It is good this way,
she thought. Among angels, demons, humans, she felt the war of demon and angel blood within her, the sizzle of good and evil. Here, light fading, the sounds of a storm around her, the smell of rain in her nostrils, she could sense some peace. It was good to be alone, an animal living in a cave, chewing dried meat, watching the rain, no worries within her, nobody to love, nobody to hurt.
Someday, she knew, one of the brothers would win this war. Beelzebub, field commander of Hell's armies, might kill his brother Michael and fill this land with hellfire. If Michael was the victor, godlight would wash over the world. In either case, she, Laila, would die. Godlight would burn her demon blood, hellfire her angelic blood. Sometimes Laila found herself yearning for that day. Her own war was fought within her heart and veins; would death free her of its pain? Laila did not know. Should she die, would her soul still wander the world, banished from both Heaven and Hell, or might she finally find the respite of nothingness?
Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the trees shuddered under the sheets of rain. Rivulets ran between stones, sweeping over the hills. The light was almost gone when Laila saw the figure moving among the pines, cloaked in gray, a hood pulled over its face. She put her food aside and sat watching the figure roam, a staff in hand. When it looked toward her, she saw that it glowed softly. An angel. The angel seemed to sniff, then came walking in her direction, balancing over slippery stones. Laila considered running, but only briefly. This was her cave, her forest, her time of rest. She would not run from some angel.
"Laila," he said to her, smiling, walking up to her cave. "I have searched for you for many days. Mind if I squeeze into your cave?"
She bared her fangs at him, a wolf disturbed in her den. "Come one step closer, and it'll be your last."
His smile only widened, and he reached out his hands toward her. The rain pattered against him. "You will return with me, Laila. Michael demands it. You turned sixteen this month, didn't you? You are old enough now. I am drafting you into Heaven's army. You will fight with us against Hell."
With a crackle, her halo ignited, and she flexed her claws. "I see that you've still not taken a step closer. Do you dare not?"
With a shrug, he took another step toward her.
She leapt upon him then, claws drawn, sixteen years old and cornered, defending her den like a beast. He was an old angel, strong and smart, and he fought well. They fought upon the mountains until the breaking of the day, through rivulets and trees, over stones and carpets of pine needles. With dawn's light, she finally slew him, biting into his chest, ripping out his flesh. She raised her head to the dawn and howled, blood on her mouth, a howl which sent birds fleeing and shook the trees.
"I am Laila!" she shouted, voice hoarse, tears on her cheeks. "I killed an angel." Thunder boomed and lightning rent the sky.
In her chamber in Limbo, Laila lowered her head, her hair falling around her face. That had been a dozen years ago, and she had slain many angels and demons since.
And soon... soon I will face Zarel, my greatest battle.
Laila reached out and caressed Haloflame, running her fingers over the wolf's head pommel.
* * * * *
Beelzebub walked across the hall, rainwater dripping down his armor, his wings, his sword. Shades watched him from the shadows.
"Hmm," he said to himself. This was an interesting development. Michael was showing some brazenness, unusual for the tired old warrior. Beelzebub couldn't help but smirk. Did Bat El ignite some fire in the old dog? Did Michael miss the sight of her pink lips, or maybe the way her body moved beneath her tunic? Beelzebub sighed, his own thoughts of Bat El making him pensive. He didn't want to give up the girl.
Well, Michael, you do have me in a bind, I admit that much. Well done, brother.
At the end of the hall, he stepped down the stairwell into the dungeon. He took a torch from the wall, unlocked the heavy door, and stepped into the darkness. Bat El looked up at him from the shadows, chained to the wall, as always when Zarel was around. Her hair was knotty, her skin ashy, her face gaunt.
"Hello, Bat El," he said softly.
She sighed and lowered her head, eyes moist. "What do you want, Beelzebub? Leave me alone."
He knelt by her and touched her hair. "I'm sorry I had to lock you down here again. It was for your own safety, you know that. If I treated you as a mistress, Zarel would kill you. The only way I could keep her claws away is to lock you here."
She glared at him, though her eyes seemed so weary, there was little fire to them. "So why visit me now? Is it sex you want? Do Zarel's scales grow old, and you crave some angel flesh?"
Ouch.
Beelzebub had not expected that.
Then again, did you expect she'd welcome you with love and kisses?
He unlocked her chains, and she moved slowly, wincing and rubbing her muscles.
"Zarel is gone now," he said. "Michael captured her in battle. He wants a swap. You for her."
The torchlight danced in Bat El's blue eyes. "And what will you do?"
Beelzebub sat down with a sigh. Bat El sat beside him, and Beelzebub caressed her knotty, ashy hair. He put an arm around her. "I don't want to let you go," he whispered. "But I'm going to make the trade."
Bat El lowered her head, suddenly crying. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving white lines through the ash that covered her. "I don't want to leave you, Beelzebub. Zarel is gone now. Let her stay with Heaven. Let her stay in Michael's camp. We can be together now, Beelzebub." She took his hand and kissed him, sobbing. "Please. I love you. Don't send me away."
Beelzebub winced, her words grabbing his heart and squeezing. "I love you too," he whispered, holding her. "More than I ever loved anyone." He meant it, he realized. He had not realized it until now, but looking at Bat El, he knew it was true. "I wish I could make you my wife, make you a throne, a crown, a great queen. I'd give up all other women, all other lusts, for you, Bat El, if only I could. But I can't."
A sob fled her lips, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, her arms around him. "Why not? If you love me, make me your queen. I would leave Heaven for you, Beelzebub. I would become a fallen angel for your love, let bat wings replace my swan ones, let fangs grow from my mouth and claws from my fingers, let my halo fall off, all for your love, Beelzebub. For you I would do this, I would give up God's grace for you." Her tears wet his chest.
Beelzebub put a finger under her chin, moving her face up toward his, and kissed her, a kiss that tasted of ash and her tears. "I know that, sweetness. I know. But I can't let that happen to you."
She cried. "Why not? I want it."
Beelzebub shook his head, tears stinging at his own eyes. He felt his fingers tremble and he ran them across Bat El's cheek. "You cannot imagine the pain of banishment, of this curse, of being cast away from Heaven. It would destroy you, Bat El, it would kill all joy and goodness within you. You are good, Bat El, and blessed, and loved by God. I won't let you give that up."
She trembled. "I would give it up for you. Take me with you to Hell, and make me your bride there. Let's forget about Zarel, forget about this war. Let's just be together."
He shook his head, both their tears mingling, his hands in her hair. He kissed her cheek. "I won't let hellfire make you evil. I love you, more than anything, and that is why I let you go. I return you to Heaven, to God's love. And if ever I will claim this world, if ever I invade Heaven and launch war upon God, I promise to leave you a place there. To leave a part of Heaven where you can remain an angel."
She sobbed, her body shaking. "Heaven and all of its light would be dark to me, if I must live without you."
"And Hell will feel cold and empty without you with me, but it must be done. We are demon and angel, Bat El. We were not meant to be."
Beelzebub shut his eyes.
I am half-angel, Beelzebub,
Laila had said to him years ago.
It can never be between us.
She had left him then to his rage and anguish, and Beelzebub shook his head, here in this dungeon, crying with Bat El. He finally understood. He knew that Laila still loved him, had left him because it was best for them both. He knew now what it was like, to give up one you love because you love them.
Bat El was, perhaps, the only woman he truly loved, fully. For no other woman would Beelzebub grant clemency to Heaven. For millennia he had striven to destroy God's realm in the sky.
For you, Bat El, I disavow this quest.
"Live in Heaven," he whispered to her. "Live there as an angel, full of light and goodness and godliness. This is what I grant you."
He led Bat El up the stairs, out of the dungeon, into the hall. She leaned against him as she walked, hair tousled, tears on her cheeks. She moved wearily, trembling, holding his hand. Beelzebub and Michael made the swap upon the fort walls, the rain falling against them, the waves crashing against the boulders, the armies of demons and angels watching.
"No," Bat El wept when Michael took her arm, pulling her toward him. She looked back at Beelzebub, weeping, and her eyes told him of her love. Then she buried her face against Michael's breastplate, and he stroked her hair, looking over her head at Beelzebub, his eyes cold.
Zarel, freed from her cage and chains, stood by Beelzebub, looking at her husband, at Michael, at Bat El. For once the Demon Queen was speechless. The rain sizzled against her hair of flame, and her eyes carried a haunted, perplexed look.
Beelzebub took Zarel's hand—clawed and scaled, yet delicate.
"Come, Zarel," he said and kissed her cheek. "Let's go home."
Chapter Twenty
A knock came at her door. Standing in her hall, hands resting upon the pommel of her sheathed sword, Laila nodded. The demon doormen creaked open the doors, revealing a sparkling archdemon, resplendent in his snowy scales, his insect wings fluttering.
"Belial," Laila said. "Welcome back." She removed her hands from the pommel of her sword, the torchlight glimmering in her vambraces. As she moved toward the archdemon, her velvet black cloak murmured. Between the towering columns of her hall, she could see ash swirling and demons fluttering.
Belial bowed his horned head before her, drool dripping down his fangs to sizzle against the marble tiles. "I spoke to Beelzebub, and he accepts. You will duel Zarel, as you asked. They will meet you a week from today, at dawn in the desert."
Laila nodded. "Good."
Kayleigh sat on the floor between the columns, sketching portraits of Limbo on a sketchpad. Hearing the exchange, she stood up and walked toward Laila. The girl wore a burgundy dress, and her hair was cleaner than it had ever looked. She eyed Haloflame, which hung at Laila's waist. "Are you sure, Laila?" she asked. "We can still run away."
Laila closed her eyes, sudden doubt filling her. Was she sure? Was she ready? The answer was "no" to both, she knew. Yet what choice did she have?
I spent my life running and hiding. I can't escape my fate, this battle I was destined to fight.
"No, I'm not sure," she said, more to herself than to Kayleigh. "But I will face her nonetheless, and if she kills me, then so things were meant to play out." She opened her eyes. "Belial, prepare a thousand shades. No, five thousand. And a couple archdemons. Carve the shades new shields, and forge them new swords. Put a black wolf's head on them; it will be Limbo's sigil. In seven days, we rise to the world."
"Yes, my queen," said the archdemon, bowing. He left the chamber, scales glinting in the torchlight.
With Belial gone, the hall seemed dark, too silent despite the sounds of demon armies outside. Laila stood between the columns, watching the countless fluttering shades, the towers spreading into the distance, the bonfires like stars. The sounds of Limbo—hissing demons, creaking beasts, gurgling rivers of lava—played endlessly, and the smells of sulfur and smoke filled her nostrils.
Kayleigh stepped up to her. "What now?" the girl whispered.
Laila looked at her. "Now," she said and drew her sword, "I train."
She locked the doors to her hall that day, keeping everyone outside, even Kayleigh. Only Volkfair remained with her upon the dark marble tiles, growling as Laila drilled with her blade. For a week she drilled, halo flaming, sword spinning. She somersaulted between the columns, blade glimmering, imagining that blade digging into Zarel.
Remember what Michael taught you,
she told herself, over and over like a mantra.
I can do this.
She slept on the floor of her hall during the nights, holding her sword like a lover, imagining that she slept in the desert where she once lived. Things had been simpler then. She missed those times so badly, it ached more than her muscles after a day of drilling.
The last night, after six nights on the floor in her cloak, Laila left her hall. She stepped into her bedchamber, high in one of the fort's towers, commanding a view of Limbo's craggy landscapes, a million steeples and canyons.
Tomorrow morning I might die,
she thought, sitting on her canopy bed.
Just when I finally found a home, they want to take it from me. Just as I find happiness, they want to kill me.
Volkfair lay on a rug by the fireplace. Sensing his mistress's fear, he climbed onto the bed and licked her cheek. Laila hugged him.
"Dearest Volkfair. You've always been my best friend, my fiercest sidekick, my wisest companion. Should I do this, Volkfair? Should I face her again, or should I run? She almost killed me the two times we fought. The third time, she might finish the job."
Volkfair showed his fangs, as if he understood her words.
Laila lowered her head. "Yes, Volkfair, I know. A wolf does not run from a fight, and I am a wolf maiden. I'll face her, Volkfair. I know you'll be there with me."
She stripped off her clothes and examined herself in her tall, gilded mirror. Scars covered her body, from all her battles. Some of these scars Zarel had given her. But her body was still lithe, strong, young and fast. She flexed her claws.
Remember what Michael taught you. You can do this. You are Laila, of the night.