Chains

Daniel glanced up from his paper and saw the body of the snake. It must be a hundred meters long, he thought, in awe. A gleaming length of scaled flesh covered half the window opposite him, and there looked to be more beyond the window's edge. Daniel never felt safe on metros or trains of any kind, but this exceeded his worst nightmares. He only hoped that when they left the tunnel it would be gone. Then all the lights went out and the metro came to a shuddering halt.

A warm hand brushed against his forehead in the darkness. "It's all right," someone said. A female voice, Daniel decided. God, I hope that's not the snake. Something touched his aisle-side leg and he suppressed a scream. That's just her skirt. Nothing to worry about. Murmurs in the darkness. "Everyone, remain in your seats. I can't do this if I don't know where everyone is."

"Do what?" he asked, then flushed, invisibly. He hadn't planned to speak aloud.

He heard the distinct sound of cracking knuckles. "Kill the abomination." He saw the faintest outline of her, for a moment, as her wristwatch light came on. She had long hair and a face that might possibly have looked pleasant. She didn't resemble a snake at all, which was only a very small comfort, because it meant the creature still clung to the outside of the train. "At four o'clock exactly," she added. "It seems a punctual creature."

Daniel's watch didn't have a light. I wonder if it would be better or worse, he thought, if I knew how far away that was.

Eight seconds later, the top of the train crumpled inwards like a crushed paper cup. A hand grabbed Daniel's wrist, at the first sound, and flung him out into the aisle. His flight took him over several seats, and the landing knocked the breath out of him. His wrist hurt; he thought it might be broken. He considered getting up and discarded the notion. Daniel could smell something old and wet and reptilian in the car, and hear something breathing like a bellows. It stuck its head right through the top, he thought inanely. Right above me. God help us all.

Something made a sound like a muffled wrecking ball, not once but twice. Then he heard scales sliding on the floor. The wristwatch-light flashed again, and he caught a glimpse of the creature. So huge, he whispered to himself. It had a ridge above each eye; both were slightly indented, and one was dripping blood. The woman stood pressed sideways against two empty seats; then the light flickered off. Daniel felt a breeze, followed by a crash that rocked the entire train.

"Missed me," her voice taunted. You can't seriously be talking to it, he protested vigorously. It's got a brain the size of a --

-- okay, maybe you can talk to it.

Another crash rocked the train, and then he heard an indignant hiss powerful enough to toss Daniel's hair. She's fighting it alone, he thought, lamely. I should be doing something. Or, possibly, screaming. What's going on?

The woman grunted with effort of some kind. Then the rustle of scales on the floor rushed directly at Daniel.

He shoved himself up and to the side with both hands, bringing his wrist to new levels of agony. Even so, the rush of the serpent clipped him as it passed and knocked him sideways into shattered seats. He heard it crash through the door between cars, as well as a set of rhythmic clacks. She stood on its head, he reconstructed. It wanted her off. Now she's running backwards along its back.

The woman's voice sang a glissando of notes, which confused him somewhat. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a can of soda pop being opened. Something wet fountained over him. This confused him more, until he raised one spattered hand to his mouth and tasted it. His face contorted in distaste. Blood.

The car trembled as the serpent bucked. Daniel heard the crack of bone. Then a tangle of silk skirts and flesh fell on top of him. The woman smelled faintly of jasmine, and more strongly of sweat. She pulled herself off him in half a moment of action, but her leg was dragging like a dead thing.

Her watch-light played over the bucking form of the creature. All he could see was a great twisting shadow, but evidently her eyes were keener. She jumped off of him and --

I refuse to believe, he thought, that she is hopping on it.

A bulk of coil thrashed against the floor next to him, and he heard something metallic snap. More blood rushed onto him. She's nowhere nearby, he thought in confusion. Don't tell me someone else is fighting that thing. Then a female scream from the far front of the car -- hers, he thought. "Blood and ashes," she cried, a moment later. "Where is it?"

The hiss almost sounded like a chuckle.

Daniel's parents raised him to be chivalrous. He felt around desperately for a weapon, and his hand fell on a plastic spike left over from a nearby seat's destruction. He pulled on it. It didn't budge.

I didn't hear a soda can opening, he realized suddenly. I heard her sticking it with some kind of weapon.

"God help me," he whispered, rising to a crouch and pulling harder. The plastic still didn't budge. He threw his full weight against it, his wrist sending spikes of pain up his arm, and it didn't move.

"Your weapon's down here!" he shouted. The moment the words left his mouth, he jumped, caught the top of the thrashing creature, and pulled himself over it. He felt bone shove through into his palm, but by then his jump had taken him over the creature to the other side of the car. He heard it smash into the seats where he had been like the hammer of God.

He heard a wild scream, almost a joyful one, and then a thump across the creature from him. He sagged back. She would find the weapon, if it really existed, or she would not --

Daniel heard another thump and a pleased, "Hiai!"

The hissing sound doubled and redoubled. The creature's twisting its head back this way, he thought. Then came a wet squish. A wet squish?

The lights came back on. The woman stood, caked in blood, on the creature's back. A sword in her hand pierced the serpent's eye. The life in the beast slowly faded, or so it seemed to Daniel; then everything went still. The woman pulled the sword out with one clean motion. The blade lacked a tip. The creature's thrashing split it off. ... Where did she get a sword? None of the passengers were armed with five feet of steel, sheathed or otherwise.

Another glissando of song and the sword faded away. She hopped down off the creature's back and winced violently. Her leg crumpled under her.

She's beautiful, he thought, and then decided that he could safely pass out.

It seemed to him that they had been talking for some time before he finished waking up. He wondered later what they had talked about.

"I appreciate your help," she said gravely.

"My wrist doesn't hurt," Daniel said numbly. "Why doesn't it hurt?"

Her eyes were very deep and very dark. "I took care of it. I should be a shame to my profession if I left the bystanders in such condition as yours." She paused. "You may ask a favor of me; an I can, I will grant it."

Daniel frowned. "That seems a little silly, miss …?"

"Shehariah," she answered. "Or Shelley; I am amenable to either."

"Shelley," he said. "I'm incredibly impressed that you killed that thing in the dark, and, to be honest, a little bit frightened. I don't know at all what to make of the fact that my wrist is feeling okay after being snapped and abused like that. I really don't want anything to do with you. I also know that if someone should be grateful, it's me."

Shehariah smiled slightly. "I did not exceed my capabilities," she explained, holding up her hands palm-up. "You did. I acted out of basic duty; you acted out of unusual valor. So you may have a favor of me. Do choose quickly, however; the metro will reach the station soon." Her smile turned into a frown. "I plan to remove myself quickly as soon as we arrive; this incident is rather beyond my capabilities to explain."

"You mean, it's a mystery to you too?"

She shook her head, just the tiniest motion. "I mean, the authorities would assume that I planned the incident, created the snake by some forgery, and detain me for some days. I cannot afford that just now; I must attend an important meeting."

Daniel frowned. "What kind of favor are you offering?" he asked.

Shehariah spread her hands apart. "Do you desire wealth? A man of your caliber might be a powerful positive force, given the means. I can arrange this; I require nothing but that you spend it wisely and with compassion. I do not mean donating funds to charity; I mean structuring your business interests so that those who work for you work hard and live well. I can place you at the head of a corporation, and you may turn a handsome profit without the environmental abuses of your competitors. Suchlike things -- subtle goods -- a better world."

Daniel shook his head. "My uncle had means," he said quietly. "He inherited a vast sum. I learned something from this. People care a lot about things that are theirs -- I'm not excluding myself. When you have lots of money, you start to see things that you want as yours, just like things that you already have. That's not a healthy attitude, I think. It's -- carnivorous."

Shehariah gave him a crooked smile. "Power, perhaps? Not political power, I think, but I could arrange for someone to contact you. Teach you to fly, perhaps."

Daniel shuddered.

"Pardon?"

Daniel's jaws worked for a few moments, and then he sighed. "I mean, it's not that I don't believe you. It's not that I wouldn't normally jump at the chance, given that I believe you. It's just that -- you're not human. I mean, you're more human than that thing, but you're not. I don't want to become -- whatever you are."

Shehariah drew her lips tightly together, suppressing a smile. "That's not a danger. Still, let me shelve that for now." She spread her arms to the side. "You may have me, if you would prefer. As long as we made it --" She considered. "As long as we were finished within an hour, and as long as we leave the vicinity of the train station before doing so."

Daniel hesitated a long time before shaking his head again.

"I don't mean as a tawdry event," Shehariah said softly. "It would be a sacrament; an expression of love. Not romantic love, but love nevertheless. You would be exalted when we were done, and you would remember the event for some time."

Daniel shook his head again. "No. I admit that part of me --" He frowned. "Part of me longs for you. I don't really know why; your beauty doesn't impress me that much, and your martial side scares me to death. Part of me longs for you. But that part doesn't want sex; it wants the dream." He bit his lip. "You know. Sharing that beauty for a long time. Becoming part of it. Not just -- once and then never again."

Shehariah put her hand under her chin. "I don't think it actually matters what kind of favor I'm offering, then; you don't want anything I can provide."

Daniel considered. "Answers," he said. "You know. I want to know what that snake was. Is. I want to know who you are and why you're strong enough to throw me around like a sock puppet. I want to know why it was here. -- well, okay. The truth is, I don't want to know any of these things. But I will want to know them next week, or next month ... eventually I'll have questions, and I'll have no answers if you don't give them to me."

"My." Shehariah considered. "Daniel, that's a dangerous favor to ask. Knowing these things -- there's a price attached that I can't change or explain. Even worse, to explain why the snake was here I'll have to put you in direct physical danger. I mean that, literal and immediate danger; words won't be enough. I can say with fair assurance that the truth in these matters won't make you happy. It won't help you realize that dream you mentioned. It won't lead to anything but sorrow. Do you understand me?"

Daniel smiled sadly. "You're lying, Shelley," he said.

Shehariah considered. "Yes," she admitted. "In some things, I suppose I am. How could you tell?"

"You fidgeted." Daniel grinned. "You are most definitely not the fidgeting type."

Shehariah's lips tightened. "A weakness I will have to address. But most of it was true, Daniel. You know that too."

"Go on."

The long shape that moved through the murky waters could have swallowed the metro snake as casually as a bird tosses down a worm. The demon Talmai floated half a mile away. The creature frightened him. The wait bored him. The slimy water soaked slowly into his best suit. He considered how difficult it would be to drain the water away, and then moved on to other thoughts -- tactical problems, reflections on the latest scandals, and, briefly, torture techniques. When the head suddenly cleared the water and rose over him like a radio tower, a pulse of fear shot through him. None of it showed on his face, but it didn't matter; the creature could no doubt smell it on him.

"Report," the beast said, its voice melodic and terrible. Three pairs of eyes glared down at him.

"Sir," Talmai said, running a hand down his tie. It stank vaguely of fish. "Gur failed to destroy Shehariah, and she in turn killed his body. I have sent a handful of my lesser brothers to destroy the corpse. Gur may or may not have injured her; since she has a song of healing, it's impossible to tell. Shehariah rendezvoused with someone in the metro, or recruited someone there; the two left the area together. We can't find his description in our files."

"Strip Gur to seven Forces," the beast said, its voice measured. "Do not damage his mind. As for Shehariah, she cannot be allowed to live. Name for me the deadliest demon under your command, and what tools that demon will require. Do not hesitate to make an excessive request; I have sacrificed one of my own bodies to this cause already."

Talmai considered. "With two exceptions, the deadliest being in my service is Ibhar. A Stalker, sir, of long experience."

"One of those exceptions is yourself," the terrible voice whispered. "The other is?"

"Cain, sir. A damned soul. You would remember him, I think."

The six eyes almost looked surprised. "Talmai, you would allow a damned soul to return to Earth? You would pit a human against Shehariah? I had not thought you such a gambler."

"I would do both, sir," Talmai said. "If he fails, then no one less than a noble would do better. I am, of course, willing to do this myself."

"Cain it shall be," the beast answered. "And I shall give him a body. State what else he will need."

"Knives," Talmai whispered. "Guns, including a concealable pistol, an assault rifle, and possibly a rocket launcher of some kind. Ammunition for the same; the best we have. Nerve gas. Tear gas. Authorization to draw upon Tether resources. Will shackles. A healing device. Advanced, lightweight body armor. A large reliquary. A car with border-crossing equipment. A force catcher, in case the person Shehariah rendezvoused with is a Kyriotate. A fully armed attack helicopter. High explosives, fuses, and so forth. Your Attunements, sir."

"Truly?" the behemoth asked. "All of them?"

Talmai calmed his heart. "Yes, sir."

"Then he shall have it all. Make an appointment with the Morale Department, Talmai, for two weeks hence. I will cancel it personally if this Cain of yours succeeds."

"Yes, sir."

The great head dropped below the water once more and the shape slipped out into the sea. After a respectful pause, Talmai began the awkward process of taking to the air.

The afternoon light filled the hotel room, played off the yellow curtains and the white carpet, fell upon Shehariah's hair, and limned the edge of Daniel's suit. "Heaven and Hell," Shehariah said, "exist. In the real, literal sense. A demon's soul inhabited that serpent's body. An angel's soul inhabits mine." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "My strength comes from that spirit, and it wouldn't matter what kind of body I wore. Since no demon has the kind of physical power that serpent had, I suspect the body was itself some kind of relic -- an object with special powers."

"So you knew that the demon would attack the metro car, and you decided to wait for it there?"

Shehariah looked a little bit embarrassed. "Rather the other way around," she admitted. "I knew that the demon would attack me, at some point, and so I rode in the car with the fewest people in it. I couldn't very well tell everyone to leave, though; no one would have listened."

Daniel frowned. "So you put us in danger?"

"What choice did I have?" Shehariah asked. "I don't actually own a car, and I had to get from one place to another." She frowned, slightly but severely. "The war between Heaven and Hell sometimes hurts innocent bystanders, but if the angels stopped, the world would become a nightmare. So we do the best that we can. I hope to show you why I must get to the Legion of Souls cemetery soon; that gets a little bit complicated. But I most definitely must."

"Could you give me the general outline?" Daniel asked.

"I made a promise," Shehariah said, quietly. "I made a promise to a demon named Hophin, and I must keep that promise, even if Hell, Heaven, and all the armies of the world decide to stand in my way."

"Oh." Daniel flushed slightly. I don't even keep my promise to call home.

Shehariah laughed softly. "Oh, no," she said, correctly interpreting the flush. "You're perfectly respectable, as humans go. I checked."

"The other demons want to stop you from keeping this promise?"

The angel nodded. "Something like that." She smiled slightly, and added, "Don't move."

"Huh?"

She dropped sideways off her seat. In the same smooth motion, she kicked out the leg of his chair, and he toppled backwards. A fraction of a second later, the window shattered and a bullet crashed into the dresser on the far wall. Daniel thought that he might have seen the bullet glide through the space where his chest had been.

"Damn them," Shehariah whispered, coming up from the floor with a knife in her hand. "I mean, again."

"Where -- where --"

"Opposite building," Shehariah said. "Be ready to move. But don't get up."

She calmly pivoted, bringing the knife up and hurling it. At almost the same moment, the door to their room burst open, revealing three men with machine guns; the knife took the leader neatly in the throat. The other two opened fire at chest level; Shehariah simply vanished.

"Oh, Hell," one of the thugs said. You got that right, Daniel agreed.

A long moment passed. Then one of the thugs shrugged, pointed the gun downward at Daniel, and pulled the trigger.

Shehariah reappeared as suddenly as she had vanished, both feet solidly on the barrel of the gun; as the bullets slammed into the floor, and the thug's foot, Shehariah kicked him neatly under the chin. His neck snapped. The other gun came to bear on her like a striking snake; she caught the barrel's side with one hand and slugged the wielder with the other. He went down.

"Stay out of the line of fire," she snapped, "and get over here."

He pulled himself up onto the bed and darted across the intervening space to the door. She took his hand firmly. "Come on," she said, and they bolted.

He tried to run down the stairs; she shook her head and gestured towards the elevator. "It's six floors down," he complained. "And it's stopped. Can't you hear the buzzing?"

"I know," she said, and shrugged, and smiled, and kicked the door with a charging elephant's force. The shining brass buckled inwards. Again she struck, and again, until there was a hole big enough to crawl through. She dove through it, instead, catching hold of the cable with one hand. With the other, she beckoned him.

"You've got to be kidding."

"We have at most two minutes until the next attack," she informed him bluntly. "I want to be outside, where we can run away."

"Two min-- right." He eyed the hole, and gingerly stuck his arm and upper body through it. She caught him by the hand and pulled, hard, until he dangled from her hand in the darkness of the shaft. "What now?" he said, looking up at her.

She pulled him up next to her, and whispered, "Grab the cable."

He did. Then she let go and fell about five stories to the elevator's roof. That has to have hurt, he thought. She yelled, "Jump!" up at him. He looked down and gulped, once. He could hear a melodic clanging sound from below, but he couldn't see her, except as a vague shape. I hate the dark, he thought, and let go.

She caught him in both arms. He felt her whole body shift as she kicked the second-floor elevator doors. The melodic clanging repeated. Again. Then they broke open and she shoved him through.

"What now?"

She smiled viciously. "Out the hallway window."

"Do all angels live like this?"

"Only on special occasions," she admitted, and dragged him to the hallway window, and through it. They landed in a heap in an alley. The safeties on four guns clicked menacingly, and Daniel looked up into four smiling faces.

"Two minutes?" he asked.

"On the nose," she said, and frowned.

The sharks passed slowly through the tank, turning with contemptuous flicks of their tails, eyes cold and dead. Hophin watched them and meditated; the tension slowly drained from his form, and the lines faded from around his eyes. Such a strange person, Jabez thought. Still, I like the hair.

"An angel, she calls herself." Hophin whispered the words as if they burned him. One hand undid his ponytail; the other he placed against the cold plastic of the tank. "A spirit of goodness and virtue. Oh yes." His fingernails trailed down the clear surface. "Do you know what she did to me, Jabez? Can you even imagine what these Malakim are capable of?"

"I have heard stories," Jabez replied, neutrally. "Some of them are difficult to believe."

"You say four of our agents overcame her and her partner." He turned, and his eyes were as dead as the sharks'. "I want to believe that, Jabez. I want to believe that very much. But it does not strike me as possible. Some of your kind, perhaps -- I could believe you might capture her. But mortals? I hired mortals to deplete her supply of Essence. To wound her a little -- to soften her up before we meet. Did I even give orders that they try to capture her?"

"Our man on the scene judged it possible," Jabez explained. "He said that her partner was a mortal. He couldn't go celestial, or come back five minutes later if they killed him. So she surrendered."

Hophin shook his head. "She's setting some kind of trap," he said. "She's planning to destroy me for good this time. Malakim don't surrender."

Jabez shrugged. "She can still be killed, of course. Would that do any good?"

"She can be soul-killed," Hophin said. His hand wandered into his pocket and searched for a minute, eventually pulling out a flat box. He shook a few hard candies from it into his other hand, slammed them into his mouth, and swallowed convulsively. "Order two of the Calabim there; tell her that unless she assumes celestial form and stays around to be killed, the mortal gets it."

Jabez nodded. "As you say, so shall it be." He hesitated a moment. "Hophin," he asked, "are you certain that this is wise? Your master may be inclined to punish you for such an action."

"Our master," Hophin said, bluntly.

"Your master," Jabez said, and smiled whitely. "My Bright Lord."

Daniel buried his head miserably in his hands. "Captured by demons. I don't believe it. I just wanted to ride to work and read my newspaper."

"They're not demons," Shehariah said.

"Huh?"

"They're not demons," she repeated. "I looked inside the guys who captured us. They have too much basic decency to be demons, and I doubt they're even sworn to Hell. They might work for Hell, but it's a job and not a lifestyle."

"If they aren't demons," he asked in his most reasonable voice, "how did they know to be waiting outside the window?"

Shehariah spread her hands. "My fault, I'm afraid. I killed the beasts at the hotel room. The sound of murder clings to an angel like a pleading lover; they must have tracked me by it."

"Oh."

Shehariah donned a thoughtful look. "I didn't get a chance to look at the souls of the ones I killed," she admitted, "but their guns were definitely relics. I suspect that they were meant to trap me in my corpse. The ones our captors have, however, have no special virtue."

"Trap you in your corpse?"

"What bothers me more than the guns themselves," Shehariah said, "is the fact that petty mortal assassins were armed with powerful relics. One doesn't use thousand-dollar imported oil as a car freshener; one doesn't hire a world-famous band to play at a child's birthday party. Why would they arm these men with priceless artifacts?"

"They couldn't find better assassins?"

Shehariah cracked her knuckles and shook out her hands. "In other words, our antagonist had every resource but personnel." She frowned. "That seems unlikely."

"Then," Daniel said, "the person behind that attack thought that those killers were good enough for the task."

"The man in the other building had skill," Shehariah admitted. "Perhaps the others were meant simply to herd us back into his sights."

Daniel might have spoken further, but the door opened. Two men with unruly hair and dark coats came in; their eyes glittered with malice. "Shehariah," one said, "we will release the human if you will assume celestial form and spar with us a while."

Shehariah shrugged. "Sure," she said. "But I'm out of Essence." She fidgeted.

A short and awkward silence followed, and then one of the men shook his head and glowered. "Right. Fine." He stalked across the room in three gliding steps and touched Shehariah's arm. Daniel thought he heard a ringing in the air.

"Shall we begin?" Shehariah asked, lightly.

"You'll have to swear not to run away," the man by Shehariah said. "To finish the fight on the celestial plane, no matter what happens."

Shehariah frowned. "Very well," she said. "I so swear."

The man by Shehariah stepped back by the other. "Change," he said. "Then we let him go."

She nodded once, firmly, and closed her eyes. A few seconds passed. One of the men grunted. Shehariah's brow furrowed. A few more seconds passed. Daniel looked from the woman to the men, uncertain. "Did she do it?" he asked. "Can I go?"

Shehariah's face became very pale. "I can't," she said.

The men didn't move, but something shattered inside Daniel's chest. He gave a cry of pain and started to curl up; then a jolt of further pain straightened him. "What the Hell?"

Shehariah shook her head. "No. I mean, I know I did it right that time. But I ... can't."

"It's not your fault," Daniel said, quietly. Shehariah, rocking in the corner with her arms around her knees, did not stop. "It's probably -- they probably set it all up somehow."

"You don't understand," she whispered. "I swore. Honor rules me, honor defines me -- I just broke what I am. Until I can destroy those two, or at least send them screaming back to Hell, in a celestial fight. And -- I can't stay here, either. I can be captured by mortals, that's fine, but those were demons, and that means I'm in Hell's hands. I have to get out of here. I have to get you out of here."

Daniel shrugged. "You can leave me behind, if it will help. They don't really want me for anything. And, hey, if they shoot me for that, I probably go to Heaven, right?"

She bit her lip, and then shook her head. "No. Besides, I don't know a way out." She glanced up at the cell door. "Think about it. Solid steel door. Stone walls. I can't teleport. Although I plan to start digging through the wall with my fingernails soon, I don't have magic fingernails. That will take me a while."

"Oh."

An icicle of pain in his chest kept Daniel quiet for a few minutes. Then a thought congealed. "Shelley," he said, "you said those guns were relics. That they were meant to trap you in your corpse."

"Yeah?" she asked.

"What if they didn't have to hit you?"

Her head snapped up. "It would explain," she whispered, "why the only demon attacked from so far away." She hesitated. "Daniel, how long has it been? Since we were captured?"

"You're the one with the glowing watch and the clock in your head," he said. "Um. Maybe five hours?"

She smiled crookedly. "Good. Then this little problem shouldn't last more than ... another three or so, in the worst case." The smile brightened further. "And if I need to spend Essence on something, and we get captured anyway, then our friends the Calabim will just have to refill me."

"Um," Daniel said, not comprehending. "Yeah."

She rose to her feet, paced over to the door, and paced back. "Let's take things a step further. Whoever wasted three Hellsworn and risked some powerful relics must want to get to me before the effects wear off. This means that they will be coming here. With luck, they'll break in to kill us and we'll have the chance to escape."

"Without luck," Daniel said, "they'll kill us without even opening the door."

"Point," Shehariah admitted, deep in thought. "Let us pray that they use explosives."

Daniel gaped.

Shehariah went down on her knees. "I said, Daniel, let us pray."

"Phone call for you, sir."

"You have an irritating smile, Jabez," Hophin said. "Give it here."

Jabez looked elaborately innocent as he passed the phone across. Hophin took it in one hand; the other hand wandered across the desk, almost seeming self-motivated, and found a pen. "Yeah?" Hophin asked. Diligently, his hand began unscrewing the pen's base. "Army of goons. Right." He paused a moment, listening. "Nerve gas. Right." A frown crept across his face. "Attack helicopter, armed. Right." The frown deepened. "Attunements of the War. Oh, H--" His voice caught, and his face strained. "H--"

Hophin growled, deep in his throat. Jabez radiated amusement, silently, like a laughing mime.

"Listen to me," Hophin said, quietly. "Get everyone you can out of there. Leave the Malakite and her pet. Use tunnel 28A. Don't delay for the wounded." After a moment's listening, he hung up violently. "Jabez," he said, "get my coat."

"You are going somewhere?"

"Darn right," Hophin said. "I'm going to Hell."

"I'll fetch the handbasket."

"It sounds like quite a battle," Shehariah said wistfully. "I almost wish that I could be out there, part of it."

"How long?" Daniel asked.

Shehariah tilted her head, listening. "About fifteen seconds," she said, rising to her feet. Without ceremony, she walked over and hugged him; she did not let go. "Twelve," she said. "Eleven." At ten seconds to the moment of greatest danger, she began to Sing.

A cyclone sprang up around them, a whirling cushion of dancing air. Ten seconds later, the world outside the cyclone exploded in actinic light. Stone shattered. Steel faded into nothingness. Fires raced across the floor beneath them, dissolving them to dust and then a crater. The cyclone, now perfectly spherical, fell into the pit, bounced once, and became as still as such a thing could be.

"Good lord," Daniel said, "I can see the outside."

Fumes drifted up from the ruins of the building. Few walls still stood. The remnants of bodies, mostly shredded by the blast, could be seen everywhere. Troops in black stood in the middle distance, where the building's lawn had been -- when the lawn had a building to belong to. Two more of the whirling shields hovered where the hall outside their cell had been. One contained a fire-haired teenager; a thin-faced woman occupied the other. The woman carried a heavy rifle; the teen a rocket launcher.

Shehariah studied the two. "I can't help but feel that this is overkill," she admitted.

The woman laughed. "You tick off Baal," she said, with a wild joy in her voice, "you get what's coming to you."

Shehariah glanced to a faint smear in the hallway nearby. "Your friend failed to Sing properly?"

The teen smiled. "It's just body-death," he said. "Not like he's gone or anything. Not like you're going to be."

Shehariah reflected. "Daniel," she said, "I advise that when these Shields fail, you run as fast as you can away from me. I think they'll deal with me first. In fact, I'd say that's more or less certain."

For a short time, everybody waited.

Then the woman's shields failed, and she fell an inch or so to the ground. She took the jolt with nothing more than a smile, and carefully aimed her rifle at Shehariah's head. The angel paced slowly to the side, the cyclone moving reluctantly with her and the sight of the gun following her.

Shehariah tapped her little finger against her leg. Four, Daniel thought. Then her ring finger. Three. Middle finger. Two. Index finger. One. As her thumb moved, both of them flung themselves down and to opposite sides; in the middle of their motion, the cyclone shattered. Zero. Shehariah hit the ground, rolled, and came up to her feet running. Daniel felt content not to have driven his broken rib through his lung, and to straggle up onto his feet only a few seconds later.

The rifle spat bullets at Shehariah one after the other, the woman's hands methodical upon the grip. One bullet actually clipped her, catching her lower leg and almost sending her sprawling. Then the teen's Shields collapsed, he smiled again, and the rocket launcher turned inexorably in the angel's direction.

Daniel clipped him in the head with a thrown piece of rubble, viciously heavy, just before he fired. The teen lurched forward, off balance, and turned his head towards Daniel with a snarl.

The rocket launcher went off, the rocket striking the ground between the two demons.

Daniel regained his balance not too long afterwards, closed his eyes, and turned his head. Slowly, he crossed himself.

Shehariah turned and walked back to him, blinking. "Not bad," she admitted. "A little more hardship and we might actually make something out of you."

Daniel opened his eyes and slammed them shut again. "Helicopter," he whispered. "Guns. More rockets."

"I see," she said, following his gaze. "This is one of those days."

Daniel said, hopefully, "Magic songs?"

Shehariah's voice came out strained, almost a whimper or a sob. "Bloody Hell," she said, and closed her eyes.

He looked puzzled. "What, just because we're going to die?"

"No," she said, as if her world was collapsing. Daniel heard a faint ringing in the air again. It grew steadily louder.

"Then what?"

Two rockets fired, weaving towards them through the air with the inevitability of death.

So many papers, Talmai thought. This job comes with so many papers. Did I really ask to be a Baron?

His intercom buzzed. He scowled at it momentarily, and it exploded. He went back to staring at reports from the War in Peru; the angelic strategy didn't seem to make sense.

The first of his backup intercoms buzzed. Talmai looked up, momentarily thoughtful; his secretary only used that one for important business. Then he shrugged, blew it up too, and went back to his reports. He was an important demon. He was a Baron of Victory. He didn't have time for just any important business.

The second of his backup intercoms buzzed. Talmai frowned at that. A Captain come to see me, perhaps? Not my Dark Prince; she always presses all the buzzers at once when he's here. Finally, with a snarl, he slammed his papers through his desk -- celestial wood is so flimsy -- and walked to the door. Yanking it roughly open, he demanded, "Yes?"

The Djinn called Ibhar wore a lion's mane over a hyena's body; that shape hung around the demon's mortal seeming like an afterimage. Blood stained his shirt and hanging medal of office. He held two small white ovoids like worry beads in his hand. Talmai glanced sideways at his secretary; the Impudite lay sprawled across the desk with her neck broken and her eyes pulled out. For all that Ibhar served under him, Talmai couldn't feel that the Djinn stood there before him. That was frightening. "I take it," he said softly, "that this is not a social call."

Ibhar scratched the side of his nose. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I've been temporarily removed from your service. Well, permanently, to be honest. I mean, seeing as how I'm under orders to kill you and all."

Talmai paused, thinking rapidly. "From our Prince?" The question meant everything, of course, and nothing.

Ibhar shook his head. "Duke Jaakan, sir, of the Order of the Spire."

Talmai's eyes narrowed. "You will accompany me to our Dark Prince," he said, "and we will resolve this matter. I have been informed in no uncertain terms that I am considered valuable to the War."

Ibhar's eyes sank, sadly. "You are not to leave the office, sir. I mean, before I kill you. Afterwards, you can go anywhere you want."

Talmai frowned. "Ibhar, I can take you, if I have to. But I would be reprimanded for losing a Servitor of your caliber."

"Not under the circumstances, sir. I mean, the Prince being reasonable and all."

"I --" Talmai froze. He's not waiting for an opening, he realized suddenly. Not this long. And he's not chatting for the good god bless it of it. Is someone going around behind me? But how? Has he set some sort of trap on the floor in front of me? His thoughts churned violently, to no good effect. Ibhar watched, quietly, eyes still sad. I can figure this out, Talmai insisted to himself. And once I've figured it out, I have his ace in the hole, and I have him. But what --

His eyes narrowed. Poison. In the air. He's wearing filters. He leapt on Ibhar with a single powerful beat of his wings and clawed at the Djinn's nose.

Ibhar's hand caught his neatly about the wrist and held the claw from his face. "Terribly sorry, sir," the Djinn said, and turned, and slammed Talmai into the wall. I've already been affected. With a thrust of his will, Talmai shattered the wall behind him. I almost didn't manage that. Before Talmai could scramble out the hole, Ibhar gave Talmai's wrist a vicious twist and slammed him into the floor. Ibhar's foot came down on Talmai's stomach long enough to drive the wind out of him and dislocate his arm.

I don't want to die. Talmai drove his taloned foot up under the Djinn's leg, but missed his target. His vision swam. Ibhar's foot came down on his face and smashed in his nose.

I won't die. Bless it, I should be able to anticipate his every move. Talmai wrapped a clawed hand around Ibhar's leg and wrenched it sideways; Ibhar neatly hopped in the appropriate direction and kicked Talmai with his other leg.

Okay. Thoughts too fuzzy for that. What's the backup plan? Ibhar knelt almost lovingly by Talmai and ripped a handful of membrane from the Calabite's wing.

Talmai screamed agony and cast his destructive resonance into the Djinn's medal of office. Another near thing; his will was so weak --

The medal exploded. Ibhar flung up his hands to shelter his eyes.

Talmai poured Essence into the effort and shattered the floor beneath him. He fell, in a pile of wooden shards, into the practice room below. Again. The floor beneath him shattered. He fell into a dormitory. Two Impudites, entwined intimately, looked up at him with some startlement. Again. The floor exploded, and he collapsed into the entrance hall of his command building.

The Djinn landed neatly beside him a moment later. "Nobody's going to help you, sir," he said apologetically. "Not when you're this weak."

Talmai grinned at him. "Boy," he said, "you don't know nothing about strategy."

Armed demons surrounded the two. Most of the weapons were pointing at Ibhar. Talmai grinned harder at the wounded expression on the Djinn's face.

"If you'll excuse us?" Ibhar asked them pointedly. "This is private business."

"You're under arrest," a Shedite weaponsmaster said to the Djinn, and drooled happily on Talmai's foot. "Come with us."

Strategy, Talmai thought, as his eyes closed. Always have plenty of demons at your side who know their station would be lower under anyone else. Ibhar doesn't understand that. He's too good on his own.

The last thing he saw before passing out was the Djinn knocking four demons down in his rush to escape.

Daniel opened his eyes. "I'm not dead," he said. "I don't hurt."

A man stood nearby, tall and strong, and his eyes might have been the most beautiful things Daniel had ever seen. "No," he said flatly. "You're not dead. You don't hurt." He opened his hands, showing two model rockets inside them. "I caught them."

Daniel peered dumbly at the rockets. They looked a lot smaller than the ones that had been raging towards him from the sky.

The man smiled, very slightly. "See?" he said, and turned towards the distant black-clothed army. The troops backed away slowly. The man raised his hand and cast the toy rockets in their direction. He had a very good throwing arm, good enough for the toys to reach the soldiers. Halfway there the toys became real rockets again. Daniel turned his head before they hit.

Shehariah knelt, trembling, on the ground not far away. The man held up a hand to forestall further comments from Daniel and turned towards her.

"Child," he said, softly, "you were outnumbered, outgunned, unarmed, accursed, dissonant, and low on Essence, with an innocent's life and your own existence at stake. On certain occasions, I do not object to a cry for help."

"I have no honor. No valor."

The man shook his head. "Rather, you lack wisdom; this is endemic in angels, mortals, demons, gods, Princes, spirits, and Archangels. In this case, your decisions have saved a mortal's life, and I find no fault in them." He glanced up at the sky, where the helicopter continued its rapid retreat. "This ought to please you, Shehariah; if it does not, then I suggest that you return to Heaven until your head is clear."

"No," she said, quickly, rising to her feet. "I am -- forgive me. If you approve of my actions, then I must do the same."

He smiled again. Daniel considered the possibility that he might be in love with the man. It was a very odd sensation. "Have you found word of Salome, child?" the man asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I --"

"Continue to search," he said. Then the sunlight came down and burned very brightly for a moment, and the man vanished into the light.

"Close your mouth," Shehariah said, eventually, "before you embarrass us in front of our enemies. That was the Archangel Michael. We were lucky, I think, that this place was -- most definitely a battlefield. He has an affinity for such places. Let's go, before they regroup; we'll cut through the forest to the main road."

They ran for a long time, and walked for a longer time, and finally came out to the empty road. "Walk more?" Daniel offered.

"There's a car coming," Shehariah said, with some satisfaction. Squinting, she added, "Looks like a woman driver. Show her some leg."

"What?"

Shehariah fought a smile. "You stand here with your thumb out. I'll walk down the road a little bit, so I can step in her way if she doesn't stop."

The car stopped for Daniel's thumb. The elderly woman inside seemed more than delighted to have passengers. Shehariah sat in the front seat and sank into quiet, brooding despair. Daniel sat in the back. The woman, who gave her name as Emma Stasheff, talked for a very long time about her children and her baking and her somewhat overweight cat. Then she turned sideways and shot Shehariah in the back of the head.

Blood covered the seats. Something fluttered in the car. It was black and winged and big and half-visible. It crashed into the windows, ceiling, seats, and doors like a desperate moth or a fire-cast shadow. The old woman gunned up the engine and the car leapt forward.

"Let me see," the woman crooned like some demented vision of a grandmother, gun still clenched in one fist. "I need the Malakite mace. Guaranteed protection against those bloodthirsty Malakim." The hand with the gun rummaged around in the glove compartment. The black shape beat around Daniel's head and then against the front window and then against the old woman again.

"Ah!" she said. "Here!" The woman fumbled a small spray can into her hand, leaving the gun in the glove compartment, and screeched, "Get ready, kid, for the ride of your life."

A faint ringing sound. And then everything was different.

I'm literally in Hell.

A red-faced demon yanked open the back seat door and grabbed Daniel's shoulder. "You," he said, words venomous, "need to get out of here. We don't want living mortals in Hell."

The other doors were open now, and other horrific shapes clustered around the front seat. They dragged the ebony monster out by the chains around its chest. It struggled like a titan, but seven demons subdued it with relative haste. The guy -- an ugly fellow, diseased, balding, and heavily scarred -- slipped out of the front seat and patted down his chest. "That's that," he said, and kicked the monster. It spat at him.

"I said," the red-faced demon repeated, "You need to get out of here."

"How?" Daniel asked.

"In nomine Satanis," the creature muttered, "we get such idiots down here. Here, I'll take you back up."

The ebony monster cried, "No."

"Don't listen to her," the demon said. "Just one bloody thing after another, you know. Come on."

"Its voice is familiar," Daniel said, as if entranced.

"Yeah, well, déjà vu. Do I have to carry you?"

The ebony monster yelled, "Stay here."

"Oh my God," Daniel said. "That's Shehariah."

"Your God my red butt," the creature snapped, and two clawed hands grabbed for him. Daniel ducked and spun to put the car between him and the creature. The only problem with this plan, he realized, is that there are more of them on the other side.

Hands overwhelmed him, but he struggled fiercely, kicking, biting, kneeing, poking, and finally simply writhing. Then a calm voice asked, "What's this?"

"We were just taking him back!" a demon protested. He waved his head viciously -- towards, Daniel thought, the demons holding Shehariah. "He came down here by accident."

"You're not insured," the calm voice murmured, "for accidents. The question is, are you insured against acts of God?"

An ebony hand, three times the size of Shehariah's, swept the demons holding Daniel to one side or the other. An enormous finger tapped his forehead, peeled back one eyelid, and poked his stomach. "You might as well unhand my sister," the voice added. "Saving her isn't my job, but every now and then I'm inclined to be charitable."

"Wh-- who?" Daniel asked.

"Hutriel," the calm voice answered. "One of the angels of Final Judgment. I keep blessed or ambiguous souls out of Hell. Or, rather, I remove them from Hell should they arrive. And you are?"

"Daniel."

The creature looked amused. "Indeed. Is there truth to their statement that you came here by accident?"

"I don't believe I was wanted," Daniel answered, "which is a different thing."

"Yes," Hutriel reflected. "It is." He looked up. "Hm. I feel like smiting. But where have all the demons gone?"

Shehariah bowed very deeply before the greater Malakite. "They have fled, most honorable one. To report failure to their masters, or to make new plans for destroying me; I do not know. In either case, I am grateful."

Hutriel smiled. "I do not often strike a blow for the war," he said softly. "My duties usually bind me to my post. I am grateful that chance brought my duty here today. Where by chance I mean, of course, design, and by design, of course, blatant manipulation of the rules for your own benefit."

Shehariah lowered her gaze. "As you say, most honorable one."

Hutriel reflected. "This vehicle-relic travels between the worlds," he murmured. "It could, in theory, bring a human soul down here again at any time. As well as any Malakim that happened to be traveling with him. This seems unmeet."

Daniel grinned suddenly. "I like you," he admitted.

Hutriel walked over to the car. "Quite obviously, the thing is unbreakable. It stands to reason, given the investment such a relic would require." He mulled. "Therefore!" A beat of wings took him above the car. Another took him higher. He rose until his form looked like a child's, and then flipped on end, and dove.

The impact of his fists drove the car through the soil and ten feet into the Gehennan bedrock.

"Go," he said, rising from the pit. "I must return to work."

Shehariah stepped up to Daniel. He winced, slightly; her celestial form frightened him a little still. Then she wrapped her wings about him and rose to the Earth.

An old woman stood by the road with an automatic rifle gripped in her withered hands. I will wait, she thought. When they return to Earth, I will fire right through their appearing bodies. That will discomfit the Malakite and remove the bloody human for good. Oh, yes. It doesn't pay to assume that I've been beaten.

Like the snap of a camera, the man appeared in the middle of the road. Where's the thrice-damned Malakite? Warned by something, he turned to look at her. His eyes widened like a frightened deer. Maybe she doesn't have a spare Vessel. Maybe she's going to reappear right behind me. She leapt on him as a cougar might, the solid barrel of the rifle shoved against his neck crosswise, pinning him to the ground.

"I can break your spine in three eighths of a second," she hissed. "Don't you move a muscle."

He blinked twice.

"Okay," she said, satisfied, and pressed the metal against his larynx cruelly tight. "Now we wait for her to get back."

Talmai winced and pressed a fresh bandage to his nose. "We lost Shehariah," he said.

"Yes," the Balseraph hissed, prostrating itself further on the floor. "And Cain."

"No," Talmai said, shaking his head. "Cain went back to kill them both; he would rather have the Prince's favor than a few years in a Vessel followed by an eternity with the Morale Department. But we have to consider the possibility he will fail. Which makes this the worst possible time to lose Ibhar." He paced, one arm and wing dangling uselessly at his side. "On the other front?"

"Puzzling, my lord Baron," the Balseraph admitted. "Jaakan has been almost invisible in Hell for the past twenty years. Now, suddenly, his troops show up everywhere, and they're all going after us. Surgical strikes, assassinations and thefts, and lots and lots of blood. A quarter of your staff has defected, and our Prince isn't speaking on the matter. All this in a few hours; in another eight, your Barony will fall apart."

"Postulate," Talmai asked. "Why now? Why does an unknown Duke show up now and attempt to destroy me?"

"Either you have offended him somehow," the Balseraph replied, "or he wishes to interfere with your current projects."

"Peru?" Talmai wondered, and then frowned. "You said twenty years?"

"Almost exactly, my lord Baron."

"That's when the Malakite bitch tortured General Hophin to soul-death." Talmai frowned. "And now, of course, I have been asked to provide retribution. But he can't possibly want to stop that revenge, even if he hated Hophin -- it's been ordered directly by my Dark Prince. In fact, Baal even lent one of his Vessels to some bravo that thought he could take Shehariah out."

"Yes, my lord Baron."

"So perhaps," Talmai murmured thoughtfully, "Jaakan wishes to take that revenge himself. For some reason." He spun on the Balseraph, and the carpet in front of the groveling creature dissolved into its component Essence-bits. "This may be to our advantage. On many counts. Go and find the connection between Hophin and Jaakan. Don't return without interesting news."

As the creature slipped out, Talmai paced to his window. Gehenna looks like a battlefield today, he thought. I mean, more than usual.

"Name?"

"Shehariah. Virtue of War."

"Purpose?"

"I seek a new Vessel."

"It'll be at least five days before Michael will have time to see you, Shehariah. Can I interest you in one of our secondary Vessels? They're not as good as something custom-made by our Bright Lord, but they can --"

"Yes, yes, I know. Do you have any female adults? A minimum of warts, blemishes, and unsightly effluvia?"

"That depends on how you define minimum, ma'am. Although we do have one classified as a 'waif' with an apparent age of twenty-two. She doesn't have many obvious flaws."

"Inobvious flaws?"

"Well, she's small, for one thing, and light; this can be a handicap in battle. Also, she was created when Heaven and Hell were struggling for control of the world fashion industry; she can't eat more than a little bit without growing nauseated. To help the Ofanite it belonged to remember how to play the Role."

"Alleluia. Do you have a toned, medium-weight biker girl by any chance?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Let me see -- we do have a tall, beautiful Vessel that can look really intimidating when the wearer works at it. Long golden hair, bright green eyes, currently in a blue silk dress."

"I'll take it."

"She's a little bit pregnant."

"Pardon?"

"She's a little bit pregnant."

"Somebody's kid is in limbo because an angel finished an assignment and gave the Vessel back?"

"That's the little bit part, ma'am. The fetus is part of the Vessel itself -- it's not an independent entity, and it won't grow or mature. If I can say so, ma'am, I think that's admirably suited to a Malakite. I mean, you won't need to stick around when people start to wonder why you haven't gotten any bigger."

"I don't need people wondering why I haven't gotten bigger!"

"Yes'm. I gather that hunchbacks are out?"

"Vanity is a sin, but it's my sin. Damn straight hunchbacks are out."

"Albinos?"

"Too distinctive."

"Lunatics?"

"I didn't know that mental illness could be part of a Vessel. I'm not sure why one would want it to be, either."

"The lunatic Vessel isn't strictly insane, ma'am. She just looks insane. She has that wild glint in her eyes, that permanently tangled hair, the missing teeth from improper dental hygiene, and is wearing a paper gown."

"I could handle that, I think. But the paper gown would be awkward; I'm on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. With a man."

"We have a world-famous gymnast."

"Too distinctive."

"I believe that completes the available assortment meeting your criteria, ma'am. Perhaps you would like to reconsider?"

"Under the circumstances, I will do as I must. Make me a little bit pregnant."

"Done."

Duke Jaakan caught the Impudite one-handed and shook him lightly. "It's all so simple," he said. "You tell me what you want with Shehariah, and you tell me what you've done with her. Then you get to live."

"Freeze!" the old woman snapped as the Malakite descended to Earth. "I see your bloody black-winged shape. You can land. You can put on a Vessel. Anything else, your boyfriend dies."

Shehariah touched lightly down on the asphalt of the road and manifested her Vessel. Bright green eyes assessed the situation thoughtfully. "You can kill him before I kill you, but I'd still kill you."

"Don't be so sure, honey. I was fighting and murdering and killing long before you were born."

"What do you want?"

"Your soul, honey. I want to destroy your soul."

Shehariah smiled slightly. "Come and take it."

"No," the old woman said softly. "You're going to swear that you'll let me tear your Forces apart without a struggle, or he dies now, and then we fight."

Daniel gurgled. The message, if any, was unclear.

"I can't do that," Shehariah said, and shook her head. "I will consent to fight you on the celestial plane, however. You must take your chances there."

The old woman looked down at Daniel. Then she drew back the gun barrel and struck him violently on the side of the head. "You win," she said, and shimmered into nonexistence. Daniel imagined that the man from the car stood over her body now, as ugly as ever, with a wicked knife in his hand. Then the ebony shape appeared, and the world rang ever-so-slightly, and the two closed for battle.

The world spun. Daniel decided that it would be best to surrender to the night.

Jabez dipped his brush in water and considered the painting. Ugly, he thought. Check. He lifted the paintbrush, as if to take another stroke, and then shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. He had come close enough to finishing to satisfy him.

"I suppose," Hophin murmured, "that you didn't know I was here."

"Of course not, Hophin," Jabez said. "I make it a policy never to know where you are." He turned, face impassive, and considered the splotch of paint on Hophin's coat and the paintbrush at his feet. "Dear, dear. A terrible accident. How did things go in Hell?"

Hophin grunted.

"And Shehariah?"

"On her way back to civilization." Hophin scowled. One hand scratched at a scar that ran along his breastbone. "The demon in charge of Baal's wrath put some damned soul on her trail; everything else was window dressing. Or, rather, the result of three local Seneschals of the War throwing their resources into the project, based on some sort of letter of authorization." He walked over to the desk, set one fist on it, and bowed his head. "They ruined our operation in the Bay Area."

"I see." Jabez smiled brilliantly. "We may dismiss the damned soul, I think. Six Forces? Seven?" He shrugged. "What of the rest of the War's activities?"

"Duke Jaakan's forces," Hophin said, "staged an assault on Baron Talmai's. Talmai runs the Shehariah operation. This will paralyze the War until its Prince assures himself that the struggle is internecine and not related to a coup attempt by one side or the other. Then he will put his foot down, metaphorically speaking."

Jabez pursed his lips.

"I expect Jaakan to withdraw an hour or two before that happens," Hophin said blandly. "Which gives us -- about four."

"To do what, Hophin?"

Hophin hesitated. The box came out of his pocket, and a few candies spilled into his palm. He stared at them for a moment, then tossed them in his mouth and swallowed. "Make her Fall."

If Jabez had an opinion on the matter, he kept it from his face.

"Wake up, wake up," a voice caroled. "The cavalry is here; it would be a shame for you to miss the denouement."

Daniel's eyes, when they could focus again, focused on a clown-pale face. "Jabez," the face said, looming over him. "I'm an angel. This is Hophin. He's a nuisance. Have you any idea what you've involved yourself in?" Jabez reflected. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Here; spread your fingers. Thank you. Now bite your lip. Yes, like that. So you don't break my eardrums with the scream."

Jabez neatly nicked off one of Daniel's fingers. A strangled cry burst from Daniel's mouth.

"Wonderful," Jabez said, patting him on the head. "But you'll have to try harder. Bite your lip again?"

"Why?"

"You're dreaming," Jabez said, reassuringly. "We just want you to hurt enough that your body will scream." This time it was the thumb; Daniel's body bucked and heaved. One of Jabez' hands held him firmly down. "That's better. One more, Hophin?"

"Do what you must."

Daniel screamed with his full heart behind it before the blade even touched his finger.

"That should do it," Jabez announced, rising to his feet and pocketing the knife, fingers, and thumb. "Oh, Daniel, do lay still; we can't have all this thrashing and trying to get up. We're waiting for important company."

"Just a dream," Daniel murmured hopefully.

"Well, yes," Jabez answered. He reached into his vest, brought out a small straight pin, and stuck the full length into Daniel's chest. Daniel yelped with indignation, but the pain didn't really add to that he already felt. "That's a Habbalite shackle," Jabez explained. "It's barely a relic at all, but with your mortal willpower, it should do nicely. Now, listen to me. You will not wake up. You will not remove the shackle. You will not tell anyone about the shackle. You will just lay here in your dream and suffer. Tell me that you understand me."

"I understand you."

"No one," Jabez said, and turned his head, "really understands me."

Daniel attempted to spit at him, but instead he lay still and suffered.

"Three hours forty-five," Jabez said, turning to Hophin. "She should have dealt with Cain by now. I don't see how she can reach the cemetery in time, even so."

Hophin nodded. "Stay here, while you can. Watch the dreamscape from outside, when you can't. I'm going to take care of that little matter."

Shehariah waited calmly for Daniel to wake up. When he screamed, instead, her eyes grew wide and she darted to his side, but vigorous shaking and slapping on the cheeks didn't wake him up at all.

"Lord," she whispered, looking up at the sky. "Lord."

Twenty-five minutes later, someone answered her prayer. A long van pulled up along the road. She braced herself for violence, but the driver just pulled over and thumbed towards the back seat. "Legion of Souls cemetery?"

Shehariah stared at the man's fingers. They tapped relentlessly upon the wheel, over and over and over again. A set look of impatience dominated the man's face. "Alleluia," she whispered. "An Ofanite?"

"No talking," he said. "Driving. Hurry."

Hophin walked into the mausoleum, pushed back the coffin lid, and studied the bloody wreckage inside. The best efforts of the embalmers hadn't done much to improve its appearance.

He had been chained, screaming, in this place. The walls and chains brooked no celestial escape; the mausoleum had been an ethereal Tether, once. Still was, perhaps; a statue of some death god stood reign over the then-empty coffin. The Malakite leaned over him, her face calm as always, and he lunged for her dangling hair with one hand. His fingers fell a quarter-inch short. "I find this duty unpleasant," she admitted. "You can save both of us a good deal of trouble if you open up a little bit."

In hindsight, his cowardice amazed him. "Baal," he said, "would make this pain seem like a memory of joy."

"I see this," she said. "Well enough; as long as you cooperate, I swear to protect you from the powers of Hell. Ultimately, this means a cell and inspirational reading, but this improves greatly on the Morale Department's methods. At that, it improves on mine."

One of the Seraphim glanced askance at Shehariah. "You are cavalier with your oaths, Virtue."

"A failing," the Malakite admitted, and shrugged. "Still, I see no harm."

He burned all of his Essence at once, tearing his hand free from the shackle. He didn't even try to kill the Malakite or the smirking Seraphim; instead, he crushed his own throat with a hammer blow of his fist. Death, he whispered to himself, before dishonor. It would have been death, too. For all intents and purposes, he wore celestial form.

"Celestial Healing," the Malakite snapped. Voices raised in Song.

He gathered all his will, and refused the healing. Once, twice, three times. The Malakite's eyes were wide; not at his death, which he knew would please her, but rather at her own failure. She couldn't accept it. He smirked, or tried to.

"No," she said, through grit teeth, and flung herself on top of him, black on red, shadow on fire.

Yeah, right, he thought. Saved by the body blow. I don't think so, sweetie.

Her will lanced into him, pouring out of her form as a thousand needles of black rather than the blow of her fist. He couldn't avoid them; they slid through his skin in a thousand places. Andrealphus would like this, Hophin thought. Me, I don't know whether it's kinky or just plain sick. A thousand aching points of black congealed under his skin.

She pulled herself back and with a blow of her sword cut all the will-tendrils off. Half snapped back into her flesh. Half snapped back into his own.

Hophin screamed.

Twenty years later, one of Hophin's hands curled about the knife at his belt and the other absently felt his Vessel's chest. The chains were still there. He could feel them. He could hate them.

He could hear the sounds of danger sweeping through the Symphony. Shehariah would arrive soon.

Shehariah walked past the pale demons that lurked in the shadows. Hophin had armed them with scalpels, hooks, and brands. Cowardly weapons, she thought, and shame mixed with disgust. Hophin turned around when she was six steps away -- when he stood just a touch out of sword's-reach. "Hophin," she said, "you will release the mortal, now. You will release the Ofanite, now. These demands are non-negotiable and I will enforce them with whatever tools are necessary."

Hophin shook his head once, slightly. "The Ofanite cannot be released," he said. "The mortal will not be, unless I leave here victorious."

"Hophin," Shehariah said, patiently, "I can't throw a fight."

His eyes were tight. "I am well aware of that, Malakite. My advice to you is not to fight."

"I can't allow you to soul-kill me, either," she said. "You might relapse. I don't think Michael would like that."

"Of course," Hophin agreed. "Soul-killing you is not my intention." He gestured towards the stone table, still resting against the wall, with two chains on either side. "I intend to torture you until you renounce God."

Shehariah's eyes narrowed. "Remaining here for eternity has many of the same effects as soul-death -- as well as being notably unpleasant."

"Shall we set an upper limit, then?" Hophin suggested. "Six months, perhaps?"

Shehariah hesitated.

"I swear to you," Hophin said, softly, "that if you submit to me in this, I will release you, soul-alive, within six months."

"And the human?"

"As soon as you surrender yourself."

Shehariah frowned. "In what capacity are you acting?"

Hophin shrugged. "In this matter, I am an independent agent. My loyalty to the War is understandably strained."

Shehariah bowed her head. "I submit," she said.

Jabez' eyes were kind as he pulled free the pin. "Now, then, that wasn't so harsh, was it?"

Daniel lunged for Jabez' throat, eyes wild; his ruined hand found no grip.

"You may go," Jabez said, pushing Daniel away. "Your body is uninjured, and I believe that Shehariah left it propped against a wall outside the Legion of Souls cemetery. Your soul will heal within a few months."

After a moment, Daniel's eyes cleared. "Shehariah?"

"A complicated matter," Jabez said. "She is alive. Apparently, Hophin swore some sort of oath to protect her from the powers of Hell, so he put an end to that little Baal problem she was having. However, she did surrender to him for his own special breed of love." Jabez smiled slightly. "An immensely favorable outcome. Personally, I had my bets riding on her strangling Hophin when they met; he can be a most unpleasant individual."

"…Why?"

"Guilt, most likely." Jabez shrugged. "The weaker angels are prone to such emotions. Certainly Shehariah has avoided missions involving torture and such since her previous encounter with Hophin."

Daniel frowned.

"I have no more time," Jabez said, turning around. "Wake up, or I will cut off another finger."

Daniel woke.

"Sir," the Balseraph said. "The attacks have stopped. Jaakan's forces retreat on every front."

Talmai turned. "We were victorious?"

The Balseraph coughed. "I believe," he said, "that they considered their objective achieved. Our showing was impressive, but we are a Barony and Jaakan is a Duke."

Talmai nodded. "Start rounding up traitors. I doubt Jaakan will continue to support them. Prepare concise but descriptive reports on the nature of their treason, so that I may deal with them appropriately. Did you locate a connection between Jaakan and Hophin?"

The Balseraph bowed its head. "Jaakan served under Hophin at the time of his death. Nothing further."

"I see. You may go."

Enrion, Balseraph, Talmai scribbled on a pad. Demonstrated low morale and inefficiency.

Shehariah lay passively back as the pale demons snapped shut the manacles around her wrists and ankles. She spoke to them only once, asking them, "Renegades?" One made a dismissive motion, as if to imply that the matter was unimportant. The others responded not at all.

The assignment didn't bother her. General Hophin of the War was nothing more than a demon, after all. The tools of torment were nothing more than tools. If the demon didn't reject Heaven and God -- as part of his very nature! -- they wouldn't be used on him. She didn't actually enjoy the assignment, of course; the physical resemblance to cruelty was too strong. She didn't taunt the demon, she didn't glory in her capture of one of Baal's Generals; she did her job, and nothing more.

Then he pulled one of his hands free and crushed his own throat. Then she cast herself upon him and thrust her being into his. Then she turned the Calabite into a parody of a Malakite, and she wanted to be sick. It dishonored Uriel's original sacrifice. It dishonored her entire Choir. The apple-red demon lay there with waves of black crisscrossing his celestial form and chains around his chest. They didn't close all the way around him. They stretched into the thin air and vanished. They reappeared, she knew, around Shehariah herself. She didn't bother looking down to check.

The Seraphim were elated. Hophin, once he finished screaming, talked as if the answers were being pumped out of his stomach. He spoke with the speed and the urgency of an angel sharing vital information. One hand clenched and unclenched, red-clawed and vicious. The other, Malakite-black, caressed the chains around his chest. His eyes flickered between the brightness of hatred and the cold dead black of a shark or a corpse.

Her skin -- her skin -- burned with the brands and cuts and scores of days of torture. That was very bad, and not because they hurt. Not because they weakened her. Not because they made her look like some demented Malahabbalite. It was very bad because Hophin's pain had been real.

Some things, you have to do in war. She knew this.

With her whole soul, she wished she could prove this to be true.

Hophin finished his confession, his list of troop movements and plans and strategies, and they let him up to look her in the eyes. "I will destroy you," he whispered, and these words were as forced as the earlier admissions.

She needed to think. She needed to figure it all out. She needed to go and hide her face somewhere where no sun shone. The flagstone she was staring at crumbled to dust; her horror redoubled.

"Later," she whispered, turning away.

"When?"

"Twenty years," she promised. "Here. If I still live."

And it sickened her to see the chain form around his chest as well.

Some things, you have to do in war. She knew this.

With her whole soul, she wished she could prove this to be true.

Twenty years later, she had the chance.

The old woman trembled, body and soul, and collapsed by the road. She's not pursuing me, her thoughts whispered. I can stop running. One hand fumbled in her purse, pulled out a small radio. She had to wait several minutes before she had the breath to speak into it. "This is Cain," she said. "I need -- I need a pickup. Something very fast. A fifty-pound weight. Some of my explosives. And the unholy rifle." She paused. "Yes, I will know where to go."

The first scream came from the mausoleum at the top of the hill, and Daniel got to his feet. He felt chilled to the core, wounded in some way he couldn't express. He also knew he couldn't possibly fight demons, which had to be what Shehariah was dealing with.

Daniel's parents raised a chivalrous son. Slowly, he opened the gate.

"I'm never going to renounce God," Shehariah whispered. Fear and hatred and love raged in her, uncontrollably; the Habbalah had had fun once the Songs of Charm had sounded. Still, she knew it to her core: Malakim never Fell. They never had to.

"It's possible," Hophin admitted calmly. "But part of you is inside me. Has been part of a demon for twenty years. I figure that has to count for something."

The fear boiled up again when he said that. She calmed it, desperately, and then winced at another celestial lash. "Malakim do not Fall. Which means that you're stuck, too, you bastard."

"You're not a Malakite," he said. "You're a Malakite-Calabite. As much an abomination as I am, no matter how pure you look."

"I never used," a couple of whimpers, "that resonance again."

"Denying it doesn't make it go away," Hophin said calmly. "You're tainted."

Two very long hours passed.

High above the mausoleum, supported by a Song of flight, Cain held up a small hair. It had been plucked from the Malakite's head. He considered. "She's directly below," he said to himself, and dropped a fifty pound stone. The roof caved in like paper. The stone slammed through Shehariah's celestial form and the ancient relic table as if they weren't even there.

"Celestial Healing," Hophin snapped. Two voices raised in Song.

Should resist, Shehariah thought. I'd be dead already if I had internal organs.

She had no willpower left. One Song knit her dissipating soul back together. The other was interrupted by the sharp crack of a rifle from above. Far above. And perfectly aimed.

My hands are free, she thought. My feet are free. My stomach hurts.

Hophin threw himself on top of her, even as the wounded Habbalite reeled back. "You don't get to die on me now," he whispered.

Have to -- have to protect him from the forces of Hell, she thought, and tried to move one of her legs. It didn't cooperate. Two bullets crashed into Hophin's back. This isn't how it's supposed to end.

"I do so hate to do this," Jabez said, took two quick strides, and shoved over the death god's statue. It shattered on contact with the ground.

Then the sense of Tether-ness dissipated, and she and Hophin sank, quite surprised despite their celestial shapes, into the solid earth.

"You have to come up somewhere," Cain whispered. "You can't stay celestial forever." At least, not unless you go up to Heaven, he thought, with a curse. His rifle tracked the Malakite's underground movements. She moved weakly, tiredly, dragging the weird crossbreed with her.

Then the celestial forms vanished, still underground.

A tunnel? He checked her Vessel's hair with his tracking song. She's not moving. -- Oh, by all the Princes of Hell, that's disgusting. They're in a coffin. Okay. They don't have much air. But they'll have time to heal, and that's not good. The grandmother fingered the explosive at her belt, shrugged, and dove from the sky.

Daniel hit him/her in a full-body tackle the instant Cain touched the ground. For just a moment, the old woman lay helpless, in entirely the wrong position to get the mortal off her back; then she heaved upwards and cast him backwards across the earth. "Kid, I was killing back before history," she said, voice quavering just a tad. "Don't mess with me."

Daniel heaved a handful of grass and sod at Cain's face. The killer batted it out of the air with an irritated noise, took three steps, and kicked at Daniel's side. The mortal rolled, but it looked like it hurt. "What the Hell," Cain said, plucking a knife from behind his neck and throwing it in one even motion. In the middle of that motion, the wave of overwhelming sadness hit him, and the knife slammed hilt-deep into a gravestone several inches above Daniel's head.

"Don't like you much," Jabez commented to Daniel, "but I couldn't wait for him to kill you first."

Struggling to hold back tears, Cain shouldered the rifle into position and pointed it at the Habbalite's chest. One pull of the trigger. Then blow up the earth and the grave. Then I can go home and cry. Fucking Habbalah.

His Symphony-tuned ears heard a celestial healing song from below. "Damn," he whispered, turned the gun downwards, and sprayed unholy soul-binding bullets one after the other straight down into the earth.

"I can't," Shehariah whispered.

"Neither can I." Hophin struggled, but only entangled himself with Shehariah and the ancient skeleton further. "Of all the times to get stuck in a Vessel ..."

"It's the bullets in your back," Shehariah murmured. "As soon as we went into Vessel, they trapped us."

"So our souls will be stuck here after we suffocate?"

"For a few hours, anyway." Shehariah tried to breathe slowly. "Life's screwy sometimes. Think we can break out and dig our way up?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I'm sorry about all the trouble," Shehariah said. "I really did intend to -- make things even between us."

"Like I give a f--" He growled. "Like I care about even."

Shehariah suddenly smiled. "Michael forbade you to curse?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm real reformed, Shehariah, in all kinds of ways. Got me an agency full of Renegades and Outcasts and we go around doing God's work. All under the table and strictly off the record, of course. Aren't you happy? Your little pincushion's made good."

"Don't be bitter," Shehariah said, quietly. "It's wasting air."

"So we're going to be carted off by the War's troops, taken to Hell, and -- well, you get to be executed?"

"You're a Calabite," Shehariah murmured. "You can get us out of here."

Hophin laughed. "Oops," he said. "After one little incident, I've been forbidden to defile the dead or their places of rest. Not even my old Vessel in the coffin up the hill. If I hadn't been semi-conscious, I don't think I could have tangled myself in here with you." He looked thoughtful. "Of course, you --"

Shehariah paled. "No," she said. "Better to die the death of the soul, and sacrifice you back to Hell."

"Thought I saw your mortal up there," Hophin said, "when we were celestial. Up there with a celestial killer. And several peeved Punishers."

"No." She shifted in their coffin. The air was low. "I can't possibly."

"You know," he murmured, "I wonder if one of us can still make oaths for the other. Maybe not from a long way away -- but from as close as we were, back when all of this started..."

Her hand went for his mouth; his hand caught hers; the skeleton's arm splintered.

"Your fault," Hophin said, glancing at the skeleton. "I think." His other hand caught Shehariah's left wrist; his legs tangled with her knees. "Ah ah ah," he murmured.

"You will swear never to make oaths whose primary or secondary purpose is to bind me with them," she said in a low and dangerous tone, "or you will know the meaning of pain as you have never known it before."

"If you Calabite our way out of here," Hophin said.

Her eyes flickered, hesitated. "You could be bluffing. Michael could have thought of this long ago."

"True," Hophin said. "Or, perhaps, I considered it safest to keep a weapon in reserve. After all, if I were to abuse this power, you would just accept the dishonor and go to Michael; you would have no choice. On the other hand, judicious use thereof -- well, it would put you in something of an awkward position, don't you think?"

"Tarnished," she muttered. "stained. Over and over again. Or once."

"Yes," Hophin said, cheerfully.

"Damn you to Hell," Shehariah snapped. "I mean, again. It's a deal. Contingent on your oath, I swear to abide by it."

"And I."

She clenched her will and the ground beneath Cain exploded in a fountain of grass and mud.

Cain's finger spasmed on the gun's trigger as he/she slid into the widening tunnel. Bullets continued to pour from the thing, until there came a final, devastating click.

The wood of the coffin's lid shattered and Shehariah rose from it like an avenging angel, which, of course, she was.

He leapt into celestial form, where his male form bled rivers and his neck was half cut-through. Shehariah cursed. "No Essence, damn you."

Jabez, his white shape marked with a dozen floral tattoos, stepped up behind Cain and neatly slit what remained of his throat.

Shehariah studied Hophin. "You don't have Daniel any more. And I'm suddenly not feeling very guilty." The dirt at Hophin's feet sizzled, just a little bit. "I think it's best if we parted ways here."

"I have Renegades who can always find him in his dreams," Hophin noted, casually.

Shehariah smiled, took Daniel's hand, and turned away.

"They'll shred his soul!" Hophin shouted.

Shehariah walked down to the gates and opened them.

"He'll wish he'd never been alive!"

"Don't look so nervous, Daniel," Shehariah murmured. "He can't do that."

"He did it before."

Shehariah shrugged. "That was a matter of honor," she explained. "Hophin is a Malakite; he had to find closure for what was done to him. My Bright Lord understands such things. But it's over; it's settled; we're even. He'll realize that as soon as he thinks about it. And random assaults on my friends -- I don't think Hophin is even capable of that at the moment."

Daniel paused. "He wanted to find closure?"

"That's the story I'm going with." Shehariah smiled. "And now you have your answers, as I promised you on the metro; see how diligently a Malakite keeps her word!"

Daniel turned his head to regard her. "I don't know," he murmured. "I didn't say those were all my questions."

The long shape that moved through the murky waters could have swallowed the metro snake as casually as a bird tosses down a worm. The demon Talmai floated half a mile away. The creature frightened him. The wait bored him. The slimy water soaked slowly into his best suit. He considered how difficult it would be to drain the water away, and then moved on to other thoughts -- tactical problems, reflections on the latest scandals, and, briefly, torture techniques. When the head suddenly cleared the water and rose over him like a radio tower, a pulse of fear shot through him. None of it showed on his face, but it didn't matter; the creature could no doubt smell it on him.

"Report," the beast said, its voice melodic and terrible. Three pairs of eyes glared down at him.

"Sir," Talmai said, running his good hand down his tie. It stank vaguely of fish. "Cain has been destroyed. Three of our Tethers have been reduced to minimal staff and armament. Shehariah lives, although she lost one Vessel."

"Where is she now?"

"Her whereabouts are unknown, sir. My office heard of her appointment in the San Jose area by good fortune alone; we do not know the details of her future assignments."

"In sum, you have failed me in every respect."

"Save one, sir." Talmai reflected, and amended that to, "my lord Prince. I have discovered that Duke Jaakan's involvement in General Hophin's affairs continues to this day. I therefore recommend that his movements be monitored, in hopes that he will lead us to more information."

Six eyes weighed him carefully. "I see." The head dipped back beneath the water and was gone.

"Sir?" Talmai asked. "My lord Prince?"

Then he rose from the water. He'd made an appointment with the Morale Department; that had not been cancelled. He dreaded it already.

Still, he admitted to himself, that wasn't so bad.

That's when the head lanced out of the water like a striking snake and swallowed Talmai whole.

Copyright © 1998, R. Sean Borgstrom