Devil's Paw (Imp Book 4) (7 page)

He scowled. “And inanimate objects? Energy? Elements? I told you to practice these things!”

Yeah. And I always do what I’m told.

“Why the fuck would I want to live inside a rock or a chair? Or inside air molecules? That’s just stupid.”

I felt his anger, but also felt a sense of urgency within him, almost panic.

“You need to do this.” He went silent, as if he were considering something.

“I want to take you somewhere. Show you something.”

“Right now? I need to be back before tonight.” Crap, before that even. I hadn’t even begun to decorate. And Nyalla was upstairs, sleeping in one of my spare bedrooms. She might be alarmed to wake up and find herself alone in the house. “I can’t. I really can’t today. Maybe after the council meeting tomorrow, but not today.”

He reached out and pulled me to him. “It will only take an hour at the most.”

Before I could protest, he’d transported us in a disorienting jerk.

~5~

I
could feel the heat all around me, stealing the air from my lungs and searing my skin. The angel pressed to me, smashing a furnace of power against my front, while the natural element of the forest fire raged against my back, squeezing me uncomfortably between them. I felt the threads of my clothing smolder, exposed skin beginning to blister. We were close, practically inside the blaze.

Pull back as you burn.

I did as the angel said, distancing my spirit self from the flesh. I still was aware of the pain, but it was as if I watched another. Thick smoke blurred the angel who was inches from my face, and I closed my useless eyes. I burned.

There was a caress against me. I felt his admiration and his attraction. Whatever it was I was doing, I seemed to be doing it properly, according to him. Even with the distant pain, the edge of fear as my body died, I felt safe. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me; I’d be okay as long as he was near.

My body failed, lungs choked with smoke, skin cells erupting. I tried to move an arm, but couldn’t figure out how to do it without extending my spirit self dangerously into the dead flesh. Struggling a few seconds on my own, I turned to him, awaiting his instruction. This was a lesson, and I was an eager pupil in the arms of an angel who was older than the sun.

Let the body go. See without eyes. Hear without ears. Move without limbs.

I’d die. What did he want me to house my spirit self in, if not this burning flesh? I felt the physical form of the angel shift like molten lava, his spirit self still reassuring against mine. Did his flesh burn too?

Open your eyes and see.

I knew he didn’t mean human eyes. Reaching out with my senses, as I did while in Aaru, I saw him, a smokeless fire before me, shielding my burnt body from total consumption by the inferno around us. What would happen if my body was completely destroyed by fire? I’d learned to exist safely inside a corpse, but had an uneasy feeling I’d die if the body no longer existed. He moved, as if to leave me to the fire, and I pressed against him in panic, my spirit self clinging to his for protection.

Let it go.

No fucking way. I couldn’t think of any Owned form that would safely exist in the blaze around me. The only option left was to hold on to this angel as if my life depended on it. Because my life
did
depend on it.

Let it go. Trust yourself. Trust me. I’m here to catch you, like a safety net.

I was like a trapeze artist frozen at the apex of a swing, on the verge of releasing from the bar to fly free a moment before snatching another. Would I have the courage to let go, to trust I’d survive that moment of free–fall? Or would I swing back, clinging to incinerated flesh?

Let go. Become the flame.

But how? I felt his spirit self merge slightly with mine, two becoming one in a thin line of translucent white. Yes, I could create fire, but how could I house myself in a form of energy? The angel before me had, but I wasn’t an angel. None of us demons were angels anymore. We’d devolved — perhaps too far for this sort of thing. I didn’t trust that I could do it and live.

I have you. I won’t let go,
he insisted.

I didn’t trust myself, but I did trust him. I jumped, feeling the remains of my human body fall away into flame and ash. There was the familiar stab of panic and joy, just like what I felt when I exploded out of my physical form and collapsed it back into a new one, converting the matter around me to my whim. For a second, I was free, a being of spirit unrestrained. I spread thin, stretched and on the verge of dissipating into nothingness. Fire of my doing burst around me, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it cloak me. The stretching became painful, and I felt a tear at the edge of my being, where the scars from my fight with Haagenti would always remain.

I’ve got you.

And he had. My panic subsided, leaving me shaky and drained. I wouldn’t be doing this again. No fucking way. I’d almost died. If he hadn’t been here to catch me, I
would
have died. Whatever it was I was supposed to have learned, I hadn’t. I’d failed, and I just wanted to go home, out of this fire, to where I could remain safely in a flesh form, as I had for centuries.

Try again.
His voice was gentle, but I heard the firm command behind the softness.

No. I hated to disappoint him, didn’t want to admit to my failure and my terrible fear to try again. I just couldn’t. Couldn’t. For a moment my panic returned. What if he forced me? Pulled away and threw me over the edge? There was nothing I could do to stop him.

Hush. I won’t make you if you’re not ready.

He rubbed against me, gently smoothing my new scars and shielding me from my surroundings. Feeling safe again, I opened my senses. I was gathered against him, joined in a strange combination of ecstasy and comfort. He felt like home — warm, powerful, and safe. I had a longing to join with him all the way, to swirl our spirit selves and make him part of me, but I was curious about the flame we shared. It wasn’t truly fire. It was some kind of strange energy source I’d never seen before.

What are you?
I asked.

An angel,
he teased.
What are you?

Your Cockroach.

It just came out of me, an involuntary response. The derogatory name he’d always called me had turned into a strange endearment, and I’d just formalized it, honoring him by making it part of my official name. Not only that, but I’d made it clear this was a private name. Only he could call me this, only he would know this name and its significance. I was
his
Cockroach.

I felt his surprise, and an explosion of emotion, like water bursting free from a dam. It was overwhelming, sweeping over me with its intensity. The humans always saw angels as a loving, happy bunch, dedicated to singing praises about the benevolence of their deity. Not the angels I’d met, and especially not Gregory. He always appeared to be serious, grim. He rarely laughed, and in the ten months I’d known him, he’d never seemed happy, but suddenly he was. He was more than happy.

He curled himself even closer to me, increasing the sections where we were joined, and stirring up all sorts of sensations. My thoughts blurred, all thought of the forest fire vanishing along with my fear of death. I relaxed and enjoyed the feel of him in and around me.

Give me magnesium, chlorine, oxygen, sulfur and carbon.

Huh? I shifted against him in confusion, and felt him brush against my store of raw energy.

Create it, and let me share it.

That was a new one. He’d asked me to create things before in what had become our private lesson time, but never when we were semi–joined like this.

How do you want them? And how much?
This was important. Chlorine wasn’t the most stable atom in the periodic table. This I knew from personal experience.

I felt him wince, as if he’d shared my rather explosive memory.
Four oxygen on one chlorine. The others standalone. A few ounces. I can dispose of any unused.

Safe in his embrace, I used my raw energy to create a few ounces of each, carefully combining the chlorine atoms with the oxygen ones.

Without a physical form to hold it, I expected the chemicals to just drop to the forest floor, which, given the fire around us, would have been a rather violent disaster, but the angel held it aloft. His flame changed, and suddenly the lot ignited, in a sizzling ball. He launched it, and it exploded just above the tree line, sending fireworks of silver–white to the sky in a burst of light and color bright enough to penetrate the thick, dark smoke. I knew he watched for my reaction, and I felt his pleasure in my delight at his trick.

Calcium chloride this time instead of the magnesium.

How are you doing this without black powder? How are you propelling the stars?
I’d explored human–made fireworks before. They were a dual–stage explosive, with initial propulsion, then a secondary, hotter ignition of chemicals. Magnesium had given his light show the silvery color, emitting light as it vibrated under heat. The worrisome chlorine and oxygen molecule created the heat needed, and the sulfur and carbon served as a reducer. But how was he getting the primary explosive?

I am not completely without talents. After all, fire is a skill of mine.
His voice was teasing and affectionate.

I guess fire included explosives of all sorts. Nifty skill to have. I was downright envious.

Come on. I’m not getting any younger here.

Yeah, at six billion or more years old, he certainly wasn’t. I obliged and saw orange sparks fly and explode like an immense marigold of fire as the calcium chloride heated to the exact temperature for maximum color. He continued to request chemical combinations, and our movements became synchronized as we worked together. Gregory instructed me, explaining the optimal ignition temperatures for each compound, and how the addition of chloride enhanced the shade. The shapes above us grew complex, a kaleidoscope of color. I relaxed, safe in his embrace and enjoying his skill and knowledge.

Your turn.

He separated his spirit being from mine, touching only a small part to reassure me that he was nearby. I felt him edge me to the outside of his form, to gently ease me on my own. I clung to his spirit self, desperately trying to merge us again.

You can do it. I’ll catch you if you need. I’m right here.

I steadied myself, touching only that small portion of him. I was still inside his physical form, sharing it, and the prospect of attempting to do this on my own was terrifying. He nudged me again, and, in panic, I tried to grab a portion of his physical form, his flame, to steal and use as my own.

No. Greedy Cockroach. Make your own flame.

I could feel his amusement. He held firm against my grasping reach. Ignoring my fear, and concentrating, I created a mundane flame, far simpler than his unknown energy. Cautiously, I edged myself into it, like a swimmer at a January beach testing the waters. I was surprised to feel the flame support and cradle my being. I’d done it. I was fire. I could move. I could exist in a flame as long as there were appropriate conditions for combustion. I created a small amount of magnesium, along with the other elements, and sent it skyward in a flash of silver. Gregory renewed his contact with me, the touch turning seductive.

Nicely done, my Cockroach. Now try orange and blue.

Calcium chloride and copper chloride. Tricky, since copper required a lower temperature. I kept my fireworks on the ground, and our flames exploded in the colors that mirrored my spirit being. This was fun, but my concentration was beginning to falter with the press of him against me. Giving up the pursuit of fireworks, I turned my attention to the angel and caressed him in return. I didn’t have to ask twice. He snatched me from my flame and gathered me against him, my orange–blue an obscene splash of color against his red purple. We swirled together, and I lost track of everything except the feel of him all around me.

His spirit self explored every inch, giving wide berth to the massive amount of destructive raw energy I held. As he neared the scarred edges, still tender from the fight with Haagenti, I pulled back. He persisted, maneuvering me until he could again touch the damaged sections.

I’m still injured there.

I’m being very gentle. I just want to see.

It’s not pretty. I was embarrassed. Yes, he had scars too, but his were old and knitted together, trophies from a time of war, while mine were still fresh and raw and had a less than glorious story behind them. I winced, remembering his disgust over my devouring nature. These must repulse him as well, a reminder of who and what I truly was.

I think otherwise.

I relaxed, sensing his sincerity. His careful touch actually felt good, soothing against the tender areas.

So I’m beautiful in spite of my scars,
I teased.

No, you’re beautiful because of your scars
.

It was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to me. I felt a strange sensation of trust, a sense that perhaps this weird mismatch of opposites might actually turn into something beautiful, might reveal a future I’d never considered. I let myself free–fall into his embrace, and the soothing touch turned erotic. With a forest fire around us, a smokeless flame housing us, we merged sections, then pulled apart, always remaining safely attached to our shared corporeal form. I wanted so much more, and I knew he did too. Someday. Maybe someday we could do this all the way again, but for now, this strange exquisite torture of foreplay would have to do.

We continued to share one flame, caressing and exploring until we finally relaxed in a sort of cuddle. Reluctantly, I separated myself, creating a flame to house my being once again.

Sorry. I know that wasn’t what either of us wanted. Wasn’t enough.