Plague of Angels (14 page)

“Scar them,” suggested Ishtar. “Male and female alike. Just above the genitals. Scary, but isn’t seen in public… ”

“No scarring!” said Nyx, rolling her eyes. “And no virginity either. Not unless they want to,” Nyx amended. “Here, they will give sacrifice of their lust and their money of their own free will. Our temple will take their coin, and will use it to spread the word and build more temples. This temple,” she looked up at the architecture and smiled, “Is for the Emperors of Rome.”

Persephone turned her innocent eyes on Ishtar. “Oh, great emperor, will you sacrifice with me?”

Ishtar shifted forms, and became a naked Julius Caesar in his prime. “Of course, little girl.”

“I think that’s overstated,” said Persephone, pointing.

“Actually not,” said Ishtar. “What do you think Cleopatra saw in him?”

“Well, in that case…” Persephone looked around. “Nyx, where’s the altar?”

“It arrives tomorrow,” said Nyx, still not amused. Persephone pouted, and on her young woman’s face it looked exceedingly pretty. Her skin was smooth as milk, her long eyelashes mink-dark.

“Then where shall I sacrifice my lust?”

“When in Rome,” said Nyx, “Find a Roman villa. And when you get finished, it’s time to start dealing with these Christians.”

35 A.D. – Jerusalem

“Please, Caiaphas,” whispered Persephone, trying to ignore how ugly, sweaty, and smelly the man was. She wore the same body she had in Nyx’s temple. It was a favorite of hers for seduction, for men (and some women) seemed unable to resist it. The thin silks of her outfit barely covered her flesh, and the many layers gave tantalizing glimpses of what lay beneath the cloth.

“Really?” had been Ishtar’s response when Persephone told Nyx and Ishtar of the plan. “Like that’s going to work.”

“It worked for Salome,” said Nyx. “Do it and see what happens. With luck, we can cut down some of the followers right away.”

Now Persephone swayed gently before the High Priest of the Sanhedrin, letting him gaze lustfully at her. “If you would,” she said, batting her dark eyelashes at the man, “I would be so, so grateful. They scare me, these Christians. They’re mocking our God, and they threatened my family.”

“Did they now?” Caiaphas reached for her and she eluded his grasp. She stepped back, balancing on one bare, white foot as her breasts swayed under the silk. Caiaphas breathed in deeply, inhaling her scent. “And what would do best for you?”

“Drive them out,” Persephone said, her voice filled with the outrage of naïve youth. “Send them from Jerusalem. And kill their leaders. They are blasphemers, all of them. But especially the one called Stephen. I have heard him preach against you and the Sanhedrin.”

“I will have him summoned,” said Caiaphas, reaching for her again. This time Persephone allowed herself to be caught and pulled in to the man’s embrace, letting him breathe deep of the narcissus she had used to perfume her midnight curls. “And if he blasphemes before the Sanhedrin, we shall have him arrested and killed. Now,” he said and reached up underneath her skirts, “Show me how you will thank me.”

Nyx sat in her temple in Rome, listening to the music of the lute player and the voices of her followers in her head.

She had always loved music, so it made perfect sense to have it in her temples. The lute one day, the flute the next, the harp on the third, and singing at all times. And only the best players and singers were invited. She gave them visions at night, and listened to them during the day, disguised as a man or woman of Rome. There was a haunting beauty to music well-played, a faint echo of the Angelic hosts that played and sang in Heaven. Sometimes, when the music was just right, she found herself transported back to God’s mountain, listening to the music of the choir.

The young man who was playing lute this evening was delightful, and Nyx let his music wash over her as she lay back, closed her eyes, and fell into the river of her worshippers’ thoughts.

It wasn’t a river, truth be told, not yet. More of a small stream, trickling over the rocks. There were not so many of them, but they were powerful. She had been certain to appear in visions to dozens of the most important senators. In the last year she had performed a hundred small miracles, from finding money to eliminating an enemy to convincing another senator to vote in the way her worshippers pleased. And with every miracle, her follower had a vision of who provided it. Her temples’ coffers had swollen, and she’d opened up another temple in a different section of town.

And it was there her trouble started.

She liked these humans better now that they had no God present. She was amused that none of them seemed to notice He was gone, except those fools who thought it was Tribunal they were missing, Tribunal whom they had never known. But liking a few humans didn’t change her goals. It couldn’t.

He threw me into the Lake of Fire,
she whispered to herself.
And for what? Wanting to have some say in my own life? Having a few questions? I am as He made me.

But some of them she couldn’t help but like.

The senators were easy to hate. They prayed for riches and power and revenge. Their wives prayed for more concubines so their husbands would leave them alone, or for the death of their husband’s concubines so the man would pay more attention to them. They prayed for sons to inherit, and for their rivals’ houses to fall. Nyx fully expected to see most of them in Hell.

The worshippers from the section of town that held her new temple were not rich. They were tradesmen. Men and women who worked every day to survive, who prayed for more work, or for their husbands to be safe or for their wives to survive childbirth or their children to survive disease. Their children came too, and prayed for their parents or their siblings or their friends. It was not like the tradesmen’s families didn’t have prayers for vengeance and pain or disaster to befall their enemies, but those were outweighed, often, and it confused Nyx.

One twelve-year old girl spent an hour on her knees, begging Nyx that the friend of her father whom she had to marry would be kind, because the man had promised to save her father’s business. Nyx visited the girl’s possible husband and gave him a vision of exactly how awful things would be if he didn’t marry the girl and treat her with respect. He woke screaming and brought offerings to her temple the next day.

Do Angels hear prayers in Heaven and Hell?
She wondered.
Or only here on Earth?

Tribunal would not be able to hear the prayers of His followers, because they worshipped a different name. That confused her, too. Why would God make it impossible for Tribunal to hear what His followers were saying?
Why didn’t God have Him named Tribunal, instead of Jesus?

The thought of His name brought Him straight to mind. Once more she was standing before the cross again, looking up at the bloody form of her lover. His power washed over her and with it His disdain and hatred for all of humankind. A vision of the Damned in Hell flashed before her. She had entered the minds of so many and seen the many, many horrible things they had done. The humans were so depraved that God had let them drop to eternal damnation, to be tortured by Nyx and the others for all eternity.

He wanted to deny Tribunal their worship,
Nyx decided.
The same God that sent His own son to be tortured and killed, just so He could abandon humanity to its fate. The same God that denied me Heaven for wanting the same thing. He gives the humans a god that won’t answer, just to see what will happen.

The same God that is keeping Tribunal from me.

The last thought sent a spasm of rage through Nyx. There was a snapping noise, and across the room, the flute player missed a note, then stopped altogether. Nyx opened her eyes and realized that she had transformed back to herself, fully armored and armed, and that her talons had shredded the couch on which she lay and broken two of the wooden slats underneath. The flute player was staring in horror and awe, then prostrated himself before her.

“Forgive me, my Lady Nyx,” he babbled. “Forgive my poor playing! My lack of true belief. Forgive me that I did not believe in you!”

Nyx rose from the couch, walked across the room, and effortlessly picked up the musician by the throat. “If you did not believe in me,” she said, “Why did you come to my temple?”

“Please, my goddess,” he begged, his voice wheezing out through his half-closed larynx. “Please, I needed the money!”

Nyx dropped him. “Do you believe in me now, little man?”

“Yes! Yes, my goddess!”

Nyx nodded. “Then play for me.” She turned away, and sat cross-legged in front of her statue, letting her wings wrap around her like a blanket. “Play me a song of vengeance.”

The lute player played and Nyx stared up at the statue of herself.
God should not have done that to my Tribunal,
she thought.
He should not have hurt Him and He should not have taken my love away from me.
She was furious all over again. At God, at his Angels, and at the mortals who followed Him.

I will have revenge.

37 A.D. – Capri

Tiberius lay dying in his bed.

Nyx sat beside him, disguised as a young servant girl, breasts bare, wearing only a short skirt around her waist. She stroked his skin gently, as the two other girls and three young boys did, and wondered if she would see him in Hell once his mortal life was done.

He had not been a bad emperor, in truth, though his love for the flesh of young boys was near-legendary, and was certainly going to send him to Hell. The empire was at peace and was expanded, the treasury was full, and the people were happy. But he had not served Nyx nearly as well as she had hoped in his persecutions of the Christians. He had stayed away from Rome, preferring his home in Capri where he could diddle his boys in peace, and let the senators do as they pleased.

Caligula, son of Germanicus and sole survivor of that family. stepped into the room. Tiberius had ordered the rest of his family killed, or had them quietly assassinated in exile. Caligula he kept alive and for himself, no doubt because he was such a handsome young lad at the time. In the six years Caligula had been on Capri with Tiberius, he had grown soft around the middle, and hard as steel within. Even when he smiled, Nyx could see the hatred and fear that lurked behind his eyes. He reminded her of Hell’s petty demons.

She had initiated Caligula into her temple herself after sending him a series of visions that taught him how to become emperor. She had taken great pains to institute a hatred of all things not Roman in Caligula, and knew that, when his time came, he would serve her purposes quite well.

Caligula smiled down at the weak, exhausted body of Tiberius. “So, here we are.” He looked at the crowd of servants and officials around the room, then at his friend, Marko, the Praetorian Prefect. “I think there are too many of us,” he said. “Clear the room.” He looked over Nyx, and for a moment she changed her eyes from human to serpent, then back again. He smiled. “Except her.”

Marko gave the order, and a dozen soldiers came in. They ushered the protesting nobles and physicians and servants out. When all were gone save Nyx, Caligula smiled at Tiberius. “How are you, my emperor?”

“Dying,” whispered Tiberius.

“Good,” said Caligula. “And about time, too.”

Tiberius’s eyes narrowed, and some of the steel came back into his weak voice. “You are ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” repeated Caligula. He looked over at Marko. “Did you hear that, Marko? I am ungrateful.” He smiled down at the old emperor. “Fuck your ass and mouth, old man.”

Caligula picked up one of the cushions. With an easy stride, he mounted the bed and sat on the feebly protesting Tiberius. His smile never left his face and his tone didn’t change as he spoke. “You murdered my family, you old boy-fucker. You took everything from me and you used me for a fuck toy and you call me ungrateful?” He pressed the pillow down against Tiberius’s face and held it there while the old man and struggled and tried to cry out. As soon as his struggles began to slow, Caligula pulled the pillow away.