Page 112 of Endless Terrors
Our small party sat, slowly. Samael settled beside Asmodeus and I claimed the chair across from them, sitting to Heilel’s left. As he went to the head of the table, Heilel’s posture didn’t give anything away, but I knew him now. Or knew him as well as anyone could know the Morning Star. After countless lifetimes of hiding his emotions, or eliminating them completely, Heilel practically had no tells.
No tells … except one.
Small, subtle, barely detectable, unless you were looking for it. The slightest shift in his shoulders, as if there were a pair of wings attached to his back, real wings, and the long feathers were stirring in agitation.
Countless lifetimes, and Heilel still couldn’t forget what he had lost.
“… have to forgive the decor, Lady Sworn,” Asmodeus was saying. I refocused on him, and the prince leaned back as a staff member set the first course down. It looked like a plate of pink cotton candy. Around the table, the rest of us were also receiving our food. Asmodeus finished the wine in his hand and added, “I only recently took up my tenancy here, and preparations are still being made for the remodel.”
“You haven’t always ruled the Second City?” I asked, startled.
“God, no. Stheno and Euryale were here before. They ran this place for thousands of years, but Heilel just sent them away. They were becoming positively feral.” Asmodeus gave a regretful shake of his head as he poured himself another glass of wine. I liked that he didn’t make someone else to do it, like I’d seen courtiers do at Olorel.
Silverware clinked in the background while I mulled over what he’d said. Stheno and Euryale. I’d heard those names before, during one of the lessons from my parents. Sisters. But there were three of them, not two. What was the third one’s name?
Heilel and Asmodeus were talking now. Samael said something, too, but even his voice was a thin sound in the distance. I reached for my wine glass, frowning, and then it came to me.
Medusa.
Holy shit. This was the palace of the Gorgons. Demons who could turn creatures to stone with their gaze. Famous for their volatile tempers and brutal nature.
Suddenly the courtyard made a lot more sense.
I thought of all those frozen expressions, twisted in horror and anguish. Had they died instantly? Or was part of them still trapped inside the stone somewhere, aware of every agonizing second that passed?
Suppressing a shudder, I took another drink of wine. Food held no appeal to me anymore. The three males around me had gone quiet, probably sensing an increase in my heart rate. Seeking a distraction, my gaze rose to the paintings on the walls. There was one bigger than the others, and it hung in the middle of everything. I recognized some of the figures in the image.
“The family portrait,” I said, studying every face. “You’re not in it, Asmodeus.”
He eyed the painting, a bite of food bulging in one cheek. “Am I not? How strange.”
“Why are Mammon’s lips black?” I asked, ignoring his teasing.
Asmodeus cut into his meat. “Because she has the Kiss of Death. The artist took liberties, of course. They’re such a melodramatic lot, the creative souls, but they certainly know how to make beautiful things.”
His tone was wistful, but I barely noticed. My attention lingered on Mammon. I didn’t feel repulsed, exactly, since I could hardly judge someone for having a strange, dark power. Maybe I felt unsettled by the fact that it had been given to someone who, according to rumor, liked to murder her lover before moving on to the next one. What if the Kiss of Death was her final, twisted gift to them?
“Why would the Maker give one of his angels that ability?” I asked, frowning at my wine. The question was rhetorical, mostly, but Asmodeus answered right away.
“Oh, she wasn’t originally built with it. There is a transformation that every original angel goes through in Hell. It only occurs after our wings fall off. We call it … ack, what is the word in your tongue …” Asmodeus made a fast, frustrated gesture with his hand. He turned to his older brother and abruptly switched to Enochian—the only word I understood was Heilel’s name. Heilel said something back, and Asmodeus’s expression cleared. “Yes, that’s it. We call it the Darkening.”
It sounded a lot like what had happened to the Fallen in my world. It was how we’d split off into werewolves, and vampires, and all the other species that had gone into hiding.
“What happened to you?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at Asmodeus. “After your … Darkening?”
Asmodeus’s eyes gleamed. “Would you like to guess? Shall we make a game of it?”
“Oh, God.” I took another drink and shook my head. “I think I’ve had enough of games to last me a lifetime.”
“Maybe the next one, then.” Asmodeus smirked and ate another piece of meat. I watched a few drops of blood fall to his plate, and any lingering curiosity I’d had vanished. Maybe it was for the best that I would never know—I liked Asmodeus, and I wanted it to stay that way.
Heilel and Samael had sat silently throughout our exchange. When it was clear that we’d finished, Heilel asked our host about a demon species whose name I couldn’t even pronounce if I tried. Apparently there was a herd of them at the edge of the Waste, causing problems along one of the trade routes. I listened, at first, but it was difficult to concentrate with Samael across the table. I held my wine glass with white fingers and wrestled with the fear response still happening within me. Every time I caught a waft of Samael’s scent, I was back on that altar, my vision filling with flames, monstrous faces, and the glint of that rough-edged knife.
A foot touched mine under the table.
I glanced over at Heilel. His focus didn’t waver from Asmodeus, and he didn’t falter in what he was saying, but he didn’t pull away or stop touching me. I thought of the night I’d woken him from a nightmare. The hand I’d put on his shoulder, and the silent message that had passed between us. You’re not alone.
My insides calmed. The tension eased from my shoulders. When I sipped from my glass again, I could actually taste the wine.
