Three

  “Nicole!” I cried, my voice hoarse. “Help!”

  Nicole cut down her last opponent and turned towards me, surprise and anger on her face. “Silence, soul. Where did you hear that name? I am called Mastemat, the angel of malice and destruction.” She turned her attention back to the lead demon, who had stopped when I called out and was hovering a healthy distance away from her. “Surrender the soul to me and you may yet survive this day.”

  “Nicole!” I shouted again. “It’s me! Your brother! Don’t you recognize me?” I studied her again, certain I wasn’t mistaken. Except for a few shiny new accessories and a fancy change of clothes, she looked exactly like she had on the day she died fifteen years before. The same long, dark hair. The same face with just a hint of freckles dotting the cheeks. The same expressive brown eyes. It was her, I had no doubt.

  “Shut up, you!” The demon hissed, squeezing my shoulders so hard I thought the bones would crack. It shook me about so violently my head bounced back and forth and my teeth rattled. I wondered what would happen if I broke my neck. Could I die again? The shaking stopped and I remained quiet. My head was spinning so badly that I doubt I could have spoken at that moment anyway.

  Despite her cold demeanor a few moments before, Nicole paused and looked me over more carefully. Her eyes narrowed and then suddenly widened. Her entire bearing changed in an instant. She dropped her sword, which disappeared the moment it left her hand. She brought her hands up to her mouth and shook her head, flying back a few feet. “No,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear her. “You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here. This isn’t right.” She muttered a few more things that I couldn’t make out and then composed herself, suddenly the stern warrior angel again. She lifted her hand, the flaming sword appearing in it again, and pointed it at us. “Give him to me now!” she demanded. The demon cackled with glee, suddenly acting much braver than it had a few moments before.

  “You know this soul, don’t you, Mastemat? How delightfully tragic.” It cackled again, a sound so sickening it made my stomach churn. “If you want it so bad, come an’ get it.” In a flash, Nicole flew at us, sword pulled back and ready to strike. I closed my eyes and turned my head, ready for the blow that would destroy the demon, hoping it wouldn’t hit me too, but it never came. The demon continued its sickening laugh and I opened my eyes, only to see Nicole frozen a few feet in front of us, struggling against some unseen force that seemed to be holding her back. “You can’t cross the border, can’t you?” the demon sneered. “Fly on home, girly, an’ tell old Aamon that you let another one slip through your fingers.”

  Despair washed over me as I watched Nicole struggle against whatever it was that held her back. We must have crossed the border in the few moments Nicole had spent fighting the other demons, which explained my captor’s newfound courage. “Give him to me now, Hell-Spawn!” Nicole said through gritted teeth, her eyes ablaze with rage. The demon laughed and gave her the one-fingered salute before turning and flying towards the city, leaving her angry threats — and my hopes— behind us.

  Nothing of interest happened to me for some time after that. I dangled helplessly beneath the demon as it flew towards the city, which was still some distance off. So, instead of boring you with an account of how nothing happened, I’ll tell you about what was happening at that time, though I didn’t learn any of this until many, many, years later:

  Mastemat hovered at the edge of the border to Nergal’s land, watching as that infuriating little imp flew off with her master’s prize. No, not simply her master’s prize — her brother. The memories of her past life had grown fuzzy over the years, mostly because she refused to let herself think about them, but seeing him there, in the clutches of that beast, had brought them rushing back. She watched as the imp shrank to a small speck, fighting down memories of that cold night when their car crashed into a river, and everything she knew changed forever.

  She tried one more time to cross the forbidden border but it was like she hit a solid wall. No matter how hard she pushed, she could not pass that line her master had forbidden her from crossing. She shot one last, hateful glare at the now minuscule speck, then, coming to a decision, turned and flew full-speed back towards Aamon’s territory.

  She was much faster than the imps, and it wasn’t long before she reached Aamon’s castle. Mastemat had always thought Aamon’s territory resembled the Earth city of San Francisco. It was a coastal city with a large bay, built upon rolling hills and cliff-sides. Of course, Aamon had decided to place his castle on an island in the middle of the bay, much like Alcatraz island, where he could see everything, and everyone could see him. A place where no one could reach him unless he wanted them to — or, as was often the case, if they were taken there against their will, carried in Mastemat’s strong arms. It was not a place one approached lightly, and most would have been perfectly content to never draw near to at all. Mastemat flew directly toward the tallest tower without hesitation or apprehension. It was a journey she had made a thousand times before and would be making for the rest of eternity if Aamon had anything to say about it. Of that, Mastemat was certain. There would be plenty of time to consider that later, though. For now, she had other things to worry about.

  As she neared the tower, she beat her wings against the wind a few times, slowing her approach and setting down gently on the wide balcony built just for flyers such as herself, though she was one of the very few who ever used this particular one, set so close to Aamon’s personal chambers as it was. A few imps squawked as she strode towards the doors and scrambled to open them quickly. They barely managed the task in time and bowed low as she passed, hardly sparring them a glance, though she did note that these attendants were new ones and had nasty red welts on their backs where their wings had once been. She wondered what they had done to anger Aamon, and what had happened to the previous door attendants. She decided she didn’t care. They were only imps, after all.

  Normally she would turn left once inside the doors, to visit her chambers and refresh herself before reporting to Aamon. He liked her to always look her best for him. Today, however, she was on a mission, and if he didn’t like the way she looked, well that was just too damn bad. She turned right and headed straight for the audience chamber. An imp was waiting at the large double doors. About a head taller than most imps and far better dressed, this one was one of Aamon’s favorites, and as such, had been given the right to guard his chambers. She didn’t know its name, and wouldn’t care enough to remember it even if someone told her. It cackled as she approached. “Returning empty-handed are we, angel-face?”

  Mastemat was immediately on alert. She summoned her sword — though she didn’t ignite it — and set the tip below the imp’s chin, just barely touching the skin of its neck. The imp’s eyes widened, but to its credit, it didn’t shrink back or cower. “What do you know, imp? I often return without a prize.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The imp grinned, despite having a sword at its throat. “A little birdie said you shouldn’t have. It said that you let Nergal’s lackeys get the better of you.” The imp’s voice lowered and took on an icy tone. “It said you’re slipping.”

  So, Aamon’s spies had already reported to him about the lost soul. She wasn’t surprised. He had spies all across the Soul Divide, and a few of them were always watching her. Mastemat pressed her sword against the imp’s throat just a hair tighter and it took in a sharp breath, its own sword appearing in its hand. She grabbed it by the wrist and slammed it against the wall, causing the imp to drop the sword which vanished instantly. “You best hope I don’t slip, worthless scum.”

  “L-Lord Aamon wants to see you right away,” the imp stammered, eyes wide with real fear now. “Y-you better not keep him waiting.”

  Mastemat sighed and released her sword, though she held on tight to the imp’s wrist — which was most likely broken now — in case it decided to try stabbing her when her guard was down. It would be a death sentence for the imp, everyone knew she was Aamon’s most prized possession, but many imps would still take the chance if it meant being rid of her for good. There was no love lost between their kind and her. She waved her free hand at the doors, which swung open with a creak that echoed down the stone halls. She let go of the imp, shoving the creature to the side as she walked through the open doorway. It glared daggers at her as it rubbed its wrist, the hand hanging limp and useless. Inside the audience chamber were a dozen other demons, none of them imps. Some of them had horns and skin as red as blood, others seemed to be made of pure fire, while others looked almost human — except they were far too beautiful for any mortal, or had teeth just a bit too sharp. They all stood along the edges of the room, watching with narrow eyes as she entered. These were Aamon’s chancellors. His hands and eyes for the city and the lands beyond. A few even did his bidding on Earth, coming and going between the realms, tempting and twisting human minds to manipulate events in his favor. None of them trusted Mastemat, and she didn’t blame them. If not for the fact that Aamon had expressly forbidden her from harming them she would have done away with the lot ages ago.

  On the far side of the room on a raised platform, Aamon sat on a throne made of human bones. “Ah, there she is,” he said with a voice as smooth as silk. “My little angel of destruction.” He was wearing blue silk today, his wings with their raven-black feathers folded neatly behind him. On his shirt were gold-embroidered images of humans engaged in all manner of sinful acts. His black hair was cut short and perfectly styled. He was gorgeous, with the well-toned body of a Greek god. Mastemat crossed the room and stopped about five paces from him, standing tall and staring him in the eyes. She did this deliberately to spite him. Anyone approaching Aamon was usually required to stay at least ten paces from him and kneel. If he wanted her to do that then she would make him force her. He stared back at her, unblinking. “Tell me again, Malicious One, how much you hate me.”

  The words flowed unbidden from her mouth. Compelled by his command, she couldn’t have stopped them even if she wanted to. Which, in this case, she did not. “I hate you more than anyone could hate anything. With every fiber of my being, I hate you. I would cast you into the abyss myself and even then I would continue hating you for all eternity.”

  Aamon smiled. “Good.” He held out his pale hand, which was heavy with jewel-encrusted gold rings, his nails filed to sharp points. Mastemat found herself walking up to him, taking his hand, and kissing it, all without any input from her. He smiled again as she stepped back the proper distance. “Now, kneel and report. I have heard some things and would have your account before making a judgment.”

  She involuntarily knelt. “I was on patrol near Nergal’s territory this morning when a beacon appeared,” she began, looking at the floor. “I flew toward it with all haste but a patrol of Nergal’s imps had already captured the soul. They must have been right on top of it when it appeared. I gave chase, but their leader sacrificed the other members of the patrol to slow me down. I destroyed six of their number, but by the time I caught up to the leader it had already passed the border.”

  Aamon smiled and nodded. “You are a faithful servant, in body if not mind. I know you tried your best. We cannot win every soul, and you return successful more often than not, so I can forgive the occasional infraction. I am not entirely without mercy.” He leaned forward. “I am curious, however, as to why you tried so hard to cross Nergal’s border, despite my explicit instruction not to. I could feel your attempts to disobey me, Destroyer. I can always feel it. Remember that.”

  Mastemat took a deep breath. This was it. “I know the soul from my life on Earth. He is my brother.”

  A wicked smile appeared on Aamon’s lips and he leaned forward, a terrible hunger in his eyes. “The same brother you died to protect? The one you signed your salvation away for?”

  She forced down a surge of hatred and replied as calmly as she could. “The one you promised to let me watch over, yes.”

  “And I did. Are you implying that I broke the contract?”

  “You let me see him once, for five minutes while he slept in the hospital. I never even got to learn what condition he was in.”

  “The contract terms never specified how long or how often you got to watch over him. I held up my end of the bargain, now you must do the same.”

  “I am. I have no choice.”

  “No. You don’t.”

  “Because you took advantage of a young, grief-stricken girl,” Mastemat said, unable to contain her anger.

  Aamon waved a hand carelessly. “And look what I gained from it, my little Mastemat.”

  “Go to Hell.”

  “Oh, I will. And when I do, be assured you will be coming with me.”

  “I want to save my brother.”

  “And why should I let you? If I turn you loose in Nergal’s territory it would mean all-out war between us.”

  “He’s my brother. The entire reason I signed that contract was from a desire to protect him.”

  “Your petty concerns mean nothing to me.”

  “And the souls Nergal possesses? Do those mean nothing to you?”

  Aamon smiled. “You know me well, little Destroyer. You would sacrifice all those souls for the sake of one? Perhaps I underestimate you after all.” He considered for a few moments. “I will let you have your toy, but there will be conditions.”

  “And what are they?”

  “You will deliver Nergal’s souls to me.”

  “Except for my brother’s.”

  “Except for that one, yes — If you succeed in your true task, that is. The souls are just an excuse for the real reason I’m sending you. If you don’t accomplish that task, his soul will be mine forever.”

  “I would never allow that.”

  “If you fail, you won’t have a choice. You will have been cast into the abyss, paving the way to Hell before me.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Tell me what you would have me do, Master.” Aamon grinned and leaned back on his throne.

  A few minutes later Mastemat burst out of the audience chamber. The imp doorman stopped rubbing its broken wrist and glared at her. “Did Lord Aamon make you lick his boots this time, angel face?” It asked with a sneer. She reached out and grabbed it by the neck with one hand. It squawked and flailed about, gasping for air and clawing at her arm as she lifted it off the ground. She grabbed its head with her other hand and gave a single firm tug. The head came off with a satisfying pop. The body fell limp and she let it fall to the ground, already dissolving into dust. She tossed the head back into Aamon’s chamber and strode away down the hall. She heard several of the chancellors gasp, but Aamon only laughed. It may have been his favorite, but it was still only an imp, after all.

  End of Chapter Three