Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (78 page)

He took Zarel there on his bed, the same bed where he would make love with Bat El. He took her violently, loudly, leaving the sheets in tattered, burned shreds. They left the room in ruins, the walls chipped and the desk shattered. He thought they could almost topple the fort.

“Beelzie,” Zarel whispered as they lay in what remained of the bed, “why don’t you just nuke Limbo?”

He ran his fingers through her hair of flame. “That is not a demon’s way. Those are human weapons, crude and heartless.”

Zarel nestled against him, running her claws across his chest, raising steam. “Crude, yes, but effective. You kept the humans’ nukes for a reason. Use them now. Blow Limbo away.”

Beelzebub left the bed and stared out the window. Past boulders and some burned palms, the sea whispered. He spoke softly. “Limbo is part of my domain. I would not destroy it, even if Laila now rules there.”

Zarel snorted, smoke rising from her nostrils. “It’s no longer part of your domain. Laila doused the hellfire and named herself queen there. She blocked the way to the deeper circles of Hell, cutting herself off completely. Nuke the girl. Or do you still love her, and dare not?”

Beelzebub frowned. “Your jealousy is talking, not your brain. If I nuke Limbo, it’s lost to me forever. We can recapture it.”

“With what army?” Zarel came to stand by him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and looked out at the sea with him. Her hair crackled, raising sparks. “Would you attack Laila with armies you could use against Michael? If you open a second front, Beelzebub, you will lose this war; you yourself said so.” She tightened her grip on his shoulder and stared at him, eyes blazing, fangs and scales glittering. “You could never nuke Michael; he’d just nuke us back with his own stash, and we’d end up destroying this world. But Laila has no nukes. Armies, yes. Archdemons, yes. Pluck and some strength, I do admit it. A way to survive a nuclear assault and retaliate? The answer to that, my dear husband, is no. Who needs Limbo, after all? It’s the smallest circle of the nine, and in time, we could rebuild it, even if it takes centuries. Blow it out of Hell, Beelzebub. Finish off this second front and destroy Michael’s greatest ally. Do that, and Earth will fall into our hands like a ripe pear.”

Beelzebub said nothing, staring at the waves, the swaying ash in the wind.
She makes sense.
Beelzebub hated to admit it, but Zarel was right; this was what he should do. It was just that.... Beelzebub shut his eyes, remembering a time long ago. He had loved Laila then, a decade ago. He had asked her to marry him, even killed Lucifer—his best friend—for disapproving of the marriage. Who would have thought Laila would grow to be this enemy? Could he kill her now, roll the nukes down to explode in Limbo? He could imagine the blasts of light tearing through Laila, turning her to ash.

“I’m going out for a fly,” he said and opened his eyes. Without waiting for Zarel to reply, he flew out the window and was soon gliding under the cloudy sky, the drizzle wetting his hair.

Did Zarel truly care about this war, or did she merely want Laila dead? Beelzebub wasn’t sure. He loved his Demon Queen, but the past decade of marriage had strained his nerves. So much jealousy, mistrust, fighting.... So what if he sought distraction with other women? He was King of Hell, too great for any one love. Could Zarel not understand this? He found himself flying north over burned fields, heading toward the Sea of Galilee. Perhaps the thought of other women’s comfort drove him there. He had found the prostitute—Kayleigh, she said her name was—a year or two ago, and she had become his favorite. She was not the prettiest woman Beelzebub had seen, what with her squat face and jutting chin, but her green eyes sparkled bright, and her curves seemed to perfectly fit the shape of his hands.
I’ll go see her,
he decided, and why not? Zarel would never know, and prostitutes never beg you to nuke anyone. With a woman in his hands, he could forget this war, forget Raphael’s blood on his hands, forget Laila taking Limbo from him.

He descended into a field on the way, caught a lamb, and picked some dandelions. Kayleigh worked for little more than a good meal and some sweet words, he remembered. The lake was still empty when Beelzebub arrived, its floor muddy. The rain had died, leaving the world wet and glistening, erasing the footsteps of armies. Flowers and grass grew around the lake’s banks, unaware of this war.

He found Kayleigh by her usual tree, dressed in her tattered smallclothes, flowers in her knotty blond hair. She seemed agitated, pacing to and fro, and when she saw Beelzebub, she rushed toward him and embraced him. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, her cheek against his chest.

He kissed her head. “God has nothing to do with it.”

She looked up at him with those bright green eyes, so large in her squished, bulldoggish face. “Angels were here,” she said, “many thousands, maybe a million. Not angels like in the stories, all beautiful and kind. These ones were angry and terrible to see. They scared me. Heaven thinks I’m a sinner, and I thought they would hurt me.”

It hadn’t been long since he had made love with Zarel, but a trembling Kayleigh pressed against him was enough to make Beelzebub’s blood boil again.

“You’re safe now,” he said, and couldn’t wait any longer. He took her there on the grass by the lake, crushing beneath them the flowers he had picked. Kayleigh was everything Zarel was not—instead of scales and flame, she was all eager softness.

“Tell me of your troubles,” she whispered as they moved in the grass. “Tell me all that bothers you.”

The smell of her flowers in his nostrils, Beelzebub spoke, telling her everything as she kissed him.

+ + +

How did you change, brother?

Is it because God scolded you then, was wroth for the Nephilim you placed into the wombs of human women? Is it for his wrath that you declared war against him?

Michael remembered those days, thousands of years ago, when mankind was young. Swan wings had grown from Beelzebub’s back then, and a halo of godlight crowned his head. White robes he would wear, an angelic being. Among the brightest stars of Heaven was he, among the fairest and greatest of its angels.

“Come on, Michael,” he would say so often. “Lucifer and I are going down to the world. Raphael’s coming too. Join us.”

“I’m busy,” Michael would always respond, smiling inwardly, knowing that Beelzebub would convince him sooner or later.

“Busy with what, composing for the harp? Praying? Watching over humans and being pious?” Beelzebub would invariably snort. “Forget those, brother. Come with us, we’ll drink some human spirits, hunt some game, meet some comely human women. I know a village where the girls are ripe and sweet as the grapes they grow.”

And invariably, Michael would feign a sigh, struggling to hide his smile. “Well, I guess I better go, to watch over you and Raphael, to make sure you two don’t get into too much trouble.”

And so the three brothers would sneak down to the world, with Lucifer, sometimes with Gabriel, with whoever else would join them. Young angels, they would hunt in the forests, and drink in wine houses, and sing until their voices were hoarse. Raphael always knew where to find the best ale, and could out-drink them all. They would woo human girls at the wells of villages and know them under the trees. Beelzebub and Lucifer were never careful; in their passion, they would place the seed of Heaven in human wombs, and nine months later, the women would give birth to deformed babes. The creatures would grow to be ten feet tall, wicked and rambling, Nephilim who terrorized the villages.

God would scold Beelzebub and Lucifer, Michael remembered. His spirit would seek them like a shadow, booming with anger, sending them fleeing. Once the spirit chased them into a cave, where the entrance collapsed, and for a year, Beelzebub and Lucifer ate worms and moss, living in darkness. Yet when their sentence ended, and they were freed, Beelzebub would return to the world again, and soon more Nephilim roamed.

Michael sighed.
Is it my fault, brother? Was I never stern enough with you?
Michael too had created one or two Nephilim in his day, though he would hide it, shameful, fearing God’s wrath. Yet Beelzebub never feared God, but would rile against him, curse him, disobey him for spite. Lucifer too.

“God is nothing to me,” Beelzebub said one day. “I spit upon him. One day I will kill him.”

Beelzebub grew sick that day, and for a month he lay pale and trembling, unable to eat. “God is punishing me,” he whispered from his sickbed to Michael.
Was it then, brother, that you plotted your revenge?

Michael would never forget the day the rebellion began. Every detail of that day was branded into him. Shouts, angel blood upon Heaven’s meadows, civil war in Heaven. Brother fought against brother, and bodies of angels littered Heaven. God triumphed that day and cast out the angels who rebelled against him. When Beelzebub’s halo fell off, he screamed in agony. When his swan wings were torn from his body, his blood seeped down his back, and he howled. Fallen the rebels became then, cursed, banished.

Michael lowered his head. “You never forgot your vow to kill God, brother. You never ended your war. But we are going to end it soon, here on this world.”

Raphael was gone, dead before seeing Heaven win or mankind saved. Michael looked at his brother’s flask, holding it in his hands, cherishing it, a last relic.
Goodbye.

+ + +

He walked through the darkness, covered in cloak and hood, like one of the shadows. His boots were silent in the tunnel, his hands hidden in the folds of his cloak. A ghost, he moved down into the pits of Hell.

When he neared Limbo, demon guards appeared, charging at him. He waved his arms, spraying flame, tossing the shades against the walls. No shades could harm one such as him. In the shadows of his hood, he smiled.

When he entered Limbo, leaving dead shades in his wake, he disappeared into shadows, moving over craggy mountains, through alleys, around towers, until he found what he sought. Upon a hill of bones, flicking his tail, lay Angor.

“Hello, Angor,” he said, pulling back his hood.

Angor looked up, and fear filled his red eyes. The archdemon scurried back, flames rising from his nostrils. “Beelzebub,” he said. “How did you get here?”

Beelzebub walked toward his father-in-law, his old servant, this great archdemon who had once served Lucifer. He
tsk
ed. “Angor, Angor... did you really think you could betray me and hide?”

The hill of bones, which served as Angor’s bed, was dry and bleached. It had been years since blood had covered those bones. Today blood washed them.

When he was done, Beelzebub pulled the hood back over his head, his hands stained with Angor’s blood. Still smiling, he walked away, back to the tunnel, back to the world where his war waited.

Nukes are such coarse things,
he thought.
Barbaric. Angor would never know what hit him.
Angor needed to know who killed him, to feel the fear before death. Laila might be guarded by a host of archdemons, high in her tower, unreachable to him now... but soon she too would die. Beelzebub nodded, the blood staining his hands.
Now, with Angor dead, we can go ahead and blow this place away.

+ + +

Upon the highest steeple of Moloch’s fort she stood, her halo of flame crackling, her fangs bared. Ashy winds howled across Limbo, streaming her hair, thudding her black cape behind her. The water had mostly been drained, leaving only scattered pools. The hellfire was gone, and the countless steeples of Limbo glittered with torches, rising from the surface like blades of jet. Battalions of shades flew across the great cavern, drilling and hissing.

Limbo. My home.

Below Laila, across the craggy landscapes of black boulders and towers, countless shades glistened, eyes burning red as they gazed up upon her. They sprawled into the distance, a sea of diablerie.

“I am Laila!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, voice echoing over Limbo. She drew Haloflame and held it high. It shone as a beacon. “I am Queen of Limbo. I am soon to be Queen of all Hell. I am Lucifer’s daughter! Hell’s throne is mine. Soon, my friends, we will take Beelzebub’s throne. Soon we will be the ruling circle of Hell.”

Leaving the demons to cheer, she flapped her wings and entered the tower, sheathing her sword.
They must see me, hear me, know that I’m real, know that I rule them.
Laila nodded, walking down the stairs to her hall. Here was the heart of her kingdom. Once she killed Beelzebub, she would rule all of Hell from this place, from Limbo.

She entered her towering hall of black marble, whence Moloch once ruled. Torches lined the walls, their light glittering over jet columns and crystal statues of a hundred fallen angels. Between the columns, Laila could see the landscapes of Limbo, her glittering black towers rising as a forest.

Thirteen archdemons sat around a table in the hall, rising as Laila entered, bowing their heads. Laila nodded to them and sat at the head of the table. A feast covered the table in golden dishes, steaming.

“Gentlemen,” she said, “thank you for joining me at my table. Please enjoy this dinner.”

The thirteen nodded, all glittering scales and horns. Five were white as snow, five were blacker than darkness, and three glittered blood-red. These were the greatest archdemons in Limbo, once servants of Moloch. There had been thirty once; seventeen had refused to join Laila and now their heads rotted upon her towers.

Laila reached across the table for a steak, still bloody, and ate slowly, sipping her cabernet. It had been years since Laila had enjoyed such a meal; upon her table lay fine aged meat, caviar, cheeses, fried mushrooms, shrimps, endless wines. A decade ago, when she was Beelzebub’s paramour, he would pamper her with fine foods.
Today none need pamper me. This hall is mine, and all that’s in this fort I’ve earned. In Limbo does Laila the half-demon reign as queen.