Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #25: The Commencement]

Log Date: 10/14/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Skies over Morningstar

9:29pm SGT

“How are you feeling?”

I slant my mouth at the question. I’m currently standing in the middle of the passenger cabin of the House of Regret’s flyer while Danya spruces me up. We’re on the way to the capital of Sjelefengsel, and the venue where the opening ceremony for the Congress of Hell will be held. Because it’s a formal event, we’re dressed to the nines, and I don’t want to admit it, but… I’m nervous.

“I’m fine.” I mumble. I’m wearing one of my fancier dresses, not because I want to, but because Danya made it clear that it any attempt to wear anything less was not gonna fly for a highly public appearance like this. I would’ve much rather come in my duster and knee-high boots; instead, I’m in a sleek, dark red dress that has a small cutout on the back and a slit along the left side, up to the thigh. The only mercy I’ve been granted is that a Lord’s personal retinue usually shows up with their outfits coordinated, and both Danya and I are wearing the same type of cloak that Raikaron is wearing.

“You really must get better at lying.” Danya sighs, preening my styled hair into place as if she was about to shove me into a photoshoot. “It’s the one part of your skillset that hasn’t seen any improvement over the last year. Do you feel nauseous? Lightheaded?”

“I was fine until you asked me about it.” I mutter. “Starting to feel it now…”

“Well, you should get that under control.” Danya says in her typical no-nonsense tone, checking the corsage on my wrist. “If you trip or fall out on the red carpet, it’s going to be a public relations disaster. We’ll be the laughingstock of the Congress for the rest of this trip.”

“Oh yeah, thanks, that helps a ton.” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’ll just tell my nerves to bugger off for the night, how’s that?”

“Better. If you have enough courage to give me backsass, you’ve got enough courage to walk the red carpet.” she says, straightening up and starting to preen her own outfit. She’s gone with a dark blue dress that matches well with her black hair and tall, narrow figure. “And remember to smile. Cameras will be present, and even though we probably won’t make the news — that’s usually reserved for more flashy retinues, such as Lust and Pride — we still want to make a good showing on the off chance that one of the reporting outlets chooses to zero in on us.”

“Why are we doing a red carpet in the first place?” I ask, folding my arms and looking towards the window. The flyer we’re in is unlike anything I’ve ever seen on the mortal plane — from the outside, it looks like a disc with a ring around it. The disc is what carries people while the ring provides the propulsion, with force seeming to come off the underside of it. The ring itself tilts at different angles around the disc, attached to the disc by a pair of gliding rods that allow it to rotate freely around the disc, and therefore change the flyer’s direction. “This is a government function, right? Not a movie premiere. It’s not like there’s gonna be a bunch of celebrities parading around.”

“Hell’s resemblance to the cultures of the mortal plane is not exact.” Danya says as she checks herself in cabin’s wall mirror. “Government and celebrities are usually distinct on the mortal plane. In Sjelefengsel, they are often one and the same. Lords aren’t merely rulers; they’re manifestations of power and the consequences of certain sins. They embody concepts and ideas, and have certain aesthetics and lifestyles. Just like celebrities on the mortal plane, they represent everything that the less fortunate both resent and desire — and just like mortals, demons and the damned might hate it, but they can’t stop watching for a glimpse at everything they wish they had for themselves.”

I snort at that. “I never paid much attention to celebrities on the mortal plane.”

“Perhaps not.” Danya said, her dark blue gaze fixing on me in the mirror. “But I know you have envied our Lord for the privileges he enjoys, even as you crave those same privileges for yourself.”

I huff and look away. She’s right; I have hated Raikaron, and much of that hate goes back to everything he gets to enjoy that I do not. “I’m happy with what I’ve got, now that I’ve seen what the lower Circles have to deal with.”

Danya pauses, then looks around. “You almost fooled me for a moment there. If you keep up the improvement, you might be a passable liar by the end of the month.” Her brows shoot up when she notices my folded arms. “Are you trying to undo all of my work? I swear, you’re a walking testament to self-sabotage!”

“What?” I protest as she marches over to me, grabbing my arms and unfolding them.

“Your corsage! You’re going to flatten the flowers, folding your arms like some pouty schoolgirl! You do realize these are not cheap, right? It is not easy to get flowers in hell!”

“Well jeez, sue me for bending a few petals out of shape!”

“Petals won’t be the only thing bent out of shape if you keep undermining my work—”

The door to the cockpit opens, and our bickering breaks off as Raikaron steps back into the cabin. Instead of his usual vest, tie, and slacks, he’s wearing a fitted white shirt with diagonal folds that accentuates his slender form, and a smooth, narrow white dress that goes all the way down to his ivory dress shoes. With the fur-lined trim of his starry cloak, he looks like exotic, prettyboi royalty, and radiates raw charisma. Before now, I’d assumed that Raikaron always wore his best, what with dressing like he worked for a law firm. I didn’t think he could top his daily outfits.

I thought wrong.

“Danya. Jayta.” he says, reaching to brush an unruly lock of strawberry hair from his eyes. “You both look excellent. Do I measure up?”

I try to say something, but my voice cracks and all that comes out is a rusty squeak. As my face heats up, I cough and turn away, heading for my seat and the snacks there. “I need some water.” I rasp, grabbing my tumbler and fighting to get the cap open.

“Majestic, my Lord. You look majestic.” Danya says, crossing over to him and starting to preen him the same way she was preening me, making sure everything is lined up, no folds or wrinkles, and not a hair out of place. “Not that anyone will care, since the news crews never pay attention to the Lesser Lords. But you look absolutely regal.”

“True. But I think I prefer it that way.” he says, patiently letting Danya straighten everything to perfection. “The Greater Lords endure such scrutiny from the media. I can only imagine what the pressure’s like. What do you think, glasses or no glasses?”

“Hmm.” Danya says, stepping back and sizing him up. “Depends on how you want to come across. It’ll give you that unquestionable air of intelligence and sophistication. Leave them off, though, and you do come across a little more approachable. Charming. Sensuous.” After a moment, Danya turns to me. “What do you think, Jayta? Glasses or no glasses?”

I start coughing up some of the water I just inhaled. “Why are you— why would you— what does it matter!” I wheeze, averting my eyes to avoid looking directly at Raikaron. “Just— just— just do what you want to do! Why are you asking me!?”

Danya smirks, looking back to Raikaron. “That sounds like glasses off to me.”

Raikaron likewise seems amused. “Not quite the full-throated endorsement I was looking for, but I’ll take it.” he says, folding up his glasses and tucking them within his cloak. “How are the cloaks treating both of you? Fitting correctly, not too much left trailing?”

I twist in place a little, thankful to be given some other topic to focus on. Our cloaks all match; they’re not made of any kind of fabric I’ve ever seen before. They look like someone reached up with a pair of scissors, cut away a chunk of the night sky, stars and all, and fashioned it into a garment you could wear. It isn’t really the colors or the design that stand out, but just the fabric itself — it looks like you can reach into it as if it was a window into the cosmos. When you move, the stars within don’t move — they remain static, more stars coming into view as other stars slide out of the other side. Again, like the cloak’s fabric is literally a moving window into the void of space.

“It’s… well, I’m not gonna lie. It’s really cool.” I admit, turning back and forth a little to watch out stars slide in and out of the darkness on the cloak. “It’s a little long on the end; there’s like three or four inches on the ground. Is it supposed to be like that?”

“It is ceremonial vestiture.” Danya answers before Raikaron can. “The cloak is meant to drape and glide along the ground behind you. As you can see, ours are also tailored to have three or four inches of hem on the ground.”

“Won’t it get dirty, though…?” I ask, snagging a handful of the cloak and pulling it up so I can look at the hem. The fabric is sleek and silky beneath my fingers, almost frictionless.

“With enough time and exposure, yes. But ceremonial vestiture is only meant to be worn for short stretches.” Danya answers, reaching up to take the hood of her cloak and drape it over her head. “If you’re wearing it every day, it will start to show the wear and tear. If you’re only pulling it out for special occasions, such as this one, it will last much longer.”

“Will I get to keep it after this?” I ask tentatively, letting the fabric slip through my fingers again.

“You will, yes.” Raikaron says, likewise reaching up to pull his hood over his head as he moves towards the flyer’s door. Glancing out the windows, I can see that we’re descending past buildings in the city we’ve been flying over; this vessel, whatever it is, is such a smooth ride that I hadn’t even noticed we’d started to descend. “Danya can give you care and cleaning instructions for the material once we return home from the Congress. But for now, we’re about to arrive to the Morningstar Concert Hall. Go ahead and put your hood on; let it drape down over your face a little, like Danya and I have done. It’ll help give you a little bit of privacy from the press gang and the cameras lining the red carpet.”

I hurry to pull the cloak’s hood over my head, tugging at the rim until it hangs down over my face a little. “There’s going to be people taking pictures of us?” I ask, feeling a little anxious now.

“It’s a red carpet, Jayta. The whole point is that people are taking pictures.” Danya says, rolling her eyes. “At most we’ll probably get a single photo and a small blurb in the tabloids, maybe twenty seconds of airtime on the news networks. If it makes you feel better, Lesser Lords don’t get much attention. The Greater Lords are the main event, the ones that the press gang goes wild for.”

I take a deep breath, following Danya over to the door of the flyer. “Okay. Am I supposed to do anything particular, or do I just… walk behind you two?”

“You and I will be on either side of our Lord, walking slightly behind him.” Danya answers as the flyer starts to come in for landing outside a large building that kinda resembles a partially-covered stadium. “No matter what you see, or who calls out to you, keep your attention forward and fixed on the end of the carpet. Don’t look to any of the reporters or camera crew lining the carpet; if you make eye contact, it will encourage them to zero in on you. Keep up with your Lord, keep your eyes forward, ignore all distractions, and it should be over in sixty seconds.”

“Okay.” I say, nodding and taking another deep breath. Sixty seconds of walking down a red carpet. Literally just one minute. That’s simple enough, I can handle that.

Then the door to the flyer opens, and I see how long the red carpet is, and the gold-trimmed gauntlet of reporters, photographers, and camera crews lining it.

My heart jumps into my throat, which might explain why I feel like I can barely breathe. My instincts are yelling at me to stay in the flyer, but it’s too late; Raikaron is already starting down the ramp door, Danya moving to follow him, and I know I have to keep up with them or I’ll be left behind. I force my legs into motion with a certain sort of controlled panic, focusing on not tripping on the way down the ramp, and once I hit the red carpet, I focus on finding my stride and staying level with Danya. At first I try to keep an even, measured pace, but I’m quickly reminded that both Raikaron and Danya are taller than me, and have longer legs — leaving me to take a brisker pace in order to keep up with them.

And just the fact that I’m focusing on all this means that I’m not paying attention to anything else. But once I settle into my stride, the rest of it starts to seep in, and it becomes hard to ignore the soundless flash of cameras or the yammering of reporters lining the red carpet. It’s nothing too intense; the camera flashes are occasional and spaced out, and the background chatter of reporters sounds more like bored narration than breathless reporting. Like Danya said, we’re not the main event, and most of the press gang looks like they’re in standby mode in case something interesting happens with the Lesser Lords, like someone showing up in a wild outfit, or… something. And apparently we aren’t that something.

I start to relax a little. This wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.

Or at least so I thought. One of the tabloid reporters notices me looking around; we make eye contact, and I remember too late that Danya told me to keep my eyes forward. I quickly swing my gaze back to the end of the red carpet, but it’s too late; out of the corner of my eye, I can see him start to straighten up and elbow the photographer with him. When I pass by them, he reaches out over the rope — too fast for me to react — and hooks a couple of fingers in the rim of my hood, yanking it off.

“Hey!” I protest, the yank turning me to the side a little.

The reporter gives a whistle. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing. What’s your name?”

My temper was winding up a good retort, but I don’t even get the chance to open my mouth because a flash goes off in my face as his photographer takes a picture. It about damn near blinds me, and by the time I can see again, I’m getting hitting with a set of strobing flashes as he takes a series of fast exposures. I put an arm up on reflex, only to realize that the flashing is getting more intense, and the background chatter is starting to get more animated.

I realize, with horror, that people are actually starting to notice me.

“Huh. Looka that, she’s shy.” the reporter remarks. “I’d ask if the cat’s got your tongue, but everyone knows Blackthorn’s a wolf…”

“Jayta!” Danya’s hiss stabs into my ears, and I realize that I’ve stopped walking. Raikaron and Danya are several strides ahead of me, and everyone on both sides of the red carpet is noticing. Camera flashes are starting to come from the other side of the carpet now, while news crews are starting to turn their equipment in my direction. Realizing I need to start moving again, I turn and try to hurry to catch up with Raikaron and Danya, only for my foot to snag in my dress and nearly send me sprawling. I stagger a couple steps, trying to grab my hood and yank it back over my head as heat starts rising to my face. All the while, the cameras keep flashing, and the chatter in the background starts to get more animated, like the whole world’s here to watch me biff it on the red carpet. I can barely see where I’m going with all the flashing, and the anxiety is starting to tighten around my chest like a vice.

And then all of the sudden, most of the bursts of light disappear, and the chatter becomes muted.

I look up to see that Raikaron has moved back to meet me, taking the edge of his cloak with one hand and drawing it up and around me like a veil, shielding me from the eyes of the press gang. He keeps it arched up around me, safe within its shadow, as he speaks over the chaotic chatter. “Come along, little demon. We’re almost there.”

The anxiety releases its constricting grip on my chest, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I still can’t get my voice to work, so I give him a mute little nod, starting to walk as he does. I have to stay close to him to remain within the shadow of his cloak, and I try to do so without brushing up against him too often, but it’s hard not to. Rising above the chatter outside, I can hear shouted questions from the press gang.

“Regret! Who’s the girl?”

“Did you find a new toy?”

“Is she a contract demon? She doesn’t have yellow eyes!”

“How long have you had her?”

“Why are you hiding her? Does Lust know about this?”

“Why’d you bring her if you weren’t going to show her off?”

“Is she your Mistress Lady?”

The chatter abruptly fades and becomes much more muted as we finally step into the building proper. Raikaron waits until we’re well into the hall before he lowers his cloak, and I can see we’re in polished marble halls with classical architecture, following what appears to be a uniformed demon. On Raikaron’s other side, I can see Danya is fuming, even beneath her hood.

“So much for keeping a low profile. We’ve made the morning tabloids, and not in a good way.” she mutters. “They’re gonna eat us alive after that showing—”

“Danya.” Raikaron says softly. That’s all he needs to say; she gives one look at him, and immediately zips it. We continue down the hallways in silence, and I grab my hood and pull it deep over my head, wishing I could disappear into my starry cloak for the rest of forever.

“The opening ceremony for the Congress is not due to begins for another twenty minutes or so.” Raikaron says as we turn a corner, following the staff demon. “Normally we would spend this time visiting the balconies reserved for the other Lords, but I have a feeling other Lords will be coming to visit our balcony instead. Just letting both of you know, so you know what to expect.”

Danya looks at me. “That means we do not relax until the ceremony begins. We will need to remain professional and proper until any guests to the balcony have departed.”

I’m not happy to hear that, but I nod anyway. The thought that there will be other demon Lords visiting us forms a hard little pit of unease in my stomach, and my first instinct is that I just want to spend the next twenty minutes hiding behind Raikaron. He does so well in these high-society settings; nothing ever ruffles him, and he handles the social games of other Lords with an easy, graceful elegance that I envy. I never like admitting it, but I wish I was more like Raikaron sometimes. Wish I had his kind of calm, unshakeable confidence.

We reach an alcove in the wall, and the escorting demon invites us to step in, which we do. Once we’re all inside, portions of the floor start to rise beneath us, and I quickly see that each rising portion forms a step on a stairwell, each one lifting up one after another. They ascend around the center of the alcove, carrying us up like a spiraling escalator, slowly coming to a halt a few stories above where we started. Stepping out behind the escort, we’re led down the hall towards a door that’s opened for us, leading onto a spacious balcony overlooking the stadium itself.

“If you should need anything, there is a pad for requesting balcony service.” the escort demon says, motioning to the table near the balcony’s railing. “Catering and refreshments are provided upon request, although you will find that the cooler has been stocked with amenities. Is there anything I can get you before I go?”

“That will suffice, thank you.” Raikaron says, reaching up to pull his hood off. “You may leave the door open.”

The escort demon inclines his head, and steps away. Following Raikaron and Danya over to the balcony’s railing, I peer over to see that the stadium is packed — down below, it’s standing room only, every seat occupied and the white noise of thousands of voices drifting up from below.

“Quite a showing this year.” Danya murmurs. “I’ve never seen it this packed before.”

“It’s because Wicked Wolf is opening this ceremony.” Raikaron replies, his green eyes roving to the stage, which is still dark and empty, as far as I can tell.

“Wicked Wolf?” I ask, glancing at him. “Like the music label?”

Raikaron smiles at that. “In a sense. The music label on the mortal plane is named after her. She’s a goddess of music, one that likes to maintain a slightly rebellious reputation. You won’t find many hypernaturals that would acquiesce to putting on a performance in hell.”

“And demons are fans, just as much as mortals are.” Danya says. “This is quite a treat. I’m surprised the Ninth Circle opened up attendance to the public.”

“It was likely at Wolf’s request. She’s a Zealous hypernatural, and a performance-centric one at that.” Raikaron says. “She can reap massive quantities of power and energy from a live concert. The larger the audience, the better. It looks like she managed to squeeze a broadcast agreement out of the Ninth Circle as well; there are techs setting up camera positions across the stadium.”

I work my way through the implications of what’s being said here. “So… hell’s rulers asked another goddess to put on a concert for the Congress, and as payment, she gets to absorb a bunch of power from all the demons and the damned that are attending?”

“More or less. That’s the fundamentals of the exchange.” Raikaron says, turning to one of the chairs beside the balcony and sitting down in it. “There is more interplay between various systems of belief and afterlives than many mortals realize. On the mortal realm, various religions are often portrayed as being incompatible, or dogmatically opposed to each other. In reality, there is much more cooperation between various deities and hypernaturals as they manage their domains and spheres of influence. It is important to have a working relationship with other powers-that-be, even if you disagree with them — civility amongst higher powers goes a long way towards preventing conflicts.”

“And war between the gods, as you can imagine, makes mortal wars look positively charming in comparison.” Danya says, tucking her cloak as she sits down on the other side of Raikaron. “The Serenity War thirteen thousand years ago is a testament to that. The consequences of that conflict still echo through this galaxy, and many other galaxies beyond ours.”

“An astute observation, though the War with the Shyl-tari was not something that the Gathering could’ve talked their way out of.” Raikaron says. “You cannot reason with the Shyl-tari, and that War would’ve happened sooner or later. Still, it is evidence of why war between hypernaturals is something we try to avoid if at all possible. The cost in mortal lives can be horrifying, as it was during the Serenity War. Entire societies were destroyed; cultures wiped out, nations brought to the brink of collapse. The recovery and reconstruction, even with the help of the Gathering, took decades.”

“And here I was hoping you’d be discussing something a little less musty.” drawls a familiar voice. We all turn to see Lust leaning in the doorway, dressed in… something. The closest I can get to describing it is a fur pelt bikini with some sort of feather-laced neck ruff, trimmings in the form of beaded strings, and her head is enveloped in what looks like a taxidermy’d wolf head with open jaws. I’m not sure what to make of it, other than she’s going for the ‘sexy huntress’ look that gives her an excuse to show off some skin.

“Ah. Lust.” Raikaron says, swiveling his chair to face her as he takes in her attire. “I see we’re appropriating vashaya’rei culture today. Did it pay off on the red carpet?”

Lust rolls her eyes. “Please. You say that like the vashies care about people imitating their traditional attire. Besides, I wear it better than any of those half-human beach bimbos do.” She steps in, giving him a look as her retinue lingers just outside the door. “What, you aren’t going to stand for me?”

Raikaron shrugs. “No offense. I just sat down and got comfortable.”

“Let me make it an order, then: stand up. I want a better look at your outfit.” Lust says, folding her arms.

My breath catches in my throat; I glance to Raikaron to see how he’ll react to that, but he’s unfazed, rising to his feet. “It’s nothing exceptional, I assure you. I wouldn’t want to upstage the Eighth Circle, after all.”

“Spare me the faux modesty, you redheaded twat.” Lust says, sizing him up. “You left your glasses off; obviously you’re looking for more attention than usual, especially with how tightly that shirt is fitted.”

“Is that so?” Raikaron says, his eyes flicking aside to Danya, who’s stood back up as well. Both of them look faintly amused for a moment.

“Yes, it is.” Lust says, bringing a finger up to trace from the collar of Raikaron’s shirt down his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, it does wonders for you. Although you’re rather audacious to be wearing white in hell.”

“It’s just a color.” Raikaron says, reaching up to take Lust’s finger and gingerly remove it from his chest. “It’d be a shame to let superstition curb your wardrobe.”

“Colors carry meaning. You know that.” Lust says, taking her finger back as her crimson eyes stray to me. “Is that why your pet’s dressed in the color of sin?”

I shrink into my cloak, taking a half step closer to Raikaron and slightly behind him. Months earlier I’d have been revved up and ready to defy her; now, having seen the eldritch monster that my Lord really was, I had a healthy amount of caution for other Lords, especially those whose rank exceeded Raikaron’s.

“My avenger made her own decision about what to wear to this event. Outside of our cloaks, we did not coordinate a theme; I find that my subordinates tend to thrive when I give them freedom to make their own decisions on trivial matters.” Raikaron says mildly.

“Is that so.” Lust says, tilting her head to one side as if her gaze was following me around Raikaron. “This shyness is new. Last time I saw her, she was much more feisty than this. Did you finally manage to break her in?”

“She has learned much over the past six months, and now has a greater appreciation for the nuances of Sjelefengsel.” Raikaron replies, clasping his hand at the wrist. “No ‘breaking in’ was required. I am not as hard on my acquisitions as you are; I would prefer for them to last as long as possible.”

This is said with a pointed look back towards the retinue waiting outside the door of the balcony, and on second glance, I realize that both the men and the women in the group are dressed as playbunnies. The symbolism isn’t lost on me — Lust is the only one in her group dressed as a predator. The rest of her staff are dressed as prey, making it clear who’s in charge and how she views her subordinates. While on the other hand, Danya and I get to enjoy cloaks cut from the same cloth that our Lord is wearing. It’s surprising how much clothing can convey about personal philosophy, and how obviously stark those differences are between Lust and Regret.

“I enjoy playing with my toys, and I have every right to do so.” Lust scoffs, as if the idea of treating your staff well was laughable. “It’s what they’re there for. Yes, I’m hard on my toys, but if they break, I can always get new ones. What’s the point of being a demon Lord if you don’t enjoy the privileges that come with it?”

Raikaron cocks an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Lust rolls her eyes. “Oh ha ha, very funny. Answering a rhetorical question with a rhetorical question.”

Raikaron shrugs. “The quality of the repartee scales to the quality of the argument which induced it.”

That earns a set of narrowed eyes out of Lust. “…you’re getting sassy with me.”

“Simply making an observation about the conversation’s dynamics.”

“It’s always more than just an observation with you, Regret.”

“Part, if you will.” The voice comes from the hall outside the balcony, and we look to see Lust’s retinue moving out of the way as Envy steps into view, dressed in a long, slinky black dress that compliments her dark hair. “My Lord. I passed the Lord of Lies outside of your balcony on the floor above. He would speak with you.”

“Would he now?” Lust says, hitching a hand on her hip. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting. I’ll be up shortly.” She looks back to Raikaron. “Don’t let your tongue get away from you, Raikaron. Just because I like a little spice in a Lesser Lord doesn’t mean the rest of the Eighth Circle will.”

She heads for the door with that, her retinue following her as she steps back out into the hall. Once they are gone, Raikaron inclines his head to Envy, who remains outside our balcony. “Envy.”

“Regret.” Envy replies, her eyes roaming to me. “I see you brought your pet project with you.”

A shiver goes down my back at Envy’s hollow green gaze, and I shrink behind Raikaron a little more. I still haven’t gotten over the fiasco at the House of Envy, and what it did to me.

“I figured it would be an educational experience for her.” Raikaron says, still at ease. “I would like for her to know how the upper levels of government in Sjelefengsel function, so that she may better understand what it is we do here, and why we do it.”

“A noble sentiment, but ultimately subjective, don’t you think?” Envy asks softly. “We all know what it is we do here. Why we do it, though… that varies from person to person.”

“True.” Raikaron concedes. “Then perhaps I will show her that as well.”

“She may would be better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss, after all. I would hate for you to burden the poor thing with the paralyzing gift of perspective.” Envy suggests.

“I trust she will be able to handle it.” Raikaron replies, then motions to the chairs within the balcony. “Would you like to stay, and sit a while?”

“I must decline. I would like to spend time with you at some point, however.” Envy says, turning to leave. “For now, I should be returning to my own balcony. Oh, and Lucifer wanted to talk to you at some point as well. I believe she wanted to discuss some of the recent sentences you’ve handed down.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.” Raikaron quips. “Until next we meet, Envy.”

She departs with that, and once she’s gone, Raikaron glances around at me. “You seem awfully timid.” he observes.

“I don’t like them.” I mutter. “Envy likes messing with people, and Lust is… handsy.”

“So you use our Lord as a human shield between you and them?” Danya asks drily.

“What? No, I…” I protest, quickly stepping away from Raikaron. “I wasn’t… doing that…”

“Well, you certainly weren’t standing behind him so you could enjoy the view.” Danya says heading to the door of the balcony and closing it. “The ceremony should be commencing soon, so I don’t imagine we’ll be having any more visitors.”

“We should be able to relax at this point, yes.” Raikaron says, taking his seat once more. “The opening act sets the tone for the rest of the evening, so I’m interested in seeing what Wicked Wolf’s got in store.”

I take a seat in one of the chairs, peering cautiously over the railing. I’m noticing that there are other balconies around the stadium, some at the same level as us, and larger ones on the level above. I’m guessing that each of the Lords of Sjelefengsel was assigned a balcony. Best seats in the house, complete with our own room service, stocked snacks, even our own bathroom so we don’t have to use the public ones on the lower levels.

Then the amplified plucking of guitar strings gets my attention. It’s a slow, lazy rhythm; I don’t know much about music, but it’s a series of seven notes, something that sounds like it could be the introduction to a song. Down below, the rumble of the crowd dips and almost goes silent as all eyes turn to the darkened stage. The seven notes sound again, sounding almost like an electric drawl, and then again faster, and faster once more. On the next repetition, it slows down dramatically, savoring every note until the very last.

It’s only when the last note starts to fade that a bolt of pink light lances down from the dark grey sky, slamming into the end of the stage with a deafening thunderclap. Standing up out of the resulting smoke is a woman with long, pink hair done up in two twintails that reach down to her ankles. As she throws her arms wide, amplifiers come off her shoulders and hips, hovering around her as her voice booms across the stadium. “MORNINGSTAR! SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF PERDITION! TELL ME, WHO’S READY TO PAAAAAAAHTAY?!”

The roar from the crowd below is deafening; they’re amped up and ready to go. The excitement coming off the crowd is infectious; I find myself bouncing in my seat a little, leaning forward as the stage lights up section by section, revealing the set and the rest of Wicked Wolf’s band. Turning around, she starts striding back down the walkway, pointing up to the edges of the stadium as she does so; big screens light up wherever she points, each one carrying a close-up feed of her, and you can tell she’s got a walk. Hips, entire body swaying to a rhythm, her twin ponytails gliding through the air behind her.

“We’re going to be seeing that on the hellnet for the next few weeks.” Danya mutters from the other side of Raikaron.

“It’s a very commanding stride.” Raikaron agrees, lacing his fingers together with faint amusement. “Wolf is a master performer. She knows how attractive confidence is.”

Danya raises an eyebrow, glancing aside at him. “Is it the confidence that’s attractive, or the posterior?”

Raikaron chuckles. “Anyone can perform in a plugsuit, Danya. But not everyone exudes the raw confidence needed to pull it off.”

Danya snorts a breath through her nose, but returns to watching the windup to the first number. Wolf has stopped in the middle of the stage’s walkway, her back to the crowd as her band starts to rev up, the drummer setting the beat while the guitarists strum out a few riffs on the seven-note progression that we heard earlier. As the stadium’s lights spiral down fix on Wolf, she twists around, purring out the first lines of her opener.

Go on, tell me it’s my fault

I know that’s what you want to hear

That I got myself in this mess

And I deserve to be here

She starts strutting down the walkway, singing down to the demons lining either side of the stage — up on the jumbo screens, you can see she’s smiling as she sings. It’s very clearly a genuine smile; she’s obviously enjoying herself, soaking in the adoration of the crowd, maybe even feeding off of it as the music starts to lean back into a faster tempo, with the guitars joining back in to join the bass. Wolf’s pace picks up as she growls out a rushed half-verse that rolls straight into the chorus.

No, I won’t say I’m sorry

Back off, this isn’t your show

I might be damned

But at least I’m free!

So run wild, free

Take your sins and follow me

Raise it high

And don’t be shy

We came here to burn

Now baby, it’s your turn

Don’t be a liar

I know you want to—

—run wild, free!

Take your sins and follow me

Touch the flame

And feel no shame

We came here to burn

Now it’s time for you to learn

We were damned from the start—

Can’t save a sinful heart!

“Goodness, she really knows how to belt it.” Danya murmurs as the crowd in the stadium jumps along to the pounding, catchy refrain. I’m leaning on the balcony’s railing now, energized by the unrepentant defiance in Wolf’s voice; it sounds like she’s raging against everything that’s ever tried to hold her down and control her. And I feel that. I empathize with it; she’s singing things I’ve always wanted to say but never had words for.

“Why is she glowing?” I mumble, my fingers tapping fidgetously against the balcony’s railing. Even from all the way up here, I can see a pink aura has started to coalesce around her.

“That’s the energy that you, and every person in this stadium, is feeding her.” Raikaron answers, his fingers still laced together. “What she’s singing, how she’s singing — it speaks to you and every other demon in here. Your emotions are heightened, and overflow — and she soaks in the excess, and converts it into raw power.”

I glance at him. “…how did you know what I’m feeling?”

He smiles, and I’m only now noticing how bright his green eyes have gotten. “I am a creature of the Dreaming, and we feed on emotion and dreams. This is as much a feast for me as it is for her.”

Further questions are put on hold as the aura gathering around Wolf morphs into a massive, pink… wolf. It’s translucent through and through, and as we watch, she snags its neck ruff and swings herself onto its back as it straightens up. I don’t know what it’s made of — clearly, it’s solid enough for her to ride on, but as it starts treading away from the stage, making a circuit of the stadium, you can see its massive paws ghost through the cheering demons whenever it takes a step. Reclining on its back, Wolf drawls out the second verse, checking her nails as she does so.

So yeah, let’s hear it again

Tell me what I did wrong, ol’ frien’

Recite my crimes

I’ve heard it all a thousand times

We’re on this guilt trip now

Too late to tap on those brakes

Would it go faster if I said I was sorry?

I know I made mistakes

“Is that wolf supposed to be her manifest?” I whisper to Raikaron as Wolf’s giant ghostly steed parades past our balcony. With how close they are, I can see her in better detail now — her black-and-pink plugsuit doesn’t look altogether too different from the ones that you see Titan pilots wear. Hers is more stylized, of course, but it’s still the skintight affair with reinforced plates at the chest, shoulders, and waist. The orbiters hovering off her hips and shoulder are pulsing out pink light, thumping in time to the beat laid down by her drummer. “Like, you know… how you can turn into your thing?”

Raikaron seems to be getting ample amusement out of my awe tonight. “The giant ghost wolf? No, that’s just set dressing for her performance. Hypernatural manifests tend to be much larger than that.”

“Larger?” I hiss, motioning to the wolf as it starts circling back to the stage. “That thing’s already three stories tall! How much larger do they get?”

He smiles. “The oldest hypernaturals have manifests that can hold stars in their hands like oranges. Wolf is not one of those though; she’s only thirteen thousand years old, or at least so I’m led to believe.”

“Only thirteen thousand years old.” I mutter, leaning back against the railing as Wolf’s wolf starts to crouch to drop her back off at the stage. “…she looks pretty good for being thirteen thousand years old.”

“She’s a goddess, Jayta. No hypernatural in their right mind wants to spend aeons roaming the cosmos as a decrepit old creature full of aches and pains.” Danya points out. “It’s why they craft and inhabit mortal vessels in their prime. And you would be wise not to remark on their age.”

“Why, are they sensitive about that?” I ask, but look at Raikaron as I’m asking it.

He answers with a shrug. “Some are.” he says, though his attention goes down to the stage where Wolf is starting to bridge into another refrain.

But what’s it matter, and

Tell me, who cares

You know we cannot be saved

It’s too late to be

Sayin’ your prayers

So accept it, and—

—run wild, free

Take your sins and follow me

Raise it high

And don’t be shy

We came here to burn

Now baby, it’s your turn

Don’t be a liar

I know you want to—

—run wild, free

Take your sins and follow me

Touch the flame

And feel no shame

We came here to burn

Now it’s time for you to learn

We were damned from the start

Can’t save a sinful heart!

As Wolf hammers out her hard-charging, high-energy refrain, the ghostly wolf dissolves, collapsing into the stadium and filling the floor with a pool of pink energy. Rising out of it are rosy copies of Wolf, radiant clones that provide backup singing, echoing parts of the refrain after her. They skip back to the end of the stage as they belt their lines, jumping back onto it as an instrumental break starts, and line up around the edges as a synchronized dance group. A gap’s left in the middle for the real Wolf to skid forward, clasping her hands to her chest as the instrumental leads into a more earnest, yearning verse while she flares a set of glassy pink wings behind her.

Oh, my anger consumes me

(But I won’t repent)

My sins may damn me

(But I won’t relent)

You know self-destruction

Is the main event

If you would just listen

(Give ‘er a glance)

I can do better

(Give ‘er a chance)

But I know you won’t

(So bring it on, let’s dance)

The wings reform into the brief image of a horned wolf behind her, and she skips backwards as her clones do, the entire group meeting in the center of the stage and merging back into one. Throwing a hand to the sky, she’s met with another pink meteor that sends a wave of light across the stadium and up the sloped sides, nearly reaching to the balconies. Curling her raised hand into a fist, she starts pumping it in time to the beat, the demons in the stadium mirroring her as she roars back into refrain.

So run wild, free!

Take your sins and follow me!

Raise it high

And don’t be shy

We came here to burn

Now baby, it’s your turn

Don’t be a liar

I know you want to—

—run wild, free!

Take your sins and follow me!

Touch the flame

And feel no shame

We came here to burn

Now it’s time for you to learn

We were damned from the start—

Can’t save a sinful heart!

She holds the last note, stretching out over the song’s coda until it skids to the halt, the lights in the stadium going dark and leaving only a forest of glowing phone screens below. After about ten seconds, a single spotlight snaps back on, painting Wolf in a column of light on the end of the stage, catching a mic as it’s thrown to her. “Uaaah! That felt good. Hell’s the best place to come for a warm welcome, and you cute little deviants really deliver!”

The demons in the stadium shout and scream for her, whooping and yelling as she paces the stage, grinning at the unseen demons thronging its edges. “Yeah, yeah, listen to that! Some of y’all got some impressive pipes! We’re havin’ a good time, ain’t we?” She tosses her head, flicking her bangs out of her eyes as she goes on. “And we’re gonna have some more fun before midnight. But first things first.” She stops and throws a hand to the far end of the stadium, where another spotlight illuminates a grand balcony with three thrones. “Let’s give it up for the dark gods of the damned, the Sovereigns of Sjelefengsel, the profane trinity — Lilith, Sheol, and Lucifeeeeeeeeeeer!”

Two of the thrones are occupied, but the one furthest to the left looks empty. As I watch, the two Sovereigns in the other thrones stand up — I can tell right way that the one in the gauzy grey cloak is Sheol, and the brunette in the slinky black dress is either Lilith or Lucifer. Both of them raise hands, giving waves from their balcony as the stadium below commences a round of polite and slightly fearful applause.

“Tacky affair.” someone mutters behind us, and I look around to see a blonde girl in a hoodie and ripped shorts squeezing between my chair and Raikaron’s.

“Whoa! Hey!” I exclaim, clinging to the arms of my chair as she nudges it out of the way with her knee. “Where did you come from! Who are you!”

“Relax, I don’t bite.” she says, flopping backwards across Raikaron’s lap. I watch, aghast, as she hooks her legs over one armrest, gets her head comfortable on the other, then digs around in her faded red hoodie. After a moment she pulls a handheld gaming console out of one of the pockets and turns it on, blowing a bubble with the gum she’s been chewing.

And Raikaron just… sits there, and lets it happen.

“I take it things were getting a bit too stuffy for your liking?” he asks, repositioning his arms to account for the girl sprawled across his lap.

“It was getting boring, yeah. And they wouldn’t let me play my games in peace.” the girl replies without taking her eyes off her handheld, the mashing of buttons faintly audible. I look back at Raikaron; he doesn’t seem offput by this in the least, with his attention remaining on Wolf as she calls the spotlight to each of the balconies for the Greater Lords, one by one. I’m about to ask who she is, but then I catch sight of Danya on Raikaron’s other side, shaking her head at me and making urgent lip-zipping motions. The message is clear: whatever’s going on, we don’t talk about it.

I take a deep breath and settle back into my chair, disgruntled by the fact that there’s some stranger in Raikaron’s lap, playing video games. Something about it just bothers me — not even the harpies can get this casual or familiar with him. Clearly this person is special or important, beyond anything I’ve seen with Raikaron before. Is it his sister? Maybe a daughter? A cousin or a niece? It doesn’t help that I’m not allowed to ask about it, either. Puffing out a sigh, I turn my attention back to Wolf, doing my best to ignore the anomaly right beside me.

“…and last but not least, the Lord of Lies!” Wolf crows, the spotlight swiveling to the last of the large balconies. “And of course, there are the Lesser Lords, but there’s like two dozen of them and I’m not gonna do roll call for that. We’ve got better things to do tonight — so without further ado, demons and demonettes, the commencement of the Congress of Sjelefengsel!”

She casts a hand up with that, fireworks launching off the edges of the stadium in waves. Starbursts of light, most of them in crimson and gold, paint the night sky and filling it with popping, crackling thunder. I lean forward to watch the display; it’s been a while since I last saw fireworks, and they’re just as pretty in hell as they are on the mortal plane.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m just gonna chill here until the cheerleader is done doing her thing.” the stranger says; she’s got her eyes fixed on her console screen rather than on the fireworks, like the rest of us.

“By all means.” Raikaron says, only briefly glancing down before returning his attention to the fireworks, their bright flares reflected in his eyes. “How long was the program supposed to run for?”

“Til midnight. Songs and entertainment, think she was planning on granting a couple wishes to some lucky randos, you know. The usual bullshit you see from performing hypernaturals.” the stranger says, kicking her legs back and forth. “I’m just waiting for it to be over so I can call it a night. There’s a bed somewhere with my name on it.”

“An understandable sentiment.” Raikaron says, taking a bottle of fizzwater from Danya, and holding it out to me. “Something to sip on, Jayta?”

I smile and take the bottle from him. I’m not quite comfortable with this — just the fact that this stranger is so familiar with him — but as experiences go, this is not the worst. Twisting the lid off the bottle, I take a sip as I stare back up at the fireworks bursting over the stadium, leaving glittering trails of light in the night sky.

All things considered, there are worse things in hell than a concert and a fireworks show.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace Grounds

10/15/12764 1:04am SGT

“If we’d known you were coming, I would’ve asked someone to pack a litterbox for you.” I grumble as Cinder digs around in one of the flowerbeds in the courtyard near the rooms where we’re staying. She’d snuck in with our luggage, and we’d only found out she’d hitched a ride when we came back to the palace and the flyer pilot informed us he had found her while he was delivering our stuff to the rooms. Now I had to figure out how to keep her out of trouble while we were here, and take her out to the courtyards every now and then so she could do her business. And figure out how to keep her from wandering off and getting lost on the palace grounds.

Wrapping my cloak a bit tighter around myself, I glance around the courtyard, and the multi-story walls ringing it, balconies pocking their sides. The Palace of the Sovereigns is absolutely massive, and planted firmly at the foot of an active volcano, to boot; you can’t see it from the courtyard that I’m currently in, but rivers of lava pour from a rupture behind the estate, flowing around it and forming a natural boundary that cuts it off from the rest of the city of Morningstar. A commanding fortress forms the head of the palace building, while other wings spread out from it, and this wing of the palace seems like it’s being used to house all the Lesser Lords and their retinues for the duration of the Congress. I’ve seen other Lesser Lords and their staff in the halls, and even heard the distant sounds of fights being started. It seems like even here, there are scuffles and dust-ups between different Houses at that are at odds with each other.

“You done now?” I ask as Cinder starts pawing dirt back over the hole she dug. “I don’t even know what we’re going to feed you. Suppose we could go into the city and pick up some cat food at one of the stores. And for water, I don’t even know… I’m pretty sure they have kitchens here, maybe I could steal a bowl and fill it with tap water.” As she trots back over me, I turn to start back towards the courtyard door.

Only to find Wicked Wolf standing right behind me, less than two inches inches away.

I let out a shriek, staggering backwards, tripping on the hem of my cloak, and falling on my back on the grass. My heart is pounding as she grins. “Gotcha good, din’t I?”

I pant for a couple seconds, catching my breath, before it all catches up to me. “Good goddamn!” I yelp at her. “What is wrong with you, and like, everybody in this place, having no sense of personal space? Jesu christi, the least you could do is make some noise instead of trying to give me a heart attack!”

Wolf rolls her eyes, checking her fingernails. Sort of. She’s still in her plugsuit from the concert, and it’s a total-coverage piece, from the boots integrated into the suit all the way up to her jawline. Checking her nails just means she’s checking the ends of her suited fingers. “What, you’re not happy to see me? I was hoping for something a little more starstruck. Usually people are clamoring for my autograph.”

My heart rate finally starts to come down a little. “Why are you here?” I ask, unsure if I should get up yet. After all, it’s a literal goddess standing in front of me. “What do you want?”

“Funny you should ask!” she says, coming over and crouching down beside me, her crazy long twintails floating in the air behind her so they don’t touch the ground. Up close, I can see her irises are just as pink as her hair. “So, while I was doing the concert, I noticed something interesting on your balcony. Your Lord, the one with the pretty red hair and green eyes. I noticed he was passively soaking some of the energy off the crowd. And I also noticed he was amplifying whatever I sent his way. You mind helping me out and telling me what he is, exactly?”

I swallow hard. This doesn’t sound good. “I d-don’t think I should tell you…” I stutter. Besides, I’m not even sure I could definitively say what he is, aside from ‘thing from the Dreaming’.

“Oh no no, it’s nothing like that.” Wolf says, reaching down to grab my shoulders. She stands up, lifting me in the process and setting me back on my feet like it’s nothing — even though she’s barely taller than me and probably weighs about the same. Dusting me off, she throws an arm around my shoulder as she steers me back towards the courtyard doors. “Your Lord’s not in trouble. I’m just… curious about him, is all. I mean, first off, he’s a prettyboi, so bonus points there. But, more importantly, you don’t come across a lot of people that are good amplifiers. So I was thinking of making him a… job offer, I suppose you could call it. And it would help to know what he is, so I could try and tailor the offer to suit his preferences or personal inclinations. Ya get me?”

I have no idea what to say to all of that. “But he’s… already got a job. He’s a demon Lord.” I point out, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, I know that!” she says quickly. “No surprises there; he was in the balcony for a reason, after all. You don’t get seats like that without being someone important. But I’m a goddess, just like Lucifer, Lilith, and Sheol, and I have staffing needs, just like they do. Now, your Lord might be a Lesser Lord here, but I might be willing to offer him an archangel position in my heaven. And it comes with plenty of perks. Plus, generally speaking, I think it’s a more positive work environment than…” She motions around as she keeps slow-walking me to the courtyard door. “…y’know, all this. Less screaming, wailing, gnashing of teeth, all that.”

I rub a thumb at my brow as I try to get my head around this. “So you’re… basically trying to poach him?”

Wolf waves her free hand, letting off an equivocating ehhhh. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way. It sounds so opportunistic when you put it like that. I just want to meet with him, have a talk, get a feel for whether he’d be interested in a career change. Personally, I would love to have an amplifier as my herald or as part of my traveling retinue. It’d be great for concerts. Say, can he sing? Or have any musical talent?”

“I… I mean yeah, he can sing…”

“Perfect! Gods, I would love rubbing that in Valcalia’s face.” Wolf grins, her arm tightening around my shoulders. “She won’t be able to ignore me at that point; she’d have to acknowledge me as a peer…”

“Who?” I’m thoroughly confused at this point, and only understand half of any of this.

“Valcalia.” Wolf sighs, puffing one of her bangs out of her eyes. Talking sideways at me like we’re old friends or something. “Rantecevangian goddess of music and valor. Little miss goody two-shoes with a double domain to top it off. She’s my main competitor in the galactic music market and keeps on sniping all of the up and coming pop stars from me. You know I used to have total market dominance? All the pop stars worshipped me. At least the ones that believed in a higher power, y’know. But over the last thousand years or so, she’s slowly started creeping into my market. Wasn’t enough that she had the symphonies and the orchestras on lockdown, no! She had to start going after the pop market too. Bitch.” Huffing out a pouty breath, she looks sidelong at me. “So. I’m looking to expand my seraphic roster, and your Lord might be just the person I’m looking for.”

A little bit of panic starts worming its way into the back of my head as the gears start clicking, and I realize that I don’t know what’ll happen to me if Raikaron takes another job. Would I go with him? Or would I be stuck here in hell? I’d probably be stuck here, I couldn’t imagine he’d be allowed to bring a bunch of demons over to heaven. “I… I dunno, I don’t think he’ll be interested…” I say, trying not to let the panic rise through my voice.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t give up that easily.” Wolf says as we near the courtyard door. “You never know unless you ask, right? Let your Lord know I’d like to sit down with him over a cuppa coffee sometime. I’ll be in Sjelefengsel for a couple weeks, touring the place and seeing how the damned are punished here. All he needs to do is give me a call or shoot me a text.” Taking my hand, she lifts it up, using a finger to write a phone number on my palm in glowing pink. “Be a gal pal and pass it along, yeah? If you do, you’ll get something nice for your trouble.”

“Something nice?” I ask as we arrive to the courtyard door.

“Yeah, a little miracle. I know how much demons love those. They’re in short supply down here.” she says, opening the door for me.

A miracle? Possibly like the one that Harro and I stole from Kolob’s angels? Except I’d be getting this one legitimately, directly from a goddess, instead of stealing it. “Would it be strong enough to break a contract?” I ask.

“Whoa now, let’s not get carried away.” Wolf says. “I said a little miracle, not a big miracle. It’s one thing to go headhunting; it’s another to interfere in some other hell’s contracts. You want a big miracle, I’m gonna need you to do a lot more than just giving my number to a demon Lord.”

“Oh. Okay.” I say, my hope fading a little at that. I should’ve known better; getting out of Sjelefengsel wouldn’t be as easy as passing notes in a classroom. Besides, I’m not even sure I’d want to leave Sjelefengsel at this point. I knew there wasn’t much for me on the mortal plane aside from shame and an arrest warrant. I couldn’t go back to the life I had before, and even if I could, the thought of going back to a cramped apartment and working two jobs just to try and scrape by… I’d be lying to myself if I said I wanted to go back to that.

“Chin up, kid, you look like someone killed your cat. Speaking of which.” Wolf turns and makes a couple of clicking noises, and Cinder comes trotting across the courtyard towards us. “You should get back to your room, unless you plan on staying up and partying. I heard that anybody who’s somebody is going to the underground rave they’re having in Morningstar’s downtown tonight. Lots of the escort demons that came with their Lords are going to be hittin’ it up.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.” I say uneasily. Going to a rave in hell sounds even riskier than going to a rave on the mortal plane. Reaching down, I pick up Cinder and step through the door, back into the hall. “Hope you have a good night.”

“Oh trust me, I plan to.” she says, stepping in after me and closing the door behind her. She starts heading in the opposite direction, waving over her shoulder. “Toodles! And make sure to give that phone number to your Lord!”

I give a nod, but don’t otherwise reply, heading back the way I came but at speed. It’s only when I’ve gotten back to my room a few floors up that I slow down, opening the door and dropping Cinder back in before closing my door. After a moment, I look towards the next door down, the room where Raikaron is staying in, then look down at the pink phone number glowing on my hand.

I might be able to offer him an archangel position in my heaven.

Bits and pieces of the conversation rewind themselves in my head as I work through the implications and the possibilities. I wanted to tell myself it was unlikely, that Raikaron wouldn’t just up and leave Sjelefengsel if he got a better job offer and the chance to be an archangel. But I knew, from our talk a little over a couple weeks ago, that Raikaron was not formally trapped here like the rest of us. His contract with Lucifer was at-will; he could, if he so desired, put in his two weeks and leave if he decided he didn’t want to do this anymore. And that fact, just that fact alone, meant that passing along this phone number to him inherently carried more risk than it would’ve otherwise. It meant that there was a chance, however remote, that he might accept whatever offer Wolf made to him, and leave me behind here in hell, no longer shielded by his clear favoritism.

And that was my worst nightmare.

As much as I hate admitting it, I want him to stay. I need him to stay. My reasons for it are selfish, and I’m having to confront that now. More maddening is having to accept that he is the reason my life is as comfortable as it is right now, and that if he isn’t here, then I’d probably be treated just as harshly as any other demon. No matter what Wolf is offering me in return, it isn’t worth passing along this number to Raikaron if it means there’s a chance he might leave.

I don’t want to do this.

I curl my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my palm as if I could scratch away the number. It would be so simple, to just go back into my room, say nothing, and let the number fade away with time. I could just keep it quiet, and Raikaron would never know. It would be guaranteed that he’d stay here in Sjelefengsel, and I would continue to live the life of luxury that I’d become accustomed to. It would be so easy; all I had to do was just say nothing.

And yet I couldn’t, because I knew that if I was in his position and someone made the same offer to me, I would want the chance to consider it. To be free, to live somewhere better than this.

Pushing away from my door with a low grumble, I trudge down the hall to Raikaron’s door, and reluctantly knock on it. As I wait, I can hear the distant noise of a group of demons coming down the hall; returning late from Wolf’s concert, probably. I’m not given much time to think about it, since the door opens to a Raikaron clad in an immensely fluffy red bathrobe, probably well into the process of getting ready for bed. “How can I help you, Jayta?”

I stare for a moment, disconcerted by the sight of Raikaron in a bathrobe, then find my voice. “Uh, I needed to tell you something…” The sound of the group of demons coming down the hall is growing louder, and I realize that delivering Wolf’s message is probably something best done away from others, just in case damaging rumors start making their way through the social circles of the Lords. “…can I come in?”

Raikaron’s eyes flick in the direction of the boisterous group down the hall, and he seems to understand almost instantly. “Yes, come right in.” he says, stepping aside so I can come inside, and I do so quickly, Raikaron pulling the door shut behind me. We both wait until the muffled noise of the group outside has passed by our door before we relax. “So, what was it that you needed to tell me?” he asks.

“I um… I met Wolf in the courtyard. Wicked Wolf.” I start hesitantly. “She told me that she was interested in talking to you, had a, uh… job offer. She wanted to talk to you about.” At this point, I open my hand, showing the pink number to him. “She asked me to give her number to you so you could text her sometime and maybe have a talk about it over coffee or something.”

“Did she now? That’s interesting.” Raikaron says, taking my hand and studying the number. He starts tapping the fingers of his other hand against his thumb, and over on the nightstand, his phone comes to life, numbers typing themselves across one of the note screens. “Did she speak to the nature of the job offer, or did she leave it vague?”

“Something about you being an amplifier and maybe…” I hesitate for a moment, before forcing myself to say it. “…maybe offering you an archangel position in her heaven.”

Raikaron raises his eyebrows. “An offer to become one of her archangels, you say?” he repeats, letting go of my hand. “That’s quite an offer. Such positions are not extended lightly.”

“Yeah, I figured.” I say quietly.

“Intriguing. Well, I’ll see about reaching out to her when I have time over the following days. Thank you for passing the message along.” he says, reaching for the door. “I’ll let you go now; I imagine you must be tired, since it’s past midnight—”

“Raikaron?” I interrupt him, afraid I won’t get the chance to ask if I don’t ask now. “If you did have the chance… to, y’know, leave Sjelefengsel and get a better position in some other goddess’s heaven… would you leave?”

Even if the question catches him off guard, I can tell he immediately knows what the subtext is, what’s really being asked. “If I found it compelling, and felt that there was more I could accomplish by taking such an offer, then yes, I would.” he says, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder, and leaning down a little to look me in the eye. “But not before fulfilling my obligation to those that rely on me. I do not leave a job half-done — I finish what I start.”

A little bit of weight lifts off me with that. I get what he’s saying, even though he’s talking in broad platitudes; it must be a habit from all the years he’s spent in management, to never promise anything specific that might come back to bite him in the ass. “Okay.” I say quietly, looking away and not sure what else to say to that.

He seems to sense that I’m not fully reassured. “Jayta.” he says, turning his head a little to try and catch my gaze. I look back at him, reluctantly. “I told you that I would not abandon you the way my friends abandoned me all those centuries ago. I mean that.”

I swallow hard. I can tell he means it. Something rises up inside me, a feeling, a want; that just his hand on my shoulder is not enough. I want more.

And I want it badly.

“Okay.” I say thickly, taking a deep breath. “That helps, that… thank you. I’m gonna go sleep now.” My head is feeling fuzzy; I’m struggling to manage this weird feeling, this sudden surge of want.

I need to get away from him.

“Alright.” he says, letting his hand slip from my shoulder. I don’t think he knows, or realizes, what he’s doing to me. “Thank you for passing along the message. I know it probably wasn’t easy for you.” Reaching over, he snags the door and pulls it open again for me. “Have a good night, Jayta. Sleep tight and don’t let the nightmares bite.”

I give him a quick, polite nod and slip out the door, hurrying down the hall and back to my room. Once inside, I push the door shut as quickly as I can without slamming it, and lock it behind me, then lean back against it, squeezing my eyes shut and running my hands through my hair. I can’t think straight; I feel warm, and my heart rate is up. I can’t get that moment out of my head, when he put his hand on my shoulder, and I felt a hint of anger because I didn’t just want a hand on my shoulder, I wanted more. I wanted him to pull me in, hold me close, to murmur reassurances into my hair and touch me gently—

“No.” I hiss quietly, bouncing my palms against my temples. “No no no no no.” I don’t want these things, I don’t want to want these things, except I do want them, and it makes me angry that I want them, and find myself thinking about them even if I don’t want to. It’s so aggravating that I just want to scream, but I can’t do that because Raikaron’s room is right next to mine, and he’ll undoubtedly hear me. All I can do is sit here, seething, wishing I was in the next room over instead here, alone, with my cat.

It seems like no matter what he does, I’m always going to have a reason to hate him.