Authors: Alexandra Rowland
Lalael had never really thought much about what the inside of a demon's home would look like, but if he had, he certainly wouldn't have imagined that it contained a cat. So the cat was, in fact, called Antichrist, which made up for it, but it was soft and didn't seem terribly vicious: When Lucien had opened the door, the cat had come running out of another room yowling and wound around his ankles until he'd stumbled.
Admittedly, the name was not as surprising as the fact that there was indeed a living animal living with a supposedly evil demon. Lalael had always had the impression that demons only kept animals around for sacrifices to their infernal leader. After a mere few hours in this particular demon's lair, the only sacrifices Lalael had seen had been made to the cat itself, amid alarming noises from the cat and equally alarming wheedling from Lucien while he worked the can opener.
It puzzled Lalael, this cat. And the situation, come to think of it. One of the many questions that plagued the angel's broody thoughts was why Lucien seemed so... well,
nice
. None of the other angels had been this nice, in all the thousands of years that he had lived in Ríel. Well... There had been a few, back in the early years. Before Lalael had been – but no. There was no point in dwelling over thoughts such as that these days. Why was Lucien so... tolerating? Patient? Generous? He had opened his lair to the angel with only one question: Was Lalael allergic to cats?
So why didn't he seem to be homicidal? Why did Lalael never happen to look up to see a dangerous, murderous glint in the demon's eyes? Was Lucien lulling him into a false sense of security? Simply watching him walk sometimes nearly proved Ríel's point.
Lucien seemed the incarnation of the hedonistic pleasures that the Archangels adamantly forbade, the things that Michael had shouted about in angelic boot camp, so to speak, the things that Raphael had told them caused horrible injuries and festering illness when Lalael had been in the healing department... Lalael could almost see in Lucien the sin that the Archangels were constantly preaching about, curling and twisting under that thin covering of skin, all seven of them.
To be frank, it freaked Lalael out.
So did the cat.
Still, Lalael reasoned to himself, he
had
been trained to hate and be suspicious of demons, so no one could expect him to just trust Lucien after three days... Right? Even if Lucien hadn't taken the chance to rip off his wings when he had it. And the whole "not wanting to fight" thing? That didn't help Lalael feel comfortable either. It was unnatural.
Demons were supposed to be vicious and bloodthirsty; it was one of the Facts Of Life. The world was not a rational place without them. The angel realized, upon reflection, that he'd feel a lot more safe if Lucien (or, failing that, at least his cat) tried to kill him, just once. Or make him Fall. Or something equally alarming. But he didn't.
And so, Lalael suspiciously skirted around the demon when they were in the same room, talked as little as possible, and never ever turned his back. They spent their days in Lucien's flat, the demon in his bedroom, and the angel in the guest room that Lucien had generously (and suspiciously) gifted to him.
"Stay as long as you like!" Lucien had said. "I enjoy the company."
Did he even know that there were Facts of Life to adhere to?
Everything freaked Lalael out. Well, alright, not everything, but almost everything that was in Lucien's lair.
“
Don't go outside. Never know what those humans will do under pressure.” Lucien had said, with cheerfully ominous tone.
“
What pressure?” Lalael had asked.
“
Oh, you don't think,” Lucien had said in surprise, “that an Apocalypse and half of the world's population vanishing in the space of five minutes counts as pressure? Everyone has lost a friend or a family member or someone they knew. A neighbor. An enemy.” Lucien's voice became sorrowful, “The man behind the counter at the bakery that sells those really amazing cream things, and the jelly danishes –”
“
I don't know what those are. What's the point?”
“
I won't get jelly danishes on Tuesdays, that's what,” Lucien had said in despair. He'd completely lost the thread of the conversation.
Lalael had left him at the window. “I'm going outside.”
***
Lalael had gone Outside, and Outside was currently where he was. Uneven cracks laced the streets like a spider's web stretched over the asphalt. A few of the smaller boulders – brimstone that had stopped burning – scattered the bigger web of streets that ran through the city. Lucien
had
been rather uneasy about Lalael going out on the streets, and, the angel thought, demons (like everyone else) were interested in staying alive. So he had gone the other way, to the roof of the building. With greater knowledge of the humans, Lucien might actually know what he was talking about when he warned Lalael not to go outside.
The power throughout the city was down, so Lalael had trudged up fifteen flights of stairs from Lucien's third floor apartment. The wind whipped his hair in his eyes, and tugged on the strange human clothes – which were stolen.
They had gotten back to the apartments, and Lucien, after feeding that damn cat, instead of going straight to his room and blockading the door, had cheerfully tripped out the door and up the stairs and looted – yes, looted – his neighbors. The ones that had vanished without a trace. You could tell which were gone, the demon had said, because a certain smoky scent rather like incense lingered around their doorways. Some of the doors stood ajar, as if their occupants had been fleeing.
And Lucien had asked, from around an armful of clothes and food, “Can't your people manage to go through the end of the world neatly?”
That had annoyed him, and he had upped the intensity of the Not Speaking to the demon. But then Lucien had shown him to his room, and shoved most of the nice clothes that he was carrying into Lalael's arms with a cheerful, “Don't want to go around wearing armor now, do you?”
Lalael had his misgivings about the morals of wearing stolen clothes, but he supposed their owners really wouldn't be needing them now. He had to admit, they were somewhat more comfortable than the armor.
He now sat on the low, wide wall at the edge of the roof. The destruction really was impressive. Most of the windows were broken, the glass twinkling like stars on the pavement far below. Small groups of people wandered about in huddles, fearful and confused.
“
Heathens,” Lalael muttered.
“
Not really.” Lalael jumped at the voice. “Thought I'd find you up here.” Lucien sat next to Lalael and dangled his legs over the edge of the roof. “They're not heathens.”
“
Those there, they don't believe in the Great Powers.” Lalael protested.
“
They might believe in
a
Great Power. You said yourself you only took the ones with compatible beliefs, ones you could use. So
?” Lucien leaned forward to look at a group of people passing on the street below. “They're funny creatures, aren't they? They run in packs.”
Lalael scowled. "Leave me alone, Lucien."
“
What?” He looked surprised.
“
I said go away.”
“
No, not that. It's just... You used my name. Instead of calling me 'demon'. That was nice. Thank you.”
Lalael got up, striding towards the opposite wall, stiff and frustrated.
As he followed Lalael, Lucien asked, “What are you doing?”
Lalael quit fumbling with the buttons on his shirt for a moment to point forcefully at the ground with two fingers and mutter, "
Limada
."
"Ah," said Lucien with a blank look. That was even more infuriating – Lucien didn't react to anything, even
this,
the worst curse word Lalael knew. "But I told you going down to the streets was dangerous." Oh, so it was just that he was an idiot who didn't know when he'd been insulted.
Lalael turned, scathing. "No, I was telling you to –
Danama
! You're a demon! You'll kill me in my sleep!” Lalael continued wrestling with the buttons. “I don't like your kind, I don't like your
danama-na
cat, and I don't like you, so stop trying!”
The angel threw his shirt at Lucien's feet and unfurled his wings with a snap of displaced air.
“
Lalael, that's not a good idea, remember –” But whatever Lucien might have said was lost in the wind. Lalael took two quick steps onto the wall and flung himself into the air; his wings beat just once and then he remembered and knew what Lucien had been about to say. Crippling pain shot through his back, and his injured wing crumpled. And then everything went strange.
Falling, the angel mused, in the distant way as when one is about to fall asleep, really wasn't that much different from flying – except for the ground, and the part where it was getting closer in seconds that stretched slowly into eternity. Everything was slowing down. It wouldn't even hurt when he landed, would it? No, he'd touch down, soft as a feather. And why weren't his wings working, again? Oh, right, pain. Not good. Pain like white fire in his right wing, but that was okay. He'd be fine. He'd touch down like a feather, get up, and brush himself off and go back upstairs.
Oh, Lucien would be angry and worried, and wasn't that just weird? That a manifestation of evil should be worried about someone like him. But Lucien wasn't really evil, he was just a Fallen – an angel who'd made a few crucial mistakes at the wrong time, like Lalael had done just now, not to mention all the other times. Lalael could have been a Fallen, what with all the mistakes he had made, but he wasn't, was he? He supposed they mustn't have been crucial enough.
But all those years in the Forsaken Lands must have affected Lucien in some way, right? Could anyone spend thousands of years in eternal torment without some sort of side effects? Was anyone that strong spirited? Lucien didn't seem like it. And how long had he been falling now? It felt like hours; Lalael wondered what would happen when he hit the ground.
Suddenly there was a tightness like wide metal bands around his chest, and with a yank that knocked the breath out of him, the ground began to fall away in big swoops, accompanied by the thunderous sound of beating wings and a strained whimper in his ear. The swoops slowed and his vision steadied, but then, with a final hiss and groan of exhausted pain, Lucien lit upon a roof. Fortunately, the apartment had smaller office buildings to one side, and it was upon one of them that they had landed. Lucien let go, and the two of them crumpled and staggered. Lalael caught himself on a nearby wall as Lucien fell over with a whimper of pain.
He lay on his back and tucked his wings away, panting laboriously. “Dammit, Lalael,” he gasped between breaths, “What'd you do that for?”
“
Didn't want to talk to you.” Lalael wheezed. A piercing headache had suddenly taken residence in his temples, and his ribs ached. “Forgot about wing.”
“
Next time –” Pant, wheeze. “Don't jump off a building.”
“
Good idea,” Lalael agreed, gasping. “No need for drama.”
To their mutual surprise, Lucien began to laugh, great shuddering cackles that left him limp and grinning.
Lalael slid down the wall and stared. “You only look like a demon when you laugh,” he noted; Lucien laughed harder. Lalael felt himself begin to smile too, just a tugging on the corners of his mouth. Lucien rolled onto his stomach and slapped Lalael's ankle.
“
What was that for?” he demanded.
“
For making me fly until my wings went to jelly. We could have died!” Lucien said as he shoved himself off the ground and stood, trembling with leftover adrenaline. Lucien seized his wrist and heaved the angel up; Lalael grinned at the Fallen and giggled as he almost fell over again. They hadn't died, though, and so... it was
exciting.
Exhilarating. Lalael couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive.
Then his head cracked on the concrete wall. “And that,” Lucien said, letting go of Lalael's hair, “was for being a bastard the last few days. I think you owe me and Antichrist, poor kitty, an apology.”
“
I'm sorry!
Danama
!” Lalael pressed a hand against his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
“
Apology accepted,” said Lucien, and smiled. “...I didn't thump you too hard, did I?”
***
Later that night, as Lalael was trying to get to sleep, a thought struck him with the force and suddenness of a boulder dropped off a roof. Lucien had saved his life, and now he felt a strange obligation to trust the demon not to kill him in his sleep. Lalael didn't entirely understand him, but perhaps Lucien did have some kind of ethical code after all. Lalael touched the bump on the side of his head. Then again, maybe not. Maybe he was just playing a very long game.
Somehow, Lalael didn't think so.