Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #13: The Miracle Heist]

Log Date: 1/7/12764

Data Sources: Raikaron Syntaritov, Jayta Jaskolka

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The House of Regret: Raikaron’s Study

9:55pm SGT

The surface of my mixing table splinters as I slam my fists down on it, and I let out a roar of frustration.

It doesn’t break, not all the way. It snaps, clearly; crunches and folds, but only slightly. The equipment on the table all slides towards the center, now bent in at the middle with matchstick splinters shoving against each other like interlocked fingers. Gripping the edges of the table, I dig my fingernails into the underside of it as my envy turns into jealously, jealousy morphs into rage, and rage…

Rage becomes power.

It spills out of me like a cup filled to the brim, the shadows across my study lengthening and deepening. The wood that makes up the walls, the ceilings, the floor starts to creak and groan as they slowly warp and bend, folding towards each other and in on themselves as I crush the dimensions of the room with my will alone. Torquing reality and bending it around me, like trying to break a willow branch over your knee.

The sound of a shoe brushing over the carpet in the hall brings my tantrum to a pause, and I turn my head to see Danya standing in the hall, her mouth hanging open slightly.

There is a moment of mindless silence. Neither of us say anything, but Danya is the first one to recover herself, quickly averting her gaze and backing away from the doorway. “My apologies, my Lord, I will come back later—”

“Remain.” I order tonelessly. I let go of the edges of the desk, the study creaking as I relinquish its tortured reality, and it slowly returns to the dimensions it had before, like a stress ball filling out after being released. The shadows lighten, the room reacquiring its previous halflit luminosity. Pushing off the table, I stand there for a moment, then turn and walk over to the fireplace on the other side of the room, sitting down in one of the high-backed armchairs. “Come in. Close the door behind you.”

Danya is quick to do so, the door clicking shut behind her. She does not come in further than that, though, her apprehensiveness masked with a carefully neutral expression. A consummate professional, as always.

“I apologize for my behavior.” I say after a moment, staring into the flames in the fireplace. “It was unbecoming of my station, and I know that I ought to set the example that I wish to see followed.”

“You need apologize for nothing, my Lord.” Danya says quickly. “Nor need you explain anything. It is not my place to question. You still command my respect.”

“Do I command your respect, or your fear, Danya?” I ask, propping my elbow on the arm of the chair, and setting my head against my hand. “There is a difference between the two.”

“You command both, my Lord.” she says, folding her hands in front of herself. “We all have our moments. That I caught you in one of yours will not change my respect for you.”

“The moment should not have happened in the first place. I cannot remember the last time I lost my temper.” I sigh, still studying the flames. “What is the mortal saying? ‘Be careful what you wish for’?”

“The mortals do say that quite often, my Lord.” Danya confirms. She still hasn’t moved from her spot by the door.

“Counsel I should’ve heeded, clearly…” I murmur.

But I say no more after that, and a long silence settles in the room. Danya does not move from her post, and I continue to watch the flames dance in the hearth, persistent images chasing themselves behind my eyes. Stewing, and dwelling on them as I have, for the past week or so since the night of the Iron Liver.

“You did warn Jayta about Harro, did you not, Danya?” I eventually ask without taking my eyes off mesmerizing glow of the embers.

“Yes, my Lord. Many times.” Danya answers. “On every occasion that you requested I do so, and then on many other occasions unprompted.”

“And still she did not heed the counsel.” I murmur, almost to myself.

“You merely need say the word, my Lord—” Danya begins.

“No.” I say, cutting her off. “If we force him away from her now, she will learn nothing. It will only breed resentment in her, and further the possibility of disobedience. We gave her the choice of an easy way or a hard way to learn this lesson, and she has made her choice. Now we let it play out to its natural conclusion. If we interfere, the lesson will be ruined.”

“But what of Harro, my Lord?” Danya demands, coming forward a step. “This is not like the others; you explicitly forbade him to go after her and he did so anyway. This is not just another one of his hunts; it is a willful flaunting of your commands.”

“I know.”

“Such brazen insubordination, such disrespect, cannot go unpunished—”

“Then compose a list for me, Danya.” I say as one of the logs in the fire cracks in half. “A torture menu, if you will, of terrible things that you think Harro ought to endure for what he will eventually do. And I will see which of them seems appropriate.”

“You want… me to compose a torture menu?” Danya asks hesitantly. “My creativity for punishment is no equal for yours, my Lord.”

“My expertise is in sublime suffering, and the poetic justice. But I am not interested in those types of punishments this time around.” I reply. “I lack the crass and brutal sensibilities that motivate other demons and Lords, which is why I outsource the effort to you. Ask the girls, ask anyone that Harro has wronged in his quest to complete his sentence, how they think he ought to suffer. I am sure they will have no end of suggestions.”

“Understood, sir. I will… begin on that as soon as possible.”

“See to it that you do. You may go now.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Danya gives a quick bow, and expediently departs the study without further ado. As the door clicks closed behind her, I draw a deep breath, and let it out ever so slowly. Reaching up, I hook a finger in Envy’s collar, still latched around my neck.

Imagine, the Lord of Regret, experiencing regret.

Jayta’s Journal

Miracles.

They’re a concept that transcends the borders of religion, appearing in mythos from a vast array of cultures. They are, in their simplest reduction, an instance of the impossible made possible, at the command of the divine. The healing of an incurable disease; the removal of a disability; the parting of oceans and mountains — these are all common examples of your traditional miracle. Sometimes miracles come at a price, or require something in turn; but just as often, they are freely given as a demonstration of the benevolence of the divine.

The definition of a miracle shifts and evolves as societies do. As a society advances, diseases once considered incurable become treatable and preventable. Disabilities can be remedied with corrective surgery, technology, or bioengineering. Worlds can be shaped and terraformed. As mortals progress, they are able to reach out and grasp the things that were once imagined to be the province of the divine alone; they gain the knowledge and power to do the things that were once considered impossible. They become the makers of the miracles they once stood in awe of.

Yet that does not mean the end of divine miracles.

Because there are some things that will always be beyond the reach of mortals, and some mortal miracles can only ever be accomplished by groups and not individuals. Divine miracles continue to exist because a miracle can be many things, but is always something beyond the reach, whether near or far, of the individual that needs it. They exist because the universe is inherently unfair, and the miracles wrought by mortals are not shared evenly. All too often, a divine miracle restores some modicum of equity to a circumstance or a person that has been sorely deprived of it. They are a balm for the downtrodden and outcast, a salve for the disenfranchised and despairing. They provide some measure of comfort and protection from suffering, pain, and vulnerability.

Which is why they are so alluring to demons, who crave them, but can never have them.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Harro’s Room

1/8/12764 8:17am SGT

“Hey Harro, what kind of TV do they have here in hell?”

It’s a question asked through the crack in the bathroom door as I towel off. Nothing wakes you up in the morning like a shower, and on cold winter mornings like this, it’s the only thing that will get me out of bed. Besides, I need it, after last night.

“TV? Why, you got a craving for it?” Harro calls back. “It’s pretty standard stuff, really. You got the news, you’ve serialized shows… there’s some channels that carry home improvement and cooking shows… reality shows… there’s the televised matches from the Pit, that one’s real popular… just, y’know, the usual stuff you see on TV.”

“You’re serious? It’s basically just like mortal TV?” I say, the manacle marks on my wrists flaring to life so I can use the heat chainlink to dry my hair. “I thought there’d be like… channels dedicated to vices, or something.”

“I mean yeah, it’s basically just like mortal TV.” I can hear him shuffling out of the bed, rummaging in his dresser for a fresh set of clothes. “People’s tastes don’t change when they die and go to the afterlife. The same things that entertained them while they were alive will entertain them when they’re dead. Oh, sports channels — we’ve got those down here too.”

“Wait, seriously? You guys have sports down here?” I say, running my fingers through my hair, water evaporating from the strands as I do.

“Yeah, each of the major cities has a few sports teams. Some of the Lords own their own sports teams as well. People bet on sports and the Pit fights, and the Lord of Greed takes a cut of the profits. It’s a whole thing.”

“So like… demons play spaceball too?”

“Play it and watch it. They love it almost as much as they love the Pit fights.” There’s a couple thumps that indicate he’s hopping into a pair of jeans. “Hey, you doing anything today?”

I hesitate on my reply, then say it anyway. “Aside from you?”

The door to the bathroom pushes a little more, and Harro pokes his head in, an eyebrow raised. His hair’s still got hints of orange in it from the Iron Liver. “That a request?” he asks.

I grin at him, pushing on the door. I don’t have my shirt on yet. “Maybe for later. But to answer your question, no, I don’t have anything planned, unless Danya or Raikaron grab me for something.”

He smirks, withdrawing back into his room. “Lucky you. So… what, do you just do whatever you want? I’ve never seen a demon that’s had so much free time. The Lords usually keep their subordinates busy.”

“Well, I do… work, I don’t just spend all my time around the House.” I protest weakly, working on pulling my shirt back on. I don’t want to come across as being lazier or more privileged than the other demons of the House. “I guess I’m still in training; when I’m not on a direct task from Raikaron, Danya’s got me doing chores around the House. Cleaning up, helping in the kitchen, making me work on my posture and manners like she expects me to be some kind of… I dunno. Some kind of blueblooded snob or upper-class lady.”

“Mmm. Doesn’t surprise me, honestly. The higher up you are in the Circles, the more snobby the demons get.” Harro says over the sound of another drawer being pulled out, probably so he can look for a shirt. “You can probably see that from the way Danya and Raikaron act.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be like that.” I say, starting to button up my shirt. “I just… don’t get it. Why people want to act like that, so uptight and formal. If I had to be like that, I’d be stressed out all the time. I’d rather just be myself.”

“They act that way because they think it makes them better than everyone else.” is Harro’s answer, muffled by him pulling his shirt on. “They want to act different than everyone else to show they’re better, more sophisticated. That they’re above it all. But it just makes them look like snobby assholes.”

“Wonder what they would be like if they finally relaxed.” I say, buttoning my House uniform all the way to the collar.

“They wouldn’t have a personality.” Harro immediately quips.

I snicker at that, ruffling my hands through my hair one more time before pulling the bathroom door open. Harro’s dressed now, pulling his tattered longcoat off the back of his bedroom door. “So, there a reason you were asking me if I was doing anything today?”

“Hm? Oh nah, it’d probably be a little outside your comfort zone if you’re still in training.” he says as he starts sliding his arms through the sleeves.

“Well, I’m not completely helpless.” I point out, stepping out of his bathroom. “I regularly do tasks on my own. And I’m getting more accustomed to beating people senseless.”

“Alright, but this would be more than just smacking people around.” he says loftily. “It’s gonna be stealing something, so it’s more than just marching up and knocking someone down a peg.”

“Oh really? What are you stealing?” I ask as he picks up his big-ass buster sword and slings it into the open-edge sheath across the back of his longcoat.

He doesn’t answer right away, checking his door to make sure that it’s locked, then going to the window and pulling the curtain across. “You ever heard of miracles?”

“Yeah, they’re… well, they’re miracles. I mean, kinda self-explanatory, right?” I say, raising an eyebrow at the drawn curtain. “You think someone’s going to spy on us?”

“You never know around here. Especially now that the harpies are back. They can be nosy, and you never know what they’ll carry back to the skinny strawberry.” he says. “So, miracles. They’re a thing you can actually steal. An actual, physical thing you can hold in your hand.”

“Wait, are you serious?” I ask as I lean back against the wall, folding my arms. “Miracles are things you can touch, instead of just things that happen?”

“Yup.” he says, sitting on the still-rumphled bed. “The various heavens usually manufacture miracles. Deities can usually produce them on the spot, but deities usually can’t be everywhere at once, and even if they can, they usually don’t want to. It’s what they’ve got angels and seraphs for. And because gods don’t want to be onsite every time a miracle’s handed out, the various heavens usually create a backstock of miracles to have on hand for when an angel needs to go perform one. Each world on which a religion has a presence usually keeps a supply of miracles in reserve for their adherents, and they get shipments of miracles every now and then to restock.” Reaching into his coat, he pulls out what looks like a glass card. “And I’ve got a tip on where one of these shipments is coming in.”

“So you’re going to go steal them?” I guess, staring at the card.

“As many as I can get my hands on.” he says, tucking the card back away again. “The hells can’t create miracles, so they fetch bank down here. Just a single one would have me swimming in power and favors. If I could steal multiple, I might be able to convince some powerful demons into commuting my sentence.”

“Wait, there are demons that can do that?” I say. That’s got my attention.

“Yeah.” he nods. “Every demon from the Seventh Circle and above can commute certain types of sentences. Lords can only commute minor sentences, but Sovereigns can commute major sentences at their discretion.”

“Aren’t Sovereigns in the Ninth Circle, though?” I point out. “There’s only three of them, right? Aren’t they like the queens of Sjelefengsel?”

“Yup.” Harro says, taking a deep breath. “Lilith, Lucifer, and Sheol. Queen bitches of hell. There’s a reason they rule the place; you don’t want to get on their bad sides. But if you’re on their good side… I hear there’s some major benefits to being one of their bitches.”

“So you’re going to steal a bunch of miracles, and then… what?” I ask, reaching up to tuck my hair behind one ear. “Go up to one of the Sovereigns of Sjelefengsel and just hand them over and hope it impresses them?”

“Well, it’ll probably be a bit more complicated than that.” Harro says, scratching the back of his head. “First big thing is stealing the miracles. Once I actually have them, I’ll figure out what to do with them after that. Which was why I was asking if you had anything planned today. ‘Cause today’s the day the shipment is on the move.”

“Wait… you want me to come help you steal miracles?” I say, shocked by that.

Harro gives a nonchalant shrug. “Two demons are better than one when it comes to something like this. Besides, if we make out with a good haul, I might be nice enough to share some of the spoils. You could do with a miracle or two, right?”

“I…” That’s a hell of a question. “What can a miracle do?” It’s hard to say that I want something when I don’t even know what that something is capable of.

“That’s, uh… good question, I guess.” Harro says, looking confused. “I mean, a miracle can do a lot of shit, but when you use it, it usually does what you need the most. So like, a boulder that’s about to crush you turns into water, or heals your cancer or… shit, I dunno. Stuff like that. You get the idea.”

“Can it free me of my contract?” Because if it can, then I’m all for this.

“Uh… I mean, it can’t undamn the damned, but since you came here through a contract… maybe?” he says, looking uncertain. “Miracles are powerful, but I don’t know how powerful contracts are. Worth a try, I suppose? I mean, worse that happens is that it doesn’t work and you can just use the miracle on something else later down the line.”

I chew on my lip. This was… this was a chance. My chance to try and get free. “You said the shipment’s moving today?”

“Yeah. It’s gotta be today; Kolob’s moving the miracles to the new outpost they set up on this world. The old outpost was a little too small for them, I guess.” Harro says. “Should be a simple bait, bust, ‘n bolt. You bait them into stopping on the side of the road, I bust the car open, we grab the goods and bolt before they can catch us. You in?”

It’s a lot to take in, and even so, I still don’t really know what I’m getting into. But the chance that I might be able to get free of this place, to break my contract with Raikaron… I just can’t pass it up. If there’s a way to escape my contract, and find my way back to the mortal realm, I have to take the risk.

“Yeah. I’m in.” I say, pushing off the wall. “When do we leave?”

He grins. “How soon can you get into your work outfit?”

Jayta’s Journal

Deep down, I know he’s trouble.

It’s hard to say how I know it. I suppose the reason I feel like I can’t articulate it is because I don’t really want to articulate it. Because articulating it would require that I look harder at it, that I see things I don’t want to see. And if I see those things, then later on, if things go badly, I won’t be able to say that I didn’t know.

I want to cling to my ignorance so I can use it as a shield later on.

But I also want to believe the story I’m telling myself. That Harro understands me, he gets me, that he’s my friend. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed that, how much I missed that, that feeling of having a friend. Danya isn’t my friend. Raikaron isn’t my friend. Mek is friendly, but he isn’t someone I could go do things with, being as he was trapped in his library labyrinth. I want someone I can hang out with, do fun stuff with. I want someone I can feel like an equal with.

And Harro gives me that.

He’s easygoing, he’s relaxed, he’s a normal person. A normal person that did bad things, obviously, since he’s in hell, but still, he’s a normal person. A normal guy, not particularly bright, perhaps a little too horny for his own good, but I’m willing to overlook that. I’ve kinda enjoyed the nights we’ve spent together; he definitely knows how to treat a girl, and there’s a certain… raw masculinity about him that is admittedly attractive.

Having all that — someone that’s normal, someone that doesn’t look down on me, a friend, someone I can fool around with — it makes me feel like I’m not so alone down here in Sjelefengsel. It makes me feel better about myself. And even though deep down, I know he’s trouble…

I’m willing to ignore that if I can feel better about myself for a while.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

The House of Regret: Lesser Common Room

11:00am SGT

“Finally.” Harro mutters as he closes the door behind us. “Thought they’d never leave. Hell of a lot harder to sneak around here now that the harpies are back. You used to be able to go hours without seeing anyone in here; now you can’t go five minutes without tripping over one of those feathery punks.”

“You couldn’t just shoo them out or something?” I ask. “We literally waited two hours for them to get bored and clear out.”

“They don’t take orders from me. I’ve got a… complicated history with the harpies.” Harro mutters, reaching into his tattered duster as he reaches the door in the wall that we typically use to exit Sjelefengsel on tasks. Pulling out the glass card he showed me earlier, he slides it into the slot on the wall beside the door, where we would usually insert the case files that allow us passage to the mortal plane. But instead of the usual red light running through the grooves on the wall, it’s a cool, calming blue light. It flares once through the gap between the door and the doorframe, then fades away, and I can feel cold air seeping under the door.

“Winter on the other side?” I guess.

He just opens the door to answer my question, and I’m greeted by a ski lodge parking lot. Beyond the lodge itself are the white-covered slopes behind it, and snow looks to be spilling over the edges of the parking lot, as if we were in the depths of the ski season. It’s the middle of the day, and the parking lot seems pretty full, groups occasionally wandering in and out of the lodge.

“Wow.” I say, stepping through the doorway, my boots crunching on the snow. “This is where they set up their new outpost?”

“Not the lodge itself. Too many people here for angels to be comfortable.” Harro says. I look around to see that we came through the doorway of a… portable bathroom, of all things. The door clunks shut behind him as he tucks the glass card back in his duster. “The outpost is a little ways up the mountain, accessible from one of the maintenance roads. We’re going to need a vehicle that can manage inclines and muddy terrain.”

I fall in stride with him as he starts walking through the parking lot, sizing up the vehicles here. “Shouldn’t be an issue.” I remark, tucking my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. There’s no end of wheeled vehicles here, most of them trucks or crossovers. Big muscle vehicles favored by the rich or the outdoorsy.

“This one should do.” Harro says, moving in beside a small, battered truck that’s seen better days. Taking his sword off his back, he throws it in the bed of the truck, then presses his hand to the driver-side door. His manacle mark flares to life, and a moment later, the doors unlock.

“What, you didn’t want to go for something a little more manly?” I smirk, tilting my head to a much bigger and newer truck a couple of parking spaces down.

“Tempting, but you don’t expect to see one of those out on the maintenance trails.” Harro mutters, motioning for me to go around the passenger’s side and get in. “Angels can be stupid, but they ain’t that stupid. This truck sells it, and that’s what we need.”

“Fair enough.” I say, walking around the truck and getting in. It’s definitely old; you can feel it in the felt of the seats, which are worn and threadbare, and almost seem to deflate beneath you. The windshield is clouded with scratches, and there’s crusty stuff collected in the cupholders in the center console. “Mmph. Charming.”

“What?” Harro says, distracted as he pulls his door shut and presses a hand to the start button. His manacle mark glows again, and the truck coughs to life.

“Oh, nothing. The interior just looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a hot minute.”

“It’s got character.” Harro says, putting it in reverse and starting to back out of the parking spot. “Learned how to drive in a truck like this back when I was still alive. It was a piece of junk but it held up better than some of these newfangled cars do.”

“You’re dating yourself, old man.” I say as he throws the truck into drive and starts navigating to the parking lot exit. “Actually, that’s got me curious. You’re dead, and in hell, so how can you come to the mortal plane like this? Aren’t you technically… alive?”

“Demons are given bodies so they can suffer and get shit done for the punishment they’ve been given.” Harro says, pulling out onto the road running past the ski lodge. “Dead, alive… you know what the difference between the two is? Dead people are in the afterlife, living people are in the mortal plane. But our hearts still beat in both. And we still need to take a piss in both, come to think of it. Should’ve hit the head before we left.”

I snort at that. “Charming.”

“I’m a veritable poet.” he says as we pick up speed heading up the road. “So if this works out, you’re going to use your miracle to try and break your contract?”

“That’s the plan, yeah.” I say, poking at the console until the heating comes on. The engine seems to give a little cough when it does, as if additional strain was being put on it. “What are you going to use your miracles for? If you don’t try to trade them away for your freedom.”

“Dunno. Prolly try and use them to get promoted to a higher Circle.” he says. On either side of the road, pine trees starts to fill in the open fields of snow as we delve into the mountains proper.

“You can do that?” I say, glancing at him. “I didn’t know there was that kind of social mobility in Sjelefengsel.”

“Sometimes. It doesn’t happen often.” he says. “For the vast majority of demons, you’re stuck in whatever Circle you get assigned to after you die and are judged. It’s common to get demoted to a lower Circle if you piss off a demon that’s higher up; it happens all the time. Getting promoted to a higher Circle is a lot rarer, though. It’s usually because you’ve really impressed one of the Lords, or because they decide to take you on as a consort.”

“Oh.” I can’t keep the flat disappointment out of my voice. “So you either do it the hard way and work your ass off, or you do it the easy way and sleep your way up the chain of command.”

“Hey, it’s harder to sleep your way into power than it sounds.” Harro says. “There’s a lot of sex to go around in Sjelefengsel. We’ve practically got a succubi infestation in Hautaholvi, so there’s more to it than just taking a roll in the sheets with someone that has power. And I know that sounds weird, coming from me, but… being a consort is more than just the sex. You gotta earn the trust of your Lord. Consorts of the Lords aren’t just lovers; they’re usually favored agents, assassins, servants that Lords rely on to take care of sensitive matters or watch their backs.”

“Maugrimm have mercy, that almost sounds like a committed relationship.” I say sarcastically, folding my arms.

“I know, right?” Harro chuckles. “Horrifying. But yeah, that’s what I’d try to use my miracles for. Getting promoted to a higher Circle. I hate having Danya boss me around.”

“Oh yeah, don’t you owe her a favor now?” I say as Harro slows down, taking a turnoff onto a snow-covered maintenance road. “Since I outlasted you at the Iron Liver.”

His only response to that is a moody grumble.

I smirk, turning my attention out the window as the truck rattles along the frozen dirt beneath the snow. The AC is blowing warm air by now, chasing away the chill in the truck’s cab, although it’s the uneven kind of heat that leaves my feet cold. Outside, I can see the steep, rolling tops of the mountains, staffed with pine trees and blanketed with snow. The dirt road we’re on seems to lead to one such peak, though we have to cross through another snow-quilted field before the road starts rising up into the trees.

It’s only after we’re past the field and at the foot of the slope that Harro slows down, pulling us around in a u-turn on the road so we’re facing back the way we came, and parks us slightly to the side of the road, near the trees. Turning the truck off and getting out, he walks around the front, popping the hood and propping it open. Assuming this is my cue to get out, I push my door open and slither out of the truck.

“So, what now?” I ask, walking around and peeking under the hood.

“Now the fun part.” he says, walking back along the truck, grabbing a toolbox out of the bed, and bringing it back up to the front. “We wait.”

“Oh joy.” I say, watching as he opens up the toolbox and starts poking around inside of it. “Do you know how long we’re going to be waiting?”

“Not the faintest idea.” he says, pulling a wrench out of the toolbox and checking to see if it fits the contacts on the battery. “All I know is they’re going to pass this way on their way up to the peak right up there, which is where their outpost on this world is hidden. And when they pass through, you’re going to play the damsel in distress.”

“Oh really.” I say, folding my arms.

“Yup. Angels are suckers for a soul in need.” Harro says, loosening the contact until it comes loose of the battery. “So you’re going to play the part of a poor ski lodge employee whose truck broke down on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t know how to fix it, and can’t get help.”

“You know they’re going to ask my why I haven’t called for help, right?” I point out.

“Mm, good point.” he says, tapping the wrench against his chin. “Here, I’ve got an idea. Lemme see your phone.”

I dig in my duster, pulling it out and handing it over to him. “I made sure it was fully charged before we left, so unless you’ve got a chainlink that can drain batteries…”

“No, but I’ve got something better.” he says, holding the phone flat on the engine block and then whacking it with the wrench.

“Dude, what the hell!” I gasp.

“And twice for good measure.” he says, whacking it again. Little chips of glass fly off the spiderwebbed screen. He looks it over, then hands it back to me. “There’s your alibi.”

“Seriously, man?” I say, taking my phone back and looking it over. It’s just… it’s dead. He whacked it hard, hard enough that I can see some of the circuitry behind the shattered screen. “You couldn’t have just taken it and I would’ve lied about having forgotten it back at the ski lodge?”

“Mmm. You’ve never met an angel before.” he says, tossing the wrench onto the engine block. “Lying to them ain’t a great idea. I’ve heard that one of their basic powers is discernment; nearly all angels that visit the mortal plane, at least the ones from Kolob, are walking lie detectors.”

I sigh, rubbing a thumb over my brutalized phone. “Raikaron’s gonna be so pissed when I tell him I broke my phone and need a replacement…”

Harro snorts, going back to digging in the toolbox. “The red bastard ain’t gonna care. You’re his little princess; you can do no wrong. You’ll get what, maybe a light chiding? And then he’ll replace your phone just like that. He’ll probably get you the newest model, too.”

“Well it’s not like I’d deserve worse than that!” I protest. “You’re the one that went and smashed up my phone! It would’ve been in perfect condition otherwise!”

“Necessary sacrifices.” he says, planting a few more tools on the engine block. “You want that miracle, right?”

I purse my lips. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Right. So a phone and a talking-to is a small price to pay for it.” he says, finishing arranging the tools under the hood. “Alright, so let’s go over the plan. You’re going to be standing out here in front of the truck, looking cold and distressed and confused, so that when the angels come rolling up in their van, they stop to help out. I’m going to be under the truck, hiding out of sight. You’ll keep their attention so they don’t see when I sneak around to break into the van, and you’ll need to hold their attention as long as possible so I grab as many miracles as I can get my hands on. You’ll have to let them fix the problem — it should be as simple as screwing the contact back into place — but you’ll have to pretend you don’t know that. We’ll wing it after that, but the important part is that we get back into the truck and bolt. We’ll just need to get back to the ski lodge and the portojohn, and then we can get back to the House and we’ll be home free. Got it?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I got it.”

“Good.” he says, starting around the truck. “I’m going to go lie under the truck now.”

“Hey, why do we have phones in hell anyway?” I call after him as he kneels in the snow and starts sliding under the truck. “Like, nothing makes sense. The House of Regret is stuck in the victorian era, but Hautaholvi looks like digital-era city and we use space-age phones. Like… just. Why?”

“I dunno. Just the way it is, I guess?” he calls back from under the truck. “Aesthetic or something like that. Primitive cultures are a lot more religious than modern cultures, so we get a lot more agnostics and non-believers from advanced societies, usually starting with the ones in their industrial revolutions. So most of Sjelefengsel’s aesthetic is anything from the industrial era forward.”

“Yeah, but the phones?” I point out.

“I dunno, Jay. Maybe we all just use phones because that’s what’s easiest.” Harro replies impatiently. “Do I look like a professor to you? I’ve got no idea why we live in a stuffy old mansion but wear clothes from the digital era and use phones from the space era. Doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you.”

“Well, so long as I don’t have to wear a corset, I’m not gonna complain.” I mutter under my breath, leaning my hip against the truck’s headlight. “S’cold out here.”

“You think it’s cold, trying laying in the snow underneath a truck.”

“Okay look, it’s not a contest, you don’t have to one-up me.” I go to check my phone on reflex to see what the time is, only to remember it’s basically dead now. “Man, I can’t even check the time now that you’ve broken my phone.”

“You could always walk around to stay warm.”

“You really don’t know when they’re supposed to be getting here?” I ask, starting to pace around the front of the truck, stamping down the snow to make it easier to pace. “We could be out here for hours.”

“You complain a lot, princess. You’ve never had to do a stakeout before, have you?”

“I don’t mind having to wait.” I explain. “I mind having to wait in the cold.”

“Look at it this way, by the time the angels get here, your alibi will be pretty convincing.”

“I’ll end up having to use my miracle to fix my frostbitten fingers.” I mutter, buttoning up my duster. “What do angels look like?”

“Pretty much the same as us.” Harro says, the snow underneath the truck crunching slightly as he shifts. “They look like normal people most times. Helps them blend in when they’re out and about in the mortal plane.”

“Do they have other forms, like demons do?” I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Y’know, like how we transform when we get angry?”

“Yeah, they’ve got manifests.”

“Okay, well, what do they look like?” I say after waiting for a moment. “Is it like what you see in the media? With the wings and the halos?”

“I mean, for some of ‘em, yeah… like, I dunno. Their angel forms are all different, the same way our demon forms are all different.” he says. “Some of them do just grow wings and halos, but some of them, the greater angels, turn into some weird-ass shit. If you’ve ever read scriptures in the major religions, that’s why the first thing angels say is ‘be not afraid’. Because some of ‘em look like some scary-ass shit when they bust out their angel forms.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me.” I say, leaning down to glance under the truck. “Why is your demon form a giant werewolf? Is it because you’re a hound? Most of the other demons in the House just get horns and tails and different-colored skin.”

I can see Harro roll his eyes. “How should I know? It’s not like I picked it, that’s just what I turn into. That’s like me asking you why you have wings when you transform.”

“You think Mek knows?” I say, leaning my shoulder against the grill of the truck.

“With that big ol’ library he’s stuck in? Probably.” Harro shrugs, then pauses. “Can you hear that?”

I go quiet, and somewhere distant, I can hear the growl of an engine echoing between trees. Looking back across the snow-covered field, I can see what looks like an armored van cresting the slope and bouncing on the frozen ruts in the road.

“Is that them?” I hiss, keeping my voice down even though the van’s still all the way across the field.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be them.” Harro grunts back. “No other reason for a vehicle like that to be all the way out here. Go ahead and get ready.”

I stand back up, turning back towards the open hood of the truck. My fingers touch to the bracelets around my wrists, one for my bat and the other for my shotgun. I hope I won’t have to get violent, and I’m suddenly nervous. I’ve never gotten in a fight with an angel before, and they’re probably just as well-armed as demons are, with their own set of powers and rules.

But I can’t back out now, so I reach out to grab one of the random tools that Harro scattered on the engine block. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do to sell the idea that I don’t know how to fix this, so I just lean forward on the edge of the engine. Perhaps I can just roll out the dumb blonde act; I am blonde, after all.

The time it takes for the armored van to reach us is agonizingly slow. By the time I hear the tires crunching through the snow behind me, it feels like an eternity has passed, and hearing it slow down only gets my heart beating faster. Knowing what we’re about to do, all this waiting is goddamn nervewracking.

I turn around once the van starts to come into my field of vision, and pulls up alongside the truck, the driver-side window rolling down. Inside, there’s a couple guys in winter jackets, the passenger with red hair and the driver with brown. “Hey there, miss! You having trouble with your truck there?”

I nod quickly, reaching up to dab at my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve as if to wipe away tears that aren’t there. “Yeah, it just… died, and I don’t know why.” I say, doing my best to try and put a quaver in my voice. “I’m not good with trucks; I would’ve called my brother to see if he knows how to fix it, but…” I swallow hard, and motion to my demolished phone sitting on the edge of one of the truck’s headlights.

The driver winces when he sees my phone. “Oh wow, that is some impressive damage. I suppose it’s a good thing we were headed this way; getting stuck all the way out here with a dead phone and a dead truck really is the dumps.” He puts the van in park, leaving it running, and opens his door, sliding out. “Let’s take a look.”

“Would you? Thank you so much.” I say, backing away from the hood a little to give him room to look at it. Once he’s in front of it, I move around to the side of the hood, placing myself between the truck and the van. “It’s been having trouble starting; I’ve had to hit the button a bunch of times to get it going.”

“Really?” the driver says, studying the engine. “What sort of noises has it been making when you try to start it?”

“Uh…” Panic sets in as I try to remember the various startup problems I’ve had over the years, and what each mechanic has said about each one. “It uh… like… it makes this wheezing noise like it’s trying to start, but just keeps making that noise instead of starting.”

The driver makes a face like he’s thinking hard about that. “So it sounds like the engine’s trying to turn over but it won’t.” After a few more moments of staring at the engine, he looks around me at the redhead still in the van. “Nairon, you wanna come take a look at this? I’m not exactly the best mechanic.”

Nairon rolls his eyes. “You sure, Brant? You were looking mighty manly, scowling at that engine. I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.” Despite that, he’s opening his door and slipping out of the truck as well. “Let’s take a look.”

I step out of the way so Nairon can come through and take a look at the engine. Under the crunching of snow beneath boots, I can hear Harro working his way out from beneath the truck; concerned that they’re going to hear him as well, I crunch noisily through the snow as I move around to the other side of the engine, pointing to a nestled group of wires and brushing one of the tools as I do so. “I think there was a loose wire here, I plugged it back in— oh!” I yank my hand back as the tool slides off the engine block and deeper into the truck, clanking as it hits struts and other pieces of metal on the way down.

“Oh boy.” Brant says, leaning forward. “That’s in there pretty deep. We’ll probably want to get that out. Nairon, you’ve got skinnier arms than I do.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean much if I have no idea what I’m trying to grab.” Nairon says, leaning in and squinting into the darkness of the engine. “You got a flashlight?”

“Yeah, there should be one in here.” I say, crouching down to the toolbox and rifling loudly through it. I can see that Harro’s no longer under the truck, so hopefully that distraction and the noise I’m making is giving him the cover he needs to start breaking into the van. Standing back up, I hold the flashlight out to Brant. “Here it is.”

“Alright, so it’s down in that little gap there…” Brant say, clicking on the light and shining it down into the engine. Nairon rolls up his sleeve, leaning forward to work his arm down into the engine.

“Thanks for all this, by the way.” I say, crouching down to start rifling through the toolbox again. “I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you two hadn’t come along. I probably could’ve walked back to the lodge, but it would’ve taken forever.”

“What’s a lady like you doing all the way out here?” Brant asks, looking at me while Nairon continues digging around in the engine.

“Oh, I work down at the lodge.” I say, quickly realizing I don’t have an alibi for why I’m out here, specifically. “I… have to do checks on the maintenance trails. Make sure there’s no landslides or snowdrifts.”

“Landslides? Up here?” Brant says, looking perplexed.

“Alright, got it.” Nairon says, pushing back up with the tool in hand, then pausing. “Huh. Well, here’s the issue, the negative contact on your truck’s battery has come loose.”

I feel my heart drop. “Really?” I say, doing my best to feign surprise.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty simple fix, and most importantly, it won’t cost you a thing.” Nairon says, holding a hand out to Brant. “Hand me that hex wrench, Brant. We get this fastened back into place and it should fix it right up.”

My pulse starts to rise. It’s only a matter of time now. I glance aside at the armored van, but I don’t know where Harro is and what he’s doing. Hopefully he’s making progress on breaking into the van; whatever he’s doing, he seems to be doing it quietly.

“You’re sure that’ll fix it?” I ask, leaning on the edge of the hood as Nairon starts to tighten the contact back into place.

“Only one way to find out.” Nairon says, motioning to the truck’s driver side. “Why don’t you jump inside, and when I give you the signal, you can try turning it back on.”

I can’t think of a good reason to refuse, and if I do, I’ll start to draw their suspicion. So I nod, walking around to the driver’s side, pulling open the door and getting in. “Alright, just tell me when you’re ready!” I shout, trying to be loud enough that Harro can hear me, but not so loud that it seems strange.

Nairon gives the contact another couple of cranks, then waves. “Give it a try!”

I hesitate a moment, then reach forward and hit the truck’s start button. The engine coughs and wheezes, but rumbles to life, and Brant gives a cheer from the front. Nairon just starts packing up the tools, slamming the hood shut afterwards. 

“Well, there you go!” Brant says, walking back to the open driver-side door. “Now you won’t be stuck up here all day. You need any help getting back down to the lodge?”

“We are not going to drive her back down to the lodge, Brant.” Nairon says as he walks past, heaving the toolbox up into the bed of the truck. “We have a delivery to make and we’re already behind schedule. Let’s go.”

“Oh really?” I ask quickly, hoping to keep them tied up for a bit longer. I can see Nairon already turning to head back to the passenger side of the armored van — the side that I think Harro is on. “Seems really odd to see a van like that out on these sorts of roads.”

“Sorry, classified.” Nairon says without missing a beat, and without halting his stride. He rounds the corner of the van, then stops dead before shouting in panic. “Brant!”

“Yeah?” Brant says, turning around.

“The van’s been breached, someone’s trying to—”

That’s as far as Nairon gets before he has to dive away from a streak of fire. Brant lurches towards the van; I already know where this is going, so I launch myself out of the truck, wrapping an arm around Brant’s neck. It slams him against the driver side of the van, and my manacle marks flare to life as I start squeezing the arm I’ve got around his neck, trying to choke him out while I’ve got the jump on him. It seems like it’s going pretty well; he yanks at my arm a couple times, to no avail, then pushes off the van door, staggering around as he tries to dislodge me. I stay latched onto him; he’s a tall guy, and my feet are hanging off the ground.

Then he spins around, and throws himself back against the hood of the van.

The breath leaves me in an instant as I’m damn near crushed. My grip around his neck weakens as I try to catch my breath, and he grabs my arm and yanks it away. As he springs back up, he heaves on my arm in the same motion, throwing me into the road ahead of the armored van.

If I had any breath, I’d grunt as I hit the ground. As it is, I just lay there, trying to get my breath back; the snow at least cushioned my landing a little. Near the front of the van, Brant is hunched over, braced on his knees and gasping air after I’d deprived him of it. On the other side of the van, I can see Nairon dodging around gouts of fire, and throwing what looks like a white ring at some unseen target, and catching it every time it returns to him.

“They’re demons, Brant!” he shouts. “They’re trying to steal the miracles! Get over here and help me knock this one down!”

I grit my teeth, fighting past the pain and rolling to my hands and knees. Reaching up, I grab my shotgun charm and yank it off my bracelet, getting a grip on it as it grows to full size in my hands. As I lift and aim it, Brant sees and dives just as I’m pulling the trigger.

A splash of superheated, orange plasma shatters the headlight he’d been leaning against, and scorching portions of the hood’s paint. The kick from the blast knocks me back, and I have to struggle to get back to my knees again. I start to zero in on Brant again — only to find that he’s gotten back up, and is hooking a finger in the white halo over his head, yanking his hand down and slinging it at me.

I try to lean out of the way, but it curves as it flies, catching me around the neck. All in a second, I can feel it pass through my neck and then lock into place around it; and somehow it still carries enough impact to knock me flat on my back yet again, gagging as I’m yanked back by the neck. Scrambling in the snow, I roll over and get back to my hands and knees for the third time, this time getting a foot flat on the ground as I try to pivot for another shot at Brant.

Then I hear him shout “Penance!” and things take a turn for the worse.

A jolt runs through my body like an electric current, the shotgun falling out of my hands as my back arches. I gasp—

And then I’m standing in a dark room, dimly lit by a desk lamp. I look around; everything about it seems vaguely familiar. I go to take a step, and my foot hits something soft; looking down, I can see there’s a mauled body on the floor, lying in a pool of blood.

I’m back in the new girl’s house on the night I killed her.

“Jayta! Jayta!”

I blink and I’m back on the snowy road, the air cold and bright, braced on my hands and knees. Gasping again, I reach up to grab the halo around my neck, but it shocks me to the moment I touch it—

Now I’m standing in a bathroom, filled with steam. It only takes a second for it to click; I recognize the layout of the bathroom, the atmosphere. Looking around, I can see myself standing over the bathtub, the water still roiling a little as the mother floats back to the surface, steaming water dripping from the soaked sleeves of my duster. After a moment, I see myself turn, then pause when I see Coquelicot peeking through the crack in the bathroom door.

“Get him! Brant, get him!”

I heave a breath to find myself on my back, staring up at the sky, framed by the pine trees. I can hear footsteps, a hand around my elbow, trying to drag me over the snow. Twisting my head, I can see Harro’s the one that’s got a hold on me, with something tucked under his other arm, as he tries to drag me back to the truck. But then he lets go, yanking his hand back as another halo races through the space where his arm used to be, snow exploding everywhere as the halo bounces off the frozen ground.

We need to get out of here. Reaching up with both hands, I grab the halo around my neck with both hands again—

And I’m standing in a lounge room littered with corpses. Mordokowicz is cornered by the counter, and I’m standing in front of him in my demon manifest, with Harro and the holographic stripper watching on as I yank his soul out of his chest.

“Don’t let him get in the truck!”

Now I’m lying on my side, surrounded by churned snow as if I’d been thrashing. Bracing my forearms on the ground, I push myself up, knowing better than trying to touch the halo around my neck again. As a shadow falls across me, I look up to see Brant standing over me, one hand outstretched.

“Reveal!”

I let out a pained shriek as I feel my body start to twist and deform into my demon manifest. This isn’t like the usual transformations where it feels odd but it’s painless; this feels like it’s being dragged out of me. My clothes morph and adjust as wings flare from my back and horns curl from my hairline; digging my claws into the permafrost, I wait until my legs finish shifting into their digitigrade configuration. Once they have, I plant them on the ground and use them to spring upwards, unfurling my wings so I can fly over Brant and towards the bed of the truck. He reaches up to try and catch my foot, but I kick him away, frantically flapping my wings to get a bit more altitude.

“Nairon, she’s coming your way!” Brant shouts.

Nairon, who’s busy trying to wrestle a box away from Harro in the gap between the van and the truck, turns and sees me gliding through the air. Reaching up, he grabs his halo out of the air over his head and slings it at me; I frantically try to flap out of the way, and partially succeed. The halo misses my torso, but slices through the bottom half of my left wing, spraying blood everywhere and leaving a massive notch in the leathery membrane. A bolt of pain shoots through the muscles, more intense than any pain I’ve felt before - but it only gets worse when I try to flap my wings again, and I feel it tear further under the strain.

I immediately whip my wing backwards to take the pressure off, letting myself tumble to the ground, but my legs fold beneath me, and I go sprawling from the pain screaming through my wing muscles right now. Gasping for breath, I look back to see I’ve left a trail of blood from my wing; looking forward again, I can see the back of the truck is only feet away. Harro’s used the moment of Nairon’s distraction to slam him against the van, and throw him over me and into the snow, where Brant is. Then he turns, and starts climbing into the driver’s side of the truck.

“Don’t leave me!” I cry, reaching out to him. I’m trying to crawl to the truck, but my entire body is quivering with pain. If I try to stand up, I might just collapse again.

Harro looks back at my shout. I can see the hesitation in his yellow eyes, as if he was about to step back out of the truck and run back to grab me.

But then Nairon’s halo whips overhead, narrowly missing Harro’s head as it hits the driver door and cuts clean through the upper edge. The driver’s window shatters, and Harro jerks his head back; pulling the rest of himself into the truck, he grabs the door and yanks it shut. The truck’s engine roars, the tires spinning and spraying a mix of snow and frozen dirt over me and the angels as he takes off, skidding back down the frozen road we came from. There’s thudding in the snow as Brant and Nairon go running past me, Nairon chucking his halo uselessly after the quickly-departing truck.

And I can only stare after them, my entire body quivering and my mind numb, as I keep reaching for a truck that just gets smaller and smaller with distance.

“Don’t… don’t leave me…” I whimper. He’ll come back. He has to come back. He wouldn’t leave me. “Don’t… don’t leave… don’t…”

But the truck disappears down the slope at the other end of the snow-covered field.

And it doesn’t come back.

I can’t do anything. Can’t move, can’t think. I can feel myself shivering with cold, quivering with pain, but I don’t have the strength to get up and run. All I can do is stare down the empty, snow-tracked road in disbelief, telling myself that he’ll come back any moment now if I just wait here, if I just keep watching.

I keep telling myself that even as the angels come back.

I keep telling myself that even as halos are slung around my wrists, which in turn are drawn to the halo around my neck, like handcuffs latched to a collar.

I keep telling myself that as Brant grabs me by the back of my duster and lifts me up, while Nairon opens the back of the armored van so I can be thrown in.

I keep telling myself that until Nairon climbs in and closes the doors.

And it’s only then, staring at those closed doors, that I realize the truth I saw in his eyes when I told him not to leave me:

He’s not coming back.

The van starts moving as I realize that, and I slump in the dimness of the van, surrounded by cold boxes that rattle and slide as the van continues up the mountain. The tears start to slide down my face as I curl my uninjured wing around myself, and I let my head fall into my hands, which are more or less shackled to my neck anyhow. Perfect proximity for hiding my face as I start to cry and gasp. Nairon, sitting on one of the boxes with his halo in his hands and at the ready, doesn’t make sound as my sobbing fills the back of the van.

I should’ve listened to Danya. And I knew, deep down, that he was trouble. But I’d just wanted to be happy, and I was so tired of being alone. It was my ex all over again, and hurt just as much as it did the first time, this feeling…

The feeling of being abandoned.