Devil's Conflict

by Percival Constantine

  “So I gotta know—why didn’t you show up when I called?” I asked. “Looks like you heard the spell.”

  “I heard something, and given some recent developments, I assumed you were the one trying to summon me,” said Gabriel. “But your summons was…muddled.”

  “Like I was going through a tunnel?”

  “Something like that.” Gabriel waved over a waitress. “My friend will have a glass of Laphroaig on the rocks and I’ll take a Manhattan.”

  “Should I be impressed that you know what I drink?” I asked.

  Gabriel shrugged. “If you like.”

  “You said something about recent developments, what did you mean?” I asked.

  “Since the last time we spoke, I understand you’ve gained a title—Luther Cross, Lord of Hell.”

  “Means to an end.”

  “Though I understand it’s bringing you more problems than you’d anticipated. I hope you understand how dangerous it is for us to be meeting like this.”

  “I don’t care about any of that, I’m more concerned about our missing friend.” I paused as the waitress returned with the drinks. We each took a sip and then I continued. “What do you know about Raziel?”

  Gabriel’s glass sat on the table and he rubbed the stem with his finger, staring at the golden cocktail. “This is a bit unusual, Luther. As I recall, you had some choice words about me and my kind during our last conversation. I think they went something like, ‘Life’s too short to waste it dealing with pompous, arrogant celestial beings.’”

  I cringed at having my words thrown back at me. Never get in an argument with an angel—they take the meaning of photographic memory to a whole new level.

  “So why are you so concerned about Raziel now?” asked Gabriel. “A suspicious person might come to the conclusion that your sudden interest has more to do with the new friends you’ve made in Hell.”

  “You think I asked to meet you because the Infernal Court is making me do it?” My eyebrow was raised and then I scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I really couldn’t give less of a shit about the Court. Or your little choir boys.”

  “The Divine Choir,” said Gabriel, reminding me what Heaven’s ruling body was called.

  “Whatever. Point is I’ve got my own reasons to be concerned about Raz,” I said.

  “Is that so?” Gabriel leaned in closer. “Do tell.”

  I took a breath. I had no idea how much I could trust an archangel. Last time we spoke, Gabriel seemed legitimately concerned about what had happened to Raziel. But it could be a trap. There was a reason Raziel didn’t bring any other angels into this. I didn’t know if I could trust Gabriel with the nephilim knowledge. I didn’t want to put Dakota in the path of danger if I didn’t have to.

  “I’ve got a problem on my hands,” I said. “A problem that goes by the name of Asmodeus.”

  Gabriel gave a snicker. “Oh, Luther. Do you really expect me to help you in your petty squabbles with another demon? As I understand it, you took not only Asmodeus’ realm, but you’ve also sleeping with his woman. It seems you’re experiencing some karmic payback.”

  “Maybe I am,” I said. “But you’ve gotta consider something else.”

  There was a brief pause as Gabriel studied me with those bright, blue eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Raziel went missing about what, six months ago?”

  “Give or take.”

  “Right, so think about it. Who else went missing around that same time?”

  Gabriel looked away from me, his eyes turning to the stage. He picked up his Manhattan and slowly sipped it as he admired the jazz musicians playing their set. I took a sip of my scotch and leaned back against the velvet cushions.

  This was a dangerous gamble. Possibly deadly. I wasn’t big on options at the moment, though. If I could get an archangel on my side, someone who was willing to take out Asmodeus for me, that would solve all my problems. All I had to do was convince Gabriel that Asmodeus was involved in Raziel’s disappearance.

  “Asmodeus and Raziel always had a good relationship,” the angel finally said. “In the time since The Fall, they’ve led diplomatic efforts between Heaven and Hell. It’s why they both serve as contact points here on this plane of existence.”

  “Guess you never really know someone, huh?” I muttered.

  “No, I suppose not.” Gabriel looked back at me and I could feel his eyes piercing into my soul. Not literally—at least, I didn’t think so. But I felt he’d be able to tell I was lying and it started to make me nervous.

  I tried to get a handle on it. If Gabriel sensed I was nervous, he might conclude I was lying. And then he might kick the shit out of me just on principle. I couldn’t let that happen, I had to maintain a steely resolve.

  I met his gaze, staring right back into his blue eyes with my crimson ones, not allowing him to intimidate me in the slightest. This was a game of chicken and I was damn-sure going to win.

  “You really believe this?” he asked. “You think Asmodeus is behind Raziel’s disappearance? But why? What possible motive would he have? More than anyone, Asmodeus wants to see the armistice maintained. He’s smart enough to know a move like this would bring Heaven and Hell to the brink of war.”

  I held up my hands. “I’m not making any accusations here. I’m just pointing out the coincidental timing. Asmodeus goes missing and then shortly thereafter, Raziel follows. Now, Asmodeus turns up again out of the blue, no explanation. But Raz? He’s still nowhere to be seen. Don’t you find it odd that no one in Heaven knows where he is?”

  Gabriel sipped his drink and I could tell from the pensive look on his face that he was considering buying what I was selling. What I’d kept from him was what I knew about Pyriel. When I met Gabriel, he told me Raz was missing. But Pyriel, who’s now running Eden? He said Raz was off on a mission.

  Gabriel was a messenger, a representative of the Divine Choir. He’d know if Raz was off on a mission for Heaven. Pyriel was lying and I had my suspicions as to why. But I couldn’t act on those just yet, didn’t want to tip my hand. And the primary threat right now was Asmodeus. If I could get some angelic help on my side, that would smooth things over.

  “You’re good, Luther, I’ll give you that,” he finally said. “Though I’m not quite the easy mark you think.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You and I both know Asmodeus had nothing to do with Raziel’s disappearance, and your attempts to make me believe otherwise are transparently obvious. I’m not going to get involved in this spat between the two of you.”

  Gabriel finished the rest of his drink and slid out from the booth. I followed him, grabbing his wrist. He turned and stared at me, his eyes going right through me and sending a chill down my spine.

  “Either remove your hand from my person, or I’ll remove it from yours,” he said.

  “Raz and I were working together. To protect something. If I don’t stop Asmodeus, all Raz’s efforts would be for nothing,” I said. “You have to trust me when I tell you that removing Asmodeus from the playing field is in Heaven’s best interests.”

  “Asmodeus is one of The Fallen. Regardless of whether or not he still retains his title as a Hell Lord, that much hasn’t changed. A move against him will be interpreted as a move against the Infernal Court. I can’t take that risk, not based on this flimsy intelligence,” said Gabriel. “And trust? You’re really going to speak of trust? You tried to con me, Luther. You’re keeping things from me. Trust is a two-way street and if you have any hope of surviving the coming trials, you’re going to need to trust in someone again.”

  Gabriel pulled his arm away and left the bar. I sighed and picked up my drink, taking another sip. And then I remembered something. I set the glass down and ran outside to find that Gabriel had already gone.

  “Dammit, bastard was my ride…”

  13

  Against all odds, Alistair had somehow managed to sober up to an extent. He’d woken up the morning after Celeste came by with his
head pounding, his mouth tasting like a desert, and dried chunks of vomit down his shirt.

  No more, he’d told himself. He’d scolded Celeste for giving up on Luther, but what was he doing that was any different? The books were useless. He needed to resort to more…drastic means if he was going to get the real Luther back.

  That was how Alistair ended up sitting in his rental car across the street from a corner bar in Englewood. There were no signs whatsoever to advertise the bar as a business. No name, no open or closed sign, nothing. Not even any windows. One could easily assume it was just another abandoned building in one of Chicago’s most crime-ridden neighborhoods.

  Alistair knew it hid something else, though. He’d sensed the power of this place as he grew closer. And only one man in Chicago had that kind of power. A man Alistair had hoped to never deal with again. But he was growing desperate and he needed a way to help his friend.

  Alistair climbed out of the car and straightened his brown trench coat. He stuffed his fingers into the pockets and crossed the street, approaching the corner bar. When he tried to open the door, he found it was locked. He could have forced his way in, but he decided to play things respectfully for the moment. So instead, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

  There was a small panel on the door that slid open and Alistair found himself staring into a pair of animalistic eyes with a pale, yellow hue.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m here to have a word with your boss,” said Alistair.

  “Ain’t no boss here. You in the wrong neighborhood, Jeeves.”

  “Just tell him Alistair Carraway would like a word.”

  “I got a better idea. How ’bout I rip your head off an’ fuck the eye socket? Get the hell outta here before you piss me off, old man.”

  The slot closed and Alistair sighed, shaking his head. “Bloody Americans…”

  He placed his hands on the door and closed his eyes, channeling his energy into his palms. It would have been easy to simply use a spell that would unlock the door. But Alistair got the sense that these boys needed a show of strength.

  “Praemium!”

  He stepped back and the door blew inwards, shattering into splinters. There were expressions of anger and disbelief and then Alistair stepped inside the bar to size up the competition.

  His senses hadn’t failed him. He was surrounded by lycans. They rose from their seats, knocking over their drinks, their bodies growing larger with fur emerging from their pores and their nails extending into powerful claws.

  “As I was telling the rude lad who answered the door, I’d like a word with the man in charge. So would someone kindly point me in the direction of a Mr. Odysseus Black?”

  One of the dangers in Alistair’s line of work was overconfidence. It was the kind of thing that could easily get you killed. And that’s why, when he was grabbed behind by the collar, he kicked himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings.

  The lycan threw Alistair over the bar. He hit the counter and rolled off the other end, landing hard on his side. Alistair groaned and pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked around and saw a lycan positioned at either end of the counter.

  When he heard a thump, he looked up and saw a lycan crouched on the counter right above him, baring his teeth at the aging sorcerer. Alistair closed his eyes and raised his hands, touching the tips of his thumbs and forefingers together while whispering.

  “The fuck you think you’re doing, Doctor Who?”

  Alistair opened his eyes and flashed a grin. “Teaching you a lesson, son. Ignis!”

  The lycan’s fur caught on fire and he howled, jumping off the bar and hitting the ground, rolling to try and put out the flames. That distracted the others in the bar. Alistair took a full bottle of vodka from the well and went to one end of the bar, where the lycan who’d been standing guard was watching his companion try to put out the fire.

  Alistair swung the bottle, breaking it on the lycan’s head and soaking him in vodka. He snapped his fingers and the alcohol-soaked fur burst into fire, too.

  “Kill him!” shouted one of the lycans.

  They’d given up on their friend and were now out for blood—Alistair’s. He held up his hand and shouted, “Sepio!” An invisible barrier forged from magic surrounded him, keeping the lycans at bay. They pounded, slashed, and bit at the barrier, trying to break through. And given enough time, that tactic would have proven successful.

  That was time Alistair didn’t have. Not if he was going to get what he needed out of this trip. He closed his eyes and tried another spell.

  “Corusco!”

  The room was bathed in a blinding light, one that was so bright, it staggered the lycans. Even brought a few to their knees. Alistair looked around at the beasts and then he heard the sound of a slow clap. He turned around and saw a man with dark skin, his black beard showing streaks of gray, and his head shaved bald. Rings adorned his fingers and a cigar was held between his teeth.

  “Now that’s what I call a show.”

  “Odysseus Black,” said Alistair.

  “Alistair Carraway,” said Odysseus. “You’re the last motherfucker I ever expected to see in this dive. Why’d you have to come in here and embarrass my boys like that?”

  “I tried to play nice, they weren’t having any of it. Handled it the best I could.”

  Odysseus kept his eyes locked on Alistair and then he took the cigar from his mouth right as he started to chuckle. “Yeah, you’re one crazy bastard. C’mon, step into my office, let’s have a drink and toast to the old days.” He glanced over at one of the lycans who was starting to rise to his feet. “Clean this shit up.”

  Alistair followed Odysseus into his office. The walls were lined with bookcases and a large desk was at one end of the room, with two chairs in front of it. Odysseus walked behind the desk, rubbing the skull that sat on one end of it, before taking his seat. Alistair sat in front of the desk as Odysseus produced a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and two glasses from the bottom drawer of his desk. He lined the glasses up and poured a little scotch into each, then slid one towards Alistair.

  “What brings you to Englewood?” asked Odysseus. “You kinda stand out. That shit could make you a target.”

  Alistair sipped the drink and gestured with his head back towards the bar. “I think I’ve proven I can handle myself.”

  “Yeah, you’ve barely lost a step. Pretty impressive,” said Odysseus. “So what’re you up to these days? Still runnin’ errands for the Sons of Solomon?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Alistair. “I’m actually on something of a…leave of absence.”

  “That why you’re here? Came to Chi-Town to hang out with your boy, Cross?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Word gets around in the dark corners of this city. People sayin’ he’s not who he used to be. I heard a few months back, he hit Kimaris’ crew.”

  “Kimaris…?” asked Alistair.

  “Demon who watched Scarface too many times, thought he was hot shit,” said Odysseus. “He and his crew got wiped out, it was a goddamn bloodbath.”

  Alistair had heard about that, of course. Detective Wayne Cooper was involved in the investigation and when Alistair came to Chicago, Wayne had told him all about it. It was the first indication something was very wrong with Luther. But for Odysseus’ sake, Alistair wanted to play dumb as much as possible. Didn’t want to give too much away.

  “What else have you heard?” asked Alistair.

  “People talk. Who knows how much of it is real and how much is bullshit,” said Odysseus. “One thing I hear, though, Cross has been making some pretty powerful friends in some pretty low places, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “Low as in what?”

  Odysseus sipped his drink and pointed his cigar down. “Low as in somewhere you don’t wanna be trapped without sunscreen.”

  “You mean Hell.”

  Odysseus nodded. “Not long after Kimaris got wha
cked, there was a surge in power. Something big had come to town, something…ancient. And then, almost as soon as it had happened, it was gone.”

  “No idea what it was?” asked Alistair.

  Odysseus shook his head. “Not for lack of trying. Consulted with other magic types, communed with the spirit world, even reached out to a few demons down below. No one really knew what had happened.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you learned,” said Alistair.

  Odysseus snickered. “Right. You know what’s goin’ on in my own city better than me.”

  “It’s Luther,” said Alistair. “He went to Purgatory and when he came back, something happened to him. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Odysseus leaned back in his chair and puffed on the end of his cigar. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Celeste King,” said Alistair. “She’s a friend…of sorts. She told me about the last time you and her came face-to-face. And how you were working with someone who’s been causing a lot of trouble. But even more than that, she told me about a book you got your hands on. The Book of Metatron.”

  “What’s it to you?” asked Odysseus.

  “Luther is involved in something very dangerous, and so are you. If you both continue down this path, things are going to end very badly. Not just for humans, but for Heaven, for Hell, for Purgatory—and you, too.”

  “Doubt it,” said Odysseus. “See, if I did have this Book of Metatron, that’d mean I’d be privy to a lot of powerful secrets. Secrets even your little elitist secret society know jack-shit about. And that means I could prepare for pretty much any eventuality.”

  “We’re talking about a war, Black,” said Alistair. “Right now, Luther is ruling over Asmodeus’ realm. He’s with Lilith. And it’s all because Purgatory changed him. I’ve got to find a way to bring the real Luther back, to reverse all this before it goes too far.”

  “And you think Metatron’s chicken scratches can help you do that?”

  Alistair shook his head. “Maybe, I don’t know. I do know I’ve exhausted all my resources, which is why I’ve come to you. Just stepping through your front door could get me excommunicated from the Sons of Solomon, so I’m putting a lot on the line here in the hopes that you and I can come to some sort of arrangement.”