Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (66 page)

He kissed the tears off her cheeks, and when he took off her clothes, he saw cuts and bruises his demons had given her, so he touched her only gently. She had never made love before; he had known ten thousand women. That day, Beelzebub wanted no one else.
If Bat El is the last woman in my life, I’d be happy.

“This stupid war,” she said to him an hour later, lying by him, her head against his chest.

She slept then, and Beelzebub lay watching the skies, wondering how long before Zarel came looking for them.

+ + +

Laila opened her eyes in the forest. She looked upon the canopy above, the rustling pine needles, the branches and blinding sunlight. The Carmel forest. Her entire body ached, and her head felt swollen. She turned her head to see roots, rocks, acorns and vines.

It was here,
she remembered.
This very place. Here is where I first met him.

It was a decade ago that she met Beelzebub. It had been a different world. There were still isolated human villages eking out a living across the land, Lucifer still ruled in Hell, and she, Laila, lived feral in the backwoods of Israel. On a cold night in her seventeenth winter, she caught a goat among the trees, a shaggy old beast with long horns. She first spotted it eating mint leaves, and it never saw her approach. She leapt onto its back and slashed its throat, then clutched it as it kicked and died.

As she feasted upon its raw meat, she remembered that as a girl, she had seen a goat only once, but now they filled the forest. Nearly all humans had perished in Armageddon, that first great battle between Heaven and Hell seventeen years ago, allowing the boars, jackals, and other beasts to breed unmolested... that is, other than by Laila. She tore off meat with her fangs and chewed, blood dripping down her chin. The forest was dark, and only her flaming eyes pierced the shadows. The only sounds were the breeze and stirring of pines.

“Don’t you want a fire?” came a sudden voice ahead, and Laila raised her bloody face from the goat, staring into the darkness, heart racing. She snarled and bared her fangs, her halo bursting into flame. Laila the half-demon had sharper ears than any beast in these hills, and she had heard none approach.

“Don’t be scared,” said the voice in the darkness. “I won’t hurt you.”

Laila growled, blood dripping down her fangs, and unfurled her wings. “It is you who should be frightened,” she said. “Few interrupt Laila of the night as she feasts—and live.” She rose to her feet, claws glinting.

A figure stepped out from the shadowy trees. The flames of Laila’s eyes and halo lit his black Roman armor, his black curls, his dark eyes. Great bat wings he had, and when he smiled, Laila saw fangs.
A fallen angel,
she knew.

“Are you really going to eat all that yourself?” the fallen angel asked, looking at the goat. “I’ll teach you how to cook a mean steak if you let me share the meat.”

Laila stared at him over the carcass, its blood staining her face and tattered cloak. She had never seen a fallen angel before, but all knew of them. Here were those ancient angels who’d rebelled against God thousands of years ago and lost. God had banished and cursed them, removing their halos and swan wings, granting them bat wings, fangs, and claws instead, marking them forever as wicked.
They are like me, feral, banished from Heaven.
They had created Hell and styled themselves demon lords, forging scaled shades from the hellfire, arming themselves for this war, for Armageddon. Laila felt both fear and fascination seeing such a fabled creature before her. Many whispered that her own demon father was no lesser, scaly shade but one of these great fallen angels.
Perhaps this one can teach me some things beyond goat cuisine.

“I like my meat raw and bloody,” she said to him.

“It tastes better cooked. Come, I’ll build us a fire.” He opened his palms to show that he carried no weapons.

She flexed her claws. “Fires summon curious angels and demons. I prefer to live in shadows and silence.”

The fallen angel began to collect firewood. “This fallen angel found you even in the shadows, and you don’t need to fear if any other souls approach. Few can harm me, and few can harm Laila the half-breed.”

She watched silently as the fallen angel collected branches, stacked them, and lit the bonfire with a spark by snapping his fingers. The flames lit the trees and tossed a thousand shadows into a dance, like an army of demons. When the flames were lower, the fallen angel produced a grill from his backpack and cooked cuts of goat. The smell
was
good, and as the meat cooked, Laila’s mouth watered.

“You know my name, fallen angel,” she said, watching the fire. “Before we enjoy your amazing goat dish, tell me yours. There were a hundred and thirteen fallen angels; which one are you?”

The meat was ready. Her companion removed the grill from the fire and handed her a chop. “I don’t have a plate,” he said, “but you’re used to eating with your hands. Go on, taste it. It’s good. As for my name, I’ve had many in my life. Thousands of years ago, some would call me Baal and mistake me for a god. Others call me the Lord of the Flies, not a name I especially favor. God used to call me the Unpious, while the archangel Michael would often just refer to me as ‘my knuckleheaded kid brother’.”

Laila took the meat and bit into it. It was pink and juicy. It had been ages since she’d eaten cooked meat, not since she had escaped Mamma and Papa’s farm. The bonfire crackled, reflecting in her companion’s gilded breastplate.

“So what is the mighty Beelzebub, field commander of Hell’s army on Earth, doing wandering the Carmel mountains alone?” she asked over her meal. “Shouldn’t you be off marshalling armies and killing angels?”

She examined him closely in the shadows. It was not every day that one met such a legendary being. He was not what the stories described. In Heaven’s paintings, Beelzebub always appeared ugly and hook-nosed, groveling under the heel of this or that archangel, begging for mercy before the coupe-de-grace from angel lances. In Hell’s lore, Beelzebub was always portrayed as wrathful, wreathed in flame, ten feet tall and terrible. While the fallen angel before her impressed in his own way, with his tall frame, strong jaw, and exquisite armor, he was anything but beastly or monstrous.
He looks more like one of those movie stars in old human posters,
Laila thought.
A guy you’d want to have a beer with, not a demon overlord who’s after your soul.

When he smiled, Laila realized she had been staring, and she returned her gaze to the fire, feigning nonchalance.

“I do marshal armies and kill angels on most nights,” he said and passed her a bottle. “Try this pinot, it’s good. You know what they say about pinot, don’t you? ‘God made cabernet while the devil made pinot.’ Truth is we from Hell taught humans how to make both; before us, all they drank was fresh spring water. Horrible, isn’t it?” When Laila had sipped, he took the bottle back and drank himself. “Now where was I? Oh yes, we were discussing the purpose of my excursion into these woods. Truth is, Laila... I came here to find you.”

She finished her meat and tossed the bone aside. They had not touched most of the carcass, but Laila knew the jackals, crows, and bugs would consume the rest. “I came to this forest to avoid Hell and Heaven,” she said, wiping her lips with the back of her palm.

Beelzebub gazed around at the trees. “A fine home it is, I don’t deny it. But don’t you want more? Walls around you, fine meals, real clothes? You are of Hell’s stock. I came to offer you a home with us, an education, a place to belong.”

Staring at Beelzebub, Laila indeed felt a moment of envy. The fallen angel wore fine armor, fine leather sandals, and his hair was combed and neatly cropped. She herself wore a tattered cloak, a rope for a belt, and her hair was a great knot of leaves and twigs. Blood and dirt smeared her, and while Beelzebub sported a fine golden ring for jewelry, she wore a string of boar tusks around her neck. What would it be like to live in splendor, with fine clothes, fine wine, fine company? Yes, for a moment Laila was tempted, but the moment vanished. Hell was not for her. She was half-angel, and hellfire would burn her, and demons would drool over her as over a good meal.

“I belong in this forest,” she said. “I need no more.”

“I’m sure you don’t
need
more, but you must
want
it. Won’t you let me help you, Laila? You are well known in Hell, and we want to care for you.”

Laila rose to her feet. Her boots, clunky leather things she had stolen years ago, seemed so tattered compared to Beelzebub’s fine sandals. “When I was a girl, angels tried to raise me, to tame me. They could not bring me to Heaven. When they once did, the godlight boiled my demon blood, burned my skin, and nearly killed me. So they raised me in the trenches of Earth, and tutored me, tried to make me wear dresses and read scripture. I ran from them early, and have been living alone since. I have no wish to be tutored again.”

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 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....