Ange du Mal

by Stephanie Kane

  Samael swallowed. “See? Neat freak.”

  Asmodeus narrowed his eyes. “You’re a slob.”

  “He really is,” I said, dipping some fish in tartar sauce. “His room is a disaster zone of spilled coffee and dirty clothes.”

  Damien came over and refilled my root beer. “Shannon, sweetheart, how are you?” the werewolf asked.

  I took a sip of soda. “Good. My spiders are growing bigger each day.”

  Damien smiled. “Arietta’s told me about your experiment. Now, I’m not a very intellectual guy, but I’m happy you girls have found something that interests you. Oh, I have some photos from her. She wanted me to give them to you.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out an envelope. He spread the contents out on the table. “See? From the Amazon.”

  “Thanks,” I said, thumbing through the glossy photos. There we were on the Iquitos waterfront, racing down the street in a motorcycle cart. Holding an anaconda. Posing with two hoatzin birds. I put them back in the envelope and tucked them into my purse. “These are great.”

  Damien beamed.

  The next day, Asmodeus and I were practicing as usual in his casino’s back room. I’d moved on to fighting the cane’s owner. We circled each other. He lunged forward, and I landed a blow on his leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. He picked himself off floor.

  “You’ve mastered the basics,” Asmodeus said. “I’m very impressed.”

  “Thanks,” I said, handing the cane back to him.

  He stopped me, closing my hands around its length. “Wait a second. We’re not done yet. My weapon has a special ability – one that will be activated during possession. If you’re ready, I’d like you to try it.”

  A stone set in my throat. “You mean, um, you want to possess me?”

  Asmodeus nodded. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  Asmodeus smiled. “Alright. Relax.”

  His form wavered, then dissipated into a green mist that swirled around me in lazy circles. The mist smelled like jasmine. I inhaled the scent, and Asmodeus flooded me.

  My senses sharpened. Asmodeus was a slow burn in my gut. Bat wings sprouted from my shoulders. I traced their leathery skin.

  How are you?

  “Fine, I think.” I looked at the cane. “Okay, what do I do?”

  Take the cane’s head and twist.

  I did. Its wood glowed, and something clicked. The head of the cane unscrewed, and I pulled out a rapier.

  “Whoa,” I said, impressed. “It’s a swordstick.” I touched the sharp edge of the blade. It nicked my finger. I sucked at the blood.

  We practiced fencing from thereon out. Samael served as my opponent. Asmodeus guided my movements, wearing me like a second skin.

  August arrived, and I progressed with the swordstick. The Watchers lay low, and my guilt about the Lapis Elixir-disaster receded. I still had occasional nightmares about the earthquake in London, but they only sharpened my resolve to never fail again.

  The gods of the pagan realms worked with Heaven and Hell to hunt the Watchers, temporarily at a stalemate with Michael’s forces. There was still, of course, bad blood between the gods and angels, evidenced by the Trickster Recreation and Partying (TRAP) soiree Samael dragged me to.

  Samael was a card-carrying member of the ancient chaos spirit fraternity, whose members included everyone from Eris to Anansi. The highlight of the night included being blindfolded and trying to slip a broom handle up the butt of a Michael effigy.

  It was hosted at Loki’s hall in the mountains of Jotunheim, home of the friendly and not-so-friendly giants. Odin had banned TRAP from meeting in Asgard after an ‘accidental’ fire had burned down half the city.

  Loki, a pyromaniac, was stoking a huge bonfire and roasting pigs and goats. The Morrigan played a violin, and Baron Samedi plinked away at piano keys on an open-air dance floor in the backyard. Tricksters danced a mad waltz on the raised platform. I stood at the fringes and nursed a horn of mead.

  “Why did you bring me here? I hate dancing,” I said to Samael. The dress I wore was too thin for the cold air, and my heeled feet ached. I took a sip of mead and coughed, unused to the honeyed drink.

  Samael, blindfolded, shoved a stick up Michael’s ass. He pulled off his blindfold and grinned. “Because death is a dance. The danse macabre.”

  I laughed. “You’re a walking talking caricature.”

  He executed a ballet plie. “No, I’m a dancing one.”

  I looked away. “Stop. For your own self-respect. For the sake of not burning my eyes.”

  He smirked. “Dance with me.”

  “No.”

  He pursed his lips. “Please? Haven’t you ever wanted to dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?”

  “First of all, I didn’t know you were a comic book nerd, and second of all, the sun is out.” I glanced at the waltzers. “If your dancing is anything like your saxophone-playing, I do not want to be there when it happens.”

  “You’re a wet blanket. You don’t like flying. You don’t like dancing. You don’t like anything, do you?”

  I set my mead down on a table. “I like not showing the world I have two left feet.”

  Samael drank the rest of my mead. “You danced with Coyote. Why not me?”

  I bit my lip. “That was club dancing. I can do that. But I sure as heck can’t waltz.”

  He took my hands in his. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy. Just one?”

  “Okay, okay. But you have to promise to stop bothering me afterward.”

  He smirked. “Cross my heart and hope to live.”

  “You don’t have a heart.”

  “It’s a metaphor.”

  Before I could protest, he led me to the dance floor, leaving behind the Michael effigy that blew in the wind. We stood at the fringes, away from the advanced waltzers. He led me in a box step.

  “Sorry,” I said as I stepped on his foot for the umpteenth time.

  He fixed my dancing frame. “No worries. Just relax. Now, count with me.”

  I did.

  The waltz ended, and a tango began.

  I groaned. “Oh my god. Not this.”

  His smile was a knife. “I have an idea.”

  “It can’t be a good one, not with that look on your face.”

  He slid his left leg between mine and lowered me in an unexpected dip. “Do you trust me?”

  “Whoa! Not right now.” I regained my footing, leaning into him. “Warn me before you’re about to drop me.”

  His breath was hot on my brow. “We move together on the battlefield. We can bring that to the dance.”

  “Huh?”

  He smiled.

  “Um, okay,” I said, unsure.

  Samael squeezed my hands. Wisps of his robe snaked up. I breathed them in. My vision became heightened under his influence - the towering evergreens and snow scintillated under the setting sun. My senses sharpened, and my body felt fluid.

  His will lapped at the shores of my mind, gently guiding me into the steps of the dance:

  Slow, slow, quick quick slow – that’s it.

  I laughed, surprised to find myself enjoying the tango. “This isn’t so bad after all.”

  He lowered me into a dramatic corte. “Oh, we’re just beginning.”

  We made quick work of the dance floor, weaving between goddesses and gods. Promenades, ruedas, scissors – he explained the steps as we went, moving my body like an extension of himself. Coyote wolf-whistled as our legs interlocked. It was surreal, like an out-of-body experience.

  After the dance ended, and Samael’s will receded, I felt empty. I didn’t let go of his shoulders.

  “That was… something,” I said. My heart pumped staccato.

  His eyes burned. “Shannon,” he breathed.

  “What?”

  Samael smelled like woodsmoke and loam. He brought his lips to mine. The void opened behind us, and I fell onto his bed, pinned beneath him.

/>   I struggled out from under him. “What the heck? I wanted to dance more!”

  He pulled me back to him, onto his lap, and nuzzled my neck. “I know, I know, but I had another idea,” he murmured. The fringes of his robe misted, entering my lungs.

  Our consciousness mixed, and his desire welled up in me, overwhelming. I sucked in air.

  “Do you usually feel like this?” I said. His need was too much, like a hunger.

  Samael gently guided me onto my back. “Around you? Always.” He kissed my décolletage.

  I slid my hands through his hair. “We always seem to get interrupted. Someone attacks, or you get a phone call. Maybe it’s a sign.”

  He eased open the lace of my dress. “I damn all portents.” He smiled, and kissed the space over my heart.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Go away,” Samael groaned.

  “What, are you romancing your hand?” came a cold voice. The door opened. Beelzebub entered, his eyes narrowed. “Ah. So you’re whetting your appetite, with a woman for once. I should have known you’d forego the archdemon council in favor of romancing a teenager.”

  I gathered my dress, angry. “Oh my god, not fly eyes.”

  “It’s rude to enter someone’s room without being invited,” Samael said.

  Beelzebub glanced at the catastrophe that was Samael’s living quarters. “I’d hardly call this a room. More a third-world dump.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Samael said. He draped his wings over me, letting me fix my dress in privacy.

  Beelzebub set a stack of papers down on Samael’s coffee-stained desk. “Here are the battle plans from our meeting,” Beelzebub said. “We’ve pinpointed Raziel’s hideout – the Watcher’s activity is clustered around New York City, in the meat-packing district. They seem to be hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. Your orders?”

  Samael rubbed his temple. “Damn. I suppose we should strike as soon as possible, before Raziel relocates. I say we go in full-force, with the angels at our backs. Deus and I can guide Shannon and make sure last time doesn’t repeat itself.”

  Beelzebub nodded. “I suggest we mobilize in an hour. I’ll alert Rofocale and my legions. She’ll send a command through our ranks.”

  Samael fisted the blankets and sighed. “Right. I’ll contact Deus. Shannon, I’m sorry to spring this on you without warning. Do you feel comfortable fighting?”

  I remembered the chaos of London and dug my nails into a pillow. My mind flashed back to all the training I’d done with Asmodeus and Samael. It was now or never. “Let’s kill these bastards,” I said.

  Samael smiled.

  Chapter 27

  Rain fell onto the cracked pavement. Hell’s and Heaven’s forces amassed in the sky, invisible to mortal eyes. There were dragons with thick-veined wings, ridden by nightmarish creatures. Rofocale led an army of the Claimed, and Belial, cloaked in smoke, was a burning wheel on the horizon. Lilith stood behind me, whip at hand, cobras by her feet. Beelzebub was a cloud of biting flies, and Astaroth’s skin was painted with blood.

  Samael and Asmodeus stood on either side of me, dead silent. We were waiting. Waiting for Raziel to react.

  The warehouse door cracked open. A Watcher with a bandaged face – Semyaza – stepped out, guns in both hands. He opened fire. I ducked as a bullet flew straight at my head.

  “Now,” I said.

  Asmodeus and Samael dissipated into smoke. They flooded my lungs, smelling of jasmine and woodsmoke.

  The battlefield became chaos. Watchers crashed through the warehouse windows, some taking wing to fight the host above, others landing on the ground and charging at the archdemons. Lilith cracked her whip and lashed a line of attackers. Beelzebub disintegrated into his respective insect parts and blinded our opponents, choking their throats with bugs.

  A Watcher’s hellhound ran towards me. Samael and Asmodeus’ fused weapon appeared in my hands, two-sevenths of the Lapis Exillis. It was a spiked club, something like a mace.

  What is this? I thought.

  A morning star, Asmodeus and Samael replied.

  Of course.

  I brought it down on the hellhound’s skull. The hellhound whined, its face a bloody cave. It slumped to the ground.

  Astaroth and Belial guarded me. The plan was straightforward: locate Raziel and assassinate him. The archdemons would distract Raziel while Michael’s forces held the Watchers back. When Raziel was weakened, I would strike.

  The first part was successful enough. Raziel was in the basement, standing guard over a large box. We had him cornered. Belial bloodied Raziel with his trident and Lilith tripped him with her whip into my line of attack.

  Raziel clutched at his bleeding side. “Good to see you dear. I’m afraid I’m not in the best condition. I could use your help, you know.”

  “You bastard,” I said, morning star at the ready.

  Raziel flew back behind the box. “I’d be careful with the weapon. This is a precious artifact.”

  “Shannon, now!” Beelzebub buzzed.

  I lunged for Raziel.

  He tore the box open. Light flooded the room.

  It was a glowing golden vessel covered in gems, in the shape of two seraphim.

  I felt an instant repulsion. The demons sank to their knees. The vessel radiated miasma. It crippled me. Samael and Asmodeus cried out in my head.

  What’s going on? I thought, unable to move.

  Samael answered, his fury twisting my guts. Raziel’s defiled the Ark of the Covenant. He’s tried to unlock Moses’ tablets. The Ten Commandments are anathema to demons. It’s God’s Word in its purest form. His judgment. The final seal.

  But I thought there were seven seals?

  Samael continued: The first four were unleashed when the Horsemen rode. The fifth was the Lapis Elixir. The sixth are the tablets. The last seal isn’t a seal at all – it’s Michael – the one who can voice God’s Word. Raziel intends to unlock the tablets and force Michael to make the seals manifest. Once the sixth seal is broken, Michael will be forced to initiate judgment.

  Raziel approached. I struggled to step forward.

  But how did he get this freaking thing?

  Samael cursed, trying to move my limbs: Only Metatron has access to the tablets. He must be on Raziel’s side. Pox and blood. They’re trying to destroy the world. The bastard’s had us fooled, all along.

  We have to alert Michael, Asmodeus thought.

  But how? We can’t goddamn move, Samael replied.

  The warehouse basement was like a nuclear war zone. The demons were poisoned. They emptied the contents of their stomachs. I could feel Samael and Asmodeus slipping away.

  Raziel watched, his smile serene. As an archangel, he was seemingly unaffected by the Ten Commandments. He stepped over the fallen bodies and closed the distance between us.

  Raziel spoke: “Shannon. It’s a pity to see you in such a state, playing host to devils like poor Mary Magdalene. Allow me to exorcise them from you.”

  No! Samael and Asmodeus bellowed.

  Raziel pressed a hand to my brow. He spoke a sharp word in angelic.

  Thunder clapped in my head, and Samael and Asmodeus spewed from my mouth. I doubled over, gagged, and dropped my weapon. The morning star reverted back to a scythe and swordstick. They rolled over to where Samael and Asmodeus lay, puking up blood.

  “Shannon,” Samael choked.

  Raziel smiled. “Come with me, dear. It’s time you fulfilled your destiny.”

  Raziel moved as if to grab me. I seized his arm, as I had in training with Asmodeus, and executed a one armed shoulder throw. Raziel went flying, giving me time to escape. I ran behind the vessel, shading my eyes from its glow.

  Raziel rose.

  I looked to Samael for help, only to find him incapacitated. The demons weakened with each pulse of the Ark’s light. I needed to tell Michael this was a trap.

  I ran past throngs of fallen demons, up the stairs and out into the alley. The angels flew
above, fighting the Watchers, but I was earthbound. I spotted a rickety fire escape and raced to it. It took minutes to climb, but finally I was at the top, on the roof.

  “Michael!” I called to the blood-haired archangel above, waving my hands wildly to catch his attention.

  Heaven’s general glanced down at me, gore on his forehead. “What are you doing?”