Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (75 page)

The wolf she had healed leapt from demon to demon, biting. The shades shrieked and clawed, but Volkfair tore them apart like rag dolls.

“Don’t hurt him!” Bat El said, grabbed a spear from the wall, and began lashing at the demons. Soon the bodies of her captors littered the floor, blood dripping. Volkfair stood before her, panting, eyes pleading. He tugged at her tunic with bloody teeth.

More demons were clacking downstairs into the hall. Bat El leapt out the window, Volkfair at her side.

“You remembered me,” she said, tears in her eyes. Demons were flowing out of the fort behind. Bat El ran, Laila’s wolf at her side.

+ + +

“Return to your banishment,” Michael demanded, voice booming. His wings spread wide under the veiled sky, and his lance blazed. The battle for Jerusalem raged below, shells bursting, walls tumbling, demons and angels cutting one another down. “Don’t make me kill you like you killed our brother.”

Beelzebub smiled, his wings flapping, Raphael’s blood staining his hands. “We end things today,” he called over the booming battle below. “I killed one brother today, and now I kill the other. This war ends.”

He shot forward, drawing his sword, swiping the blade at Michael. Floating over the crumbling city, Michael raised his lance, blocking Beelzebub’s blow. Sword and lance shot out again, clanging, raising sparks. Hellfire and godlight burst and clashed, sizzling red and gold.

Beelzebub laughed as he fought, drunk on blood and rage and horror, heart still pounding with guilt. Michael fought with narrowed eyes, face stern.

“I bedded that girl of yours, that Bat El,” Beelzebub called out, half smirking, half snarling. He saw the pain in Michael’s eyes, just a hint, and his smirk grew.
Michael loves the girl,
he knew. He could see it. “She’s mine now, Michael. Gabriel’s daughter is with Hell’s camp. Your war is over.”

“Not while Laila is—”

Beelzebub’s sword sliced into Michael’s wing, cutting off his voice. Three white feathers fell from the sky, and Michael winced. Beelzebub barked a laugh. Michael’s lance thrust, banging into Beelzebub’s breastplate, denting it, knocking the breath out of him. His smile gone now, Beelzebub swung his sword again. He had never dueled with his brother before. The archangel was good. Beelzebub had never fought his better. He snarled, baring his fangs, and let his blade sing.

Sword and lance danced for a long time over the city. The devil and the archangel seemed to fight in a fireball of godlight and hellfire, ablaze over the ruins, and they kept fighting into darkness. The demons and angels watched below, cheering for their masters, brandishing their spears and claws.

Beelzebub was tired. He knew Michael was tired too. They’d been slugging it out for too long, for twenty-seven years here on this burned world. Yet Beelzebub would not lower his blade.
Not until I slice off Michael’s head, or until he does the same to me.
He growled, summoning all the fire within him for strength.
You and God banished me from Heaven. I’m going to take that world from you, and then God will be the banished one.

A flash of godlight below caught his eye. Beelzebub faltered for a split second.
Bat El!
Bat El stood below, watching him duel, godlight glinting in her golden hair.

“Bat El,” Beelzebub whispered. He had to get her out of here. His demons would be killing every angel they found, they—

Michael’s lance slammed into his shoulder, cutting through Beelzebub’s armor to pierce his flesh. Beelzebub screamed, blood filling his shirt.
Damn it, forget about Bat El now, concentrate—

Michael’s lance flew again, hitting the same spot, knocking Beelzebub into a spin. He tumbled through the sky, gritted his teeth, spread his wings, swung his sword. Yet he had lost his momentum, was a second behind the dance now. Michael’s fist slammed into Beelzebub’s face, and the fallen angel saw blinding light, and he fell from the sky.

The wind rushed around him, and he hit a cobbled street, cracking the stones. Pain burst. Michael swooped down upon him before Beelzebub could find his breath, and the lance tore into his thigh.

“Damn you, Michael!” Beelzebub screamed.

Michael placed his foot upon Beelzebub’s chest, pinning him down. The wind ruffled Michael’s burgundy cape and his wings spread wide. His halo and golden hair glowed. “You said we end this war today,” Michael said, eyes red, moist. “So be it, brother. I never wanted to fight you. I wanted to stop you from your mad war against my lord, but you would not listen. I love you, my brother, but you leave me no choice.”

As Beelzebub lay bloodied below, Michael raised his lance above Beelzebub’s neck.
So it ends now,
Beelzebub thought.
Goodbye, Bat El. I love you.

“No!” came a sob from behind. Swan wings fluttered, and the hands of an angel grabbed Michael’s lance, staying his blow. Weeping, Bat El, daughter of Gabriel, half-sister of Laila, spread herself over Beelzebub, protecting him with her body.

“Please, Michael,” she wept, “don’t kill him. I love him.”

Michael reached down to pull her away, but Bat El had given the demons time enough to arrive. Shades swarmed over Michael, covering him with claws and leathery wings. As Michael hacked at them, Bat El helped Beelzebub up, and they took flight. He held onto her as they flew, leaving the city behind for the angels. His blood flowed and he felt close to death by the time they reached the fort. His head spun, and Bat El lay him in bed, and kissed him, weeping. Darkness overcame Beelzebub, lord of Hell, and he slept.

+ + +

Bat El lay on the bed by Beelzebub, running her hand through his dark curls as he slept. She had changed his clothes and bandaged his wounds, and fed him water and honey. Michael’s lance had driven deep into his shoulder and thigh, and his lip was bloody and swollen. As he slept, Bat El watched his wounds heal, smaller by the hour. A fallen angel was he, and no wounds would slow him down for long. Soon he would be up and back to his wars. Bat El found herself wishing he could sleep as long as possible, if only for the silence in this room, the brief respite from violence.

She sighed.
I might as well look into getting my swan wings replaced with bat ones,
she thought. How could she have done this?

“I came down to this world full of godlight and holy conviction,” she whispered to the sleeping Beelzebub. “Look what you did to me.”

Will God banish her from Heaven now? Could she ever return home? More than she cared about going home, Bat El worried for her own heart, worried whether evil was consuming her goodness, whether she had any goodness left within her at all. In this war, she had taken a stand against Heaven, had defended the devil. Armageddon could have ended in that battlefield. Michael could have slain his brother and ended the war, ushering in an era of peace, bringing light and godliness to the world. Yet now... what would happen now? To Earth, to her own soul?

Is this how Laila feels?
she wondered.
Is this how it feels to have both Heaven and Hell warring within you?
For the first time, Bat El thought she could understand her sister, and knew why Laila had fled this war for so long. The true war between Heaven and Hell had always been fought within Laila’s heart, as it was now being fought within Bat El.

She stepped toward the window and looked out into the night. Through a clearing between the ash in the sky, she glimpsed a single star, soon veiled. Heaven was up there, she knew, and tears ran down Bat El’s face. She missed Heaven. She missed the old days, playing with her friends with rag balls, praying in the temples, wearing white dresses and placing ribbons in her hair. Those days would never return, she knew with a chill and lowered her head. She hated that she had ever come to Earth, ever thought she could do good here. This world instilled nothing but sin within her, and if her father ever saw her again, she knew the archangel would not recognize her.

“I’m sorry, dad,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry, God. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, and I don’t ask for any. I’m just sorry.”

Beelzebub’s voice came from the bed, weak. “I forgive you.”

She turned and looked down upon him. He still seemed pale, but slowly color was returning to him. “I never needed your forgiveness,” she said to him. “I don’t need forgiveness from the devil.”

He smiled up at her. “And yet you love this devil. I heard you.”

“I was confused. The battle scared me. That’s all.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, and she sat beside him and hugged him. “I love you too,” he whispered into her ear, holding her.

“You say that to all the girls. I know.” She pushed him back against the pillow.

He stretched his arm, then winced and lay it still. “Don’t worry so much, Bat El. Don’t worry about Michael, about God. Forget all that. Heaven is a bore, trust me. I lived there, I know it. Come with me to Hell. We’ll have fun there, parties, drinking.... We’ll make love every morning and every night, with no worries other than planning what we’ll eat for dinner.”

She sighed. It did not sound all that bad, she had to admit. “The hellfire would burn me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “After what happened at the battle, I wouldn’t worry about that. You might become a fallen angel soon too.”

“I will not.” She shuddered. She couldn’t imagine herself without her halo, fangs and claws growing from her.

He caressed her hair and kissed her cheek. “You have nothing to worry about so long as you’re with me.” He lay back down, and she lay beside him. He played with her hair. “And Bat El... thank you. For what you did.”

She rolled away from him, facing the wall, ignoring his fingers running along her back. “I should have let Michael kill you,” she said. She didn’t mean it, and Beelzebub would know. She closed her eyes, a tear running down her cheek.

Water drenched Limbo.

The smallest of Hell’s nine circles, Limbo was still large enough to house millions of demons, a teeming metropolis of jet towers, canals of lava, and armies of shades. The last time Laila saw the place, columns of hellfire had risen from its surface, a forest of them. Today water flooded the surface of Limbo, deep enough that only the roofs of demon homes showed. Instead of ten thousand towers of hellfire, Laila saw only a few scattered bonfires, guttering. Smoke, steam, and ash filled this craggy underground world.

Soon angels filled it too. Laila and her troops swooped down from the tunnel in the ceiling of Limbo, a torrent of blades like the torrent of water they followed. Demons met them in midair, the roofs of towers distant below, peeking from the muddy floodwater.

The cavernous space above Limbo was a whirlwind of angels, demons, seraphs, archdemons, claws and feathers, fire and light. Since her first visit to Hell, Laila had never seen so many demons in one place. They flowed around her, clawing at her, biting, ripping her clothes. She swung her blade, halo alight.
When I fight on Earth, I am a creature of flame and malice; here, let me be angelic.
Her blade of Heaven spun so fast, it appeared as a disk of light.
Since I was born, none could hold me down, none could stop me. Let the angels and the devils, in ages to come, speak of seeing Laila the half-demon fight today. Let them speak of it in awe.

The booming of demonic war drums came from every direction. The armies of Hell chanted as they fought, distorted sounds that overpowered even the clash of weapons. Laila could see nothing but endless flows of demons, like rivers of scales through the air. The sounds deafened her, and she had never seen so much light and blood.

“Don’t let them ignite the fires!” she shouted. Groups of demons were filling jugs of tar upon the tower tops, fuel for hellfire. Laila swooped toward one tower, hacking through a sea of demons, and crashed against a sizzling pot of tar. The heat scorched her, and she screamed. The tar fell down the tower, burning away several demons, then crashed into the water with clouds of steam.

“Knock over the tar!” Laila said, shooting up into the air, then down toward another pot upon another tower. She heard a crackle like the creaking joints of a giant, and from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a column of hellfire shoot up. Angels surrounding it screamed and blistered, their wings catching flame. Fangs bared, Laila shot toward the hellfire, wings pulled close against her, flying like a bullet, leaving a wake of flame. She gritted her teeth as the hellfire burned her, spun around, and kicked the pot over. The hellfire crashed, burning over demons and angels. Laila shot up, droplets sizzling against her.

For a moment the steam and smoke parted, and Laila glimpsed the battle across Limbo. More pots of hellfire had been raised, and angels were swooping toward them, knocking them over, wings catching flame. Bodies of angels and demons fell like rain, crashing into the water. Angor was nowhere to be seen, but Laila spotted several other archdemons, just as large and mean, tearing into platoons of angels, consuming them. Her seraphs flew like balls of golden light, tearing into the archdemons, knocking over towers of jet and flame.