Demon's Fall (3 page)

“I was told to talk to Edom.”

“Who’s Edom?”

“He’s a demon-horse, one of the most powerful.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I thought demon-horses were used as steeds by other demons.”

“No one’s ever ridden Edom,” Kenan said, “or will, until the world’s end is nigh.”

“Oh,” she said. “One of those four. And we’re supposed to talk to him?”

“It won’t trigger Armageddon,” Kenan assured her. “I’ve dealt with him before.”

The stable was in a nearby neighborhood of Hellsgate with few humans. Demons eyed Jahel uneasily. One looked at Kenan and growled. “Are you trying to start a war?”

It would take too long to explain, so he simply said, “No,” and moved on, ignoring Jahel’s questioning look. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her about the recent angelic activity in the city. If he wanted to seduce her into giving him her soul, he had to keep her focused on her goal. He was relieved to arrive at the stable shortly afterward.

A stallion walked out to meet them, easily nineteen hands tall, his hide and mane red as blood. He whinnied a challenge at Jahel, whose wings opened as she glared back defiantly.

“Fleet Edom,” Kenan greeted him.

Edom turned to him and snorted twin tufts of smoke. “Kenan. Why bring this one here? She has the skies and no need for hooves even as swift as ours.”

“We come not for steeds.”

“It seemed too soon for you to be heading back out to the mortal realms,” the stallion said. “Then?”

“I hear there may be a hellhound here.”

Edom pawed a stone on the ground, sending up a shower of sparks. “And what business have you with such a one?”

“A soul, of course,” Kenan said.

“Hellhounds are not lightly disturbed.”

“I know.”

The stallion studied him, then moved aside. “The last stall. If you are burned to a crisp, you cannot say I did not warn you.”

Kenan went past him, but Jahel must have paused.

“Do demon-horses eat pie?” he heard her ask.

“I’ve never had any,” Edom said.

He turned around to the sight of the demon-horse lowering his muzzle to the angel’s hand and taking a slice of baked apple extracted from the pie’s filling. He was still stunned when Jahel rejoined him.

“He could smell the apples when I was about to pass him,” she said, almost defensively.

“I’m just glad he wasn’t offended,” he said. He supposed he shouldn’t expect anything typical from an angel who had come to Hellsgate. “Don’t offer any to the hellhound.”

She showed him her empty hands. “I ate the last of it.”

The stables were made of stone so that no accidental fires would be started. The demon-horses in the stalls took no notice of Kenan as he passed by, but stared balefully at Jahel.

“Perhaps I should have saved some,” she said in a dry voice.

“You can’t expect demons to like your presence in their home,” he said. “What reception would I get in Heavensgate?”

She shook her head. “I can’t even imagine.”

The last stall held the hound and a small fire that burned merrily without fuel on a flat hearth-rock. The hellhound was a massive beast who would have come up to Kenan’s chest had he been standing, but he was lying on the ground, forepaws stretched out and tail trailing into the fire.

The hellhound raised his head to sniff the air. “Incubus,” he rumbled in civil enough greeting.

“Hound of Hell,” Kenan said, just as polite. He knew better than to dismiss a hellhound as a dumb beast.

“Why do you bring one of the winged ones of Heaven here? I have no interest in angels.”

“She brought me information,” Kenan said. “She told me you hold a soul.”

“So I do,” the hellhound said.

Kenan relaxed. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until then. Jahel’s story was true, then, and she wasn’t the thief.

“What does it matter to you?” the hellhound asked. “I hear your kind gathers human souls like a bitch in heat does curs.”

“I would trade for this one, so that I can then trade it to her.”

“Dealings between an angel and a demon.” He looked at them with keen red eyes, and Kenan felt as though he knew exactly what those dealings entailed. “I will not ask what you want from her, incubus.”

Kenan didn’t want Jahel to dwell upon that too long, so he said swiftly, “No, it’s for me to ask what it is you want.”

“The girl is a princess,” the hellhound said. “Her hands were soft and sweet, stroking my fur. Who can you give me who rivals that?”

“A princess?” Kenan said, startled. He could see the appeal of having royalty as a servant, but it jarred with what he’d been told. “How did she come to be cast into the woods?”

“The new queen, her stepmother, was jealous of her beauty because it eclipsed hers.”

A beautiful princess. It would be hard to match—he’d only ever managed one of those himself, and he had traded her soul away long ago. But he had a thought. “What of the queen? She must be lovely herself, to be so vain. And is a queen not superior to a princess?”

“You have the queen’s soul?”

“Not yet.” Kenan smiled. “But when I do?”

The hellhound laughed, tongue lolling. “You incubi are always so arrogant. I can see how you get along with an angel. Yes, the queen is a witch, and it would be satisfying indeed to possess her soul. Bring it to me and I will give you that of the princess.”

Kenan turned to share this triumph with Jahel, but the angel’s face was stricken.

“Is there nothing else you would take?” she asked.

The hellhound gave her a steady look. “I have no interest in angels,” he said again. “Particularly those who have failed at their guardianship.”

“We’ll return with the soul,” Kenan said before Jahel could vent any of her shocked fury, and set a hand firmly on her upper arm to guide her from the stall. She almost jerked away, then visibly recalled that he could have used the chain and grudgingly followed until they were away from the stable. Then she whirled on him.

“How could you?” she demanded.

“We had to make a trade,” he said reasonably. “Hellhounds aren’t foolish enough to give things away for naught. They’re fiendishly intelligent.” The hound had clearly recognized what his interest in her had been.

“And as evil as the rest of you! Demanding another soul, after stealing away this one’s? You can’t take another’s soul!”

“Darling,” he said, “I’m a demon. That’s what I do.”

“But this one will be taken because of me! And that’s not what angels do!”

He sighed as the agitated sweep of her wings nearly took down a passerby. “Calm down, gutter-wing. You heard the hellhound. The queen is a witch. Those who use the dark arts inevitably find their way to Hell in any case.”

“I know what she is,” she said, but there was less force in her voice.

“The angels claim their own. Let the demons do the same. This is a woman who tried to kill her own stepdaughter, the girl you were guarding. Are you truly going to protect her too?”

Her shoulders slumped. He wanted to rub them, but bided his time.

Her voice came almost too soft to hear. “I think she’s already given her soul away.”

Were mortals even attempting to hold onto them these days? “To whom?”

“There’s a glass in her chambers,” she said. “She consults it to find any maiden fairer than she, and it speaks to her.”

“A mirror-demon,” Kenan said. “How does she invoke it?”

“By rhyme.”

“Then she’s bound it to her service by sorcery,” he said in relief. “Some lesser demons get trapped so. No bargain’s been sealed.”

“So you’re free to take her soul.” Her tone was bitter.

He reached for patience. “How were you planning to take the soul from the hellhound on your own?”

She exhaled. “I don’t know what I would have tried instead—probably something absurd that would make you look at me the way you are now—but I still would have tried, and it would have been something different. I know I’m being ungrateful. I never would have offered this trade. Wouldn’t have been able to. I suppose I should be glad you’re here.”

He found that his irritation was gone. There was something compelling about her impassioned babble. “This is what happens when you accept a demon’s help,” he said. “He’ll use a demon’s methods.”

“And thank you for helping. I wouldn’t have gotten even to this point without you.” She gave him a tired smile. “I don’t know where to go next, either.”

“Mirror-demons have two sides,” he said. “One is fixed in the mortal realm. The other may be here in Hellsgate.”

“I’ve learned it’s a large city,” she said.

“It wouldn’t be anywhere but in the Hall of Mirrors.”

“But of course,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. “And I suppose you actually know where it is?”

“And I even know the man who can help us get in. It isn’t guarded, but the way is locked. There’s a locksmith who won’t have any trouble with it, though.”

“You can be useful after all.”

“I lose our way once and you doubt that I know how to get anywhere,” he said, shaking his head, and then set out.

“This walking about is very slow,” she observed, flexing her wings and glancing upward wistfully.

“There’s more to see, though.”

“How can you say that? From the skies, you can see everything spread before you, from one horizon to another.”

“Yes,” he said, “but can you make out each person in that landscape?”

She looked at those they were passing, mortal and demon alike, and her brow furrowed.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t want to in Hellsgate,” he conceded, “but do you ever walk in Heavensgate? Speak with the saints there? Marvel at the statues carved to honor the angels?”

“No,” she said. “We fly directly to Heaven. And there are no statues in Heavensgate. We would have seen them from above.”

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “So you would note statues, but not the people.”

“They are saints, many of them,” she said. “Already devoted to an afterlife in Heaven. They don’t need us to guard their souls.”

“Well, walking’s worthwhile in the mortal realms.”

“Do you walk while you’re there?”

“I often ride a demon-horse,” he admitted. “But I enjoy walking in cities. That’s where you find the people.”

“That’s where you find the souls, you mean.”

He didn’t know how to explain to her how much he relished the sheer noise and color of mortals’ cities, all rich and varied. The souls were almost an excuse. It was interacting with the people, learning their hidden desires and teasing them into the open; watching them pursue their ambitions with the passion only a finite lifetime could bring.

“Do you guard mortals only for the sake of their souls?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and then, understanding dawning, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a thrill in watching their lives,” she said. “Seeing them caught up in so much. And sometimes there are wards I come to care for. When it’s time to take their souls, it’s bittersweet.”

“You care for this princess?” He couldn’t see her going to these lengths otherwise, whatever she said about angels’ honor.

“I felt sorry for her at first, growing up motherless. But she’s a sweet girl. I grew fond of her.”

“Do angels ever interfere with their wards’ deaths?”

She hesitated. “Sometimes. They’re not supposed to.”

“Yet you didn’t try to do so with this girl? It would have deprived the hellhound of anything to bargain with.”

She met his gaze and said, “I did. I followed the huntsman who left her there, to try to move him to pity and save the girl. It worked, but when he returned, the hellhound had come, and the man fled at the sight of it. It was out of my hands then.”

He had never thought he would approve of an angel, but this rebellious streak in her intrigued him. She had dared come to Hellsgate, after all. He said, “You’ll get that soul back yet,” and when she smiled, the wrongness of his words melted away.

Tiras the locksmith already had a key ready. It had no teeth, but its surface was a series of mirrored facets that would reflect light in a precise pattern, he explained. “Don’t drop it,” he warned as he passed it over. Despite his graying hair, his hands were steady.

Kenan decided to hold on to it instead of putting it into his belt pouch full of coins. “Why do you have a key to the Hall of Mirrors?” he asked.

“Who do you think made the lock?” Tiras returned with a wry smile.

“This won’t get you in trouble?”

“You’re accompanying an angel. I’m sure it’s for a good cause. You are helping her, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Kenan assured him.

“Good.” Tiras nodded firmly. “Besides, when could I deny you anything?”

It was an old flirtation, ever since they had met on the road to Hellsgate. Tiras was one of the few Kenan considered a friend.

“Because you know it’ll make for a good story,” Kenan said with a grin. Tiras loved a good tale almost more than anything else. “I’ll tell it to you over an ale later.”

“If it would not distress her too much.
Angeliki
,” he said to Jahel with a respectful nod.

She seemed more embarrassed than anything else by his attention. As soon as they were outside, she asked Kenan, “What is a good man doing in Hellsgate? He’s the only one who hasn’t looked as though he wanted to spit on me.”

“He’s one of the lost ones,” he said.

“He was a demon?”

“He was an angel.”

“And he’s living in Hellsgate?” Her voice climbed in disbelief.

Tiras had told his own tale to Kenan once. “He loved a mortal, who has since died. Afterward, he did some things he’s not proud of, and coming here was a self-imposed penance at first. But he’s come to like Hellsgate, I think. He practices a useful trade here, and he’s more comfortable among people who accept all manner of strange folk.”

“Except angels,” she said. “He could have settled in Heavensgate.”

“Oh? How would they look upon an angel who shed his wings?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a pause.

“He doesn’t speak much of his origins, anyway,” Kenan said, wishing now that he had coaxed more out of the locksmith, so that he could better understand Jahel. “But I don’t think he misses Heaven. Curiosity drew him away from there as much as anything else, and there’s plenty happening here.”

It actually made him wonder. Tiras couldn’t bear a locked door—thus his profession—and Kenan would not have put it past him to sneak a look at the guarded prophecies in Heaven. What could be more tempting than knowledge of the world’s end? He was a mortal now, but how long might the breach have gone unnoticed? The angels might not have checked the scrolls for a long while, assuming they were safe.

It wasn’t a speculation to voice in front of Jahel, and he didn’t know if it was worth confronting Tiras.

Distracted, he nearly walked past their destination, but Jahel said, “Is that it?”

The Hall of Mirrors was a grandiose building, seemingly built of gleaming obsidian, with towers at each corner. The door was tall enough for a giant, and a single hole was set in its center.

The key fit smoothly into the lock. He turned it precisely halfway, then back, and the door clicked. He pulled it open and they stepped inside.

It was full of light even though the only windows were tiny and set high up in each corner, for the mirrors that lined the walls were angled so that they picked up their light and threw it to the next set of mirrors.

“How will we know which one it is?” Jahel asked, shading her eyes and surveying the hall. A dozen Jahels turned as she did.

“These are just mirrors,” he said. “The demons prefer higher chambers, where there are windows, and so views of the city to reflect.”

“How can we go higher?”

He pushed on one side of a corner panel, causing the light to shift all around them, and it pivoted to reveal a staircase.

“Stairs,” she sighed, but she followed him.

The first few rooms were empty of mirrors, although they held other furnishings. Stone statues graced one, their poses caught at just the right point in the arc of motion that they seemed to be on the cusp of coming to life—or having been snuffed from it. The next held a glass ball that began rolling toward them until Kenan backed away with a quick apology.

“Was that a mirror-demon?” Jahel asked.

“Yes. That’s one of their most common shapes. The one we’re looking for will be trapped into one shape, though, whatever form it holds in the mortal plane.”

In the highest chamber of the tower, a gold-framed full-length mirror was set upon the wall opposite the window. “That one,” Jahel said. “That’s what it looked like.”

The mirror-demon was opaque. Kenan cleared his throat and it flickered once before reflecting his face back at him.

“What?” his reflection said, although Kenan had not moved his lips.

“We’re seeking the mirrored one who serves a mortal queen,” Kenan said.

The mirror-demon hissed. “I am trapped by such a one, yes.”

“We seek her downfall.”

“She does, as well?” And it was Jahel’s image speaking to him, but with a mocking cast to her mouth that did not fit the angel’s face.

“Do you not see the collar? She is mine.” And he thought,
I wish she were.
And not simply her soul or body. The realization was like a clawed hand sinking into his belly and slowly rising toward his heart. That face meant more to him than a potential conquest.

He was relieved when the mirror returned to his visage. “Say on,” the mirror said in his voice. “What would you have befall this jailer-queen?”

Kenan focused on the bargaining at hand. “I will take her soul.”

“Fitting,” mirror-Kenan said. “But not enough.”

“What more, then?”

“She must break me,” the mirror said. “Then I’ll be free from her.”

“I’ll make her angry with you,” Kenan said. “I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

The mirror considered this. Finally it said, “She will be coming soon. Step through.” And it changed to show a lavishly appointed bedchamber with velvet drapes, a canopied bed, and richly dyed tapestries on the walls.

Kenan started toward that scene, but Jahel took a step along with him, and he turned to her in surprise.

“You’re coming with me?”

She sounded resigned. “I must witness what I brought about.”

Her damned honor. He wouldn’t be able to talk her out of this. “You can watch from this side,” he said.

“I won’t interfere,” she said.

He wasn’t so sure that she would be able to restrain herself, but that wasn’t his concern. Mortals had trouble seeing angels, but a witch might be able to tell, and more to the point, he would know she was there. He didn’t think he could conduct a seduction with her actually present in the room.

He couldn’t tell her the real reason, so he drew her aside and said in a low voice, “I don’t trust the mirror-demon. Stay here, and make sure it doesn’t close the way back against me.”

“How?”

“Something hard and sharp,” he suggested. “Or that sweet tongue of yours.”

She gave him a flat look, then crossed her arms. “All right, I’ll stay here.”

He smiled his relief and stepped through the mirror.

His timing was perfect—the queen had just entered the chamber and turned to close the door behind her when he came through. She turned back and saw him.

She was beautiful indeed, with sun-gold hair and cheekbones that would make a sculptor proud. Kenan rather thought that marble would suit her better than flesh. There were no signs of past laughter or softness on that face.

“Who are you?” she asked sharply. Her face held no fear, only an imperious expression.

He bowed deeply. “Your fair visage drew me from the glass,” he said.

“You’re the mirror-demon?” Her eyes slid down his form. “You’re not as I expected.” She did not sound as though the surprise was unpleasant.

He smiled and came closer. “I hope I am as your majesty desires,” he murmured.

“My desire was to have you affixed on that wall and obedient to my bidding,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Upon the wall, I can only answer as you ask,” he said. “But there is something I would tell you.”

“Speak.”

He took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. “As your majesty commands,” he said. “You are even lovelier without the glass between us.” He turned over her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

She was amused now. “That is what you have to say?” But he could feel her pulse speed a touch under his lips.

“Do you know that you torment me?” he said suddenly, releasing her hand.

Her eyes narrowed. “I have placed you in useful service. I ask but one question each day, and leave you be otherwise. Is that overly taxing?”

“It is not the service I object to, your majesty.” He stiffened his back. “It is that you hang me on the wall of your bedchamber. Each night I must watch you disrobe, and lie upon a mattress so fortunate as to press against your exquisite body.”

“A mirror-demon feels desire?”

He knew how to bring about a reaction. He thought of that sight of Jahel’s back, then took the queen’s hand again and pressed it against his hardness. “Your majesty can tell me.”

She drew her hand away, but with a slow upward caress against his erection. “The king is old,” she murmured. “Not even my body can stir him some nights.”

“Then he has grown blind,” Kenan said, letting his gaze roam over her. “Modesty doesn’t become you, your majesty. Not when you have freely shown yourself to me before.”

She dragged a finger along her neckline. “And if I show myself to you as I have before…”

He kept his eyes on that finger. “I will tell you how fair you are.”

The queen smiled an invitation. He stepped forward, but she turned her back to him. “You may help undress me,” she said.

“You are generous,” he murmured.

He couldn’t help glancing toward the mirror. He saw nothing but the expected reflection, but he knew that Jahel was watching them through it. It was more difficult than he’d expected, conducting a seduction under the eyes of an angel.

He loosened the ties of the queen’s dress and buried his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder, unwilling to look at the mirror any longer. He kissed the skin there, remembering how he had wanted to do the same to Jahel.

It was a practiced series of motions that brought them to the bed, the queen naked and he still clothed—she was the type of woman who preferred being pleasured over enjoying her partner’s body. When she was finally gasping and writhing under him, he leaned close to her ear.

“The princess is still alive,” he said.

She stilled. “What?”

He plunged two fingers into her and twisted, watching her body twist in response. “You sent a mortal huntsman to slay her,” he said. “A man with frail resolve. I know a hellhound who could take up her scent. Such dogs never stop until they bring down their prey.”

“So I must bind a hellhound to me?”

“I would harness it for you,” he reassured her.

“You?”

He didn’t like her derisive laugh, so he shoved another finger into her and bent over her to suckle her breast, making her body arch upward. Only then did he say, “You’re right, your majesty. Nothing I could offer would interest it.” He moved to the other nipple and pulled it into his mouth.

After a moment she asked in a blurred voice, “What do hellhounds want?”

“Souls.”

“It can have the girl’s.”

“It will demand a price to start the hunt.”

“Why not your own, if you’re so devoted a servant?”

“Demons have no souls,” he said easily. It was a common misconception among mortals.

He could see her, even in the throes of her pleasure, trying to determine if she could command any of her underlings to give up their soul for her, then discarding the notion.

“Will I change?”

“You can only become more powerful with a hellhound to do your bidding.”

That appealed to her, he could tell. “How is this done?”

He brushed his lips along her throat. “Tell me your real name,” he coaxed her.

“Marrah Storm Iroon.” Her voice remained strong. “My soul is yours.”

And with that he had her. He knew the name of her soul, and with reflexive ease, he called it to him in a form he could hold. On her next exhalation, he felt it turn solid in his hand. He slipped the coin into his belt pouch and rose.

The queen sat up. “You’re leaving me?” she asked, disbelieving.

He turned back to her. She was magnificent naked, with full breasts still rising to the rhythm of her rapid breaths, but his appraisal was dispassionate. “Even if your stepdaughter dies, there will be one far lovelier than you,” he said. “In burlap and ashes, she would be fairer. If I took you, your majesty, and fell to slumber by your side, I would dream of her. You are nothing in a world with her.”

She screamed in rage. He turned and flung his body toward the mirror, trusting that it would open for him. A rush of air behind him told him that the queen was coming toward him—

The brightness of the Hall of Mirrors, and the sound of glass breaking.

Jahel had broken Kenan’s fall, and she was still pinned under him. For a moment he couldn’t focus at all, and then his senses sharpened and it seemed as though he could feel the texture of her skin even through their clothes. Her wings were outspread beneath her, so that it seemed they were on a carpet of feathers. He’d only just been in bed with an attractive woman, going through all the movements of lovemaking and feeling nothing but disgust. He had only to press against this one, and he was ablaze with need.

“Ouch,” she said.

He immediately rolled off of her and offered her a hand. She ignored it and came to her feet on her own, looking at the mirror-demon behind him.

He turned to face his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror-demon sighed languorously. Its surface was marred by a hundred cracks, but as Kenan stood and watched, those cracks moved until they outlined his face. Then his reflection leaned forward and broke away from the mirror-back.