No Quarter

by L. J. LaBarthe

  “Eventually,” said Uphir with an oily smile.

  “Eventually,” Ondrass agreed. “Shamshiel, like most Fallen Ones, save our good Lord Adramelek here, is a simple creature, with simple needs. After some of those needs had been… taken away from him, he became quite talkative.”

  “Spare us the details of your tortures, demon.” Michael shook his head in disgust.

  “Of course, your highness.” Ondrass bowed floridly. “I note, in passing, that the lovely Lady Agrat omitted your title as Prince of Heaven.”

  “Because it is not relevant to this meeting.” Michael’s voice was clipped and strained. “Return to the point.”

  “Very well. In sum, Shamshiel told us that he was giving his feathers to this human, this… Bob Taytton, who was selling them on the black market to demons too stupid to simply pluck them from Shamshiel’s wings themselves. Or perhaps they respect him as being their elder and a Fallen One, who knows. I don’t particularly care what their reasoning was. Youth is foolish. In any event, Bob Taytton managed to acquire the assistance of quite a few of the younger demons and imps, and they guard his home, his body, his car, and those other things humans seem to feel need protection. He continues to distribute the feathers as charms—for a price—and preach his gospel at his church in upper New York State.”

  Ondrass paused to take a long, leisurely drag of his cigar. “His gospel is that yes, he is the reincarnation of Saint Sécaire and that he will bring about a New World Order with the aid of demons. It will be a New World Order that will see the gates between the planes of Earth, Heaven, and Hell removed and allow all to move freely between realities. This New World Order will have the power to banish or destroy those who rule Heaven and Hell if they do not acknowledge his overlordship and to kill any humans who fight against or disagree with him.”

  “And what do the demons get out of this?” Gabriel asked.

  “Slaughter.” Lix Tetrax shrugged. “Blood and death, pain and suffering, Gabriel. Humans are contrary creatures at the best of times. How do you think they’re going to react to one man standing up and saying, ‘Hi, I’m the reincarnation of some saint no one remembers, and you’re all going to worship me or die’?”

  “Good point.” Gabriel sighed. “Great, okay, so he gets his army who gets to slaughter for their own bloody entertainment and that really will bring in a new world, because humans will fight back, and it’ll escalate to somethin’ truly terrible.”

  “Quite. I’m so glad you kept up.” Ondrass smirked. “Not just a pretty jarhead after all, are you, Gabriel.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m flattered but have to say no.” Gabriel smirked back. “You see, I’m monogamous and I’m spoken for.”

  “Of course you are, more’s the pity.” Ondrass sighed theatrically. “I suppose you and the prince there do make a pretty couple.”

  “Your remarks are unnecessary.” Michael’s sword was in his hand. “You have given us valuable information, and I thank you. Now what makes you think we will agree to a treaty?”

  “Because rules are rules.” Ondrass was all business now, the smirk sliding off his face to be replaced with an expression of absolute seriousness. His dark eyes glittered with a hint of blood-red flame. “Earth is neutral. It must stay neutral. The time for the final Apocalypse is not yet nigh and will not be nigh for a very, very long time. Your rules, Archangel, are the same as ours. We do our part to keep the balance. Lucifer would be quite peeved to discover a wayward, arrogant human and a petty-minded Fallen Angel with too many kinder-demons with too few brains had taken away the plane of existence intended for his confrontation with your good self and the Son of God.”

  “As you say.” Michael hummed. “That, at least, we agree on.”

  “I’m sure we agree on much more,” Ondrass said, “but time is of the essence and as much as I would enjoy it, we do not have the leisure of a more protracted conversation and debate. Thus, I propose this: I propose a treaty of mutual interest. I propose that we work together to ensure that Bob Taytton does not achieve his goals, that Shamshiel is either imprisoned or killed, that the Gates of Hell are kept closed, and that the balance is maintained.”

  “Treaty accepted.” Michael nodded. “Now, explain to me about this poison that could kill an angel.”

  Ondrass blinked, for the first time looking genuinely surprised. Gabriel raised an eyebrow, finding the Archdemon’s reaction to the question just as interesting as the meeting itself.

  Uphir ran a long-fingered hand over his bald pate. “I have been working on these poisons for years. They were never destined to leave my workshop and were commissioned by Adramelek for use against his Fallen kin.”

  “I needed to keep them in line.” Adramelek shrugged. “By the power of the treaty we have agreed to, you know I cannot lie.”

  “And that is all?”

  “I swear that’s all.” Adramelek’s expression was deathly serious. He shook his head. “I had no idea that any of the poison had been stolen until you mentioned it, but it stands to reason, don’t you think? Uriel guards the gates, with backup, of course, because there are many gates and one Uriel. So, what better way to make the gates unguarded? Kill Uriel and his backup.”

  Gabriel and Michael shared a quick glance.

  “It makes sense,” Gabriel agreed.

  “Besides,” Adramelek said and smiled a nasty little smile, “no one is going to kill Uriel. No one except me. Later.”

  “On Apocalypse Day,” Uriel growled, the first words he’d spoken since they had arrived in the warehouse.

  “On Apocalypse Day,” Adramelek agreed.

  “All right.” Michael turned to Ondrass again. “As a show of good faith, I would ask you to send one of your lackeys—”

  “Oi!” Markus protested.

  “One of your lackeys,” Michael continued in a louder voice, “to the home of this Bob Taytton to acquire some information. We need to know what he has managed to barter from demons for himself and what—if anything—he has bartered out of Shamshiel. We need to know the details of his plans, what books of magic and forbidden knowledge he has obtained, and what powers he has access to.”

  “Markus,” Ondrass said, turning to his personal assistant, “would you be so kind?”

  “Of course, Sir.” Markus bowed and vanished.

  “Was that all?” Ondrass asked.

  “I believe so.” Michael shot Tzadkiel a quick look, and Tzadkiel nodded once.

  “Then, in the spirit of showing good faith, I would ask a boon.”

  “You may ask,” Michael said cautiously.

  “Shamshiel.” Ondrass clasped his hands together in front of him.

  “What of him?”

  “I want to kill him.”

  Michael smiled, and Gabriel felt a sudden tingle of desire pool in his belly at the primitive fury in that smile. “Then please, be my guest. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Ondrass inclined his head. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you all, Archangels.”

  Around them, a ring of black flame flared, a symbol of the binding power of the alliance and accord they had just made.

  “And with you, Archdemons,” Michael said formally, and a ring of pure white flame flared, twining with the black. The black and white flames mingled and mixed, flared almost to the ceiling, and then went out.

  “Our alliance is formalized and sealed.” Ondrass bowed.

  “So it is done.” Michael bowed in return.

  There was a soft pop in the air, and Markus appeared, holding a large cardboard document box.

  “Who wants these?”

  “I’ll take those.” Tzadkiel stepped forward.

  “Right. Enjoy. It’ll be dry reading, Archangel.” Markus stepped back.

  “Did you have any trouble, Markus?” Ondrass asked.

  “No, my lord. The estate was guarded and so was the outside of his office, but those old houses are predictable in their design. Easy to appear in the office, find what
Feathers over there wants, and leave. And make sure there were no important pieces of paper hidden away. Yes, before you ask, I copied everything. The human won’t ever know I paid him a little visit.”

  “Excellent work.” Ondrass smiled. “And now we shall take our leave.”

  “Oh, one last thing.” Gabriel stepped forward.

  “Yes?”

  “Your legions.” Gabriel looked at each Archdemon seriously. “There’s going to be a fight. We all know it. It may even grow up from a little skirmish into a full blown war, yeah? Whatever happens, keep your legions out of it.”

  “Interesting.” Ondrass considered it thoughtfully. “Very well. Consider our two hundred combined legions of demon warriors off the board. We’ll keep them home, General.”

  “Thank you.” Gabriel inclined his head politely in a show of gratitude and respect.

  “Until we meet again, then. Good luck.” The Archdemons and Markus vanished without a sound and the Archangels all turned to look at each other.

  “That didn’t go as bad as I thought it would,” Gabriel admitted.

  “Yet,” Tzadkiel said darkly.

  Chapter Twelve

  BACK in Tzadkiel’s apartment, Gabriel sat down, crossing his legs and noting with some amusement that Raziel tugged off his suit jacket and tossed it aside with a certain amount of distaste.

  “No way was I wearing a tie for them,” Raziel declared as he dropped into the comfortable armchair upholstered in green wool by the window. “No bloody way.”

  “We did go all out, didn’t we?” Tzadkiel chuckled as he sat down. “We all put on our best clothes, polished our shoes, had our best manners on show—both groups. And in the end, we all wanted the same thing.”

  “Better to be cautious.” Michael sat down beside Gabriel, his leg pressing against Gabriel’s own. “I would not want us to rush into anything in haste or without adequate preparations.”

  “True. So,” Agrat said, reaching up to unfasten her hair, shaking her head to let the long, dark tresses fall free, “do we get Ishtahar back now?”

  “No.” Tzadkiel set the box of documents down on the dining table. “I want to know Bob Taytton’s movements, and we can get that information from Ish. She’s a beautiful woman, and she knows how to use that to her advantage.”

  “You want her to be a femme fatale spy for you, huh?” Uriel frowned. “I don’t think I like the sound of that, and if I don’t, you bet Remiel won’t.”

  “Everything will be fine,” Tzadkiel assured them. “I promise. Sophiel, Brieus,” he called out, “come and help me with this.”

  The two younger angels appeared with a rustle of feathers.

  “Sir?” Brieus asked.

  “We came by this box of documents,” Tzadkiel said calmly, Gabriel chortling at the understated way Tzadkiel said that, “and I need you two to help me go through it.”

  “Of course, Sir,” Sophiel said, giving Tzadkiel and Gabriel a suspicious look. “Anything you say. How did your meeting go?”

  It was known that the Archangels had gone to a meeting, but not with whom or why. Gabriel had reasoned that as the Heavenly Host knew nearly everything anyway, as there were almost no secrets among angelkind, it would be silly to arouse suspicion by trying to hide that they were attending a meeting. The who and the why didn’t have to be revealed or disclosed at all. That had been met with unanimous agreement by the Brotherhood.

  “Interestingly,” Tzadkiel said in response to Sophiel’s question as he opened the box. “Let’s get on with this.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear, and sat down beside him, looking curiously into the box and rifling slowly through the contents.

  Gabriel turned his attention back to Michael. “We’re going to have to take care of this Bob Taytton and the people who believe in him, you know. And we’re going to have to take some precautions. If things start to go to shit, even with two hundred demon legions less on the field, humans are still going to notice and freak out.”

  “I fear you are correct.” Michael sighed. “What are your suggestions?”

  “Kill Taytton.” Gabriel began to tick things off on his fingers. “And any demons with him. Disband his little movement. Wipe the memories of those humans who were involved—if we can. Some of ’em might be too far gone into their beliefs and try to fight us. They’ll lose; they’ll die. Dispose of Lia Darguill, shut down their little network. Then pull back and secure a state—Oregon is my recommendation—surround it with our power, make it known that it’s a safe haven. The USA has long been a favorite spot for demon uprisings, more than anywhere else—it’s a large piece of land, it’s got a lot of people to possess as hosts when they need ’em, it’s got natural resources for use in bribing and combat, and it’s a strong nation. The land and the large number of humans to possess are the two big drawcards this country has for demons. Unfortunately. And,” he said, then paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “we should poison the well.”

  “Pardon?” Michael looked at him in shock.

  “Demons possess humans as a way to travel on Earth, right? There’s a lot of things demons can’t abide, but Holy Water? It’s like the most deadly poison to a demon, yeah? You know that as well as I do. It won’t hurt the humans who are possessed, who are the unfortunate meatsuits, the hosts, but the demons within? Oh yeah. Bless every single body of water on this planet, turn every single drop into Holy Water. Rosaries in dams, blessings in oceans, religious icons in rivers and streams. Won’t affect anyone but the demons, an’ it’ll do a lot of damage to ’em.”

  Michael relaxed. “I see. Yes. Yes, it could work. And why choose Oregon to be a safe state?”

  “We already have a base there—well, okay, yours is a bigger base, mine’s just one house. An’ it’s easier to work with an established base. A lot of towns are abandoned there for one reason or other, towns that are now ghost towns, towns we can repurpose for our needs—military bases, hospital and medical care centers, supply dumps, that sort of thing. Plus there’s the ocean as one border an’ that’ll give us a spot to launch the blessings of the Pacific from.”

  Nodding, Michael pursed his lips. “All very good reasons. However, I do not think the entire population of the United States will fit into the one state, Gabriel.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. But I bet that a good chunk of it will cross over into Canada or Mexico. Another good chunk will get on a plane for an overseas destination—England, Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Asia. An’ yet another good chunk will refuse to believe they should move an’ won’t do it, no matter what. We can’t force ’em, Michael. That ain’t our mandate. They still have free will and freedom of choice, even in situations like this.”

  “Hm, as you say.” Michael considered it. “How many Seraphim do we have?”

  Gabriel did a quick calculation. “Somethin’ in excess of twelve hundred legions.”

  “That’s a solid number,” Michael approved. “And my own people are trained in what you could call black ops, so I can send them out in pairs or singularly to scout for information or take care of smaller operations.”

  “That sounds very workable,” Gabriel agreed. “We’ll need Remiel, Raphael, an’ Haniel on standby.”

  “Yes. Mercy, healing, and compassion will be in high demand.” Michael nodded again. “And you, Samael, Uriel, and I will lead our forces.”

  “Isn’t this a little premature?” Raziel demanded. “We’re not actually at war.”

  “No,” Michael said with a sigh, “but I fear that we will be soon enough. Demons do not take kindly to having their toys taken away.”

  Raziel grunted at that. “Fine. Then in that case, you will need my skills and Tzadkiel’s for your black ops network. Mysteries and secrets is what I do; intelligence gathering is what Tzadkiel does.”

  “As you say.” Michael nodded slowly as he drew a notebook and a pen from his pocket and began to write. “You are, of course, correct. Let us make our prepar
ations, gentlemen,” he said, looking around at everyone. “For I fear we will be going to war before long.”

  “One day,” Samael said sadly, “there will be no need for war or conflict. I long for that day.”

  “As do we all, Sammy,” Tzadkiel said.

  “I’m going to check the Gates of Hell.” Uriel scowled. “And Eden. I want to be damn sure the gates are secure and that Eden’s still protected.”

  “Of course.” Michael stood up, smoothing his suit. “I shall return to Salem, now, and to my people, to brief them.”

  “And I’ll go and see my kids,” Gabriel said. “And talk to Shateiel.” He grinned at Agrat. “I’m giving you a few hours alone with your bondmate before I show up. I think you’ll be needing ’em.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” Agrat rolled her eyes at him then laughed. “I probably will at that, but he’ll be all right. He’s a soldier; he understands the necessities, even if he doesn’t like them. Raphael, put me down as a helper for your triage centers, okay?”

  Raphael smiled at her, the first smile since they had left for the meeting with the Archdemons that Gabriel could recall seeing. “Thank you, Agrat, I will.”

  She smiled and unfurled her wings, white with a touch of bronze shimmering like dust in the feathers, and disappeared.

  “Will you be able to come and see me later today?” Michael’s voice in Gabriel’s head held a tinge of wistfulness.

  “Of course, Michael.” Gabriel stood up, giving no outward sign that Michael was talking to him.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that, Gabriel.”

  “Nothing to thank me for, solnyshko moyo. I kinda really want to spend as much time with you as possible before shit gets real.”

  “Language, Gabriel.” Michael squared his shoulders. “But the sentiment is shared, however.”