Authors: Maria Violante
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the gun’s hum.
To the initiated,
Bluot
sang with the energy of bloodlust and death, and she had known the second it arrived on Rico’s counter.
Throughout her entire journey, it had whispered to her that she was drawing close.
And still, when Rico held it in front of her, she had been afraid to lay a hand on it.
What if I am no longer chosen?
It was not until the legendary revolver had returned to its true form that her nervousness ebbed and her pulse slowed.
Alsvior whickered, and her thoughts were driven back to the sounds and motion of the horse.
With a brief toss of her head, she threw away the fears of the past, and focused on the current task.
I’m coming for you, Tengu.
You, and then the next four, and then I’ll finally be free.
Two
T
he first tendrils of bruise-purple snaked across the sky, warning of the impending dawn.
"It's your choice,"
hissed the serpent's voice.
It laughed, a series of short coughs like a man dying.
"And you chose wrong."
She wanted to protest, but she could feel her awareness spiraling away from her.
Despite her struggles, her thread of connection with the world was growing thinner.
As she felt her last spark ebbing away into darkness, she heard another whisper.
Mother.
It was so faint, a leaf fluttering on the wind.
Mother.
And like a wind, the memory came gusting back, a nomad from the void beyond.
Her world shattered into echoes and fragments—screams, cries, smiles.
She screamed in return, a triumphant bellow that seemed like it would never end.
* * *
De La Roca bolted to her feet, panting and with guns drawn.
Nothing frightened her as much as the dream that came to her, night after night.
It was a succubus whose effects only faded away long after awakening, and she couldn't make heads or tails of it.
In the nervous habit of an old hand, she polished
Bluot,
running her fingers over the smooth surfaces as if they were a set of prayer beads.
She tensed at the thump at the door.
It was followed by a gentle neigh, and she felt her muscles relax all at once.
She passed her hand in front of her with an airy wave, and the door swung open, as if of its own accord.
Thank you, dear akra.
A heart might stay closed to me, but never a door.
She smiled and addressed the only being she considered a friend.
"Lonely, are you?"
The horse clopped in gently, taking care not to bump any of the furniture.
“I like this one.
Good choice.”
Today, he was a dappled-gray Quarter Horse with a tiny peach muzzle.
Tomorrow, he might be an Arabian.
“It’s better than last week’s Percheron.”
She grinned as she remembered him in that form, seventeen hands and two thousand pounds of solid draft horse, ready to kick down a door at a moment's notice.
De la Roca didn't mind.
Subtlety never was her strong point.
"Go ahead," she said.
"Take your true form."
The horse shook quickly, like a dog throwing off water.
His legs stretched and his head filled out.
Taller and taller he grew, his color darkening while he shook, until he was a burnished red.
He let out a piercing scream, and his coat erupted into flames.
She waited while they danced along his skin, scorching it until it was burnt black.
His body now as dark as coal, the flames snuffed themselves out, with only the ones on his mane and tail remaining.
He shivered.
"Show off."
She stroked her hand through the fiery mane until the trembling abated.
"There you are, my darling.
I like you this way."
Alsvior whickered softly and stamped a hoof against the ground.
"Be quiet, you old codger.
You like the baby talk, even if you won't show it."
Her stallion rolled his eyes, vibrant icebergs and ebony pools that danced with the reflections of his flaming mane.
"You know, you really should get some sleep."
She stroked his nose gently.
She had a tenderness for animals that was never given to "higher beings"—be they human or otherwise.
"We have a big day tomorrow.
Are you ready?"
The horse backed away from her touch, before pawing the ground with a series of angry scratches.
She felt her brows lift.
“Really?
Your hooves are as bloody as my hands.”
She reached out again to caress his muzzle.
“Although you never enjoy it like I do, do you?
The bloodlust doesn’t get you, not the way it does me.”
He snorted, and she laughed again.
"Quit your silliness!
I already told you what the Angel said.
Five kills and then I—no,
we—
are free to do as we please.
No more mercenary work.
No more hunting.
Doesn't that sound like paradise?"
Alsvior rolled his eyes again and blew out hard.
"Yeah, you're probably right.
I'm a murderer through and through.
But at least I'll be able to pick and choose who receives the end of my gun."
Alsvior seemed content with the answer, so she didn't correct herself.
Truthfully, she had no idea what would happen after these five kills, or if she'd even be able to accomplish them.
There was something to this land, the American southwest, that gave the demons power.
Something about the heat and the dryness attracted them and nourished them the way a sudden rain would cause a barren land to flow into bloom.
And if, after centuries of servitude, these last kills are to finally earn my freedom, they are probably tough ones.
She didn't exactly know, though, because although she had a vague idea of tomorrow's target, the rest had not yet been explained to her.
And that made her uneasy.
Secretly, she wondered if this was how the Angel ended all of his contracts—wait until they were past their prime, and then give them a job that would get them killed.
The idea teased a flame of anger into her heart, but as soon as she was aware of it, she squelched it ruthlessly.
She was fighting demons, and passion had no place here.
They would use her anger or her pain against her as easily as a child uses a pouty lip.
You are a demon yourself,
whispered the voice in her head.
Today, it had a peculiar quality, like a rattlesnake sliding over gravel.
Her stomach rolled.
In truth, she couldn't remember her life before this.
She had no clues other than her dreams and the short speech the Angel gave her when she began her servitude.
Of course, the voice already knew that.
Yes
.
And a human once.
Maybe
, she countered,
but if so, then that was long ago.
Not so long ago.
Not so long, for one that lives forever.
You don't know that.
Even I don't know that.
The voice didn't answer, and for a moment, she saw a vision, a brilliant series of flames in bold reds, greens, and golds.
It disappeared, leaving more questions than answers.
She growled.
Would she ever know of her life before?
What kind of payment, really, was a name?
And why had the angel chosen now to return to her in a dream?
Would it keep its promise?
Could she do five more kills and then be freed?
Let me show you again.
No.
I won’t torture myself.
You are close to the end, but what if there is a clue you missed—in the beginning?
For a moment, she almost refused, but the pull for answers was too strong.
Once more, then.
But this is the last time.
Back to the beginning.
She could sense the creature in her mind smile.
* * *
The Angel had six wings, each one ending in a tip of fire, and his body was covered with so many eyes that they hung together like bunches of grapes.
Disoriented and dizzy with panic, De la Roca fell to her knees.
“Who am I?
Can you at least tell me my name?”
At once, the eyes all blinked.
A deep voice came from all sides, as if it danced between the particles of the air around them.
"YOUR NAME IS PART OF THE PRICE.
"YOUR KEVRA IS PART OF THE PRICE."
The eyes all blinked at once again.
"YOU ARE THE PRICE."
She tried to stand, but her knees were rooted to the soil.
“The price of what?”
"YOU HAVE BEEN FREED FROM HELL.
"YOU ARE THE MERCENARY OF GOD.
“YOU WILL KILL THOSE THAT DARE ATTEMPT ESCAPE INTO THE MORTAL WORLDS."
Her head spinning, she closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but it was as if her throat was stuck.
“Hell?
But I don’t—why can’t I remember anything?”
"YOU WILL REPORT TO ME AFTER EACH ASSIGNMENT.
"I WILL GIVE YOU THE NEXT."
Anger flared through her like a roaring tide.
Her knees broke away from the sand, and she sprang to her feet, her muscles humming with strength and fire.
“And you?
Who are you?
Answer me, damn it—I deserve to know the truth—’’
The Angel blinked again, and pain flared in her throat.
She clawed at her neck and tried to force air through the sudden steel in her windpipe.
After several slow, agonizing seconds, the world around her darkened around the edges.