Musical Moment

Author’s Note – Just another little moment that could appear in Book II. Because I was feeling shippy. ~ J

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She shifted carefully, trying to make her head light since it was resting in the middle of his belly. 

He reached out and smoothed her hair. “Do you need to move?”

“No, I like you being a pillow.” She turned on her side to face him and he squirmed almost imperceptibly. “Am I tickling?” she asked, purposely talking close to his skin.

He adjusted himself under her again and smirked. “Only when you’re trying.”

“Hey, turn that up.”

Ben grinned. “You like Social Distortion?”

“Is that who this is? I … I like the words.”

They listened quietly for a few moments.

How many times have you asked yourself?

Is this the hand of fate now that I’ve been dealt?

You’re so disillusioned this can’t be real

And you can’t stand now the way you feel

I don’t care about what they say

I won’t live or die that way

Tired of figuring out things on my own

Angel’s wings won’t you carry me home?

She sighed. “I feel like this guy must know you.”

Ben smiled down at her. She was achingly lovely with her curly hair spilled over his bare stomach. It was so nice to be alone for a few hours. “I guess maybe he does. After a fashion. That dude. His name’s Mike Ness. We’ve both been through some shit. I like him. I visited him sometimes, back when I could just be a spirit.”

“Does he know that?”

Ben blushed. “Of course not. I don’t … Not unless somebody summons me. His music though … You’re right. I feel like he knows me.”

I triumphed in the face of adversity

And I became the man I never thought I’d be

And now my biggest challenge, a thing called love

I guess I’m not as tough as I thought I was

I don’t care about what they say

I wanna marry you someday

When I wake up, it’s a brand new day

Angel’s wings gonna carry us away

“Even that stuff?” she smiled. He was blushing furiously.

He swallowed hard. That was a direct question and it wasn’t one he could deflect. It cut him too deeply. “Especially that stuff.”

“You’d marry me if you could?” 

“In a heartbeat,” His face was so hot it hurt. “I really would.”

She clasped his hand, the ring he’d made for her birthday, his promise for their page in that long boring book they’d first claimed on prom night, highly visible.

“Me, too.”

*****

All lyrics belong to the unbelievably talented band Social Distortion and if you don’t already listen to them, go do it, now. Ben says so.

Image by JayMantri from Pixabay

Dirty

Author’s Note – Here’s another little Arbitratus Trilogy Fanfic that comes from an Instagram one word challenge. This one could fit just about anywhere mid-Book II, Before the Dawn (coming soon, I promise). The word was ‘Dirty’. I had fun with this one. ~ J

Dirty

“Hold still,” she grumped, taking his arm and turning it over for the third time.

“Mal, I’m fine.” Ben tried to pull his arm away from her again, but her hold on his wrist was too firm. “It’s just a scrape.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is not a scrape.”

He shrugged, not exactly interested in looking at it all that closely anyway. He tried a charming grin. “Well … That’s what I get for showing off by climbing ledges to impress a girl I already know is going to sleep with me.”

He tugged at his arm again.

She adjusted her grip and went back to work. “Quit being a baby and let me clean this up.”

“Mal, come on. Just do your healing power magic thingy. I rinsed it off already in the…”

“Filthy stream next to the road? Yeah, I know. I was there.” She sounded just a little pissed off.

“Ow!” He jumped a little. “Take it easy!” he groused, trying once again, unsuccessfully, to reclaim his injured arm. 

“I’m sorry.” She stopped trying to pick gravel out of the gash. “But Ben, this is really dirty. I need to clean it up before I can try healing it.”

“I don’t see why.”

“It’d be pretty gross if I magiced you into an arm full of pebbles and leaves because I was careless and closed it all up in there.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I guess that would be kind of gross. But it’s not like it can get infected or anything … I mean I did all those spells to protect …”

“You had an Archangel tell you you could basically pass for human these days. Who knows what Uncle Davi’s spell did to all those protections.”

Ben stopped squirming. “Christ. I never thought about that.” He started chewing his lip.

She looked up at him again with concern. “Am I really hurting you?”

“No … Um … I mean, a little, but it’s okay. I was just …”

“What’s the matter, Ben?”

“Suddenly feeling a little worried about my not-deal-with-human-stuff magic maybe not being foolproof, I guess.”

Tan as he was, she almost thought he looked a little pale. “Well, I mean, obviously you still have powers and everything. I wasn’t about to drag you into town for a tetanus shot or anything.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not what I was thinking about. But good. Because gross.”

Oh. She smirked. “I’m still on the Pill, if that makes you feel any better.”

He laughed, flushing just a little. “It does, actually.”

He let her just finish what she was doing and when she closed her eyes to use her healing powers, he closed his too. Watching her do that made him feel weirdly self conscious. After a minute or two, she released his arm.

“There. All better.”

He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “Thanks.”

“The rest of you is still all grubby from wiping out.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty filthy.”

“Shower?”

“When do I ever say no to that?”

*****

Lucky 13

Author’s note – Here’s another little piece inspired by our Instagram for Friday the 13th. It features Caleb Saint Claire, of the Order of the Temple of Solomon, whom you may have met in The Twelve Days of Fic-Mas. We never meant to have him turn into a series regular, so to speak, but he’s just too much fun to not keep having back.

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Caleb skidded around the corner on wet pavement, almost wiping out. He’d lost his partner a couple of blocks ago. Damned rookie was going to be getting up and hitting the hills with a training unit every morning for the next month if Caleb had anything to say about it. And he did. You don’t get to call yourself a Knight of the Order if you crap out after chasing a homicidal demon eight blocks.

That said, Caleb was starting to lose steam, himself. Of course, he had the excuse of bleeding freely from several deep scratches. He was also pretty sure this bastard’s claws were venomous, because he had started to feel a little woozy, too. 

At least they weren’t far from the local safe house. Once the threat was neutralized, could have the counter-potion in less than ten minutes. Or sooner. He remembered his ability to call them it. It was kind of nice to not be all on your own occasionally. He ducked down an alley and reached for his radio to call for some assistance. 

His next breath was crushed out of him as he slammed with unsurprising supernatural force against the wet brick wall. Two of the creatures four arms pinned him while the others went through his pockets. 

“Hey, there, Ormru,” Caleb said wryly, wanting to see the demon flinch at hearing its name.

He wasn’t disappointed. The distraction did allow him to start to wriggle free, just a bit. But it’s hot breath in his face made him cringe a second later. “Caleb Saint Claire.”

It knew him, too. Great.

“Taking out a member of the Order is an eternity long dream of mine. The fact that it’s you will be quite a feather in my cap.”

Caleb flashed a tight smile. “I imagine it would be.”

“Doing it on Friday the 13th will be the coup of the week. I’ve always thought that unlucky slaughter worth duplicating.”

Caleb finally got his left hand around to the small of his back where he’d been inching toward. He thrust the ceremonial dagger into the demon’s middle with a grunt. Ormru crumpled to the ground, smoking already.

“That’s a myth.” Caleb walked away, cleaning his blade on the handkerchief he kept in his pocket for that purpose. 

He reached the street and Novice Helms ran up to him. “Back-up’s on its way, and I told them to bring a Healer.”

“Good.” Maybe he wouldn’t have to run the kid ragged after all. He’d have a chat with him about separating from his partner without a word, but at least the kid’s head had been in the game.

As though reading Caleb’s mind, Helms assured him, “I was right behind you, but I found a nest.”

Caleb’s eyebrows went up, impressed. “Where?”

Helms pointed at a crumbling apartment building back up the street.

Caleb grinned. “Well, isn’t this just our lucky day.”

 

Image by Daniel Dino-Slofer from Pixabay

Please

Author’s Note – Here’s another little scene that doesn’t physically appear in The Arbitratus Trilogy, but it could. It fits into Always Darkest, or Before the Dawn. Mal spends a lot of time worrying about Ben, about their future. This is just a moment of real vulnerability that she tries to keep to herself. 

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Mal came back to bed quietly. She didn’t want to wake him, but she didn’t think she could go back to sleep. At least they both preferred sleeping with the light on lately. So, that wouldn’t disturb him.

She chewed her lip for a few minutes, staring off into space. Nope, definitely not sleepy anymore. And no wonder, after the dream she’d had. 

She wouldn’t let herself focus on or recall any of the details too vividly. 

All she knew was that they’d been in danger and Ben put himself in the way of devils and angels in a place of almost total darkness and that some great Being who she thought must have been God showed up and instead of helping, instead of saving Ben, He’d turned away indifferently. 

Ben had looked at her with eyes like hot coals. He was burning from the inside. 

He couldn’t even cry out. 

He wasn’t being consumed by fire, he was becoming it. 

She fell to her knees and he just started disappearing, flaking away like paper in a hot stove. 

She screamed.

She’d woken up so sweaty and shaky, she’d needed to change her clothes and go get a cup of tea. The idea of losing him to Hell, or any other power, plagued her more and more these days. Now, she felt tremors still coursing up and down her arms. 

Maybe a distraction would help. 

Now was as good a time as any to use her journal, she supposed. She reached for it, balanced on the edge of her nightstand.Pen in hand, she stared at a blank page for a long time. 

A tear struck the empty space and made a bright purple blotch on the pale lavender paper. 

She blinked and it was joined by more. She set it aside and hugged her knees, burying her face and trying to keep her sobs quiet. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

She hadn’t prayed in a long time. And it didn’t get any more articulate than that. But she thought. Hoped. Believed. That if anyone was listening, He’d know what her desperate plea meant.

“Just please.”

*****

Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay

Fire

Author’s Note: Here’s another little Arbitratus Trilogy Fanfic that resulted from a one word prompt challenge over on IG. It’s something that doesn’t happen in Book II, Before the Dawn. But like so many of these little fictions, it could. 

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Their after dinner walk had gone on for longer than was probably smart. The temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun sank behind the mountains. The breeze rustled the frost stiffened trees. It was nice to be away from populations centers. There was less to worry about in terms of getting noticed, getting recognized, getting caught. But maybe they should head south again. It was too damned cold around here.

Mal untwined her fingers from Ben’s. “Sorry. I need my gloves.”

Ben was already pulling on the lopsided mittens she’d knitted him. “Same. We should head back anyway. It’s getting dark.”

They decided to cut across a couple of back yards to get back to the campground faster. “What is that?” Mal asked cocking her head.

Ben paused and listened, spending the energy on magically enhancing his hearing.

“Fire,” he said quietly.

“Where?”

He listened again then pointed. “There.”

They took off running and skidded to a stop in the yard of a large farmhouse already well on its way to burning down. Shouts and pleas for help came from inside. “Stay here,” he said firmly. “Call 911.”

“You’re not going in there!”

“Official help is pretty far out. And … there’s kids in there. I can hear them.”

She sighed and wrapped her fingers around the fabric of his sleeve. “Why do you have to be such a big damned hero all the time?!?”

“Well, you’ve got the damned part right.” He smirked and squeezed her hand, gently encouraging her to release his jacket. “I’m a demon, not a hero.”

She grabbed him by the back of his neck and kissed him quickly, then gave him a light shove toward the building. As he ran toward the calls for help she sighed again. “Pretty sure you can be both.”

She got out her phone and made the call to emergency services.

~~~~~

In bed, later that night, whispering so as not to disturb the others in the camper who were already asleep, Mal brushed his slightly singed bangs off his forehead. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’m good.”

“You really don’t hurt anymore?” He huffed a little sigh that told her he thought she was fussing unnecessarily but he didn’t want to call her out for it. “I know the burns look okay now, but I’m never sure about this magic stuff. Like what do I know about healing nerves and stuff?”

“All better. I promise.” Then he reached up, more to prove he really wasn’t in pain than anything else, and plucked at his uneven hair. “Just wish your healing powers included cosmetic repairs.”

She snorted laughter. “It doesn’t look bad. Your hands did though. I’m glad I could fix them.”

“Me, too. Burns really hurt,” he admitted. “Thanks.”

“And I’m glad you were a big hero for those kids.”

“I’m not…”

“Don’t argue. Or I’ll take back the healing stuff.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how those powers work.” Then he frowned. “Right?”

“Probably. But still.”

He laughed. “Not a hero.”

“If you can’t admit to being one in general, will you accept being my hero then?” She put her head against his chest.

“I can live with that.”

He was still smiling when he dozed off a while later.

*****

Image by Simon Matzinger from Pixabay

Silence

Author’s Note – Here’s another little fanfic of mine from a one word IG prompt. This scene doesn’t appear in Always Darkest, but it could.

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It was quiet other than the patter of rain and snow on the porch roof. Mal warmed her hands around her coffee cup, smiling faintly at the one tree in their yard still stubbornly holding on to its autumn leaves in the face of impending winter. 

The swing creaked and a blanket dropped over her shoulders.

She didn’t even have to look. “Morning, Dad.”

She glanced his way.

He was smiling, but it was a speculative questioning sort of smile. “You’re up early.”

She shrugged. “I guess. Bad dreams.”

“Again, huh?” He squeezed her hand.

She sighed. “Yeah. It’s been a rough week.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I wish I could help.”

She shrugged again. “At least break is starting soon. Then it doesn’t matter so much how I sleep.”

Ari put an arm around her. “Are you looking forward to a little vacation?”

“Yeah, I am. Teddy’s not gonna be around, but I’ve got plans with Petra, and Ben …” she trailed off.

“So his name’s Ben, huh?”

She blushed. “Yeah. Um … Ben Brody.” She didn’t know why she hadn’t said anything before now. It’s not like she hadn’t dated before. But Ben was different.

He smiled fondly. “The color in your cheeks is more than the cold. Maybe this is a more than friends boy?”

She turned toward him, her face splitting into a real smile, sleepy brain cobwebs be damned. “I think he really is.”

She told Ari about Ben then. She’d gone from feeling weirdly protective of her budding relationship to wanting her dad to know everything.

Ari chuckled. “He sounds like a great guy. And he must be if you’re this fascinated by him.”

“He is. I … I really like him.”

“Would you like to invite him?”

“Huh?”

“For Christmas? You said he can’t go home to his own family.”

She grew thoughtful. “It wouldn’t be weird?”

“Depends on how shy he is, I suppose. But I don’t think I’m all that intimidating,” he grinned.

“What about Uncle Davi?”

“I’m sure he’ll like your Ben just fine.”

Her Ben. She really liked the sound of that.

“I’ll ask him,” she said finally.

“Good.” Ari squeezed her shoulders and they sat looking out at the lake as the mix changed over to more serious snow.

It was a comfortable, homey silence.

School

Author’s note – I’ve been playing around with some little one word prompts over on our Instagram. For those of you that don’t goof off over on IG, I figured I’d share the little flash fan fictions for our Arbitratus Trilogy characters here. Here’s a little imagined scene from our Work In Progress (which is basically done – it’s all over but the final editing) Before the Dawn, aka Book II.

This isn’t necessarily canon, of course. But it could be.

If you do enjoy ‘gramming a little, you can follow us at Demons Run Lit.

SCHOOL

Mal had been quiet all morning.

When Ben suggested a walk, it was more because he thought she might talk if they were away from the others. It was cold this morning. Again. But the view was breathtaking.

They’d been sitting on the rough hewn bench for a while in silence and Ben was ready to give up. But he was pretty sure she was crying and trying to hide it.

One more try, he thought.

He pulled her in closer. “Mal … what is it?”

She sniffed, staring off down the road. “It’s nothing.”

He slid both arms around her. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.” He didn’t point out the tear trailing down her cheek, visible when she tilted her head against him, but he reached up and brushed it away with his thumb.

She looked up at him. “I’m starting to wish you weren’t so goddamned observant.”

“Now you know how I feel, literally half the time.” He let her have the small crooked grin he knew she liked to see. “C’mon, tell me. you never let me get away with keeping what’s bothering me to myself.”

“It’s stupid.”

He shook his head. “Not even possible. Have you met you?”

She gave him a watery smile. “Today would have been the start of semester break. I’d have been halfway through Freshman year today. One step close to being Dr. Sinclair.”

Oh.

“Oh.” He chewed his lip. “Wanna go hang out at the college library in town?”

“What for?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. We could just … pretend to be normal for awhile. Forget we’re not just at school.”

She smiled more genuinely. “That’s silly.”

“I could buy you a new gross medical textbook…” he offered.

“We don’t have any money, Ben.” She leaned into his side.

“Hey, I’m a demon. I’m not above picking someone’s pocket.”

She shook her head with an affectionate exasperation. He always tried. “Okay. Let’s. Not pick pockets, but you know, hang out in the library. At least it’ll be warm.”

“And we’ll be together reading about something other than the prophecy.”

“Together is good.”

“Always.”

Bourdain Day

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Authors’ Note – Anthony Bourdain was a huge source of inspiration for both of us. He was important to Keith as a chef and we both loved his books and shows. His work made me want to start writing again after decades of denying myself that pleasure.

Today would have been Tony’s 63rd birthday.

Chefs Eric Rippert and  José Andrés have declared today Bourdain Day. The story below came out of a writing contest we participated in only a few short weeks after Tony’s death. It was, and is, meant as a tribute. Mark was, of course, based on Tony. I’ll let you guess who Mark’s nemesis is modeled after.

We hope you can hear a little bit of his voice. We hope you like the story.

I think Tony would have laughed his ass off. ~ J

Like revenge, Vichyssoise is a dish best served cold.

A former celebrity chef finally reaches his breaking point

and serves up a recipe that’s a real killer.

Just Desserts

I wish I knew what the fuck went wrong.

I wish I could remember the perfect joy, the sense of adventure, a taste of some new delicacy could convey when I was taking my first steps toward what would become a culinary career. But publishing Cooks’ Confessional took me off the map of my personal paradise and into some concentric circle of Dante’s Inferno.

I stared at the assignment. The Network had just signed another major deal with some Mega-global Foodzilla. So, the memo on the counter of my very own Purgatory, the test kitchen of Fifteen or Less and none other than Satan herself, Thalia Day, proclaimed the new episode’s theme: Insta Magic with Instadspuds. Just add water, 86 all that’s good and pure. Oh, and while you’re at it, throw in the last shred of my soul.

Meatless Monday Magic. Mock Shepherd’s’ Pie, heavy on the mock.

What fresh hell is this?

A chill warning of the presence of evil ran down my spine.

“Can’t wait to see what you come up with, Markie.”

And there it is.

“Yeah, this’ll be swell,” I bit out through a rigid smile, refraining from reminding her I don’t do nicknames.

Her shark teeth flashed in return. I think she smiled so much around me just to see if I’d say anything. That big fake grin had figured prominently in Confessional. My thinly veiled references to She Who Cannot Be Named peppered the later chapters. She might not have known, but I slipped in a few of her catch phrases, so there was no doubt.

“Oh, one thing …  Our sponsor wants us to use this new spread, so no butter … and let’s shake it up a bit for the live special. Maybe do an appetizer? How about vichyssoise?”

“Are you serious? That’s impossible in under fifteen minutes.”

“How hard can it be? Instant mash, a dash of EVOO, powdered cream base, some dry spices and veg, a can of chicken broth … Throw it in a blender and boom, it’ll be delish.”

A pregnant pause.

I bit my tongue to keep quiet.

Literally.

“Hard to believe you’re a better chef than you were a writer,” Thalia said as she breezed off.

Ouch.

Okay, in Confessional, I maybe said some not very nice things about the inspired paragon of selling out who currently employed me. Doesn’t mean they weren’t true. She hired me when my career tanked so she could appear the bigger person. She never missed an opportunity to needle me in her faux-wholesome, smarmy way.

Fuuuuuuck! I’ve done very little to be proud of since my fall from grace, and especially these last few months. Thalia made it clear from word one; I’m not here for ideas. I’m here to make her, and the corporate jackwagons ruining food for millions and pretending it’s a favor, look good.

I went from the top of my craft to another soulless master of compromise, whoring myself for an admittedly not inconsiderable paycheck. It feels dirty, but in an I-can-pay-my-rent-and-not-drown-in-debt kind of dirty. Like a blowjob in a barroom bathroom stall.

Sure, it’s morally questionable, but there’s something about it that feels oh so right.

God damn her. Instant vichyssoise? One of my fondest early memories of the slow seduction food wrought on my tender young soul and she’s fucked that up, too.

Brother, I’m no saint. Hell, my ex thinks I’m the devil, but even I have limits (bathroom blowjobs notwithstanding), and this … No. Just no.

My rage-wrinkled brain ran through some ideas. The old standbys; hot pepper extract, bittering agents in the base, spite spitting. Not good enough. I needed to make my stand. And I wanted to do it in a manner consistent with my style. She was always telling me what a prick I could be. This time I wanted to prove her right.

Wait.

A shit-eating grin stretched my face. I decided to make her nightmare come true and humiliate her on live TV. I mean, I’d lose my job. And forget about working in my field in a way that didn’t involve a paper hat and a dirty griddle in some backwater truck stop, living under the name Cletus, or maybe Bubba.

Shit, I could do time. Better make it worth the trouble.

“You okay, jefe?” Juan, my sous chef, asked with concern.

I shrugged and shared the news of what Ms. Delish had in store for us.

“Another day in paradise,” he smiled. “Give me ten and we’ll suffer together.” He snagged a smoke out of my pack on his way by.

I rubbed my temples as I pictured her fake smile with her fake perfect teeth.

Oh, no. I couldn’t … I really shouldn’t … I knew I still had some enzyme glue kicking around from my last foray into food photography.

Enzyme glue bonds proteins to porcelain, to keep food stationary for pictures. Adding some to the soup base would bond with her high-end dentures, gluing her mouth shut in front of her adoring mindless masses. On live television.

It took some planning, some sneaking around. Then, on the day of the show, I did the unthinkable. I stood in the wings to watch. I’ve always had a voyeuristic streak. You can ask any prostitute on the Upper East Side. Thalia took it as a sign of me getting with the program and showing some support for a change. I think. She looked pleased as anything. A blood-swollen tick feasting on the flesh of a job I used to love.

I had the decency to cringe as I watched her give birth to the culinary abomination I fertilized in her test kitchen. Hamming for the camera, she picked up the cutesy little shot glass she’d chosen as a serving dish.

Her smile faded as the glue set up. Teeth cemented shut, she panicked. Muffled screams ensued. At some point she puked. And that glue holds on tight. It was all over then.

For the record, I didn’t want her to die.

Well, not like that. Drowning in adhesive potatoes and stomach acid.

I took in the chaos. This was the bathroom blowjob, except the girl is dating the bouncer, a jealous ex-con type, who’s just opened the stall door.

I lit a cigarette and breathed deep.

“No smoking! It’s in the employee handbook!” some pointless production toady chided.

“Buddy, I don’t work here,” I said with actual relief.

I blew smoke in his face as I shouldered past.

“But hey, if you’re ever in East Cousinfuck, West Deliverance County, look me up.”

“Huh?”

“Just ask for Cletus.”

~ End~

Child of the Air

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Author’s Note – Today’s flash fiction challenge was to write about an extinct flower that somehow blooms for the first time in a hundred years. Of course I couldn’t help putting an apocalyptic spin on a little floral fiasco. ~ J

 

It seemed like such a good idea, you know?

Just grow this seed into something people could connect with …

The rest of our work is so distant and impersonal to most of the world. Go dig around where the permafrost is thawed, tell everyone about what climate change is revealing, what it’s doing to us and our world.

Noble, important work, right?

Yeah, well, most people don’t give a shit. And I want them to. I want people to care.

As a botanist, my enthusiasm for finding the plant was no surprise, but the whole team was intrigued by my discovery. Here was the seed to a species that no one alive has ever seen bloom. Aerides glacies orchidaceae, a flower so long extinct that we don’t even have any photographs.  Not just the seed either. But spores from the fungus it would need to penetrate its route systems to nourish its growth.

I just thought, if I could grow it, take my work out of the lab … Maybe people would care about it, care about the other things we’re finding, too.

I guess it worked.

Everyone knows about my ice orchid; a flower no one had seen or smelled in a hundred years.

Unfortunately, it’s killing them.

And I don’t know how to stop it.

 

Opening Gambit

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Author’s Note – The challenge in my writing group today was “An encounter with a deity.” That’s so close to what we write for the series, it seemed like an ideal opportunity to give readers a little preview of Before the Dawn, Book II in The Arbitratus. We are very close to finishing and I’m excited for you to get a sneak peek. This is Chapter 2. It hasn’t been through an editor yet, so apologies if there’s anything untidy about it.

For those who don’t know, it fits into the challenge because Ba’al is an ancient Canaanite deity or one of the seven princes of Hell in traditional mythology, depending on who you ask. In our world he’s an Old god, Lucifer’s second in command, and Hell’s Chief inquisitor. He’s also not a fan of our Ben.

If you don’t want spoilers for the end of Always Darkest, this is not the post for you. If you’ve been dying to know what comes next, then read on. ~ J

~~~~~

Lucifer’s anger weakened the spells that created this space and the room grew uncomfortably warm. Ba’al met his eyes boldly, while Castor and his attendants tried to find places to look other than his burning gaze. Failure again!” Lucifer said from between clenched teeth. “Scores of Fallen. Lahash and Lilith slain!”

A deep sadness tempered his anger. Lilith and he had a history. She had been the first to answer his call after the war. And Lahash, well, she had been a special favorite of his, and she had come so close to securing the girl. Castor made the grievous error of interjecting. “I lost hundreds of demons. Not to mention the countless I lost to that old magic, so you could have a handful that can see through wards …” his voice trailed off with the hiss of Lucifer’s blade separating his head from his body in one smooth motion.

“As though demons matter.”

His expression dismissed the king’s people and they scurried from the room.

Ba’al cleared his throat. “My Lord, the survivors have arrived.”

His voice revealed an anticipatory relish. Ronoven had always gotten under his skin; he was so sure of himself, and whenever he opened his mouth seemed able to convince a fire it didn’t burn. Ba’al would like to see him talk his way out of this situation. The only way any of Hell’s people could have survived was simple cowardice, or more likely, betrayal.

Lucifer glared at him, as the Agent Aife and Lord Ronoven, looking composed and dressed for a formal audience, were escorted into the room. Lucifer’s voice rumbled from deep in his chest, dripping menace. “You have failed me and …”

“Disagree,” Ben interrupted pleasantly, waving a dismissive hand, as he strolled over to a side table. “May I?”

He casually poured himself a glass of wine without waiting for an answer. He moved with deliberate unhurried calm to the table in the center of the room, sat down, and put his feet up on the nearest chair.

“Bit of a rough day. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

Aife stood looking anywhere but at the other beings in the room. Lucifer’s eyes flashed burgundy fire, and Ba’al moved off to a safe distance. Lucifer closed the distance between them without seeming to move, his blade drawn. He spoke with icy composure that could not conceal the rage in his eyes. “Explain yourself.”

Ben looked up at him steadily, took a sip of his wine. “I told you where to be looking more than two years ago.”

His tone was not quite a challenge, but only just.

“I’ve been doing my job since the beginning, and I accomplished it per your instructions.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

“I risked my immortal being to test dangerous old magic to overcome the protections on the half-breed. I found her, confirmed her identity, and was following the procedure you expect of demons. I had just reached our Agent to summon Lahash. I certainly didn’t anticipate a bunch of angels showing up.” He let his eyes flash just a bit. “Like a freaking Arch. I’ve never seen anything like what Metatron … And her Guardian came calling, wielding a sword and tossing around holy fire like paper airplanes … And then Uriel showed up.”

He paused and took another longer drink.

“That gal knows her smiting.”

Lucifer placed his blade against Ben’s neck and asked in a low voice, “Then how is it you survived?”

Ben didn’t flinch, didn’t even move his eyes away from Lucifer’s face, but it took all his will. He still felt heavy with his flesh. In fact, when he’d dressed for his audience with Lucifer, that bothersome scar was on his chest underneath the sun tattoo, as though he were still in his human form.

Worse, the scar on his palm from consecrating the dark blades was highly visible, looking almost fresh again. He was holding the glass of wine more to conceal it than because he wanted to force any liquid past the tightness in his throat. Perhaps as the result of the old magic or perhaps because he’d been back in a body longer than he’d spent in it when he was alive, he didn’t feel like he expected. But he was determined.

“Lahash revealed that we weren’t to murder the girl; that you believe the prophecy is real, that you wanted her brought before you. When it was clear that the operation wasn’t going as planned, the Agent and I attempted to complete the mission. We managed to grab her and then … I’m not certain what happened.”

The pressure of the blade on his neck increased fractionally, tilting his chin up slightly.

“We touched her and there was a flash, a burning like fire, and we were back in Hell. Of course, we collected ourselves to report to you immediately.”

“I see,” Lucifer said tightly, but he lowered his blade to rest on Ben’s shoulder.

“It must have been the wards, My Lord,” Ba’al interjected.

“Perhaps.” Lucifer was not convinced. “But what of your kind’s magic now supposedly part of our friend here?”

Ba’al strode over to the table and grabbed Ben’s exposed wrist. The mark burned mercilessly, and his jaw tightened almost against his will, but he gazed at Ba’al, unblinking. What he wouldn’t like to do to this washed up god after the things he said to Mal when he’d possessed their friend, the things he had done to Teddy for that matter. Mentally, Ben recoiled from this creature, but his face remained almost expressionless.

“The mark is there, Lord Lucifer. There must be another explanation.” He enjoyed the momentary discomfort that had crossed the demon’s face; impressed at Ronoven’s self-control, and wondering, not for the first time, what it might take to finally break it. He had never seen even a crack in his steely resistance and was curious. Fascinated was perhaps a better word.

Out of nowhere Aife interjected, “Begging your pardon, my Lords,” Lucifer and Ba’al turned as she dipped into a low bow, “There was other magic involved. As you know, I also bear the mark, and a strong repellent force made it difficult to even approach the girl.”

Sensing that Aife’s contribution was at least a chance for some fast talking, and impressed at how convincingly she lied, Ben jumped in, “My Lord, the city was half destroyed. No one else from Hell survived. I have no doubt that, if not for whatever magic was protecting the girl that thrust us through the veil, we would have perished as well. That cannot be part of their plan, my Lord. Had we not been cast back, you would not have this new opportunity.”

Lucifer lowered his sword, considered Ronoven for a moment, and re-sheathed the blade. “Opportunity?”

“Word around Hell is the girl survived whatever happened after we got thrown out of the party, and I know what she looks like, as well as her companions. I believe I could track her.” He glanced at Aife and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“As do I, my Lord,” Aife added, bowing deeply again.

Lucifer smiled, went and poured himself a glass of wine, and joined Ronoven at the table. “It is no wonder you have been favored by several Kings of Hell. Perhaps you will please the next one as well if you serve me in this matter.” Ben glanced over at Castor’s smoldering body, wondering briefly where his head had gotten to, and gave an appreciative dip of his head. “You will go and hunt this girl. You may take the Agent as your second.”

He paused significantly.

“But know this: Failure will not be tolerated.”

Ben raised and drained his glass, placed it on the table, and rose. He inclined his head to the seated Lucifer by way of a bow. “We will prepare to depart immediately.”

He turned and walked toward the exit with purposeful measured strides, ignoring Ba’al and concealing a smile when he saw that the god felt his slight. He didn’t think Aife was going to be able to move but when he got near her she bowed again and followed Ben silently out the door.

When it closed behind them, Ba’al joined Lucifer, sitting almost primly, hands folded on the table top. “You trust that smooth talking slippery little demon, do you?”

“I’m not a fool.” He sighed. “He knows who destroyed the city. If he’d been that close, he should be dead, the final death since Uriel was involved. I never had cause to doubt the Agent before now, and Ronoven is not one I would have guessed to play dice with his own skin, but I’m sure you noticed there wasn’t so much as a scrape on either of them, and given the nature of the battle and the presence of a Guardian and more than one Archangel, I can’t believe that’s possible. Wounds inflicted by angelic weapons travel with a body between realms, down to the base matter of our existence, not unlike the mark of the shielding spell. Someone powerful helped them. And it wasn’t one of us. I can’t imagine what he’s up to and I mean to find out.” Lucifer shrugged with an appreciative smile, “I must admit though, I admire his style.”

“What are your plans then?”

“Summon Abaddon, Belial, and Samael.”

Ba’al gave a derisive snort. “Honestly, Lucifer, the bold play didn’t work out particularly well the only two times you’ve tried it. What makes you think it has a chance now when all are alerted to your desire? Besides, whether intentionally or unintentionally, Ronoven seems to keep evading your efforts to keep proper track of him. And even if the only thing he’s lying about is hiding instead of fighting during that battle, he’s not terribly likely to find the girl in a land that large. Today’s events are sure to have sent her back on the run. Without Lahash your options are extremely limited. While I welcome you to try, even to trust that Ronoven will be trying for you, I’d prefer you also looked at some fresh ideas that have some chance of success.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed, and he was about to let loose a diatribe about Ba’al’s subordinate position when Ba’al continued, “Please.” He was dismissive. “We both have too much to lose. Taking her isn’t enough. She is a woman now. You will have to win her cooperation. I offer you a true opportunity to do so, if only through building fear and then offering escape.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her little friend. I’ve still got a thread of connection. He thinks obsessively of our time together. I’d be happy to try to work in the background; see if I can break through.”

“And if he’s nowhere near her?”

“How would he have survived if he weren’t rescued with the girl? The devastation there is total.”

Lucifer nodded, seeing the possibilities. “What do you want in return?”

“Only things you already hold in no regard, old friend.” He smiled coldly.

~~~~~

Down the hall, Ben and Aife proceeded to his home, with Ben greeting and accepting congratulations on a battle well fought and accolades that he survived the day from various demons they passed. He saw no reason not to confirm those rumors and thought it might shore up his story with Lucifer if everyone talked about it. Aife walked beside him, face as still as stone. When they were what she deemed a safe distance away and found themselves alone, she grabbed his arm.

“Were you trying to get us killed?”

She tried to drag him to a stop, but he continued, determined to be done with this as quickly as possible, pulling her along.

“He likes that; has a weakness for it. It made him question killing us on sight … or turning us over to the interrogation squad.” He paused. “There was a time when that wouldn’t have worried me, but now that Ba’al has taken over they’re much more creative and determined. I know from experience …” He felt Aife tense beside him, so he pressed on, his voice purposely more casual. “I’ve at least bought us a moment to breathe. But we need to leave as soon as possible.” Ben shrugged. “Fortune favors the bold.”

He stopped and looked at her steadily.

“Let go. Please.”

When she did, Ben kept walking. She paused for a moment and then ran a few steps to catch up. “But you can’t possibly trust him!”

“Of course not. He’s not foolish enough to have bought the story about wards that magic from the old gods’ bag of tricks can’t deal with.”

“All you’ve done is delay the inevitable, Lord Ronoven.” It had been so long since she’d addressed him in that way, Ben stopped again and turned to face her fully.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He spoke with a grim shake of his head. “No matter how I play this out in my head, it doesn’t end well, and I already gave up any chance at …” He trailed off. The way Chris looked at him sometimes when he didn’t think Ben noticed made his stomach flip. He couldn’t tolerate Aife looking at him like that, too. Some things were best left forgotten.

She frowned but didn’t say anything. Whatever was going on inside his head to make him look so lost … She didn’t think she wanted to know.

“I’ll understand if you go right back and spill everything. I don’t want you to feel obligated to me. You have a choice.” His eyes searched hers, very serious.

She put her hand on his arm, almost smiling, and shook her head. “I don’t believe I do.” She was sure that he hadn’t meant her to see the relief that passed over his face, so she stepped away from him and said in a businesslike manner, “What are we going to do now?”

Ben started walking again. “We’re going back to Earth to find Mal and help her, whatever that means. We’ll find a way to stay there as soon as we can.”

“Let’s just get out of here before Lucifer changes his mind!”

“I’d like to check on my souls, if you don’t mind.” Ben shrugged, “Besides, I know what I’m doing. If we take off in a rush it will only bring them down on us. We need to do what demons do when they’re ordered out on a mission. We can use the time they think we’re preparing and see my servant Gareth. If Ciara found her way here after that angelic nuke he can get her clear of the worst of it.”

Aife gasped, having not even spared Ciara a thought since before the Battle. Then she admitted in a rush, “I tore up her contract and freed her before I left to meet Chris. I don’t know what made me do it. Seems suicidal in retrospect.”

Ben chuckled from deep in his throat, shaking his head. She was as rash and impulsive as he was sometimes. Small wonder they were friends. Then he was serious, “Still, you never know which direction they’ll travel, do you? And there are other things we might need.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve got some rare books and spell ingredients.”

“Why would we want to go to all that trouble? The spell is ridiculously complicated.”

Ben opened the door to his apartments with an exasperated sigh. “Well, I can’t exactly call you anymore, can I?”

She followed him in, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in. “What about the other offices? We can just …”

Ben cut her off, “He knows; you know he does. Letting us go is some kind of ruse. He’ll be trying to track us as soon as he can, and someone’s bound to notice what you did with that contract sooner or later.” She tried to interrupt but he continued, “We’re burned.”

Her eyes were wide as she watched Ben see to his souls, pack the things he mentioned, and say goodbye. The reality of seeing him set his affairs in order, ensuring things could work without him, that the right mechanisms were in place to shelter his people, to keep souls continually being added to his retinue and thus protected, brought home to Aife more than anything else that Ben knew if he came back it would not be to a position of privilege. She knew he meant it when he said he would understand her deciding to give him up.

“Ben.”

He looked up from the trunk he was sifting through, surprised to hear what he thought of as his proper name spoken in this place.

“What can I carry, love?”