by Sating, Paul
My boss knew my family only through my stories, of which I had shared many during my time working for her. I could defend myself until the mysterious One, creator of everything, destroyed their work in a hissy fit and it wouldn't matter. Mother would listen, comfort, and advise, but nothing would change. Father? Well, that was as pointless as Lucifer and Yahweh sitting down to hash out a permanent peace treaty. I swallowed the apprehension in my throat. She was as stoic as the figures in Hell's most famous painting, The Obscene Chapel—a panel painting of three heroes of Hell's past, long annulled—deceased, in demon language—offering themselves to the dominant hand of Lucifer. A piece of art that always made me feel slightly uncomfortable, its depiction of our ultimate purpose, to sacrifice even ourselves for Lucifer's cause, was held as an icon of our species. A sharp talking to was definitely in my future during my next shift.
"It's okay," I replied without meeting her eyes.
"Are we sharing secrets," Ursela clapped her hands and bounced on her knees.
"Secrets aren't nice," Uncle Lal said, again in a firm voice.
Dialphio leaned over the table, toward the young succubus. "Honey, Ezekial didn't do anything bad. Don't believe anyone who says that. In fact, he was doing something very brave."
"He was?" the little one gasped.
Dialphio nodded. Around the table, everyone sat up a little straighter and found something interesting on their plate to examine. Except my father. Of course, Kanthor Sunstone would sit rigidly, listening to my boss provide a counter story to the popular tales of the adventures of Zeke. "He was very brave. He went to the Overworld and helped Lucifer find someone He missed dearly. Ezekial even brought that demon back so Lucifer could see His old friend again. Wasn't that nice?"
Ursela nodded, an air of fascination in her eyes. "That was a nice thing to do, Ezekial."
"Thanks," I said, not able to accept praise even when delivered to defend me against those I shouldn't have to defend myself against.
"You're our guest, and you are free to speak, but do so with caution," my father said stiffly.
If he thought that would intimidate Dialphio, he was truly clueless. But, then again, Kanthor was accustomed to demons complying with his edicts. My boss, in no uncertain terms, laid down her own marker with her response.
"I didn't see any caution being exercised when everyone seemed fine making the claim that Ezekial had committed a crime. So I apologize if it feels I'm being reckless, but wouldn't it be better, for her and him, to tell the truth?"
I shifted in my seat. I wasn't the only one.
"The truth is that Ezekial was arrested," father said, looking at Ursela with no kindness reaching his eyes. "He did something that wasn't authorized. But," he said, adjusting his collar by wrenching his neck like he was mad at himself, "he was punished and served his time. It's over as far as I'm concerned."
That was news to me. "Is it?"
All heads turned in my direction. I was pretty sure no one breathed.
"From what I've been able to tell, it's not. Not at all," I said in a follow-up.
Tears formed in my mother's eyes. "Now isn't the time to have this conversation."
As hurt as I was from their rejection, it was still painful to see her react like this. But it was equally painful to know she was okay with Father perpetuating a lie, even if only by asking to delay the conversation we still had not been able to have. Whatever Apopis threatened my parents with after the attack in the square after Gemini's failed execution, it had changed my mother. She didn't flinch every time something clanged on the floor or someone said 'boo,' but she was not the same Lilith Sunstone who could dress down Lucifer with a look. I missed the old her.
Dialphio watched me, her jaw set firm and her emerald eyes piercing, encouraging me on.
My chest swelled as I drew in the shaking breath. "It's true, Ursela. Everyone. The Council lied about what happened. I was sent to the Overworld to find Gemini. He was a spy for Yahweh. The Council didn't know he was a double-agent."
My aunt held a hand to her chest. "So it's true then? You brought an angel into the Underworld? You put us all at risk?"
I shook my head. "None of us knew what he was. Not even the Founders, who had employed him for years."
"Are angels as ugly as everyone says they are?" Ursela asked.
In the tension of adults readying themselves to combat rumors, my niece was ignored until Xarpa patted her hand. Still physically connected to her daughter, she looked at me, her eyes begging the question. "How could the leaders Lucifer selected not know that?"
"The Council doesn't know everything."
Father jerked back from the table. Dialphio gave me one, sharp nod of her head. I sought out my mother. Her expression was flat, unreadable, the type of look of someone trying to hold their shit together.
"Son, you can't be saying things like that," Uncle Lal mumbled, shaking his lowered head.
"Ezekial," my mother's raspy voice told me how stressed she was.
But I'd had enough. Whether it was through Dialphio's encouragement or not, a year of not being given the chance to tell my side pushed me on. For millennia, Ursela might not understand the gift she'd given me. "It's the truth, and everyone needs to face it. The Council makes mistakes. A lot of them. It can't know everything. They tell us they do, but it's not true. They had no idea Gemini was an angel who could infiltrate Hell. Ralrek and I were just scapegoats to cover for the Council's failure. We did nothing wrong, and we were arrested, jailed, and humiliated. Who knows what would have happened had the attack not killed hundreds. That kept them from bothering us for a long time and they only freed us because they knew it would shut us up. When the alternative is to rot in a prison cell for eternity, you keep your trap shut. I'm not proud of it, but it's not like I have the power to change anything. You can trust me or not, but none of you have walked in my shoes. You have no idea what it's really like, but I guarantee you, the Council isn't half as benign or just as they want you to believe."
A heavy silence fell over the table. My mother looked down at her lap, adjusted her napkin, pulled it up and refolded it before replacing it. Only the slight sway of her shoulder length hair gave away the fact she was shaking her head. Collecting herself, she raised her head again and looked at me and I saw the thousands of years of indoctrination fighting rationality for control of her mind. Her square jaw quivered.
My father was rigid. He straightened, casting uneasy glances between my aunt and uncle, who themselves appeared ready to catch the first carriage back to their sector.
"Why is everyone quiet?" Ursela rotated her head. The corners of her eyes turned down in adolescent fright. "Did I say something bad?"
"It's okay. I just told them a story that wasn't very entertaining. That's all," I smiled at her, though I felt a distinct sadness wash over me at my family's reactions.
Her wide, innocent eyes shot back and forth between mine. She leaned in and whispered, "They look scared."
In unison, we turned our heads to examine the adults at the table and then looked back at each other; me mimicking her giggle, which only made her giggle more. It was infectious. "They do, don't they?"
I grinned and tickled her. Ursela squirmed in her seat, giggling with the levity of life only implings can manage. The result was immediate. The air around the dinner table lightened now that the youngest demon gifted everyone a way out of the awkwardness.
Until my uncle spoke.
"Heard there's a war in the Overworld," he said.
Father nodded. "Supposedly ramping up too."
Aunt Xarpa frowned, reclaiming Ursela's hand. "Such a shame, that species. Always fighting."
I wondered if she had listened to what I said. Apparently, demons only heard what they wanted to hear.
"Escalating quickly from the rumors I've been hearing." Uncle Lal dug into the stew bowl being passed around. The wooden spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, making my teeth tingle. The smell emanating from it was reminiscent of E
ve's Sanctuary, the garden where I often sparred with Bilba, after a rainstorm. I was not sure what Mother crammed into the concoction, but it promised to be an interesting culinary adventure. "Something like twenty nations already involved."
"Twenty?" Mother said in surprise.
"Yep," Uncle Lal nodded. "I don't keep up with mortal politics, but I guess it started under some desire for democracy or the such, but then oilfields got bombed and that's when these other nations got involved. Guess once one did, the others quickly followed."
"The mortals and their oil," Aunt Xarpa shook her head. "Not only are they happy to kill their planet, but they're happy to kill each other for the right to kill it."
There was a shared laughter at the comment, the type by those personally not affected by the poor choices of others. Only me and Dialphio refrained, along with Ursela who had no idea what the adults were talking about if her stunted giggle was any indication. The odoriferous stew bowl made its way around to me and provided an excuse to disengage and hide my disgust. Maybe it was because I'd been to the Overworld and among mortals, or maybe it was because I was a better demon, but I didn't see how the mortal's escalating conflict was casual dinnertime conversation, especially during the season of Samhain when we were celebrating our own liberation. Plus, I expected everyone to be more considerate of what war actually was, considering only a year had passed since hundreds died in the Angelfire attacks in the First Circle.
"I heard we might even get involved," Uncle Lal reignited the conversation.
Great Satan almighty, would he not talk about something fun, like the recent spate of exorcisms in the Overworld, a result of—yet another—rogue demon having too much fun with the mortals. Too bad the Council acted like petulant children and refused to hire us to help them with the problem. If they had hired a crew to deal with the demon, that team was taking its time. Who knew? Maybe Bilba, Ralrek, and I would be appreciated a little more.
"Again?" Mother said with a stiff shake of her head, her one–length hair waving in a single movement. "It's only been a few years since we last had to rescue them."
"And that one was bad, remember?" Uncle Lal added with the wag of his finger.
I did. I don't think any demon alive didn't remember what it was like just over a hundred years ago when forty–odd nations of the mortal world did everything they could do to destroy their species in a war that lasted four years.
Father's head dipped toward the table. "I think everyone lost a dear friend or family member during that period." He inhaled a long breath through his nose, lifting his head again. "But it is our duty to the Council, to Lucifer. If He decides that we're to serve, then we serve. Simple as that."
"Right on," Uncle Lal gestured with a fist pump.
"Mommy, are you and Daddy going away?" Ursela said, no longer bouncing on her knees.
Aunt Xarpa patted her hand. "No. No, honey, we won't. We're too old for Lucifer's Army," she finished with an uneasy laugh.
"But what about Ezekial? He's not old."
The weight of attention shifted back to me. Everyone wanted to hear my answer. I did too. "No idea. But, if they call me to go, I don't imagine I'll have much of a choice."
Tension released like gas being passed after Taco Tuesday—just without the smell, but almost as awkward. Mother's shoulders drooped as she spooned a healthy portion of buttered green beans onto her plate. Aunt Xarpa gave a flickering smile while her husband nodded sharply. My father was the only one to not react. I didn't like seeing the sad smile on Dialphio's face.
"With the human military finally evolving and including women in combat, if he goes, maybe he'll find himself a wife. It's about time he settled down," Aunt Xarpa said through a smile that tried to rub heat off her statement.
"Praise Lucifer for that," my mother joked.
"He'll need to get a real job before settling," my father said, stabbing a chunk of mysterious stew meat and shoving it in his mouth while he continued to analyze my personal life. "Can't support a wife and implings on any salary from that bookstore. No offense, Dialphio. But he needs to be a career man first."
Dialphio looked ready to deliver a rollicking when I jumped in, the need to defend her irresistible. "Like slaving away in the Hellfire pits?" The comment was out before I processed it and realize how antagonistic it was. Just because I was tired of his cheap shots didn't mean I needed to stoop to his level. But I had anyway.
Mother tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, jutting her jaw out.
My father stopped chewing and stared at me. His head over his plate, he said, "The Hellfire paid for everything you enjoyed while growing up. Plus," he smiled at my uncle like they shared a secret, waving his fork in the air, "I don't think you could handle the Hellfire. It's tough work. Hard work. But maybe you could make amends with the Council and start working for them on a more regular basis."
"Even something permanent," Uncle Lal added his encouragement.
I shook my head. "Sorry to disappoint everybody, but that's not going to happen."
"Well," my father huffed, "let's hope that changes, for your sake."
"I have to agree," my mother said, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "If you land yourself something permanent, maybe it will keep you away from being drafted into Lucifer's Army. I don't want you fighting in this ridiculous mortal war. We should just stop getting involved in those." She said that last part as more of a mumble to herself.
"That's the truth," Aunt Xarpa nodded. "It's so absolutely ridiculous that we constantly keep sending our incubi to fight in these skirmishes, putting their lives on the line. Too many of them have died over the years for mortal nonsense."
Uncle Lal waved a spoonful of potatoes at her. "It's not nonsense. If we don't get involved, we lose."
"How so?" his wife replied in a biting tone, her neck blotching with red heat.
Lucifer, I really hate Samhain feasts.
He spread his hands. "If this thing kicks off, the angels will get involved. Do you really want a mortal war where angels get to dictate what happens?"
Aunt Xarpa huffed. "They should stay out of it too."
Everyone at the table nodded, knowing that wasn't reality. In my six thousand years of life, I'd lost count of how many skirmishes, battles, and wars the mortals waged against each other. And there seemed to be no end in sight. You humans evolved quickly; not that long ago you were throwing scorching oil down on each other's heads and tossing corpses inside castle walls. Overnight, those gave way to atomic and nuclear bombs. Demonkind tried to help stop the ravages, but mortals have been poisoned against us and ignored our whispers.
My father looked like he wanted to chew through his fork. "They won't stay out of anything they can get their dirty hands on. Look at how conniving and destructive they are. We should never forget the square."
"Never forget," my Aunt and Uncle murmured, Mother nodded in agreement, and even Dialphio lowered her head.
The square would never be forgotten by anyone in Hell, of that, I was sure. Lucifer knew I never would. Some of the horrific images from that day were permanently burned into my brain.
Silent somberness blanketed the table at the memory of those lost. Regardless of their intentions, the faceless angels who attacked us to rescue Gemini had forever etched a stain on their reputation among Hell's residents. If I'm being honest, I'm still not okay with what they did, our cruelty to Gemini aside.
Sometimes, there just wasn't a right and wrong in a situation. From all angles, crap was crap. Angels attacking the Underworld or our involvement in mortal clashes. Crap. If a full-blown war erupted in the Overworld, demons would be part of it because angels would be involved.
Sometimes, it was as simple as that.
3 - Underworld, Fifth Circle
We clinked our glasses together. Just one more sound in a club full of them.
"Thank Lucifer Samhain is over," I said in a toast to Bilba and Ralrek.
"That's what's wrong with you, Zeke," Bil
ba said, toasting me with a dip of his glass before downing the bourbon. He winced and looked like he might cough the entire drink back up. The loose skin under his chin wobbled. "You have no holiday spirit."
"Oh, he has plenty; it's just all negative," Ralrek laughed.
I looked up at the handsome devil of a jerk. "Holidays wear me out. You two are lucky I even came out tonight."
And that was the truth. I didn't want to go out, but the guys wanted to grab drinks. We hadn't gotten together since I defied death via roller coaster. If I'm being honest, we needed time together for fun conversation—incubi talk—and alcohol. So I went, reluctantly. The price of friendship.
We were in El Diablo—which used to be called Angelfire Lounge until the mass murder of three hundred demons in the Gemini attack—the trendiest nightclub in the Fifth Circle. So trendy that incubi needed to show up early if they wanted in, due to the club giving succubi priority entry. Succubi always got in, no matter the hour or how overcrowded the place was. Incubi? Not so much. But since when was Hell interested in equal rights?
The real fun didn't start until around eleven, so we showed up four hours early, right after the Callers announced the official end of the day, and were pleasantly surprised at getting in. Even the heroes of Hell, at least Bilba still was, didn't enjoy the privilege of entry without showing up before the Hellfire faded.
At this hour, the nightclub was packed. Demons filled every vacant space except for the narrow alleys carved between clumps of bodies to and from the bar and dance floor. Any other spot in the club anyone wanted to visit would have to be reached only after picking your way through intoxicated, horny demons. Even the archway that led to the bathrooms was occupied by a couple who seemed more interested in exploring each other's esophaguses with their tongues than allowing demons with aching bladders to pass to relieve themselves. Our early arrival was the sole reason we nabbed a place at the bar and had done our best to ensure that it remained ours throughout the evening, even taking shifts for restroom breaks. Dancing wasn't an issue; Bilba can't, I abhor it, and Ralrek just didn't seem interested, meaning we didn't have to work out the logistics of navigating the dance floor in search of a future mate. Bilba and I were consistent at a few things, like being excellent video game players, goofballs, dorks about pop culture, and striking out with succubi. Tonight was no different, even in a club where two out of three demons was one. The only time we got attention from a succubus was when the dozens of them flirted with us for access to the bar only to ignore us after they got their drinks. I didn't expect many, if any, opportunities to have a conversation with one. Bilba hoped. I'll let you guess which one of us was the more disappointed.