Page 25 of The Morning Star
“No, we don’t all ‘talk,’” She replied defensively. “Some of us have been more active over the last two-and-a-half-million years than others. And not all who fell were of the same level. What united us was that we were all Angels of Chaos. Some of those angels were barely known to me.”
“But you’d know the higher-level Ancients, right?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Not all. And in two-and-a-half-million years, power levels can change, especially since we’ve been banished to Hel. Some formerly powerful Ancients may have weakened more than others. Some may have become more powerful. I’ve slumbered quite a lot since the fall. I’ve lost track of who is even alive at this point.”
Time to come right out and ask her. Doriel was one of the more stable Ancients in Hel. There was a good chance whoever was killing the enforcers was an Ancient with a peculiar talent, but if it was the former Iblis, I needed to know.
“Have you heard anything in the last few months of Samael being alive, awake, and active? Because there are rumors…”
She choked on her wine. “Samael? Rumors?”
I waited for her to catch her breath. “Just curious, because I caught a remnant of an energy signature on the other side of the gates that, from what I’ve been told, is very similar to Samael’s.”
“And you know his energy signature to recognize it?”
Time to tread carefully. “You and others have described it to me, and this was very distinctive and matched that description. I had someone with me at the time who was familiar with Samael’s energy signature, and they said it was similar. It was faint, but with something so unique, I could only wonder if Samael was alive, awake, and newly active.”
Doriel considered that a moment, then shook her head. “I guess it’s possible. I’d always assumed after all this time that he was dead. I’d always assumed that if Samael lived, I would have known about it, that I would have sensed his presence somehow.”
“Maybe you and the others didn’t sense him because he slumbered since the fall?” I suggested. “So many of the Ancients did. You did.”
“I remained awake for quite a while,” she pointed out. “And even though I slumbered off and on, I still remained somewhat aware.”
“He was badly injured, though. Let’s say he slumbered immediately, or within a thousand years of the fall, and only recently woke up.”
She shook her head. “I can’t see that. He was the Iblis, the leader of the Angels of Chaos. He was an archangel, one of the most powerful angels of Aaru—some say the most powerful. Even injured, I can’t see him remaining dormant for millions of years.”
“But injured as he was?” I pressed. “The sword abandoned him, he’d lost the war, his brother nearly killed him. I can totally see how that would bring on either a pouty-fit or at the very least a gigantic depression.”
Doriel glared at me. “Samael did not pout. Well, not often, anyway. And depression isn’t in keeping with his character, either. He’d rise up to fight again. He’d be angry and want revenge. He wouldn’t abandon us for nearly three million years, leaving us to rot in Hel while he slumbered. No, he’s dead. And that’s why the sword is with you. It didn’t abandon him, he died and it no longer had an Iblis until you came along. This energy signature you felt is a fake. It’s not Samael.”
I eyed her skeptically. Doriel knew Samael more than anyone besides his siblings. Actually, she probably knew him in ways his siblings didn’t. This was a fake. Some Ancient had a gang and was messing with the archangels by leaving little taunting hints that their brother may have returned. As relieved as I was that this wasn’t Samael, it didn’t negate the fact that someone was killing off Grigori enforcers. And that it fell in my lap to find that someone. Remiel or not.
I had Lows on the ground gathering information, tracking things from the angel-wing-bounty end. If this was an Ancient, then someone knew him and knew what was going on. And I was in a better position to talk to the Ancients than my Lows were.
So I sipped my wine, made small talk with Doriel, and left as soon as I was politely able to do so. There were only so many Ancients I knew well enough to gain an unannounced audience with. It might be a long shot that the freak knew anything about what was going on, but it was worth a try, so I left Doriel’s house and headed toward Dis.
And toward the residence owned by Tasma.
Chapter 8
I sat in a chair, surrounded by Lows who were wearing colorful terry cloth rompers and sucking on lollypops as they eyed me. It was creepy, but everything about Tasma and his household was creepy. And as innocent as these little demons looked, I knew they’d be on me like a vicious pack of badgers if I so much as looked at “Mister Tasma” the wrong way.
“I was approached by a demon who asked me to partner with him on this angel-wing bounty project,” the Ancient told me in between sips from a glass of milk. “Another Ancient was funding the project, and apparently upon verification of the death, the demon who did the killing was able to keep the wings as a trophy. I was tempted. I’m fond of the drawings my little ones do as decorations, but a set of angel wings would complement them nicely.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked, shooing away a Low who seemed intent on sticking his lollypop into my hair.
Tasma shrugged. “I haven’t crossed the gates in over a thousand years, and honestly I have no real desire to do so, even to acquire a pair of angel wings. And I wasn’t particularly fond of the demon who wanted to partner with me. He has a reputation for not honoring his commitments. He’s a real nanny-boo-boo.”
Nanny-boo-boo? The Lows repeated the word in hushed tones, then glanced around with a harsh alertness that let me know they’d not hesitate to swarm any nanny-boo-boos who dared enter the room.
“Who is this nanny-boo-boo?”
“You probably don’t know him. He’s one of those average, run-of-the-mill warmongers that hang out up in Eresh. Caramort.”
That fire demon in Seattle had mentioned him, and soas had Snip. Seemed I was going to need to step up my efforts to locate this guy. I’d sent Gimlet on that mission, but I suspected I’d probably have to take this on myself if I wanted to see any progress on it before the end of the century.
“Any angel wings?” I asked. “Was Caramort specific about which angels he was gunning for? Was the bounty greater for certain specific angels?”
