Lilith Saintcrow - The Devil's Right Hand

“She is in rebellion against the Prince.” He stroked my hair back from my face with his free hand as he steadied me. “She cannot possibly win. She is young, untutored, without any support.”

“She can win if you help her. You’re…” I couldn’t believe I’d said it, and apparently neither could he, because he set his jaw and looked away, a muscle flicking in his golden cheek.

“No.” Just the one word, forced out through his lips.

“Japhrimel—” Please , I was going to say. I was going to plead, to beg if that was what it came to. Stopped myself just in time. Begging was weakness.

But she was part Doreen’s, and part mine. It was worth any weakness if I could make him understand, if I could convince him to help me.

He spoke before I could muster the words. “You are asking me to endanger your life by throwing our lot in with a rebellion that cannot possibly succeed. No, Dante. I will not risk you.”

“Lucifer wants to kill me anyway.” It came out flat and hopeless. What chance did I have if the Devil wanted me dead?

“I can keep him from you.” His hand bit into my shoulder. “Have I not kept him from you so far?”

Oh, Japh. Please. Help me out here. “She only asked, Japh. She didn’t demand, she didn’t manipulate, she didn’t force me. She just asked .”

That seemed to make him even angrier. “She’s demon. We lie , my curious one, in case you have not noticed.”

Oh, I’ve noticed. Believe me, I’ve learned to count on it. “What about you?”

He leaned in close, his nose an inch from mine, his eyes filling mine with green light just like the wristcuff’s warnings. “Judge me by what I do . Have I not always kept faith with you?”

I opened my mouth to retort, but he had a point. All I had to do was breathe to understand the answer to that particular question. “The Master Nichtvren didn’t say it was Lucifer, he just said it was a demon with a green gem. You did lie.”

No response. My heart pounded. You gave up Hell for me, and you just lied to the Prince of Hell for me. “You lied to protect me from the Devil. And you pushed him back. You stopped him.”

He shrugged, his coat moving with a whispering sound. Said nothing.

I reached up with my right hand, touched his face. He sighed, closing his eyes. Leaned into my fingers.

If he hadn’t been so close, I might have missed the single tear that slipped out beneath his eyelashes and tracked down his cheek in the semi-darkness.

Oh, Japhrimel. My heart broke. I could actually feel it cracking apart inside my chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” I managed around the lump in my throat. “You tried to force me to do what you wanted. You hurt me.”

His face contorted, I smoothed his mouth down with my fingers. “I am sorry,” he breathed. He leaned into me, his lips brushing my skin so that he kissed my hand with each word. “I should not have, I know I should not have. I was afraid. Afraid of harm coming to you.”

Oh, gods. I traced the arch of his cheekbone, the shape of his bottom lip. Felt the tension go out of him as I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his smooth golden cheek. “You idiot,” I whispered, my lips moving against his skin. “I love you. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

He flinched as if I’d hit him. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “Do not doubt me.”

He’d actually apologized. Miracles were coming thick and fast now.

I couldn’t say anything through the lump of stone in my throat, but I nodded. I swallowed a few times.

When his eyes opened again, I almost gasped, their green was so intense. He studied me up-close, then pressed a gentle kiss onto my cheek. He made sure I was steady, sitting up, then straightened, backed up two steps and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’re hungry. We land in half an hour.”

Understanding flashed between us. His eyes said, Forgive me. Teach me how to do this. You are the only one who can.

My heart leapt. Just trust me, and don’t doubt me either. That’s all I need from you.

There was more, but I couldn’t have put it into words. The softening in his mouth told me he understood. For that one split second, at least, we were in total accord. My heart twisted inside my chest and my cheeks flamed with heat. Whatever Fallen meant, Japhrimel loved me. Hadn’t he proved it enough?

The rest could wait.

I nodded. Held up my sword. “Thank you. For the scabbard.” My voice was back to rough honey, granular gold. Soothing.

That wasn’t all I was thanking him for, and he knew it.

His slight smile rewarded me. Then he reached up, opening a small metal stasis cabinet. He lifted down something small but apparently heavy and took a single step forward, handing it to me. I had to lay my sword down to accept it. “A small gift, for my beloved.”

He vanished through the opening in the partition as I brought my hands down and found them full of a familiar weight. The statue was obsidian, glowing mellowly through a scrim of heat-scarring from the fire that had destroyed our house. The woman sat, calmly, Her lion’s head set firmly atop Her body, the sun-disc of hammered gold still shining. I could see traceries of Power, careful repair work, where Japhrimel had spent his demon-given Power to repair the weakening of molecular bonds the reaction fire had caused. It would have taken unimaginable Power and precision to repair the glassy obsidian, phenomenal strength and inhuman concentration.

All for me. A gift, the only gift he knew how to give. His strength.

Tears spilled hot down my cheeks.

I’d misjudged him, after all. Just as badly as he’d misjudged me.

Lucas slumped in a chair, blood stiffening on his torn shirt. Sunlight poured in the hover windows, I pushed my hair back behind my ear and examined him.

He looked like hell, gaunt and sticky with dry blood everywhere except for a swipe on his cheek where he’d probably rubbed the dirt-dusted gummy crust off. He still held one 60-watt plasgun, tilted up with the smooth black plasteel barrel resting against his cheek. His legs stretched out, clad in shredded jeans. At least his boots had survived. His yellow eyes, half-lidded, were distant and full of some emotion I didn’t want to examine too closely.

Something like banked rage, and satisfaction.

I lowered myself down in the chair opposite him. This hover was good-sized but narrow, with round porthole windows like a military transport. I didn’t know where Lucas had gotten it, but it was taking us away from DMZ Sarajevo, and that was all I cared about.

McKinley and Japhrimel held a low conference up front in the pilot booth—this hover was old enough to have an actual booth instead of a cockpit—and Vann leaned against the booth’s entrance, his arms folded. He scowled at Lucas. There were horrible livid bruises on his brown face, and one eye was bandaged.

I didn’t want to know.

There was no smell of human in the hover. The agents smelled like dried cinnamon, with the faintest tang of demon, Lucas smelled like a stasis cabinet and blood dried to flakes, and Japhrimel and I… well, we smelled like demon. Of course.

I leaned back in the chair, my katana across my knees.

I have a blade that bit the Devil. Gods grant me strength enough to use it next time. I’m sure there’s going to be a next time.

“Who are you really working for, Lucas?” My voice was quiet, stroking the air, calming.

He shrugged, his eyelids dropping another millimeter. “You,” he said, in his painful whisper. “Since New Prague. I was contracted by Ol’ Blue Eyes to meet you, look after you. Figured the two jobs tallied.”