Christina Henry: Black Howl

“What motivation would she have for murdering mortals and leaving them like this?” J.B. said.

“What motivation did she have for trying to have me raped and killed?” I said, and as soon as I said it I was sorry. It hung in the air between us like a living thing.

As if by speaking it aloud, my memories—the ones that I tried so hard to suppress over the last month—came rushing back.

The Maze—a swarm of demons, a giant spider, my demon half brother trying to destroy me utterly.

Nathaniel’s face possessed by rage, Nathaniel’s hands holding me down.

Gabriel turning away from me in disgust.

“It wasn’t real,” I muttered to myself. My face was covered in sweat, and a blast of cold January air made me shiver.

“Maddy…” J.B. said, and he lifted his hand toward me.

“No,” I said, and backed away, trying to get myself under control, trying to forget again. “I’m not doing this with you. You can’t be my friend when you feel like it and shout at me the rest of the time. Whatever your mother did, I had nothing to do with it, and I suffered far worse at her hand than you did. You were embarrassed by a love spell. She tried to break me, my heart, my mind, my body.”

“But she couldn’t,” J.B. said, and his eyes were hard to read.

“She couldn’t,” I agreed. “And I won’t let you or anyone else do it, either.”

Then I turned and flew away, and he didn’t try to follow me.

I came in the back door so I saw the mess in the kitchen first. Apparently Beezle and Samiel had made waffles, because the counter was covered in batter and the sink was full of dirty dishes. The score from a movie swelled in the living room and drifted down the hall to where I stood with my coat in one hand and my gloves in the other.

“Seriously?” I said, and then my voice got louder. I tossed my stuff on a chair and strode down the hall. “Seriously? Beezle, you are way too old for this shit.”

I stopped when I got to the living room. Samiel and Beezle were sitting on the couch. Both of them had tears running down their faces.

“Gods above and below. What happened?” I said, rushing to Beezle and picking him up. “Did somebody die?”

He pointed wordlessly at the screen. I glanced at it, then back at Beezle.

“E.T.?” I said.

Beezle sniffled, nodding. Samiel blew his nose with a tissue.

“You do know it’s make-believe, right?”

Beezle glared up at me. “If you don’t cry during E.T., you are a robot. No human could get through this movie without shedding a few tears.”

“Far be it from me to point out that neither of you are actually human,” I said. “When you’ve wiped your face you can clean up the mess in the kitchen. I’d like to have breakfast in a batter-free zone.”

Samiel looked at me and signed, He made me do it.

I signed back, You don’t have to listen to him.

He threatened to put Grape-Nuts in my bedsheets if I didn’t make waffles.

Just make sure he actually does the dishes instead of supervising, I replied. Grape-Nuts in your bed is a pretty diabolical punishment. Those little grainy things would probably get everywhere. How would you ever get them out completely?

“We saved some waffles for you. They’re in the fridge,” Beezle said.

I looked down at my nonexistent abs and sighed. “I can’t have waffles.”

Beezle smirked. “Because of your diet.”

“I am going to lose thirty pounds,” I said. “Stop trying to sabotage me by bringing doughnuts into the house.”

“No one is making you eat them.”

“No, but you are making me buy them,” I said. “You could be supportive, you know.”

Beezle made a little “pfft” noise.

“And what would you do if I stopped going to the pastry shop for you?” I said.

“You would deny an old gargoyle a few simple pleasures before I turn to stone?” he said, putting on his best I-am-so-adorable-you-can’t-resist-me face.

“You act like you’re going to turn tomorrow,” I said.

“Who knows?” Beezle shrugged. “It could happen very suddenly.”

“So could a heart attack from saturated fat overload,” I said, and went to the kitchen to make oatmeal. My virtuous breakfast didn’t taste nearly as good as Samiel’s waffles looked.

After the movie was over they came in the kitchen and Beezle started washing dishes with a lot of long-suffering sighing. I told them about what had happened with the ghost I’d found, and how J.B. thought it had something to do with the fallen.

“It probably does,” Gabriel said from the door.

I turned slowly, my heart beating faster, the way it always did when I heard his voice. He leaned in the doorjamb, hands in the pocket of his ever-present overcoat. His face was implacable as always.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” I said.

“You gave me permission to come and go as I pleased. I have come for Samiel’s morning lesson,” he said.

Gabriel was teaching Samiel to channel his powers in a more productive way. Samiel had been raised by a monstrous nephilim and a psychotic angel who’d drilled vengeance into him from the moment of his first breath, and thus mostly knew how to use his powers for destruction. I was very interested in keeping Samiel alive and under the radar of the Grigori, so Gabriel had undertaken the task of making Samiel a more productive member of supernatural society.

“Have your orders changed, mistress?”

“Don’t start with the ‘mistress’ crap,” I said angrily. “I’ve already gotten enough passive-aggressive BS from my other not-a-boyfriend this morning.”

Gabriel nodded stiffly. “As you wish.”

“And my name’s not Buttercup, either.”

I sighed. I didn’t know how much longer the two of us could go on this way. It seemed Gabriel resented me more because I refused to act like his owner. Since I’d already thrown down with J.B., I wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation with Gabriel, especially with Beezle and Samiel watching us like we were the best reality TV ever.

“Why do you think the ghosts have something to do with the fallen? Their own accords state that they aren’t supposed to harm mortals.”

“And you have witnessed for yourself just how well some of Lord Lucifer’s minions follow those accords,” Gabriel replied.

“Not very well at all,” I said, thinking of Focalor and his bid for power.

My darling great-grandfather had told me that Focalor would be punished for his actions at Amarantha’s court. I hadn’t heard what that punishment was, but I was certain it had been swift and severe. Lucifer had to make sure that his other courts understood that treason would not be tolerated.

Samiel rapped his knuckles on the counter so we would all look at him. But to murder mortals and leave their souls in such a state—that law is one that even the most rogue of Lucifer’s court would not break. Lucifer is not interested in the death of mortals.

“No,” Beezle agreed. “He wants to collect them.”

“Because every creature on his side increases his base of power,” I said. “All he’s really interested in is lording his strength over the other supernatural communities.”

“Which is why he is so interested in you, Madeline,” Gabriel said. “You have strength and power that you have not yet begun to imagine, and Lord Lucifer knows this. It is also why you have become such an interesting target for the other courts.”

“Yeah, moving on,” I said. I didn’t like to think too closely about my value to Lucifer and my consequent dead-or-alive value to his enemies. That way lay indigestion and sleepless nights. “Look, the last two times there were deaths outside of the natural order it was because of Lucifer’s sons, so I can see why you and J.B. would think it would have something to do with him again. But really—how many more sons could he have floating around?”