***And the Lord said "Ask and ye shall receive!" (OK, so Jenny and Lance
said it, but whatever!) This next chapter has to be published in peices on
this list because it's a whopping 65 pages! If anyone has any suggestions
(once it's all posted) for good spots to break it up, we'd appreciate it...
Or, if you think it's fine as is, we need to know that, too! Anyway, hope
you enjoy!***
LOVESTRUCK
Chapter Two: Let There Be
Dawn found Heart awake, the first grey wisps of morning flowing in
around the heavy velvet curtains.
Sunrise! She thought excitedly. That was enough to prompt her out of bed.
She grabbed her glasses off the bed side table and hurried to the window.
She peeked around the curtain, grateful their room was high enough above the
surrounding buildings to allow her to see the sun rise. She watched happily
as the huge orange orb crept slowly into the sky, glistening off the glass
buildings and lighting the city with a warm ethereal flame. It washed the
city with a copper glow and the promise of a bright new day.
Filled with euphoria at the beautiful sight, Heart watched until the
copper faded to the plain light of day, then let the curtain fall, plunging
the room into twilight again. She turned and sat on the small couch to look
through the assortment of magazines the hotel had provided. She found a few
that contained listings of places to go for entertainment, and her mind
reeled at the myriad of plays, museums, night clubs, and fancy restaurants
this city had to offer. She couldn't wait till Seraph awoke so they could
go and do all these things together.
She looked to the bed where Seraph still lay sleeping. Her pale skin
seemed to be still fresh and glowing from the night before. Her wings
sprawled off the bed, their tips nearly spanning the room. Her tail trailed
off the end of the bed, its tip twitching with her dreams. Her long legs
were curled slightly to one side, offering only a small glimpse of the curly
white locks that crowned her pubis, and her delicate purple hooves poked out
from the tangle of sheets around the end of the bed. One of her long nailed
hands rested on one of her generous breasts, the other dangling off the side
of the bed. Her long hair made a pale corona around her head, accenting the
small curved horns on her temples. Her full, red lips were parted just
slightly, her elongated canines shaping her lower lip into a small pout. A
look of utter peace graced her face, giving her a glow that spoke of
contentment.
Heart was enraptured. Seraph was so beautiful when she was sleeping.
Heart watched her for almost an hour as she tossed and purred, small noises
of pleasure reminiscent of their previous night escaping her now and then.
At a murmured "Mmmmmm....Heart...." from the still-sleeping succubus,
Heart smiled, her entire body filling and swelling with a warm sensation
that flowed from inside out. Seraph even dreamed about her...
She reflected on the activities of the night before, the sheer joy of
feeling Seraph's love flowing from her, filling her, the rush of passion
that had burned through her, the pleasures of sharing that passion with
Seraph, the ecstasies of feeling her feed. Heart's eyes teared at awesome
power their lovemaking had released. Her emotions, her heart, and her soul
were singing a song sweeter than ten thousand hosannas. How could she ever
have believed something so glorious was wrong?
Finally, she was unable to gaze at Seraph anymore without an
overwhelming urge to wake her and renew their activities. She stretched,
reveling in the ways Seraph had made her body feel, then turned to the TV,
looking for a distraction. She pushed her glasses back up her nose as she
flipped the channels, her face souring at the sight of all the violence, the
gratuitous sex, and the constant promises of instant gratification and
indulgence. It was all so overwhelmingly sensationalist. Where was the
love?
Then she found a movie about Angels. She was mildly disturbed at the
black trench-coats they all wore, but she smiled happily as they all
gathered to watch the sunrise, just as she had. However, when the Angelic
main character fell in love with a Human, her heart went out to him. It was
so like her and Seraph. Then, when in the movie, he Fell, she couldn't bear
it any more, she turned off the TV, tears in her eyes. Why was love a
crime?
Then her eyes fell on the white purse that contained all her
belongings...
Until then, she'd been able to forget that she'd Fallen, had managed
to push it all to the back of her mind and ignore it, but the sight of the
purse, and the knowledge of what was in it combined with the movie brought
it all crashing down like a bludgeon. Numbly, she sat on the couch and
began to pull out the mementos of the life she had lost...
Her harp was the first thing she placed on the small table before the
couch, an ancient instrument of Greek design. It had been crafted for her
by one of her first assignments as a young Guardian Angel. Demetrius had
been a master harp maker, enslaved to a Roman Patrician in the first
century. He'd converted to Christianity and, fresh out of the academy,
Heart had been assigned to guide and guard him. She'd never known he could
see her until she was playing one day and he had whispered "Your song would
shame even the Muses..."
He'd spent a decade crafting a harp he felt worthy of her, a gift he
had carried all the way to Heaven to give her on the day he'd died, a thank
you for all she had done to free his spirit, if not his body...
How many countless days had she sat on a cloud in the centuries since,
playing it softly and gazing down at the planet she cared so much for?
A small music box came next, a memento of a Swiss clock maker she had
comforted following the loss of his son. The intricate mechanism played
nearly a minute of the Moonlight Sonata on tiny chimes. Then a necklace of
polished glass beads with a crudely carved figure of an Angel in a crude
wooden box. A small scrap of paper inside the box bore the words "For
Heart, my best friend" in a childish eight year old scrawl. Despite the
hardships an orphan had to face in Victorian England, Reggie had never given
up that bright spark of hope that let him face everyday with a smile. The
day he'd been adopted by a loving family had been one of the proudest
moments of her life...
Then came the small carefully rendered portrait... a memory of one of
her toughest assignments. She remembered Michelangelo De Caravaggio well:
an angry young man who saw only a world of hate and violence. All of his
paintings of people reflected this chaos, but his beautiful still lifes had
been full of bright promise, with apples so real you could taste the juice,
and flowers so bright you could detect their perfumed scent from the oil and
medium. The man had loved nothing but his art, and in a tortured time, it
had been all she could do to keep him painting, to keep him telling the
stories of the Son of God and his Angels, Saints, and Martyrs.
Still, in the end, he had died young and alone on a beach. Heart had
been there, watching as Abaddoniel's Angels had come and taken him, holding
the small portrait of her he had done... Like Demetrius, he had had the
Sight.
She shook her head as she put the ancient picture aside. She'd once
considered her guidance to the angry youth a success. Now it was... what?
A success? A failure? Or just another meaningless chapter in a pointless
existence? Two thousand years of service in the name of Love and for what?
To be told that she didn't know what Love truly was? She pulled several
more items from the bag as she thought: her spare halo, a jar of polish,
some soft polishing cloths...
When she pulled out the long stiff-bristled brush, she could control
it no longer. The tears came unbidden, choking her. She collapsed on the
floor, her tears flowing freely, the weight of all that had been taken from
her crushing her...
******
Seraph woke up to an empty bed in a strange room. Noting that that was
nothing unusual, she stretched, basking in the afterglow of the night
before...
Heart!
She sat bolt upright and for a panicked moment couldn't find her
angel, her beautiful Beloved. She felt a tight knot in her stomach - had
she slept through an attack? She checked the bed and the bathroom for
Heart... or worse, the telltale signs of brimstone burns...
...But the faint glistening of silver light by the window, nearly
drowned by the sunlight leaking into the room around the curtain drew her
attention. She went to investigate.
Heart's halo glowed as bright as it ever had, but the angel herself
was in a dark mood, tears streaming down her rounded cheeks. By her hand
was a large flat brush, apparently dropped in her anguish. Only its long
bristles kept Seraph from mistaking it for a scrub brush. Thinking to
comfort her love, Seraph sat and cradled Heart to her breast, combing her
hair to calm her. "Oh, Beloved, what's wrong?"
Heart's only response was a renewal of heart-wrenching sobs. Seraph
dropped the brush and held the angel tight. "My Heart. What is it? What's
wrong?" she whispered, concern clear in her voice. Tears streamed down her
face. "Beloved, what did I do to upset you so?"
It took Heart a few minutes to catch her breath and calm down enough
to answer. Her voice was a barely audible squeak. "That w-was m-m-my
fuh-fuh-feather brush!"
The terrible realization of what that meant combined with the complete
absence of any joy in Heart's eyes crushed Seraph, her emotions spiraling
down like the fresh stream of tears on her face.
They held each other as they cried for the angel's loss, comforting
each other as only the presence of a loved one can. Long moments passed
before the tears quieted and Seraph whispered, "I'm sorry, Beloved... I
didn't know... My beautiful angel..."
"Am I? How can I be an angel anymore, Beloved? I've fallen..."
Something within Seraph rebelled. "That's not true!" she said
intensely. "They may be able to take your wings and exile you to the Mortal
Plane, but they can't force you to fall! They can't take what makes you an
angel: Your warmth, the purity of your soul, your compassion, your love!
That's what makes you an angel, Heart, your love! You love, Heart, so much
you even gave your love to a succubus like me." Seraph reached up to touch
Heart's halo. "You are the truest angel of Love I've ever seen, Beloved.
And if showing me how to love isn't an indication, what's this?" She pulled
Heart's halo down in front of her nose. "Or this!" She held up Heart's
harp as the angel straightened her halo. "Or even this!" She snagged the
first thing that came to her hand - a jar. She looked at it in puzzlement
for a second, then opened it and took a whiff. She closed the lid hurriedly
as her eyes watered and tossed it to Heart. "What IS that?"
Heart couldn't help herself; she giggled. Seraph's vehemence in
defending her had lifted her spirits, having her halo pulled in front of her
nose had made her smile, and the wrinkled face Seraph had given the jar made
her laugh, her nose crinkling as her cheeks gathered in a broad smile.
"It's Halo Polish," Heart said as she giggled. She took a cloth from
the table and dipped it in the polish, then took her halo off. "All that
nasty psychic residue of evil tarnishes halos and turns them black." She
showed Seraph a few small smudges. "Halos do need to be polished every so
often."
Seraph looked horrified. "Oh, no! I smudged it!"
Heart laughed. "No silly! Those demons you fought did." She took
Seraph's hand and laid it on the halo. "See? You can't smudge it, Beloved.
You love me." Heart smiled her crinkly grin again. Seraph was happy to see
it. Heart only gave that smile when she was really happy. But there was one
small problem...
"I'm so glad I didn't smudge it, Beloved, but could you please do me a
favor?"
"Anything, Beloved."
"Could you please put your halo back on?" Seraph's voice was so
plaintive that Heart had to laugh as she complied.
"Is that better?"
"Much!" Seraph said as she gave Heart a quick hug. "You look naked
without it."
"Silly! I am naked." Heart giggled.
"Not like that."
Heart understood, and her heart soared. Seraph could make her feel
like an angel, halo or not, but if it made her happy...
Seraph looked at the table. "What's this other stuff?"
Heart took Seraph on a grand tour of the contents of her purse,
telling the stories of each item as she pulled it from the bag. Seraph
listened raptly, her eyes shining with pride as Heart told her about her
various assignments.
Finally, Heart had all her belongings out of the bag and spread out on
the table,
two thousand years of gifts and memories.
Seraph hooked a long fingernail into the top of the bag. "Anything
else in here?" she asked as she peeked in the top.
"There shouldn't be..." Heart shrugged as Seraph stuck her arm in up
to the shoulder, her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth in
concentration.
"Humm... what's this?"
Heart's head snapped up to see what Seraph had pulled from the bag,
then with a bounce and a glad cry she snatched it up.
"My sword!" Heart's face erupted in unabashed joy as she held up the
elegant weapon.
From tip to pommel, it was just over five feet long. The blade was an
elongated blade shape, broad at the head, then tapering to a narrow middle
and flaring out again right above its base. Circular blades formed blade
breakers on either side of the flare, their outer edges sharpened. Faint
traceries of blue light danced along the mirror-bright cutting edges. The
flats were dead black in contrast to the polished edges, almost seeming to
draw the light in. The blade was set into a rounded cone-shaped hilt piece,
from which sprang a finely-crafted crosspiece carved into the shape of
silver angel wings. A large sapphire graced either side of the golden hilt
guard, of a blue so deep it seemed the gems had no bottom. A spiral of
twisted copper descended from the cross guard to a second ring of gold
supporting a golden circle like a halo. The hilt that sprang from the ring
was an elegant hardwood carved into a graceful repeat of the blade's curves.
A heavy gold pommel crowned the hilt, its edges carved into a design of an
Egyptian papyrus flower. From the center of the pommel a spire rose to a
carved crystal heart that glowed crimson from an inner light that shone as
brightly as Heart's joy.
"I still have my sword!" Heart whispered, her eyes behind her rose
glasses shining.
"See, Beloved?" Seraph said brightly. "They can kick an angel out of
Heaven, but they can't steal your birthright." She rose to give Heart a
hug.
As she did so, Heart's purse fell over and one last object fell out.
The bundle of papers fell to the floor, trailing the ends of the white
ribbon that bound them. Seraph bent to pick them up.
"My eviction papers," Heart said sourly before Seraph had a chance to
ask.
"What should I do with them?"
"Just-" Heart sighed. "Just throw them away. It's not like I need
them anymore." With finality and resignation, she replaced the sword in the
purse and began putting everything away...
******
Lipton sighed and threw the folder on his desk. It was as useless as
the rest. The only real evidence had been dismissed as a hoax... Again.
He looked at the plaster casts the evidence team had made, the ones
no-one had taken seriously. Personally, Lipton felt like cheering... maybe.
It was hard to make up his mind on how he should react to real tangible
proof he wasn't insane.
The two larger casts were very plainly the bottom of a pair of spiked
heeled platforms, size 10 woman's. Somehow, they had been driven through
six inches of asphalt to imprint the clay beneath. Overlaying the soles of
the shoes, and descending slightly deeper into the clay, was a pair of
cloven hooves, somewhat smaller than a cow's and somewhat larger than a
goat's. Lipton figured that after she had changed, her leap up had driven
her hooves into the clay. It fit with the witness's testimony.
The other cast was almost more disturbing. It had had to be cut
carefully from the asphalt, but had emerged nearly perfect. It was a
feminine hand, the fingers slim and graceful, the nails a good five inches
long. The evidence team had almost chucked it, sure someone had planted a
joke, though no one could figure out how. Lipton had caught them before
they had disposed of it and rescued it along with the others. He stared at
it, unsure even he wanted to believe it. The strength it hinted at was...
unsettling. He had debated about tossing them himself, but had decided they
at least made interesting paperweights.
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. This case made
absolutely no sense! Mrs. L. had been absolutely positive that the
tall-white haired female had been a demon, but there were only a handful of
female demon types he was aware of, and what she looked like made no sense.
There was only one female demon type he was positive could have caused the
carnage in the alley and made the hand imprint, but there was no way the
witness could have mistaken six arms and a snakes lower body for batwings...
Lipton shuddered at the memory of his one and only encounter with a
Marilith. The super-fast six-armed cusinart had nearly turned him into stew
beef before he could blow her heart out with blessed 12-guage slugs. He'd
been lucky, but he knew there was no way to mistake a Marilith for anything
else.
Trouble was, the wings and hooves were common to about three of the
other types, but none of them could be classed as fighters. So where did
that leave him? He couldn't even confirm that the girl had been a demon
beyond the witness's testimony. He'd seen the a ngel well enough, but the
demoness had been fully shape changed into human. All he had to go on as to
her identity was a license plate that made no sense. SE2 YOU.
Why had the demon saved the angel? Mrs. L. had been positive they had
been in love, but she was a lonely woman OD'd on daytime soaps and romance
novels. Not exactly what Lipton would call reliable.
And the Angel? Why hadn't she fought? Or just flown away? The only
weapons Mrs. L. had described were the demon's, yet every angel Lipton had
ever seen possessed a sword; why hadn't this one?
His head was pounding as he decided his only option was to check the
plate. Most of the tags he'd ever tried to run on demons before had been
stolen or non-existent... maybe for once he'd be lucky enough to have one
who was actually registered... Time for a trip to the Pit.
******
Lilith studied Lipton from her vantage point in a spider's web above the
door to his office, wondering what was going on in the demon hunter's head.
She'd been amused to find out he'd been assigned to the case. The New York
rumor mill had been buzzing for years about how annoyingly effective
Detective Bruce Lipton had been at demon slaying, but Lilith had never had a
reason to look him up before. She'd found the detective's reaction to the
plaster casts curious... Most Mortals found evidence for the existence of
supernatural beings like herself either reassuring, or incredibly
unsettling. Lipton seemed almost... resigned?
Most curious.
He'd finally come to some decision and got up to leave. She hurriedly
dropped down as he passed and latched onto his tan trench coat, changing
into a tan moth to better camouflage. This... diversion... was becoming
intriguing....
******
Lipton headed down to the sub-basement, home to the super computers that
linked the NYPD precincts and lair of the two super geeks who ran those
computers: Randy Barnes and Barry Davis, the only two people in the
precinct he could be said to be more than working with...
No. Randy and Barry were probably the only people in the precinct he
could legitimately call friends, however loosely. The rest of the precinct
had labeled them "The Three Muskaweirds" since Barnes was obsessed with
aliens, and Davis was convinced everything was a government conspiracy, from
early morning traffic to planes vanishing in the Triangle. Lipton knew
better, but saw no point in trying to convince them. They used everything
as evidence in their favor anyway. At least they never raised an eyebrow
when he had them covertly close a case for him. He had solved them after
all, even if his superiors wouldn't have approved of his methods, or
believed his reasons for using them.
But knowing they'd been solved help him sleep better at night.
Besides, they all shared a common bond, one shared by all those whose
beliefs included a bright future, the nobility of the human spirit, and the
need to expand their horizons. A belief that Merit was rewarded, that going
against the grain when you were right was justified, and above all, a drive
to "know all that is knowable, learn all that is learnable." That drive had
created a generation of people whose imaginations and vast knowledge let
them see the world with a unique perspective, and given them a need to dream
and create, at least in their own estimation.
In other words, they all watched Star Trek.
So when Davis rose at Lipton's entry, snapped him a salute and said
"Captain on the bridge!" followed by Barnes, Lipton's only response was a
sour "He was Admiral Kirk for awhile, you know."
The other two looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
"Still worshipping the wanna-be, I see." Barnes quipped.
"First gen is so limited for creatures." Davis chimed in. "Not like
DS9."
"How lame can you get? Sisko is no comparison for Picard!" Barnes
parried.
They could go on like this for hours if Lipton let them, but he was
here at least semi-officially. "One word gentlemen..." he interrupted.
They turned expectantly. "Janeway."
Both the tech wizards emitted a little tiger growl.
"Oh, Janeway..." Davis said, stretching his tall lanky frame in his
chair. "Many nights I have dreamed of... Janeway."
"That with your left hand or your right?" Barnes smirked.
Davis flicked his pudgy partner off, then addressed the detective.
"You coming to the con this weekend?"
"'Fraid not. I've got a multiple I'm working."
"Ooh? Another weird one?" Barnes cooed.
Lipton nodded.
"Hot damn. Whatcha got for us?"
Lipton handed over the tag number. "Black Corvette. New York tags."
"Seduce you? How cute." Barnes said wryly as Davis turned to his
computer and logged on to the DMV.
"Seduce?" Lipton started. Ahh... of course. S E 2... duce... you.
"Cute." He echoed. Trouble was, it gave him a clue as to what the demoness
was, but that made no sense. Succubae weren't warriors... they were sex
demons. He'd never run into a single one that could fight worth a damn.
"Here we go." Davis announced. "Seraph Darkfell, nice name. No alias
listed."
Seraph Darkfell? Another cute pun for fallen angel. Lipton thought
with a sigh. Whoever she is, she has a sense of humor.
Davis handed him the printout of her license while he looked at her
record. "Humm... couple of hundred minor traffic tickets... but not a
single bench warrant. Let me check her credit records..." He started
typing again as Lipton checked the license.
The face it revealed was stunning, fairly typical for a succubus. The
outfit she must have been wearing had to have been extremely low cut, as the
photo appeared to be a nude, again typical. Only... there was something
different about her he just couldn't place. She just didn't look like a
typical succubus...
"Here we go." Davis said as Seraph's credit records showed up on his
screen. He whistled. "Whoa. I wish I had her credit limit. Quarter mill,
quarter mill, hundred thou, half mill. Shit! Her investment portfolio
alone is worth - uh, make that was worth, thirty mill. Looks like it was
seized and all of her credit's been cancelled. I'd say IRS, probably at the
behest of the CIA. Houses, stocks, property. All gone. Looks like the
car's hers though. Paid in full, cash. '72 Corvette Stingray, custom order
from Detroit. Police Interceptor engine kit, minus tweaks. Probably had
'em added. Damn thing's a rocket. Original owner... Seraph Darkfell? I'll
be damned... she's aged well for someone over forty."
Lipton nodded. "So most of her assets are gone?"
"Looks like," Barnes said from his console. "This record's a maze.
Looks like she might still have a few assets but it's gonna take a while to
track them down through all the dead ends. Whoever set this up is a pro."
"Probably CIA. Most likely she's a government agent. This sudden
turn in fortune probably means she's gone renegade and is on the run," Davis
said. He looked at the license again. "No way that is over forty." He
tapped a few more keys, changing screens faster than Lipton could keep
track of. "Yeah, see." He pointed his nose at the screen while still
tapping. "Police records. She's been arrested a shitload of times. Looks
like either no charges filed or charges dropped. Suspected prostitution,
suspected drug use, suspected drug smuggling, lewd and lascivious
behavior... What the fuck?! Suspected bootlegger?" He called up the file.
"1928?!!!" Disbelief colored his voice.
"Must have been her grandmother." Lipton supplied.
"Had to have been, or she's using a cover identity that's been around
awhile." Davis nodded.
"Any of the charges stick?"
Davis scanned further. "Nope. No pictures, prints, or DNA on file
either. They probably made sure of that." No need to ask who they were.
"Same on Interpol." Barnes added. "Lots of arrests, no convictions
and looks like she never even saw the inside of a courtroom. But she's been
all over the world." He gave Lipton a look that said he wasn't buying the
grandmother line. "Most of the places she's been have been hotspots, just
before or just after trouble." His eyes showed he'd come up with his own
explanation for Seraph's long record.
"Want me to put an APB on her?" Davis asked. "I can, but it'll put up
a red flag to the Agency and the IRS that you're looking for her."
Lipton shook his head. "Just dig me up everything you can find on
her, no matter how far away or long ago. This case is so strange you never
know what might be useful."
Both of the geeks' eyes gleamed. Whether long-lived alien transplant,
or government conspiracy agent, it didn't really matter as much as the joy
of the hunt. Lipton nodded to himself as he headed back upstairs. They had
never believed in his "demons" but they were useful nonetheless. If it
existed online, they'd find it.
Unfortunately, the trip had led to more questions, not less...
******
Back in his office, Lipton put his feet up on his desk and watched a
tan moth struggling in a spider web above his door for a few seconds before
reaching into the right hand drawer and pulling out his recorder. He closed
his eyes as he activated it and spoke.
"Puzzles, puzzles, puzzles. I have six dead demons in an alley, not
that anyone else believes that, one live one who's proving to be one of the
most confusing demons I've ever run into, and one Angel who apparently
needed saving, and if the witness is telling the truth, by the demoness no
less."
"Fact: Something killed six combat demons in a matter of minutes.
"Fact: I saw the angel myself."
Lilith nearly fell out of the web. He had?
"Fact: I saw the supposed demoness with the angel. However I cannot
confirm her status as a demon yet, she looked human, even though she is
extremely tall for a female. However, evidence does suggest she is a demon,
and most likely a succubus."
Lilith was impressed. He was more knowledgeable than she'd given him
credit for.
"Fact: Most succubae are not warriors. They are built for sex, not
combat.
"Fact: Angels and demons do not get along. Encounters between them
are usually fatal for the demon involved."
"These are established facts, or have been previously. So now we are
left with questions this case has raised."
"Question one: Who is Seraph Darkfell? Why did she save the angel,
and, if she is a succubus, where did she learn to fight?"
"Question two: Who is the angel? Why was she there? Why did she
become the target of a party of six demons? And most importantly, why
didn't, or why couldn't she defend herself?"
"Question three: What is the connection between the angel and Seraph
Darkfell? The witness seemed to think they were in love, but that makes no
sense for several reasons. First, they are angel and demon. By all
previous evidence, they should be trying to kill one another. Second, they
are by appearance, both female, and the last I checked, homosexuality was
still classed as a sin. Thirdly, by that reasoning the angel could not
still be an angel if she had committed a sin. Obviously, there must be
another reason, or there are factors involved I've never heard of."
Lilith was giving the detective a slow once-over. He was definitely
intriguing. She wondered how he would react if she seduced him. He was
certainly not like most mortals she'd dealt with before.
Oblivious to the spider's scrutiny, Lipton reached out and picked up
the plaster hand and looked at it as he continued.
"And finally, Question four: Who is behind Miss Darkfell? Until
yesterday, no succubus I've run into has ever had the kind of clout Seraph
has. Credit cards, land investments, stock portfolio, I've never run into
any demon with that kind of background. I've dealt with a few succubae in
High Society, but every one has been a kept woman. None of them had the
kind of bankroll Seraph had. Obviously, someone went through a lot of
trouble to set her up, and just as obviously, just pulled it down. Beyond
that, who has kept her out of trouble? Most succubae have records, it's a
natural result of their work, but someone went to a great deal of trouble to
keep Seraph's record clean. Who? The answer could go a long way to
explaining some of the mysteries around this case. Like motive. What could
force a succubus to fight?"
Lilith smiled to herself. She'd had no idea Mephie had invested so
much into Seraph. No wonder he was so upset with her defection.
Lipton was continuing. "Something... or someone?" A thought seemed
to occur to the detective. "Could Seraph be being controlled?" he mused.
He reached into the desk again and brought out a thick manila folder
labeled "Magick Users" and flipped it open. Inside was a thick stack of
8x10s. Lipton looked through the stack slowly, reading the notes he had
written on the backs of each photo. He stopped at one of a refined-looking
Latino which had been crossed out with a red marker.
"Santobal. I'd suspect you, knowing your penchant for 'enslaving'
succubae and for murdering angels, but somehow, I just don't see you
surviving that 12-guage slug I put through your brain." He chuckled as he
scanned through the rest. As he dropped the last one, he sighed and rubbed
his eyes. "Not one of you has the power to make a succubus capable of
winning a fight against six combat demons." He tossed the folder back into
the drawer. "Which means I'm either up against a new mage, or someone else
gave her the power."
Lilith chuckled to herself. If he only knew how close he actually is!
Lipton looked up at the clawed hand he held, then shook his head.
"Maybe it has to do with the angel?" He asked to no-one in particular. He
clicked off the recorder and rose. As Lilith watched, he bolted the door to
his office and moved to a locked cabinet against the far wall. He took out
a set of keys and opened the cabinet. Lilith gasped in surprise at what was
inside. A lot of would be mages would kill for the contents of the cabinet,
and if the church had ever seen it, Lipton would have been excommunicated
and burned at the stake on the spot. The majority of the books were trash,
New Age mysticism, but a few of them were real. Ancient books dealing with
Demonology and Black Magick, many written in Latin... A Hebrew Kabala sat
next to Assyrian religious texts and even a copy the Maharabata in Sanskrit
was on the shelf. It was certainly the last thing Lilith had expected. She
wondered where he had gotten them.
He knelt down to the bottom of the case, removed an iron box, and took
it to his desk. Curious, Lilith crawled across the ceiling to get a better
look. After Lipton sat down, he took out another key and undid a lock on
the iron box, then opened it. As the lid swung open, Lilith was nearly
shocked into dropping her shape change from the holy energies the book
poured forth. The reason for the iron box became easily apparent:
unshielded, the book in the box would have turned the other texts into
smoking ruin.
In appearance it was nothing special. It had a plain thick leather
cover reinforced with thin iron straps, and a simple clasp that held it
closed. The pages were crisp vellum, yellowed with age but otherwise whole
and undamaged. The title was simple, written in elegant gold script, but
Lilith nearly passed out in shock as she read it. At most, the book looked a
hundred years old, but she knew it was over four thousand, and that the
passing of time would not have affected its accuracy, Jehovah had seen to
that. Only fifteen copies were known to even exist, and Lilith hadn't know
of one in New York, yet somehow, the detective had managed to get a hold of
a copy of the only book her ex-husband had ever written.
The Directory of Angels.
Lilith nearly panicked. If the Detective could even read the
Directory, it meant he had True Sight! He could see her! Only the fact she
was shape changed instead of glamoured had kept him from discovering her
already...
Then logic reasserted itself. He hadn't discovered her, and so long
as she didn't shift where he could see her, she was safe. It simply made
for an interesting tidbit. The detective really could see demons and
angels... even glamoured ones... only a shape shift couldn't be seen
through.
It made the notion of seducing him more appealing. Seeing how he
dealt with the Queen of Hell could be... entertaining.
But that was for a later time, for now, she watched as he slowly
flipped through the book, looking at the picture of each Angel and reading
the short description. After nearly an hour, at the end of the G's, he lost
patience. "This is hopeless. Without a name, I'll never find her." He got
up and paced the office for a minute than grabbed the copy of Seraph's
license. "Maybe her apartment will have some clues." He unlocked the door,
and at the verge of leaving, paused and looked at the book on his desk.
"Hell, it's not like anyone could read it..." He exited, locking the dead
bolt behind him.
Lilith shimmered into her own form beside the desk. It was time to
check on Bhaalor. She looked down at the Directory one last time.
The breeze from Lipton's departure had flipped several pages over, and
there, staring serenely up from the page, was Heart's face...
Lilith laughed all the way to Hell.
******
In many ways, the Pearly Gates Complex was the nexus of Heaven.
Through its myriad of gates and terminals passed all the souls of mortals
who believed in the Christian Savior, and all of Heaven's various agents.
On a good day, over a million souls passed through is massive halls,
refurbished time and again as the Human Race expanded its population.
Looking down on it from his plush fifth floor office, Saint Peter
could recall when he had set at a table outside the gates with his pen and
the Book of Life. That had been replaced over the centuries with a library
and an army of scribes, and most recently, by the vast Database of Life and
the sprawling bureaucracy of the Department of Immigrations, of which he was
President.
A long way from the simple life of a fisherman.
He sighed and turned from the huge bay window. It had been so much
simpler then, all he'd had to fear was crucifixion. Now? Between the
massive juggernaut of the Department and... his other duties... he'd welcome
crucifixion as a nice relaxing break from all of his worries.
Horrible thought for a Saint, he mused as he sat down behind a massive
desk piled high with stacks of paper and documents, all of which needed his
personal attention. He was contemplating setting fire to all of them when a
document caught his eye.
He pulled the papers out of the stack that had partially concealed
them, and confirmed that his eyes hadn't deceived him. They were exile
papers.
What in home's name is this? I'm supposed to be apprised of any
exiles. He looked at the bottom of the page where his signature had to go
for any exile to be processed.
His flowing signature sprawled across the signature line. Humm...
funny... I don't remember signing this.
He flipped through the rest of the form, noting that it had been
processed and the Exile Clerk's paperwork had been completed yesterday
morning. Everything appeared to be in order...
But he definitely didn't remember approving an angel's exile.
He shoved the other papers off his desk, ignoring them as they
fluttered to neat stacks on the floor, until he found his video intercom.
The G.O.D. had frowned at his modernizing the DOI, but he'd succeeding in
convincing them of the need, and it made his life much easier... So few of
Heaven's agents really understood modern technology, which made his
clandestine activities easier to conceal. But this time, it looked like
someone had expected that same effect to shield them from his scrutiny...
The man who answered the vidcom was a distinguished older gentleman, a
few years younger than Peter in appearance. In life, he'd been one of the
few people Peter had come close to hating, despite his Master's teachings.
Alive, the man had been almost single-handedly responsible for corrupting,
as far as Peter had seen it, the Christian religion from the elegant and
beautiful teachings of his Master, to the bloated law-ridden tool of the
G.O.D. it had become. Saint Paul had been born a Pharisee, and even after
his "conversion" had remained one. He'd turned his new faith into as
rule-bound a religion as his old one, never realizing he was playing right
into the enemy's hands doing so. Peter had fought him while still alive,
but had lacked the charisma Paul exuded, and Paul had never understood why
Peter had been so angry about the spreading of the faith... But then, Paul
had never actually met Christ while he was alive, but Peter had been quick
to change that when he had died.
In two thousand years, they hadn't had much success, and for the most
part, the G.O.D. ignored them. Peter had remained the gatekeeper because
that was the role he'd been given in the Bible, and Paul had pretty much
become his vice president, but neither role had any real power or say in the
G.O.D.'s policies.
But occasionally, the G.O.D. made mistakes... and this had all the
earmarks of one.
Peter held up the form to show Paul. "I think you might want to come
up here... Looks like I have a case for you..."
******
The girls had showered, with a short break from actual washing for
other activity, then Seraph had had a paper delivered with breakfast. She
pored over it with Heart as they ate, making a list of places to check out
for jobs. Then Seraph availed herself of the modem line while Heart called
and made appointments. The girls finally left the room around eleven and
hopped in the 'vette to make the interviews.
Hours passed and Heart was dizzied by interviews, applications, and
social security numbers. Seraph had tried to explain the concept of the
social security to her when she had run across a request for the number on
her first application, but the explanation made no sense to Heart, so Seraph
had simply given her a number to write into the space, one that had belonged
to one of her alter egos until that morning.
Seraph had given the basic info to a hacker she had been assigned to
not long before her retirement, and now the number reflected the personal
data and history of one Harteriel Serefina. It had been a favor returned
for getting him a pair of live-in girlfriends, twin sisters who incidentally
had been living on the street before Seraph had introduced them all. Now,
all three lived in a nice apartment, the girls no longer had to hook, and
the hacker was basically teaching them about computers. Heaven frowned on
the arrangement, but they all three were very happy and the hackers desire
to take care of his girlfriends had even encouraged him take a legitimate
job with a computer security company. Hacking the Social Security card had
been the first non-legal job he'd pulled in the two years since.
Another example, in Seraph's opinion, of Heavens messed-up morality. They
were happy, law-abiding, productive people now, but condemned to hell for
the "sin" of fornication, because they all couldn't marry each other.
After several hours of job hunting, they stopped for lunch. The two
sitting dispiritedly in a small cafe downtown.
"We're never going to find human jobs at this rate," Heart sighed.
"No, love, I know we can do it. How many of your interviews said that
they would call you back?"
"None," Heart's beautiful face held an unhappy frown. "They all said
I didn't have enough experience."
Seraph reached into her cleavage and pulled out the list. She looked
it over, her brow wrinkled in thought. Finally, she looked at Heart, an
idea bright in her mind.
"Beloved. I think we're going about this all wrong."
"What do you mean? I'm doing exactly what you told me to, Beloved."
She looked down at her exposed cleavage. "Even though having my shirt
pulled this low is a little uncomfortable."
Seraph blushed as she moved a little in her chair. "I'm sorry, love.
I thought it would help. You can pull it up if you like."
Heart gave her a sidelong look over her glasses. "No. I've noticed
you seem to enjoy looking at me more since I pulled it down."
Seraph blushed even brighter as she wrenched her eyes away from the
rise and fall of Heart's breasts. "Ummm..."
Heart laughed. "I love you... Anyway, what am I doing wrong?"
Seraph fought the urge to let her eyes return to their previous gaze
as she answered. "Well, umm... maybe we should be trying to find jobs where
we do have experience. You were the best matchmaker in Heaven. We should
get you a job doing that here."
"Are there jobs like that on Earth?"
"Of course. Humans thrive on personal contact!" Seraph exclaimed.
"I've met lots of my assignments through matchmaking services. Lots of
lonely people try to meet through matchmakers. Most of them are just
looking for companionship, the sex was just incidental. I've started lots
of affairs that way, and I've seen a lot of relationships that came under
your old office's jurisdiction come from them too."
Heart nodded. "Lonely souls needing someone to love."
"Well, humans have all kinds of ways for meeting one another," Seraph
said. "And I know they have matchmaking services that try to do just what
you used to do, bring two people together who will fall in love, just like
there are places that do the kind of matchmaking I used to do too..."
Seraph stopped as a thought struck her, then she groaned. "I am such an
idiot. Why am I worried where I'm going to get a job, when I already have a
job just waiting for me to come back and take it."
"You are not an idiot," Heart said firmly.
"Yes I am. I've been worried about draining my bank account, and
forgetting where the money in it comes from. I already have a job. All I
have to do is go and tell the manager to put me on the lineup."
"Oh? What will you be doing?" Heart looked excited. Seraph hoped she
still would be after she told her what the job was.
"Dancing,"
"Oh?" Hearts eyes lit up. "Maybe I can too? I know the minuet, the
waltz, the-"
"It's not that kind of dancing, dear," Seraph interrupted. "I'll be
doing erotic dances."
Heart looked confused. "What does that entail?"
Seraph looked off to the side. "Well, for one thing, a lot less
clothes."
Heart nodded. "How much less?"
"Umm..." Seraph looked down. "I think New York law says I have to
keep my g-string on nowadays."
"You mean you'd be nude?" Heart looked puzzled. "Don't humans forbid
that?"
"Only in public,"
"But if you're dancing for people, won't you be in public?"
"No. It's a club where men come to watch nude women dance."
"Oh... Why?" Heart really did look confused.
Seraph shook her head. "Oh, Beloved, you really are an innocent to
the ways of lust. It's so the men can fantasize about having sex with me,"
she admitted.
"Oh," Heart's face fell. "I see. Well, if you need to do that to
feed I suppose it's ok." Her voice held a note of sadness.
Seraph took Heart's hand. "Beloved. I don't need them to feed. I
need you for that, and only you. You are the one I love, and only you can
satisfy my desires. But men will pay a lot of money just to fantasize about
sex with me, and I never have to actually fulfill that fantasy. I can dance
and arouse their lust without having to do anything else... except of course
to arouse my desire for you even more."
Heart smiled at Seraph's words, but then a thought struck. "But isn't
that demeaning, Beloved?" she asked plaintively.
"No, Beloved. Not for me. I'm a Succubus. I was created to arouse
lust. It was my purpose for existing before you taught me how to love.
It's all I've done for over two thousand years." Seraph struggled
desperately for the right words to say. "I took pride in my work, Beloved.
That's part of what you fell in love with, no?" Heart nodded. "I love to
dance, Beloved, and it's always been one of my most effective means for
arousing lust. What's best about it, is that I can make us money doing
something I enjoy." Inspiration hit. "Besides, Beloved, we were both the
best at what we did because we loved our jobs. It doesn't matter that we're
not working for them anymore. We don't have to give up on what we love
doing, what we are best at! Heaven doesn't have a monopoly on Love!"
Heart still looked uncertain, so Seraph continued. "Heart, we can
keep doing what we're doing right now and spend our immortal lives unhappy,
or we can continue doing what we were meant to do, make people happy. We
can do that better than Heaven or Hell, because we can give them a love like
ours. The love, the passion, the joy, all of it! All we have to do is keep
doing what we love best, our jobs, but for the people we help, not for our
idiot ex-bosses!"
Heart's eyes said she wanted to believe. "Oh, Beloved... I don't know
if I can bear to keep doing my job anymore." Tears trickled down from the
corners of her eyes.
"No Beloved, that's not true! You can do it better!" Seraph tried to
keep her voice encouraging, but she too fought back tears. The sight of how
badly Theliel had undermined Heart's confidence infuriated her, and it was
all she could do not to howl her frustration. If I ever get my hands on him
again... She left the thought unfinished as primal bloodlust coursed
through her body.
"Beloved? Are you okay?" Hearts voice was full of concern.
Seraph shook her head as s few tears escaped across her cheeks. "When
I think about what Theliel must have said to you to hurt you so much, the
horrible thoughts he put into your head..." Her teeth and hands clenched.
"I just want to rip out his heart and eat it raw!"
"Oh, Beloved..."
Seraph looked up, pleading in her eyes behind the anger. "You are an
angel of Love, Heart. Nothing Theliel can say will ever change that unless
you give in to him and give up. If you do that, he'll win. I know you can
do it, love." Her head hung till her bangs overshadowed her eyes. "Won't
you please try?"
"But-but..."
"But nothing, Heart. Theliel didn't make you good at your job. You
did."
"Did I, Beloved?" Heart looked at her. "I always thought so, but..."
"Beloved... He isn't the Creator. Only an angel. Like you." Seraph
met her eyes through the rose-tinted lenses. "He couldn't take your love,
your halo, or your sword, so he tried to take your spirit instead. Don't
let him win..."
Heart saw the faith Seraph had in her, and it helped to spark her own.
"I will try, Beloved." She smiled. "That's all I can promise."
Seraph returned her smile. "That's all I could ever ask..."
They gazed at each other for long moments, the cafe ceasing to exist
around them. Activity continued around them, but they took no notice, lost
in a world where no words were needed... were the contentment in their eyes
said all that needed to be said...
Then Heart rose.
"Let's go get you a job, Beloved," she said to the Succubus.
"Love? Are you sure?" Seraph rose as well, pulling a wad of cash
from her cleavage and tossing several bills down on the table.
"Of course, Beloved," Heart grinned. "You're right. We should do
what we're good at, and I can definitely attest to how good you are at
arousing lust. If people will pay you to dance for them and arouse their
lust... well... that's our good fortune, although I still don't see how
dancing could get them that aroused."
Seraph smiled. "Let me get you alone tonight, and I'll demonstrate."
Heart smiled indulgently. "Does that mean I might get a full
demonstration?"
Seraph arched an eyebrow. "You mean using my powers on you?"
Heart wrapped an arm around her, and gave her smile full of promises.
"Yes. I love you, Seraph... and you won my heart without them... but I am
curious..."
Seraph gave her a lopsided grin. "I-I just didn't want you to think I
was taking advantage of you..."
Heart stopped at the curb and turned to her smiling mischievously.
"Oh no, dear. I plan to take advantage of you..."
Behind them, the busboy cleaning their table peered in puzzlement at
the eight crescent shaped holes that pierced the table, perfectly matching
Seraph's nails...
******
The buildings were tall enough to block out the sun even though it was
still early afternoon. A stray cat scampered across the alley, not sparing
a glance at the girl who was wading through an ankle deep swamp of old
newspaper. She scanned the piece of paper in her hand and looked around,
trying to match the number to a building. She stepped further into the
shadows, her ankle length trench coat flipping idly as she walked,
apparently so absorbed in her quest that she didn't notice the mugger
creeping up on her until he cocked his nine.
"Reach for the sky, bitch!"
Casually, she took a last drag on her cigarette and nonchalantly
turned around as she reached up. She said not a word.
The thug appraised her for a second, noting the habit like headdress
that covered most of her long black hair, and the skimpy little silver
bikini she had on under the trench, but what really caught his eye was the
arsenal her spread coat displayed. The shotguns across her back and the
twin cannons at her hips were definitely grown-up toys that would fetch him
a small fortune from the fence he knew who handled that kind of artillery.
Then again, he knew a guy who'd ask no questions about the girl either, and
she'd bring a nice price too.
Fuck it. Be too much trouble to drag her there. Waste the bitch and
take the guns and money. Not like she can use 'em anyways. Stick with plan
A...
"Prepare to say hello to God, baby!" He began to pull the trigger,
then something hot burned into his eye. He had just enough time to realize
she'd thrown her cigarette and fling his arm across his face before he felt
something strike him in the arm with the force of a baseball bat.
His gun flew across the alley as she planted one of her custom-made
blade-heeled boots in his chest; she kicked him nearly thirty feet. He
slammed into a dumpster, denting the side before dropping to the hard
asphalt bruised, but miraculously unbroken. He gasped for breath.
She strode up to him, a sneer on her face, the wickedly curved blades
on her heels chiming with every step.
"I have," she said flippantly. "He's about two thousand years behind
on his child support."
She placed one of those viciously bladed boots on his belly, the
needle sharp tip just resting on his crotch. She pulled one of the small
cannons from her hip and pointed it at his nose. He stared down the black
maw of the barrel.
"Now," she said. "Give me one good reason not to kill you. A good
one. Because until now, Matthew Weaver, you've been a scumbag. No real
surprise that you'd off a thirteen year old girl, or were you planning to
sell me to that child pornographer friend of yours?" Her harsh laugh echoed
across the alley. "If I thought for a second it would get this titanium
bikini off me, I'd have let you!"
Her eyes full of fury, she leaned closer. "So tell me, Matthew
Weaver. How do you plead?"
The thug seemed mesmerized by the barrel of the gun, his mind barely
registering the fact she'd used his name twice. In desperation, he closed
his eyes and began a prayer he hadn't used since childhood.
"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is-"
Her backhanded slap rocked his head on his shoulders. "Blessed this,
blessed that... blah, blah, blah. If I had a nickel for every time I've
heard that." She stuck the gun against his forehead. "You're a hypocrite.
First you get yourself in deep, and now you want deliverance? Did it ever
occur to you not to do the bad thing in the first place? Now, I'll ask you
again, Matthew Weaver. How do you plead? Are you a scumbag? Why shouldn't
I just shoot you?"
Fear even stronger than before streaked across his mind as her use of
his name registered.
"How- how do you know my name?" he whispered hoarsely, an ominous
feeling in the pit of his stomach warning him he didn't want to know.
"Matthew, Matthew, Matthew..." She said as she pulled the gun away from his
fore head and leaned on the bent knee, pressing the blade against his
crotch. A warm trickle began to flow down his leg, either blood or urine.
"You've been praying to me since you were six, and you don't know who I am?"
"No - no way..." he whispered, as if denial would chase the terror he
felt away.
She grabbed him by the collar as she effortlessly lifted him and
placed the gun under his chin.
"Go to church, scumbag. Pray for forgiveness and confess your sins,"
she cooed. "Go straight, or I will be back, and have no doubt I'll know
where to find you..."
She smiled as she holstered the pistol and let him slump back against the
dumpster as she turned to sashay off.
"Who- who are you?" he croaked.
"The Virgin," she called back over her shoulder.
Weaver stared after her, the fear in him doubling at the utter
confidence she exuded. She had no fear of him going for his gun, there was
only the sureness that she was finished here.
"Mother of God," he whispered involuntarily.
Her reply was faint, but her voice echoed in his ears mockingly.
"Exactly..."
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