by Debra Dunbar
“The angels won’t kill them?” She tilted her head in thought. “Humans are more fun to play with than Lows. Got any openings in your household?”
“You kill a human, and you lose your immunity,” I warned her.
“Oh I don’t kill them. I just play.” Her stare was downright creepy.
“That’s a gray area. It still might get you killed. And I’m not doing a fucking two-hundred-page report to get you out of trouble either.”
She tilted her head and clacked her beak. “I’ll take my chances. Ten years in your household?”
“Big rules. Number one: You can’t mess with my Lows,” I warned her. “I don’t care who your clients are, but you don’t take my Lows. And if you cross the gates and get caught torturing humans, I don’t know you.”
She nodded. “Sounds good.”
“You work for me. That means you help me find Sinew, Booty, and Lash. And if this asshole demon wants you to take any of my Lows, you come to me and tell me. You do not, under any circumstances, give him any demon who is part of my household, Low or not.”
She nodded. “Got it. Deal, although as a member of your household, you need to defend me against charges of contract infringement and take on any punishment I might incur.”
Household bonds were considered above any contracts such as the one she had to supply Lows to this Ancient. I felt fairly confident I’d win this argument, and I planned on facing down this guy anyway and getting my Lows back.
“Done. What’s this Ancient’s name who wants the Lows?”
“Tasma.”
Huh. I’d never heard of him. Although if he’d been slumbering up until the last year or so, I probably wouldn’t have ever heard of him.
“And the Lows he named, were they marked?” I asked.
“Yeah. I thought maybe it was an accident, or someone’s sick joke or something, so I ignored it. Birch gave me their names. The first two I took on my own and kept, but he found out and…I got punished and I got Oor as a minder. Those were the ones called Sinew and Booty. I had to turn those two over to him, even though they were kinda broken already. He didn’t seem to mind, thankfully. And when I took the one off the porch, the Lash Low, Oor made sure I didn’t keep him.” She licked her lips. “You’ve got some nice Lows in your household. Sly and spunky. They scream real nice too.”
“No hurting my Lows,” I reminded her. “No hurting or kidnapping any of my Lows. That’s the deal.”
She did something with her beak that looked like a pout. “Fine. I don’t know why you bother to keep them in your household if you don’t want to play with them, but that’s your business not mine.”
We exchanged vows with all the appropriate words and formality, then I fixed Cheros with a hard stare. “I want them back. I need you to get all cozy with this Birch who is your contact and find out where Tasma is keeping my Lows. Then I need you to figure out how I can get in there and free my three Lows with minimal damage to myself. Got it?”
She hesitated. “It might take me a bit. I’m supposed to meet with Birch tonight, but once I find out where they are, it might take me a day or two to figure out a way you can get them.”
I worried that my three Lows might not have a lot of time. “You’ve got three days. If you don’t have anything for me by then, you’ll find yourself in my dungeon for a couple of decades.”
The demon squirmed. “Okay, but this would be a whole lot easier if you could just charge in with that weird sword of yours and rescue your Lows that way. Why does it have to be all stealthy-like? Why are you worried about damage to yourself? I thought you were the Iblis.”
I tried to look badass. “Because I’m a different kind of Iblis. I’m the sneaky, stealthy Iblis. And charging in is my last resort.” I might be the Iblis, but I was still an imp. And even though I could devour, hold a shit-ton of energy, and exist inside a deceased physical form, I wasn’t exactly the type to charge into a household of powerful demons and muscle my way through a rescue.
“Then I’ll do my best.” Cheros rubbed her scaled hands together. “So…when do I get to cross the gates? Now? Next week?”
“As soon as I get my Lows back,” I replied.
“Do you have a place I can crash there, or do I need to do one of those home invasion things, tie the owners up in the basement, and take their house?”
I was so going to regret this. “I have a home with a separate building for my demons to stay in when they’re over. Just don’t mess with any of my Lows. Or my human household members. Or the angels that come and go, or the werewolves, or the Nephilim. Oh, and there’s a dragon. Just an FYI.”
She squawked in excitement. “This. Is. Awesome. I’ve never met a dragon before. Or a werewolf. Or a Nephilim. And of course I’ve never met an angel, because if I had, I’d be dead. And they won’t kill me, right? So I can spit at them and call them names, and they can’t hurt me?”
I immediately thought of what Gabriel would do if this demon spat at him. “You might not want to do that. Immunity only extends so far. If you really piss one off, he’ll decide the paperwork and the punishment is worth killing you.”
“Okay. No spitting and no calling names. Got it.”
“And before you’re allowed to cross the gates on my dime, I need my Lows back. No Lows, no vacation. Got it?”
She gave me a thumbs up and clacked her beak. “Got it.”
Chapter 11
Doriel’s residence was a good walk outside of Dis. It wasn’t difficult to spot because it was a forest in the middle of the desert. This dense grouping of trees wasn’t anything like the elven forests. Twisted black-barked trees stretched over a hundred feet tall. Barren of any leaves, their branches twisted together, a matted impenetrable mass of twigs and vines that made access impossible. There was no path, no gate, no doorbell. I paced back and forth in front of the forest’s edge, calling out and knocking on tree trunks that were strangely warm under my knuckles.
The forest shivered then parted, a narrow path revealed in the moonlight. I seriously considered summoning my sword, but I had an appointment. It seemed rude to enter while holding a weapon. Actually it seemed weak. My take-charge-of-Hel plan relied heavily on waving my sword around to assert my dominance, but in my heart I knew that wouldn’t work. Only a pathetic weakling would run around, shoving a powerful sentient weapon in everyone’s face as proof of their power. The truly powerful were confident, knowing they had mastery of every situation and didn’t need to be clutching a sword like a lifeline to pass through a weird-ass forest and face a powerful Ancient.
I wasn’t powerful, but I needed to start pretending I was, so I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed down the path.
The moon only lit the first few feet, and that quickly disappeared as the forest closed in behind me. I walked blind, trusting that the woods would somehow guide me to the house, but well aware that if I wasn’t welcome here, I’d spend the rest of my short life stumbling around in a pitch-black maze, or entangled in vines and twigs. The good thing about the darkness was that I couldn’t see any remains of those foolish enough to head in here uninvited.
The walk felt like hours, and I was beginning to wonder if Snip had been deceived, if Criam hadn’t remembered me and decided this would be a good way to get rid of a troublesome imp. I had enemies. Perhaps one of them had paid Criam to make sure I never came out of this forest.
No. I talked myself away from the edge of panic. Doriel was the type of Ancient who would tell someone to fuck off rather than kill me under contract, and I knew that Criam would never jeopardize his position in the household by using his mistress’s forest in an unsanctioned manner. I relaxed and kept putting one foot in front of the other, figuring at the worst I was getting a decent workout. It was like being on a treadmill. For hours. In the dark.
I tripped on something and stumbled, managing to stay on my feet. When I regained my balance and looked up, the trees had parted. The anemic moonlight was practically blinding after hours in the
dark, and I squinted, exiting the forest and looking across an expanse of gray lawn to a tiny shed.
The Ancients I’d met in the past were either like Harkel, making the best of their situation and going about life in Hel with a certain fatalistic air, or like Ahriman, twisted and cruel with the need to grind everyone they saw under their fiery heel. Doriel was reputed to be one of the most powerful Ancients in Hel, and instead of flaunting her status with an elaborate display, she disguised her home like something humans would use to store their lawn mower and gardening tools, and hid the whole thing in the safety of a forest.
She hid. And I was guessing it wasn’t because she feared anyone, but because she wanted to be left alone. Even before she’d slumbered, she was rarely seen, sending members of her household out to do her bidding. And even they were stealthy and careful to avoid bringing notice to themselves. That was how I’d met Criam. I had no idea what errand he’d been on for his mistress when the troll incident had occurred, but throughout it all he’d never bragged about his household affiliation or arrogantly demanded I serve him.
I walked up the wooden steps, and tapped lightly on the door of the shed before opening it and stepping inside. Of course, the inside was huge, bigger even than my house in Dis. Size aside, the inside of Doriel’s home was just as sparse and understated as her household.
I stood just inside the door and waited. Most demons had guards outside. Most demons had the equivalent of a butler inside to quickly open the door and direct visitors to a waiting area with refreshments, or kill them depending on the owner’s mood. Most demons had visible staff scurrying around. This was a vast empty foyer, the walls a warm shade of cream with royal blue scrollwork along the crown molding. There wasn’t a stick of furniture or artwork in sight. I resisted the urge to shout “hello” and remained silent, my hands clasped before me.
My instincts for once were right. After waiting for a second shy of disrespect, a demon appeared at the end of the foyer and walked toward me.
I recognized Criam right away. He hadn’t changed one bit and was still in the gaunt human form he’d worn during the troll incident. Dude looked like a plague victim who’d been cleaned up and stuck in a poorly fitting suit for burial. His sparse blond hair was combed over a bald spot the size of Rhode Island, dipping low and plastered to a pale forehead. He was thin to the point of being skin stretched over bones, his eyes sunken in dark hollows, his lips a narrow, bloodless slash below a long hooked nose. He looked like a good breeze would send him tumbling.
Looks were deceiving. In keeping with his mistress’s low-profile habits, Criam exuded no energy signature whatsoever. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought him an animated corpse, a human. That alone had made me realize how incredibly powerful this demon was. I had this skill as well, the ability to lock down my energy signature so tightly that it was virtually undetectable. It was a rare skill in those who weren’t Ancients. It was an even rarer skill in demons who were less than a million years old.
“Criam.” I inclined my head respectfully. “Thank you for arranging this meeting. You’re looking well.”
He wasn’t from a visual standpoint, but from a demon point of view, he did look well. The awakening of his mistress had put a spark of purpose in those dark eyes and an eager, fevered flush to the waxy, pale skin.
“And you…” Criam tilted his head as he regarded me. “Even more the imp than before, but I detect a latent power similar to that of my mistress.”
“Devouring part of an archangel does that,” I confessed. “They’re telling me I’m an Angel of Chaos now, but I still feel like an imp. Although I’m not sure how an Angel of Chaos is supposed to feel.”
A meagre eyebrow twitched, as did the corner of his nearly lipless mouth. “I wouldn’t know. You can ask Doriel when you see her. Although she claims that she is no longer an Angel of Chaos, I’m sure she remembers. There’s very little my Ancient forgets.”
“I appreciate your arranging this,” I said again.
He nodded, something close to a smile on his face. “Although we never formalized it, I do believe I owed you a favor. Please come with me and I’ll lead you somewhere comfortable with refreshments while you wait. It won’t be long. Doriel prides herself on being prompt.”
I fell in beside him and we passed through what had been a solid wall seconds ago, into a cozy room with cushioned seating, a huge elven sculpture, and a cheery fire in a stone fireplace.
“How have the centuries been treating you?” I asked Criam, curious as to how life in an Ancient’s household went. I was tempted to take notes. “Any more troll issues?”
He grimaced. “Thankfully, no. The last year since Doriel’s awakening have been busy for all of us, but particularly for me. I’m sure you’re aware of how things in Hel are changing.”
“Things everywhere are changing,” I told him. “Aaru, Hel, in the human world.”
“Well, when the universe gives an imp a sword, change is to be expected.” He turned to face me. “When I met you those centuries ago, I had no idea this was what your future held.”
“Yeah, me either,” I drawled. “You’ve been around a long time. Got any tips for a young Iblis?”
“Survive?” His lips twitched again. “Although as I recall, that’s something you excelled at.”
“I’m quite the cockroach,” I told him, snatching a roast beak from a marble bowl and popping it into my mouth.
“A cockroach with the Sword of the Iblis.” He shook his head. “If I were an angel, I would be praying for the Creator to help us all.”
This felt weird. From the moment I’d entered the forest, I felt like I truly was the leader of Hel. And Criam was certainly treating me with the respect due an equal, if not an Ancient. But that was all a sham, a bit of playacting. I was an imp with a sword, and no amount of pretending was going to change that.
“Not that anyone gives a damn about my being the Iblis,” I reminded him. Best to get back to familiar footing—me the crazy imp, and him the powerful demon that I just lucked into helping out once a long time ago.
“They should give a damn about you being the Iblis if they value their lives,” he retorted. “Do you think I have the power to get you an audience for Doriel if she did not wish to meet with you? She is reclusive. She refuses to see most of the Ancients she fought beside long ago. For an imp to gain an audience with her, even on my request, is unheard of.” Criam made his way to the door. “Only fools disregard a cockroach of an imp, and the terminally stupid disregard a cockroach of an imp who happens to hold the Sword of the Iblis. Neither Doriel nor I are fools or terminally stupid.”
He opened the door, and with a nod of his head, exited, leaving me in this cozy sitting room with the cheerful fire, a bowl of roast beaks, and an elven sculpture of an angel falling from the heavens, her wings ablaze.
Chapter 12
I eyed the sculpture, admiring the clean lines and attention to detail that all elven works of art held, then grabbed a handful of beaks and sat in front of the fireplace. I needed a room like this. Ahriman’s houses were all decorated like torture chambers and I’d been too busy to do something about that. And my home in the human world had been designed with an open floor plan, not taking into consideration the fact that I’d eventually have angels, demons, humans, and werewolves tromping through it like it was Union Station. There were no private areas like this in which to relax, or have a personal conversation away from the crazy.
I snuggled deep into the comfy chair, sticking a fuzzy pale green pillow behind my head and sighed. Doriel could be as late as she wanted, this was a much-needed break from everything I had to do.
The Iblis. I was the Iblis, and behind my admiration of the décor was the shocking realization that there were demons here, Ancients even, who took me seriously. They might not be lining up to follow me, but Criam’s words had given me a much-needed injection of confidence. It was one thing to have Gregory’s love and faith in my unusual abilities. It was one
thing to have a bunch of adoring Lows lined up to get into my household, to have a gate guardian who relied on me, to have angels, Nephilim, werewolves, and humans who had my back. It was another thing entirely to have a powerful demon from my homeland tell me in so many words that he considered me a force to be respected.
No matter what my achievements, no matter how much admiration I might gain outside Hel, the recognition of the beings I’d grown up around somehow counted more.
I heard the door open and rose from my chair to turn and greet my hostess. Most Ancients would have made a more dramatic entrance, but I was learning that Doriel was far from the typical Ancient.
I liked that since I was far from typical as well.
Doriel was in a human form, her face as pale and poreless as so many of the angels I’d met. Her light golden hair was piled on top of her head, making her appear like a Grecian statue come to life. And under it all, her spirit-self was bruised and bent, with the rot that every Ancient I’d ever met had.
“Iblis.” She inclined her head and her wings appeared, scarce tattered golden feathers on a leathery background. One fell as she spread the wings, catching fire and crumbling to ash as it floated to the ground.
“Doriel.” I revealed my wings as well, stretching the muscles and noting how my matte black feathers seemed to suck the light from the room.
Her gaze traced the length of my wings, then she crossed the room, dismissing her wings before sitting.
I did the same, feeling like we should have teacups with saucers or something. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I told the Ancient.
Doriel stared at me, a tendril of sulfur smoke curling from her nose. “I don’t often grant audiences to demons, but when Criam said you had the Sword of the Iblis, I was curious.”
I summoned said sword, just to prove to her it was true. “Do you want to hold it?”
No one ever did, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask.