Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (52 page)

Shoving down the anguish into her belly, Laila straightened. It would not do to sink into despair in this alley, not as angels and demons lived behind shuttered windows and in sewers, not as the hosts of Heaven and Hell still hunted her.
Are you growing weak, Laila?
she asked herself, tightening her grip on her Uzi.
Five years ago, you would never let down your guard. That is how you survive, Laila. Never let down your guard.

“Let’s go, Volkfair,” she whispered. “We’re almost there.”

As she continued walking down the alley, she lowered her head. For ten years had she been fleeing the brothers—Michael of Heaven, Beelzebub of Hell, opposites but each horrible to her. She had returned to Jerusalem only to find more booze, more forgetting, to find numbness in the shade of pubs, surrounded by other souls who drank to forget. She had returned because in the deserts and forests, she had found only anguish, only coldness and pain.
I returned only to escape.
And now she was seeking the Lord of Hell himself, seeking Beelzebub, the one who had stolen her heart all those years ago.

But she had to know. She had to. And Beelzebub would have the answers.

For a long time she walked between crumbling walls, toppled buildings, and structures that still stood, their windows boarded shut, survivors huddling inside. Past abandoned market squares and smashed statues, she climbed a hill overlooking the Ancient City. A church loomed above, its soaring walls blackened with brimstone. Its belfry glowed red, scratching the ashy night sky. Cold wind rustled Laila’s frayed, dusty cloak. She would find Beelzebub here. She trudged up the hill, moving through twisting streets, heading toward this church of Hell.

Demons scuttled in the shadows around her, hissing, eyes glinting. Laila could not see them, but she heard them sniff and scratch their claws against the cobblestones. Thousands filled the shadows, the windows, the rooftops, snorting and cackling. Laila bared her fangs and with a hiss, a halo of fire ignited around her brow, as ever when danger lurked.

“Angel blood,” rose the demon hisses, over and over like a mantra, high pitched, a thousand demons whispering. “We smell angel blood, yes comrades, the stench of angel blood enters these streets.”

Volkfair growled, bristled, and showed his fangs. Laila spun to see a shadow lunging her way.

Volkfair leapt, grabbed the demon, and shook his head, sending scales flying to all sides. From the rooftops, three more demons came swooping down, shards of black in the night.

Laila fired her Uzi. The demons swooped toward her on leathery wings. The shots rang out, lighting the night. Blood flew, and the demons crashed against the alley walls, riddled with bullets. Their shrieks shattered the buildings’ cracked windows, scattering shards of glass. A thousand other demon eyes lit the darkness. Lightning rent the sky, lighting the scaly forms of countless demons upon the rooftops, hunched like gargoyles.

“Still your wings!” Laila cried. “Move and I’ll have your blood, demons. I do not tire of killing your kind.” Those demons she had shot lay on the ground, bleeding. Volkfair was moving between them, snapping their necks.

The demons’ hissing rose like waves, covering the rooftops. Their fangs and claws glistened like a field of glass shards, and smoke rose from their nostrils.

“An angel speaks with demon tongue,” rose the screeches. “A half-breed enters our realm, brothers and sisters, yes indeed. Laila has come! Laila the half-angel.” Their tongues lolled and their eyes dripped lava. “All hail Laila, hail the half-breed!” Their cackling mocked her.

Laila stared around at the thousands of demons who covered the roofs. She wondered how many she could kill if they swooped toward her. She would kill many, but even she could not defeat an entire army of demons.

“Take me to Beelzebub,” she demanded, Volkfair at her side, demon blood dripping from his maw. “I seek your lord.”

A thundering voice came from a roof to her left, a voice like an echo, a voice which sent the lesser demons cowering.

“You found him.”

Laila turned and stared, eyes narrowed. She could see only a dark shadow, like a great man, standing by a chimney above. Crouching, Laila aimed her Uzi at the burly, shadowy demon on the rooftops. This figure had no hooves, horns, or scales; shaped as a man he was, with great bat wings.
A fallen angel,
Laila knew.

“If you are Beelzebub,” she called, “show yourself, and do not hide in the shadows.”

As the fallen angel stared down toward her, Laila grabbed a grenade with her left hand, keeping her right hand on the Uzi. A machine gun could take out the lesser demons—the shades, those spawn of Hell coated with scales and horns. The fallen angels, banished from Heaven during Lucifer’s rebellion, were tougher and smarter. These demon lords could take a lot of bullets, Laila knew, so she always kept a few grenades strapped to her belt. A grenade could confuse them, even hurt them enough to let her use her claws and fangs.

She had killed fallen angels twice before—one in Bethlehem six years ago, and one in the Valley of Hinnom last winter. To kill the first took seven magazines of bullets, five grenades, and a duel of claws that lasted all night. The second fallen angel had made the first battle seem easy.
They are tough kills,
Laila thought, hand on her grenade.
But I can still take one on.

“As you wish, Laila, daughter of Hell,” came the echoing voice from above. The great demon outstretched his wings, swooped down into the alley, and landed before her. He stood, clad in old Roman armor, black and gold, an ancient being of dark beauty.

“Beelzebub,” she whispered.

The old trembles took her heart, and the memories pounded through her, old sweet memories of his kisses, his strong hands on her body, his vows of love. The grief and memories were suddenly so great, Laila struggled to curb her tears. She had been seventeen, scared, innocent; he was millennia old, endlessly wise and strong, whispering in her ears promises he could never keep. Yes, she had fallen for him then, thought that he could save her from the turmoil within her.
But that was a decade ago, in a different time, before he took over Hell. We were both different then.

His face—handsome and ageless—split into a smile, revealing fangs. “I’m glad to see you again.”

Laila straightened, letting her Uzi hang on its strap against her thigh, and held her hands to her sides, claws glinting. She showed her own fangs. “I want to talk,” she said, struggling to hide the chill that ran through her. If what Bat El said was true, if she truly was Lucifer’s daughter, then here stood more than an old lover. Here before her stood her father’s killer.

I must know if it’s true. I must.
She stared into Beelzebub’s dark eyes, refusing to turn her gaze away from his stare, a stare that could kill mortals.

Beelzebub nodded, smiling thinly. “Then let’s talk. Come into my church, Laila. We both have many things to say.”

Echoes and hisses filled the church nave. Torches flickered upon the blackened walls, casting dancing shadows, bringing scarce light to this towering cavern. The pews had burned down years ago, leaving a scorched, barren floor strewn with demon tracks. Red eyes filled every nook and alcove on the walls, staring down at Laila as she stood in the center of the nave, cloaked in shadows, claws glinting.

In the shadowy chancel ahead, Beelzebub stood by the church’s oak altar, candles burning around him. His wife, the demon Zarel, sat by him on the floor, hissing, flaming hair crackling. Zarel was no fallen angel and had none of Beelzebub’s beauty; forged in the pits of Hell was she, a being of horns and scales and flame. The Demon Queen’s eyes burned as she glared at Laila, and a heavy chain bound her neck to the floor. Her fangs glistened and oozed drool, like a rabid dog’s.

“A precaution,” Beelzebub explained to Laila, tugging the chain as Zarel growled. “She wants to kill you, you see. If I hadn’t chained her, she’d have ripped out your throat by now.”

Laila nodded, eying the chained she-devil, glad for the weight of the grenades on her belt. “Much appreciated.” Zarel’s claws were long and hard, digging ruts into the stone floor as she tugged on her chain.
She wants to dig those claws into my throat,
Laila thought and swallowed.

She turned her eyes back to Beelzebub. “Well, here I am, in your church,” she said, standing with legs slightly apart, ready to flee if she had to. She focused her hearing behind her, sniffing for demon scent. She dared not turn to look, but it seemed like ten demons, maybe twenty, hissed behind her, blocking the exit.
If I must, I can break past them,
she thought. She flicked her eyes to the stained glass windows in the clerestory above. It was hard to tell how many demons lurked in those shadows by the ceiling.
If I must, I can break through those windows too.
Volkfair growled by her, showing just the tips of his fangs.
He’s thinking the same thing.

“I’m glad you came,” Beelzebub said, stroking Zarel’s flaming hair. The light of those flames flickered against his gilded breastplate, greaves, and vambraces. “Welcome back, Laila. Welcome back. We missed you.”

“Spare me the pleasantries, Beelzebub,” Laila said, incurring a growl from Zarel. “You said we’d talk here, so get talking. There are rumors about. Are they true?”

Beelzebub laughed softly and leaned against the altar. Demons cackled in the shadows behind him. “You never did like pussyfooting around the issues, did you, Laila? You always cut to the chase. I like that about you. So unlike angels. So much like your father.”

“So he
was
my father,” Laila whispered, her body tingling. Her eyes stung, a snarl left her throat, and her halo of fire burned.
I still have angel blood within me,
she told herself, clenching her teeth.
Banished from God I might be, but the light of Heaven still burns within me, and Beelzebub will dare not hurt me. He fears me.
Still she kept her hand close to her grenades, and still she kept close to Volkfair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Beelzebub sighed and ran his claws through Zarel’s hair of flame. The Demon Queen tugged on her chain, claws digging into the floor, snapping her teeth at Laila, eyes burning. “Laila, why do you come before me today to ask this?” Beelzebub said. “Suppose I tell you that it’s true, that Lucifer was your dad, that yes, I killed him, that yes, you are rightful heir to Hell. What difference would it make?”

“It would mean I know the truth,” Laila whispered, eyes stinging. The demon eyes taunted her in the shadows, and she struggled to keep her voice steady, struggled to keep tears from falling. “It would mean that I know who I am, where I came from.”

“It would mean nothing,” Beelzebub said, his voice almost a sigh. Demons scuttled behind him, wings creaking. “Have you ever even met Lucifer? Was he any sort of father to you? Did he ever let you roast a sinner, teach you skills with the blade, hand you your first drink of bloodwine? No. I don’t think I ever heard him speak your name. He was ashamed of you, Laila, ashamed that his only child has angel blood in her veins. He was so ashamed, that when I told him I wanted to marry you, he tossed a wine horn at me. So yes, we kept it secret. It was best for everyone. Michael knew, so did Gabriel. They thought it best not to tell you. I did too.”

Laila turned her head aside. She could no longer look at Beelzebub, could no longer look at anything but the shadows. Tears blurred her eyes. “You killed my father,” she whispered, so softly she wasn’t sure Beelzebub could hear. “Hell is mine now. Your throne is mine.”

“Laila, spare me the drama,” Beelzebub said. “Please. You are young and inexperienced, I am old and tired, and I know more about the ways of Hell, Heaven, and Earth. I killed Lucifer for you, Laila. I killed him because he would not let us marry, because he hated you and I loved you, because I wanted to protect you from him. He was my best friend, and I killed him for your sake, yet still you ran off into exile. Hell is yours? You can’t even step into Hell, Laila. The hellfire would boil away your angel blood. Do you remember what happened the one time you visited?”

Laila remembered. The flames had burned her skin, torched her hair, filled her with pain, searing her angel blood, torturing her heavenly half. She had emerged half-dead, shivering and scarred. She raised her gaze again, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, and looked upon Beelzebub, looked upon her old lover, the killer of her father.

“Why do you let me live now, then?” she said. No ruler of Hell would let an enemy live... and she was an enemy now, the daughter of Lucifer, an heir to Hell’s throne. No demon would allow the child of one he killed to survive, to seek vengeance. “Why did you even let me into your hall?”

Beelzebub walked toward her. Towering over her—he was so tall—he placed his hands on her shoulders, smiling sadly down upon her. “You know why, Laila. For the same reason that Michael does not kill you.”

“He
can’t
kill me,” she whispered, turning her head away from that smile. “Few can.”