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“You’ve never used it on a soul to do anything you wanted?”
Paimon frowns. “I can be a bit of a monster sometimes, I know, but not that sort of monster.”
“I didn’t mean...”
“It’s okay. You don’t know if you don’t ask.” And heisa commander of several legions of Hell. They don’t exactly have a reputation for being nice and fuzzy, despite any kindness to those in their retinue. Even those people are all subordinates.
Lauren?iu is a subordinate, and sometimes he forgets. He’s not used to making clear distinctions between allies, courtiers, friends, and lovers.
We have known each other in death, and it’s as if I don’t know him at all.
What else could the Fall be called, but his death?
What strikes him is how devoid of life this district is once they really get deeper into it. A place can be rife with people and still be dead. Such as when he was in that misty forest, that morass of ashened feathers and blood. And screams. They’d all been dead until hate rejuvenated them.
Yes, there are people in the city, but that’s not what he means. No music, the only bursts of color are faded graffiti, which is inspired, but most of it has been painted over and replaced with propaganda and instructions on how to detect possible infections and who to call to neutralize the threat.
Not quite sure how to phrase these thoughts, he simply brushes his hair back and notes, “I’m unimpressed. We’ve found decidedly fewer orgies than I would like.”
Lauren?iu’s frown deepens. “The world is dying.” How funny to think that compared to Earth, Hell is more alive. Thriving, in its own infernal way.
“More than enough reason to have a little fun. A little death, if you will.”
A huff, but not an unkind one. A hint of amusement. “Are you sure you’ll cure your boredom up here?”
“Oh, this is a breath of fresh air already. It’s different. That’s enough.”
Besides, he almost sees this world as a challenge. He knows how to party, so he can make things interesting. Fun, murder, it’s all the same.
Lauren?iu says, “I see. But what about Pandæmonium? You told me once that it reminds you of Heaven.”
“Trust me, darling. That’s not a good thing.” Paimon clicks his tongue and then goes silent for a while as rain thrums on the car and the windshield wipers squeak. Lauren?iu waits; he always waits. “Get kicked in the teeth by God and those you thought you loved, and now there’s reminders everywhere. Ghosts. False ghosts.”
Lauren?iu’s brows draw together, but he doesn’t respond. Yet, there’s a commiseration between them. A warmth.
At least, he hopes there is. That it’s not only in his head. He knows that fallen angels can be very desperate for warmth, a tenth of what they once had.
No. Enough of that. Back to the matters at hand. Their very direct, concrete mission.
They are being followed, and Paimon plans.
They must be careful because even if reanimated persons is a formal name for the cannibalistic undead, well, vampires are reanimated, aren’t they? Not quite as detectable because they have control over themselves, but still.
As they pull on to a near-deserted street, his jaw clenches.
Lauren?iu has been brought back again and again, and he’ll be double-damned before he lets anything happen to his vampire. He would happily set a thousand men ablaze to protect Lauren?iu. The thought comes so easily.
As far as he knows, Lauren?iu can handle himself. He just had the inconvenience of being exes with a vampire who enjoyed fondling—fraternizing, no, he likes the first one better—with the enemy.
As if on cue, a red light flashes behind them, and there’s the bleat of a military vehicle. The person inside, seemingly alone, motions for them to pull over.
Lauren?iu leans his head back and sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, stuffing.”
Paimon blinks. “‘Stuffing’? Come again, who’s getting stuffed?”
“Nevermind.”
Reluctantly, Lauren?iu obeys the cop-soldier-whatever, and they’re greeted by an incredibly tall and muscular man, with about the same disposition and attire as the woman who greeted them at the gate, complete with the same weapon.
