Is that why you like Bat El so much? he asked himself. Does the little thing alleviate the loneliness, the unbearable ancient memories?
"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" he spoke to the burrow. Bat El did not respond, and Beelzebub took a deep breath. "Why don't you come out and sit beside me? We can enjoy the fresh air together."
For a long time, the burrow was silent, so long that Beelzebub worried that Bat El wasn't in there after all, or maybe she had crawled in to die. Finally, however, her voice broke the silence.
"It's only a matter of time, Beelzebub. With Laila's help, your brother is going to win this war, and he will kill you."
"Oh, I seriously doubt both those things, Bat El. Now please, come out of there. You're hurt and you must be thirsty and hungry. Don't make me come in there to get you."
"I'm not going back to that fort," she said from inside the burrow, suddenly sounding scared and younger than ever.
He nodded. "Deal. You come out, I won't force you to come back with me."
"You'll let me go?"
"At some point, yes, of course. First I'll see how the story with Laila unfolds, and once things come to light, of course I'll let you go. I won't keep you a prisoner forever. For now, we'll stay here in the forest. No demons. No locked doors. Just you and me, until you are healed, and until we figure out what to do with that sister of yours."
For a long moment the burrow was silent and still. Finally Bat El crept out. Dried leaves filled her hair, mud and blood caked her face and limbs, and thorns had torn her clothes. She was pale, and her halo gave but soft light.
"I may be the devil," he said to her, "but you, my dear, look like hell."
"Charming as always," she said.
"Let me take a look at you." He stepped toward her and placed his hands on her limbs, examining her cuts and bruises.
"Let go of me," she said and tried to push him aside, but he refused to let go.
"I'm just seeing how badly you're hurt, don't get all excited." The cuts covered her, some from demon claws, most from thorns. "You're going to be fine, but I want to take you to find some food and bandages."
She shook her head, dry leaves falling from her hair. "No deal. You promised we'd stay here. God's grace and light will heal me soon, and as for food, I'm not hungry."
Her knees wobbled, and she sat down by the stream on fallen leaves, boulders and cyclamens surrounding her. Beelzebub sat beside her, close enough so that she could lean against him. For a moment they sat in silence, and then Beelzebub put his arm around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Strange place, this Earth, isn't it?" he said softly.
She nodded and closed her eyes. "I miss Heaven."
"Do you? Really? I hated Heaven when I was younger. I always snuck away to come down to Earth and raise some hell."
She smiled only slightly, a half smile soon gone. "Well, you've always been a hell-raiser. I'm a good angel girl. I like Heaven. Come on, Beelzebub. Could it have been that bad? Dressing up in white on Saturdays, having dinner around the table with the other angels, sipping wine, playing the harp, singing.... Even you couldn't find that too bad."
"It was dreadful," he said. "Heaven's wine is too sweet, and I'll take a rowdy bar song over harps any day." He smiled. "You should visit Hell sometime. If you like parties, you'll love Hell."
She picked dried leaves off her clothes, as if she could somehow make herself stately and neat again. "Oh, I heard all about Hell. Fire, demons, torture, pain. No thanks."
"Well, there is that part," Beelzebub confessed. "But there's also good, loud music, lots of drinking and singing, debauchery and craziness. No rules. No inhibitions. You'd like it."
"I seriously doubt that. Besides, the hellfire would burn this poor angel to a crisp. My kind is forbidden there."
Beelzebub feigned a sad sigh. "You and I, like the Capulets and the Montagues. A tragedy, really."
"Only Romeo and Juliet loved each other," she said, "and while you are clearly madly in love with me, I couldn't care less about you."
He blew her a kiss. "I always do like it when a girl plays hard to get."
She was about to respond, when he tensed and hushed her with a finger to her lips. She tried to protest, and he shushed her. Silent, he looked around, listening. There. He heard it again, could smell it. A slow smile crept across his lips, and he leapt up and crashed through the bushes.
"Stay here," he called to Bat El and leapt forward. He saw it there, a few paces ahead, rubbing against a tree: a young boar, two or three years old, nice and plump. When it saw Beelzebub, it tried to run, but if Beelzebub could chase Gabriel's daughter across the skies, a boar stood little chance. He caught the squealing creature and silenced it with a slice of his claws across its neck.
"I'm a vegetarian," Bat El said, watching as he carried the boar back.
"Say that after you smell my roast boar. You'll find it quite irresistible. And if you still don't like it, well, there would be plenty of vegetarian meals available back in my demon fort."
As he started to collect firewood, Bat El sighed. "You really do think highly of yourself. How must it be for you, to love Beelzebub so much?"
"Someday maybe you'll know," he replied and piled up fallen branches. He sent sparks from his fingertips, and soon a bonfire was crackling.
They had no knife, so Beelzebub carved the boar with his claws as Bat El looked away. They had no pot nor pan, so Beelzebub held the meat over the fire in his hands, letting the flames caress him as they cooked the meat. He would have suggested flying for supplies, but Bat El still seemed so unnerved, he didn't want to move her yet.
When the meat was ready, they ate in silence, watching the fire, and drank from the stream. Grease dripped down Bat El's chin, and she hardly seemed to notice, the flames reflecting in her blue eyes. Laila once lived in these forests, Beelzebub remembered, running wild among the trees. When he had found her here ten years ago, she had been like an animal, hair knotty and tangled, fangs always bared, twig-thin and feral.
"Nothing like good bacon for breakfast," he finally said, licking his lips.
Bat El washed her hands in the stream. "I can't believe I ate that. Poor boar."
"Poor Beelzebub," he countered. "I miss my fort already."
"It's not your fort. It belongs to Heaven."
"It belongs to the humans, actually, or did until we came to this planet."
Bat El leaned back and stared at the crackling flames. Dry leaves still filled her hair. "Crusaders built that fort, hence it has always belonged to Heaven."
"My darling, if you were truly so pure and godly, you'd wish to disassociate yourself from the Crusaders as much as possible. If anything, the bastards worked for us."
Bat El tossed a twig into the fire. She watched it burn. "You know, you'd be a lot sweeter if sometimes you'd just shut up. Everything's a big joke with you, isn't it?"
He looked at her over the flames. "Not everything."
She lowered her eyes, and he knew she was remembering their kiss, his hands on her, their lips and bodies pressed together. He knew he was thinking about it, and his blood suddenly felt hotter than hellfire.
Bat El fell onto her back in the fallen leaves. She pulled a couple acorns from under her, tossed them aside, and looked up at the canopy. "God, I wish I could stay here forever," she said. "Away from this war, from fighting, from duty...." She seemed to realize what she had said, her face turned pink, and she blew out her breath. "But of course that's impossible. We have responsibilities. We are leaders, both of us."
He lay down beside her, watching the rustling leaves above, the sunrays that broke through the clouds. He let his hand reach out and touch the tip of her hair, twirling it. "We can stay for a while, at least," he said. "I know there's a war going on, I know we both have roles to play, I know your sister is out there wreaking havoc. But hey, you and I, we deserve a little rest. Call it a weekend getaway."
"It's Tuesday," she whispered, turning her
head toward him, his fingers in her hair. She looked at him, then lowered her eyes, trembling. Her whisper was so soft, he barely heard. "I hate that you do this to me. And I hate you period. I really do want to escape you. I could probably run now, you know."
"I know," he uttered silently and was about to kiss her when, with a gasp, she pointed up. Beelzebub looked and raised an eyebrow.
Streaks of fire burned in the sky, and the cries of battle echoed. A great duel burned above, and Beelzebub rose to his feet. Those flames and cries could mean only one thing.
Either Zarel or Laila would soon die.
* * * * *
In the clouds, Laila and Zarel crashed into each other, sending out a shock-ring, bursting with flame. Pain filled Laila like pain had never filled her. She felt like every bone in her body shattered, and her teeth rattled in her jaw. She screamed, slashed her claws, and felt Zarel's teeth sink into her shoulder.
"You will die now, angel," Zarel hissed, Laila's blood on her fangs.
Laila gritted her teeth. Not yet. I'm still alive. She curbed the anger and pain that blinded her. Concentrate. She punched hard, and her knuckles bled against Zarel's scales. Before she could even cry in pain, Zarel punched her in the stomach, knocking all air and sound out of her.
Laila doubled up, tears in her eyes. She's too strong. Too strong for me to face alone. She pulled back just in time, avoiding Zarel's claws, and pushed down the pain, ignoring it. I have to kill her. I have to, and damn my promise to Angor. If I can't take Hell, life is over for me; I'm going to kill this one or die trying.
When Zarel charged toward her, wings flapping, Laila fired her Uzi. The bullets slammed into Zarel's face, into her eyes, her mouth, her forehead. The Demon Queen shrieked. I hurt her. She can be hurt.
Zarel's claws slashed, and Laila blocked the blow with her arm, more pain filling her. That blow nearly broke her arm. She wanted to fire her gun again, but had no time to reload. Zarel kept scratching and biting, and it was all Laila could do to avoid those fangs and claws.
She reached for a grenade, letting down her guard for an instant. Zarel's claws found her arm, drawing blood, but Laila had set off the grenade. She pulled her wings close and dived down, leaving the grenade in the sky to fall above her. Zarel dived down in pursuit, and the grenade burst above the Demon Queen. The shrapnel slammed into Zarel, whose body shielded Laila from the blast.
This was enough to faze the Demon Queen, and Laila suddenly changed course and flew straight up, slamming her head into Zarel's belly. The Demon Queen tumbled, knocked aside, and Laila tossed a second grenade. It burst against Zarel, and Laila followed it with more bullets.
The archdemon was mad now. Blood dripped from her nose, her hair blazed, and spit oozed from her maw. She came swooping at Laila, eyes aflame, growling. Damn it, can nothing kill this beast? Laila wondered, pulling back. She escaped the brunt of Zarel's charge, but the demon's leg still kicked her shoulder, knocking Laila into a spin.
Before Laila could recover, Zarel grabbed her, digging her claws into Laila's shoulders. Oh, hell. Laila felt the fear flow through her, an instant of terror at the sight of Zarel's furious eyes and chaotic, drooling smirk. She struggled and cried, kicking, but could not release herself from Zarel's grasp. The Demon Queen leaned in to bite, and Laila felt teeth sink into her shoulder.
She bit back. Her fangs tore at a scale, pulling it loose, and she dug her bite into Zarel's flesh. Blood filled her mouth, and Zarel screamed.
Laila pulled back, bleeding, dizzy, blood in her mouth and on her body. She was so dazed, she could barely fly.
"You shouldn't have done that, sweetling," Zarel said and pulled back a fist. She punched, and the blow hit Laila's cheek with a burst of white brilliance.
Limbs like noodles, wings limp, Laila tumbled from the sky.
"Leave her alone!" came a voice from somewhere impossibly distant and vague. It sounded like Bat El, Laila thought as in a dream, but of course that was impossible. She could barely see a thing through the blood and fire, but it seemed like she saw great swan wings spread in flight, crashing into Zarel.
It was the last thing she saw. The pain overwhelmed her, and the ground rushed up below. Laila the half-demon, outcast from Heaven, banished from Hell, slammed onto the earth and darkness rolled over her world.
Chapter Eleven
Michael coughed, dust filling his lungs, and struggled to his feet. When he straightened, he winced in pain and rubbed his neck. Every part of his body ached. Blinking in the flying ash, he surveyed the scene. The church debris lay strewn about, a hodgepodge of shattered bricks, shards of glass, and twisted metal. Dust still flew over the scene, hiding the sky.
Were there other survivors? Michael looked around, but saw none, only the ruins of the church. The blast had even leveled the buildings surrounding the church, turning the streets into piles of rock. Michael surveyed himself and cursed. The blast had cracked his breastplate and blown off his greaves. His clothes were bloody tatters, and bruises and cuts covered him. It took a lot to hurt an archangel. Michael could not remember the last time weapons had made him bleed. Zarel meant business; had Michael not managed to reach the window at the last second, the blast could have killed him.
The wind blew, tendrils of fire flurried among the ruins, and ash flew. Michael groaned and began to climb down from the pile of wreckage. Had Laila escaped? Any of the others? Michael tried to think back to just before the blast. "A trap!" Laila had shouted, and Michael had burst into flight at once. He had reached the window, and just begun to exit the church, when the blast hit him. The thud tossed him outside, and then stones buffeted him, knocking him to the ground, covering him with ash. It seemed like Laila had managed to flee the church in time, but Michael could not be sure. As for the other angels... Michael was not optimistic. If this blast was enough to batter Michael, the Lord of God's Hosts, it would tear apart lesser angels.
"Damn you, Beelzebub," Michael sighed. Things were bad. Laila might be dead. Shield Division had been destroyed at the fort, and it seemed like he had just lost Heavenfire too. How could this had happened? We have Laila fighting with us now. How could we be losing?
Pushing aside despair, Michael concentrated on finding survivors. Countless bodies lay strewn about, both angelic and demonic, but Michael heard groaning and weeping. Moving about the wreckage, he found wounded angels covered in dust and blood. Some angels, those who had stood far back enough, were well enough to help him clear the wreckage.
Survivors were few. Most of Heavenfire, fabled Fifth Division of Heaven, had perished here, and Zarel had escaped them. Bloody and battered, Michael lowered his head, the wind cold against him.
A grunt came from behind, and Michael turned to see Nathaniel, the dour commander of The Wrecking Balls platoon. Blood dripped down the angel's forehead, and he cradled his left arm.
"Managed to leap out the window just in time," he said, voice hoarse. "My men weren't as lucky." He stepped down a pile of rubble, winced, and cursed. "Damn, smarts."
Michael looked at the sky where a trail of fire burned. "We're going to need reinforcements. I want to secure this neighborhood. The church may be gone, but it's another few blocks of Jerusalem to claim."
Nathaniel followed Michael's gaze to the fiery wake, like the path of a comet. "The half-breed abandoned us."
Michael shook his head. "She's following Zarel. I'm going after her. Lieutenant, stay here. Make this neighborhood safe."
With that, Michael unfurled his wings, ignoring the pain from his bruises and cuts. As powerful as Laila was, if she challenged Zarel to a duel, she would die. Michael wasn't ready to lose the girl yet. He still needed her.
Though his body ached and begged for rest, Michael took flight and followed Zarel's path. The strands of smoke and flame spread across the sky, leading west. The wind slammed against Michael, ruffling the feathers on his wings, stinging his wounds. Damn Laila. Damn the girl. What could she have been thinking? They had brought an entire division to ca
pture Zarel, and now Laila went after the archdemon alone. She wanted to die, Michael realized. This was a suicide mission, and Laila knew it.
Michael flew, worry gnawing on him. Most likely, he knew, Laila was dead already.
* * * * *
When Bat El shot into the sky to attack Zarel, Beelzebub froze for a moment, able only to stare in shock.
Bat El. Laila. Zarel. The three women of his life, together above him, battling in the sky. Beelzebub could only blink.
"Damn," he finally said.
He flapped his wings and flew after Bat El, crashing through the canopy of pine branches. This could not end well. Zarel would either kill Bat El, or learn of his romance with the angel. Whatever the outcome, it would end in blood and tears.
"Leave my sister alone!" Bat El cried above, slamming her wings against Zarel. The Demon Queen growled and crackled, and Laila tumbled from the sky, bruised and bloody, to crash into the forest.
For an instant, Beelzebub wanted to follow Laila, to capture her if she still lived, but the half-breed was probably dead, and Bat El needed him. In a second or two, Zarel would kill the young angel.
"Zarel!" he called out, using his deepest, most echoing voice. He flew up to hover before her in the sky.
The Demon Queen glared at him, hissing. In her claws, she clutched Bat El's throat, a second away from crushing the angel's pale neck. Droplets of blood trickled down Bat El's throat, and she gasped, struggling for breath, tears in her eyes.
"What do you want, Beelzebub?" Zarel demanded, fangs dripping drool. Her hair of flame raised sparks.
"Leave the girl alone," he said.
Zarel spat, still clutching Bat El's throat. The young angel struggled and kicked, but could not free herself. "Oh, my my," the Demon Queen said, cackling. "Have you found another innocent angel to love, my dear husband? Have you found a young girl to defile?"
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