Lilith's Amulet Read online

  No big deal; it’ll grow back.

  And the tiny monsters came into view. Some had big ears, others had bumps on their skulls and spines where horns might grow. She watched them hunker like vicious old men and demonic monkeys, and it occurred to her:

  They’re only infants.

  Infants intent on eating her.

  Her fist crashed into a skull, cracking solid matter, and the creature fell dead.

  Snakes thrashed madly and dumped toxins into the fiends, but they died in droves—protecting her. Snip, snip.

  It looked like hell was bubbling up, spreading its chaos.

  She trumpeted a victorious laugh, but then one of the bastards got its paws on the amulet around her neck, and suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.

  The five-horned demon tore the artifact free.

  She scrambled up, screaming at the beast who’d snatched the most valuable trinket on the planet.

  The monkey-devil glared at her, holding the gossamer thread in its knobby hand. Its body heaved. Its eyes were three times as wide as they were tall, and red, and glowing as if lit by embers.

  Whorls of soot and smoke settled into Five-horn’s flesh as its body became truly corporal. Then something interesting happened.

  Five-horn’s heart began to beat. A pulse ticked wildly in his throat. He held the amulet and became…

  Alive.

  His beastly heart pulsed louder than hers, louder than Haniel’s.

  Was this the sacred-profane heart?

  Looking at him made her skin crawl with revulsion, and the sight of his fist tangled on her amulet left her seething with rage.

  Maybe she had it all wrong. Perhaps she didn’t need Haniel. What if she needed these tiny demonic things?

  Goddamn prophecies.

  Was Haniel’s heart the key? Or was he the key to the devils’ hearts?

  She should take them both.

  Five-horn’s clawed hand cupped the amulet against his concave chest. He fondled it with gnarled fingers.

  Oh, what if the nasty creature broke it? She shook off the doubt. It wasn’t possible for a minion the size of a gibbon to destroy an amulet so old and powerful. Certainly not by accident. Right?

  Her heart walloped her ribs. She crept closer, closing the distance. Other creatures stared at the amulet with rapt attention, ignoring the snakes, Lilith, and their unconscious master. The lull in bloodshed didn’t help sustain their manifestations, and the minions began to fade. Her heart stopped. What if he disappeared altogether and took her amulet with him?

  Lilith sprung and wrapped her hands around Five-horn’s throat.

  “Eek,” the beastie said.

  She held him upside down and shook the shit out of him. He didn’t let go. His horned face hissed and snarled, sputum flying through the air, but he didn’t relinquish her treasure.

  Her snakes leapt and stung, dangling from the imp like tinsel from a Christmas tree. Lilith brought her knee up and drove it into the monkey-creature’s skull, hard enough that she heard it crack, but she was so desperate to get the talisman back. The demon went limp. Ah, yes, now she could harvest his heart—

  He disintegrated like a spot of whimsy.

  Gone.

  The amulet clattered to the ground. She snatched it up and held it against her rampant heart.

  But the sacred-profane creature had vanished.

  “No,” she whined. “Come back!”

  Maybe they hadn’t left, but she certainly couldn’t see them, and she couldn’t imagine a way to harvest an invisible—maybe imaginary—heart.

  She glared at Haniel. This is all his fault. The inconvenient creature had fallen from the divine without the answers she needed. Would it kill him to provide a little clarity about the sacrifice she must make?

  She tied the torn string around her neck and slipped the disk back between her battered breasts.

  Serpents slithered, sliding against each other, scales whispering. Soothing, melodic. The bigger serpents began consuming the dead and smaller ones, scavenging to satisfy their appetites. Snip, snip, as they got carried away and some of the zesty white ones fought back.

  Blood leaked down her thigh, her dress was nothing but a scrap of tattered silk, and she needed to feed or hibernate.

  More than anything, she needed Haniel to wake up so she could figure out what part of the prophecy he’d fulfill.

  Haniel remained unconscious. He grew fretful, twitchy, and she worried about him having a seizure. Instead, he began to puke in his sleep. Puked so vehemently that he woke himself from his stupor, turned his head, and spewed a wreckage of human sick across the stone. Smelled like sour acid and the ocean.

  He moaned, a string of spit dangling from his slack lips. His head rocked on an unsupportive neck, and he promptly fell back into oblivion. Impatient, she nudged him with her toe.

  He didn't stir.

  She kicked him soundly.

  His body rocked like an infant in the cradle.

  She was blood-starved, so she panted and stretched her often-idle lungs.

  Her serpents, greatly reduced in number from fighting a pack of demons, snuggled around her, leeching heat from her and Haniel alike. If the devils were nearby, they remained unseen. Untouchable.

  Damned frustrating.

  Her head was heavy, her heart hollow, and her veins clenched with spasms in protest of their resounding emptiness. Hunger was nothing new for her. Being isolated in her desert cave, she rarely happened upon easy blood prey. Occasionally, a herdsman or militant would stumble too far from the familiar crags of their clan sites, but she’d long ago tempered herself to extreme hunger.

  Eating Haniel began to hold more and more appeal. But he was the key.

  Chapter 4

  Agony stabbed through Haniel’s skull, striking fragile places where trauma had softened the bone. His brain sloshed as if floating out to sea, but he was alive.

  None of that was good news.

  He peeled open an eyelid. Immediately, nausea overwhelmed him. He turned and vomited. The act of vomiting made him even sicker. He tried to brace himself up on his elbows but wobbled and collapsed. He anticipated hard stone against his fragile face. Instead, a soft leathery surface caught his cheek.

  He couldn’t remember where he was or how he got there, and only vaguely recalled dancing—no, fighting—with a woman, then nothing. He made a second effort to open his eyes. The place was cold and dark, with scarcely enough light for him to see.

  A small, knobby knee bobbed in front of his blurry vision. A minion had cradled Haniel’s sad skull on its crossed ankles. Sulfuric air from the imp’s homeland clung to its skin, reminiscent of matches Haniel struck to light prayer candles in the church. He breathed deep, and the creature’s perfume eased his tender stomach like a handful of soda crackers.

  This particular minion’s clawed hands rose through the air, fingers flickering in a surprisingly elegant gesture meaning fire. Haniel groaned. For years, he’d abstained from speaking because some unholy quality in his voice influenced humans. This imp must have seen Haniel gesture to his congregation and learned ASL.

  It signed fire again.

  Haniel checked his pockets and felt limp, cold ropes. Scales.

  There were snakes in his pockets.

  He yanked back, but the snakes didn’t bite. They were chilled, dead, which was both better and worse. He shivered.

  A different, three-horned minion picked up the snakes and tried to stuff them back inside his pocket. Haniel pushed the imp’s hands away and flung the bits of the carcass to emphasize he seriously didn’t want them. The minion slumped away, her head down, disheartened, but was distracted by the litter of broken tiles along the floor. She began to gather the pieces, and Haniel didn’t doubt they’d soon be in his pocket.

  His pockets still held the lighter that Maggie had given him, a fabric lily, a blue stone, shreds of hymnal paper, a bent nail, a penny, and an inch of pretty gossamer thread. He dumped out the items and selected the l
ighter. His thumb flicked over it, sparking a flame. The minion’s eyes lit up, and it clapped its hands.

  Great. Mission accomplished.

  Haniel tried to sink back into unconsciousness.

  Except he wasn’t alone.

  A woman asked, “Should I make a fire?”

  He flinched and scanned the room but didn’t see her. Maybe his broken brain had imagined the voice. Lifting his head brought more pain, and he retched and rolled over.

  The room was too dark, his eyes too muddled. All he could see was the red eyes of his kin. The longer he searched, the more he became aware of movement. Continual movement, like waves lapping on a beach.

  Something bumped against his hand, smooth and cold, like a seashell.

  It came back to him then: the serpents, the white-haired vampire, how she’d flung him against the wall and rattled his brain but mysteriously hadn’t killed him yet.

  He was too miserable to care. He flopped his hand in a ‘do-what-you-wish’ movement. Kill him, burn him, whatever. He’d never been so sick. He’d been mutilated and scarred and tortured and burned, but sick? Never!

  It was decidedly the worst.

  His head roared with pain from every sound and he couldn’t think straight. Silence was golden, Haniel thought, and couldn’t remember where he’d heard the phrase. Did Mephistopheles say it? Or Mammon? Maybe it was one of Elohim’s maxims, but He hadn’t spoken much after the Exodus of Devils, even less after the business with His son.

  Not that Haniel could hear Him anyway. All was quiet on the heavenly front since he’d blasphemed and fell. Haniel sighed, his head eaten up with pain, his heart weary.

  He’d been joyous once. God’s joy, that’s what his name meant. Not anymore. He hadn’t felt an ounce of joy when he’d strapped on the armor, as all of God’s soldiers had, and bloodied heaven’s battleground. Nothing but crimson as far as the eye could see.

  He’d always thought killing was worse than dying oneself. Tonight, he changed his mind. Being mortal made the pain so much more personal.

  A persistent whispering sound garnered his attention.

  He picked up his head and peered around. Hundreds of snakes rubbed their scales together as they nested. Their scales murmured through the stale, dark air. One wriggled across his ankles, and a minion bumped it away. The creatures tested each other, squabbling over turf.

  One of the minions scooped up his vomit and flung it, splattering one of Lilith’s snakes in the head. Haniel’s horde chittered with laughter. They pranced about, mocking the serpent.

  The crypt door was wide open. An odd procession of snakes dragged sticks inside and dropped them beside the ragged vampire, who stacked them into a pyramid.

  The pint-sized devils didn’t offer to help, even though the fire was for his sake. Outside, the temperature dropped below freezing, and his human body shook. He touched the back of his head. It squished under his fingertips, jabbing him with another wave of pain and sickness. The bone was soft as a newborn infant’s, freshly squeezed into the big bad world, half-formed, continental plates floating around.

  He groaned. Everything was wrong: the sickness, injury, snakes and demons and vampires—

  He closed his eyes and wished to die.

  If he died, what then? Hell didn’t seem to want him there. Definitely wouldn’t flit to heaven. Maybe he’d be snuffed out like he’d never existed.

  Fuck it. He didn’t care. He had nothing left to live for.

  When he met Maggie, his spirit had swelled with a solidarity he hadn’t felt for ten thousand years. With a glance, she’d understood him. Loved him. Her edifying smile, compassion, unflinching eyes—he’d never seen anything so wondrous.

  Then she disappeared, taking all hope and joy with her.

  And he finally didn’t give a shit. Didn’t care if he did the Lord’s work. Couldn’t bother being angry with God’s plan. Fury and blasphemy had cost too much and gained him nothing.

  “Kill me,” he whined.

  The vampire, Lilith, answered, “This is not the time for grand sacrifices.”

  Her voice was like waves lapping against pebbles on the shoreline. Her hair rolled with a mysterious current. Was he dreaming? A red snake poked its head from her curls and stared at him. Dozens of other serpents rolled through her mane. He shuddered but didn’t say anything.

  Why did he find the serpents more disturbing than his hellions?

  Lilith picked up the lighter. One of the demon spawn lurched forward to reclaim it, but the vamp didn’t notice. She couldn’t see the legion.

  Maggie had seen them from the beginning.

  The comparison filled him with fresh grief.

  He grumbled, “Why did you follow me?”

  “You are the key,” Lilith intoned.

  Her insistent metaphor irritated him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She nodded, but his declaration obviously hadn’t swayed her. She fiddled with the lighter, brow scrunched as she concentrated. When she finally made a flame, a smile lit her face.

  Minions crept cautiously around her. The boldest of them, the one with five underdeveloped bumps on his head, reached out its spindly hand to steal the fire from Lilith. Not the lighter, just the flame. He scrunched his eyes and cupped his palm. A spark caught in his hand and flickered to life. The vampire jumped. To her, it must have looked like the flame floated into thin air.

  The fire winked out. The minion clapped his hands in delight and lunged for the lighter. As he lurched through the veil, his feet tangled on serpents. He fell and disappeared under a mass of rowdy of serpents.

  “Hey,” Haniel yelled, bracing himself up. “Get off him!”

  But the snakes didn’t answer to a devil; they obeyed the leech who crouched, observing the squirming mass.

  Help him, Haniel urged his legion.

  They stopped hooting and leapt into the fray, grabbing serpents by handfuls and tossing them away. Snakes flew through the air in bunches, but some of the longer ones had a stranglehold on the imp.

  “Bring me Five-horn,” Lilith told her snakes.

  Haniel cursed his weak head and shouted, “Keep your beasts away from him.”

  The captured minion frothed at the mouth and thrashed, biting a great black snake. Serpent blood hit the air, swathing both creatures. And the minion’s leathery skin grew opaque, his eyes burned hotter, and his limbs swelled.

  Lilith leaned forward on her hands and knees, eyes rapt with wonder as her face came precariously close to the minion scuffle.

  “Ah, there you are, Five-horn,” she whispered.

  An agile red snake launched itself into Five-horn’s face, snapping its viper teeth directly above his flat eye. The imp screeched, and the sound rippled through the air like the chorus of a thousand tortured insects. Its brow instantly swelled with venom and pus.

  The vampire laughed and covered her ears.

  More and more minions joined the rumble, but Lilith had eyes only for the materializing Five-horn. She “tssst-tssted” at the snakes, and they disengaged, dripping off the minion. The little devil scraped at its swollen, discolored face. Globs of yellow pus escaped the bite wound.

  Lilith crawled forward, approaching the enraged, pained demon. Five-horn hopped and hissed and rubbed his face. Blood and snake guts dripped off his chin and gleamed on his hands. His bare, leathery skin was colored like a stout beer.

  The vampire reached out, slowly stretching a finger toward him. When Five-horn realized that Lilith had singled him out, he went still. His eyes skittered over her body as he assessed her. Slowly, he extended a claw, pointed at her finger, and inched closer. Lilith’s smile grew.

  Five-horn and Lilith bumped fingertips, claw to claw.

  Haniel swelled with pride as if he was a parent watching his child taking its first steps.

  Lilith grinned at the imp and sing-songed, “I see you.”

  Five-horn roared. Haniel flinched. Lilith fell back on her rump. The devilspawn went wild.
Five-horn spun about and kicked at serpents until he ran out of steam. He dulled, faded, and slunk behind a mossy shroud.

  The vampire watched until she could no longer see the minion.

  Haniel said, “What do you want with my legion?”

  She evaluated him. “Are they always with you?”

  “Always,” he lied, for their safety and his.

  She reassembled the firewood and sought the lighter, trying ineffectively to set wet sticks aflame. Smoke filled the small room, choking him. He wanted the heat, but she was more likely to asphyxiate him.

  He snorted. “Let me do it.”

  “If you weren’t a frail human, we wouldn’t need a fire.”

  He held out his hand. Under the watchful eyes of their creature armies, she came close enough to drop the lighter in his palm. He inched toward the makeshift fireplace, fighting nausea. His head swam and he almost puked in his mouth, but he remained upright.

  Haniel looked at the pile of wet sticks. “We need kindling. Something to start the fire with that burns long enough for the heat to dry the wood.”

  She looked all about, then reached down to pick up the limp carcass of a snake.

  No.” He rubbed his temples. “Leaves, moss, or small dry twigs, or—”

  She dropped the dead snake, gripped the bodice of her gown, and tore it down the center. He averted his eyes, frazzled even after it registered that she wore a chemise underneath. Or a slip. Or whatever a woman’s dress-like undergarments were called.

  He’d never seen Maggie in a dress. Never would. He’d never see her naked, either. He shook his head. Once he recovered her body, he’d find something pretty for her funeral. Humans dressed their corpses in all manner of finery before sending them off to the great, recycled-carbon wasteland.

  Lilith’s blood-crusted, smoke-soaked dress smacked him in the face.

  “There,” she said. “Build your damned fire.”

  He avoided looking at her, even though she was as decent as any modern woman was expected to be. Her bosoms were covered, and her loins as well. He’d seen primitive man dressed in far less, however, the member between his thighs had never been so fickle before. Even with his considerable head injury—or perhaps because of it—he felt a warmth stirring that had nothing to do with flame.