Fallen Pride - 6. Chapter 6

You’re going to die unless you eat something. Lahja wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but he knew the words to be true. It was his own voice, his true voice the way he’d heard himself singing praises and adulation for The Father, and Lahja wondered what he sounded like to other people.

Other demons, he sighed unhappily. The body snarled again with it’s desire for food, and Lahja rolled onto his side and wondered if he was going to pass out again.

Eat something! The body demanded. You’ll die!

I’m immortal, I can’t die. Lahja wondered if talking to himself counted as a sin. If what Nassau had said was true, then he had been damned just for wondered what it was like to love another the way he loved his God. The young demon resisted the urge to rub at the angry gnawing hunger which swelled once again, inside the body he inhabited. If I give in to the sins of the flesh, then I will never be able to go home again.

Since when was eating considered a sin?

I am resisting temptation. Lahja felt a smug grin spread across his new features. Scripture always provided answers.

And you are proud, his true voice mocked him. You are proud, and therefore sinful.

“No!” Lahja wanted to weep again, but no tears would come. Apparently they did not come in a limitless supply.

If what the Prince of hell had told was true, then Lahja knew he was indeed in hell, banished from the glory and wonder of heaven, never again to feel the divine presence. He had thought, as Scripture said, that hell would be a place of torment and torture, rivers of blood, screams of the damned rending the air. He had always envisioned demons as mindless abominations, with no thoughts of their own but to inflicted pain and suffering.

But it was not so. Lahja had stood, motionless, as Nassau had talked with the lithe, pale, horned demon who ran the Records office; his manner had been gentle, proprietary, and Lahja had heard many tones and emotions in his words he had been at a loss to name or recognise. It certainly wasn’t love as an angel felt for The Lord, but there had been a closeness which Lahja associated with friendship. He hadn’t known demons could be friendly. The hell he found himself in didn’t much look the way Scriptures described either. There was a lot of black, and flames ringed the visible landscape in the far distance, but there had been buildings: the sprawling palace with it’s strange architecture, all domes, minarets, and flying buttresses; enormous houses made of stone, paths criss-crossing the landscape. The Prince had pointed out other buildings to him, though Lahja hadn’t taken the information in, talked about something called portals, told him there was a pub not far from where they had walked. Lahja had seen a group of demons sitting together on a collection of stone benches, and heard the ringing sound of laughter. How senseless evil monsters could laugh was beyond all his understanding.

Maybe the Scriptures were wrong, he thought to himself, half in shock at the idea: such an idea was a hell-worthy trespass. Apparently a lot more things get you sent to hell than I was ever told.

Finally Lahja resolved that he didn’t want to be in quite so much pain any more, and that his own company was sort of stale. He sat up, and looked around the room in which Nassau had left him, what seemed rather a long time ago.

It was a far cry from the white and lightness of heaven. There was a bed, large and square, which Lahja hadn’t left since he’d fallen onto it. Around the bed was built a frame from which hung transparent white drapes. The effect made the room softer, the weight of the stone walls and ceiling less oppressive. Little alcoves around the walls held candles which never seemed to burn out, though currently their light was soft and wan, and Lahja wondered how they knew the difference between day and night. There was also a large wooden box in the room. Now Lahja managed to stand on the two feet his body came with, and walked across to it nervously. It had two doors, and he opened one, distracted slightly by the ache of the muscles of the body, to find clothes inside. Lahja assumed Nassau had chosen his clothes, and since the Prince thought it perfectly natural to wander around practically naked, Lahja worried he would have kitted him out in the same way. He was surprised to find a thick woven kilt of pale grey wool, and a shirt made of some soft and slidy material he could not name. The clothes felt luxurious, and Lahja was instantly guilty. Had he coveted the Prince’s expensive garments? Was that a sin as well? The new demon dressed the body and wrapped the heavy cloak he had taken, unthinkingly, from the Prince around his shoulders. He was about to raise the hood over his head when he saw a figure to his left. Lahja whirled around, and stared openly.

There was a boy watching him, with a shocked expression on his face as he too raised his hands to cover his soft pale blond hair. He wore clothes exactly like Lahja’s, and as the angel frowned, the boy copied the gesture.

“Who-?” but there was only voice to be heard, and Lahja recognised it as the one his body made when he spoke. He tilted his head to one side, and the boy copied him. A mirror, his mind supplied the answer as he stepped across. The boy reached towards him as Lahja reached out, and his fingertips stroked the smooth cold glass. For the first time since finding himself trapped inside a body, Lahja examined how he looked. Nassau had said he’d chosen the body, and Lahja felt something he couldn’t actually label as gratitude sweep across him, because the body was obviously a good one. He didn’t have horns, or hooves, to ridiculous fangs, or wings, or anything else Lahja associated with demons. He looked human, like a paler, blonder Adam, and Lahja shook as brought a hand up to touch the soft curls of his hair. His eyes weren’t human, and Lahja knew they gave him away. They were blue, but he had slitted pupils.

Like a snake, he thought bitterly, Like the devil tempting Eve. I look evil. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t have a snake's fangs, just ordinary white teeth, and a pink tongue which ended in a normal curve. Lahja couldn’t ever remember Scripture talking about the shape of a human tongue, though he knew to have a sharp tongue meant wicked.

“Lahja.” He watched his reflection making the shape of his name, and found himself smiling. Maybe if he looked almost human, he could get out of hell and live in the paradise his Lord had made for man. At least there, he would be able to revel in all The Lord’s glories. The body growled at him again, and Lahja put his fingers to the white wooden door through which Nassau had left some long time ago, and opened it.

He had no clear plan of where he should go, so Lahja simply turned to his left down the corridor. He hadn’t gone more than two paces, when his bare feet felt a different texture in the floor, and he glanced down to see eight very deep and distinctive claw marks in the stone. Whatever creature had left them had to be much more demon than Lahja was, and he hoped the beast no longer lived there. Nassau had said that there were other demons living in the house, and that he should try to make friends. Lahja had nodded mutely, but he had no idea what a ‘friend’ really was, or how to make one. Creation was the sole dominion of The Father, and as Lahja reached the top of the staircase, it occurred to him that all he knew to do was raise his voice in song along with the rest of the heavenly host. Nothing else had ever been demanded of him. It had been easy.

And even with just that one task, I failed.

“Well it was a clean fucking shirt...” the speaker moved swiftly across the wide entranceway Lahja found himself in. He looked human, and somehow strong. Lahja had no idea how he knew what the other person was like, but he could tell, just by looking, that the man with the short brown hair and the frown was not to be trifled with. Just before he would have collided with Lahja, the man looked up from the black streak on his white shirt and smiled. “Well hey, you must be the new guy. We were wondering when you were going to come out of there.” An expression of concern crossed his features. “Are you alright?”

Lahja backed away from the outstretched hand which had almost touched him, and he fell against the stairs.

“Don’t touch me.”

“O-K,” the man said slowly, “but you looked like you were about to faint. You gotta be hungry. I’m Jem. Do you want to come to the kitchen and sit down?”

Lahja pulled himself up again, without touching the man called Jem, and followed him into a large room which was clean, shiny, and smelt. It didn’t smell bad, but the sheer number of new sensations Lahja’s nostrils sent to his mind made him wish he’d never left the room upstairs. His body practically screamed it’s desire for the smells. To Lahja’s surprise, Jem laughed.

“Hungry boy! That’s good. Tobias likes people who eat. Hey Toby...”

“You call me that and I’ll hurt you in ways even Zai can’t fix,” the man named Tobias turned to glare at Lahja’s companion, then paused. “You’re up. Would you like something to eat?”

Lahja looked at the big knife the man held, and nodded.

“He doesn’t seem to talk much,” Jem frowned. “I might just go tell the guys, and warn them to be...gentle with him. He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over.”

“I’m Tobias. Jahke told us your name, but he mangled the pronunciation. Could you tell me?” Tobias’s voice was almost and smooth and soft as the Prince’s and Lahja nearly felt like smiling at him.

“Lahja.”

“That’s lovely. Do you know what you’d like to eat?” Lahja gazed at the various bowls, dishes and boards that Tobias had arranged all along the long counter top. He could see quite a lot of what looked like dead things. The thought made him shiver. “Fruit is always a good place to start.” Tobias laid down his large knife and went to a bowl filled with rounded smooth shapes. “Try this.”

“What is it?” Lahja regarded the soft pinkish-green fruit suspiciously.

“They taste like peaches, or what I think I remember peaches tasting like. But they’re crunchy, like an apple.”

“Forbidden fruit.” Lahja only realised he’d spoken aloud when Tobias frowned at him. Belatedly he took the fruit from Tobias, being very careful not to touch the man. He looked very very normal, even more so than Jem had. Lahja wondered if everything he’d ever been told about demons was wrong.

“Probably,” Tobias smiled at him, “everything I was ever told was wrong too.”

Just as Lahja was about to ask how Tobias had known what he was thinking, the man moved, and changed. He walked along the top of a large, cold, box on four soft feet, and on leaping down by the large cooker, was back to being a man again. Lahja stared, then stared at the fruit he was holding, and dropped it. If a person so normal looking could suddenly be a cat, a companion creature of darkness, then how could Lahja trust anything in this place? He turned, and ran back the way he had come. He saw figures, blurry in his vision skewing with tears, of every size and shape he didn’t want to imagine, then smacked directly into a wall of warmth, fur, and muscle. Lahja looked up into dark eyes the same shape as his own, set into a face more beast than man, and screamed. As the white light obliterated the vision, he fainted.

*

Kiorl just had time to step back from the demon who had been haunting his private thoughts as the light of heaven shot from him. He was equally quick to catch the boy with magic as he fell into a crumpled heap on the hall floor. No one said anything for a long time, and then Kiaza hissed between his teeth.

“That’s the new guy? Ye Gods… it’s going to be a long road for him if he faints at the sight of someone as pretty as Kiorl.” He paused, “On the basis that dinner is now going to be delayed, I’m going to the bar. Jem?”

“I’ll get a clean shirt.”

Kiaza stripped his mate with magic, leaving him in nothing but fitted jeans.

“You don’t need clothes. I think you look fine.” Kiaza’s lust was obvious.

“Will you two just go, before you end up taking over the bathroom again?” Kiorl snapped at his friend. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off the boy, and he was still cradling his head from hitting the stone floor with a faint trickle of magic. “I’ll take him to the lounge.”

Kiorl was surprised to find his memory had warped the demon’s features slightly, made him smoother and softer than he really was. There had been a hard angle of determination in that jaw line, sharp lines in his body and the way he moved that had nothing to do with fragility. He was nearly as tall as Kiorl, for all he’d looked up at him like he was a nightmare. And how he’d looked… Kiorl gulped to remember it as he used his well-practised magic to move the boy ahead of him and laid him softly on one of the sofas in better repair. The boy had looked up at him with eyes so exactly like his own, that it had left Kiorl breathless. They were a lighter blue, less electrically charged, but the same shape, and Kiorl could barely believe they had something in common. Only when he heard a thrumming his own ears, did Kiorl realise he was purring.

You’d better stop that. The guys will think you’ve gone soft, and whatever will you do then?

Kiorl bit back the snarl, not wanting to wake the sleeping demon.

Zai would never challenge me, he’s too happy.

Yes, because being happy is weakness, isn’t it? Kiorl’s inner voice mocked him. You’re good at being miserable and haughty, stick to that.

Kiorl wanted to smile, sitting alone with his new house mate, but the expression of horror which had crossed the boy’s features before he’d passed out had been unmistakable. Whatever else he might have thought or felt, he was obviously terrified of the way Kiorl looked. And yet, Kiorl thought he was beautiful: just enough softness in him to appear innocent, enough hardness that Kiorl could easily imagine he was as scary as Nassau in a rage. Kiorl knew appearances weren’t everything, but he really did doubt that the boy could throw him clean across the room. The pale young demon shifted and rolled over, and Kiorl gave into his over-active imagination, and sipped his head to kiss the slack pink lips.

For about a second, Kiorl felt his heart thud in a manner which was equal parts delicious and painful, was drawn into the sensation of the kiss, soft and sweet, and better even that Nassau’s searing lips. And then it all changed.

The new demon’s blue eyes snapped open, and he slapped Kiorl hard across the cheek. He was so skinny, Kiorl didn’t think the force of a single hand to the face could have pushed him back across the room, but he was wrong. The white light hurt his eyes and he screwed them shut; for a long moment small and defenceless on the floor. His brain ached, his ears rang, and the left side of his face was an explosion of nerve endings shouting their pain. Kiorl snarled, holding his jaw in one hand, his mind turning inward to deal with the after effects of the blow.

“Don’t touch me!” The boy was on his feet, and Kiorl glanced up at him, feeling short for the first time in over a decade. The look in the boy’s eyes told him far more than he wanted to know. “You are unclean, base, and evil. You may not touch me!” Before Kiorl had time to react, the boy had fled from the room.

He was still sitting on the floor when Shindae wandered in, eating an apple.

“Dude...” the fire demon’s brows drew low, “what happened to your jaw?”