mask of agony and surprise.

  Lucifer’s laugh curdled Malak’s blood, as the Lightbearer raised his sword high above his head. “The end has come, brother! The End of Days, the end of Heaven, the end of you.”

  Lucifer’s words cut through the veil of grief that had held Malak immobile. “No!” Malak screamed. His fingers closed around the hilt of Cael’s knife, slipping it free from its sheath. Springing to his feet, his wings propelled him forward, and he plunged it deeply between Lucifer’s shoulder blades.

  Lucifer’s agonized scream rent the air. Dropping his sword, he reached behind him, trying to grab the knife buried in his back.

  It was the opening Michael needed. Struggling to his feet, Michael swung his sword with one powerful arm, relieving Lucifer of his head.

  As he stood over Lucifer’s crumpled form, Michael’s wound healed, his flesh knitting, the blood vanishing. In moments, he looked as if he’d never been injured.

  Lucifer’s body and head disappeared, leaving only the odor of sulfur and brimstone behind.

  It was over.

  Below them in the street, people began to separate and move back to their own homes. They would awaken no worse for the wear, with only foggy memories of what had happened, like the remnant of a bad dream.