Chapter Thirteen

 

As the sun fell into the hills—a round, bald head laying down for sleep—it let out one last burst of light before disappearing entirely. Frederik's hands gripped the warm, wooden edge of the battlements he stood on. Having the rays of the sun against his fur in wolf form did not compare to the warmth against his bare skin . . . the lack of fear, of pain. Of course, the mortal warriors preparing in the courtyard below would not have stopped to appreciate it, spoiled creatures that they were.

Hands ghosted around his neck, and Michael removed the chain, ending its power over him. Even with the darkness now overpowering the light, without the aid of the chain, he could now feel the heat in the air through his clothes, and an instant layer of sweat dampened his garments and made him itch.

Frederik was a true vampire once more. The sunlight had been beautiful, and he was glad he had it while he could. It was a gift . . . one of many he had received on this journey .

"I have a plan," Michael said.

That voice irritated him. Michael had no appreciation of how difficult this was for him. "What would that be?"

"Jophiel's sword. Had he beheaded ye with it, as he should have"—Frederik's fists clenched, but Michael ignored this—"his wings would have been returned to him, and he would have been brought back to the Heavens. 'Tis the sword enchantment that decides, not the one who wields it. If that sword takes yer head, Jo returns to his rightful place."

Frederik rubbed his face. Men were milling about, some with muskets, most with crossbows. The men on the ground level all carried bastard swords, lances, and daggers.

Jo had made a comment about the battlements being made for cannons, but it seemed MacNiel could not afford cannons as of yet, considering the expense of the work he had put into the walls. They would have to make do.

With the sun down, they expected an attack at any moment and at any hour of the night. If nothing came tonight, they would have to stand watch tomorrow night. And over and over again until their enemy finally came. Frederik could not die until then. Not when his strength could be of such use to help save these people.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I am suggesting we stop Zadkiel before he goes so far there can be no forgiveness for him."

"Forgiveness for him?" The very idea that an angel who was entirely responsible for sending Frederik on that—he could not stand it! "You filthy—"

Michael's hand shot out like a flying arrow, his hand finding Frederik's face, his fingers digging into his cheeks and gripping his entire jaw. Frederik's fangs cut into the flesh inside his mouth as Michael yanked him closer, a calm smile on his face as though they were still having a gentlemanly discussion. "Do not presume to question my love and loyalty for my brother." He squeezed harder, pushing Frederik's fangs deeper inside. He winced but remained still.

"Am I being understood?"

Frederik's eyes glanced to the side and down into the courtyard. Jo was visible, but he was speaking with MacNiel's warriors, enlightening them as to what to expect during their coming battle. They were so engrossed with Jo's instructions that no one noticed Frederik's and Michael's exchange.

Fuck off, swine, Frederik thought, glaring.

The swine frowned, but released him. Frederik lurched back and had to adjust his cheeks to pull the fangs from the holes they'd created in his mouth. Then he spat the blood that had been building on his tongue onto the wooden boards at Michael's feet. Drinking one's own blood was never a good idea.

"If I could kill you for that," Frederik said, "I would."

"Not very Belial of you," Michael noted.

"I'm going to die anyway," Frederik muttered.

A young warrior walking along the battlements passed by, shooting Frederik a look when he caught his words. Both he and Michael said nothing else until he moved on and out of hearing range. Frederik's voice was soft when he spoke again. Jo was still below with the men, and he did not wish for him to hear any of what he and Michael said either.

"Tell me there will be some retribution for his actions."

"Calm yourself, Grimm," Michael said. "I did not mean he would be returning to his duties with nary a slap on the wrist. I only meant he will be given a chance to stay out of Hell after his wings have been removed. Would that be punishment enough?"

"Not in the least."

"Regardless, 'tis what I hope for him after centuries of loyal service."

Frederik folded his arms. The hard conviction in the angel's voice meant there would be no swaying him. It shouldn't matter to Frederik that he was being sent into Limbo while the one responsible for all of this would be allowed to live as a mortal, but it still grated on him.

"Tell me your plan," he said.

"When all is said and done with Zadkiel, I will take Jo's sword, and ye and I will go to some quiet spot in the forest to end this."

The plan shocked him. He half expected Michael to suggest they steal Jo's sword and give it to Zadkiel to do the deed. No doubt that was the whole purpose of Zadkiel's entire plot, and there could hardly be repercussions against him—any more repercussion—for killing him after what Frederik had done.

And, yet, if Zadkiel did get his hands on Jo's sword, it was highly doubtful he would be as merciful in killing Frederik as Michael would be. Having Michael do it did seem to be the preferable option.

The plan was flawed, however. "If you ask for Jo's sword, he will know what we are doing. I will ask for it."

Michael observed him silently for a moment before nodding. "Let it be done then."

"I'm trusting you in this," Frederik said, looking down on Jo once more, one hand gripping the wooden ledge. "I do not want to go to Hell."

Michael's jaw popped. "And I will do all in my power to keep that from happening."

Frederik wanted to ask Michael more, but the wind and trees abruptly stilled, leaving the air unnaturally quiet. The little hairs on the back of Frederik's neck stood high and itched. The silence was as good as a war drum beating across the land. Even the warriors in the courtyard searched about them, as though wondering where the noise had gone.

The sounds of leaves clapping together in the trees stalled. The chirping and skittering of other forest creatures faded from the night.

"They're here," Frederik said, though he did not need to. Michael was already calling out his orders.

"Do not attempt to pierce their hearts with yer swords," he called out. "Ye will damage yer weapons. Make yer attacks at the neck and through the eyes."

Though it was grossly childish, Frederik fumed inwardly at secrets to killing vampires being spread so freely.

MacNiel appeared then, dressed much the same as he always was, but with his heavy sword in hand and ready to battle beside his warriors. His sword flickered with orange flame.

Michael stared at the weapon, and then looked shrewdly at MacNiel, who only grinned and shrugged.

"Do not waste what little abilities ye have on parlor tricks."

"This will hardly be a trick to vampires who fear the fire," MacNiel boomed, flicking the sword.

Frederik stepped away from the fire, annoyed.

Amelia was not with her husband, he noted, but she was no doubt off somewhere preparing a battle of her own.

His main concern was Jo, on the ground, keeping the spirits of the men behind him high and ready. Some of them were young, so young Frederik doubted their lack of facial hair was a result of shaving, and Jo stayed particularly close to them. He and his battalion faced the gates, weapons drawn.

Frederik forced his eyes away. No distractions. The vampires would attack everyone within these walls. Zadkiel was a fool to think he could control them.

Everything had been much simpler when he assumed the only enemy he needed to fight was MacNiel.

They waited and waited. The wind picked up again but nothing came for them. Nothing walked out of the darkness of the forest save for a lost rabbit scurrying for shelter. Not a single vampire, let alone an army of them.

"Och, what is taking them so long? I am not known for my patience, Grimm!" MacNiel shouted. The bastard knew perfectly well the battle could easily not happen tonight. Some of his men chuckled nervously amongst themselves at that.

"Be silent!" Jo called.

The laughter abruptly ceased at the command. Jo's eyes went to Michael. The angel had his head tilted. He seemed to be listening for something no one else could hear, not even Frederik.

His ears must have found what they sought, because his face twisted in horror.

"They are coming!" Michael roared.

The wind picked up and threw itself around them, a violent rush that twisted and clattered the heavy tree branches together and snapped them apart, their breaking limbs like the clapping of thunder. Dust flew up, over, and around them, surrounding the men in a cloud that was thicker, and more blinding, than any fog. Frederik lost Jo in the sand, and panic squeezed his insides.

"Jo!" Frederik yelled. He put his foot up on the fence of the battlement and prepared to leap down when the wind and dust settled as quickly as it had come. Frederik found him, but his relief was momentary when he realized what the drunken- like stumbling and Jo's arm over his eyes meant: The dust had blinded him.

Not just Jo. Every man below was stumbling and reaching blindly for anything to grasp hold of. Jo rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to clear them but was just as helpless as the other men.

One plaid-clad warrior fell into another, emitting a shout of surprise, and, with a shick, their swords were drawn. In a panic, every blinded warrior went into a battle stance.

"Hold your weapons!" MacNiel called, even though he, too, had his giant hand over his face, his own weapon no longer flaming. "No one make a move. Dinna attack!"

Frederik leapt down, a tiny cloud of dust wafting at his feet as he landed. "Jo, I'm coming to you. Keep your damned blade to yourself." When he reached Jo, he grabbed his shoulders.

Jo hissed. "I cannot see!" It seemed to both anger and pain him.

"I know, come with me." Frederik pulled him away from the fifty warriors before one of them could take his, or Jo's, head by mistake. Jo did not fight him. He followed at a brisk pace for a blind man.

Several archers at the gates had the same idea as Frederik, and they left their posts to aid their friends. There were only four or so to help the many who were blinded. Not all would be helped in time.

Frederik pulled Jo under the battlements where they would be sheltered should the wind pick up again. He grabbed a water skin he had been given, took Jo by his golden hair, and forced his head back.

"Open your eyes," he said as he poured the water over them.

Jo made a sound of displeasure as the water pooled over his eyes, washing them, but he kept still. "'Twas Zad," he hissed, shaking the water from his face and hair after Frederik pulled the skin away, though Jo's eyes were still bleary, and he continued to press his fist into the left one. "He is coming. He brought forth the wind."

"I know that!"

But for the moaning and stumbling of the warriors in the small courtyard, and the occasional shout from MacNiel for everyone to put away their blades as men rushed to them without warning to pour water into their eyes, everything had gone silent again.

"He brought more than that," Frederik said, watching the feet of the warriors now. A mist lifted from the ground, floated on the air like wisps from a ghost before thickening to a fog.

Jo looked down at what Frederik saw.

"Do Belial vampires create fog?"

"Some do."

The gray fog climbed up the legs of the warriors, reaching their chests, and necks, until the already blind men disappeared within its blanket. The archers who had come to the aid of the men rushed out of it before it could consume them, taking the few men they could with them. They dared not enter it after that.

"Milord, your orders?"

Frederik stared down into the boyish face of the man who spoke. To his extreme distaste, the man had directed the question at Jo.

"Lower yer weapons, and, until ye can see yer opponent, ye are to not shoot anything,"

Suddenly, the lad looked as though he would rather he hadn't asked.

"Are you certain it was Zadkiel?" Frederik asked.

Jo did not get a chance to answer as a dozen shadows fell into the misted courtyard. Panicked screams filled the air, most transforming to gurgling cries as those who were still standing were taken down, their heavy bodies thudding on the ground and creating ripples in the fog.

The vampires had arrived.

The metal scrape of swords being unsheathed brought Frederik's mind back to Jo just as the former angel attempted to run ahead to fight. Frederik's hand snatched out like a whip and grabbed the red cape of Jo's armor, yanking him back.

"Get off of me!"

"You won't see in there. You'll get your head cut off!"

Jo returned his eyes to the chaos. The many movements of flailing bodies and vampires watered down the fog, though it was difficult to see more than shadows within the mist.

Michael landed next to them.

"Do something!" Frederik snapped.

"What would you have me do?"

"Use yer wings, dispense the fog," said Jo.

"And kick up more dust in their eyes?" Michael spoke with a calm Frederik did not understand. "We are forced to wait."

There were more men than vampires, many more, Frederik could tell. But the warriors who had not been ambushed lifted their swords to attack the creatures latching onto their companions. There were more misses than hits, and, for this, the men received long slashes that bled freely down their arms, necks, and ribs, making easy meals of them. The added screams of those being taken down by their own men brought more blind warriors to them, believing one of the demons to be attacking a comrade.

Through the fog, somewhere he could still not be seen, MacNiel screamed to his men. "Dinna attack! Stand your ground!"

The panic of the men, blind from sand and fog while being attacked, rendered MacNiel's shouted commands as useless as though he had whispered them.

Then the fog began to clear enough that Frederik could see more detail, and smell more of the carnage, as though a window were being opened into a bloody room, which only made his situation all the more helpless. Some of the older, more experienced warriors kept their calm and bravely kept still.

Most of the fighting warriors continued swinging and lunging, and when they sank their swords into a vampire, their blades passed through the body and into the flesh of the men they intended to save. It was a massacre. The odor of blood, bones, and shit whooshed down on him and clung to his clothes and the inside of his nose.

Of course, Frederik should not have expected Jo to remain still through it all. Just as another young warrior was about to thrust his blade blindly down on a vampire latched to the neck of his comrade, Jo pushed Frederik's hand away and leapt into the fray .

"Jo!" Idiot!

The former angel ignored him as he leaped over a dead warrior, reached out, and halted the hands of the man about to kill his friend. The young Scot panicked at what he perceived to be an attack. A brawl broke out between them for control of the weapon. The Scotsman pulled out his dagger and made a clumsy swipe with it, tripping over his own feet, and slicing Jo's leg before he could dance out of the way.

"You bloody, do-gooding idiot." Frederik rushed forth, leapt from his feet, and came back down. By the time he landed, he was in his wolf form. But even with his vampire speed restored, Frederik could not move fast enough to offer aid before Jo landed his fist into the eye of MacNiel's warrior, disarming him.

Jo had the situation well in hand, but Frederik would not abandon him, so he turned his attention to the female vampire still sucking the life-blood from the now unmoving man on the ground. With quick teeth, he opened his long jaws and grabbed the vampire's head, locking it within his fangs by crushing his incisors into the bone of its skull. The sucking teeth of the vampire jerked out of the flesh of his victim in surprise, and, before she could fight back, Frederik twisted until a telling crack sounded, and her body went limp.

"Frederik."

He released the body and spun. Jo stared down at him, mouth hanging a little.

He transformed back quickly and wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve. "She was killing this man here," he said, looking down at the body, which appeared dead despite Frederik's attempt at a rescue.

"I know. I was unaware your wolf was so powerful. Stay that way until the battle ends."

"It's you I worry for."

Jo frowned at that. He looked between both men on the ground. The fog had now fully lifted. The vampires had gone as quickly as they had come, and, when what few men who remained standing finally blinked the dust away, they wished they had not.

Jo's eyes rested on the warrior he'd punched. He was not moving, his eye was already swelling and bleeding from Jo's attack, but his chest rose and fell in a healthy succession. "This one is alive."

"We will be attacked again soon," Frederik said. He knew better than to think this moment of respite meant they were safe. Jo's expression remained stern and ready.

"Frederik," Jo grabbed his arm and pointed at MacNiel, who still blinked in a bleary daze, heavy muscles trembling with the effort of keeping his eyes open.

It took a half-second for Frederik to spot the dark creatures crawling up from behind him, low to the ground stretched out on their hands and feet, some in their wolf forms, on their bellies, stalking their prey, others transformed into a cluster of spiders. Jo and Frederik nearly ran to him until a banshee shriek froze them.

Amelia flew down upon the vampires. Literally, she flew, transforming mid-air from her bat shape, long wings and furred body lengthening into the larger shape of the lady of the land wearing a riding gown with her plaid overtop. Her hands remained mostly creature-like, long brown digits, which curled into pointed ends, and she put her claws into the eyes of the first vampire before a second gripped her braid and yanked it like it was a rope, lifting her and pulling her around.

MacNiel heard her enraged screams. "Ami! Ami!" he called to her. He stumbled toward the sound of her voice but did not lift his sword lest he bring it down upon her.

Frederik, using all the speed he possessed, rushed across the battlefield, his hands reaching out to grab the fool who dared to touch his sister. He leapt up, his knees landing on the male vampire's shoulders. The tips of his fingers were already claws when he took his sister's attacker by the skull. He twisted hard, forcing the head to turn even when the bones and muscles strained to stop and listened with deep satisfaction as the neck bent and cracked in the same fashion as had that of his previous victim. The entire body attached went limp, releasing Amelia so abruptly she fell to her knees and coughed in the dirt.

Instead of showing her proper gratitude, she glared at him, wiping the dirt from her mouth with the back of her hand. "I had all in hand."

"No you didn't."

"Ami! Where are you?" MacNiel screamed, still struggling to find her, his arms over his eyes, rubbing in a desperate attempt to clear away the little rocks so he could see.

"I am here." She went to him and put her small arms around his large shoulders. His bulging giant-like hands her close. Had she been as fragile as she appeared, Frederik had no doubt he would have crushed her in his embrace. As it was, she nearly disappeared within his enormous arms anyway.

Frederik looked away from their affection. Jo raised a light brow at him, and he turned from that too. He held out his water skin for his sister to take. "Wash out his eyes."

Amelia pulled herself from MacNiel, snatched the skin, and poured the water over her husband's face.

Frederik's anger at her for daring to enter this battle knew no bounds, but yelling at her would have to wait for later. He searched around for more attacking foes, but all the vampires who had not been slashed to pieces along with the warriors they had been attached to had disappeared.

"They are readying for another attack," said Michael, sword still in hand, flickering. "We do not have long."

Amelia cleaned MacNiel's eyes with an extreme gentleness. The Scotsman shook his head like a dog, the water beading in his sandy beard and hair. Finally, he opened his eyes and blinked rapidly as the last of the clean water washed out the dirt and sand.

When he saw her, his eyes hardened. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. He attempted it, at least. While another vampire had been able to drag her around in circles, MacNiel, for all his brawn, could barely nudge her. "I told you to stay in the keep! You could have been killed!"

Frederik would not need to punish Amelia after all. MacNiel's fierce voice brought a tremble to her lips that suggested a better punishment than Frederik could ever offer.

"I had to save you," she said.

Her small voice was enough to make MacNiel melt around her, comforting her and rocking her like a child.

Frederik rolled his eyes, annoyance sizzling within him.

A scraping voice at his feet stole Frederik's attention away. "I'll not go back!"

They all stopped and peered down at the crumpled body of the vampire he had just destroyed. His body remained limp and dead, but his head was far from lifeless. Black hair had fallen into his fanged mouth as he spoke, and, without the ability to wipe it away, he attempted to spit it out as he glared and snarled. "Do not send me back! I will kill you all if you send me back!"

Hell, Frederik realized. The vampire spoke of Hell.

Frederik should have expected this. So long as the head remained attached, the heart continued to beat and provide blood to the brain. Looking back, the first vampire whose neck he broke was also alive, although his throat seemed to be in far less working condition as he did little but gurgle in rage.

One of MacNiel's archers came close to examine the worthless creature. The vampire's jaws snapped open and shut in biting motions, as though attempting to frighten him off. The young lad's face twisted in anger, and he lifted his sword and brought it down on the vampire's throat, severing the head entirely. The warrior then kicked the head away in a fit of rage. It smashed against the wall of the gates and burst apart as though it had been a pear instead of a head.

"Did you really think a full soul could be yours in exchange for all of this blood?" Frederik asked the vampire at his feet.

The golden eyes widened, but no other part of his body twitched. "I was promised!"

"Which means Zadkiel has already lost control," Michael said, staring down at him with contempt.

"He never had control," said Frederik. "Not if all he used to begin with was a promise." He scanned the bloody courtyard where only a few warriors remained alive, or, at best, standing. Once the small group of vampires had vanished, the remaining men were left to pick themselves, and their wounded, up. Pained moans filled the night. "He sent those bastards to kill us all."

"I was thirsty!" The vampire moaned. "I've had nothing to drink for years! Ever since being sent to Hell!"

Frederik winced at that. One of the legends of the torture inflicted upon a half- souled vampire in Hell involved entrapment inside a small cave, a bleeding pig sitting an arm's reach away. But whenever the vampire went near it, it scurried away, spilling not a drop of blood to be licked up, always too quick to be captured.

This, of course, was a tale told to young Belial vampires to frighten them into living good, decent lives. Never steal, never turn mortals into vampires, and most importantly, never kill the innocent. Whether it was actually true or not, no one could ever say for certain.

Yet this vampire, who claimed starvation and the promise of freedom from Hell, made Frederik believe the story perhaps held some accuracy.

Jo pulled his sword from its sheath. He lifted it and fell upon the vampire, stabbing him between the eyes, snuffing out his borrowed life forever. Not a beheading, but it worked just as well.

Frederik stared at him, shocked.

Jo's expression was grim. "There was no salvation for him. Not with his body so useless as that."

Frederik put his hand on Jo's shoulder. Jo reached up as if to touch that offered hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away toward the center of the courtyard, instead.

He raised his head toward the sky. "Zadkiel!" Jo bellowed, an anger in his voice Frederik had never before heard. Not even when he accused Frederik of murder. "Show yerself!"

"Jophiel," Michael said, attempting to calm him this time.

Jo pushed Michael away with both hands and continued to scream at the sky. "Zad, come down here now!"

Michael went back to him. "Jophiel, calm yerself."

"Nay!" Jo shoved Michael again. The angel stiffened and popped his jaw. For the first time since Frederik saw him, he looked like he was struggling for patience.

"Zadkiel needs to answer for this. He is a traitor. We are protectors, not killers," Jo said.

"'Tis easy for ye to say such things."

Everyone looked up. Zadkiel stood upon one of the poles of the wooden battlements, now empty. The angel spread his wings. They were dark even in the torchlight. Frederik squinted at them. No. Not a trick of the shadows and torches. Zadkiel's wings were no longer white; they were now as black as the crows the angel had sent at him the first day Jo broke his agreement with Heaven.

Zadkiel leapt from his perch. One injured man barely managed to pull himself out of the way as Zadkiel landed in a crouch, the ground quaking under his weight.

Jo unsheathed his sword and marched toward him. "I will take your head."

Frederik's insides transformed to ice.

"Jophiel, halt!" Michael roared.

To Frederik's relief, Jo did as Michael ordered. Years—or centuries, rather—of following commands had stuck with Jo despite his time on Earth.

"Nay!" Zadkiel said, his blue eyes melting into a copper -red, the same color they had been the last time he and Jo escaped from him. In fact, twin lumps were forming on his forehead. One on each side above his eyes and just beneath his golden hairline. They were a bright pink and had the look of an infection.

Horns, Frederik realized. Horns were sprouting from his skull, stretching the skin and attempting to break through.

"Had Jophiel followed his orders, this would not be happening to anyone."

Frederik blinked. Zadkiel was speaking to him. The angel—demon—thing—was listening to his thoughts.

Frederik spun on Michael with a glare. "How many more of you can listen to our thoughts?"

"Only me," he said. "Zadkiel, what have you done?"

"He is a demon," Jo said.

MacNiel growled, pulled Amelia behind him, and readied his sword at those words, as though expecting Zadkiel to charge at any second. Michael sighed and closed his eyes.

Frederik had not known demons could hear the thoughts of others. Perhaps it was only some demons that could do such things, as Michael could only do it amongst the angels.

Zadkiel's eyes glowed brighter, the red completely consuming the whites of them now, and he bared his teeth, some of which had been transformed into fangs. "Do. Not. Call. Me. That!" Hot steam flowed from his eyes, ears, and mouth. "I am a servant of Heaven. Not those creatures in Hell."

"Zadkiel, look at what ye have done." Jo waved his arm around the carnage of the courtyard, as though Zadkiel had somehow overlooked it. "Ye sold yer soul. Endangered innocents and killed others."

"I have not sold my soul. I have killed no one!" Zadkiel shrieked. Then his once proud and straight back folded. "I . . . I promised to aid the vampires in gaining full souls and escaping from Hell if they claimed him." He nodded toward Frederik, yet did not bother looking at him as though he bore no true significance. "They were not meant to do . . . all of this."

Zadkiel's head lazily tilted around so that he might see the death at his feet. He quickly shut his eyes against it and raised his thick hand to his face, shielding his eyes and his nose.

It was hardly the normal hand of an angel. Claws were growing there, jutting out like spikes where his fingernails should have been. Deep, red boils marred the skin of his arms. Hair—black, uneven, and as stringy as MacNiel's beard—jutted out at odd angles on his knuckles, from inside the boils, and even on his palms.

His skin looked like the flesh of mischief demons.

Raven-black wings, fangs, and red boils.

"Every demon you summon becomes a part of you," said Frederik. Which meant that the angel was losing, or had already lost, his angelic gifts.

Jo went closer. Frederik stepped forth to stop him, but Michael's hand on his shoulder held him back. The angel’s grip was tight, stronger than even the golden chain Jo had once put around his neck. He received the message clearly.

Do not move.

Jo halted before his friend. Their armor was the same, but their bodies now entirely different. Jo pulled the devilish hand from Zadkiel's face. The demon was weeping quietly. Despite his grossly disturbing appearance, his tears were still clear and pure. Jo shook his head at the creature and promptly turned his back on him.

The rejection only caused Zadkiel's cries to become louder, more childlike. Apologies spilled from his throat, but Jo did not halt until he stood next to his commander.

"What are we to do with him now?"

"Question him. If he's able, we can have him send back the vampires." Michael released Frederik's shoulder.

Michael went to Zadkiel, hesitated, and then put his hand on his hunched back. The former angel winced at this and looked up at him.

"Why did ye do this to yerself, Zad?" Michael asked.

Zadkiel turned his red eyes accusingly to Frederik, as though he had been the one who brought such a monstrous condition onto the former angel.

"Jophiel was made a fool by that creature. Laughed at in Heaven for fornicating with a Hellspawn."

Frederik hissed at him.

Jo did not appear to notice their exchanged looks of hate. "If such is the truth, it does not matter."

"Of course, it matters! The story was passed around many times. Disgusting things said, things I cannot repeat."

Frederik clenched his fists, torn between needing to know what had been said and never wanting to hear of it.

"I wanted my brother back!" Zadkiel spat. "Ye may have been content to sit in the clouds listening as they tortured his memory while he starved on earth, but I was not!" By the end of his shouting, Zadkiel was advancing upon Michael. "Ye have seen his face, ye have seen what this mortal existence has done to him."

"Michael healed my wounds, Zad," Jo said.

"Yer own body should have done that for ye!"

"My understanding is that those wounds were brought on by the little minions ye sent after them. As for being mortal, 'twas his decision. He wanted free will, and he gained it." Michael folded his arms.

"Because ye allowed it!" Zadkiel stood close to Michael now. He pointed his finger in Michael's face as he shouted his defense. "He saved ye from that demon, and ye let him rot down here."

MacNiel sputtered in displeasure. His chest puffed in and out at the insult to his home world. Amelia's calming hand on his chest was likely all that kept him from lashing out.

"Nay, Zad," Jo said, speaking calmly despite the energy and heat emitting from his friends. "Michael is correct. Until I cut away my wings, I was able to return home whenever I chose, but I did not. I made a mistake, and I lived with it."

Frederik winced at hearing Jo call him a mistake.

Jo continued to plead with Zadkiel. "I will not kill him, Zadkiel. Enough damage has been done. Return yer army to Hell."

Zadkiel hid his face in his boil-encrusted hand again. "I cannot. I have tried. They were never meant to do this. They will not listen to me."

"And I'll be a horse's ass!" MacNiel roared, having had enough. He lifted his sword, ready to bring it down. Michael unsheathed his own fiery blade, but halted the Scotsman with only a look.

MacNiel sputtered. "He speaks lies! Kill him!"

"No," Frederik said, shocking those around him. He stepped forward, ignoring Michael's glare, and Zadkiel's indignant, snake-like hiss. But then the demon rushed forth, putting himself directly between Frederik and Jo.

Frederik could hardly believe it. The damned idiot believed he was protecting Jo from him. Him.

"I was not the one to attack him, nor send mischief demons and vampires at him." Frederik could barely hold his calm.

"They were not for him, fool. They were for ye."

"And yet, he bore the marks of their attack. He was also attacked by your vampires just now, and, if memory serves, he fought you as well."

Zadkiel's eyes glowed a darker shade of red. Darker than blood. His fists clenched and his nails became longer, a violet liquid dripping from their pointed ends.

Poison. Naturally.

"You said you did not sell your soul," Frederik continued quickly. They were, after all, on a time limit. There was no telling if or when those crazed vampires would return, or where they would go. "Visual evidence points to the contrary."

"Aye," Jo said, coming around Zadkiel so that now he was standing between him and Frederik. "How did ye become this way, Zadkiel?"

The demon stared at his friend and brother for a long moment, and then his chest heaved in a great breath. "I made a bargain, but I did not sell my soul."

"What did ye sell?" Jo asked.

Zadkiel finally looked back at Frederik. "His."

A loud screech echoed in the black sky.