Page 11 of The River of Hatred

Sariel clicks his tongue dismissively. “He has hundreds of kids but only one nephew. And I’m super memorable.”

Ithuriel turns his head and I notice his eyes have turned into ice chips with cold fury. “You are no more his nephew than you are Ashtaroth’s son!”

The fallen angel doesn’t seem to be intimidated by the angel’s anger. No, he throws his head back and laughs heartily, the sound booming in my ear, yet I can’t help but appreciate it. It’s like playing loud music in the car – as long as you love the song, it doesn’t bother you that the volume is at maximum. But, oh, man, if you hate the song? Torture. Needless to say, I love this wicked angel’s laughter.

He points ahead to a building at a crossroads. “There’s our inn,” he says through the last chuckles, ignoring the angel’s angry outburst. Swerving, he banks toward it, Ithuriel having no choice but to follow. The closer we get, the more details I can make out.

The building seems to blend into its surroundings perfectly – the sky here is gray, with roiling ashy clouds backlit by the orange glow of Hell’s flames. The inn’s walls are cracked stone, and a worn, slanted roof covers the top, creating an attic space above the two main floors. Even though it looks worn down, warm light spills from the windows and the old-fashioned, eerie lanterns hanging along the front porch. It’s surrounded by twisted, leafless trees, the gnarled branches reaching toward the structure. I can’t decide if the inn looks inviting or foreboding, and I’m curious to see what the inside looks like.

As we gently touch down on the dusty, Hell-baked ground, I realize my stomach is doing flips from more than just the descent.

Chapter 7 – Ithuriel

This is an ill-conceived idea. Not only are we bringing a vulnerable mortal among Hell’s denizens, but we’re also bringing in their age-old enemy, an angel who hasn’t succumbed to mortal temptations, an angel loyal to Father above all else. It’s lunacy.

I dismissed my wings as soon as we landed, hoping that the absence of their brilliance would delay the inevitable, but it was in vain. As the heavy doors creak closed behind us, the chatter within the inn comes to a halt. Mouths open, demons and fallen angels gape at us from every corner of the tavern. The barkeep freezes while pouring ale, and the foam starts spilling over the rim of the pitcher, sliding over his gnarly fingers and jolting him out of his stupor.

“Sariel!” A light, tinkling voice breaks through the oppressive silence, and a mint-skinned sex demon skips over to us, placing a claw-tipped hand on the Fallen’s chest. “You haven’t visited me for months.” She pouts up at Sariel, her full bottom lip glistening in the light from the candles and hearth. My stomach twists and I look away to take in the rest of the demon-infested room.

“I’m sorry, Mireth, darling,” the fallen angel purrs and I look heavenward. The only thing I see is the smoke-darkened, cobweb-decorated ceiling. “Unfortunately, I’m not here to play today. I have company.”

“Aww,” the demoness whines. “You know I don’t mind company. Even if one couldn’t find the clit with a map.”

I flush at her crass words as Sariel chuckles. “Now, now, Mireth. I have a feeling this angel would surprise us with his intuitive prowess.”

My ears are burning and a cavernous growl rumbles from deep within my chest. This damned Fallen is pushing all the buttons I didn’t know I had. “Enough!” I hiss. The Nephilim and demoness both flinch, making me feel guilty alongside the already-present embarrassment. Not for the demon’s feelings, of course. I was not yet in existence when the wholescale war between Heaven and Hell raged, but we have been dispatched to the Underworld to quell rebellions before. I do not consider anyone who chose to live here a creature worthy of my consideration.

Sariel whistles and gently pats the green-skinned demon’s arm. “Well,” he says quietly, the word trailing off. He clears his throat and addresses the barkeep. “Rukmar, a room for three and dinner for my companion would be nice.”

The grubby demon hocks and spits on the ground. Lovely. “Where do you think you are, boy? I have one room free and it’ll fit three if you stand side by side.”

The little Nephilim’s eyes bug out at the innkeeper’s words, but Sariel just smiles, unconcerned. “That’ll do, Ruk. Itha and I don’t need to sleep anyway.”

I wish I could tell him he can stuff that old diminutive where the sun doesn’t shine… but that would not be very virtuous of me, would it?

“We’ll talk about you bringing an angel to my joint, too, boy.”

My hackles rise further at the demon’s words. “Believe me, I have no desire to spend the night in this… establishment.” My proclamation is met with mutters by the seated demons whose dinner we interrupted with our arrival.

“Listen here, you snooty–”

“Please excuse my friend,” Sariel speaks over the barkeep’s threats. “He was raised by angels.”

Some of the clientele laughs at this and I feel a warm weight settle on the crook of my elbow. Turning my head, I see Jessica has placed her hand there in comfort. The notion is all but comforting to me at the moment, however, as I feel itchy and overwhelmed under the demons’ malevolent gazes. I snatch my arm away and catch a look of hurt pass through her expression before she schools it. I can’t bring myself to think too much about it, though. I need to get out of here. The walls are closing in. Sound begins to echo through my skull as Sariel and the vile innkeeper continue trading words and my sight goes hazy. I hear my name called as if from a great distance.

“What?”

“I said, this way.” Sariel stands in front of me, his wings out and lightly spread, hiding the room behind him. “To our room? This way, Itha.” He points a thumb over his shoulder.

Jessica is standing next to him and she gives me an encouraging smile. I have a lot to regret when it comes to my behavior toward her tonight.

Nodding, I gesture for them to take the lead, then follow, keeping my eyes on their feet and not the room around us and its inhabitants. Up the rickety stairs we go, the wood groaning under our weight. Sariel stops in front of a door that does nothing to convince me of its security and dismisses his black wings. He nudges the door open and, after glancing inside, steps to the side and allows the Nephilim to go first.

The owner wasn’t lying when he said the room wouldn’t situate three. There’s a bed for two, the bedding surprisingly clean, and a small table. Jessica sets her backpack atop the latter and turns to face us.

“The bathroom?” she asks Sariel sheepishly.

“Down the hall, last door.”

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