Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5) (3 page)

I held my breath. Well, I would have if I had lungs. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw a figure move into view. A human, tall and thin, wearing green robes embroidered with golden runes. He carried a carved yew staff with a blue stone in a claw at the top. He leaned close to look at me through the bars and scratched his grey hair with a bony hand.

“Fine. But if it turns out to be pond scum, I’m going to request that you scoop it up with your bare hands and clean the entire dungeon floor on your hands and knees.”

A sorcerer. I’d feared as much, but hearing him address an elf in such a fashion had confirmed it. Sorcerers were top of the food chain among the human slaves and had enough value to rank higher than some low level elves. Probably even higher here in Wythyn, where they were becoming somewhat of an endangered species.

The sorcerer sprinkled a powdered substance on me, and began to chant. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I pulled my personal energy deep inside, as Gregory had taught me to do, my physical form would suffer and the change may be noticeable. If I extended myself out as far as I could into my corporeal shell, it would appear realistic, but might register more easily on a divination spell. Unsure, I just kept as I was and hoped luck was in my favor.

It wasn’t.

“It
is
a demon,” he said, his voice full of wonderment. “How long has it been this way?”

“Two months.”

Ugh. Two months I’d been down here, plus the three days I’d lain in the forest before these scouts found me. Did Gregory wonder whether I was alive or dead? Was Wyatt frantic with worry? How were the girls getting on? Did Michelle ever rent that unit on Monroe?

“Are you sure?” The sorcerer turned to the scout, his tone full of skepticism. “It’s not very intimidating for a demon to look like a couple gallons of pond scum. I could see one doing this to lure someone in close before changing and frightening them, but I can’t believe one would continue with this strange, limited physical form for more than five minutes. They just don’t have the patience for this sort of thing.”

Tell me about it. This whole thing sucked big time.

“I don’t know,” the scout replied. “I have no idea why it’s still like that, but it’s been that way since we found it two months ago.”

The sorcerer made a “come hither” motion with a hand, and another person out of my line of vision came forward. Another human—a servant carrying a box. I felt mild curiosity, and a significant amount of dread as I contemplated the possible contents of said box.

“All right.” The sorcerer sighed, as if he’d much rather be home in bed, or poring over a huge, leather-bound tome by magical light. “I’ll check.”

Check what? I was already facing spending the next few months here in this cell, or however long it took until I could successfully formulate a jailbreak. The sorcerer took out a series of colored stones from the box and instructed a hovering guard to open the cell door.

“Are you sure?” he asked nervously, darting a quick glance in my direction. “If it’s a demon, maybe you should stay out here.”

“It’s been pond scum for two months,” the sorcerer said dryly. “What’s it going to do, stain my robes?”

I doubted I could even do that, but I could change shape and bite his ankle. Unfortunately, with two armed elves and a human, I doubted I’d have much chance of getting out, even in lizard form. I’d hoped to wait until Lyte was down here alone, but I might not have any other alternative than to surprise them and take my chances. Four against one. I didn’t like those odds one bit, especially with my current injuries.

The sorcerer motioned the elven guard forward, and I was amused to see the scout happily step aside, making sure the guard would be between himself and the soon-to-be open cell. The guard opened the gate, which slid back with a horrible, rusty screech. These elves really did a shitty job of maintaining their dungeons. Feille should be ashamed of himself.

“Protect me,” the sorcerer commanded. The elven guard drew a rather impressive-looking sword, and the scout readied his bow with a cocked arrow. I didn’t think either would damage me in my current form—the only advantage to pond scum that I could think of, but they’d skewer me in the lizard form. Could I be fast enough to outrun them? Or should I just hold tight and wait for another opportunity? They’d discovered I was a demon. How much longer until they discovered I was
that
demon?

The sorcerer placed a series of smooth, round stones in a circle approximately ten inches from the edge of my shape, alternating in colors.

Standing back, the sorcerer threw up his hands. “
Blican
!”

Immediately the stones began to glow, sending up a stream of colorful mist toward the ceiling.

“
Cennan I beost-hord
.”

I had no fucking idea what happened, but four pairs of eyes doubled in size as the entire group raced out of the cell, slamming the door shut. In their haste, the door didn’t latch, bouncing wide open. I made a split-second decision and transformed into my only other shape and took off. The result would have been hysterical if I hadn’t been so deadly serious about getting out alive. All four screamed as if they’d been castrated, the human throwing the box across the room and racing for the door. The guard had more presence of mind and hacked at me with his sword, all the while dancing around on his tiptoes. Two arrows bounced off the ground before Lyte high-tailed it after the human.

That left me with less legs and feet to avoid, although I wasn’t sure I would be able to beat the human and the elven scout to the dungeon entrance, and I doubted they’d hold it open for me. Darting back and forth with as much speed and finesse as a lizard could manage, I saw an opening and ran for it. Unfortunately, I only made it three feet before a foot came straight for my head.

I refuse to be kicked in the head without retaliation, so I latched onto the sorcerer’s leg, digging my little claws in tight, and bit down. He didn’t taste very good, and his frenzied leg shaking was giving me vertigo, but I held on like duct tape to his calf.

“Get it off, get it off,” quickly changed to “Don’t stab me, you stupid idiot.”

I could only imagine the guard, reluctant to get his hands or feet within range, was trying to jab me with his sword. Sure enough, a blade flashed by me, tearing a jagged hole in the sorcerer’s robes. Finally, the sorcerer reached down with both hands and grabbed me, pulling with all his might. If I had been a bigger lizard, I might have managed to hold on. Instead, he ripped me from his leg, losing a bit of flesh in the process. I flew through the air and smacked against a filthy wall with a painful thwack, before sliding to the floor. Before I could get my feet under me to rush the door again, it clanged shut—this time catching firmly in the latch.

The elven guard locked me in, hands shaking. The sorcerer muttered a quick spell and a curtain of gold fell before the bars, evidently an added layer of magic to keep me safely inside. Spell complete, he bent over, wheezing as he dabbed his torn robes against a bloodied leg. The human seemed long-gone, but Lyte crept back into view, looking at me nervously through the safety of the magicked door. The very one I’d wanted to bite had run away, and my bid for freedom had failed. I had no idea what the spell had revealed, but I had a feeling the jig was up. At least they’d been frightened enough from my attack to abandon their glowing stones in the room with me. I wondered if I might be able to use them to my advantage. At the very least, they’d make decent projectile weapons. Too bad my two available forms didn’t have opposable thumbs.

“I can’t believe.… I just can’t believe it,” the elven scout stuttered.

The sorcerer panted, clearly taxed by the unusual physical effort of dancing around with a lizard attached to his leg. “Well, that answers the question as to why she remained a mess of pond scum for two months.”

“What do we do?” the scout asked. “I’m not going back in there. I heard what she did last time she was here.”

The sorcerer wiped a line of sweat from his brow. “We tell His Lordship, that’s what we do. There’s a bounty out for her, and he’s eager for revenge after what happened last time.”

The three backed carefully out of the dungeon, wide eyes on me the whole time. I glared at them as they left, then crawled back into my circle of glowing stones, feeling like lady luck had finally deserted me for greener pastures. They knew who I was, and they were on their way to tell Feille—the very one I’d pissed off beyond any chance of forgiveness. Any day now, he’d arrive for his revenge, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I had the choice of either a gelatinous ooze, or a nuisance-sized lizard. I had no demon powers with which to defend myself. Nothing beyond the physical abilities of my two forms. Escape was looking unlikely. I could only wait, frantically try to recover more of my abilities and hope my death would not be particularly long and painful.

4

N
eutral balance eluded him, even here in his most precious Aaru. A brief moment of peace was all Gabriel could manage before thoughts crashed his composure, filling every space of his being. He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the essence that surrounded him. Aaru—so clean and sharp, so soothing in its uniformity. Here, he had no corporeal form subject to physical sensation, tempting him to actions far beneath one of his evolved status. Here in Aaru, there was nothing to disturb him except the tangle of emotions that currently destroyed his concentration.

Two angels dead. Three if he counted the rogue Gregori, his brother, had killed nearly a year ago. It was unheard of. Such casualties had not occurred since the wars. Gabriel still fumed over the death of Althean, a lost soul never given the opportunity for redemption, snuffed out in a fit of rage—justified, but still such temper should have been contained and controlled. Anger was a sin, and angels in their position did not have the luxury of sin—especially not when Aaru simmered with discontent.

Two angels. Gabriel couldn’t escape the questions that churned through him. The reports were unacceptably vague, his brother clearly in some bizarre fugue. There were processes, procedures for everything, and the fact that these angels were among the humans without permission disturbed him nearly as much as their deaths. A physical body led to temptation, and humans bore a faint resemblance to those the angels had banished. Two and a half million years was a long time to be alone, and lesser angels could not be expected to resist the seduction of being in the presence of humans.

Were they there seeking the comfort of a warm embrace? Did the urge to create send them to the only outlet available? Or were they, perhaps, formulating rebellion safe from the listening ears of Aaru?

Gabriel

He stiffened in displeasure. The angel addressing him was not a sibling, and even with the addition of the “el” suffix, it was a far too familiar form of address.

Guardian of Truth, Ancient Messenger.

Better. He hardly expected the angel to recite all fifty of his names and titles. Fellow members of the Ruling Council were allowed some latitude, after all.

Sidriel.
Gabriel purposely left off all but the basic title, emphasizing the vast chasm of age and level between them.

There was a brief hesitation as the other angel recognized the slight.
Revered one, you wished to see me?

Now was as good a time as any. It’s not like he would be able to find his center until he got the answers he desired.

The two recently deceased angels—what choirs were they from?
It hadn’t been in the reports, but Gabriel knew if the word was out, Sidriel would have heard. It was best to see if the rumors were true before he wasted time and energy interrogating those with no knowledge of the dead.

The one who left behind a corporeal form, Vaol, belonged to the second choir. The one who died in the explosion, Furlac, was in the third.

Raphael and Uriel’s then. Gabriel wondered briefly whether his siblings were aware of their staffs’ transgressions. There were sub-levels in each choir, and it was impossible to keep track of the day-to-day activities of every angel. Suspicion gnawed at the angel as he mentally ran through the various levels in each of his sibling’s choirs. Were his relations covering up embarrassing indiscretions, or perhaps behind a take-over attempt? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d all jockeyed for position, and he doubted it would be the last. No matter how many coup attempts they’d orchestrated over the ages, none had ever succeeded. The eldest was always immovable, the most powerful of them all. But now… something had changed, and Gabriel got the feeling his brother might have compromised his normally high vibration levels. If he fell, then Aaru would be in a prime state for rebellion.

The second choir has professed ignorance of Vaol’s motives for leaving Aaru and flouting the proper procedures,
Sidriel continued.
Uriel, the revered interpreter of prophecies, states that Furlac was among the humans delivering a message on her behalf.

Gabriel felt a wave of irritation roll through him. Raphael was always lax in controlling his angels. He’d been pronounced an Angel of Order upon his creation, but Gabriel had always wondered if there had perhaps been some mistake. Although, as the fourth of five siblings, Raphael had been greatly influenced by his chaotic little brother during his formative years. Either way, he was disgracefully far from center. At least Uriel had owned up to her angel’s behavior. Had she circumvented the process to expedite the delivery of her message, or had there been a less innocuous reason she hadn’t wanted Furlac’s visit documented?

They were both probably there to sin with the humans.
Sidriel’s tone was gleeful, and Gabriel felt his stomach churn at the eagerness with which the other angel’s thoughts turned to improper physical relations.

Do you call Uriel a liar?
Gabriel often did, but one of Sidreil’s station did not have that right. Ruling Council appointments tended to inflate an angel’s head. This one clearly needed to be removed from office, and soon. Gabriel’s mind wandered as the other angel sputtered apologies and backpedaled. He wouldn’t put it past Uriel to lie. She’d been increasingly sympathetic toward those who sought solace in the arms of the humans. Raphael too.