The Sinner by Emma Scott

Twenty-Three

I soar over the city in my anicorpus, riding the currents of air. The rain beats at my wings—little weighted drops that want to drive me to the ground. The wind gusts against my face, pushing me back toward Lucy.

But there’s nowhere else for me to go. Part of me wondered if I’d wake up to a new life that morning, having been granted a second chance. But everything is the same. All doors closed to me except for one. So I left Lucy with what she asked for—the rest of our too-brief story.

And then I kissed her goodbye.

The old anger and rage flares in me as I land and transform into my demonic form in front of Idle Hands.

What did you expect? Redemption? You haven’t repented. You awakened Lucy’s memory, fucked her, and then left her.

I snarl at the unwanted thoughts and shove past the bouncer at the door.

The tavern is nearly empty, only a half-dozen tables occupied. Eistibus is in his usual spot behind the bar. Ba-Maguje, too, is at his post—head resting in a pool of his own fluids, inciting his humans to drink.

But I stop short to see Ambri sitting at the bar looking unlike himself—unsettled and anxious, like a peacock with its feathers ruffled. Indeed, his wings look less than immaculate. A faint smile—an echo of his usual cockiness—touches his lips.

“Casziel, my lord and friend, please join me.”

“I have business here,” I warn in a low voice. “You know this.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he says, flapping a hand. “But the old man isn’t going anywhere. We have time for a drink.”

“Ambri…”

“Oh, come now. Let’s have a round of shots and pretend like we can get drunk.” Ambri signals to Eistibus. “Tequila, my good man. Ha! Has the absurdity occurred to anyone else that our meeting place on This Side is a pub? How peculiar. All of us sitting around, drinking like twits, nary a buzz to be had.”

Ambri’s stalling, but I give in and sit with him. He can’t deter me, but his efforts touch me more than I want to admit.

I’m going to miss him too.

The djinn lines up two shot glasses and pours the liquor.

“Tip one for yourself, Eistibus,” Ambri says, and we all lift our glasses. “To Lord Casziel. A bloody fine fellow.”

“Hear, hear,” Eistibus says, and the finality of it all weighs heavier.

We start to drink, but Ambri’s jovial demeanor slips off like a mask, his voice taking a sharp edge. He holds his glass higher, his black eyes hard on mine.

“To my friend Casziel, the fool. A right bloody wanker.” Ambri crosses himself with is free hand. “Forgive the daft arsehole, for he knows not what he does.”

Eistibus holds his glass uncertainly. “Cheers?”

“That’s enough, Ambri,” I say and down my shot. The tequila burns a path down my gullet, and then it’s gone.

Ambri tosses back his drink then slams the glass on the bar hard enough to shatter it. “Apologies, Eistibus,” he mutters. “Hand slipped.”

“Not at all, mate,” the djinn says, still glancing between us. But he knows better than to meddle in the affairs of archdukes. When he goes to retrieve something to clean up the mess, I shoot Ambri a glance.

“Something on your mind?”

“Bloody hell, man, it’s Oblivion,” he hisses, leaning into me. “There’s no coming back. Perhaps you haven’t considered that as deeply as you ought. Because I have.”

“I’ve considered everything.”

“And your wife? I can’t imagine she’s happy with your choice.”

“Her safety is all that matters. If it were just my soul on the line, I might seek a different way out. But now she’s in real danger.” I lower my voice. “Ashtaroth wants her, Ambri. If I’m gone, there is no reason for her to be tempted by his promises. And she’ll be free to love again.”

Ambri snorts as Eistibus returns with fresh glasses of tequila.

“You don’t approve?” I ask and nod gratefully at the djinn.

“I prefer making decisions about the course of my own existence,” Ambri says with a smirk. “But that’s just me.”

I scoff. “And risk condemning her to Ashtaroth’s depravities? Because she would, for my sake.”

“A horrid fate to be sure, and I’m no expert on such matters, but…” Ambri turns his black eyes on me. “It’s her life.”

He’s right. The Li’ili I know would despise being a pawn in this game, even if every action I take is to protect her. Always to protect her.

I shake my head. “She cannot fathom what lies on the Other Side, and apparently, you’ve spent too much time on This Side and have forgotten. No, I won’t risk it. I won’t condemn her to endless suffering. Not when I can save her.”

“While you simply cease to be.”

“Is there an alternative?”

“Maybe there is,” Ambri says with scorn. “I’m just spit balling—as the American humans like to say—but did you ever consider that the forgiveness you need is your own?”

For a long moment, I stare, then toss back the second shot of tequila. “Ah, Ambri. You’ve always been able to make me laugh.” I lay my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. I will miss you.”

His lip curls, and he turns his gaze away, muttering to himself.

I wave Eistibus over and clasp his wrist. The djinn’s expression is confused and fearful at the same time.

“My lord?”

“Farewell, Eistibus. And my apologies. It’s about to get messy in here.”

“Farewell?” Eistibus shoots a glance at Ambri who hunches deeper over his drink, still pouting.

I turn away from them both before I let Ambri talk me out of it. I stride for the door to the back room, unsheathing the greatsword from between my wings as I go. Other demons watch me with wide eyes, apprehension thickening the room like smoke. I struggle for a moment to get my blood up, to let the anger and rage for Ashtaroth flow through me. For the demon whose lies had coaxed me into this existence. But the truth is ruthless—he had no power except that which I gave him.

And I gave him everything.

The rage comes then, not at Ashtaroth but at myself. That I’ve been so foolish and weak. I failed to protect my wife and then had taken the worst possible way out of the agony, ruining us forever.

With a snarl I kick the door in, shattering it to kindling. I step inside. The darkness is lifted by the light spilling in from the common room, adding to the flame of the single black candle on its little table. The stench is ungodly.

Ashtaroth lounges on the settee, waiting for me, petting the head of the giant serpent coiled on the floor. The white python emanates its own ghostly light, its black eyes watching me.

“Such a dramatic entrance,” Ashtaroth drawls lazily and then makes a face. “You stink of her.” He cocks his head, smirking. “Been saying your goodbyes?”

My fist tightens on my sword handle.

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he continues. “It will be easy to draw sweet Lucy into our realm. I’m quite willing to share her—”

I let out an inhuman bellow and swing the sword into the small antique table. The table’s legs are reduced to splinters and the black candle hits the ground and rolls toward me, its flame never wavering.

“You will never touch her,” I snarl between gritted teeth. “You’ll have nothing to do with her.”

Ashtaroth looks amused, my threats utterly inconsequential to him. “It’s not entirely up to you now, is it? That irks you the most—that you’ve completely lost control. Your lies and selfishness have brought her to the brink. It’ll be nothing for me to tip her over—”

Another roar and I bring my sword up with both hands and bring it back down in an executioner’s blow; I cleave the serpent’s head off. The body writhes and then goes still before evaporating into a pungent stink, back to the Other Side.

Ashtaroth’s wings bring him to his feet, wrath snarling his features. “You go too far, boy,” he seethes, drawing his own sword.

I ready myself for battle—my final battle—and suddenly Ambri is there, tugging at my shoulder.

“My esteemed lord, Ashtaroth,” he says with a short bow. “Forgive Casziel, he’s in a bad mood. Long night, no sleep. You know how it is. I know how it is with those humans.” He chuckles. “They really can wear you out in the bedroom. But he’s better now, aren’t you, Cas?”

I swivel my head to him incredulously. He shoots me an urgent look, then quickly turns his smile back to Ashtaroth.

“Awfully sorry about your snake, my lord, but Cas didn’t mean it. Slip of the hand. Dreadful shame too, but it’s back on the Other Side alive and well…er, perhaps not well. Or alive either, come to think of it.”

“Silence,” Ashtaroth roars. “Begone, Ambri.” He turns his gaze to me. “It’s obvious Casziel has unfinished business with me.”

Unfinished business…

A twinge of a memory—a whiff of pipe smoke infiltrates the red haze of my rage but is quickly swallowed in the room’s overpowering vapors.

Ambri bows again. “Yes, yes of course. I merely thought—”

I whirl on him. “Go,” I snarl and give him a shove, afraid his wagging tongue will bring him Ashtaroth’s wrath. He falls to his hands and knees, though I hadn’t been as rough as that.

“My apologies,” he says, rising and brushing off his red coat and backing to the shattered door. “I see where I’m not welcome. Shame to miss the fun, though. I’m sure it’ll be a lovely sword fight. Not my favorite kind of sword fight, mind you…” He gives a little salute. “Right, then. Cheers.”

When he’s gone, I whirl back on Ashtaroth.

“Your time is running out,” the demon lord muses, hefting his blade. “You will return to the Other Side and resume your servitude. If it means doing so on the end of my sword, so be it.”

“So be it,” I say and lunge fast, a beat of my wings giving me speed. My sword cleaves the air and he parries the blow, then pushes me back.

“Fool,” he says, shocked—and pleased—by my ferocity. “But if this folly rekindles the fire you’ve been missing, then I welcome it.”

And I’ll welcome the look on his face when he delivers the killing blow and realizes it isn’t sending me to the Other Side but to Oblivion.

With a cry, I attack again and the battle rages. He meets my every sword thrust, our blades singing. The curtains, the furniture…everything in the room suffers our fury and yet I come on.

We spill out into the tavern’s common room, and I let my rage flow through me as it had the night I lost my wife. It gives me strength. Power. Ashtaroth begins to falter under my onslaught, but his arrogant smirk never wavers. For that I’m glad. He has no idea he’s about to grant me my freedom.

Pain squeezes my heart with an iron fist.

Forgive me, my love. It’s the only way.

“Yes, this is what I’ve been waiting for,” Ashtaroth cries at our crossed swords. “My beautiful prince. The King of the South. Perhaps you’ll reclaim your rightful place on your throne of blood…”

I shove him back while the other demons cower behind furniture or flee altogether. Eistibus watches from behind the bar as the storm of our battle destroys his pub.

Ashtaroth wards off another bone rattling blow from my sword, but I reverse my blade and it finally bites flesh on his shoulder. His eyes flare with rage. He thrusts a hand to me, speaks a word, and I’m blown backward to slam heavily against the wall.

“This is foolishness, Casziel,” he says. “Come. Let us—”

Ashtaroth stops, listening. Then a smile I’ll see forever in my nightmares blooms over his face. Delight lights up his eyes, and he turns to me with an expression of purest triumph.

“Ah. There she is,” he says, like a little sigh.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. “What…?”

But he’s already dissipating before my eyes.

“No!” I scream and thrust my arms forward. “Ma ki-ta!”

The gale-force wind wrecks what’s left of the tavern that is now empty, the stragglers feeling my fury.

I stare at the silent ruins.

“Lucy…”