Flaming Dove (22 page)

But there
was
something she could do, Zarel knew. She could hunt down her husband's paramours and kill them. One day, not long after they married, Zarel learned of a human girl, only sixteen years old, who Beelzebub had found on Earth and impregnated. The girl was one of the few humans left in those years, a survivor who lived in a hovel somewhere in Europe. Zarel had heard demons who served with Beelzebub speak of the girl, and she left Hell, found the girl, and clawed out her throat.

I'll do the same to you, Laila,
Zarel swore as the demon army hissed and howled below. And she knew that Beelzebub was sleeping with Bat El too. She could see it in her husband's eyes.
I'll kill both sisters. Soon enough, there will be no humans or angels left in this world. Then Beelzebub will finally be just mine.

* * * * *

Laila flew over the Holy Land, out of Jerusalem, heading north over the wooded Carmel Mountains. Thin clouds covered the sky, veiling the sun, and the air was cold up here. Laila's cloak did little for warmth in the sky, and she found herself wanting a hot campfire, a fresh kill, and Volkfair by her side.

Why did I ever get involved in this war?
As she flew, Laila reached over her back and caressed Haloflame's hilt. Because she was so powerful, many assumed that she loved to fight, that she was a bloodthirsty warrior, a terror.
Nobody knows that all I really want is some peace, a nice fire, maybe a good book if I can find one.

Laila regretted flying. She should have walked, or maybe found an old car she could repair and drive. That way she could have brought her wolf. She missed him. Soon she could see the Sea of Galilee ahead, where Angor waited, and Laila suddenly feared to see him.

I'm tired of facing demons and angels. I'm sick of it all. I just want to drink and sleep.
It had been too long since she'd drunk herself unconscious. During training with Michael, she had no time to think, to feel anything but weariness, and now, her training complete, the old anguish crept back in.
I'm scared to invade Hell,
she realized. She was scared to see Angor again, scared that Zarel was hunting her, scared that Bat El was in danger, maybe dead.
Why do I always have to be so afraid?

There was a town by the lake, Laila remembered, long abandoned by humans, a place where she sometimes camped when wandering the north. During her exile, she had spent many days wandering these northern hills, miles from Jerusalem. When she spotted the ancient town, a heap of ruins that dated back to biblical times, finally destroyed in Armageddon, Laila began to descend.
I'll face Angor soon. First I need a drink.

She landed in the hilly town between stone houses. Silent, her sword over her back, she wandered down the cobbled alley. Between the buildings, she could see the rest of the ghost town sprawled over the hills, a mix of ancient buildings and newer structures, some toppled, others burned by old fire. Few humans lived here, she knew, only a handful of survivors who locked themselves indoors most of the time. Stray cats and dogs raced across the weedy streets as she walked, fleeing her.

The cobbled alleys were so narrow, the roofs of the ancient houses almost touched. Hundreds of these streets snaked over the hills, an undulating landscape of broken cobbles, crooked homes, ancient temples, and wild pines. Several goats wandered the town, and Laila even glimpsed a skinny human child flee down a street and disappear through a doorway. The town was silent, the only sound the birds and goats. In the distance beyond the hills, Laila glimpsed columns of fire and smoke; armies of angels and demons warred there.

Finally Laila found the old house where she had once spent a month, nursing a wound demons had given her in the forests. She had been nineteen, maybe twenty, wandering the Holy Land in cloak and hood, fleeing Heaven and Hell. She stepped into the old house now, the memories strong. Things had been so different back then. She had been more frightened during those years, weaker in body and spirit.
I'm so much harder now, so much darker.

Laila smiled as she entered the shadowy, dusty house. The place was just as she had left it. It was a small home, only a single story with three plain rooms, the brick walls old and crumbly. Her chest of drawers was still there, covered with dust and cobwebs, and when Laila opened it, she found a bottle of whiskey, a survivor of her old stash. Her smile sad, she uncorked the bottle and drank.
Still good.

Her power generator was still there, as she had hoped, plugged into an old record player. Buried under more dust and cobwebs, Laila unearthed her record collection, surprised that it took her so long to return here. She dusted off an old record of The Who and placed the needle on her favorite track, "Call Me Lightning". With a few squeaks and squeals, the record player began to play, and Laila sat down and leaned against the wall.

"It's a happy song," she said aloud, just to hear a voice. She was so used to speaking to Volkfair, that even with him away, she found herself needing to speak aloud. She pretended that her wolf was there to hear. "I don't think people would imagine I like a happy song, but I do. It makes me happy."

She took a swig of her drink and shut her eyes. Soon the bottle was empty and her head spinning, and she kept playing the same song. "Call me lightning," she sang in the shadowy room. "Call me lightning. I'm like lightning, Volkfair. I'm fast. I'm fast. I can hurt people. I don't want to. I don't want to go to Hell. Volkfair, do you hear me?"

She smashed the empty bottle against the wall and rummaged for more booze, but found none. "Dum dum dum, call me lightning." Nobody answered, and Laila curled up on the floor, accidentally kicking over the record player. The music died, and she slept.

She slept through the night, sprawled across the floor, like in the old days when she'd sleep in caves, burrows, abandoned houses, and fields, passed out with an empty bottle at her side. When she woke up, her head ached, and her stomach felt queasy. The floor was dark where she had drooled onto it. She looked aside at the smashed bottle, and the smell of alcohol made her stagger outside and retch into the bushes. She straightened, groggy, and winced in the morning light.

"Man, my head hurts," she muttered. Why did she have to drink the entire bottle in one sitting? Her stomach still roiling, she tested flapping her right wing, then her left.
I can't face Angor now, hung over, groggy, with that song still stuck in my head.
Yet Laila dared not tarry longer. Every day that she dallied, Hell grew stronger. Their spies reported that Zarel was mustering an army in the south, and Laila knew that army was meant for one purpose: to kill her.
But I have a few surprises up my sleeve. Killing me won't be so easy, Zarel.

A rooster called atop a roof ahead, but the thought of breakfast made Laila's stomach churn again, as did the thought of flying. Instead, Laila set out to walk to the lake, Haloflame strapped over her back. She took slow steps, rubbing her temples, heading down the hills toward the water. The lake glistened in the valley below, deep blue, fringed by treed beaches. For thousands of years, the humans worshipped at this lake, where they said Jesus walked, where the River Jordan flowed. A lake of Holy Water, Laila knew. A lake that could extinguish hellfire.
This better work.

She could not see Angor from here, and she wondered if he hid underwater, or if he had betrayed her and fled. "I told you to wait for me at the lake," she muttered. If he had escaped, Laila swore that she'd hunt him down, chop off his tail and wings, and—once she conquered Hell—demote him to the firepits.

Soon Laila walked alongside the banks of the lake, trees and rushes rustling around her. Thousands of birds flocked here, and Laila glimpsed orange and red fish in the water. Just as she was reflecting how the animals multiplied as the humans vanished, Laila noticed a human girl standing by the water, leaning against a eucalyptus. Eighteen or nineteen years old, the girl wore only tattered underclothes, revealing a bruised, muddy body that had maintained an attractive curviness in an era when most humans were skin and bones.

"Well, what are
you
then?" the girl asked when she saw Laila, her eyes widening, a smile curling the corners of her lips. Her face was squat and square, attractive in its own unique way, with green eyes, full lips, and wavy hair that fell to her shoulders.

"I'm half-demon, half-angel," Laila replied, surprised that the girl did not recognize her. She thought that everyone on Earth knew of her. If for no other reason, Laila instantly liked the girl.

"My, my," the girl said, eyes widening even further, sparkling with what looked like delight mixed with surprise. "Would you like a trick, then? Loaf of bread gets you an hour. Give me salted meat or fruit, and I'm yours all morning."

Laila blew out her breath. "Just because I wear big boots and carry a sword doesn't mean I roll that way."

The girl shrugged. "Would you like to go for a swim, then? I hate swimming alone. There's a great demon in the lake. But I won't be scared to swim with you, and I could use a good bath."

So Angor
was
here. Laila nodded. "I'd like a swim." A human girl, young and attractive, selling her wares for cheap... this one would know Beelzebub. Laila was sure of that. If she could befriend the girl, she could use her.

Laila pulled off her boots, doffed her cloak, and stripped down to her underwear.

"Your body is all bruised and cut," the girl said.

"So is yours," Laila replied.

The girl shrugged and stepped toward the water. "Part of the business."

They entered the lake. The water stung Laila's skin, just holy enough to tingle her. This lake had been blessed millennia ago, and most of its holiness was gone. It wouldn't be enough to burn demons, Laila knew.
I just hope it's still holy enough to extinguish hellfire. It better be, or I'm screwed.

Particolored fish swam around them, nibbling at their legs, and aquatic plants caressed Laila's toes. She ducked under, letting the water fill her hair. It had been so long since she'd gone for a swim. This felt good—the water, the birds above, the company of a girl who did not fear her, did not even know her.
Is this what it feels like to be an angel?
Laila wondered. It was so rare for her to feel her angelic side, to feel peace and beauty, that whenever the feeling tickled her, she clung to it.
Never forget, Laila, that angel blood flows through you, that you are capable of peace and beauty too.

"What's your name?" she asked the girl as they waded through the lake, the water up to their necks.

"They call me Kayleigh," the girl said, moving through the water beside her, glancing around as if searching for Angor. Her light hair turned brown when wet.

"What's your real name?"

"Kayleigh is good enough. That's my real name now." She laughed uncomfortably and wriggled in the water. "These fish keep nipping my feet."

Laila smiled. "We should catch a couple and bite into them in return."

Kayleigh wrinkled her nose. "I can't gut a fish, and I hate cooking them. Do you know how?"

"I do."

"Okay. We can make some later, if you can start a fire. I'm out of matches."

Laila smiled crookedly. "If there's anything I do well, it's starting fires."

Kayleigh looked into Laila's eyes, fear and fascination mixing across her square face. "Your eyes seem to be on fire, like the flames on candles. Can you see in the dark with them?"

"Well enough. Do my eyes scare you?"

Kayleigh shrugged. "I don't know. I've seen eyes of flame before. There's a fallen angel I know. His eyes are like that too."

Here we go.
This was going faster than Laila had expected. "Is he tall, with black curly hair, and black armor filigreed with gold?"

Kayleigh nodded. "Is he your brother? He looks a little like you. He also has fangs and claws, but his are larger and look meaner." She showed Laila old scratches on her shoulder. "He doesn't even realize when he scratches me. He says later that he doesn't remember doing it."

"Beelzebub," Laila said.

Kayleigh nodded. "That's the name he gave me. Are you two related?"

Laila raised an eyebrow. "You don't know who Beelzebub is?"

"He never told me much about himself. I think he's married. I don't ask questions. He brings me good meat, eggs, wine. He's nice, kind of quiet, laid back. I like him."

Laila bit her lip, shocked that anyone would not know who Beelzebub was. Then again, this girl was born after Armageddon, and probably grew up along this shore, illiterate and uneducated.
Maybe it's better that she doesn't know.
Strangely, the thought of Beelzebub with another woman still sent pangs of jealousy through Laila, even after all these years.

The girls swam for a while with no sign of Angor. Laila caught three fish, and Kayleigh had some rice stashed inside an old suitcase. The girls started a bonfire on the shore and ate lunch, birds pecking the grass around them, columns of flame rising across the lake with sounds of distant battle. At one point, a black hump disturbed the surface of the water, then disappeared with a grumble, sending birds into flight. Kayleigh froze and paled. "The demon."

Laila nodded. "Don't worry about him. I'm going to get rid of him after lunch. I'd like to talk to you a bit more about Beelzebub first."

The girl, it turned out, sold her words for not much more than her body. Laila promised to visit once a week with parcels of food. In return, she had the sweetest little spy in the Holy Land at her service.

"Next time you have him in his passion," Laila told the girl, "when he scratches and moans and is unaware of himself, ask him questions. Can you get him into a state where he'll answer anything?"

Kayleigh nodded with a crooked smile and a wink. "You're good at starting fires in wood. I can start fires in the male heart. If there's anything I can do, it's that. List your questions, Laila the half-demon, and I will give you the answers."