A Fucking Archdemon

Elochian

I sit at the head of a table, surrounded by demons. My wings are bound with black leather straps to keep them from full view, one of the many shining examples of ancient etiquette in Adrastus Manor.

It’s been described to me like this. To other shedim, I’m a beacon that’s hard to look at but not impossible. But when my wings are out, it’s like staring directly into the sun. But I’m not allowed to spell them away, because they’re far too precious for that.

 To the others, I’m one step away from being a God myself.

When in reality, I’m one step away from another mental breakdown.

I’m able to control the trembling in my hands this morning, which is a bonus. Michael sits at my right, dressed in a fine black suit that matches my own, albeit simpler. They’re in their clan guise, taking the form of an esh shedim with curling black horns and a corkscrew tail. This is the form Michael takes when in the manor, or conducting business that doesn’t require anonymity.

My guardian and next of kin Tisha xir Adrastus, sits at my left. Dressed to kill in an onyx dress with crimson beaded embroidery that takes shape as enormous flowers over her right shoulder and left hip, she manages to make me feel inferior by simply breathing. Her hair is deep red at the roots, fading to a neon pink at teased ends which rest over the bridge of her sharp nose, hiding eyes that are as red as her lipstick. Her skin is lighter than mine, and I’ve been told more than once that she’s a mirror of my mother.

Gilla Priess, my assistant, sits at my aunt’s left. Gilla is part ally and part spy, something we’ve both come to terms with. Tisha appointed all of my staff when I was young, and they haven’t changed. Well, mostly. Anytime I’ve minorly hinted at a change of staff, I’m deemed ungrateful. It’s not that those in my employ are incompetent, but they’ve been working for me for over a century.

And then there’s the monster in the room.

Daniel Kavelli sits across from me, flanked by a bodyguard and a shedim woman I don’t recognize. He doesn’t bother to introduce either, and after niceties have been displaced, which are minimal on his end, I ask, “How can I help you, Mr. Kavelli?”

Kavelli smirks and leans back in his chair, curling his teal mustache around a finger like a cheap villain as he contemplates me. The fact that he resents me is no great secret. Our fathers were good friends long before either of us were born, and when we were very young, so were we. And then everything became a competition to Daniel, one I was born to win, and he to lose.

His father passed this last Harvest, leaving a hole in my heart. Samson Kavelli treated me like a son, taking pity upon me at having lost my parents so young. No doubt more fuel for Daniel’s burning hatred for me. Samson’s entire solar battery empire was left to his only son, and my grief has been put to the back burner in order to deal with Daniel’s latest plans.

Like the words cost him greatly, Daniel says, “You misunderstand me, my Lord. I’m here to help you.”

I tilt my head. “Is that so?”

A delicate hand falls from his face. His pale white eyes brighten, like the sun glaring off a frozen pond. Long tresses of turquoise fall forward, framing his face which possesses the same kind of generic saccharine beauty all demons have. Two thin, long horns embedded with opal-like gemstones curl forward from his forehead. Every inch of him is a beautiful lie, and while he might be able to fool most people, he can’t fool me. His aura is similar to Michael’s in one way, and in one way only.

He’s a jinni.

We haven’t interacted much over the last few decades. His father gave up trying to tame him, and Daniel made it his life’s mission to avoid responsibility, disappearing for decades. But now he’s like a tiger, finally jumping out of the thicket. He’s put in the work since taking up his new role, far too much if you ask me. He does nothing but push the limits of his business, and my patience. I think Samson would be rolling in his grave if he saw how his son treats those he works with, and those he deems beneath him.

Kavelli says, “Yes, my Lord. You see, I’ve discovered a way to revive the dead after the initial three month period. Not only that, but I can restore their bodies completely. They will not become golem, but whatever race they were before they died.”

I stiffen, experiencing Michael’s surprise alongside my own. Usually our emotions are two separate entities, but in extreme situations they can meld, a sort of communication that can be useful at times, but is usually intrusive.

Tisha shifts her attention from Kavelli to me, and I give her a minute nod. Technically, this is her jurisdiction. Levena is her playground, but the land it rests upon is mine, as is the rest of the Northern Region. In a soft voice that dares you to misjudge it, Tisha addresses Kavelli. “That is a breach of Byinger’s First Law. If it were not morally reprehensible, it is also impossible.”

Kavelli bristles, eyes darting between Tisha and me. “My Lady, we all know Byinger’s laws are archaic, and they do not properly address the facets of modern civilization.”

Her lips thin, and I suppress a flinch despite the fact her displeasure isn’t aimed at me. “I did not realize fifty years was archaic.”

Kavelli laughs, and the faux charm of it grates my nerves. “Fifty years ago solar batteries were in their infancy, back then no one thought it could efficiently power a light bulb, let alone whole cities. Technology evolves far quicker than humanity does.”

A part of me wants to point out the hypocrisy in his words. Fifty years ago, he thought solar batteries would be his father’s downfall, and he tried with all his might to shift the business to something ‘not doomed to fail.’ Now he’s inherited all the success his father worked for.

When Tisha opens her mouth, I beat her to it. Quietly, I ask, “What do solar batteries have to do with raising the dead?”

Dismissing Tisha with a cool, pleased look, Kavelli crosses one leg over the other and says, “It’s all highly classified, but I can say that there was an unfortunate accident involved which led to this discovery. I can assure you, it works.” Kavelli’s next words are razor sharp, precise. “Is there no one you wish to bring back, my Lord? Time is no limit. We merely need the remains.”

“And your proof?” I ask, and the room holds its breath. Let him think I’m considering it. Show me your cards.

The woman at his side stands, then bows at the waist. She’s porcelain white and built like a boxer, with jet black hair cut into a bob that hangs just below her ears. She’s a lower demon, but her spirit is strong. She says, “My Lord, I am Tina Lakai. I died twelve years ago, and my parents volunteered my body for Mr. Kavelli’s program.”

I swallow thick emotion. There’s no lie in her words, and her voice isn’t hollow. It’s soft, but strong and … appreciative. I try to speak, but I can’t. For a small, small moment, I believe him. I believe him, and even worse, I think about it.

Michael stands abruptly. “I believe it's time for you to leave, Mr. Kavelli.”

I raise my hand, which startles Michael. Tisha scowls, but I ignore her and lean forward, engaging in this duel that Kavelli’s taunting me with. “What do you want?”

“Sir—”

I flash Michael a deadly glare, and the lights in the room darken. “Sit. Down.”

He immediately complies, but rage is written all over his face. Tisha is equally furious, but says nothing. She will later, but one of her few stellar qualities is that she doesn’t undermine me in public. Tina sits down while I shift my attention back to Kavelli, who’s happier than a pig in shit. I gesture for him to continue.

He says, “Simple. Cut ties with Arlo Rook, and all businesses he’s associated with.”

I allow ten good, long seconds to pass. Long enough for Kavelli to think he’s won. Then I stand, and the candelabras flicker and sputter until hundreds of tiny fires go out all at once. Snow thrashes the stained glass windows of the meeting hall, which bends red hues onto our untouched plates of brunch. I reach back, fingers brushing against the metal clasps cinching leather straps in place.

Meticulously, I release my wings. The moment the leather straps fall away, I feel like I can breathe easier. All six of them stretch out to their full length, and I call upon my essence as I do so. I’m not a witch, but I am a fucking archdemon. A wave of cold darkness finishes off the light in the room, leaving it dark to the human eye. To a demon’s eye, however, I’m a bomb of blinding energy.

Tisha inhales sharply, nostrils flaring as she bows her head. Michael averts his gaze as well. They are somewhat used to my energy, but not like this. Kavelli’s companions hiss like a cat tossed into water, covering their faces with their hands.

Kavelli himself, however, continues to stare at me. His eyes water, and his sclera becomes bloodstricken as I speak.

“I will say this once, and only once. The Adrastus Clan is a friend and ally to witches, and I do not associate or do business with anyone who disagrees with that. You are to cease and desist this criminal work of yours, and your business is thereby under investigation until further notice. Byinger’s Laws are in place for a reason, and only a sick narcissist would break them. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”

I abruptly withdraw my power, which causes Kavelli’s bodyguard to retch. Kavelli wastes no time doing as I say, stomping out of my office. Tina trails after him, but stops at the door and glances back at me. I catch a glimpse of a sad smile before she disappears after her comrades. That smile unnerves me more than the rest of the encounter.

I lean forward, bracing my palms on the table. My chest heaves, and my bones feel hollow and achy. Like I’ve been running in a snowstorm. I shift my attention to the windows and the hellscape outside them, then back down to my hands. No one says a word until the front door echoes in the distance, then Tisha sighs.

“He needs to be eliminated.”

Michael stands. “I agree. Sir, I don’t understand why you indulged him. He’s a monster, surely you could feel it. I know that you—”

I lift my head just enough to lock eyes with my guardian. “Know your place, Michael. My personal affairs have nothing to do with this situation, considering I was never actually interested in saying yes. I merely needed him to talk. Of course he’s a monster, but he’s … there’s more to this.”

I shift my gaze to Tisha. “I want our best covert investigators on this. Better yet, put McCullough on point. Get me a full background check on Tina Lakai, if that’s who she really is. I want a complete inventory of Kavelli’s stock, warehouse locations, and interviews with his engineers. And a temporary cease and desist for all his operations.”

Tisha stands. “As you wish, although the cease and desist will cause problems.”

I hum. “Pay the laborers and engineers out of the union account. Everyone else can fuck off.”

My aunt evaluates me. “Do not let your personal issues cloud your judgment, Elochian.”

“I just—”

“I’m not talking about that. Michael is right, you should not have let him leave here alive. We don’t need him, Samson should never have allowed his son to inherit such an influential power. You are well within your rights to consolidate his assets into the Adrastus Clan. You know as well as I do that woman was unnatural, you could have taken him right here and now, interrogated them both.”

I grit my teeth. “I want to find out how far the cancer goes before I take what’s above ground. I promise you, this is not personal. The NOJ already calls us a conglomerate, if I assume his assets it will only lend truth to their claims. Besides, we aren't equipped to operate a solar empire at this moment.”

Tisha hums. “If you say so.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and my heart drops. That isn’t a usual reaction for me, not regarding my phone. I quickly retrieve it and check my messages, finding a group text from Arlo. I breathe a sigh of relief, unsure where the sudden anxiety came from.

A checkmark beside Quentin’s name appears beneath the message, and Caspian’s.

Tisha clears her throat, and I look up. “Yes?”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Do you know if there were any school closings today?” I ask, surprising her.

“I … I can check.”

“Yes, three of them have announced early closure, including Levena Central,” Michael says, phone in hand.

I nod. “Good. Clear my schedule for the day, Tisha.”

“But the Donahue family is expecting you this afternoon, and the Lincolns.”

“Are you saying that you, Sovereign of Levena, can’t handle planning a confirmation and funeral?”

Tisha tsks. “You know that’s not the case. I’m saying that the people miss you. You can’t keep canceling on them. They need to see their Lord, and not from afar. Especially with the NOJ trying to turn public opinion against us, as you say. Levena has forgotten why they need us, and we need them.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple. “I can’t do this right now. Can we talk about it later?”

“Fine. Sunday?”

“Sunday."

Tisha leaves, and after the door shuts behind her, Michael takes a knee before me. His wings make an appearance, ushered in by a soft black glow and the intensifying, familiar fragrance of brimstone. Great sinewy wings stretch until the horned tips rest on the floor on either side of Michael. He tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck. They are utterly and completely at my mercy, committing one of the most vulnerable and submissive acts a celestial can do.

Quietly, but with great conviction, Michael says, “I apologize for my behavior, my Lord. I have disrespected you.”

I rest my hand on his neck, directly over his pulse. “You are forgiven, Michael. Stand.” I swallow thick emotion. “Please.”

Michael shakes their head. “You forgive too easily.”

“That is for me to decide, not you. Stand.” I remove my hand from their neck, and Michael does as I ask. He stands over me, unsure. “I need you to trust me, Michael. Trust that I know my limits, and that I can accomplish great things despite them. Trust that I have a conscience, and that I am doing my best to leave the past behind. I admit that I … I know it is strange for us, to be bonded as we are so late in life, and that I may sometimes begrudge you for being someone that you’re not, but I am doing my best to overcome that.”

Michael nods, contemplating for a moment before they answer. With a tentative smile, they say, “I’m thankful that you chose me.”

I bow my head. “I am too.”

I stand outside Shh Elves in ankle deep snow, wings dusted in nature’s own frozen glitter. The damn stuff comes down in sheets, sneaking past my overcoat’s upturned collar. The snow itself is small and fluffy, but there’s so much of it. It’s not a full frontal assault like it was earlier, but annoying enough. I scowl at my boots, like it’s their fault I’m in this situation. I sigh, and the air numbs my lungs. Despite the cold, I feel like I can breathe out here.

Michael stands with me in a human male form. It’s still obvious that the person at my side is a bodyguard of some sort, despite the fact he’s dressed down in a crisp sweater and trousers, a scarf curled around his neck which hides the silver markings. He leans against a nearby lamppost, arms crossed and attention cast down the street.

I cast my gaze to the right, searching the wet and empty streets for anyone else who decided to brave the weather. The roads are heated, but that doesn’t make going out any easier, and they only fight the snow until a certain point. The sidewalks are a mess with people tossing snow this way and that, chatting with all those who will listen about how pretty it is.

This is ridiculous, I’m likely the only one who decided to come, and now I’m standing here in the beginning of a snowstorm waiting for no one like an idiot.

I turn my attention in the opposite direction and reach into my coat’s pocket for my phone. Upon locking eyes with a familiar face, I nearly crush my phone in an attempt to keep it from being tossed to the ground. Quentin waves to me with a gloved hand, jogging down the wet street itself instead of dodging business owners and residents clearing out their places. My heart leaps upon seeing his boots slap against the road doing its best to fight the storm.

What if it’s not thawed all the way? What if the temperature dropped and there’s black ice forming? What if someone tosses a shovelful of snow into the road, and there’s rocks in it and they hit Quentin and—

He makes it to my side and I swallow the emotion built up in my throat, attempting to choke me out. “Be careful.” I snap, then stiffen against the realization of what I’ve done. My wings tremble finely and I grit my teeth against the sensation.

Quentin scratches at his chest, glancing back at the way he came. “The road’s better than the sidewalk.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty good on my feet. Hey, Michael. He making you brave the weather?”

Michael chuckles, straightening from the lamppost. “Something like that. Sent home early, hm?”

Quentin shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t even know why they bothered.”

“I wasn’t worried, by the way. It would just be an inconvenience if you broke your neck on such an important day, that’s all.”

Quentin laughs, adjusting his wood frame glasses. He usually wears a different pair everyday, but it seems like this pair is the only one I see him in anymore. Then again, we haven’t seen each other in awhile. He says, “Right. I think it’s just us. Arlo’s at Thitwhistle’s with the boys, they didn’t bother going to school, and everyone else is busy.”

“Oh. Well, why are we still standing out here?”

“Because you’re afraid I’m going to break my ankle and turn into a damsel in distress.” Quentin’s smile fades a little, and while he seems to be teasing, maybe there’s a certain … truth being pushed forth, or offered between the lines. Then again, overthinking is my job.

“If anyone’s the damsel here, it’s Elochian,” Michael says, winking at Quentin.

I roll my eyes. “Why must you two get on so well? I’m leaving you both.”

I lead the way into Shh Elves, followed by Quentin and Michael. Michael slips by me and discreetly sweeps the place visually, assessing potential targets as he approaches the serving counter. Only three other people are in the cafe area, singularly occupying tables with a coffee or book, or both.

Quentin quietly asks, “Lochian, could I get your coat?”

“Hm?” I blink out of my fugue, looking over to find Quentin’s hands hovering over my shoulders, his cheeks burned from the wind. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Where’d you go?” Quentin chuckles, and stained fingers take a gentle hold of my overcoat. They’re long and careful, and I find myself fixating on the dye tainting his fingertips, making it look like he’s been playing in blood. He slides the thick black wool from my shoulders, all without actually touching me.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” I whisper, body electrified by his proximity and aura.

He’s the aftermath of a storm, the wet grass and hesitant birdsong. The first rays of sun breaking through the clouds. For a moment, I can understand my demons and their inability to fully look at me without being blinded. Quentin doesn’t blind me, though. Simply consumes me. Entrances me into a constant state of joy and wonder.

He laughs. “Bit early to go everywhere, hm?” With my jacket in hand, he gestures to the coat rack, but I shake my head. Quentin shrugs, draping my coat over his arm. “Want a drink?”

“No, thank you,” I say absently. “What happened to your hands?”

A look of surprise crosses Quentin’s face, then he visibly pales and looks down to his hands. “Oh, shit. It’s … I tried washing it off but it left … left a stain. On me.”

Avoiding my eyes, he offers me back my jacket, which I take. “Quentin?”

He fidgets with his glasses, then shoves his hand into his pants pocket. “It’s just, ah … marker. Had a problem with the whiteboard today. Sorry, I didn’t think about it.”

“Oh I could give two shits about this.” I hold up the coat. “I was just curious.” I study him for a moment, searching for evidence of whatever’s caused him to react so strongly. Was it me? Did I say something wrong? Maybe I shouldn’t have commented on it. No, it’s not that out of the ordinary to ask someone why their hands are stained.

Quentin rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Could I ah … use your phone? Mine died, and I need to call Arlo.”

“Of course it did,” I say dryly, offering him my phone.

That seems to clear away some of his nervous energy, and he scowls at me. “The charger got unplugged from the wall last night. Somehow. I did plug it in.”

I chuckle. “Right. You know, I think I am in the mood for something warm.”

Quentin brightens, cold fingers brushing against mine as he finally takes my phone. “The cider here is pretty good.”

I fight to keep my breathing even. “Perfect.”

Quentin gestures to a small area in the corner, outside the bathrooms. “I’ll be real quick.”

“Okay.”

He stares at me, and I stare at him.

“What?” I ask quietly, feeling the most seen that I have all day. Exposed.

“N–nothing. I’ll be right back.” He scurries away and I watch him go, listening to his heart speed up as he dials a number.

A few moments later Michael joins my side, his own drink in hand. He glances between Quentin and me. “Everything alright?”

I hold my jacket to my chest, watching Quentin run a hand through his hair over and over as he talks. “I’m not sure.”

Because he’s a dick, Michael says, “Well, I’m glad that you took the day off. To rest, and all. Not because you want to turn that frown upside down.”

I glare at him. “Took you long enough.”

Michael grins, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Yes, well. Now that my duty here is complete, I’m going to find a seat. They’re bringing the books out for us.”

I’m relieved that the tension between us has disappeared, but confusion takes over. “Books?”

He gives me a flat look. “Yes. Books. The ones Mr. Rook requested that you pick up for him. The original purpose of our trip?”

“You don’t need to be such an ass.” I mutter, face heating. “Thank you.”

“Of course I don’t. And you’re welcome.” He takes off for the table closest to the door, content to be my babysitter from a distance. I glance at Quentin one more time before conquering the business that is ordering drinks.