Flaming Dove (18 page)

Beelzebub blew out his breath. "I assure you, our camp is nothing like that. Among the demons of Hell, there is just good booze, and song, and merriment." He leaned over the bonfire, the flames painting his face red. "And we can train you, Laila. Train you to discover the great strength of your blood, to become a warrior of legend. Don't you want to learn such power?"

She turned and began to walk away. "Goodbye, Beelzebub." Who needed him? She had enough of other people. Wherever she went, she was the odd one out, the freak. Wherever she went, she ended up hurting those she loved. Her back turned to Beelzebub, she remembered her dog Eclipse and bit her lip to curb her tears. She did not deserve civilization. Here in the forests she could hurt no one, but live wild and bloody and dirty, the only way a half-breed could live. To humans she was a monster. To demons she was angelic, and to angels she was demonic.
I don't need them. I'm a lone wolf, and that's fine with me.

Beelzebub spoke behind her in the shadows, voice soft. "Do you ever feel scared at night?"

She paused. Something about his soft voice made a tear escape her eye. She felt it flow down her cheek, and she tasted it against her mouth, bloody.

He kept speaking, voice still soft. "I know what it's like, Laila. To live banished. In exile. Cursed and monstrous and hunted. I too was exiled from Heaven, demonic. You are not alone, Laila." She heard him step toward her. "You no longer have to fear the dark, lonely night when your tears fall, when your loneliness and despair creep out of shadows to claim you."

She turned to face him, fangs bared, face bloody with tears. "You know nothing!" she hissed, stretching out her bat wings.

He took another step toward her, eyes like lanterns. "I know that you hide here. That you run. I know that you hurt, that you are confused, not knowing who you are, what you'll do with your power, or once Hell wins this war. Laila, I knew your mother. We were friends long before the rebellion against God. We became enemies—she was an angel, I a demon—but I want to help her offspring, for the sake of the friendship we once had. I want to help you, Laila, because I was once like you. I can help you feel less scared and confused."

His eyes were kind, his hands opened, and Laila felt a sob escape her. She hated that she wept, that her knees trembled. She turned her head to hide her tears. "Leave me," she said. She tried to growl, but could not, only weep.

She felt his hand in her hair. "Poor child. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen? A mere child, and yet you carry the weight of Heaven, Hell, and the war between them on your shoulders. All your life, the angels treated you as a monster. So did the humans. I know what that's like, Laila."

Without knowing how it happened, Laila found herself in his embrace, weeping against his shoulder, hating herself for it. He kissed her forehead and smiled upon her, all smooth words and soft caresses, and Laila fell for him that night.
Yes, I fell for him during those dark years of my youth.

And so he taught her. He brought her to the old tower where he lived in those years, rising over the ruins of Jerusalem. He taught her about the angels of Heaven, and the demons of underground, about war, and about love. All the secret ways of kisses, caresses, and unspeakable nights did he teach her, of forbidden pleasures Heaven would never know. In his arms, she had come to love him, her mentor, her wise old lord.

Yes, I loved him then.

Lying on the forest floor, Laila blinked, gazing up at the canopy, shifting in pain, bruised. "I still love you, Beelzebub," she whispered. "I always will."

She shut her eyes, a bloody tear trailing down her cheek. Someday, very soon, she would have to kill him and take his throne... and Laila did not know if she could.

* * * * *

As Michael flew, following Zarel's fiery trail, he caught sight of the Demon Queen. A fireball in the sky, she fluttered several miles ahead. She saw him too, then turned to flee, heading west to Hell's garrison at the fort.

Let her flee,
Michael thought in disgust. He didn't want to be anywhere near his demonic sister-in-law. He wanted to find Laila. Where was the girl?

A ball of smoke hung in the sky ahead, slowly dispersing in the wind. The duel between Laila and Zarel must have been fought here, though Michael could not see the half-breed. He scanned the trees below and spotted a black cloak upon the branches.
Laila's cloak.

The sight of her cloak, like a body upon the trees, sent a cold jab through Michael. Would he find Laila's body below? Eyes narrowed, Michael descended toward the trees, lifted the cloak from the canopy, and examined it. Blood covered the cloth. Michael dropped through the canopy toward the ground and there, upon a carpet of pine needles, he found Laila.

The girl lay on her back, limbs sprawled to her sides, black hair spread around her. Her skin was pale, blood trickled from her nose and lip, and claw marks ran down her arms. Her eyes were shut. Fingers of light fell through the trees upon her, mottling her with patches of light.
Damn you, if you died on me, Laila....

Michael knelt by her and placed his ear near her mouth. She breathed, and when he checked her pulse, it seemed strong. Michael blew out his breath in frustration. Laila was bashed up, bruised, and bloody, but aside from a swollen lip, a headache, and perhaps some stitches, she'd be fine.

You scared me, stupid girl.

He bound her wounds with strips from her cloak. She mumbled, shifting, blinking, struggling to wake up, still half-asleep. "Volkfair," she mumbled. "Is that you, Volkfair?"

Michael sighed.
Pea-brained, wretched little devil.
He couldn't decide what he felt more toward her: pity or anger. He nudged her with his foot.

"Get up," he said, not bothering to mask his disgust.

Laila opened her eyes, blinked, and winced. "Ouch. I have a headache."

Michael grunted. "You're lucky to have a head period. Get up."

Wincing, Laila stood up. Her knees wobbled and she rubbed her temples. She tested her wings, flapping one at a time, and winced again. "My whole body hurts. Owie."

"That's what happens when you attack the Queen of Hell by yourself with no backup. You should know better."

Laila struggled to focus her gaze on him, blinking, rubbing her eyes. "I could have taken her if you hadn't interfered."

"Like hell," Michael said. His own wounds still hurt, and he wanted nothing more than a long bath and a good sleep, but he was not done with Laila. Somebody needed to beat some sense into her; if Zarel's blows hadn't done that, perhaps his words could. "You faced Zarel once before, and she nearly killed you. You should have known better than to face her alone. She is the Queen of Hell, a thousand years old. You're twenty-seven and stupid to boot."

Laila's halo of fire ignited, and her eyes blazed, some of their strength returning. Her cheeks flushed. When you were Laila, a legend in Heaven and Hell, you weren't used to people calling you stupid. "To hell with this." Laila spat and turned to leave, cursing. "Damn it, if I'm so pathetic and weak, why the hell did you pursue me all my life? Since I was a girl, you and your brother have been chasing me, trying to get me to join you, telling tall tales of how I'm some super warrior. And now you tell me I'm weak?"

"I didn't say weak," Michael said. "I said young. And stupid. And inexperienced."

"Gee, thanks, mister." She started to walk away, pine needles crunching under her boots. "I quit, jerk. I'm out of here. Goodbye."

He grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into her. "Where will you go, Laila?" he said, holding her fast as she twisted. "Back to living in the forest like a stray dog? Wandering the desert like a hermit? Moaning and weeping until Heaven or Hell takes over Earth and fills it with godlight or hellfire, either one of which would kill you? What happened to your plan of taking over Hell and extinguishing the hellfire?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Zarel gave you a few bumps on the head, and you decide to give up and run away? You abandon all your plans, leave Zarel to rule in Hell, leave your sister imprisoned?"

She tugged her arm, but could not free herself from his grasp, and her eyes blazed. "Back off, man. You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through, okay?" Bloody tears ran down her cheeks.

He still would not let her go, refusing to pity her; pity did no good to Laila of the night. "Do you still want to kill Zarel?" he said. "Do you still want a home in Hell?"

"I thought I was too stupid and inexperienced to kill Zarel. You said so just a minute ago."

He stared at her. A tear of blood flowed along her lip and entered her mouth. "Too inexperienced now, yes. But I'll train you."

She glowered. "I don't need training. I know how to fight."

"By firing an Uzi? Please. Any common human infantryman learned how to fire a gun at his first week in basic training. Did your bullets do Zarel any harm? Did your grenades so much as dent her scales? We're talking about the Queen of Hell here, and you're using weapons designed for killing humans. And when you do scratch your claws, you're slow, and clumsy, slashing like you're trying to carve up meat rather than harm an archdemon."

She snickered. "And you, the mighty warrior Michael, will teach me?"

"I, the mighty warrior Michael, the archangel, the Lord of God's Hosts, will teach you to fight. Not with guns, not with grenades, but with heavenly blades of light, and with speed, and with cunning. You're strong, Laila. You have the strength of a great archangel or archdemon. You are stronger than Zarel, than me, maybe even stronger than Beelzebub. But you lack training. I will train you." He tightened his grip on her arm, leaning forward. "And after I train you, Laila... then, the next time you meet Zarel, she will fear you."

She yanked herself free at last and glared up at him. "I did defeat Angor, you know."

"And nearly died in the doing, if I recall correctly. And Zarel is more powerful than Angor tenfold, and Beelzebub is stronger than Zarel. And you hope to usurp them?"

She gave him her best glare, eyes like lanterns. "And you think you can teach me new tricks." Her voice was half dismissive, but Michael heard the undertone of interest.

"I've been a soldier for thousands of years, Laila. You learned how to fight by hunting boars in the hills."

"I'm not using a sword."

Michael turned and started walking away, the pine needles crunching under his feet.

"Fine, fine!" she called after him. "Sheesh. But at least don't give me a sword with swan wings etched into it or something. I want a black blade, with a skull on the pommel, or maybe devil horns. Please just not some heavenly weapon."

Michael suppressed the small smile that curled his lips, then turned back and stared at her. "Get your rest tonight, Laila. Meet me at Caesarea at dawn, at the amphitheatre. We start your training then."

Chapter Twelve

Laila arrived late at the amphitheatre. Dawn was several hours past when she fluttered down into the ancient Roman structure and found Michael standing there, arms crossed over his breastplate. Her wounds from dueling Zarel ached, and she still felt weak and battered.

She landed in the amphitheatre, feet raising dust. Michael glared at her.

"Be late again, and the deal's off," he said.

"Oh yes sir." She gave him a mocking salute.
I don't even want to be here.
Everything still hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to escape to a pub or cave and drink the pain away.
I don't care about Michael. I don't care if Bat El is imprisoned. All I ever wanted was to drink, to hunt with Volkfair, to be left alone.
"I'm only here because I'm curious to see if you really can teach me any tricks, but to be honest, I'm doubtful. If you were such a mighty warrior, you would have faced Angor yourself, not dragged me from my pub to fight him."

Michael shot her his best glare, and Laila smirked. Did he really think he could treat her like some angel recruit new to Earth? She was Laila, of fire and shadows, not some lowly soldier. Michael had to learn that.

Michael spat and turned to leave. "Forget it. You're done. Go to hell, Laila. You don't want to train here? Then leave. We'll take over this world without you. Good luck with the whole usurpation of Hell thing."

Laila rolled her eyes. "You going to pull that whole walking away in disgust routine again? All right! God. I'm sorry, okay? I got beat up pretty bad yesterday, so I overslept. Sue me."

He turned back with a sigh, stepped toward her, and handed her a sword, hilt first. At first Laila didn't realize it was a sword; it looked more like rusty scrap metal. She stared at the weapon with its chipped, rusted blade and wooden handle, then stared at Michael.

"No thank you," she said.

"You agreed to train with a sword. Well, here's your sword."

"That's not a sword, that's a tetanus colony."

Michael shrugged. "You didn't want a heavenly sword. All the others are carved with David Stars, or crosses, or halos and angel wings, filigreed with gold."

Laila took the sword in disgust. Cobwebs clung to the blade. "
This
sword would break if you cut butter with it," she said.

"Learn to use it, and we'll forge you a better one."

Fine.
He wanted her to use a sword? She'd prove she could use one and be done with. Maybe then he'll teach her some real things, not games with rusty blades. Feigning disinterest, she suddenly leapt toward him, lashing the rusty blade.
I'll give him a scratch across the cheek, and we'll see how tough he acts then.

So fast she barely saw him move, Michael blocked her blow, kicked her legs from underneath her, and she slammed against the ground. She found herself lying, his boot upon her neck.

"Nice try," he said.

Laila stared at him, hissing, fangs bared. She hadn't thought the old angel had it in him. "For a dour, reflective son of a bitch, you can move fast," she said.