Never Save a Demon

by J. . D. Brown

  “You tell me,” said Angie from behind the computer monitor. “Any more of those Anwar thingies?”

  “Arwah. And no.”

  The two of them glanced at the main entrance as though Murphy’s law would send some giant, otherworldly demon crashing through the glass door at that exact moment to make Lyn eat her words. Parents desperately tried to usher their children outside toward the parking lot, so the door was getting a good workout, but as far as Lyn could tell everyone left demon-free.

  Angie drew a deep breath and sighed. “Good. That’s good. I mean … yeah. That’s good, right? Of course it is.”

  Uh-oh. Angie’s babbling. That is never good. “Something you want to tell me, Ang?”

  “Nope.” Angie looked away.

  Lyn put her hands on her hips. “Angela Garcia, what did you do?”

  “Nothing,” she said, but her gaze went to a blue file folder sitting next to the keyboard.

  Lyn and Angie both reached for it at once. Their palms landed on the folder at the same time. Lyn glared at her best friend. Angie winced, but she wouldn’t let go.

  “Girls.” Master Chris walked into the office wearing his martial arts uniform. His soft grey gaze lowered to their firmly pressed hands. “What’s going on?”

  Lyn looked at Angie and upped her brow.

  Angie tilted her head in a subtle shake. Later, her BFF mouthed.

  Lyn removed her hand and gave Master Chris a big toothy smile. “Angie just got her STD screening results back and she’s afraid to look.”

  Angie and Master Chris turned bright red.

  “Oh. Well …” He avoided eye contact, opting to speak to the wall. “Best not to dwell on it, Angela. We’re all here for you if you need …,” he hesitated and his Adam’s apple bobbed, “… anything.”

  Lyn pulled both lips between her teeth and held her breath so she wouldn’t laugh out loud as Master Chris shifted his weight and then left the office.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Angie whispered. “I do not have an STD.”

  Lyn burst into giggles. “Did you see Master Chris’s face? Worth it.”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, Lyn. Just go teach your class. We’ll talk after.”

  Lyn returned to the training mat with the dumbest grin on her face. The stunt made her curiosity about the contents of the folder easier to bare—at least until her second class ended.

  Lyn and Angie dashed across the street arm in arm, which admittedly wasn’t the safest way to cross a busy road. She almost tripped over Angie’s long legs more than once. Of course, her mind was also on other things.

  “Why can’t you just tell me what’s in the folder?” she asked as they hopped the curb to the parking lot of their favorite café, Dave’s Mocha. They’d never met Dave and used to spend hours contemplating his existence.

  “Come on.” Angie pulled on her arm while marching through the glass double doors. “My treat.”

  Well heck, how can I say no to that?

  The café overflowed with people trying to escape the summer heat, so she and Angie took their order outside, opting to sit at one of the iron patio tables. Lyn sipped her vanilla bean latte and wished it was a Frappuccino. “All right, what’s the big news?”

  Angie’s gaze darted toward the other patrons. She sat the blue file folder on the table and then leaned in to whisper. “The symbol is demonic. According to Wikipedia, this sigil represents a medallion worn by one of the Dukes of Hell.” Angie stared at her. “Lyn, Dukes of Hell are—”

  “Greater demons,” said Lyn.

  Angie nodded. “Yeah.”

  Shit. Lyn drew a deep breath. “Okay. This is good news.”

  Angie scrunched her nose. “How is this good news?”

  “Because Gran ruled out any ties to an actual demon, so that means we’re either looking at a cult leader or a serial killer that’s seen one too many lashings from a Catholic school nun. Or maybe it’s an H.P. Lovecraft fan that desperately needs to move out of his mother’s basement.”

  “Lyn, I don’t think—”

  “You got any ideas on how to narrow it down?”

  Angie blinked at the file. “No. It’s a really common symbol. It appears in The Key of Solomon and a bunch of other places.”

  Uh-oh. Nothing good ever appeared in The Key of Solomon.

  Angie opened the folder. Inside were several printouts. She spread the pages over the length of the table. One of the pages had a copy of the sigil printed with much better precision than Mr. Emerson’s sketch.

  “Lyn, don’t you think … I mean, is it possible Lolly was wrong?”

  Lyn glared. “No, Ang, I do not think Gran was wrong. We have no reason to believe the victims were possessed by literal Dukes of Hell. Even I know that’s crazy.”

  But it makes sense. It fits the profile. Demons convinced people to commit suicide all the time. Human lives were nothing but a food source for them. Still—Lyn couldn’t let herself believe it. There had to be a more mundane explanation. A serial killer, a sociopath, anything, as long as the perp was human.

  A few people were staring at her, including Angie.

  Lyn stood and gathered the pages together. “Mind if I give this to the Emersons?” She didn’t wait for an answer before tucking the folder under her arm and walking away.

  “Wait.” Angie’s sneakers smacked the pavement behind her as Lyn marched across the street to the dojo’s parking lot. “Maybe you should stay with me tonight.”

  Lyn froze a few feet from her car.

  Stay with me tonight.

  Angie didn’t know it, but those words haunted Lyn. Her BFF had uttered them the night her family was murdered.

  “Stay with me tonight, Lyn. We’ll have a slumber party. Just us. It’ll be so much fun. Please?” It was three days before Christmas, seven years ago. Uncle Tommy and Aunt Ruby were visiting for the holidays with her cousins Andrew and Aaron. But Lyn was fourteen. She wasn’t thinking about the family she saw every day. She was thinking about pizza and crank calls and boys.

  The Garcia’s stayed home that night; a rare occasion that almost made Lyn change her mind—but Angie’s parents were in a good mood that day. They let the girls drink adult eggnog and eat way too many candy canes for dinner. Then Mr. and Mrs. Garcia went straight to bed and didn’t complain once about the girls staying up late, even when Lyn cranked the volume on Angie’s stereo. She and Angie exchanged gifts in Angie’s room at midnight.

  “This one’s for you,” Angie had said while handing Lyn a small jewelry box. Inside was a charm bracelet with half a heart. “I have the other half.” She lifted the sleeve of her flannel pajama top to reveal a twin bracelet dangling from her wrist. Angie helped clasp the gift around Lyn’s arm. ‘Friends Forever’ was engraved into the two halves of the heart charm. Lyn felt so happy, she wanted to cry. Little did she know, right next door, her family was being brutally torn apart.

  Lyn closed her eyes and drew a deep breath as a cloud passed over the setting sun. The shadow cooled her skin and she shivered, but she wasn’t sure the reaction had anything to do with the cold. She didn’t know why, but she had always blamed herself for going to that stupid sleepover. A normal fourteen-year-old girl didn’t stand a chance against the creature that killed her family, but a Daughter of Eve …

  Lyn opened her eyes. She released her breath slowly and hated the way her lip trembled. She clenched her fists at her sides and mentally beat her emotions into submission. “Is there something you want to tell me, Ang?”

  “Huh?” Her BFF stood somewhere behind her. “No. I just meant, well, two heads are better than one. Maybe I could help you find—”

  “I have to go.”

  “But—”

  Lyn slid into Notre Dame and pulled out of the parking lot. She watched Angie’s reflection in the rearview mirror, small and demure, until she turned the corner onto Main Street.

  Why now? She couldn’t help wondering. Why is this case bringing everything back?
<
br />   It’s all Sam’s fault.

  She wasn’t used to sharing her space or making allowances in her schedule for a clingy, demonic roommate. Living with a spawn of Hell stressed her out, that’s all.

  Pushing it all aside, she turned on the radio and focused on the road ahead.

  Sam stood in the shadows of a damp backstreet alley. The thickness of the air pressed his nerves as he swiped perspiration from his brow and glowered. Sam hated humidity. At least Hell had been dry.

  A breeze kicked up out of nowhere and his ears popped from the sudden burst of pressure. At the other end of the alley, shadows gathered in an undulating cloud of cinders. The dark mass took the shape of a man, though Sam knew it was no man at all.

  He swallowed his nerves and stepped slowly from the shade into the pale, artificial spotlights afforded by the overhanging shop signs. He risked everything by calling the angel, and he grimaced as his doubt pressed at his chest. Too late to back out.

  Sam squeezed his fists as he faced the swirling phantom. “Azrael, I did not think you’d come.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would,” said the entity. His voice was as deep as Sam remembered—like two smooth stones sliding against one another—and just as submissive. Sam recalled thinking his ex-pupil would always be a follower.

  “Might I look upon you,” Sam asked, “and call you friend?” Sam had difficulty seeing in the Earth Realm—a punishment of his own making—but demons and angels were not of this world, which meant he could view them clearly. More importantly, he needed to know if his old progeny still trusted him. Angels didn’t show themselves for just anyone.

  Sam sensed Azrael’s hesitation as the black cinders glowed red hot with Heavenly fire. Firm muscle molded over bone and blood, forming torso and limbs. A face took shape; sharp angles and youthful features. Fierce wings, gray with the ashes of the dead, extended from behind broad shoulders as they kicked up a gust of wind that swirled the soot of the angel’s essence, teasing his dusty white locks.

  “You may call me friend,” said Azrael in his true form. “For now.”

  Sam nodded, accepting the uneasy peace between them. “I am in trouble.”

  “We know.”

  A twang of unease shot through him, but Sam did his best to keep his expression neutral. “We?”

  The angel settled his wings, folding them inward. “We have been watching her a long time.”

  Sam assumed Azrael was referring to Lyn. Who else? “Did you watch her bind me?” he asked with a growl. He couldn’t help it. Every time he was forced to admit he’d been bound, his temper festered. Of all the cruel jokes … “Did He do this? Does He punish me still?”

  “You punish yourself, Samael.”

  “You honestly expect me to believe this was a coincidence? Of all the humans, of all the women on Earth, I am bound by a goddamn Daughter of Eve?”

  The angel narrowed his gaze. “Why would He put her in that kind of danger?”

  “Why does He do anything?” Sam turned to the side and spat. Yahweh could hold a grudge. Sam knew from experience.

  “She is important,” said Azrael. “More important than your misery. Not that you’ll believe it. You’ll do whatever suits you. You always have.”

  Sam faced the Angel of Death, his pupil and successor, and saw the pain in Azrael’s soul. Sam’s ability to read sin was a blessing. It enabled him to see past the shallow surface of lies, to the hidden depths of truth. His acolyte was obedient and loyal, but he was no longer pure. The pain of loss and betrayal had planted a seed in the soil of the angel’s heart. Resentment sprouted from the seed, thick and spindled. Would thorns of vengeance grow next? Would his beloved Azrael truly desire to harm him? Centuries in Hell had taught Sam how a demon would handle such emotions. Spin them. Mold them. Crush them. Demons craved chaos. They reveled in it. Encouraged it. Nurtured its growth.

  “I am sorry,” Sam found himself saying.

  Azrael only stared at him. Sam wondered what his successor saw. He couldn’t see his own soul, but he imagined it as nothing but blackness. A gaping void. He had sinned countless times in the centuries since they last spoke. Nevertheless, Sam was desperate.

  “I’ve been laying low with the Daughter,” he said. “Keeping my head down. But it’s only a matter of time before the other side finds me. Once they realize I am bound …”

  It will be the end of me.

  The Princes had been ruthless in their quest to end the Daughters. Belial told them it was done; the line finally wiped from existence. But that had been a lie. Sam knew what Lyn was the moment he saw her, the moment his true form stared back at him in the reflection of her eyes. How had she survived?

  The Princes weren’t his only concern, nor the most immediate. Sam had failed to complete his mission for Lucifer. He thought the Commander would assume him dead and would move on. Sam was so sure of it, until Lyn’s body-doubles started committing suicide. He heard it on the news first; the too-similar descriptions of the victims’ appearance, age, and gender. Then the Emersons came to Lyn’s apartment and told Sam about the sigil. That was all he needed to be certain. Sam was being baited. Hence, the pathetic plea for help.

  “You can speak to Yahweh on my behalf,” said Sam. “He can unbind me.”

  Azrael shook his head. “You do not know that. It has never been done before.”

  “He can try,” Sam insisted. “He has to try.”

  “You have already died, Samael. That is how a binding works. Your spirit has already passed on. Her soul merely keeps you animated. You exist on borrowed time.”

  Sam clenched his jaw. “I can’t accept that. I called you here to ask this favor. You will convince him for me, won’t you?”

  The angel scanned him briefly and his dark gaze filled with a longing Sam recognized. “Why did you attempt the Gate? You could have come home if you wanted.”

  Sam furrowed his brow, taken off guard by the question. But of course he expected his pupil to ask. His scuffle with the Cherub was likely the real reason Azrael agreed to see him. “I doubt I am welcome.”

  “You are not Fallen.”

  “Aren’t I?” Sam lifted his brow and crossed his arms over his chest.

  The angel narrowed his gaze. “There is talk you have turned against us. Is this true?”

  “Talk?” Sam scoffed. “I would’ve thought it conclusive.” He looked away and dragged his fingers through his hair. The needle-like filaments at the tips nicked his knuckles, but he hardly noticed anymore. “Please, Azrael.” He met the angel’s gaze and swallowed his pride. “I am begging you.”

  The Reaper smiled, but it was forced. He lifted both hands to cup his predecessor’s jaw and pressed a delicate kiss to the demon’s cheek. “Betrayal is a sin, Samael.”

  Sam closed his eyes and squeezed his fists as the pressure shifted around him. His ears popped. Releasing a curt breath, Sam opened his eyes. He was alone in the alley. The angel had gone. But Sam didn’t miss the sharp edge of the thorn as it grew from his friend’s heart.

  7

  Kittens and Puppy Dogs

  S am stood on the cement stoop of the pale brown apartment building and tilted his head skyward. Night descended over Paradise, bathing the heavens in darkness. If the stars shined, he could not see them, but he needn’t be able to see the pale light in Lyn’s bedroom window to know she was home. He could feel her.

  Lyn’s essence skimmed his chest, nettling the space just below his breastplate. She was upset, but that was nothing new. She had been upset the moment she realized he was a demon. The knowledge festered within her like an infected wound. He didn’t blame her for being infuriated with her mistake, since he felt the same way, but he did wish she’d get over it. Her emotions held a mirror to his, and it vexed him.

  He lowered his gaze and sighed. How could he fix this? What could he do? He didn’t know.

  Sam waved his hand through the empty space between himself and the locked entrance, calling forth the gossamer fabric of this realm. A v
eil shimmered to the surface in shades of metallic blue, its height as tall as he was. A seam ripped open down the middle and he stepped through, entering the hallway on the sixth floor of the apartment building. The veil sewed shut behind him and then disappeared.

  The door to Lyn’s apartment stood before him, unlocked. Sam cursed her carelessness as he pushed through.

  He only noticed her seated in the armchair in the middle of the living room by the spike of nerves in his system—her nerves. Sam watched her from his periphery while closing the door. The shape of her came in a hazy way, as though looking at her from under dark water, details blurry, the colors dull. Lyn looked to him like a cream-colored ghost in non-descript clothing.

  She seemed to slouch against the backrest of the chair, her posture awkward as her arms hung over either side. Something blue rested on her lap, or perhaps she wore some sort of blue accessory over her pants, he wasn’t sure. Her face, from this distance, was an oval of soft shadows framed by the pale halo of her hair. Lyn’s hair was like that of a wild beast with a mind of its own; a tangle of silk threads that seemed to puff in every direction. Several times he had wanted to grab hold and tame it.

  Lyn waved her hand, gesturing vaguely to the couch. “Have a seat.”

  Since she got home first, he hesitated to cross the short distance to the sofa. While he had accustomed himself to the layout of her apartment—especially since he spent all his time picking up after her—there was no telling what kind of greasy fast-food wrapper he might step in now. The place could be a deathtrap.

  When he didn’t move, Lyn promptly stood. She held the blue object in her hands and shoved it against his chest. He caught the thick paper—a folder, he realized—as she let go and stepped back. He traced the edges with his fingertips, finding the side where it opened, but the blurry ink-speckled papers within meant nothing to him.

  “I can’t read this,” he said with a growl, trying to draw patience from a dry well.