“At least a hundred years, My Lord.”
“Then she’s beneath my notice for the time being. Certainly not up to the job I have in mind.”
“M-my L-lord. What exactly is this job?”
“Our newest guest needs an attendant. Someone to see to her basic needs. Mostly to keep her alive…”
“Alive?” Cecil blinked, his toothy eye-sockets looking normal for a split second. “Another human in the castle?”
The librarian’s apprehension bled into the air, thick enough to choke on. I couldn’t blame him. Catherine’s stay here had been a traumatic event for us all. Limbo was depressing enough for the souls that called my realm home. The last thing they needed was another lost mortal, throwing itself onto every sharp edge, or off whatever balcony it stumbled across in a vain attempt to escape my labyrinth.
“This won’t be like before. I mean to make this one suffer. I will control her pain, her punishment. Every drop of her blood that’s spilled will be at my behest.”
Cecil blinked again, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slender finger. “Forgive me if this is impertinent, My Lord. If it’s a witch you seek, why not resummon Holga?”
I bristled at the name. Holga hadn’t been just any old servant. She was a witch who’d burned at the stake a good century before Catherine had even been born. Stubborn. Full of life. I thought she’d make a good friend, a good support for my intended queen.
As it turned out, Holga had been too good of a friend. She’d poisoned her against me. Made her fear me.
In truth, I’d already thought of assigning Holga to this task. As much as I hated the woman, she had a knack for inspiring fear, especially toward me.
This time, I wanted the human to fear me. There was just one tiny problem.
“I ushered Holga to the second layer. Who knows which of my brothers owns her soul now. Her water-logged carcass is floating face down in the nine-circle’s lake for all we know. Even if Asmodeus kept her, he wouldn’t send her back.”
“Why not ask him, My Lord?”
I groaned, massaging my temple, as if rubbing the bare bone would do anything to ease the headache I always got when I thought of my siblings.
I’d rather pull out my own horns than speak to any of them,especiallyAsmodeus.
I turned, casting one last glance around the library, knowing there wasn't a soul in here up to the job of watching over my little thief. Only Holga would do.
Squaring my shoulders, I nodded at Cecil, and he gave me a series of flustered bows before striding out of the library. The walls and their many panels rotated for me, showing me the way to my study.
The moment I stepped inside, the walls started to flip and shift back, making the room larger than it had been before. I usually frequented this room in my smaller form, but if I was going to talk to Asmodeus, it needed to be in my more intimidating form.
I threw my cloak across my desk and approached the mirror on the other side of the room. It was large enough so that the glass reflected all of me, horns and all.
“Show me my brother,” I told the mirror, unable to keep the bite out of my tone. I glared into the mirror’s surface, waiting for the image to take shape. One moment I was staring at my study, and the next Asmodeus’ bedroom.
I fucking loathed that he kept the mirror we all used to communicate in his bedroom. But what else could be expected of the Lord of Lechery? I wouldn’t have minded, if it wasn’t for the fact that Asmodeus was one cruel bastard.
I hated my brother with every bone in both my bodies.
Before the blurry images started to come to clarity, noises met my ears. The squeaking of a bed. The screaming of a woman. The grunts of the monster defiling her.
Asmodeus’ body was brawny, with shoulders thick enough to support his three heads. On the left was the head of a bull, on the right, the head of a ram. At the center was a human head topped with several inches of flowing flaxen hair. As he moaned, all his mouths opened, oozing a sound that would have my skin crawling had I any.
The poor woman on his bed was covered in bruises. He slapped her across the face as he fucked into the cradle of her sweaty, cum-streaked thighs, and her screams died down into mewling whimpers.
“I’m busy, Belphegor,” the monster snarled, waving a dismissive claw at the mirror without bothering to look up.
I folded my arms over my chest, and steeled myself for the conversation about to unfold. “I’m not Belphegor.”
All three of Asmodeus’ heads jerked up at the sound of my voice. A brief look of surprise flashed over his middle face, to be replaced with a smug smirk a beat later. “Lord Belial. How long has it been? I was starting to wonder if that mold-infested wasteland you call a realm had finally corrupted your mind.”
I said nothing, refusing to let him get to me so soon.
