“I appreciate your prompt response to my request.”

I winced at the cool sarcasm in Remiel’s tone. Yeah, it had only been a few days, but for an Ancient like Remiel who was used to being immediately obeyed, that was a few days too many.

“Been a bit busy the other side of the gates lately, but I’m happy to adjust my schedule to accommodate you, Remiel.” There. Flattering, but not making it seem as though I felt the need to drop everything and rush to his side.

The Ancient lowered his massive, red-skinned body into a chair barely sized for the purpose and blew a puff of smoke out of his bovine nostrils. “I can imagine you are busy. I was approached last night by an Ancient claiming to be Samael, who delivered a quite intriguing proposal.”

Fuck. Was Remiel going over to the dark side as well? If I lost him, I pretty much lost the war. I tried to remain calm and shrugged as if I really didn’t care.

“Yes, evidently he’s been making the rounds. Interesting how someone claiming to be the former Iblis needs to campaign for support.”

Remiel smirked. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Campaigning for support? I don’t flatter myself that the imp who holds the Iblis sword, is here for anything other than what I may be able to do for her.” He shifted in the tiny chair, which squawked alarmingly. “And I can do something for you, if you agree to return something I want.”

I felt sick. Give up Lux, and Remiel would support me. Hel would be mine. Countless angel, demon, and human lives would be saved. Just one little angel. It’s not like Gregory and I couldn’t make one of our own. It’s what a demon would do, but I wasn’t really a demon anymore.

“So tell me about Samael’s proposal,” I urged. “Tell me what he wants you to do, and what he is planning.”

Tell me what’s at stake, so I know how backed into a corner I am when you ask for Lux back.

“Upon his signal, he wants us to go through an assigned gateway into the human world with our strongest demons, then kill the angels protecting the gates. After that, we are to lead our respective households through and join his as an army. It will be just as it was before—us against the angels. Only this time, we’ll win.”

Just what Caramort had said. I hesitated, wondering how I could prevent this war, how I could stop the whole thing before it started. If only I could just fucking kill Samael….

“But I’m not thrilled at the prospect of another war, this time for revenge and the pleasure of holding the human world.” He reached up and rubbed a long, glistening horn thoughtfully. “There was a time when revenge weighed heavily upon my mind, but even then all I really wanted was Aaru. Foremost, I wished to return to the bosom of my homeland, and retire from a corporeal form for the rest of all eternity. If I needed to fight to achieve that, I was willing to fight. I’m not so sure I’m willing to fight for a world of humans.”

“But Samael…” My voice was husky, and I cleared my throat to try for a more authoritative tone. “Do you truly believe this is Samael, or some imposter?”

He shrugged. “It truly doesn’t matter what I believe. If this is Samael, then he clearly isn’t the Iblis he once was. Other Ancients believe it is he. Other Ancients will follow him and join his army.”

“But you?” I held my breath.

“As I said, I have no interest in ruling the human world. And my thirst for revenge has lessened with the possession of Aaru, which remains surprisingly vacant of angels.” He shot me a perceptive, narrowed glance.

“So you do not plan to join Samael?”

“No, I would rather live here and in Aaru. Although, there are a few things that might cause me to change my mind.”

“Get to the point, Remiel,” I snapped, anxious and desperate to just have this all out in the open.

“I want the young Angel of Order I created with Bencul. I left the child with Tasma, and he said you now have it. I was quite angry with the Ancient, but I understand that he has accepted you as his Iblis, and could not disobey an order from you.”

He couldn’t? That was news to me.

“He would have been dead had I not taken him,” I told the Ancient. “Tasma was to kill him.”

“But he did not do that. The angel is alive and he is mine. I would be most grateful to have him returned to me. I would ensure that no other Ancients followed Samael in this insane campaign of his. I would ensure they all declared you as the Iblis, and backed you on anything you wished to do—including taking action against this usurper.”

Usurper. What a fucking weird word.

“All Ancients? Because some of them might give you a big old fuck-you. Doriel for one.”

Remiel wrinkled his snout. “Doriel is different. The others would do as I say.”

He had that much power in Hel. I was so fucked, but there was only one choice here. Unless I could somehow find a weak spot in this Ancient’s tough hide.

“Why did you give the order for Tasma to kill the baby angel?” I asked the one thing that bothered me the most about Remiel. Abandoning Bencul? Yeah, well he’d been a total asshole of an angel, so that wasn’t unexpected. But to order the execution of a newly born innocent?

Remiel tilted his head and regarded me in surprise at the question. “Why, as a safeguard, of course. If I were killed in Aaru, I would have assumed that Bencul would have died with me. An infant Angel of Order in Hel without any powerful parental protection would have been enslaved and mercilessly tortured. I could never condemn my offspring to that. Better that he would die outright and by a swift and sympathetic hand.”

My breath left me as I tried to remember my conversation with Tasma about the infant angel. Was Remiel lying? I’d always assumed he’d wanted Lux dead as some sort of horrible mean-hearted punishment to Bencul, or because he regretted creating an Angel of Order.

“You’d wanted to kill the angel the moment you realized he was an Angel of Order,” I told Remiel. “You told Tasma to kill it the moment you took Aaru, to safeguard the infant as leverage against any betrayal by Bencul. You weren’t trying to keep the infant safe for your return, or if you failed, then deliver a mercy killing. You just wanted him dead. And now, suddenly you want me to hand him over to you? It’s not happening. Not now. Not ever.”

Remiel stiffened. “Tasma was mistaken. He must have misunderstood.”

“Liar.” Yeah, that’s right. I’d just called probably the most powerful Ancient in Hel a liar.

“I’ll admit I was horribly disappointed at creating an Angel of Order. I’d hoped Bencul would forget about the angel and we could try again after we regained Aaru. Demons often kill newly formed young if they are not what is desired. That is not uncommon.”

I suddenly thought of Ahriman killing the one offspring we’d created together because I’d not given him the devouring trait he wanted, and felt sick. It was a common practice. And it was absolutely unacceptable.

“Then why not just kill him outright? That’s what demons do. Why stick him with Tasma with orders to kill him later?”

Suddenly the Ancient before me seemed smaller, older, and weaker. “Bencul. He was thrilled to see the angel was like him. He adored our creation. I couldn’t kill it right in front of him. He never would have forgiven me for that. I thought with the excitement of taking Aaru, of regaining his rightful place there, he’d forget about the angel. I could claim it was killed in our absence, and we could try again.”

There was a truth to his words. But beyond that, I saw a horrible sorrow there at the loss of Bencul. He’d loved that angel. I knew he’d loved that angel. And when he’d tossed Bencul aside, I’d been just as shocked as Bencul had been.

This Ancient before me had once been an Angel of Chaos. He’d been in charge of punishments, of rehabilitation. To do that, he must have been closer to Order than the usual Angel of Chaos. And beyond that, there was something in there that I’d seen before. I’d seen it in Doriel’s eyes when she talked about Samael, in Dar’s face when he thought of Asta, in Ahia when her hand brushed Raphael’s. I’d seen it in myself.

The capacity for a unselfish love.

“You cannot have the angel back,” I told him. “Never. He’s mine now, and I will never return him to you.”

“Then I’ll join Samael along with the rest of Hel, and you’ll be defeated. And killed. And then I will have the child anyway. Save yourself and your beloved’s life and give him to me. I will have him in the end regardless.”

I took a breath and went all-in, like a true Iblis. “If you don’t support me and Samael wins, what do you think will happen? You’ll rule over a barren world. How long do you think Lux—your Angel of Order offspring—will live if Samael gets his way? That horrible empty feeling you have now is nothing compared to what your life will be in Samael’s future. Aaru is no longer your home. There will no longer be any foe to fight, no one to hate or blame for what happened to you—and no one to love. Lux will die at some demon’s hand no matter what Samael promises, and all that will be left for you is an empty Hel, and an equally empty world that used to be a joyous playground. All that will be left is a hollow sort of hate, and the growing rot of your spirit-being.”

Remiel looked shaken at the prospect, so I twisted the knife further.

“Bencul loved you. When you abandoned him here, surrounded by nothing but his enemies, he was devastated. His only reason for living, the only goal he had, was to find your child and somehow manage to keep him safe in an unsafe world. He died searching for the only piece of you he had left. He died trying to find and hold the one remaining piece of your love.”

Okay, a lot of that was probably a gross exaggeration. Bencul was an asshole, and the only thing he ever cared about besides himself was the angel progeny he’d begot. I’m sure it was less about Remiel being the creator, and far more that Lux carried a part of Bencul.

Remiel’s head bent, and when he lifted it I could have sworn I saw a wetness in those huge brown eyes.

“I loved him. Millions of years trapped here in Hel, and he falls from the sky into my arms like a gift from the Creator. How could I have thrown that away? How could I have been so tempted by Aaru, by the lie that I could return to a life I’d lost so long ago, that I threw away the very thing in my life I loved the most. I want the angel infant back. I want to take him to Aaru with me, where at least a part of Bencul and I, at least our legacy, can live as angels are supposed to live.”

I wanted that option for Lux as well, but not with Remiel. At least not now when Lux was so young and would be unable to defend himself.

“I can’t give Lux back to you, but I promise in a few thousand years, when he’s more mature, I will introduce him to Aaru.” Here’s where I took a leap of faith and hoped that loving Bencul had shifted something inside this Ancient. He’d wanted a life like he had before the wars, like he’d had in Aaru. I couldn’t give that to him, but maybe I could hold out hope for something close to that.

So I told him about my view of the future. I showed him the possibility of peace between us and the angels, of a common ground in the human world where we could come together and love once more. I told him about the banishment of the angels, how they were now doomed to the same fate they’d once delivered upon their brethren. I told him about Dar and Asta, and Raphael and Ahia, and how the archangel Michael loved me and hung out at my house eating potato chips, drinking coffee, and watching human movies. I told him about Gabe and Nyalla, about Snip and Beatrix.

I told him about Lux. Lux and the Lows. Lux and the archangels. Lux and Nyalla. I told him the story of the hot dog, the chipper shredder, how the angel was so worried about someone hurting the horses. I told him about Karrae, and how she and Lux were the best of friends—the pair of them and Lux’s half-brother Nephilim, Austin. I showed him in words how wonderful the future could be.

And then I waited.

“These are things I need to think on, Iblis,” he mused. “I vow one thing, though. I will not join Samael. What he wants will only lead to the same painful outcomes. Neither I nor my household will join him. But at the same time, I don’t feel I can support you, or tell others to do so. It seems too farfetched, this dream of yours. As beautiful as it sounds, I fear it is only a dream.”

I left, realizing that even if Remiel held back, I’d still probably be facing Samael and every other Ancient in Hel. Even so, he’d not declared war on me, he’d not told me that if I refused to return Lux, he’d take him by force. I still might have to deal with that in the future, but for now, Remiel seemed willing to let things remain as they were. That was a victory. And something else was a victory as well.

Remiel had once again called me the Iblis.

I wandered through the streets of Dis to my house, thinking of what I should do next, and enjoying being home in Hel, that strange feeling returned, this time stronger. Hel was a part of me, as were every demon, here and the other side of the gates. I felt them. I sensed their emotions in a confused hurried rush of mixed-up sensations. I couldn’t control them. I didn’t own them. But somehow they were mine, like faint shadowy limbs. Their emotions, their state of being, whether they were following the rules I envisioned for Hel and my demons, or not.

If they were naughty or nice.

I stopped in the middle of the street and started to laugh. I did. In a strange way, I knew if demons were naughty or nice, as if I were some kind of fucking infernal Santa Claus. Satan. Santa. Huh. Go figure.

“Ho, ho, ho.” I shouted into the streets, laughing once more as demons turned to stare at the crazy, winged imp with the sword, at the Iblis. Then I went home—my other home.