The Demon Beside Me

by Nelson, Christopher

“It’s not all fun and games,” he said as he wheeled the chair around to face us. “The perks are wonderful, but every once in a while things go sideways and you end up locked in Purgatory for a couple thousand years.”

  “Closer to five hundred,” I said.

  “As you say. Time isn’t quite the same for me as it is for you.” He shrugged, then slapped his hand on one thigh. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? By process of elimination, I take it that the lovely child there is the Third Gatekeeper, Annabell Glass.”

  “Child?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. She punched me.

  While I stuck a tissue up my nose to stop the bleeding, I heard Caleb introduce himself. The Horseman said something to him, but I couldn’t make it out. When I walked back into the living room, Caleb looked up at me, then looked away immediately. His expression was unlike anything I’d ever seen, somewhere far past horrified. He looked as if he’d collapse at a single touch.

  He refused to meet my eye, so I looked to Tink. She shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know what he said. Wasn’t in English. Not in any dialect of the angelic language I recognized either.”

  “Don’t worry, Caleb,” the Horseman said. “Time isn’t the same for me as it is for you. What may come to pass isn’t always what will come to pass.”

  “I’d greatly prefer it if you wouldn’t disturb my friends at such a crucial time,” I said.

  His eyes focused on me. The same power that had been evident in Conquest’s eyes burned in his. “First Gatekeeper, Isaiah Bright. The first one to touch his blood to the Gates of Purgatory, setting in motion the events that led to our release. Should we thank you for that, halfblood, or should we curse you?”

  “That depends on whether you enjoyed the vacation,” I said. “Though if I were you, I’d have picked a better place to get away from it all. I hear the Bahamas are lovely.”

  He grinned. “We may thank you, but the world at large may curse you.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up pissing off everyone in the world eventually, so I might as well go big.”

  “Go big or go home, as they say.” He scratched one of the scars on his face, right where it coincided with a piece of his nose missing. “Well, allow me to introduce myself.”

  I looked into his eyes. Power within them surged, just as Conquest’s had. The sensation of falling, the uncontrollable hunger, the raw emptiness within. “I am-”

  Armies charging each other across a broken field-

  Volleys of arrows, bullets, artillery shells-

  Explosions stitching their way up the flank of the enemy forces-

  The glory of one man, leading the way to victory-

  The misery of one man, visiting the families of the fallen-

  Striding out of the dust, holding my banner aloft-

  “-War.”

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to forget some of those images. “You’re a little more impersonal than your brother.”

  “We are both dedicated to the pursuit of our respective aspects.” War gave me a twisted smile. “His pursuit is just a little more personal than mine.”

  “Are we all just pieces in your game?” I asked.

  “Hardly. One could say we’re pieces in another’s game.” I frowned and he leaned forward. “Surely, Gatekeeper, you do not believe that we entered this monstrosity of a contract by choice?”

  “What?”

  War leaned back, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “All four of us are embodiments of a concept, a plan if you will. We have no choice but to fulfill that plan. We were created to fulfill that plan, actually.”

  “But weren’t you originally supposed to be the harbingers of the end times?” Tink asked.

  “Our purpose is shrouded in layers of mystery,” War said. “The only beings that know the whole story are gone, but before they left, they made sure that we were bound to a new purpose.” He cleared his throat. “It is an interesting sort of existence, you know. Effectively limitless in power, but bound for all eternity.”

  “What happens to you when we survive to open the Gates of Ascension?” I asked.

  “If you do so,” he said, “our purpose will be complete. What happens to us is immaterial. Now, before we waste any more time, let’s proceed with the purpose of this little visit. I have verified that each of the Gatekeepers is here. Are you satisfied with my identity, First Gatekeeper?”

  “I am,” I said.

  “Good. Now, my purpose here, quite simply, is to start a war. Your purpose is to tell me whose war it will be.” He leaned back in his wheelchair. “So, who’s it going to be?”

  “That’s it?” I asked. “No guidance, no limits, no commentary?”

  The Horseman sighed. “You know better than that. We can’t guide, advise, or do anything of the sort. The limits are simple, has to involve sapient species on this planet, of which there are effectively three, though there could be arguments regarding whether the imps and archons are either their own species, on this planet, or sapient.” He glanced to his side. “Don’t get offended, and don’t think too deeply about it. Your sapience is in as much question as mine is.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to see the look on Kibs’ face right now,” I said.

  “I could yank him here for you,” War said. “That’s just for my own personal amusement, mind you. We do have a little latitude when it comes to motivating the Gatekeepers.”

  “No, quite all right,” I said.

  “So you just want us to start a war,” Tink said. She leaned forward and scowled at War. “Define a war. Could we pick two random people in this world and have the two of them go to war with each other?”

  “Does it have to be a ‘hot’ war?” Caleb added. “Could it be something akin to the cold war back before the Berlin Wall came down?”

  War shook his head. “It does not have to be a world war, nor does it have to be symmetric, but it must involve forces in opposition, forces that will fight, forces that will kill. No, you cannot have a peaceful war, Gatekeepers. That is antithetical to my purpose here.”

  I tapped my fingers on my chin, then turned my attention to Caleb and Tink. The angel had his arms crossed over his chest, lost in thought. Tink met my gaze and scowled. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re thinking about what war to cause so you can pick up the pieces and gain power. You demons are always thinking about that sort of thing.”

  “I thought we had moved past the point where you did my thinking for me, Tink.”

  “Someone has to.”

  Before we could continue, Caleb leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Well, we have three major options, as usual. We can force a war between two groups which are relatively unknown on the world’s stage, such as two remote tribes in Africa. While they and their neighbors might care, the rest of the world won’t.”

  “But that’s something we would have to live with,” Tink pointed out.

  Caleb opened his arms wide. “Anna, we have to start a war. We have to live with it no matter what we do. Is your conscience going to be any less wounded depending on where we start the war?”

  “Yes, actually.” She leaned forward and glared at him. “We force a war on someone who deserves to get their ass kicked. You know the type. The dictators, the countries that abuse the shit out of their people. A place like North Korea. Think about it, all those millions of people who are basically starved and brainwashed by that madman.”

  “Think about the number of soldiers and the sheer amount of equipment they have,” Caleb pointed out. “Think about the number of South Koreans who will die when they go berserk.”

  “Fine. What about Iran?”

  “You really want to touch off a religious war?”

  “Saudi Arabia?”

  Caleb sighed. “Same as before, with a side helping of energy crisis.”

  “So what the hell do you suggest?”

  “The second option was prett
y much the same as what you’re suggesting,” he said. “For the reasons I’ve pointed out, it’s not likely to work. There simply aren’t that many global pariahs, and of those few, not one of them will simply roll over.”

  “So what’s your third option?” I asked.

  Caleb looked at me, then down at the floor. “We do what Anna accused you of thinking. We start a war between some factions or groups that will lead to us gaining some power so that we have more standing to keep the Choir and Host from pressuring us over the next Horseman.”

  “But that would involve a war between the Choir and the Host,” I pointed out. “That’s not exactly something in our best interests.”

  “But if they’re at war, they’re leaving us alone.”

  “Bullshit and wishful thinking,” I said. “We’re both high priority targets and you know it. If a real war kicks off between the Choir and Host, not one of us in this room will survive the first month. I think I’d be lucky to survive the first week.”

  “Even discussing this is probably going to get you both in shit,” Tink said. “You know there are about a hundred imps and archons listening in on us here.”

  “There are four,” War said. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be dozing off. Even so, his hand pointed at four different places in the room. “Two imps, and two archons. As this is a most momentous occasion, they restricted access to their Chairmen and one aide each. I’m sure they are thoroughly bored by your discussion so far, as am I.”

  “Well, we humans actually have a conscience,” Tink snapped. “I have to live with the results of this decision.”

  “As do I,” Caleb pointed out.

  “My esteemed colleagues will undoubtedly point out that being half demon means I may only have half of a conscience,” I said. “But even that’s enough to make me want to consider this very carefully.”

  War flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You have five minutes.”

  “What?”

  “Four minutes, fifty eight seconds. No amount of discussion will change your decision in the end. The events are already in progress.” He covered his mouth and yawned. “Pray continue.”

  “Demon!” Tink snapped. “We need to figure out what to do!”

  “I know,” I snapped. “Let me think!”

  From what War had said, this needed to be at least a moderately serious conflict. I didn’t want to see a war at all. There wasn’t anyone I could think of who deserved something like that. The only one who came anywhere close was Victor, but that was a personal problem. I wasn’t going to commit anyone to a war against the Choir if I could help it. Even so, it was tempting. If I could cause them some sort of damage, that could slow down their preparations for war, which would give the Host more time to prepare.

  I growled in the back of my throat and rubbed my face. I was acting as if war between the Host and Choir was inevitable. True, the Choir was pissed off, but as long as I avoided the bulk that maintained a xenophobic hatred toward demons, I could just pass the key to Heaven off to Caleb once the Gates of Ascension opened and be done with it. All I needed to do was survive and make sure the Choir didn’t get any angrier than they already were.

  That would be a tall order. If I triggered any sort of war involving the Choir, it could backfire. If they discovered that I had invoked a war, they’d immediately go for the Host. Even if they didn’t figure that out, it’d easily backfire. If they won, it would be easy for them to let the war machine keep rolling. The inertia of peace was one of a few things in our favor.

  The only way to slow the Choir down would be to start a war that they would lose. “Easier said than done,” I said out loud.

  “What is?” Tink asked.

  “A very stupid idea,” I said. “Caleb, got anything?”

  “Not a thing,” he said. “Equally stupid ideas. Perhaps the same as yours.”

  I forced a smile. “Well, I don’t know what to step back to. War, why the time limit?”

  “It’s not a time limit I set,” he said, eyes still closed. “It’s when the results of your decision will become apparent. Two minutes and thirty seven seconds from now, by the way. Better get cracking.”

  I clenched my fist and pounded it on my thigh. There was no way I could take advantage of this to slow down the Choir. I wouldn’t involve the Host in a war if I could help it. I didn’t want to involve anyone if I could help it. What would be the most limited war I could think of? A war that would result in the fewest lives lost as possible.

  “Demon, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You need to figure something out!”

  “No shit, Tinkerbell!”

  “Caleb, you’ve got to have something figured out!” Tink was starting to sound stressed. “What can we do? I don’t want to start a war!”

  The angel shook his head. “I don’t want to, either. It seems that we don’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always some sort of choice to be made,” I said. “And I’ll be damned if I can think of a good choice here.”

  “One minute, fifty seconds,” War said.

  I looked to Caleb. “I won’t create a war between the Host and the Choir. I will be damned before I start another Celestial War, regardless of what happened last time.”

  He nodded. “I never had any doubts of that.”

  I then looked to Tink. “I’m half human, Tink, and I don’t want to start any wars involving humans either.”

  “But you will,” she said.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “You don’t have a choice!”

  Eyes still closed, I shook my head. “Then you tell me. Who shall we kill, Tink?” When she didn’t respond, I opened my eyes and stared at her. Her lips were pressed tightly together. As soon as I made eye contact, she looked away. “You feel it too. We’re not sociopaths, we value life. All three of us value life. None of us are willing to simply trigger a war at the whimsical demand of this being!”

  “It’s not whimsical, nor is it my demand,” War said. “It’s to fulfill the terms of a contract that involves forces beyond your control. One minute, eight seconds.”

  “Demon!”

  “You’ve got to pick something, Zay.”

  “Do I?” I asked. War lifted his head, opened his eyes, but said nothing. “Is there something in the contract that requires us to make a decision of this sort? Yes, if we are all dead and there is no one to make a decision, the contract breaks in your favor. But we’re all alive, we’re all here. We’re simply not ready for this. What happens if we’re at an impasse?”

  The Horseman wheeled himself closer to me. There was no physical way he could move his wheelchair like that, I realized. “You will make a choice,” he said. “You’ll make it in the next forty one seconds, Gatekeeper.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He smiled.

  “No, I won’t. This is absolutely ridiculous. I’m not going to start a war. I’m not going to cause hundreds, thousands, who knows how many deaths just to fulfill some contract that I was roped into!”

  “The contract binds you, Isaiah Bright,” War said. “Just as it binds all of you. It’s bound with your blood.”

  “Our blood? That was to prevent House Lucifer from forcing the Gates open! You’re telling us that by saving millions, we’re being forced to kill millions in turn?” Tink was on her feet, her knife in hand. “I should just put this through your eye and save us all of this trouble.”

  “You’d not survive the attempt,” War said. “Twenty three seconds. Last call.”

  “No. I refuse to make this choice.” I stood as well, looming over the Horseman sitting in his wheelchair. “Understand something, Horseman. I will not call down a war. I will not have the blood of innocents on my hands, not like this. This isn’t a power I asked for, this isn’t a game, this isn�
��t anything I want. I will not be the tool of a contract I have not agreed to. I have the freedom to choose, and my choice is to refuse that choice.”

  “You refuse to choose?”

  “I do. End of discussion.”

  War smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then by the terms of the contract, a choice will be made for you, Gatekeeper.”

  “Wait-”

  The wheelchair burned. Fire rose from the wheels, roaring flames that forced both myself and Tink to jump back, over the back of Caleb’s couch. As we watched, the fire consumed the chair, forming legs, a body, head and mane and tail. The second Horseman looked down at us from astride his fiery red horse, armored with an enormous greatsword slung diagonally across his back. His legs had returned with the transformation, and he held the reins with his one good hand. The other arm terminated in a stump at his wrist. From behind his helm’s visor, his gaze caught mine. “I resisted them,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the fury of the transformation. “I fought, the only one of us. I fought the gods, and the gods won. Believe me, Gatekeeper. I fought for what I believed in as well. There is no shame in this defeat. Your strength honors me, and I will seek to honor you with this war.”

  “No!”

  The horse reared and War whipped his greatsword out from its harness, holding it in front of himself, the blade as fiery as his horse. He touched the blade to his helm in salute, then the horse sprang forward and upwards, passing through the wall and ceiling as if they weren’t even there. All that was left of him was a hint of sulfur in the air.

  I slumped back against the wall. “Shit.”

  “It was a good try,” Caleb said. “I just hope this isn’t the start of something awful.”

  Tink laughed harshly. “When has anything like this ever been the start of something good? I’m sure we’ll be getting a message shortly. Of course this will be our fault.”

  “I’m pretty sure that with both the Consortium and the Syndicate watching, we’ll be off the hook as far as direct blame is concerned,” I said.

  “Still, I wonder what he meant when he said he would honor you, Zay.” Caleb stroked his chin.

  Any thoughts I had about that went sideways as soon as two imps and three archons phased into sight. “Confirm that,” the Chairman of the Consortium said in his raspy voice. “Out loud, for the Gatekeepers.”