Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5) (9 page)

On a rare whim, he stepped out of the alleyway, blinking as the blinding light of the midday sun hit his eyes. Tall brick and concrete buildings stood in an endless row to either side and across the busy street. Cars whizzed by, barely missing the ones lining the curb, the six feet separating them from the buildings a floor of cement. The only nod to nature was a sickly tree, allotted two square feet of cigarette butt laden soil at the edge of the sidewalk. A woman in uniform walked past him, checking parking meters as she went.

Normally he attracted a lot of attention. In the past, he’d have a crowd of humans following him around within moments of his arrival from Aaru. Demons blended in with their ability to copy human forms to a molecule. Angels stuck out, always looking somewhat non-human. Some covered for it with a charisma that allowed humans to believe what their eyes told them was wrong. Gabriel always preferred the opposite approach—to exude an aura that made humans just not notice him. It was as if he wasn’t there at all.

He watched the uniformed woman write on a slip of paper and slip it securely on the windshield of a parked car before he turned to walk down the street. They’d lost so many angels in the wars. Not as many as the rebels had, but still enough that his heart ached. After the war their numbers had stabilized. Immortals had no need to bear offspring. No deaths, no births—it seemed at the time a proposal they could live with. But now… Part of him hoped this mad scheme was legitimate, that once again he’d see creation in Aaru.

It wasn’t just the continuance of the angelic race, it was the loss of new life that was eating Aaru from the inside out. There had been that terrible fiasco with the tenth choir. Angels still fell into sin by breeding with human females. Their evolutionary progress had slowed to a crawl. Of course, that was to be expected. As one approached divinity, advances would be more difficult to achieve.

To create once again. To select traits and qualities from oneself and imbue a new being with them. It was a heady thought—one he hadn’t allowed himself to have in millions of years. If this angel was right, if there was a way to produce offspring without sullying principals, then everything would change. Perhaps this would be the very thing to breathe life back into Aaru.

Three angels dead in one year. He was still irked at the loss of Althean. The rogue had exceeded his reach, but Gabriel could certainly sympathize with his frustration. One dead at the hands of a devouring spirit. But the other—what had happened to him? Dead not a week later in a mysterious explosion. Angels were a hearty bunch. It would have taken one heck of an explosion to kill one.

A sting on his arm jolted him from his thoughts. Before he could turn, another barrage of thin, small objects bounced off his head and body.

“Get out of here. Go home. We refuse to submit to your oppressive presence.”

Gabriel swatted away the objects and stared in surprise at a young bearded man, standing in front of a large cardboard box beside a dumpster. He held a bag in his hand suspiciously like the one Gabriel’s elder brother had carried, but instead of eating the chips, he was using them as projectile weapons. Their triangular form was more effective than the round ones would have been, but they still were a less than ideal missile.

“You can see me?”

The man threw a few more chips at the angel before stopping. “Of course I can see you. Angels and demons everywhere, coming and going, disrupting our lives. Go back to where you belong, and leave us alone!”

It made sense that there would be a congregation of angels and demons in this particular area, what with one of the major gates just a few miles away. Still, the fact that this human recognized him for what he was and seemed unaffected by any aura or glamor amazed Gabriel.

Another handful of chips hit Gabriel’s face. “Stop throwing those things at me,” he commanded, pushing four billion years of power into the compulsion.

For the first time in his long life, it didn’t work. The human screamed at him and rushed Gabriel, throwing chips and eventually hitting him repeatedly with the empty bag until the angel fled back out into the street. What was wrong with this man? Humans had clearly changed since he’d frequented here. How could angels fall to sin with… this? Were his brother’s enforcers regularly subjected to this sort of attack? Had those two dead angels, possibly down here on an unholy visit, been assaulted with food items and chased down the street?

Gabriel came to an abrupt halt as the idea came to him. If he really wanted to get to the bottom of the murders, he needed to do it here, not in Aaru. This is where they had come; this is where they had died; this was where he would find the answers he sought. Unpleasant as it would be to walk the earth, he’d discover more here than in the labyrinth of political cover-up among the angels. Perhaps there were humans like the violent one in the alley who had witnessed the murders. Perhaps there were clues left behind. If his brother’s Grigori refused to make this a priority and investigate in a timely fashion, he should do it himself.

A bell rang and Gabriel started. A stream of children ran from a brick building set further back from the road then the others. They all wore identical clothing—long navy shorts that came to their knees, and white button-down shirts with a crimson-and-black-striped tie. They tore down the entranceway, slowing as they rounded the corner on the sidewalk and parting around Gabriel as if he were a stone in a fast moving stream. They were all male children, he realized. Human genders were difficult to discern in their young, but he somehow knew this. Opening his mind, he let their thoughts flood him, crashing into him with a calliope of emotion—tests, parents, dinner, an itchy rash, the cute neighbor girl, fear, anger, joy, sorrow. He was used to hearing the communications of a thousand angels at once, but the raw passion in these children’s minds left him shaken. Two of them ran up behind a third and knocked him with their shoulders, tripping him and laughing as he fell.

Smelly worm. Know-it-all. Hope he never comes back. Hope he moves.

Gabriel caught his breath at the volume of hate and closed his mind with a snap. Even their young were corrupted. Nothing had changed. Being here among the humans as he investigated the murders would be one of the most painful things he’d ever done. There was no way he’d be able to endure any extended time among these creatures. He should leave this phase of the inquiries to the Grigori after all. It wasn’t his job to do this. He’d leave it to those better suited to dealing with the humans and go back to Aaru where he belonged, away from the temptation and constant reminder of how evil could permeate even the most promising of species.

Again he thought about a great cleansing, about starting over with another, but then a wave of guilt went through him. It was the angels’ fault this had happened—the tenth choir, the original Grigori fallen and lost to sin, giving humans gifts they were not ready to accept. The angels had been punished, some of them still in the process of rehabilitation, but the damage had been done. How could he fully blame them, though? They’d been without Angels of Chaos for over two million years, making it oh-so-easy to slide into depravity. And the humans were so very tempting.

No joining. No creation. No chasing little brothers through the air in retaliation for a strike of lightning. How could a decision of virtue and morality have gone so wrong? There was no way to undo the past, but perhaps, if that angel were correct, there was some hope for the future. And then, maybe, they could finally leave the humans to whatever future the Creator had in mind.

9

I
awoke to a world of pain. I felt like I should be dead. Each breath stabbed through me, my face was swollen, my arms completely purple and green. It was just as well I wasn’t dead. Being inside a decaying body wasn’t much better than being pond scum. Although, if I could animate a dead body, I might be able to terrify the elves enough to escape. I can’t imagine what they’d think having a zombie in their midst. Demons always died when their physical forms did, and seeing what would appear to be a dead human shambling about would probably cause mass hysteria. I chuckled, envisioning the panicked elves, and immediately wished I hadn’t as blinding pain shot through my chest and back.

I had two fractured vertebrae, a bruised spleen, two cracked ribs and three battered ones, a concussion, and more bruises than a heavyweight boxer. Oddly, the hairline fracture of my right femur, and shattered ankle I’d noted last night had somehow repaired themselves. How had I managed to fix injuries in my damaged state with the collar on me? Was the thing perhaps defective? Maybe my damaged spirit-self was repairing faster than I’d thought possible.

And what the fuck was I going to do now? I’d killed the sorcerer, and I was positive that all the elves in Hel couldn’t put that guy back together again. Not even Gregory could bring him back to life. But the advantage his death bought me wouldn’t be worth shit if all I could do was lie here, a mess of broken bones and purple flesh. By the time it took me to heal naturally, Feille would have another sorcerer transferred from one of his conquered kingdoms and up to speed.

Wallowing in pain and frustration, I was surprised to hear the slam of a door. The elves must have fixed the dungeon. I couldn’t really tell, since every sense was clouded in discomfort. I heard voices and caught my breath. Feille and a voice I thought I’d never hear along with his—Taullian. The two elves approached the glowing bars of my cell, accompanied by half a dozen elven guards and as many human magic users. I glanced over at the humans, dismayed to see that from their robes, two appeared to be high-level sorcerers. It seems the time I’d bought myself had been less than I’d hoped. I hadn’t expected Feille to act so fast, or for his archenemy to do such an about face.

Wythyn and Cyelle had fought since the elves had joined us in Hel. They shared no common borders, separated by another elven kingdom along the northern two-thirds of the kingdoms, and by demon lands at the southern portion. Still, they’d managed to inflict damage on each other with spies, surprise guerrilla attacks, and theft of riches. The last two millennia had seen an uneasy truce between the kingdoms, even more uneasy once the younger Taullian took the throne after his predecessor died following a mysterious wasting illness.

“In bed with the enemy, Taullian,” I said, my voice slurred with pain. “I always knew you were weak, but I didn’t expect you to be so eager to have Feille fuck you in the ass.”

Both elves stiffened in anger. They should have been used to our vulgarities by now, but elves never learned.

“I know what’s in the best interests of my people, Az. And a peaceful treaty is far from what you’re implying.”

Nice words, but he was full of shit and he knew it. Taullian’s ruling style alternated between democratic and bossy. He’d always been seen as weak compared to his more fierce neighbors and had been unable to completely quell unrest in his kingdom. Half his kingdom would probably welcome Feille. A peaceful treaty was his only choice, but it would be a short-lived peace if I knew Feille.

“This treaty just delays the inevitable, Tally-boy. Once this asshole gets his feet on the ground, your head will be the first to roll.”

“One more word and I’ll cut out your tongue,” Feille snapped. “And you won’t be able to recreate another with that collar on.”

Little did he know I probably couldn’t recreate one without the collar on. Still, I uncharacteristically obeyed, wanting to find out exactly what these two had up their little green sleeves, and what it had to do with me. Did Taullian know about Feille’s project? Did he know how fucked they’d truly be if Feille was able to get his hands on a vast store of high-level demon energy?

Taullian curled up a lip as he scrutinized me through the bars. “Looks like you did your best to kill her. She looks like a black and blue pretzel.”

Trust Taullian to have all the good similes at his disposal.

“She’s alive. I have no idea why. Trust me, I tried with all my might to kill her. Even after my guards beat her, I made sure I got in a few more hits just to be sure. But here she is, alive and breathing.”

“Why isn’t she in a net? Don’t you worry she will overcome your magical protections? Does the collar you mentioned perform the same function?”

Feille grinned at me, his smile sadistic. “The collar restricts all her demon abilities and renders her no more powerful than a human. Unlike a net, which restrains her physically, this collar allows us to have all sorts of fun with her.”

Taullian looked doubtful. “I’ve seen her in action. I’m not so sure I want her to be able to have control of her limbs.”

Feille made a derisive sound, but an uneasy look flickered across his face. “You’re an elf and a high lord. If you can’t control a rebellious demon, you’re not worthy of the throne.”

Brave words from someone who I had intimidated into returning my horse, someone who I’d nearly bested with only “human” strength.

What were these two doing together? They hated each other. Feille had said that Taullian was on the verge of signing an oath of loyalty to him, basically handing over his kingdom in return for peace. I hadn’t believed it. Surely Taullian would have strung Feille along only to launch a last moment attack. I couldn’t see him ever bowing his head to Feille’s reign. Was he as weak as everyone had thought, or did he have something sneaky up his sleeve?

Taullian ignored the other elf’s barb and shook his head at me. “How am I supposed to enact my own vengeance when she’s hanging onto life by a thread?”

Well, he could heal me then beat the shit out of me himself. Although I wasn’t sure elven healing powers would work on demons. I hadn’t heard of it ever being done before. We always fixed ourselves, except for the Low, and no one cared whether they lived or died. An angel had healed me, several times. Perhaps elves could too.

Feille sighed. “She stubbornly refuses to fix herself just to spite me. Give her enough pain, drive her to the edge of death, and suddenly she’ll do it. Trust me.”