Page 1 of Scorched Earth

Zephaniel

The mirrored, glossy elevator walls reflect endless versions of me as I ride it all the way down to the lowest floor. I straighten my tie, sighing inwardly at my little task today. Going to Hell to scold a bunch of sneering demons isn’t exactly my favorite way to spend my time, but when I’m told to do something, I do it.

Unless I want to suffer the same fate as thelastangel who disobeyed, but that’s another story for another time.

The farther down the elevator travels, the warmer it becomes. Warm is, of course, a somewhat meaningless term. As an angel I don’t feel Earthly temperatures the way humans do. But supernatural temperature is something I’m familiar with, and the growing heat beneath my feet now is just enough to be noticeable. If a human were standing here, the soles of their feet would already be liquefied.

The farther down I travel, getting close to Basement Level—an inside joke between our realms—my wings materialize. Whenever we leave Heaven, our wings become invisible—no need to draw attention to ourselves or, when we used to travel to Earth, startle the humans—but on the rare occasions we descend into Hell, they appear in their full glory.

Demons like to talk a big game, but when they see our incandescent eyes and full wingspan, they go scuttling into whatever dark corner they can find like roaches. When push comes to shove, they don’t want a problem with us.

I smirk at my reflection. Smoke drifts up from the very tips of my wings—Hell’s way of rolling out the welcome wagon. There’re always lots of jokes about how long to fry an angel, at what temperature, and with what seasonings. My wings will repair themselves as soon as I leave. It takes a lot more than hellfire to truly harm them.

Finally, I reach the Basement, and the mirrored doors slide open, revealing a pristine white hallway with shimmery white marble tile on the floor and gentle, recessed overhead lighting. The walls are a pale cream flecked with gold, and the short corridor points me toward a glass door with the name “Agrat bat Mahlat” printed across the front in gold lettering.

Before I can knock, a low, smooth voice calls, “Come in.”

The door swings inward by an unseen hand, and I step inside, wings folding back to allow me the room to enter. I glance around; like the corridor, this room is light and airy, opulent with marble walls and plush carpeting. An enormous chaise lounge takes up the far right side of the room, and an equally sizable white desk sits on the other.

Leaning against the desk is an exquisite woman with dark hair that cascades down her back and luscious curves encased in an off-the-shoulder red velvet dress. Her dark eyes are smudged with alluring kohl, and touches of diamonds glimmer at me from her earlobes, cleavage, wrist, and ring finger. She lifts a hand and flutters her fingers.

“Zeph,” the succubus princess says, offering a serpentine smile. “To what do I owe the…pleasure of your visit?”

“Daughter of Lillith,” I reply flatly. “I think you’re well aware.” I lift my own hand but not to wave. A sheaf of documents appears in them. “The treaty.”

“Treaty?” Agrat repeats with a frown as she turns to step behind her desk. In one corner, a drink cart made entirely of crystal stands, holding several low, clear tumblers and a decanter of dark amber liquid. “Straight to business is no fun. All work and no play, and all that. Drink?”

I toss the document onto her desk. “Why not.”

“That’s more like it.” Agrat smirks as she pours a couple of fingers of booze into each cut-crystal glass. Then she turns and saunters toward me, stopping only inches away. I can feel her heat. “Here, darling.”

I take the glass, glancing into her dark eyes. Deep in the pupil, an orangey-red flame ignites. It’s hypnotizing, and I find myself drawing closer and closer to those glossy, inviting lips. Then I catch myself and take a wide step back.

Agrat looks pleased with herself, tossing her head back and laughing. “My goodness. You’re wound up so tightly.” She lowers herself into her seat in a way that offers me a peek down the front of her tight bodice, which pushes up her voluptuous breasts. I don’t like that I’m noticing these things—her heat, lips, breasts—in this environment. As an angel of the Ishim class, I’m closest to the ways of humans, how they operate and think and feel. It’s why we were the ones who used to be sent to Earth so much to intercede for them. Apparently, any human understanding I have is being tapped into by this demonic seductress purely to distract me.

She waves a delicate, manicured hand toward the chair across from me. “Please, have a seat.”

I sit in the proffered chair and reach for the glass, then take a mouthful of the smoothest, richest scotch I’ve ever tasted.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Agrat says, the slightest trace of a hiss on thesindelicious. “The finest scotch known to man.”

“Is that where you got it?” I ask, swirling the liquid in my glass. “From the humans?”

Agrat rests a hand on her bosom. I follow the movements of her fingertips, lightly brushing the top of her cleavage. “Hell’s come a long way in bringing Earthly pleasures down for the rest of us, but I have to say, nailing the distillery part just hasn’t happened yet. Those humans know what they’re doing.” She takes a long, dramatic sip and sighs, closing her eyes. “Nothing like it. Well…I can think of one thing.”

“That segues nicely into why I’m here,” I reply, setting the glass on the desk and ignoring her last comment. “These little visits of yours and the filth you command to Earth. You’re breaking the treaty.”

Agrat smiles, sets her glass down, and leans forward, bracing her elbows on the desk. “There’s no exception in that thick stack of papers there that allows for scotch or other pleasurable runs?”

“‘There shall henceforth be no presence, corporeal or otherwise, of either residents of Heaven or of Hell,’” I quote flatly. “‘The realm known as Earth shall be considered off-limits to both sides. Any discovered breaking this agreement will be permitted one warning—’”

Agrat leans forward, eyes and smile wide. “And the smiting begins?” She claps her hands with mocking excitement.

I tilt my head. “Why do you think I’m here?”

All it would take to rid the universe of Agrat would be one well-placed channel of bright white Heavenly energy.

In an instant, she appears in front of me and straddles my lap. I grab her waist to push her off me, but make the mistake of meeting her gaze and losing myself in those fiery pinpoints.

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