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AZAZEL HAD BECOME ADEPT at slipping away from his office to meet with Onvier whenever his ally summoned him. He’d received a letter an hour or so after settling behind his desk. He would have to postpone addressing the petty problems that had been delegated to him by Raum. He was to attend a meeting at Onvier’s mansion again. It was risky to meet at the Guild Master’s house, but the elf had apparently grown tired of meeting in the shabby abandoned buildings scattered throughout the city.
When the demon reached his destination, he pulled on the cloak he’d brought along and knocked on the door. The French maid who cleaned Onvier’s house nightly opened the door. She didn’t bat an eye as she ushered him in this time. “The master will see you in his den,” she said. She was Night Cursed, so she would forget she’d seen him soon enough. Any of her cursed friends she spoke to about his visit would also forget.
Leering at the beautiful maid as she led him to the elf’s study, he made a mental note to grab her on his way out. He could do whatever he wanted with the woman and she wouldn’t recall any of it.
“Why do you look so happy?” Onvier grumbled when his ally stepped into his den. The elf was sitting behind his desk and gestured at the guest chairs.
Azazel waited for the maid to leave before replying. “Can I borrow your maid when we’re done here?”
“Why?” the elf said with a sneer. “Does your squalid cave need to be cleaned?”
“It isn’t cleaning that I have in mind for her,” the demon said, baring his fangs in a frightening grin as he took a seat.
“I don’t care what you do with her,” Onvier said, waving his hand dismissively. “She’ll just regenerate and return to clean my home tomorrow night.”
Azazel made a show of looking around. “Where’s Nilanthy? I hope she isn’t feeling under the weather.” His tone was sly and his scarlet eyes gleamed with spite.
“Nilanthy is none of your concern,” Onvier said coldly.
The demon noted how agitated his ally was and grew concerned. “You can’t control her, can you?” he asked. “I thought you said that she would have to obey you once you bound her to you with your spell.”
The Guild Master crossed his arms and a sulky pout appeared on his handsome face. “She’s proving to be stronger than I’d anticipated,” he admitted.
“That’s your fault,” Azazel pointed out. The elf raised one auburn eyebrow, expression turning dark at the accusation. “You’ve made all three of us stronger by stealing power from your guildmembers,” the demon explained. “Nilanthy can resist you because she’s not as weak and pathetic as she used to be.”
Onvier narrowed his orange eyes thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “I’ll have to look into stripping away some of her power to make her more compliant.”
The demon frowned at that risky idea. “Don’t we need her to be as strong as possible so she can assist us to defeat the Immortal Triumvirate?”
The Guild Master tried to pretend that he hadn’t momentarily lost sight of their ultimate objective by changing the subject. “How exactly did the demoness Raum gave his protection to die?” he asked.
“I caught sight of Ember lurking around the Demon Guildhall and gave chase,” Azazel replied. “I tracked her to the shifter woods and followed her to a cave that was infested with rogues. They fell on her and devoured her while I watched.”
Onvier chuckled nastily, wishing he’d been there to see it. “It was a fitting end for Raum’s pet. Is he aware that she’s dead yet?”
Azazel shrugged and his wings made dry, rustling noises against the leather chair. “I avoid him as much as possible,” he said. “I haven’t heard him throwing a tantrum yet. Either he isn’t aware that Ember is dead, or he doesn’t care.”
“Do demons ever care about others?” Onvier asked sardonically.
“It isn’t in our nature,” his ally said. “We use others for our own pleasure, or to advance ourselves, but we seldom grow attached to anyone.”
Onvier was glad he’d managed to get Azazel off the topic of the fairy he’d become so obsessed with. The demon wasn’t very smart, but he was useful. “I’ve made good progress at boosting our power, but there are more guildmembers who I have yet to bind to my service,” he said. “I’ll be scheduling meetings with them during the next three months. I’m confident we’ll have the strength to challenge the Immortal Triumvirate on Halloween as I’ve planned.”
Azazel didn’t think it had been worth him coming all this way just to hear the same speech Onvier had been giving him for the past few months. It would be unwise to antagonize the elf, so he just nodded. “Good. I’m looking forward to tearing the fairy, vampire and werewolf apart.”
“So am I,” his ally said, then stood to indicate their meeting was over. Onvier escorted Azazel through the house. “It seems my maid must have finished work for the evening,” he said when he couldn’t sense her anywhere.
Azazel scowled, disappointed that he hadn’t had a chance to torture the Night Cursed woman to death. “Next time,” he said in a hopeful tone, then sauntered outside. He stripped his cloak off and tucked it over his arm, then took to the air.
Scouring the nearby streets for a woman wearing a short black dress and a tiny white apron, he didn’t spy the maid anywhere. She must have been lucky enough to catch a carriage. He didn’t feel like returning to work, so he headed for an entrance to the catacombs. There were plenty of lesser hell spawn he could have fun with.
As Azazel was making his way through the tunnels, he heard a couple of scouts whispering and stopped to listen to their gossip.
“Did you hear about the brawl in the food markets a short while ago?”
“Yeah. The Mistress of the Markets was knocked out and Azazel was nowhere to be found to put a stop to it. They had to get Raum to break it up.”
“Some of the food stall owners are dead and the rest will be punished by becoming slaves for a month. It’s times like this I’m glad I’m just a lowly scout.” The other minion murmured in agreement and they slunk off.
Dread felt like a leaden ball in Azazel’s stomach as he continued his journey. He wondered why Raum hadn’t summoned him to his office to explain his absence. He found himself near the pit and halted when a dark form stepped out from a side tunnel ahead of him. He caught the evil human priest’s scent and his hackles rose.
The priest could perform a few spells. One of them allowed him to see in the dark. “Azazel,” he said as if he’d been expecting him. “You walk a dangerous path, my son.”
“I’m a demon,” Azazel retorted. “All we know is danger.”
“I have foreseen your fate,” the unholy priest said with a knowing look as the demon moved closer to him. “You’ve allowed your hate and resentment to blind you and you’ve chosen your allies badly. All demons have grim fates, but yours is going to be particularly gruesome.”
That was the last thing Azazel wanted or needed to hear right now. “Did you foresee your own death?” he asked, then punched his talons into the priest’s throat before he could reply. “I thought not,” he said with a chuckle at the surprised look in the dying human’s eyes. Looking around to make sure no one had witnessed his actions, he kept his senses alert for anyone who might try to sneak up on him as he carried the corpse to the pit.
Tossing the body onto the rubbish pile, Azazel knew the priest would regenerate the following night. Even worse, he would retain his memories. The weight of dread in his guts increased as he made his way to his quarters. He was no longer in the mood to make anyone torture themselves to death. He just wanted to hunker down and brood about the fate the unholy human had foreseen for him. He hoped it was just a prank, or maybe even a form of punishment from Raum, but he didn’t think so.
Azazel’s instincts told him doom was coming, but he wasn’t going to just roll over and accept it. He would do whatever he had to in order to survive.
