right—yet as much as he loved Zarel, the truth remained. He had not married the archdemon for love. He had married her because Laila had left him, and Zarel was the only other female so mighty and feared.
Beelzebub looked at Bat El, who stood before him, cheeks still flushed, hair draggled, ash and blood still on her pale skin. As beautiful as Zarel was, with her flames and glinting scales, Beelzebub missed the touch of soft skin on a woman.
"Look, Bat El," he said. "I know you hate me now. I can understand that. But I'm not such a bad guy. I did what I had to do here, what Michael would have done in my place."
Finally she met his eyes, her own eyes flashing. "Your brother would never slaughter hundreds of angels like you did today."
Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. "My brother is in Caesarea now, where he slaughtered hundreds of demons. The line between angels and demons is a fine one, Bat El. We're more alike than you've been raised to believe. After a while longer on Earth, you'll learn the truth."
"Which is?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "That not all demons are pure evil like Heaven teaches, and that angels at war can lie, cheat, and murder with the best of them."
"You're a liar," she said, but her voice had lost some of its conviction, and she looked away from him. It always takes the young angels on Earth some time to learn how shielded they've been in Heaven, Beelzebub thought.
"Sit down, please," he said, and she sat on the simple wooden chair by the bed. "How is your dad?" he asked. "We used to be good friends, you know—back in the old days when I still lived in Heaven. We would go hunting together." A sadness filled Beelzebub, a feeling like a shudder in a drafty room, not wholly unpleasant but enough to run a chill through the bones. "Those were the days, back before the rebellion." He nodded slowly with a soft laugh. "Gabriel and I, and my brothers, and Lucifer. Oh man, the trouble we'd get into, sneaking down to Earth to run around, drink cheap beer and hunt in the forests. We'd piss off God more than a few times. We were young, wild hell-raisers then. Your dad too."
Bat El nodded. "He told me," she said softly.
Beelzebub flicked a piece of ash off his breastplate. "Does Gabriel miss those days? How times change, don't they? Look at us now. Michael and I—the angelic brothers—him the lord of Heaven's hosts, I the lord of Hell. Your dad—once our partner in crime, now the mature, responsible governor of Heaven. You young angels, born after the rebellion, raised on tales of terror from Hell.... Sometimes I think the younger generation misses the whole point. Other than Laila, that is." He grinned. "Your half-sister hates both Heaven and Hell, and thinks we're both bastards. She's the only one among us with any damn sense."
Bat El stared at him, and her eyes suddenly blazed with such anger, they could almost pass for demon eyes. "I know how you've hurt her. If you hurt her again, Beelzebub, I will kill you."
Beelzebub stood up, walked toward her, and leaned down to kiss Bat El's lips. She turned her head aside, and his kiss landed on her cheek. He caressed her hair with ashy fingers. "I would never harm a fly," he whispered, his lips on her ear, letting just the hint of menace fill his voice. "So be a good girl, Bat El. Don't turn me into a liar."
With that, he spun around and left Bat El in the chamber, locking the door behind him.
* * * * *
As she lay underground, boulders and dirt pressing against her, strange dreams filled Laila, memories more vivid than she had ever known them, crushing her like the rocks. She remembered another time, twenty years ago, when weight had crushed her, trapping her, the weight of grief and guilt.
She was Laila, the only seven-year-old girl nobody ever called cute, the only seven-year-old girl adults feared and shrunk away from. She rarely cried during those years, but the grief always filled her, and her body always found ways into corners where it could curl up,
Beelzebub looked at Bat El, who stood before him, cheeks still flushed, hair draggled, ash and blood still on her pale skin. As beautiful as Zarel was, with her flames and glinting scales, Beelzebub missed the touch of soft skin on a woman.
"Look, Bat El," he said. "I know you hate me now. I can understand that. But I'm not such a bad guy. I did what I had to do here, what Michael would have done in my place."
Finally she met his eyes, her own eyes flashing. "Your brother would never slaughter hundreds of angels like you did today."
Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. "My brother is in Caesarea now, where he slaughtered hundreds of demons. The line between angels and demons is a fine one, Bat El. We're more alike than you've been raised to believe. After a while longer on Earth, you'll learn the truth."
"Which is?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "That not all demons are pure evil like Heaven teaches, and that angels at war can lie, cheat, and murder with the best of them."
"You're a liar," she said, but her voice had lost some of its conviction, and she looked away from him. It always takes the young angels on Earth some time to learn how shielded they've been in Heaven, Beelzebub thought.
"Sit down, please," he said, and she sat on the simple wooden chair by the bed. "How is your dad?" he asked. "We used to be good friends, you know—back in the old days when I still lived in Heaven. We would go hunting together." A sadness filled Beelzebub, a feeling like a shudder in a drafty room, not wholly unpleasant but enough to run a chill through the bones. "Those were the days, back before the rebellion." He nodded slowly with a soft laugh. "Gabriel and I, and my brothers, and Lucifer. Oh man, the trouble we'd get into, sneaking down to Earth to run around, drink cheap beer and hunt in the forests. We'd piss off God more than a few times. We were young, wild hell-raisers then. Your dad too."
Bat El nodded. "He told me," she said softly.
Beelzebub flicked a piece of ash off his breastplate. "Does Gabriel miss those days? How times change, don't they? Look at us now. Michael and I—the angelic brothers—him the lord of Heaven's hosts, I the lord of Hell. Your dad—once our partner in crime, now the mature, responsible governor of Heaven. You young angels, born after the rebellion, raised on tales of terror from Hell.... Sometimes I think the younger generation misses the whole point. Other than Laila, that is." He grinned. "Your half-sister hates both Heaven and Hell, and thinks we're both bastards. She's the only one among us with any damn sense."
Bat El stared at him, and her eyes suddenly blazed with such anger, they could almost pass for demon eyes. "I know how you've hurt her. If you hurt her again, Beelzebub, I will kill you."
Beelzebub stood up, walked toward her, and leaned down to kiss Bat El's lips. She turned her head aside, and his kiss landed on her cheek. He caressed her hair with ashy fingers. "I would never harm a fly," he whispered, his lips on her ear, letting just the hint of menace fill his voice. "So be a good girl, Bat El. Don't turn me into a liar."
With that, he spun around and left Bat El in the chamber, locking the door behind him.
* * * * *
As she lay underground, boulders and dirt pressing against her, strange dreams filled Laila, memories more vivid than she had ever known them, crushing her like the rocks. She remembered another time, twenty years ago, when weight had crushed her, trapping her, the weight of grief and guilt.
She was Laila, the only seven-year-old girl nobody ever called cute, the only seven-year-old girl adults feared and shrunk away from. She rarely cried during those years, but the grief always filled her, and her body always found ways into corners where it could curl up,
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