by Jane Kindred
“What the devil’s going on out here?” The Virtue himself appeared in the circle of light from the interior chandelier, like a glowing Heavenly visitation from one of Andrei Rublev’s iconic paintings.
“This…person…appears to be confused about her place,” the servant sniffed, holding Tabris at arm’s length as if she would soil him.
Auria grasped her by the shoulders and shoved her back with unexpected vehemence. “I have had enough of demons!”
“Plan B,” muttered Belphagor and charged out onto the path, weaving like a drunk. “There you are, you trollop!” He caught Tabris as she stumbled backward on the snow-dusted steps and whirled her about, dipping his hand into her bosom to snatch the charm while pretending to drunkenly maul her. Her eyes went wide, and he hoped her lucid state held. “Thinks she can cheat me of my facets!”
“Take your demon bitch and go!” Auria snapped. “I don’t care what she’s done, and I don’t care what you do to her. Just get her off my lawn and back across the river where you belong.”
Any hope Belphagor had that the angel’s supposed virtuosity would prompt him to protect a young woman from being assaulted on his own doorstep was quickly abandoned. He pretended to slap the side of Tabris’s head and pushed her back along the path with a murmured “run” before turning and charging up the steps to take a swing at the Virtue.
Auria stepped easily out of his way as Belphagor’s supposedly drunken swipe went wide. “Leave at once, you foul cur, or I’ll have you in the stocks in Palace Square.”
Belphagor almost laughed at the affected threat. Who talked like that? And who used the stocks anymore? The Virtuous Princedom of Aravoth must be charming. “You, sir, are a scoundrel. I challenge you to a duel.” He belched loudly, unbuttoned his coat and his pants, and pissed at the angel’s feet.
The Virtue jumped back in disgust and bellowed over his shoulder, “Major General, your assistance!”
Just like that, he was inside. On his face, with his dick on the cold tile, and his back and shoulders being savagely beaten, but inside nonetheless. And the charm was in his pocket. If Natalya’s spell held, no one was leaving this house until Phaleg arrived to take the Virtue into custody.
Chains were considerably more difficult for a firespirit to warm his way out of. He’d burn himself—and Anzhela, chained behind him on the other side of the post—long before the metal links came close to giving. Vasily had to come up with something else.
“I’m sorry.” Anzhela’s dejected voice came from behind him. “This is my fault.”
“Your fault? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the damned angel’s fault.”
“But he wouldn’t have been on to you if I hadn’t shown up here. You’d be smuggling the girls over the garden wall right now. I should have listened to Belphagor.”
“First of all, nobody listens to Belphagor. Not even him. Every plan he has, he comes up with on the fly. That’s his skill. And if he listened to somebody else for a change, his plans might go a little more smoothly. Second, that fool Gaspard is the reason Auria was onto me. Nothing to do with you at all.”
Anzhela was quiet for a moment before trying again. “Well, you wouldn’t have to worry about getting me out if I hadn’t gotten myself in here.”
“That’s true.” She turned and craned her neck to stare at him, looking shocked that he’d agreed. Vasily laughed over his shoulder. “Have to give you something to beat yourself up over. You seem to be enjoying it.”
Anzhela sighed and sat back, her tone a little less defeated when she responded. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The pressure of her shoulder against his gave him an idea. “Come on, let’s stand up together. I think I can do something with this post.” They pushed against the post and each other awkwardly to get to their feet, and Vasily had to keep his knees bent to avoid yanking Anzhela’s arms up at an unnatural angle. He felt behind him to see if he could get both hands around the wood. “Ball your hands up into fists and try to keep them away from mine,” he advised her. “This is going to get a little uncomfortable.” He concentrated the heat into his fingertips, keeping as much away from his wrists as he could so the chain wouldn’t get unreasonably hot. The smell of wood charring began to permeate the air.
“Ow. What are you doing?”
“Don’t touch the post. I’m burning my way through it.”
“I’m not touching the post. The chain is hot. Dammit.”
“I think I’ve weakened it enough. Bend with me, and we’ll get the chain around the charred part and pull in opposite directions. Ready?”
“Are you going to pull the ceiling down on us?”
“No. One, two—three.” They jerked away from each other, but there wasn’t enough room between them to exert much force.
“What about sideways?” Anzhela suggested.
“Good thinking. We’ll do a hard lunge on three. To the right.”
“My right or your right?”
“Yours, I guess.”
“Are you left-handed?”
“No.”
Anzhela sighed. “To your right. One. Two. Three.” They lunged and were rewarded with a splintering sound as the charred section of the post cracked.
“One more ought to do it,” said Vasily.
“You’re going to have to do it alone. I think I just sprained my wrist.”
“Shit. Sorry. Hang on.” He grasped the wood again and gave it a burst of heat as he lunged, and the two of them tumbled onto their sides as the smoldering wood snapped in two. The loop of chain that had been around the post left enough slack for them to wriggle out of it. Vasily helped Anzhela to her feet and they headed up the stairs, but the cracking post had apparently drawn the attention of the angels. When they reached the top, the door opened and the Powers were there to greet them.
The major general grabbed Anzhela around the waist and lifted her off her feet. “You’re going upstairs with the other little sluts.”
“And you,” said the brigadier, glaring at Vasily as Anzhela was hauled away, “are going to die.” He slashed out with a short, curved blade, the same that must have killed Phaleg’s Powers, and Vasily leapt backward to avoid it, losing his footing on the stairs and tumbling down them. He bashed his head against the stone floor and dazed himself for a moment, bracing for the Power to come after him, but the angel was staring past him. A smoky scent had begun filling the air, and it wasn’t Vasily. In the corner, the pile of rags was going up in flames. A charred bit of the post had landed in them.
All around the cellar, heavy fabric draped the walls, probably to dampen sound for when the angel had his parties. The blaze was moving fast.
“Fucking hell.” Vasily scrambled for the stairs, but the Power backed out and slammed the door, shoving a bolt home on the other side as he yelled for Auria.
Vasily charged up after him and rammed his shoulder against the door, finding it stronger than he expected. Without solid footing to brace against on the narrow stair, he couldn’t build up enough momentum to break through. Thick smoke billowed up around him, and he began to cough into his sleeve. Even a firespirit couldn’t breathe without oxygen.
“Grebanyy angel!” Vasily swore and pounded on the door, his throat raw with smoke, throwing his weight repeatedly against the wood. The Virtue had to know the place was burning. He was leaving Vasily down here, as the Power had said, to die.
Belphagor smelled the smoke before the Power running in from the kitchen began to yell. Falling for his feigned drunken blackout, they’d bound his wrists and left him lying on the floor of the foyer where he’d landed. All he could see were feet.
“The whole cellar’s going up! The damned demon set the place on fire!”
Auria’s white robes swirled across the floor in front of him. “Well, put it out, damn you! What are you waiting for?”
“It’s too far gone already. We have to get out of here.”
“Upstairs,” the Virtue shouted as his servants came running at the smell of smoke. “Get my tr
inkets. Quickly.” He and his Powers tried to move past Belphagor for the door and stopped in their tracks. “What in Heaven’s name is happening?” Natalya’s spell was holding them in place, unable to pass the source of the charm.
Belphagor raised his head. “Untie me and I can get you out of the house.”
“What are you talking about?” Auria turned and must have signaled the Powers, as they stepped in and dragged Belphagor onto his feet. The Virtue held a silk scarf to his face, trying to screen out the smoke seeping through the cracks around the door in the kitchen. “You have something to do with this? Out with it! Now!”
“As I said,” Belphagor repeated, “untie me, and I’ll get you out.”
Auria began to cough behind his scarf. “Do it,” he snapped. One of the Powers obliged. “This is some peasant trick, I presume. Some kind of mesmerism. I suppose you want some sort of ransom. Be quick about it, you cretin, or you’ll burn with us.”
Wrists freed, Belphagor buttoned his pants with one hand while he closed his fingers around the charm in his pocket with the other. The moment he touched it, he was struck with the sudden certainty that he couldn’t break the spell from inside. The only way it could be broken once he and the charm had crossed the threshold into the house was for Natalya to speak the release. He’d just begun to realize the drawback in his plan.
Behind him on the staircase, the servants were hurrying down from the second floor, and with them, it seemed, were the Virtue’s “trinkets”—Anzhela among them. Belphagor’s eyes were starting to water.
“Hurry up, demon!” Auria was coughing harshly now. “What are you waiting for? What do you want?”
“I want my boy.”
“Who the damned hell is your boy?”
“He’s in the cellar,” said Anzhela. At the same moment, the bell from the front door rang out overhead. Phaleg. Thank Heaven.
Belphagor tossed the charm to Auria, who caught it reflexively, baffled but propelled forward, and instantly aware that he could move of his own volition. Natalya had let the spell dissolve. The Virtue shoved Belphagor out of the way and threw open the door.
“Your Virtuous Serenity.” Phaleg bowed. “I hereby arrest you for treason in the name of His Supernal Majesty the Principality of the Firmament of Shehaqim and All the Heavens.”
“So be it!” Auria hurled the words on a wretched cough and lunged out into the fresh air to hand himself over.
Vasily had inhaled too much smoke to shout again. He’d never expected smoke in his lungs to be the thing to take him down. It was an absurd irony. He tried once more, feebly, to shoulder the door. Unexpectedly, the wood gave, and Vasily stumbled out and barreled into someone on the other side, falling on top of him. His eyes were burning with smoke, and he couldn’t see who it was.
“Malchik.”
“Beli!” Vasily wheezed, squeezing him tight with relief.
“Get the fuck off me, boy. You’re crushing my organs.”
Vasily rolled to the side in chagrin, wiping uselessly at his eyes. Belphagor drew his hands away from his face and pulled him onto his feet, and Vasily stumbled blindly with him through the house and mercifully out into the brisk, fresh air of winter.
It took him several moments of coughing up ash before he could breathe normally. “Anzhela. The girls,” he managed.
“They’re safe. The fire flushed the Virtue out with his most valuable property, right into the arms of the Ophanim and a full platoon of the Supernal Army.” Belphagor gave him a sly grin in the light of the blazing house behind them. “I see you recognized the brilliance of my plan after all.”
Shestnadtsataya
The flat was filled to capacity, but Silk couldn’t complain. Belphagor and Vasily, accompanied by Tabris, Natalya, and Pussy Familiar from The Cat, had arrived half an hour ago with Anzhela and the girls. Draped in oversized coats and blankets, the girls had huddled silently together at first, no doubt overwhelmed by their change of fortune, but as they warmed up by the fire and listened to the boys’ tales of adventure in the world of Man, they seemed to shed the last months like a bad dream.
The adults—Silk had a laugh at himself to think he qualified—had all congregated in the kitchen with Anzhela. Belphagor and Vasily shared a cigar at the window—open a crack at Anzhela’s insistence, to keep the apartment from smelling like the gaming room at the Brimstone—while Natalya and the bosomy redhead sat at the table with Anzhela, where Natalya insisted on examining her black eye. Tabris hovered nearby, sporting a conspicuous bruise of her own.
Natalya glared when Silk noticed it. “I did not punch her,” she insisted.
Silk’s eyes widened. “Why would you have?”
“I did it,” said Tabris with a shy grin. “Nat was supposed to make it look as though I’d been roughed up, and she wouldn’t, so I caught her off guard and swung her hand myself.”
Silk laughed. Tabris was an odd one, but it was understandable given what she’d gone through after her sister’s death. He knew she’d also gotten her start in the Fletchery.
“You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger,” Anzhela scolded, brushing off Natalya’s fussing.
Tabris clucked her tongue at her. “You’re one to talk. When Beatrix told us what you’d gone and done.” She stopped and shook her head, as if she’d finished her sentence.
When it seemed she wasn’t going to say anything more, Silk glanced about. “Who’s Beatrix?”
“Don’t ask.” Belphagor blew cigar smoke out the side of his mouth at the window while Vasily made an amused snorting sound beside him. Except for that one gruff noise, the firespirit had been conspicuously quiet in the presence of the other redhead. Silk was sure there was a story there, but he figured he’d get it out of him later.
Tabris’s eyes clouded with confusion and her cheeks went pink. “Did I make a mistake?”
Natalya smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Not at all, Tabi. B’s just being modest.”
Pussy rose and put her arm around Tabris’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go help the girls get settled.”
Natalya watched as the red-haired demoness effectively distracted her. “She’s been better lately, but it comes and goes. Thank goodness she doesn’t know what that damned Virtue meant to do with the girls.”
Anzhela, having seemed perfectly stoic since her arrival and in recounting her ordeal, burst into tears.
“Oh, sweetie.” Natalya gathered her into her arms. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They’re all safe.”
Silk got how it was for her. She hadn’t been the “matron” of the girls’ dorm, exactly, like he’d been to the boys’, but as the oldest, she’d felt an intense responsibility for them. Though she hadn’t talked about them much, he could tell she harbored guilt for having been spared their fate and not being able to protect them. The things Anzhela spoke the least about were those she felt most deeply.
“I know.” Anzhela tried to laugh at herself even as she wept against her friend. “But they wouldn’t be if you and Tabi and Polina hadn’t helped Belphagor after I nearly ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Belphagor insisted, and Anzhela laughed with a slight pitch of hysteria. “You just added an interesting layer of challenge.” He grinned, setting his cigar between his teeth, when she smiled despite herself.
“All right. Enough of this.” Anzhela rose, drying her eyes on her sleeve. “Nat, help me gather some blankets and pillows.”
Watching the giggling and whispering with amusement from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway while Anzhela turned the parlor into what Belphagor called a “slumber party”, Silk glanced at Vasily. “If I’d known sleeping together in a big pile on the floor was a thing in the world of Man, I might have stayed.” He winked provocatively. “Maybe we should make it a thing here. Just a cozy pile of you, me, Belphagor, and—” He broke off in shock at what he’d been about to say. “Just us,” he finished lamely.
Belphagor gave him a knowing look. “Y
ou could give him another chance.”
Silk blinked at him coolly. “Who?” A loud firespirit snort wrecked his composure. He folded his arms and glared. “Shut up, Ruby.”
“Bozhe moi, you’re ridiculous.” Vasily took the cigar from Belphagor for a puff, but coughed violently, his lungs apparently still full of smoke from the house fire. “Why don’t you just admit you want him?” he rasped once the coughing stilled. “Put him over your knee and get all your pouting out of your system with a good spanking. Works for Belphagor.”
“Pouting?” Belphagor paused with the cigar at his lips. “I most certainly have never pouted in my life.” When both Silk and Vasily responded with the same incredulous laugh, Belphagor’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’ll put you both over my damned knee—show you pouting.” Vasily laughed again, and Belphagor pointed his cigar at him as though he were skewering him to the wall with it. “Later, malchik. I promise there will be consequences.”
Vasily’s skin flushed in the adorable way he had that mixed embarrassment with both defiance and arousal. It really was something to watch the two of them. Their relationship seemed so easy. They could read each other without words, and the trust between them skewered Silk’s own heart with envy.
Why couldn’t Phaleg have trusted him? And why couldn’t Silk get the damned angel out of his head? He could have anyone he wanted among the deviant set in Raqia. Any number of sexy demons vied for his attention nightly at the Stone Horse. But all he could think of was Phaleg’s complete surrender and vulnerability. Phaleg naked on his knees, wide ice-blue eyes gazing up at Silk with an intoxicating blend of fear, shame and desire, waiting to see what Silk could make him do next. Silk ground his teeth together and forced the angel out of his head.
In the morning, however, there was no avoiding him.
Phaleg had arranged to find posts for the girls among the Winter Palace staff. He arrived with the news and with a supernal coach and escort for the girls just after breakfast. The queen was apparently feeling particularly generous toward demonkind after her ordeal, and having heard about what the young demonesses had been through at the hands of a respected angel, she’d insisted on taking them personally under her wing.