26 Smile, Devil, Gunmetal

Samael and I, reconciled, began meeting in the woods behind my house. My family thought I was going on jogs, which was partially true. I took organic chemistry classes by day at the local community college and trained harder than ever at night. I was determined to beat the Watchers – never again would I let Raziel have the upper hand.

We paused from practice on a balmy night in June. I set my petersword down, my breaths strained. Samael relaxed on the fence, taking a smoke break. His piercings shone in the twilight.

"I think it's time to train you to on the other shards of the Lapis Exillis. We'd stand a much better chance if you could assemble it," he said, then took a drag.

My stomach flopped. "Won't I have to be possessed by the other archdemons to do that?"

He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Shannon."

I kissed my petersword. It shrunk into a necklace, which I looped over my collarbone. "No, it's alright. I'm ready, I guess."

Apparently, I wasn't ready enough, at least, not for Asmodeus. The next day, Samael dropped me off in Pandemonium's gambling district, over which Asmodeus was king.

Smoke hung heavy in the casino lounge where Asmodeus was enjoying a cigar, watching succubi belly-dance in skirts with jangling coins. Gamblers bet away organs at blackjack and roulette.

Asmodeus took a contemplative drag then exhaled through his nose, green eyes fixed on a red-skinned succubus who smiled at him. He crooked his finger and motioned for the succubus to approach. She sashayed over and danced round his chair, then sat on his lap. Asmodeus laughed, smoothed her bare shoulder, and stubbed his cigar on an ash tray. He looked at me under hooded lids. "So," he said, "Sam sent you here?"

I was a fish out of water. "Um."

He eased the succubus off his lap, then gestured for me to follow. He led me into a dark room. It was set up like a cage fighting pit, complete with a fenced-in mat. He unlocked the door to the pit and ushered me in. I walked forward cautiously, dressed in sweatpants and a sports bra, ready for physical exertion. I shucked off my shoes and climbed into the ring. Asmodeus followed. He moved like a gliding snake, all sinuous movement.

"So where do we start? Your weapon is a cane, right?"

Asmodeus smiled. "We start with what fallen angels are experts in: crashing to the ground and surviving."

I quirked my eyebrows. "Falling?"

"Most fights end up on the ground. One, two, three punches, or a choke hold, and you end up on the floor. Falling right is a vital part of fighting dirty. That, and being brutal. Samael's neglected to train you in physical combat. He's more about blade-work. But cane-fighting is physical. It's like a staff. I'll teach you how to break elbows, dislocate shoulders, snap wrists. You'll learn to use your size as an advantage: you may be small, but you're quick. You react faster than someone my size. The Lapis Exillis will enhance your tactics, give you strength, but it can only benefit you if you've mastered the basics of fighting."

"Now first, falling." He demonstrated, tucking his head in and pointing one leg straight, then rolled so that his internal organs were protected. He slapped the mat with one hand, then rose. "You try."

I rolled awkwardly, nearly hurting myself, and slapped the mat as an afterthought.

Asmodeus smiled indulgently. "Good first attempt. But remember, tuck your chin and keep low to the ground. It will ease the impact in a real fight."

I took his advice and slowly perfected the technique. We moved on to shoulder rolls and backwards rolls, falls in which one landed again on their feet. Under Asmodeus' guidance I found myself learning them with ease. We repped it out. Right falls, left falls, roll after roll. I sweated, my breath coming hard, but it was a good workout.

"Good," he said. "Now let's move on. The one arm shoulder throw. You're going to use your center of gravity to throw me. First, I'll demonstrate on you."

I paled. "You're going to throw me?"

Asmodeus smirked. "You know how to fall now, don't you?"

I nodded a tentative yes.

"Throw me a right punch. Remember, use your whole body."

I did. He stepped to avoid it.

"Now watch. I'm going to pull your right arm over my shoulders and hook my other arm underneath. Step into the opponent's attack so your back is aligned with their stomach. Sink to the ground when you're doing this, bend your knees, and lift. It will get your opponent off balance." He demonstrated, hoisting me off the ground. "Then, throw your opponent, holding onto the wrist of the hand that they punched with." He deposited me on the mat, and I straightened the appropriate leg, remembering to slap with my free hand. "Good," he said, helping me up. "Now, throw me."

"You're probably as heavy as a cannonball."

He grinned. "You'll never know if you don't try."

Try I did. It was a struggle at first: I sank improperly, not bending enough at the knee and sticking my butt out at an odd angle.

"Keep your ass flat," Asmodeus said.

I did. Miraculously, balancing his weight on my back, I was able to lift him. I executed the throw and looked down, amazed, at the demon lying on the mat before me. "How was I able to throw you?" I asked, incredulous.

Asmodeus laughed, dusting himself off. "Normally, I'd recommend a different throw for a girl your size. But you're strong. It's the way you were made. God intended you to carry a heavy burden."

I didn't know what to say to that. "Let me try again," I instead asked.

"Of course."

I threw him repeatedly, honing my technique. He threw me in turn, and I practiced falling. We crammed as much into that day as possible, learning other types of throws, chokes, locks, and reaps. Dusk's purple-tinged light slid in through the windows that looked upon the alley and Asmodeus officially threw in the towel, calling it a day.

We bowed as per his instruction and shook hands. "You did well today. You should be proud."

I shrugged, dabbing a towel against my sweaty forehead. "It's thanks to you. You move so well."

Asmodeus laughed. "It comes from millenia of practice."

My training progressed, and after a few weeks Asmodeus introduced me to his cane. It was a staff, really, with an adamant head meant for pummeling. It didn't burn me like Astaroth's mace had, which Asmodeus said was because I was familiar with the weapon's owner.

I bashed in the skulls of practice dummies and broke mannequins' shoulders and chests. Organic chemistry raced by, and my first test passed in a flurry of functional groups and reactions. July came in a burst of fireworks, and after a month, the cane felt like an extension of my arm. Samael, Asmodeus and I would go out for drinks at Damien's bar after my practice sessions, and I found my distrust of the green-eyed demon melting away.

I learned that the Claimed in his harem, of which I had been wary, had chosen to be with him of their own volition. Asmodeus was like a den father, protective of his lovers, whom he spoiled like children. Some he'd saved from lives of desperation. Others he'd picked up from war zones. All adored him. It was so different from the Book of Tobit's tale of Asmodeus' lethal affection for Sarah. Still, Asmodeus didn't seem to like the fish and chips I got from Damien's one night, perhaps proving that he'd been driven away by Tobias' fish liver.

"It's the smell," Asmodeus explained. "I can't stand sea creatures. Leviathan started it – he never bathed in Heaven, and barnacles and algae would coat his skin. It was absolutely disgusting."

Samael stole some of my fries. "You're so anal about cleanliness," he said through a full mouth.

"Why do you always talk with food in your mouth?" Asmodeus said, his lips curling in distaste.

Samael swallowed. "See? Neat freak."

Asmodeus narrowed his eyes. "You're a slob."

"He really is," I said, dipping some fish in tartar sauce. "His room is a disaster zone of spilled coffee and dirty clothes."

Damien came over and refilled my root beer. "Shannon, sweetheart, how are you?" the werewolf asked.

I took a sip of soda. "Good. My spiders are growing bigger each day."

Damien smiled. "Arietta's told me about your experiment. Now, I'm not a very intellectual guy, but I'm happy you girls have found something that interests you. Oh, I have some photos from her. She wanted me to give them to you." He reached behind the counter and pulled out an envelope. He spread the contents out on the table. "See? From the Amazon."

"Thanks," I said, thumbing through the glossy photos. There we were on the Iquitos waterfront, racing down the street in a motorcycle cart. Holding an anaconda. Posing with two hoatzin birds. I put them back in the envelope and tucked them into my purse. "These are great."

Damien beamed.

The next day, Asmodeus and I were practicing as usual in his casino's back room. I'd moved on to fighting the cane's owner. We circled each other. He lunged forward, and I landed a blow on his leg, sweeping his feet out from under him. He picked himself off floor.

"You've mastered the basics," Asmodeus said. "I'm very impressed."

"Thanks," I said, handing the cane back to him.

He stopped me, closing my hands around its length. "Wait a second. We're not done yet. My weapon has a special ability – one that will be activated during possession. If you're ready, I'd like you to try it."

A stone set in my throat. "You mean, um, you want to possess me?"

Asmodeus nodded. "Only if you're comfortable."

I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Asmodeus smiled. "Alright. Relax."

His form wavered, then dissipated into a green mist that swirled around me in lazy circles. The mist smelled like jasmine. I inhaled the scent, and Asmodeus flooded me.

My senses sharpened. Asmodeus was a slow burn in my gut. Bat wings sprouted from my shoulders. I traced their leathery skin.

How are you?

"Fine, I think." I looked at the cane. "Okay, what do I do?"

Take the cane's head and twist.

I did. Its wood glowed, and something clicked. The head of the cane unscrewed, and I pulled out a rapier.

"Whoa," I said, impressed. "It's a swordstick." I touched the sharp edge of the blade. It nicked my finger. I sucked at the blood.

We practiced fencing from thereon out. Samael served as my opponent. Asmodeus guided my movements, wearing me like a second skin.

August arrived, and I progressed with the swordstick. The Watchers lay low, and my guilt about the Lapis Elixir-disaster receded. I still had occasional nightmares about the earthquake in London, but they only sharpened my resolve to never fail again.

The gods of the pagan realms worked with Heaven and Hell to hunt the Watchers, temporarily at a stalemate with Michael's forces. There was still, of course, bad blood between the gods and angels, evidenced by the Trickster Recreation and Partying (TRAP) soiree Samael dragged me to.

Samael was a card-carrying member of the ancient chaos spirit fraternity, whose members included everyone from Eris to Anansi. The highlight of the night included being blindfolded and trying to slip a broom handle up the butt of a Michael effigy.

It was hosted at Loki's hall in the mountains of Jotunheim, home of the friendly and not-so-friendly giants. Odin had banned TRAP from meeting in Asgard after an 'accidental' fire had burned down half the city.

Loki, a pyromaniac, was stoking a huge bonfire and roasting pigs and goats. The Morrigan played a violin, and Baron Samedi plinked away at piano keys on an open-air dance floor in the backyard. Tricksters danced a mad waltz on the raised platform. I stood at the fringes and nursed a horn of mead.

"Why did you bring me here? I hate dancing," I said to Samael. The dress I wore was too thin for the cold air, and my heeled feet ached. I took a sip of mead and coughed, unused to the honeyed drink.

Samael, blindfolded, shoved a stick up Michael's ass. He pulled off his blindfold and grinned. "Because death is a dance. The danse macabre."

I laughed. "You're a walking talking caricature."

He executed a ballet plie. "No, I'm a dancing one."

I looked away. "Stop. For your own self-respect. For the sake of not burning my eyes."

He smirked. "Dance with me."

"No."

He pursed his lips. "Please? Haven't you ever wanted to dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?"

"First of all, I didn't know you were a comic book nerd, and second of all, the sun is out." I glanced at the waltzers. "If your dancing is anything like your saxophone-playing, I do not want to be there when it happens."

"You're a wet blanket. You don't like flying. You don't like dancing. You don't like anything, do you?"

I set my mead down on a table. "I like not showing the world I have two left feet."

Samael drank the rest of my mead. "You danced with Coyote. Why not me?"

I bit my lip. "That was club dancing. I can do that. But I sure as heck can't waltz."

He took my hands in his. "I'll teach you. It's easy. Just one?"

"Okay, okay. But you have to promise to stop bothering me afterward."

He smirked. "Cross my heart and hope to live."

"You don't have a heart."

"It's a metaphor."

Before I could protest, he led me to the dance floor, leaving behind the Michael effigy that blew in the wind. We stood at the fringes, away from the advanced waltzers. He led me in a box step.

"Sorry," I said as I stepped on his foot for the umpteenth time.

He fixed my dancing frame. "No worries. Just relax. Now, count with me."

I did.

The waltz ended, and a tango began.

I groaned. "Oh my god. Not this."

His smile was a knife. "I have an idea."

"It can't be a good one, not with that look on your face."

He slid his left leg between mine and lowered me in an unexpected dip. "Do you trust me?"

"Whoa! Not right now." I regained my footing, leaning into him. "Warn me before you're about to drop me."

His breath was hot on my brow. "We move together on the battlefield. We can bring that to the dance."

"Huh?"

He smiled.

"Um, okay," I said, unsure.

Samael squeezed my hands. Wisps of his robe snaked up. I breathed them in. My vision became heightened under his influence - the towering evergreens and snow scintillated under the setting sun. My senses sharpened, and my body felt fluid.

His will lapped at the shores of my mind, gently guiding me into the steps of the dance:

Slow, slow, quick quick slow – that's it.

I laughed, surprised to find myself enjoying the tango. "This isn't so bad after all."

He lowered me into a dramatic corte. "Oh, we're just beginning."

We made quick work of the dance floor, weaving between goddesses and gods. Promenades, ruedas, scissors – he explained the steps as we went, moving my body like an extension of himself. Coyote wolf-whistled as our legs interlocked. It was surreal, like an out-of-body experience.

After the dance ended, and Samael's will receded, I felt empty. I didn't let go of his shoulders.

"That was… something," I said. My heart pumped staccato.

His eyes burned. "Shannon," he breathed.

"What?"

Samael smelled like woodsmoke and loam. He brought his lips to mine. The void opened behind us, and I fell onto his bed, pinned beneath him.

I struggled out from under him. "What the heck? I wanted to dance more!"

He pulled me back to him, onto his lap, and nuzzled my neck. "I know, I know, but I had another idea," he murmured. The fringes of his robe misted, entering my lungs.

Our consciousness mixed, and his desire welled up in me, overwhelming. I sucked in air.

"Do you usually feel like this?" I said. His need was too much, like a hunger.

Samael gently guided me onto my back. "Around you? Always." He kissed my décolletage.

I slid my hands through his hair. "We always seem to get interrupted. Someone attacks, or you get a phone call. Maybe it's a sign."

He eased open the lace of my dress. "I damn all portents." He smiled, and kissed the space over my heart.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Go away," Samael groaned.

"What, are you romancing your hand?" came a cold voice. The door opened. Beelzebub entered, his eyes narrowed. "Ah. So you're whetting your appetite, with a woman for once. I should have known you'd forego the archdemon council in favor of romancing a teenager."

I gathered my dress, angry. "Oh my god, not fly eyes."

"It's rude to enter someone's room without being invited," Samael said.

Beelzebub glanced at the catastrophe that was Samael's living quarters. "I'd hardly call this a room. More a third-world dump."

"That's beside the point," Samael said. He draped his wings over me, letting me fix my dress in privacy.

Beelzebub set a stack of papers down on Samael's coffee-stained desk. "Here are the battle plans from our meeting," Beelzebub said. "We've pinpointed Raziel's hideout – the Watcher's activity is clustered around New York City, in the meat-packing district. They seem to be hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. Your orders?"

Samael rubbed his temple. "Damn. I suppose we should strike as soon as possible, before Raziel relocates. I say we go in full-force, with the angels at our backs. Deus and I can guide Shannon and make sure last time doesn't repeat itself."

Beelzebub nodded. "I suggest we mobilize in an hour. I'll alert Rofocale and my legions. She'll send a command through our ranks."

Samael fisted the blankets and sighed. "Right. I'll contact Deus. Shannon, I'm sorry to spring this on you without warning. Do you feel comfortable fighting?"

I remembered the chaos of London and dug my nails into a pillow. My mind flashed back to all the training I'd done with Asmodeus and Samael. It was now or never. "Let's kill these bastards," I said.

Samael smiled.