gargoyles.
"Still your wings!" Laila cried. "Move and I'll have your blood, demons. I do not tire of killing your kind." Those demons she had shot lay on the ground, bleeding. Volkfair was moving between them, snapping their necks.
The demons' hissing rose like waves, covering the rooftops. Their fangs and claws glistened like a field of glass shards, and smoke rose from their nostrils.
"An angel speaks with demon tongue," rose the screeches. "A half-breed enters our realm, brothers and sisters, yes indeed. Laila has come! Laila the half-angel." Their tongues lolled and their eyes dripped lava. "All hail Laila, hail the half-breed!" Their cackling mocked her.
Laila stared around at the thousands of demons who covered the roofs. She wondered how many she could kill if they swooped toward her. She would kill many, but even she could not defeat an entire army of demons.
"Take me to Beelzebub," she demanded, Volkfair at her side, demon blood dripping from his maw. "I seek your lord."
A thundering voice came from a roof to her left, a voice like an echo, a voice which sent the lesser demons cowering.
"You found him."
Laila turned and stared, eyes narrowed. She could see only a dark shadow, like a great man, standing by a chimney above. Crouching, Laila aimed her Uzi at the burly, shadowy demon on the rooftops. This figure had no hooves, horns, or scales; shaped as a man he was, with great bat wings. A fallen angel, Laila knew.
"If you are Beelzebub," she called, "show yourself, and do not hide in the shadows."
As the fallen angel stared down toward her, Laila grabbed a grenade with her left hand, keeping her right hand on the Uzi. A machine gun could take out the lesser demons—the shades, those spawn of Hell coated with scales and horns. The fallen angels, banished from Heaven during Lucifer's rebellion, were tougher and smarter. These demon lords could take a lot of bullets, Laila knew, so she always kept a few grenades strapped to her belt. A grenade could confuse them, even hurt them enough to let her use her claws and fangs.
She had killed fallen angels twice before—one in Bethlehem six years ago, and one in the Valley of Hinnom last winter. To kill the first took seven magazines of bullets, five grenades, and a duel of claws that lasted all night. The second fallen angel had made the first battle seem easy. They are tough kills, Laila thought, hand on her grenade. But I can still take one on.
"As you wish, Laila, daughter of Hell," came the echoing voice from above. The great demon outstretched his wings, swooped down into the alley, and landed before her. He stood, clad in old Roman armor, black and gold, an ancient being of dark beauty.
"Beelzebub," she whispered.
The old trembles took her heart, and the memories pounded through her, old sweet memories of his kisses, his strong hands on her body, his vows of love. The grief and memories were suddenly so great, Laila struggled to curb her tears. She had been seventeen, scared, innocent; he was millennia old, endlessly wise and strong, whispering in her ears promises he could never keep. Yes, she had fallen for him then, thought that he could save her from the turmoil within her. But that was a decade ago, in a different time, before he took over Hell. We were both different then.
His face—handsome and ageless—split into a smile, revealing fangs. "I'm glad to see you again."
Laila straightened, letting her Uzi hang on its strap against her thigh, and held her hands to her sides, claws glinting. She showed her own fangs. "I want to talk," she said, struggling to hide the chill that ran through her. If what Bat El said was true, if she truly was Lucifer's daughter, then here stood more than an old lover. Here before her stood her father's killer.
I must know if it's true. I must. She stared into Beelzebub's dark eyes, refusing to turn her gaze away from his stare, a stare that could kill mortals.
Beelzebub nodded, smiling thinly. "Then let's talk. Come