Walking In the Midst of Fire

None who still served Master Simeon cared to put their own endurance to the test.

They had survived too much to suffer such an ignoble fate.

Beleeze and the other demons were of the species Demonicus, extracted from the darkness of oblivion by the necromancer, Ignatius Hallow, and enslaved by the power of Solomon’s ring. They had served the death wizard for nearly a century before their servitude was transferred to the one named Simeon.

But with that transference, came the birth of purpose.

The demon descended the refuse-strewn steps into the main lobby of the deserted office building to find the others waiting.

“Well, at least you’re still alive,” Dorian commented.

Is that actually concern in her dark eyes? Beleeze wondered.

“How did he take it?” Robert asked.

Beleeze had yet to get used to the demon’s change of names. Robert had been Tjernobog until a few centuries ago, when he’d changed it to fit in better with the world in which they existed.

Even though they were all working toward seeing it brought to ruin.

“Surprisingly well,” Beleeze replied.

“What did he say?” Dorian asked. She was standing closer to him now, the long, spidery fingers of her hand briefly touching the sleeve of his jacket.

Is it possible that after all this time, she finally realizes the feelings I have for her?

Beleeze slowly shook his head. “He didn’t say anything.”

Robert hissed. “That’s not good,” he said, and started to pace. “Not good at all. That’s the same thing that happened with Teloch.”

“Teloch?” Beleeze questioned. There had been so many more of them—so many that had met their fates at Simeon’s angry hand.

“Teloch!” Robert boomed, barely stopping his pacing. “Short, circular mouth ringed with teeth? Loved intestines and bone marrow?”

Beleeze remembered his demon brother, and his fate.

“He didn’t say anything to Teloch, either, and then . . .”

Images flashed through Beleeze’s memory—images of Teloch’s body suddenly swelling as if filling with fluid, and then exploding like a human child’s toy balloon.

Beleeze did not recall the news Teloch had brought their master that had garnered such a horrendous response, but as he dwelled upon it, he realized that it could have been nearly anything: an ingredient for a particularly complex spell not being readily available, the premature return of the Morningstar to his hellish domain, the weather in whatever corner of the world they were currently residing being too hot, too cold, or too rainy, or the ancient god Dagon meeting with an untimely demise.

It could have been something, or really nothing at all. It didn’t matter.

They were all quiet then, in the lobby of the dead building, thinking of Teloch and so many others that had met an ugly fate after delivering messages that did not please their master.

Would they be next?

It is possible, Beleeze thought worriedly. But what choice did they have? Master Simeon had the ring, and as long as he did, there was nothing else but for them to obey.

But despite the looming potential for death, the demons and their eternal master shared a common goal. They both hated God, the Almighty, the Lord of Lords, or whatever else the Being that brought forth the light to a universe that was once only darkness, was called.

Those who served and worshipped this heartless Deity believed that there was nothing until He made His illuminating declaration, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

There were things living in the sea of black that existed before He even became aware of His own existence; worlds and peoples thriving in the cold, endless void.

And so many met their end with the birth of this creation, their lives burned away with the utterance of four little words:

Let there be light.

Beleeze recalled the blinding flash and the screams of millions as they died, but somehow he, and others of his kind, had managed to survive, finding pools of shadow deep enough to hide themselves.

For where there is light, there must also be shadow.

Beleeze left his thoughts at the sound of footsteps.

“This is it,” Robert muttered with a gulp.

But Beleeze did not believe it. Though their master might sometimes be unpredictable in his wrath, Beleeze felt somewhere deep down in the pocket of shadow that churned at the center of his being that their mutual hate would spare him.

The others he did not know about, but as for himself, he somehow knew that his and Master Simeon’s fates were intertwined. They would witness the fall of Heaven together, and watch the world and the universe around it, gradually return to darkness.

Simeon stepped into the lobby, his dark eyes fixed upon the demons.

The others averted their gazes, but Beleeze was not afraid.

“Take me to the island,” their master commanded, pulling at the white cuffs of his shirt just below the sleeves of his dark sports jacket. “Let’s see what I can do to keep this from turning into one huge cluster- fuck.”

Overjoyed that they were not murdered, Beleeze watched as Dorian and Robert conjured a circle of transport upon the lobby floor that would take them all to their destination.

And toward what Beleeze believed would eventually be his destiny.

* * *

Remy found his way back down to the first floor of the mansion alone, exiting from the secret door into Montagin’s path.

“Where have you been?” the angel demanded, eyeing him, and the door, as Remy closed it behind him with a click.

“Finding stuff out,” he said.

“Stuff?” Montagin asked. “What kind of stuff?”

The angel moved around Remy to examine the door. “Where does this go?” he asked. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Remy said. “Seems as though your boss might have been keeping some things pretty close to the vest.”

“Things?” Montagin questioned with a sneer.

“Looks like Aszrus was a little more infatuated with this world than he led you to believe.”

He could see that the assistant’s demeanor was changing, his ire on the rise. There was nothing somebody like Montagin hated more than to not be aware of the total picture.

“Explain, Seraphim,” Montagin demanded.

Remy looked him straight in the eyes with a stare that suggested he back off.

The angel’s demeanor softened.

“Did you find something that could explain who . . .”

“Maybe,” Remy said, starting back toward the study with Montagin eagerly walking beside him. “It seems that your boss liked to hit the town some nights, and he used a limousine service to get there.”

“Why would he do that?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” Remy said as they approached the study doors. Montagin used his key to open the door, and they were greeted by the sight of Malatesta kneeling beside the dead angel’s body, one of his hands buried deep within the open wound that had allowed the angel’s killer access to his heart.

The sorcerer looked up from his work.

“I’m not quite finished here, but—”

“I have to leave,” Remy interrupted. “Finish what you started and lend a hand if necessary.” He turned to Montagin again, and saw that spark of panic ready to ignite once more. “You just keep it together until I get back