Page 23 of All's Hell That Ends Well

Inside the bathroom, I paused and took stock. As expected, this room was just as luxurious and spacious as the suite itself, with quite modern facilities, and overall in better condition than the rest of the quarters. Whatever destruction Lucifer’s rage had wrought must not have touched this room all that much. Cream-colored marble and rose-gold accents made for a harmonious look, and there was a large shower, with an even larger tub sunk into the floor.

A huge mirror took up one entire wall, and I stared at my reflection for a moment. Now that I had my memories back, I recalled what I’d looked like as a human. Before, in Heaven, I’d seen myself in the mirror thousands of times, of course, but never with another version of me to compare to.

Now that I had the image of my human self fresh in my mind again, I studied myself once more, noting the differences for the first time.

Even with all the grime and blood and half-dried saliva, and dressed in torn fighting leathers that hung half off me, the Zoe who stared back at me was an eerily new-and-improved version. I turned my face this way and that, stunned and intimidated at the same time by the changes to me.

My hair was a mess, but even so, I could tell there was a quality to it that had never been there before, almost as if the dark tresses shone from within. My fair complexion glowed, despite the dirt smeared across my face.

And my eyes…what had once been regular hazel now oscillated in an ever-changing mix of various shades of green and brown. I could virtually see how the hues morphed from verdant emerald to pastel jade, strewn with brilliant shards of amber and incandescent cinnamon.

I’d often thought Azazel’s eyes to be so incredibly changeable, as if real storms raged within their depths, all those shades of gray and silver so beautifully in motion.

And now my own eyes seemed to be just as oscillating.

But that wasn’t all that was markedly different about me.

My gaze tracked to the dark shapes behind me, my pulse stuttering as I beheld my new wings for the first time.

I’d never, ever get used to seeing those glossy black feathers attached to me.

They had been, were, and always would be a marker of those beings whose power level I’d never reach. Sure, I’d lived the past eight years with wings of my own and the magic that went along with that, but I couldn’t quite describe how different my perception of myself as an angel had been compared to how I felt about my new identity as a demon.

Having regained my memory of myself as a lowly human living among demons changed everything.

Those black wings were, to me, inextricably linked with those first moments when I’d learned about Azazel and his world and the connotations that had entrenched themselves in my mind when seeing that color of feathers—Azazel’s magnificent, fire-licked wings, that intimidating collection of his hanging in his entrance hall—would forever spell “other” to me.

But now that “other” was me.

I drew in a shuddering breath as my eyes glided over those wings—mywings—the light of the candles reflecting off the shiny onyx of the feathers. A beautiful, sleek black, deep as midnight…but for a subtle roll of flames. As I watched, sparks erupted here and there, licks of fire dancing over the plumage.

I spread the wings, marveling at how they felt and reacted just like my angel wings had. I’d been a bit afraid they might feel different, that they wouldn’t seem like “mine,” as irrational as that was. But these here were just as much a part of me as those wings I’d lost back in Heaven. An extension of myself—of mynewself.

I let my fingers graze those feathers, enjoying the silken feel.

Man, if Taylor could see me now.

I grinned just thinking of the face she’d make when I’d show up withwings.

Which made me wonder… Eight years had passed since I’d last seen her. Did—did she even know what had happened to me?

My face fell, my stomach plummeting.

What if she’d never learned why I’d suddenly stopped visiting her? And what about the whole Belial situation?

Oh, my God, was Taylor even alive still?

What if the cantankerous demon she’d summoned with his true name had finally taken his revenge? If she’d lost whatever hold she had over him, he would have abso-fucking-lutely hurt her, maybe even…killed her.

I sank to the floor and hugged myself, my wings trembling. I had no idea if my best friend was dead or alive. I’d been gone for so long, not even remembering her because of that stupid mind wipe, and now I was completely out of touch with her reality.

If anything had happened to her…

My breath caught. Agony pierced my heart.

I had to find out. Somehow, I had to learn if she was okay, even if I wasn’t allowed to go see her.

With effort, I got up, divested myself of my ruined clothes—magicking my shiny new wings away in order to undress—and then I took a long, thorough shower. By the time I was scrubbed clean, I actually felt a bit better about everything again.

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