The Demon Beside Me

by Nelson, Christopher

  “Halfblood,” I said softly. “You have a choice, angel. You may stand aside, or you may die.”

  The angel snapped something in his language. Before he could take a step, every single one of his companions dropped to the ground with a neat hole in the center of their chest. Death took him by the throat and lifted. The angel’s sword dropped to the floor with a clatter and he grabbed at Death’s arm. Death looked over to me. “I thought it best to leave one alive,” he said, “but this one may not be worth it.”

  “At least let him speak,” I said. “What is your name and rank?”

  “Archangel Donovan,” the angel gasped.

  “Donovan,” I said. “What sort of authority do you hold? Anything beyond what I’d expect an Archangel to hold? Are you part of Internal Security?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “I would like an escort to where Caleb DeMarco is,” I said. “And I would like to get there with as few deaths as possible. Can you help us arrange that?”

  “Why should-“

  “It’s either that or you die. Your call.”

  “You’re sentencing me to death either way!”

  “The Seraphim would kill you for doing that?” I shook my head. “And you fight for them, when they’d kill you for something completely beyond your control? When will it cross your minds that Caleb has a point? Don’t give me your bullshit about pre-emptive self-defense. You tell me what you think, Donovan. You tell me you think it’s unfair, and I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from harming you.”

  The angel hung in Death’s grip for a long moment before choking out a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Of course it’s not fair, demon. I have a daughter. Her life is over, too. I am dead, regardless of what happens here, but if you kill me, at least they will consider me to have died in battle, and she will be the daughter of a hero and not a coward.”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. Their society horrified me, and yet I knew what I needed to do. “Then let me put it this way, Donovan. If you don’t escort us there, we’ll leave you alive.”

  “Will you kill me when we reach your destination?” The angel’s voice was quiet, pleading. “For my daughter’s sake.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Alicia.”

  “For Alicia’s sake,” I said. “As long as you hold up your end of the bargain. I would much prefer a solution that would keep you alive as well.”

  “As would I,” he said. “Though I never thought I would say this, thank you, demon.”

  I nodded and Death lowered him to the ground, then deliberately held the sword to his neck. “I will uphold the execution of your bargain, Gatekeeper.”

  “Who are you?” Donovan asked.

  “I am Death.”

  The angel choked out another laugh. “They said you were mythical.”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Are the Seraphim present here?” I asked.

  “There are some Seraphim and Cherubim present. Not all of them, but a quorum.”

  “And they’re all watching Caleb get tortured?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Donovan squirmed, then glanced at Death. I shook my head. “No one’s here and no one’s going to find out what you say. Humor me.”

  He looked at me, eyes steady. “I think he’s a traitor who deserves a clean death. Not torture.”

  I nodded and gestured. “Let’s go to him.”

  The place where we were held captive was a large building, completely unfamiliar to me. It felt as if we were walking for hours. Angels would encounter us, then Donovan would command them to fall into the escort, and we proceeded onward. Before too long, there were dozens of angels walking along with us. They anticipated our death at the hands of the Seraphim, they said. Spectators and voyeurs, they wanted to see us die. I ignored them, walking the halls, Tink cradled in my arms.

  We reached the chamber where Caleb was after what felt like days. Our escort had swollen to well over a hundred angels, many with naked blades in their hands. Donovan pushed the doors open and we strode through. Across the length of the room, over a dozen angels sat upon elaborate thrones, their attention suddenly focused on us. I recognized Bartholomew among them. In the middle of the room, Caleb stood, chained to a post, the echo of a whip crack just fading. As I suspected, Victor wielded the whip.

  “What interruption is this?” demanded one of the seated angels. I suspected he was a Seraph. Age lined his face, but his voice held the indisputable note of command. “Archangel Donovan, why have you brought them here?”

  I closed my eyes as Death drew his dark blade through the angel’s throat. “He did not lead us here by choice,” the Horseman said as the body fell to the ground. “We came to see the Seraphim, and to see to your captive.”

  “Then look upon us, demon,” commanded one of the seated angels. “Be honored. You are the first hellspawn to look upon the face of the Seraphim in hundreds of years. Burn it into your memory, for it shall be the last thing you see.”

  “Before you order your faithful troops to bury their swords in my back,” I said, “why don’t you listen to what I have to say? You might find it entertaining, if nothing else.”

  “We shall grant you this boon. Speak, demon.”

  Tink stirred in my arms. Victor stared at me, his lips twisted in disgust. Caleb looked up, purity trickling down the side of his face. I looked at the Seraph who had spoken and smiled. “I, Isaiah Bright, Baronet of House Asmodeus, Gatekeeper, and Lord of Heaven, do hereby demand and require the immediate and unconditional surrender of the Angelic Choir and the immediate cessation of all hostilities.”

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  I received exactly the response I expected from the Choir. A storm of laughter rolled across the chamber, echoing from every wall. Death stood beside me, unmoved, unmoving, and I strove to be just as impassive. I knew I didn’t look impressive, but the laughter did sting, just a little.

  “You were correct, demon. You have delivered entertainment.” The Seraphim who had originally spoken made a gesture. “Archangel Victor. Slay him.”

  “By your word.” Victor dropped the whip.

  “Am I allowed to defend myself?” I asked.

  “By all means, demon. Entertain us further!” The Seraphim and Cherubim laughed again, touching off another storm of laughter from the spectators.

  I turned to Death. “Would you take care of her while I fight?”

  “You honor me,” he said quietly. “I know how difficult it must be for you to give her into the hands of Death.”

  “To be honest, that hadn’t crossed my mind,” I said as I held her out. “All I know is that there are two people in this room I can trust, and Caleb is sort of unavailable.”

  Death took her from me, holding her cradled in his arms just as I had. Again, I saw that flicker of the way he must have looked before, the silver mane of hair and silver eyes, a smile turning his lips upwards. “I shall repay your trust in me. Take up my sword. Use it, if it will serve you.”

  The weapon dropped to the floor and I stooped to pick it up. The hilt was cold, burning my hand. I almost cried out, but instead, forced myself into a partial transformation. The frost burned its way through my arm and body, muted by the regenerative qualities of my ichor, but still exquisitely painful. When it reached my eyes, I could finally see the dark emptiness of where the blade was. It drew my eyes in and held them, almost against my will.

  “Be careful,” Death said.

  “The blade hungers,” I said.

  “No.” I looked over at him. “The blade hates.”

  I held the sword high over my head, then brought it down to a guard position. I had been taught how to defend myself against angelic swordsmen, but those lessons were years old and I had done it with claws and hellfire, not a sword of my own. Even so, I knew what I needed to do. “Isaiah,” my uncle had said. “If nothing else, put som
ething between yourself and their sword.”

  “Are you prepared, halfbreed?” I looked down to where Victor waited, his scimitars held low and wide. “Your mage is in no shape to influence this fight.”

  “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

  “This time, I won’t leave you alive,” he promised.

  I shrugged. “Stop posturing and let’s get this over with.”

  He brought his swords up and whirled them theatrically, then came right at me. I stepped back, then sideways, his swords whistling past. He was playing to the audience. Two could play at that game. I took a high guard position and jabbed toward him, completely ineffectually. He didn’t even bother to deflect my half-hearted thrusts. When I extended a little too far, he came in, one of his swords curving inwards to skate across my chest. I drifted back, glancing down. It was a good cut, several inches long, but not deep at all.

  While he raised his swords in the air, receiving a round of cheers and applause, I simply sealed the cut and brought my sword back up. “First blood to you,” I said. “Is that enough to satisfy your honor?”

  “I’ve been ordered to slay you.”

  “I’d recommend refusing that order,” I said.

  “Halfbreed, there is nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

  “I’m warning you, Victor.” I whipped the sword around as artfully as I could. “You’re not going to like what this sword can do.”

  “A weapon’s quality is only as high as its wielder.” His blades whirled in a flash of silver and steel, then pointed at me, high and low. “Caleb, are you watching? I’m about to cut your demon friend down in front of you.”

  Caleb coughed, then spat on the ground as close to Victor as he could. “Don’t get too cocky, Victor. You’re nowhere near as good as you think you are.”

  Victor snarled and came at me. I dropped back one long step, squared my shoulders, and whipped my blade directly into the path of one of his.

  His sword exploded.

  Angels calling out catcalls and jeers fell silent and a murmur of surprise echoed around the room. Shards of the angelic blade scattered across the floor and Victor jumped back, his face registering shock. He recovered quickly, leading with the other sword, assuming that I wasn’t ready for a strong thrust. I was. His other sword splintered, leaving more steel littering the ground. The shards smoked, leaving a gray haze at ankle height.

  Again, he dropped back, and then he laughed. “Demon, didn’t you realize that disarming an angel is pointless? I thought that had been illustrated for you, months ago.” He tossed the hilts aside and stretched his hands out. I waited for his weapons to reappear.

  He blinked and flourished his hands again. Nothing happened. Another louder murmur broke the silence of the chamber, angelic voices questioning what had happened. “What have you done, demon?” he snapped.

  I shrugged and pointed the sword at him. “I guess the quality of this sword and its wielder is a little higher than you thought. Care to continue?”

  He dropped back, far enough that I couldn’t just lunge and spit him on the blade. “Victor!” shouted a voice from the spectators. “Here!” A greatsword lofted through the air, and Victor snatched it. The blade was nearly as tall as he was. He stepped in, swinging for the top of my skull, seeking to expose my gray matter to thin air. I met that swing with my own. From point to crossguard, his blade shattered. Once again, angelic steel scattered across the floor.

  Silence fell over the onlookers and the one who had tossed Victor his sword stepped forward. “It’s gone,” he shouted, pointing at me. “That blade’s evil!”

  I laughed. “Maybe it’s just breaking swords held by the unworthy.”

  Victor held his hand out. “Another!”

  Someone else armed him. I waited as he adjusted his grip on the sword and shield he had been given, then attacked before he could bring the fight to me. His automatic reflex was to bring the shield up, and as soon as my blade kissed his shield, it exploded in shards and mist. His sword snapped into a guard position as I wrenched myself into a backhanded cut toward his face. A reflexive parry caused that sword to burst into shards as well.

  He wiped at the fresh cuts on his face. I stepped back again. “Had enough, Victor?”

  “Your dark weapon won’t be enough to stop me,” he snarled.

  “Don’t bitch at me for an unfair fight,” I said. “There are over a hundred angels here, and one halfblood. I’m haven’t had anything to eat in over two days, my sword training is years out of date, and your Seraphim are cheering you on. I’m so sorry to make this an actual challenge for you. But, if you’re not up to it, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to replace you with someone who is.”

  “Again!” Victor shouted. Another angelic sword lofted through the air and he snatched it, spinning into a wild slash that was just inches shy of taking my head off. I was ready for the next attack, and once again, his weapon shattered. Victor took a step back and held his hand out. Another donated weapon flew to his grip and he flourished it at me, popped his wings free, and dove at me. I barely managed to bring my sword up in time.

  I realized that this fight was going downhill when he received the next weapon. Even with my ichor in a state of equilibrium, I was exhausted. I glanced back over my shoulder at Death, who simply stared at me impassively. There’d be no further help from that quarter. Freeing Caleb would bring the entire room down on me. That only left one person who could help me, and she wasn’t even conscious.

  I held my hand up before Victor could come at me again. He froze, looking toward the Seraphim, who nodded. His sword came down and he leaned on it. I walked away from him, up to Tink. Her eyes were open. “Having fun?”

  “I didn’t think you were awake.”

  “How could I sleep through something this important?”

  I put a hand on her forehead. “I hate to ask, but I need your help.”

  “You really expect me to be able to stand up and cast something right now?”

  “I was just hoping for some motivation.”

  She sighed and slapped at Death’s arms, and he lowered her to the ground. She swayed in place and I grabbed her arm. “You want motivation? You want some energy, you want some strength?” She lifted a hand to her mouth and bit down. “Then you can have mine.”

  Magic flared and I felt my aching muscles ease. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you the strength to go on.”

  “But what about you?”

  She grinned, even as she sagged back against Death. “You have to give it back when you’re done. That’s your motivation.”

  “Wonderful.” I turned back to Victor and lifted the sword. The blade felt weightless and my steps were light. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it would last long enough. “Come on, Victor. Time to finish this.”

  “Couldn’t do it on your own, could you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “And how many swords have you borrowed now?”

  He snarled and came for me. I could almost see the exact track his weapon would take and I placed my sword directly in its path as he swung. Shards sprayed once again. Before he could even ask, another sword flipped through the air. I intercepted it with a flick of my wrist.

  The fight blurred. I couldn’t even tell what was happening, just that swords were bursting all around me. The ground crunched and scratched under our feet. Shards of angelic steel sprayed both the spectators and us. Gray smoke rose to the height of our knees as angelic steel burned. Purity oozed from scratches on his face and I knew that something was dripping from the wounds on my own face, but I wasn’t sure whether it was blood or ichor.

  Victor’s expression shifted from anger to rage to fear and back over and over. I didn’t know if that was real or if it was just what I was feeling myself. At some point, I realized that I was screaming every time I shattered one of his weapons. At some point, I had transformed into my fully demonic form. At some point, he ran out of weapons and the tip of my blade was at
his throat. My throat was raw and my chest was heaving, but my enemy was at my mercy, and I had no mercy to give.

  “Enough!” The roar of command was strong enough that I took a step back. The Seraph who had originally spoken to me stood up. “Archangel Victor, can you not defeat this demon? Is our trust in you so sadly misplaced?”

  “I cannot defeat him with these weapons,” Victor confessed. “I humbly request a boon.”

  The Seraph held his hand out. From the air he drew his own sword, shining white and silver, bright enough to make me want to shade my eyes. With a flip of his wrist, he extended the sword toward Victor. “Take this holy blade, Archangel, and bring justice if you are able.”

  Victor turned back to me. He flicked the sword in a blazing salute, then guarded. “Come on, demon. Let’s see you break this one.”

  I stepped forward, extending the tip of my blade. “Why don’t we test that theory?” Victor nodded and extended the tip of his blade as well. The tips touched and for one brief moment, nothing happened.

  Then his blade exploded.

  “It appears that you are overmatched,” I said as he dropped to his knees with a crunch. “Do you yield?”

  “He may not yield,” the Seraph said. “His life is forfeit. Take it, demon.”

  I shook my head. “While I would like nothing better than to kill him for what he’s done, I’m not going to kill him at your word. Not only that, but he isn’t mine to kill.”

  “Do you dare defy me?”

  “Of course I do,” I snapped. “That’s the entire point of me being here, dumbass.”

  The Seraph’s head jerked back as if I had slapped him. I ignored his bluster and walked over to the pole that held Caleb up. His hands were cuffed and stretched up over his head, the cuffs attached to the very top of the pole. His left arm was lumpy and swollen. Every bone broken, as I recalled. “So, I owe you one,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For whatever.” I took careful aim and jabbed the tip of the sword into his bindings. He sagged down to his knees and coughed. “So, in exchange, I give you Victor.”