his liver picked over and over by the eagle? Same principle.”
“It doesn’t seem to be effective, though,” I whispered. “As a deterrent, I mean. If it were, there wouldn’t be any attacks on Lucifer ever.”
Azazel considered that. “Who’s to say,” he eventually replied, “how many more attacks there’d be if he showed more leniency?”
I grimaced.
It took all my concentration not to look down again and to keep walking, knowing dozens of pairs of eyes followed my steps, no doubt imploring us to help. In front of us and behind us, more demons strolled down the hallway toward the throne room. In stark contrast to the weighted silence among our little group, the other revelers chatted and laughed, unaffected by the plight of the demons trapped beneath their feet. I wondered whether they truly didn’t care, or if maybe their nonchalant gaiety was a psychological coping mechanism.
Finally, we emerged into a grand lobby of sorts, with curving staircases on the sides leading to the upper levels of the palace, and a set of giant double doors in the opposite wall—thrown open to reveal the throne room beyond. More demons milled about here in the lobby, standing in groups and talking, all of them clad in either impressively posh combat gear—more ceremonial than practical, I guessed—or elegant party attire in all sorts of different styles. In addition to western outfits like pants/shirts combo and dresses, I recognized several traditional clothes from cultures all over the world—saris, kaftans, cheongsams, kimonos… The garments were as diverse as the demons wearing them.
Music drifted out of the open doors to the throne room, and what I could see over the heads of the demons in the lobby hinted at yet another huge hall. So far, everything in Lucifer’s palace was of epic proportions… It spoke to my dire state of mind that I didn’t feel like making a joke about how someone sure seemed in need of compensating.
As we passed the groups of demons on our way to the throne room, whispers followed us, my skin prickling with the awareness of dozens of pairs of eyes riveting on us. When I dared a glance at some of the onlookers, the sneers on too many of their faces tightened my stomach. Not for myself, but because the contempt and derision was clearly leveled at Azazel.
These were the ones who’d been there, thousands of years ago, when Azazel was a boy who’d just lost his father and his mother in short succession and found himself friendless and bullied at this very court. They’d hurt him then, gouged wounds into his psyche that cut deep, still bled today.
Outwardly, Azazel looked as coldly calm as a wintry mountain lake, his stride confident. His energy, too, wove around him in almost bored nonchalance, and if it weren’t for the faint touch of the bond between us, I’d have believed his facade.
As it was, I felt the tight coil of his power as an echo inside me. It vibrated with tension, a bite of feral aggression to it.
I’d felt that kind of energy before. When I was fourteen, my mom and I had gone to the animal shelter to get a cat. I’d begged to have one for years, and after the divorce, even though money was tight, my mom granted me my wish, probably hoping for some emotional support animal effect.
On the way to the cat cages, we passed the dog kennels, and there was this one pit bull wedged into the farthest corner of his kennel, currently snarling with bared fangs at the volunteer who tried to socialize him. I stopped and stared, and the lady escorting us to the cats explained that the pittie had been used as bait in illegal fighting, his muzzle taped shut so he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He didn’t do well with other dogs, and his trust in humans had been beaten out of him as well.
And as ferocious as he now seemed, with his cropped ears flattened on his head, his teeth flashing and saliva dropping from his muzzle as he loosed growl after growl that raised the hairs on my neck, he was scared and hurt more than anything, the lady explained.
What I’d felt that day from the pit bull, it tasted painfully similar to the buzzing echo of Azazel’s energy now. Yet again, it drove home how much it must cost him to come here.
Ire rose inside my veins as I watched those coldly contemptuous faces. They’d taunted and