Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (72 page)

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The sounds of battle came from outside, but Beelzebub did not feel like getting out of bed. Not when Bat El lay by his side, her head on his chest, her arm and leg tossed over him. Every day now, it seemed, his brother sent angels to harass his demons and act like pests. Michael’s full attack on the fort had not yet come.
For now, he’s just trying to annoy me.
Beelzebub refused to be annoyed. Not today. Why should he let his brother pester him so?

He kissed Bat El, who still slept despite the clanging of steel and demon grunts outside. Perhaps they were both so used to the sounds of battle, it took more to wake them. He kissed her good morning.

“I’m going to leave you here for a few days,” he said when she opened her eyes.

“Good,” she said. “I’ve grown tired of you already.”

They made love as the lines of sunrise through the shutters crept across the floor, and then Beelzebub stepped out of bed. He strapped on his ancient breastplate, black iron filigreed with gold, and strapped his greaves onto his shins and vambraces onto his forearms. The left vambrace was still dented from the sword blow Bat El gave him the day they met.

Beelzebub remembered the day he acquired the armor. The Romans had just destroyed Jerusalem, Hell was young, and there were whispers that Armageddon was near. Lucifer had sent him to visit Jerusalem’s destruction, to see if angels were emerging. Beelzebub found Michael standing among the ruins, wings unfurled.

“Go home,” Michael had said. “It’s not this year.”

The archangel wore new armor in the style of Roman nobles, glittering, the breastplate lined with silver. His wings were spread wide, just as brilliant, and his halo glowed.
Look at that,
Beelzebub thought.
He got all dressed up for the occasion. When Armageddon does arrive, I won’t let an angel out-style me.

“Nice armor,” he said. “Know where I can get my own?” And so he found the blacksmith, and had his own armor made, the same as his brother’s, but black and gold.

Standing by the bed in the Crusader castle, Bat El looking up at him, Beelzebub buckled the last piece of armor.
I always wanted to be like you, big brother,
he thought.
It’s a shame I’ll have to kill you soon.

“Where are you going?” Bat El asked, the sunlight on her hair.

He strapped his sword onto his waist and kissed her. “To visit my brother.”

With that he left the room. His demons had orders to keep Bat El in the fort. Shackling her in the dungeon would be safer, but Beelzebub hadn’t the heart to chain her again. He had the feeling that this time the angel wouldn’t try to escape.

Sooner or later this war will end, and I’ll have to decide what to do with Bat El.
Beelzebub knew Zarel would never accept the angel as a concubine in his court. She’d kill the girl as soon as he turned his back. Beelzebub sighed.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Out in the courtyard, his personal guard awaited, thirteen archdemons of white scales, their eyes pale orbs the size of saucers. Brilliant like angels they were, for they were forged with drops of angel blood. Their fangs and claws were long, their malice endless.

“My lord,” said their chief and saluted.

Beelzebub saluted back and began to march into the countryside, the sea crashing behind. The thirteen archdemons followed. Out in the fields, an army stood, rolling into the distance. Tens of thousands of demons raised their shields in salute, a sound like the gates of Hell slamming.

A fireball flew over the army and landed before Beelzebub. Zarel. His archdemon wife smiled and kissed Beelzebub. “Good morning, Beelzie, my love,” she said.

Beelzebub smiled. She was in a good mood today, and beautiful in the dawn, her hair aflame, her scales glinting. That made Beelzebub happy. He kissed her. “Good morning, dear. Shall we head out?”

“Let’s.”

In the past two days, Beelzebub’s spies reported that Michael had been moving troops, mustering three divisions in Jerusalem.
He plans to attack this fort,
Beelzebub thought. Lucifer would have stayed in the fort and let Michael crash against the walls, but Beelzebub had always preferred a swift offense.
I’ll catch Michael while he’s still polishing his swords.

Of course, there was the possibility that Michael didn’t intend to attack the fort at all, that he was simply trying to lure Beelzebub out, or maybe planning an attack on Hell itself. Those didn’t sound like actions his brother would take, but Beelzebub reminded himself that it wasn’t just Michael he fought now. Laila was there too. The girl was unpredictable, and Beelzebub knew to expect surprises today.

They marched along the cracked human highways, tens of thousands of demons snaking across the Holy Land. The sea crashed behind them, angry under livid clouds. Ahead rose sandy hills. In the afternoon they reached the outskirts of Jerusalem. Among those ancient ruins ahead, Michael and Laila waited, Beelzebub knew. He camped his army in the hills to wait for night; in darkness they would attack. They dug pits of fire around the city and raised columns of flame and smoke. They fed upon raw meat, drank bloodwine, and slammed fists against shields of jet.

When the sun disappeared behind the hills, Beelzebub blew a horn, and the army of Hell charged into the ancient city.

Laila flew over the lake, wings outstretched, until she saw a shadow snaking under the water. She descended in circles toward the lake.

“Angor!” she called.

The archdemon raised his head from the water, scaly and covered with algae. He squinted his red eyes at her, and his tongue darted from his mouth. “Laila,” he grumbled.

“Well, aren’t you a regular Loch Ness monster,” she said with a crooked smile. She landed on his head and sat there, cross legged. “I’ve come to call on that favor you owe me.”

He snorted, the water rippling around him. “I do you no favors. I help you; you keep your grubby angel hands off my daughter. That’s the deal.”

“Yes, yes,” Laila said with a sigh. “Angor, I’m going into Limbo. I need you to dig the way there.”

He rolled his eyes to stare up at her. His tongue lolled, slimy and bloated. “The hellfire would burn your angel blood.”

Laila shook her head. “Angor, I hope your claws are sharp. You’ve got a lot of digging to do.”

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Once Laila took flight, Angor swam to the bottom of the lake, the water heavy above him. It was dark here. Angor liked the darkness. He liked to dig too, and his claws had been idle for too long.

He sent those claws into the moist, mossy floor and began tossing aside the dirt. It swirled around him, blinding him, filling his nostrils. Digging. It had been too long. Soon he had dug himself into a tunnel, the water heavy above him. His claws kept scratching, tearing out chunks of rock and soil.

The half-breed was crazy, he thought. Did she truly think she could win Hell? Did she truly think this plan would work, that this water could extinguish hellfire? It had been two thousand years since Christ had walked upon this lake; by now, the water was barely holy enough to sting Angor. Crazy. Stupid. And yet... and yet the girl
had
made it into his chamber under Caesarea. She
had
beaten him in battle. She
had
survived the tunnel collapsing. If Laila was truly Lucifer’s daughter, she had the power to make her claim. And if Laila succeeded, she would remember who helped her.

His claws dug like spinning knives, and he moved deeper and deeper underground, snaking miles under the surface, the water gushing behind him. The earth and rock got hotter and hotter as he dug. For a day he clawed at rock and soil, maybe longer, moving toward Hell, a torrent behind him.

Laila might be strong with claw and fang,
he thought.
But nobody can dig like me.

As he dug in the wet blackness, he thought of Beelzebub. What would the fallen angel do if he learned of this? Beelzebub was not one to tolerate betrayal. Angor snorted.
Let him be mad. Let him try to come after me. I served Lucifer. I owe nothing to Beelzebub.

It was Lucifer, the great fallen angel, leader of the rebellion against God, who forged Angor in the pits of hellfire. For a thousand years, Angor raised Zarel to be a bride to Lucifer, to become the greatest archdemon in Hell, a worthy queen. And then Beelzebub had killed the devil, stole his throne, stole Zarel.
So no, I will not weep for you, Beelzebub.

Soon the earth became so hot, the water gushing down the tunnel he dug steamed and whistled. The tunnel walls trembled around Angor, smoke seeped through cracks, and lava dripped. The water screamed and roiled, raising steam, enraged. Angor kept digging, snarling, the holy water and hellfire burning against him. With a roar, he slashed his claws, tearing aside chunks of rock, until finally the tunnel opened into a fiery world.

Limbo lay below.

Boulders tumbled. Roaring, the water burst into Limbo, tossing Angor down into the flaming blackness. He tumbled through the hellfire, flapped his wings, and flew aside. Smoke flurried and fire roared, almost loud enough to deafen him. Demons fluttered and screamed. Angor flattened himself against the ceiling of Limbo, the stream of water crashing by him through his tunnel.

Angor could see almost nothing but steam, smoke, and flame, hear nothing but their roar. Here and there, he glimpsed shades fluttering by, panicking. The tips of Limbo’s towers peeked through the deluge, jagged and black. The flames, water, and swirling steam hid everything else.

Limbo. A great cavern, thirty miles long and wide, the entrance to Hell. Moloch’s domain. As Angor watched, the holy water drenched this world, dousing the ancient hellfire, flooding the first circle of Hell.

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When Laila saw the maelstrom form in the lake, the water draining, she knew that Angor was digging. For a moment as she flew over the water, doubt sent cold fingers down her back. The plan was so preposterous, it would take a miracle to work, she thought. She clenched her teeth.
I’m just going to have to be a miracle worker. Hell is my home, my birthright. I’ll make it my own.

She flew south from the lake, past burned fields, to the valley where her troops mustered. Flying a mile above, Laila gazed down into the valley. Demontears Division already bivouacked there, fifteen thousand angels, their campfires raising smoke, their tents lining the valley. Their banners flapped, bearing their sigil: a bloodred teardrop against a field of black. Barbwire and sandbags surrounded their camp, and hundreds of angels fluttered over the tents below Laila, a constant patrol of the skies. For years now had Demontears guarded these northern hills, battling demons who emerged from underground tunnels and their strongholds in the snowy Hermon Mountain above.

When Laila gazed south, she saw more angels snaking along the roads toward them, not ten miles away. These angels wore white robes, and their banners displayed golden talons against fields of blue. Here was Talon Division, which had fought with Laila for Caesarea. They would now fight with her for Hell.

Cedar Division was traveling south toward the camp from Lebanon; Laila could see their distant green banners and, when the wind was right, hear hints of their marching songs. For years, Cedar fought in the northern hills, hunkered down outside the Holy Land, slamming against demons on its borders.

From the east came marching the fabled Brimstone Brigade, five thousand desert-hardened angels clad in tan cloaks, swords in hands. They were among Heaven’s meanest angels of retribution and wrath. Many in Brimstone boasted that they were among the destroyers of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Finally, along the western roads marched Thorn Division, ten thousand troops, leaving the Mediterranean ports to delve with Laila underground. They beat drums as they marched, and their banners showed bloodied thorns against silver fields.

In all directions, Heaven’s wrath spread below.

Watching the armies gather, Laila glided over the winds, caressing her blade. Impressive as the hosts of Heaven might be, Laila had to bite her lip to curb her fear. She had been to Hell once, seeking to learn of her father. She knew what waited in Limbo. Moloch the fallen angel lurked there, eternally besmeared with the blood of sacrificed children. Humans had once worshipped this demon, burning their children to his idols of bronze. His strength and malice were great, Laila knew, his armies vast. She drew her sword and gazed at it. The sun glinted red in its blade like beads of blood.
Just remember your training,
she told herself.
You’re strong. You can face him.

She descended toward the camp and landed between the tents. Angels saluted as she walked by, her bat wings folded against her back, her boots rustling the rubble. Some gave her suspicious looks, less than pleased that a half-demon should lead them, but Michael had trained them well. They would follow her. She walked among the troops, gazing at them, letting them gaze at her. The faces were stern and ageless, but many were decades, centuries, even millennia old. Laila felt young among them, inexperienced. She missed Volkfair. She missed her sister. She even missed Michael... a little.
Nice, Laila. Even among fifty thousand souls, you feel alone.