Losing The Light

Chapter 3

Three Days Earlier

Azmael had been running his nightclub for over twenty years, and he'd never had another Devil pay a visit before. But there was a first time for everything.

Xamien sat back in a booth across from Azmael, and the two Devils studied each other while pretending not to. Azmael, within the bounds of his property, was able to perceive more than he could anywhere else, so he had the upper hand in that regard. Xamien, for all his posturing, looked on edge.

Pulsing music throbbed through the space, but it wasn't as loud on their second floor balcony as it was on the dance floor below. The flashing lights were beneath them, too, leaving their group in a more stable, cozier, orange-hued lamp that hung over the table. Azmael toyed with his drink, not really tempted by it, while Xamien had already gone through a few. Not that drinks affected Devils as strongly, anyway.

Xamien's two demons - an unthinkable luxury in a world where demons were hard to find - didn't get a drink, but they hadn't been offered one, either. They sat on either end of Xamien, like bookends, and hung off his arms, touching Xamien as if they couldn't get enough skin to skin contact. One was a young man in his twenties, perhaps, though it was hard to say with demons. They aged slowly. The other demon was familiar to Azmael. He'd nodded to her, but she'd acted as if she didn't notice. She was older, had to be pushing fifty by now, but then again she looked fifteen years younger than that due to her slow aging.

Xamien, the bastard, looked pretty much the same as thirty years ago. He was close to one hundred, now, so he was at least middle aged for Devils. Technically, he was Azmael's senior and should be respected, but Azmael was an exception to that rule.

"Atlanta's changed so much, my friend," Xamien laughed and tossed his glass over the balcony to shatter on some poor bastard below. "I think I like it!"

"You won't be staying long." It wasn't a question, nor was it an assumption. It was an order.

Xamien blinked at him, his mouth curled into a snarl and his Devilish power pulsed. Azmael scoffed. With a flick of his wrist, he metaphysically slapped Xamien's power right back at him, knocking the breath out of him and making him grunt. But, since Azmael was very annoyed by Xamien's audacity, he didn't stop there.

One of Azmael's phantom hands - rumor had it that he had one pair for every person he's killed, although that wasn't true - gripped Xamien's throat and squeezed. It might be just an invisible, astral hand, but it had strength behind it, and it pinned Xamien to the back of his booth roughly, jerking the Devil and making him gag and scrabble at a hand he couldn't see. His two demons were rigid with discomfort, knowing there was nothing they could do. The male was glaring daggers, but the female seemed patient.

"That was foolish, Xamien," Azmael drawled, like he wasn't still choking him out. To be honest, Azmael was impressed with the power the bastard had pulled, likely due to his two demon bonds. If Azmael had been anywhere but his own property, he might have even struggled with it. But he'd never show that.

Xamien sputtered and coughed, trying to draw breath, but Azmael hadn't let him free, yet.

"What was that?" Azmael asked, leaning forward. He dropped his voice an octave and let his real teeth show. "I can't quite hear you. I said you're not staying long, remember? But now I can't hear what you're trying to say."

Xamien froze, submitting. He stopped trying to batter Azmael with his power, stopped trying to escape the hand, and just choked, teary-eyed and turning blue, as he waited for Azmael to relent.

That put Azmael in a better mood, because he knew that the act of submitting was likely hell for the other Devil, who was older than Azmael and used to respect.