Barlowe, Wayne - God's Demon

Lilith was close; he could see the red sclera of her eyes, the tiny nostrils, the thick, tight curls of her snowy mane. And, brought on perhaps by the stagnant, hot air, the thin sheen of perspiration that glazed her perfectly sculpted body.

Above them a wavering dark cloud of flies was growing and coalescing, rotating like a slow tornado in the debris-laden air. The buzzing rose and fell arrhythmically, an insectile threnody that almost sounded like words. Beelzebub's Voice never failed to bring a crooked smile to Adramalik's hard features.

He thought of it as a miracle, a miracle that only Lucifer could explain, for solid rumor had it that it had been he who had created Beelzebub. Adramalik had heard that Lucifer, just before the War, had wanted a fearless and unquestioning lieutenant, a being so different from his angels as to answer to none but himself. Secretly, and against the will of the Throne, he had created such a being, had dipped into the stuff of the Above and imbued the motes he found there with a loyal soul. It was not called Beelzebub then; no one but Lucifer knew its original name, and that was now lost.

After the Fall and after Lucifer's disappearance, Beelzebub, in a hate-filled rage, had crushed those original motes that were himself into rapacious flies. Upon them he impressed grotesque caricatures of the faces of those seraphim still in the Above. His transformation was a grand gesture of self-mutilation, an event so incomprehensible that Demons Major still spoke of it with whispered awe.

This was all nearly forgotten history to Adramalik. His thoughts were almost always of the here and now and rarely of those chaotic days immediately after the Fall.

Above the persistent buzzing he heard the faint delicate splash of Lilith's footsteps as she crossed the final few puddles of blood. She stopped at the base of the throne, head down.

Above her the flies swarmed, winged atoms of her master's body. From what court-spies had related, he was sure that she wished she could tread upon each one, crushing them until he no longer existed. He was also sure that she would willingly sacrifice nearly everything just to accomplish this.

When he spoke it was in the Voice of the flies, a layered and droning Voice that emanated from a thousand tiny throats.

"Fleurety tells me of a growing cult among the souls. A cult of ... you?" The ambient Voice paused, but a buzzing wheeze continued for a moment. "What do you know of this, dear Lilith?"

Adramalik thought, from where he stood, that he saw Lilith wince when her name was pronounced.

"I have heard rumors, but nothing more, my Prince," she said, still looking down. Her voice was strong, husky. And not particularly contrite.

"You are mine, Consort. Not Hell's at large. I would find it most distressing if Fleurety's tales about you proved true. He is convinced that you are, in some way, fostering these cults. Just as you once did with the living humans."

"The Duke has his own designs, my Prince," she said plainly. "Perhaps you might ask him why he takes any interest in me at all."

"I have. For once, his suspicions outweigh his obvious urges toward you."

The Chancellor General reflected on that with mild amusement. Duke Fleurety's carnal interests were extraordinary, his imagination nearly unmatched, his resources boundless. He must be very sure indeed, thought Adramalik.

Lilith tilted her head up.

"He suggested that I have Lord Agaliarept minister to you—that, perhaps, only he is capable of gaining the truth from you. I found that suggestion ... disagreeable. What are your feelings about this?"

That had an effect, thought Adramalik, pleased. Her slight movement backward had been unmistakable. She was too proud, too unaffected by the Prince's presence.

Ten thousand faceted eyes were fixed upon her.

"My feelings?" Her voice broke ever so slightly. "I ... I have done nothing." Adramalik saw a tear well up and glisten down her ivory cheek. It stopped for a moment on her jaw and then dropped onto her clawed foot where a few black and green flies had gathered. One sizzled briefly from the moisture and vanished, and Adramalik could not be sure that he had heard a momentary sigh mingled with the low buzz of Beelzebub's breath.

"Nothing. That is good, Lilith," the Voice buzzed with no inflection. "I will not share you, not with Fleurety, not with Agaliarept, and certainly not with the dirt of humanity."

There it is again, thought Adramalik, that incredible possessiveness. And who can blame him?

"Thank you, my Prince," Lilith said quietly.