Page 58 of The Morning Star
“You’re Michael’s fucktoy,” he screamed at me before turning to address the demons. “She’s a traitor to our kind, joining with the enemy. She’s on their side, not ours. Sense her energy? She reeks of Michael.”
“That’s because I seized a portion of his energy and devoured it,” I told him. “That’s how I got these wings. That’s how I turned from an imp to an angel. I ripped away a portion of the spirit-being of the most ancient, powerful archangel alive and devoured it. Think about that when you start boasting that you’re the most powerful being in Hel. Think about why the Iblis sword is in my hand and not another’s.”
There was an instinctive recoil at my mention of devouring. No one liked or trusted a devouring spirit. Demons would happily do all sorts of things most beings would consider revolting, but they drew the line at taking the spirit-self, the personal energy, from another and devouring it.
Some things were disturbing and frightening even to demons, and devouring was it. I might never have the respect of all the demons in Hel, but I’d take this wary unease and I’d go with it.
And it might give me an extra second of hesitation I needed. Realizing I was out of time, I sprang forward, sword upraised, and swung. The Iblis sword came to life with a hum, and as crappy as my swordsmanship skills were, my aim this time was true. The sword caught Samael’s shoulder and sliced through like a hot knife through butter. If he hadn’t instinctively spun to the side, if Doriel hadn’t jumped forward to slam into me, then I would have finished what Gregory had started two-and-a-half-million years ago—I would have sliced the youngest archangel in two and killed him.
Samael screamed and hit me with a blast of energy. I reversed direction with the sword to absorb some of it, but the rest tore through my physical body, slicing through my spirit-self. Struggling to regain my focus, I plowed an elbow into Doriel’s face and blasted enough energy into her to knock her off the stage. Samael shot me again, and this time I managed to block it all with the sword, struggling to keep the thing in my grasp as it vibrated and heated up with the second blow.
I swung the blade and the Ancient ducked. Letting the sword’s momentum carry me around, I dismissed it and reached forward to grab Samael with both hands.
Clothing.
Flesh.
Spirit-being.
I grabbed and pulled, fighting against the pain as Samael frantically hit me again and again with everything he had, burning my spirit-being as I tried to devour him. He struggled and pulled back, and I dug in, beginning to feel my hold slip as I lost focus with the pain. Claws and makeshift weapons tore at my physical body. Other demons pummeled me with energy blasts of their own. Samael began to slide from my grasp and I wondered whether I should change tactics, let go, and summon my sword once more. But I wasn’t sure I would have any better success with a sword against two Ancients and all these demons. No, my best chance was to devour Samael. If I could do that, all the demons would fall in line.
I heard Doriel shout, then felt Samael rip away from me, leaving a chunk of his spirit-self in my grasp. It wasn’t enough. I reached forward to grab him again, only to feel something soft and silky sliver over my head and down my body. It was cold then hot, slimy then prickly, and it coated my energy with a silicon slipperiness. I couldn’t fix my wounds. I couldn’t reach Samael or anyone. I couldn’t access any energy for defensive or offensive use. And although the demons on the outside of the net couldn’t stab me, they sure as fuck could continue to beat the holy shit out of me with their fists, booze bottles, and broken bits of furniture.
“Kill her!” Samael screamed. I could hear the agony in his voice, and in spite of my own pain, I grinned to know I’d hurt him. And I had a nice little chunk of his spirit-self squirreled away tight inside me. Fucker. He was never getting that back. Never.
“No!” Doriel’s voice rang out. “You want her alive, Samael, not dead. She’s your eldest brother’s chosen partner. They’re a joined pair. You want him to come here and face you? Now you’ve got the perfect bait. Destroy the city and he’ll just send his enforcers. Take her, offer to let her go, and he’ll kneel before you, his neck bare to you.”
Bitch. And how humiliating would it be for Gregory to have to come rescue me? Fuck that. I went to summon my sword, the weapon that would easily cut through this elven net and set me free, only to hesitate. Bursting out of this net surrounded by demons and two Ancients, and without the time to repair any of my physical wounds would put me at a huge disadvantage. It would be better to wait, to time and plan this escape and hopefully in my second attack, be more like an angel than an imp.
“I’m not letting her go free,” Samael snapped. “She took a part of my spirit-self. The bitch devoured a chunk of me. I’m killing her.”
I could practically hear Doriel’s shrug. “Then kill her. Lie to Michael, and when he’s dead, you can kill this imp as well. Hang her from the ceiling, let the others throw bottles at her, then send Michael a message to come get his bitch or you’ll send chunks of her spirit-self to him in little boxes.”
Samael was silent for a few seconds. “What about the sword? I want the sword. I want it back.”
“Then call it to you.” Was there a note of derision in Doriel’s voice? “Clearly it has abandoned her or she wouldn’t have resorted to trying to devour you. What angel would do such a disgusting thing? Not even a Low would do that? Obviously the sword decided she wasn’t worthy and she had no other choice but to turn to such a repulsive method of attack.”
My breath quickened. Doriel had fought beside Samael in the war. They’d been close. She had to have known the sword and its odd quirks almost as well as Samael himself had.
And she knew that I devoured. It wasn’t a big secret. Was she lying for me? Had this net been less about capturing me and more about saving me? Because in all honesty, I’d been losing that battle. I hadn’t gotten a good grip on Samael, and between his attacks and the demons, it would have been a matter of minutes until they’d gotten the upper hand and killed me.
“Hang her from the ceiling then.”
I felt myself hoisted upward, felt the whack of some rather hefty whisky bottles against my sides, bled all over the net with wounds I couldn’t repair, and suffered the agony of damage to my spirit-self I couldn’t fix even if I’d been out of the net. The whole time I concentrated, trying to make out what Samael, Doriel, and the demons were discussing.
One was sent off to my house in Maryland to deliver a message meant for Gregory. That demon wasn’t expected to return. We didn’t have any problems killing the messenger, but those in my household would hesitate to do so. Amusingly, Nyalla would be this demon’s greatest threat. She’d lock him up in my cellar without breaking a sweat and torture the guy until he was telling her every last one of his secrets. And it’s not like she’d have to physically harm the guy herself. Between Boomer and Diablo, the demon would be begging for mercy before the sun went down.
But still…the thought of how upset she’d be, how worried over me… I didn’t want Nyalla to worry. And there was that chance she’d decide to come out and rescue me herself, hellhound and demon-horse by her side, rather than wait for Gregory to take action. My girl was impulsive, more like a demon than an angel in that regard. Hopefully Gabe would be there when this demon messenger arrived to keep her from catching the next flight to LA.
The messenger demon clearly gone, Samael turned to other business at hand. One by one he sent demons out, supposedly using a map of the city to direct them to their assigned area. Once there, they were to destroy every building, tear up roads, and kill every human they met. After they’d done that, they were to work their way to the city limits. This was the small-scale of what Samael wanted to do.
This guy didn’t realize it yet, but he had clearly bitten off more than he could chew. Even if he emptied Hel of demons, marshalled every last one of them, he’d still only have a hundred thousand or so to kill ten or twenty thousand angels and seven billion humans on a sizable planet.
Seven billion humans. It hit me and I started to laugh. Ever since I’d joined the Ruling Council I’d been warning Gregory about the dangers of discounting how a lesser species could overpower a greater one through sheer numbers. It was my old fire ant analogy. Seven fucking billion humans. These demons would be shot, blown up, run over, and burned, and that would be before they left LA.
Three thousand, six hundred thirty. The SWAT team, an actress-wannabe with a revolver, and a bald guy with a Prius. Yep, it was only a matter of time.
Right now most of the humans were scared, hovering in their homes and waiting for the angels or the militia to save them. In less than twenty-four hours, they’d get sick of hanging out in their basements with bottled water and a crank radio, grab their shotguns, rifles, and oversized SUVs, and take matters into their own hands.
