Angel of Ruin (34 page)

He smiled and cleared her hair off her face. “Annie, don’t fret about the future. We have this wonderful
moment together, let us enjoy it.” He rolled off her and they lay naked amongst the hedges.

He was right of course. “I’m sorry. I’m simply so unused to being happy that I want to pin it down and make it promise to stay forever.”

“You aren’t to worry. You will be happy. I will always love you.”

Every time he said it her chest seemed to grow wings. “I love you,” she replied. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words were already becoming worn out, could not express her feelings adequately.

“I know.”

“Deborah said a terrible thing.” She had been anxious to talk about it, to ask whether Lazodeus knew Anne had been watching in the scrying mirror when it broke. She did not want him to be angry with her.

“Deborah is full of terrible things, and so must excise some of them by saying them aloud,” he said evenly. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I should not speak ill of your sister.”

“No, I think you are right. I think that is why she said what she said, for what other reason could there be?”

“What did she say?”

“She said that she had watched you in a secret mirror and had seen you contract with Lucifer to tempt Mary and me into patricide.”

“A secret mirror? No such mirror exists. At least, the figures one sees and hears in it are demons impersonating real persons or beings. One must be careful when using such a mirror, for it can be deceptive.”

“She said you gave it to her.”

“I gave her no such gift. Why would I give her a gift? You know that she and I are at odds.” He sat up and looked down at her, growing agitated. “And why
should I wish you to injure your father? I know him not. It is a silly accusation as well as a false one.”

“It made little sense to me, too.”

“Did you believe it though? In some small part of your heart did you wonder if it may be true?” His mouth turned down sadly at the corners, and Anne felt her heart contract.

“Oh no, no, of course not, my love. I merely mentioned it out of curiosity.” She slapped her forehead. “I am such a fool. I should have anticipated such an accusation could hurt you.”

“I am not hurt by the accusation. I am only hurt by the fear that you mistrusted me.”

“No, my love. I trust you more than I trust myself. My life is yours to do with as you will.” She reached a shy hand up to touch his face, and he leaned down to kiss her.

When he drew away, he said, “I think I know why Deborah said such a thing, Anne. But I am uncertain if you will relish hearing it.”

“Tell me,” Anne said. “I would like to know. For Deborah and I were once close and …” She was suddenly sick at heart about how much distance now lay between her and her youngest sister.

“You must promise not to be too angry with her.”

“Why?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said warily.

“Deborah made advances to me.”

Anne was momentarily uncomprehending. “Advances?”

“Of an amorous nature.”

“Deborah? My sister Deborah? The sworn virgin?”

“I do not think she desired any erotic outcome. In many ways she is still a child. But she had become infatuated with me.”

“But the whole time she was protesting that we shouldn’t call you. Was she … what was she doing?”

“She didn’t want you or Mary to call me again. She wanted me wholly as her own angel.” He raised a finger in warning. “Now you aren’t to be angry with her.”

Anne swallowed her indignation. “Yes, Lazodeus. I promised you.”

“And it is best not to mention me to her ever again. Even in an argument, no matter what she says. You must promise not to talk of me to her.”

“I promise.”

He nodded. “When I turned her down, when I told her that such relationships could not form between angels and mortals, indeed that she was little more than a child and would love again elsewhere someone of her own kind, she grew enraged. She swore to be my enemy and so she has been ever since.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Before you went away. If you think about it, you’ll see it explains all her animosity towards me from very long ago. Practically right from the start.”

Anne did think about it, and what he said made perfect sense. She would never have guessed it though — Deborah had been so predictable with her urging of caution: wait until we know what he is, do not call him for he may be dangerous, and so on. All the time hoping to save his company only for herself. “I am amazed,” she said.

“Deborah is not all that she seems. Like her father she is a veneer of reason and wisdom. But it is all conceit. It covers a great —”

“Vanity. A great vanity. For Father is so very vain and believes that he is wise and masterful. But he cannot even manage the most basic human dignity to me, and that is not the mark of a wise person. That is narrow and conceited.”

“Yes, yes, you are right, Anne. And Deborah grows more like him every day.”

“She has always been his favourite. She resembles him greatly.”

“Again, where is the wisdom in such favouritism? To prefer a child because she resembles him in appearance?”

“Exactly! Exactly. He is the fool, not I.”

“A fool? You? Why, you have depths which he cannot even aspire to.”

She smiled up at her angel. “I am perfectly happy,” she said.

“And so it shall remain,” he replied quickly. “I shall ensure it. But beware Deborah and your father, for they shall try to undermine that happiness.”

“I shan’t let them. I know my heart and I know my mind, and for the first time in my life I shall trust to my heart and mind, and not assume that everyone else knows best.” She sat up and shook grass out of her hair. “I shall not be a fool any longer.”

A long time had passed since Deborah had been in Mary’s secret room. She was astonished at how lavish it had become. Silk cushions piled high, deep crimson and royal blue velvet curtains sectioning off parts of the room, gold and crystal ornaments. And evidence too of her sister’s carnal involvement with the angel: one whole wall decorated with explicit watercolours, pricks carved out of ivory and gold, and an assortment of silk bridles and velvet ropes whose uses she could barely guess.

Still, she couldn’t spend all day looking around in here. Mary would be finished the laundry with Liza soon enough, and might find her here. Deborah just needed a little uninterrupted time, a little uninterrupted space, and a nerve of steel.

She held the demon key out in front of her.

All the books had been no use in the end. No protection spell as far as the eye could see. Oh, she could change water into wine, worsted wool into silk, train a bird to be her familiar, create a storm or charm a man to fall in love with her, but nowhere could she find whom to call upon to ask for protection. She had even gone to her father’s books. Nothing in Epicurus, Psellus or Dee. What were all these wise men doing if they hadn’t considered how to cast a spell of protection or healing? Turning lead into gold was not about greed, they said, it was about self-purification, advancing to another level of being, harnessing the power of elemental spirits. It seemed so convenient, though, that there should be gold at the end of the process. Not peace, not an end to suffering and sickness, not insurance of the safety of loved ones.

But Lazodeus knew more demons than were listed in the mortal books. All she had to do was discover some of their names.

“Dantalion, I call upon you with this key as your commander, appear before me and answer my questions.” The musical notes rang out and she felt the sweet shock of the magic run through her. She steadied her hand. She was not entirely sure if it were possible to call a demon to appear before her, and she did not relish having to look upon its hideous countenance. A few moments passed without incident. Then a low swooshing sound began to wash around her, and the velvet curtains rolled in a sudden gust of wind. “Dantalion?” she asked, keeping her voice even. She glanced behind her. When she turned back, it was there.

Deborah let out a little gasp. It was man-sized, not tiny like the ones mashed together in her walls, and not half-size like the demons who had pleasured Amelia. It wore a plain white robe over its scaly red skin. Its face
was a confusion of animal features: cat, pig, bird. By far the worst was the sharp stench that arose from it. She had smelled rotten potatoes that were sweeter.

“Who are you, wench, that dare to command me personally?”

Deborah held out the demon key. “I have angel magic on this key.”

“Angel? That has the mark of that cur Lazodeus upon it. He is no angel.”

“He is a fallen angel.”

“Is a fallen woman still a virgin? I think not. He is a devil as are they all in Pandemonium.”

Deborah was curious, and her curiosity surpassed her fear of the creature. “You are at odds with the fallen angels?”

“We hate them. They control us. Would you not hate them?”

“And Lazodeus in particular? What is your argument with him?”

“He is frivolous in his use of us. He once called one of my apprentices to service your sister Mary to frighten her. Yes, it is true. You needn’t looked so shocked. Your sister is well on her way to joining us all in Hell.”

Deborah took a deep breath, concentrating on the matter at hand and not Mary’s ruin. “What class of being are you then? Not an angel or a devil?”

“I am a chief among demons. We are elemental spirits, not meant to be applied to the purpose of good or evil solely. Unfortunately, we are usually commanded by those who are evil. Like your friend, Lazodeus.”

Deborah held her breath lightly against the stench. “Lazodeus is not my friend.”

“Then why do you dare to command me?”

“He left his charge upon the key, and I need your help. I am desperate.”

“Then call upon one of my apprentices.”

“I don’t want an apprentice, I want you. You teach arts and sciences. I want to ask you questions.”

“Is it not enough to have the table of mortal desires?”

Deborah shook her head. “I don’t understand. A table of …?”

“Mortal desires. Power, wealth, control over others.” And when she still looked at it uncomprehending, it took on a sarcastic tone. “The list you have, my dear, of our names. The list you took my name from.”

“It is incomplete. It offers no recourse for help in matters of healing and protection.”

It snorted; perhaps laughed. “Healing and protection are out of the ordinary realm of mortal desires. Come, surely you’d like a little gold instead? A man to satisfy you?”

She felt herself grow angry; the demon characterised her species as so venal and corrupt. “I feel for a certainty that there are many mortals other than myself who are interested in less material things.”

“Do not be righteous with me, wench. I have had contact with enough of you to know the narrow, dark alleys of your hearts.”

There was no benefit in arguing with it, and Mary could not be far away. Deborah held up the key again. “I have the key. I shall command you.”

“As you wish,” it said, with not a trace of humility. Its oddly black eyes narrowed.

“I command you to tell me which demon I may call upon to protect my father from my sisters.”

“There is no such demon.”

“No demon of protection?”

“The devils — the fallen angels as you prefer to call them — destroyed all the elementals who could do good for mortals.”

“That’s appalling.”

“They are
devils,
wench. Your stupid race has enough stories of them to suggest to you the truth of their nature, surely.”

“I didn’t think —”

“Then
think.
Think harder. What are you doing? What danger are you putting your soul in by dealing with Lazodeus? How much closer to Hell do you come every time you use the key for wealth and power?”

“I have used it neither for wealth nor power.”

“No? Do you not feel a wonderful rush of power every time you command with the key?”

“I —”

“Stupid wench, stupid mortal. You know not what you’re doing.”

“I know I need to protect my father.”

“The best I can offer is to let you know when your sisters are thinking ill of him.”

Deborah almost laughed. “Sir, they think ill of him most days of the week. Most hours of the day. He is a difficult man.”

“Then, I can warn you when they begin to think murderously of him.”

“You can?”

It reached out a scaly hand. “Let me touch the key.”

Deborah clutched the key tightly. “You will remove its magic.”

“For pity’s sake, you stupid girl. Who do you have left to trust if not me?”

Words failed her. She stood looking at the demon, assessing its hideous countenance and vile fetor, and knew it was right. It offered her clarity, unabashed truth. She held out the key; the demon brushed it with yellow-clawed fingers.

“There,” it said. “It will ring — one note — when either of your sisters has designs upon your father’s mortality.”

“Designs, not just idle thoughts?”

“I assure you, wench, that I do not make mistakes.”

“My name is Deborah,” she said softly. “And I thank you.”

“Well,
Deborah,”
it said, its voice heavy with scorn, “have you decided yet what you will do should such an eventuality arise?”

“I … No, not yet. I believe I have time to work it out. My sisters are still very far from being patricides.”

“Hmm, a blind father and two scheming sisters in love with a devil. I’d say you have a lot to worry about. Are you finished with me now?”

She met its eyes. “Yes. I thank you.”

It smiled, and its mouth was little more than a ragged slit across its face. “Thank me for this,” it said, then spat on her face and disappeared.

Deborah stood a moment unmoving. The sticky phlegm dripped down her left cheek. She reached for one of Mary’s velvets and wiped it off, fighting down nausea and shaking herself to clear her head. As she slipped out the window and edged along the ledge, a strong gust of hot wind roared down the gap between houses, blowing dust into her eyes. The sky was very clear above and she took a moment to contemplate it before returning to the bedroom. Both of her feet were on the floor when Mary stepped in, the front of her dress soaked.