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Azael
, I say, focusing my energy into my pendent. I slide the rough stone back and forth across the chain, which buzzes quietly.

Pen.
His voice is quiet and clipped.

Am I interrupting something?

Not anymore. Just had a bit of a problem with a rogue ‘Lim.

Giving them nicknames, now?

Ah, that would be dear Lilith’s doing. It’s catchy, don’t you think? Sounds a bit like “limb,” which is always the first thing they try to bite! They love calves and a nice chewy bicep. Get it? When they spread the virus, they make this weird sound in their throat that sounds a bit like croaking. You know, before the bone crunching and muscle munching sounds.

I scrunch my face in disgust. And that is when I know something is truly different inside of me. This gore, days ago, would have excited me, at least to some extent. I would have hung on every detail of the virus spreading, the humans slowly decimating their own race. But now, it makes me queasy. So much waste…

Fantastic, but I think I prefer Lilim over ‘Lim. So I take it the tracking is going well? Have you heard from Gus?

Azael scoffs.
I am not Gus’s messenger.

I wait.

Okay, fine, this time maybe I am his messenger. I’ve been communicating with him through the map. I’ve sent him beautiful illustrations I’ve done just for him. A melting horse, two fornicating women. Very raunchy, and I’m getting pretty good, too. They’re much more realistic than I used to draw. I don’t think he appreciates them though.

I can’t imagine why.

I think it’s because he has nothing to draw back to me. He’s barely able to craft a verbal insult, let alone a pictorial one. I bet he can’t even draw well!

Has he said anything useful? Like when this will all be over?
I sigh quietly, hoping he can’t hear.

You’ll have to be more specific with ‘this.’ This task? This war? This world?

Don’t be a prick. I just need a status report. Is that too much to ask?

He laughs.
Progress is… progressing. And fast, it would seem. He’s still not set on an exact date, but I think it’s soon. I can feel it, can’t you? It’s escalating much faster than anyone anticipated, as things are wont to do with angels and demons. And I can’t wait to get my hands on some of those angels and pluck the feathers from their wings like chickens.

I remain quiet.

C’mon, Pen, get excited! It’s not too often that we get the green light to go full force at some angels. It’s about time, too! I say we grill them over the flames of the dead. Torture them, make it nice and slow.

I shake my head.
Gus must be so pleased you are coming up with these creative plans. I know how he loves your innovation.

Exactly my thought! OH! I forgot to tell you the best part. We’ve officially been promoted. Or, I have, specifically. Yours is more… tentative.

Another tentative promotion?

They can track my progress as I go, so they know I’m kicking some major ass out here.
I can practically hear the cocky grin in his voice.
You, on the other hand, are working on a cumulative score. No one knows how well you’ve done your job until D-day. Speaking of which, how’s it going?

It’s going…
I try to think of something convincing to say, some detail to prove that I’m doing what I’ve been told to do.
I taught him how to fight today. And he told me he’s not convinced Heaven’s got it right. I asked him if he would fight for Lucifer. Not straight out, like that, just offhandedly.

And little Michael said…?

He considered it. I think I can convince him.
I swallow a lump in my throat.

That’s my sister.

I hesitate for a moment, trying to grab on to a small shard of courage to ask him what’s been weighing on my mind for the last few days.
Hey, Az, remember when we first fell and I asked if you thought there was a middle ground between Heaven and Hell?

He scoffs.
Yeah, it’s called Earth.

No, what I mean is…
I take a breath and try to come at him from another angle.
There can’t only be pure goodness and pure evil, right?

We’ve been over this, Pen.
He sounds angry, his voice flat and cruel.
There are only two sides to a coin. Heads or tails, good or evil. There is no third side—when you flip a coin it doesn’t land on its edge. There is nothing in between. It’s one or the other.

Well what if—

He cuts me off.
Enough nonsense. Let’s get back to me before I lose interest in this conversation completely.

I bite my tongue and stay silent. He’s not hearing what I’m saying; he doesn’t want to listen. I have to force back my disappointment with his dismissive tone and pretend not to be bothered by it. Az can’t know how important this is to me—how desperately I want there to be a third side to a coin, a middle ground, a gray area.

So do you know what it means when we get a promotion?

Darker wings?
I guess.
Larger weapons? A fruit basket?

Muffin basket, actually,
he jokes back.
And on top of that, added skills. I don’t need you to kill people for me anymore.

What?!
Even though I knew the time would come where he would have full powers, a shock pierces through me. I never thought it would be so soon.

That’s right. We can now be sold as separate items, making us both drastically more valuable! I can kill now. And Hell, it feels amazing. No wonder you went so crazy in that hospital waiting room. I don’t see why you hold yourself back so much. I can’t even begin to tell you how many throats I’ve ripped. I can fillet a human like no other.

So I’ll be able to reap?

I can almost feel him roll his eyes.
Fine, ignore all the cool things I can do now. Yes, when you get your promotion, you’ll be able to reap souls. They figured that it would be beneficial for us both to be able to kill and reap. That way they can send us on more solo missions. Spread our wings, so to speak.

So to speak,
I repeat.

Are you jealous?

No, I’m not jealous
, I say a little sharply.

No, you’re not jealous at all. Definitely not. You don’t sound the least bit bitter.

I’ll be promoted soon, and then you’ll be the one moping around because I won’t need you anymore. I’ll have my own collection of souls to carry around.

Except I won’t. I’ll never be promoted, and I’ll never be able to reap a soul. Because I’m a traitor. It’s not official yet, and I haven’t technically done anything traitorous against Hell, but the thought is there, as is the plan.

In some ways, it’s a relief to hear that Azael has been promoted. He doesn’t need me anymore. I can let go of him and know that he’ll be fine. He won’t be looked down on for being only a half-powerful demon. He can do it all now. But this also makes him more of a threat to me. I never had to worry about keeping my eye on Az before, and now suddenly he seems dangerous.

I won’t have time to mope. I’ll be too busy ripping my way through Heaven!

Right.

So you see, I’ll have bigger and better things on my plate than to worry about you encroaching on my territory.

I hear a loud explosion from Azael’s side of the conversation.

Az?

Silence.

Azael?!

Holy Hell, that was awesome!
He’s laughing like a lunatic.

What was that? Are you okay?

Of course I’m okay, Pen. Who do you think I am, some amateur? That was just a propane tank blowing up. The hazards of Lilim fighting a bit too close to a barbecue. The fireworks are fantastic. It’s just the meat shower afterwards that I find a tad unpleasant. I’ll have to wash their flesh out of my hair. Do you know how hard it is to wash flesh out of your hair?

My stomach flips uncharacteristically.
Not personally, no.

Consider yourself lucky.

He’s so flippant about those affected by the virus. He doesn’t care at all. He’s worried more about his hair than the people who were blown up in the explosion. And suddenly I understand that all of the good that was left in Azael is gone, frozen over time in the depths of Hell.

That’s why he can’t even fathom that there is something between good and evil, that both tendencies can exist in all of us. That’s why he won’t listen to what I’m saying.

I hear him laugh again as a second explosion erupts on his side. With a sinking feeling, I realize that it is hopeless to save him. There’s no convincing him; the evil in him will never thaw and give way to something better.

If I leave Hell, he will never follow me.

Oh trust me, I consider myself very lucky to not be covered in chunks of human flesh. Az, I’ll talk to you later, all right?

Yeah, sure.
He sounds distracted.

Just, be safe...
I say, hoping he can hear me.

Not in my nature,
he hisses before severing our connection.

I know it’s not.

I tuck my necklace back under my shirt, adjust the straps of my backpack on my shoulder, and allow myself to let go of Azael as I see the tops of the mountains coming into view. I imagine saying goodbye one last time, and I picture what it will be like walking away from him.

He’ll be better off without me. I have to tell myself that. I have to believe that’s the truth.

Chapter 20

When I left the Pacific Northwest, the fingers of fall had just started to spread across the forests. The autumn palette of oranges, golds, and reds was slowly beginning to encroach on the greens of summer, like the woods were starting to rust. But there are no traces of summer left in the ridges and valleys of the Appalachian. Even in the darkness, I can see the rich colors of the leaves that cling desperately to the trees.

The October air is crisp and dry, the sky clear and bright. I’ve missed the mountains. This weather invites more hikers during the days, but they typically remain on the designated paths. And those who don’t stay on the paths, those adventurous or stupid enough to explore the overgrown trails on their own, are easy to avoid. After all, the mountains are huge and offer hundreds of hiding places, and there is no one more familiar with these hiding places than I am.

None are as beautiful as Michael’s cave,
I think.

I don’t plan on staying out here too long. Tomorrow, I’ll go into the closest city and find someplace decent to stay. Somewhere more human, less animal. Maybe I’ll use some of the emergency cash I have stolen away in my backpack to rent a nice, fluffy hotel room with room service and a hot shower. I would kill for a hot shower.

But for tonight, the woods will do.

I land on a high bluff of one of the tallest ridges of the mountain, my feet connecting solidly to the rocks below with a crunch. I lean over the cliff and stare down to the tops of the trees below me. The colorful tawny leaves are splattered across the trees like the drunken brushstrokes of a careless artist. The color stands out brightly against the cold gray of the mountain side.

I walk away from the bluff and into the thick covering of trees. The ground slopes down and the rough granite turns into tightly packed dirt. Roots of trees that border the narrow trail twist above the dirt and create a set of large landings, sectioning the path off into strange steps. Without these natural stairs, the path would have been too steep and I would not have been able to climb down without slipping.

I run down the hill, hopping from one step to another, until I reach a small shack meant for hunters or campers. The wood of the cabin is old and dry, and it lists horribly to one side, sinking into the uneven ground, but it doesn’t look like it’s rotting. The roof has no noticeable holes, and the windows, surprisingly, aren’t broken. I walk up to the creaking, wooden-planked entrance of the cabin and peek in one of the grimy windows. It’s empty, so I reach to the front door and go in.

The inside of the cabin smells musty and like animals, but it’s better than sleeping outside in the dirt. It’s a one-room shack with a tiny fireplace on one wall, a wooden pallet for a bed pushed below a small window, and a rickety picnic table in the center of the room. There are two windows next to the front door and two small windows looking out of the back of the cabin that offer a dirty view of a valley below this ridge.

There are still some logs stacked in the fireplace, charred black on their bottom. I light them with a wave of my hand and swing my backpack onto the picnic table. It lands with a thud and I straddle the splintered bench, digging through the pockets of the bag.

I only have one more clean t-shirt left and one tattered sweatshirt. Sitting at the bottom of the bag is a bruised apple wrapped up in a cloth napkin. It’s the last of my food so I’ll have to hike down into the city early tomorrow if I want breakfast. I pull it out and shine it on my shirt before biting into it. The apple is bitter and juicy, and underneath its soft skin, it is beginning to brown. I finish it too quickly and toss the core into the fire.