The voice was male, with an angel's rich timbre. I turned to see a man about my age, sandy blond hair, well built, wearing trousers, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie. Clearly lacking Trsiel's sense of casual style, but a damn sight less unnerving than those iridescent outfits the other full-bloods had worn.
The man walked into the room and looked around. "The abandoned basement of a penitentiary." He looked down. "Dirt floor, rat turds and all. You do know how to make a fellow feel welcome."
He looked around, then stopped, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes were a clear neon blue, even brighter than Kristof's. As he turned toward me, Trsiel tensed. Before he could react, the man was right there, less than six inches from my face, eyes boring into mine. Trsiel's eyes widened, genuine fear flickering behind them, and he jerked forward, but the other man lifted a hand to stop him, then stepped away from me.
"Eve Levine," he said, with the barest bow of his head. "A pleasure. Your father speaks very highly of you."
My father? Before I could ask, the man clasped my hand. His grip was firm… and as hot as the blade of Trsiel's sword. A few degrees hotter than Trsiel's own touch. None of the angels I'd met had eyes with that familiar inner glow.
"I am Aratron," he said. "Since Trsiel seems to have temporarily forgotten his good manners."
I realized who I was speaking to and straightened. The demon at Glamis might have expected my respect, but this one got it. Aratron was a eudemon—a nonchaotic demon, and a high-ranking one. I dipped my head in greeting.
Aratron smiled, then looked from Trsiel to me. "Now, what is Balam's daughter doing with an angel?"
Trsiel shrugged, hands still stuffed in his pockets. He reminded me of the Cabal kids who'd come to me for black-market spells, making their first foray into the underworld, furtive and nervous, like college kids meeting their first drug dealer.
When Aratron lifted his brows, Trsiel mumbled, "Working."
"So you're back in the field? Good. I don't know why they ever took you out of it in the first place. You were one of the best—far better than most of those ascendeds."
Trsiel lifted his gaze to search Aratron's, looking for the insult or insinuation behind the words, but Aratron's eyes were clear, his tone free of sarcasm.
"It's… temporary," Trsiel said.
Aratron looked from him to me again. "A full-blooded angel temporarily working with a supernatural ghost. That sounds an awful lot like training." He paused, then threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, those Fates are innovative gals, aren't they? This is one of their most original ideas yet. And deviously clever, if I might say so myself. If you want a good warrior against evil, you need one who understands what she's chasing. You'll make an excellent angel, Eve… though I can imagine your father won't be quite so pleased."
"I have something to ask of you," Trsiel said. "You said that you owed me—"
"A favor. And I do… though, I'll admit, it's one marker I never expected to be called in. What's it been now, three hundred years?"
"Er, yes, well, being out of the field, I haven't needed—"
"You haven't wanted to call it in. I'm a demon. A eudemon, perhaps, but still a demon, and such a contact—even professionally—is expressly forbidden." He tilted his head, lips pursing. "Well, perhaps not expressly, but certainly implicitly. Your new partner, however, sees things differently—more pragmatically—and has persuaded you to call in this marker."
Trsiel snuck a look at me. "Er, uh—"
"That's right," I said. "It was my idea, and if it blows up in our faces, I'm in deep shit with Trsiel, so I'm really hoping you can help us. What we need is…" I glanced at Trsiel, lobbing the ball to him.
"To know who the demon at Glamis Castle is," Trsiel said.
I blinked back my surprise. Seems Trsiel hadn't been sitting on his hands waiting for something to happen after all.
"Ah," Aratron said. "The monster of Glamis." He smiled. "You've heard the stories, I suppose. The deformed immortal child locked in a secret room? The earl and the Devil playing cards for eternity? The clansmen being walled up and left to starve? Humans can be amazingly inventive sometimes, can't they?
What they can't understand, they explain with stories, spiced up with bits of truth, like raisins in a sweet-cake. The real monster of Glamis, as you've discovered, wasn't that poor child, but a demon. Not trapped for eternity, but imprisoned for a few hundred years, just long enough to teach him a lesson. As for who it is…" He looked at me and smiled. "I'm sure Eve could make a few guesses."
"Demons who've been off the radar for a few hundred years?" I said. "Hmm. Amduscias, Focalor, Dantalian—" I stopped, my gut going cold.
Aratron didn't notice my reaction. "There are more than a few of them, aren't there? It's one of Baal's favorite punishments for underlords who incur his wrath—something, I'm afraid, that isn't very difficult to do."
"It's Dantalian, isn't it?"
He smiled. "Well done."
I struggled not to make the obvious connection, to think of anything but that, hurrying on with more questions. "What did Baal lock him up for? It has to do with that room, doesn't it? With walling in those men?"
Trsiel snorted. "I doubt that was his crime."
Aratron shook his head. "Your prejudices are showing, Trsiel. A cacodemon could indeed be punished for such a thing, though not for the reason you'd find the deed objectionable. Had Dantalian walled up those men against his lord's wishes, he would be punished for his insolence. That, however, was not his error." He looked at me, eyes twinkling. "I doubt it will help your cause, but do you want to hear the story?"
I nodded, brain still numb.
"Excellent. Curiosity for the sake of curiosity is the mark of a true student." He glanced at Trsiel, eyes still sparkling. "You can move closer, Trsiel. I know you want to hear this as much as she does."
Trsiel shrugged, but when Aratron looked away, he slid next to me.
"Now, one of the earls of Glamis was a half-demon. Baal's own child. As Eve knows, even the lord demons have little contact with their offspring. That doesn't keep them from watching from afar, as Balam does, but it is rare for any cacodemon to play a role in his child's life. Glamis, though, sought out that contact, and made a very persuasive argument for Baal to do otherwise, providing him with sacrifices and proving as dutiful a son as any father could want. Eventually, Baal took notice, and when Glamis had his father's attention, he asked for a boon. He would sacrifice a dozen men to Baal, not just killing them, but walling them up. As modes of death go, the only thing more terrible than being buried alive is being buried with others. The… animal instinct eventually asserts itself, providing a veritable feast of chaos."
The man walked into the room and looked around. "The abandoned basement of a penitentiary." He looked down. "Dirt floor, rat turds and all. You do know how to make a fellow feel welcome."
He looked around, then stopped, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes were a clear neon blue, even brighter than Kristof's. As he turned toward me, Trsiel tensed. Before he could react, the man was right there, less than six inches from my face, eyes boring into mine. Trsiel's eyes widened, genuine fear flickering behind them, and he jerked forward, but the other man lifted a hand to stop him, then stepped away from me.
"Eve Levine," he said, with the barest bow of his head. "A pleasure. Your father speaks very highly of you."
My father? Before I could ask, the man clasped my hand. His grip was firm… and as hot as the blade of Trsiel's sword. A few degrees hotter than Trsiel's own touch. None of the angels I'd met had eyes with that familiar inner glow.
"I am Aratron," he said. "Since Trsiel seems to have temporarily forgotten his good manners."
I realized who I was speaking to and straightened. The demon at Glamis might have expected my respect, but this one got it. Aratron was a eudemon—a nonchaotic demon, and a high-ranking one. I dipped my head in greeting.
Aratron smiled, then looked from Trsiel to me. "Now, what is Balam's daughter doing with an angel?"
Trsiel shrugged, hands still stuffed in his pockets. He reminded me of the Cabal kids who'd come to me for black-market spells, making their first foray into the underworld, furtive and nervous, like college kids meeting their first drug dealer.
When Aratron lifted his brows, Trsiel mumbled, "Working."
"So you're back in the field? Good. I don't know why they ever took you out of it in the first place. You were one of the best—far better than most of those ascendeds."
Trsiel lifted his gaze to search Aratron's, looking for the insult or insinuation behind the words, but Aratron's eyes were clear, his tone free of sarcasm.
"It's… temporary," Trsiel said.
Aratron looked from him to me again. "A full-blooded angel temporarily working with a supernatural ghost. That sounds an awful lot like training." He paused, then threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, those Fates are innovative gals, aren't they? This is one of their most original ideas yet. And deviously clever, if I might say so myself. If you want a good warrior against evil, you need one who understands what she's chasing. You'll make an excellent angel, Eve… though I can imagine your father won't be quite so pleased."
"I have something to ask of you," Trsiel said. "You said that you owed me—"
"A favor. And I do… though, I'll admit, it's one marker I never expected to be called in. What's it been now, three hundred years?"
"Er, yes, well, being out of the field, I haven't needed—"
"You haven't wanted to call it in. I'm a demon. A eudemon, perhaps, but still a demon, and such a contact—even professionally—is expressly forbidden." He tilted his head, lips pursing. "Well, perhaps not expressly, but certainly implicitly. Your new partner, however, sees things differently—more pragmatically—and has persuaded you to call in this marker."
Trsiel snuck a look at me. "Er, uh—"
"That's right," I said. "It was my idea, and if it blows up in our faces, I'm in deep shit with Trsiel, so I'm really hoping you can help us. What we need is…" I glanced at Trsiel, lobbing the ball to him.
"To know who the demon at Glamis Castle is," Trsiel said.
I blinked back my surprise. Seems Trsiel hadn't been sitting on his hands waiting for something to happen after all.
"Ah," Aratron said. "The monster of Glamis." He smiled. "You've heard the stories, I suppose. The deformed immortal child locked in a secret room? The earl and the Devil playing cards for eternity? The clansmen being walled up and left to starve? Humans can be amazingly inventive sometimes, can't they?
What they can't understand, they explain with stories, spiced up with bits of truth, like raisins in a sweet-cake. The real monster of Glamis, as you've discovered, wasn't that poor child, but a demon. Not trapped for eternity, but imprisoned for a few hundred years, just long enough to teach him a lesson. As for who it is…" He looked at me and smiled. "I'm sure Eve could make a few guesses."
"Demons who've been off the radar for a few hundred years?" I said. "Hmm. Amduscias, Focalor, Dantalian—" I stopped, my gut going cold.
Aratron didn't notice my reaction. "There are more than a few of them, aren't there? It's one of Baal's favorite punishments for underlords who incur his wrath—something, I'm afraid, that isn't very difficult to do."
"It's Dantalian, isn't it?"
He smiled. "Well done."
I struggled not to make the obvious connection, to think of anything but that, hurrying on with more questions. "What did Baal lock him up for? It has to do with that room, doesn't it? With walling in those men?"
Trsiel snorted. "I doubt that was his crime."
Aratron shook his head. "Your prejudices are showing, Trsiel. A cacodemon could indeed be punished for such a thing, though not for the reason you'd find the deed objectionable. Had Dantalian walled up those men against his lord's wishes, he would be punished for his insolence. That, however, was not his error." He looked at me, eyes twinkling. "I doubt it will help your cause, but do you want to hear the story?"
I nodded, brain still numb.
"Excellent. Curiosity for the sake of curiosity is the mark of a true student." He glanced at Trsiel, eyes still sparkling. "You can move closer, Trsiel. I know you want to hear this as much as she does."
Trsiel shrugged, but when Aratron looked away, he slid next to me.
"Now, one of the earls of Glamis was a half-demon. Baal's own child. As Eve knows, even the lord demons have little contact with their offspring. That doesn't keep them from watching from afar, as Balam does, but it is rare for any cacodemon to play a role in his child's life. Glamis, though, sought out that contact, and made a very persuasive argument for Baal to do otherwise, providing him with sacrifices and proving as dutiful a son as any father could want. Eventually, Baal took notice, and when Glamis had his father's attention, he asked for a boon. He would sacrifice a dozen men to Baal, not just killing them, but walling them up. As modes of death go, the only thing more terrible than being buried alive is being buried with others. The… animal instinct eventually asserts itself, providing a veritable feast of chaos."
