Demon’s Fall Page 8

  “Hellfire will melt it,” Lilith said. She made no move toward the seal, apparently knowing better than to try. “But we don’t have the time to go through the gate and fetch some.”

  “How did this Tiras manage it?” Baraqiel asked.

  “He said it was because he was mortal, once an angel, and now a denizen of Hellsgate.”

  “We don’t have the time to find him, either,” Lilith said. “We’ll have to bring War here.”

  Baraqiel frowned. “How?”

  “How else?” She smiled, then turned and kicked him in a swift motion.

  He staggered back. “Lilith?”

  “He is War. He thrives on conflict. A fight between an angel and a demon of our rank will draw him surely enough,” she said, circling him.

  A look of resignation passed over his features. He pivoted to keep her in sight. Then his fist lashed out, and Lilith deflected it with her forearm. Her grimace said that he had not pulled his punch.

  They exchanged a flurry of blows, parted, then met in another clash. The clawed tip of her wing gashed his chest, while a dark bruise ringed her eye. He limped slightly, and she favored her left shoulder. Their expressions held an intentness that could have been mistaken for a fierce kind of joy.

  Jahel pressed against Kenan’s side, her eyes wide. Kenan didn’t think their struggle was meant solely to lure War anymore, and it was almost with relief that he heard the steady beat of hooves outside. “He’s come,” he said, but the two of them made one last strike before they turned to face the door.

  War sat astride Edom, clad in red armor. He raised the visor of his helmet and looked down at them with amusement. “Pity,” he said. “I thought there was a fight here.”

  “We fight against you,” Lilith said, moving to stand next to Baraqiel.

  “Such a strange council!” War marveled. “Angels and demons consorting with one another. We can’t have that.” He dismounted. Edom’s bloodshot eyes rolled wildly, but he stayed steady.

  War strode into the house and raised his sword with a vicious smile.

  Kenan uneasily took in their positions. They had to get War over to the corner where the seal lay, and somehow they had to get it past his armor. Perhaps they could get him to fall. His face was exposed.

  Baraqiel moved to meet War, but Lilith grasped his arm. “No,” she murmured. “You have to hold it ready and keep it safe.” She stepped in front of him.

  Kenan saw the archangel’s hand move protectively to something under his tabard and remembered the Scroll of Revelations.

  “You know what influence I hold over demonkind,” Lilith said to War.

  “Yes, it’s been most irksome,” he said. “But you won’t be able to scatter my army once it’s properly assembled and I’m leading it toward the angel host.”

  “Think how much sooner that will be if I help you,” she said with a rich smile.

  He drew in a breath as though inhaling victory. “You’ll stand by me?”

  Her smile dropped away. “No.”

  He snarled and swung his sword at her. She lithely evaded the blow, drawing him in closer by two steps.

  “Some Horseman you are,” she said scornfully, but this time when he sprang at her and she whirled to elude him, her hair flared out and he grabbed it, yanking her in. She smashed the heel of her hand into his face, but War seemed unfazed.

  His mailed fist slammed into her jaw and she crashed into the wall behind her. Before she could fall, he pinned her there with a grip on her throat. “You may still be useful,” he mused while she fought for breath.

  “You’re a mistake,” Baraqiel said loudly. “Yours was supposed to be the second seal opened. War follows Conquest. No wonder you had to resort to tricks to stir up trouble.” He shot a contemptuous look at Lilith. “Or need a demon’s help.”

  “My brothers will join me soon enough,” War promised, turning and dropping Lilith to the ground, where she curled into herself, gasping. “And you won’t care in which order we destroy the world. You were thoughtful, by the way, to bring the scroll with you. Perhaps one of you would care to open the next seal?”

  “No more will be opened,” Baraqiel said. His hand tightened on the scrollcase.

  War stalked toward him. “Not now, perhaps,” he said. “I’d like to be able to ravage the world on my own before sharing it with my brothers. But I will need them in due time. Give it to me.”

  Baraqiel backed away, then snatched up half of the broken bench and held it like a shield. He nearly had War in the right place, but he would be pinned into the corner with that deadly weapon coming at him.

  “Gidon,” Jahel said, her voice a low croon that Kenan, for one, would have followed anywhere. “Is there anything left of you? You needn’t do this.”

  War regarded her with disdain.

  Jahel stepped toward him with her wings open, trying to herd him toward the corner where the seal was while Baraqiel slipped to the side, but War caught her and twisted her about so that she was held in front him, his sword at her throat.

  Everyone froze.

  “I’d much rather see you fighting each other than trying to foil or attack me,” War said. “What would it take, I wonder?” He let the blade caress Jahel’s neck, and a thin line of red opened.

  “No!” Kenan lunged at him, but War knocked him down into the corner with a casual one-handed bash.

  “I said I didn’t want you attacking me,” he chided.

  The world tilted alarmingly when Kenan forced his eyes open, but then he saw War’s bare ankle and he focused on it.

  Angels didn’t wear shoes. And behind him, he felt the tingle of the seal’s power.

  “The scroll,” he said, and somehow Baraqiel heard and, more astoundingly, tossed it to him.

  He caught the case, twisted off the endcap, and tipped out the scroll. As War turned toward him, Kenan reached out.

  He froze.

  “No!” Jahel cried, and remembering that blade at her throat, Kenan forced through the screaming of his nerves and picked up the seal.

  Its power, ancient and stronger beyond anything he’d ever experienced, rolled over him. It felt as though an ocean were filling him.

  Then pain slammed down on him.

  “Shamgar War Abaddon,” he choked out, setting both seal and scroll against War’s foot, “I bind you to this scroll.”

  He lost words then. Kenan screamed his throat raw and the world dimmed to a blue haze from the unearthly fire that was consuming him. It felt like lightning lashing him from within his veins. It flayed all thought from his mind except the knowledge that he had to keep holding the seal.

  He couldn’t let the world end, not with Jahel in it.

  But the world was nothing but pain, and more pain, and more. It laced through the lattice of his bones and tore through the air in his lungs.

  As though from a distance, he heard War roar in fury, but the power within him had a direction now, and it surged forth. And somehow War was compressed under his touch. It felt remarkably like when he claimed a soul, only this time he forced it into the parchment instead of the shape of a coin.

  And then there was nothing between the seal and the scroll. He was pressing them against each other. It meant it was done, and he could let go. He forced his fingers open and the shock of it made him spasm.

  Jahel came to Kenan’s side and knelt. He tried to say something, but it hurt too much to speak, so he just smiled at her. It only made her expression more stricken.

  Baraqiel carefully picked up the scroll.

  “Guard it more carefully this time,” Lilith said. “The next time, it may not be one seal. The princes of Hell may not be away, and they will not work to stop a war.”

  Baraqiel nodded and offered her a hand to help her stand. They pressed their palms together in a formal gesture.

  “Will Kenan be all right?” Jahel asked.

  Lilith came over and looked down at him. “Demons heal quickly,” she said, but after too long a pause. “I’ll
make sure he rests and is cared for.” She gave Jahel a long look. “I’m surprised he wasn’t killed, though. The only reason I can think of is that he has somehow grown less like a demon.”

  Jahel stroked Kenan’s hair until Baraqiel caught her arm and pulled her up. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She glanced toward Kenan. “I—”

  “Angels and demons can’t be together,” the archangel said. “It would only tear you apart, warring with each other’s natures.” The worst of it was that his voice was kind, and his words true.

  “We’ve been fine so far,” she protested.

  “Do you know why he wanted you?”

  She made a sweeping gesture down her body.

  “No,” Baraqiel said gently. “Not for that. I’ve encountered his kind before. He thought an angel would be a novel addition to his collection. He seduced you for the same reason he did mortal women: your soul.”

  Her gaze sought Kenan’s. He wanted to mouth a denial, but it would have been a lie. Perhaps there was something he could say that would banish that hurt in her eyes, but it was like he reached into the vastest pit of Hell for the right words. What did love mean when spoken from a mouth that had given her falsehoods?

  She bowed her head. “Let me bid him farewell, at least. I owe him, on my honor.”

  Baraqiel sighed and folded his wings, stepped aside.

  Kenan tried to raise his head as she knelt by him. “Jahel,” he whispered, heart-sick.

  She pressed his palms together between hers. Her eyes were gray, he already knew, but it was like a rediscovery. She said, “My name is Jahel Noon Annadel. My soul is yours.”

  And he felt the world grow heavier by one more coin.

  “Farewell,” she said, her eyes brimming.

  “Jahel, no,” he said, then desperately, forcing out the syllables past his ruined throat, “Gutter-wing.” He reached out to touch her face, but she whirled and was gone, leaving him with a teardrop on the tip of his finger and a soul in his hand.

  Chapter Six

  The woman said, “I never thought I would see you again.” She had aged, as mortals did, but the face on the coin was clearly hers. Kemma Gull Pax, it said on the other side, and she had been young and lovely and full of laughter when she’d told it to him.

  “I’ve come to make amends,” he said.

  She spat at him. He endured, as he had with all the others.

  “Here.” He held out his hand.

  She stared at the coin. “Is that…?”

  He nodded. “Your soul.”

  Her fingers trembled as she picked it up from his palm. She held it by the edges, carefully. “What do I do with it?”

  “Put it on your tongue.”

  She did so. He could tell from her expression when her soul infused her again. She breathed in as though air were new to her. When she took the coin out, it would only be a dull piece of metal.

  She closed her eyes and tears streaked down her face.

  Remembering another’s tears, Kenan turned away. His task here was done. Hers had been the last of the mortal souls he’d held. It had taken him far longer to return them all than it had to collect them, and even so his journey wasn’t yet done.

  He went north, as he had throughout. He needed no stars to navigate, for he traveled toward Jahel. And Tiras had told him where to go.

  He walked because no demon-horse would have agreed to take him to his destination, and his supply of silver was dwindling. He could have used his allure to acquire a normal steed, but he refused to seduce another woman. There was only one he wanted in his arms, and he was going to get as close to her as he could.

  Heavensgate had been built upon a mountain, wreathed in fog and close to the clouds that hid the way to Heaven. The path there was narrow and treacherous, and after a lip of crumbling stone almost sent him tumbling down the crag, he took the time to test each step before he took it. It grew hard to breathe. Tiras had told him that the way was unguarded, and Kenan could see why.

  He was tired as he walked into Heavensgate, a city with spare lines and tall towers. The streets were paved and clean. It was too quiet for Kenan’s taste, and the strands of saccharine harp music that occasionally drifted into earshot were no better.

  The city was centered around a graceful spiral staircase that grew lost in the clouds, and he headed toward it. His presence caused no alarm at first, but someone recognized him for what he was when he thoughtlessly tried to sip from a fountain and singed his hand in the holy water. It only stung mildly, he was surprised to find, but his reaction was still enough for others to notice.

  “Demon!” someone shrieked.

  Kenan, caught in the undignified position of sucking his fingers, turned to the throng of people forming behind him.

  An older woman stepped forward. A cloth-covered basket hung from one arm, and her other hand held a book. “Your kind isn’t often found here,” she observed with a composure that thankfully seemed to ease the others’ panic.

  Kenan had a sudden vision of himself stuffed in a cage and offered as a rarity. “I come as a petitioner,” he said.

  The crowd’s mood gentled further. No doubt they saw the chance to redeem a demon’s soul as intriguing as he’d found the thought of tempting an angel.

  “I’m looking for an angel. Her name’s Jahel.”

  “You seek the ange Jahel?”

  “Yes.”

  “She walks among us from time to time,” the woman said. “We’re grateful for her presence. Not that the sight of angels flying above isn’t heartening—”

  “I’m glad she comes down here,” a young man interrupted. “My grandfather collapsed and no angel would have flown down here in time. But ange Jahel was walking only a few streets over, and she carried his soul to Heaven herself.”

  Someone shushed him, but there were a few heads nodding.

  “What do you want from her?” the woman asked.

  “Peace.” Kenan had little of it. He found her at every turning of his thoughts, and could not sleep for lack of her.

  There was a murmur.

  “What does peace mean to a demon?”

  “What does it mean to a mortal?”

  She studied his face, but he had not asked in mockery. Finally she said, “Knowledge of where we have done right, and forgiveness where we have not.”

  “It’s forgiveness I seek.”

  The woman looked grave. “She does carry a sadness within her. If you are the cause of it, you should bring peace to her as well. But we have no way to send word to Heaven.”

  Of course the angels wouldn’t want to be bothered at a mortal’s whim, even a saint’s. “Let me stay here to wait for her,” he said.

  “A demon in Heavensgate?” someone protested.

  “I’ll cause no trouble.” He opened his hands in appeal. “This is my only chance of meeting her.”

  “It’s not our place to deny anyone closeness to Heaven,” the woman said. “No one, not even a demon, would have made his way up here lightly. I believe his cause is true.”

  Her word seemed to hold weight with the others, who began to drift away—although not without low comments and backward glances.

  “Here.” She folded back the cloth that covered her basket and drew out a loaf of bread to offer to Kenan. “You’ve had a long journey, it looks like. I’ll have someone bring you water that hasn’t been blessed.”

  Kenan wavered, wondering if his allure had effect even here. But there was no hint of lust in her face, only pity. So he took the bread, feeling humbled. There was no charity in Hellsgate, the city which had been founded upon the trade of souls. He once would have scoffed at anyone who offered something for free.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  So Kenan guarded the base of the stairway that led to Heaven. Angels never used it, of course. Mortals couldn’t perceive it. And no demon could bear to touch it. He was as close as he could stand. Any nearer and his bones were set to humming, and he thought they would
shake their way out of his body if he actually dared set a foot on the bottom step. Or perhaps he would shatter, like the mirror-demon.

  He wondered why there was a stairway, if angels could fly to Heaven directly. It seemed the sort of ostentatious display they would have. But then he remembered how there were no statues or signs of worship, and that even something so simple as a dress that fit could bring an angel joy. Perhaps they were not as pretentious as he had always thought.

  The residents of Heavensgate kept a respectful distance from him, except to bring him food and water. No doubt some still suspected that he had come here to tempt them. He could see why angels rarely bothered to come here—everyone had clearly committed his soul to Heaven already. He spoke with the few who did approach him, and learned that their stories were varied and not so pure as he would have supposed. Tiras might have done well here, he thought. But of course, as an angel, he wouldn’t have ventured down here to know.

  The worst was the boredom. Little of note happened by the fountain, and he refused to leave his post for any longer than necessary. He didn’t want to miss Jahel.

  For all his vigilance, he was dozing when she came.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He woke from a dream of her to the sight of her in the flesh. “Jahel,” he said. He wanted nothing more than to simply gaze at her, but he was determined not to let his throat lock up as it had before. “Looking for you.”

  “I’m so glad you’ve healed,” she said. Her hand fluttered around his face, then dropped, as though she didn’t dare touch him. She went around to the other side of the stairs. He started after her, afraid that she was leaving, but then she bent and pulled something out from under the lowest step. A pair of shoes.

  “You kept them,” he said, absurdly pleased.

  “Yes,” she said as she laced them on. “I like to walk about now and then, and talk to the folk in Heavensgate.”

  “But not down the stairs?”

  She looked up their length and laughed. He drank in the sound. “I don’t think anyone’s ever taken the stairs,” she said. “If someone did climb them, he might get admitted into Heaven out of sheer admiration for his endurance. Don’t tell me you tried them?”