Sword's Blessing. Kaitlin R. Branch

      “I was out powered! Who could have known that bumbling fool was as much a traitor as Eli?”

      “You were aware they were friends, were you not? You could have killed him quickly, but chose to–”

      “Shut up, Doll.” Cyrene swiped at the construct before her. The Doll collapsed, and Cyrene spit on the body, her hands shivering in disgust. Her crow lofted over to settle on her shoulder, and she forced her hands to still. It would not do to be so worked up. He would sense it, and take advantage. Cyrene took a breath, stroking the crow’s sleek black feathers as she exhaled, snapping. “I want to talk to management. Now.”

      The street went black except for a sinister mote of bright red fire. “Tsk, Cyrene,” called the honey smooth voice as the fire expanded into a middle-aged man in a suit. “Patience lets you live longer.”

      The Damned woman whirled on the voice, snarling. He didn’t budge. “Patience has never gotten me anywhere. Give me power.”

      “Give you power?” The Lucifer raised an eyebrow and circled around Cyrene with an interested air. “Why should I? I don’t need any trouble after your debacle with Samantha.”

      “Because I will bring her down for you.” Cyrene snarled. The crow shifted with her, feathers ruffling and smoothing. “Her and Eli.”

      “Why do you care?” The Lucifer snorted. “You never gave a shit about inbetweeners or defectors before. Why now? Why them?”

      Cyrene ground her jaw as she pushed her wildly flying hair from her face. She hadn’t bothered fixing it back into the perfect waves since the fight. Her crow fluttered up and back to her shoulder, preening her hair as if in concern, but she hardly noticed. “No one else has beat me. And I created Eli.”

      “You actually created Francis as well, come to think of it,” The Lucifer mused. His gaze was on the crow as he spoke. “Don’t you remember? It was…what, the seventeen hundreds? Yes, you were running around mad from killing–”

      “Shut up!” She twisted her hands deeper into her hair. Damn it, that voice! It rang too bright, even with the barrier of the crow. “Shut up.”

      The crow squawked, trying to bring her back, distract her from the whisper in her mind. It had been given to her to keep her steady, drown out the voice, help her ignore the maddening flutter of wings.

      With an easy swagger he slicked back his hair. “Funny how things work. You just keep losing power, don’t you? Power of your allies, power of your servants, power of your souls…”

      “Shut up, shut up.”

      The Lucifer rolled his eyes. “All right, Cyrene, I’ll throw you a bone. How do you propose I give you power?”

      Her anger flared. Perhaps he was the answer to her problem but nothing excused his lording over her weakness! “Don’t be coy,” she shrieked. “I know you can do a direct soul transfer!”

      “Why don’t you go out and work for it?” he asked, a smile playing at his lips, blue eyes crinkled into ash-blonde hair.

      Cyrene hissed, reaching out and grabbing him by the throat. How dare he? When he knew her, knew her history, her reasons? She yanked him close. “Listen, you tawdry prat,” she growled. “I have lived thousands of years, seen the rise and fall of ten of you simpering Lucifers. I have seen cities build themselves in a night and crumble in a moment. Now the balance is tilting and you are playing with me. Give me the power!”

      The Lucifer didn’t make any motion of contrition as Cyrene threw him away, brushing off his coat. “I’ve been in power three hundred years, Cyrene. I am well aware of your age. It doesn’t change anything. To give you power is very dangerous. The souls I can access have been steeped in Hell. They are powerful, violent–”

      “Shut up,” she snapped. She needed this. She needed to finish it. He had been maddening since she walked away from the cornfield in Canada. Whatever it took, even if it was her final, sweet death… “I know that and I am demanding anyway. Give them to me.”

      “Give them to you?” The Lucifer’s voice dropped. His eyes narrowed. “With only a word? So much power and prestige when you’ve just failed to kill a mortal and a seven thousand?” His lip lifted into a sneer. “I should be punishing you, not rewarding you with an infusion of power.”

      “Quiet! Cyrene screeched, gasping as she looked to the side.

      The Lucifer knew she wasn’t speaking to him, and it galled her. But she couldn’t control it. She couldn’t suppress the screams, and oh, it hurt. It twisted her mind and pulled at the rope of her soul with hands edged in silver fire. “I will kill them. All of them. I will shred them to pieces and scatter their ashes on the wings of ravens.” Her breath came harsh, and the Lucifer smiled.

      “Is that so?” he asked, and beckoned her forward. Trembling, Cyrene came forward. The crow panted on her shoulder, watching the Lucifer with jet black beads. Why was her crow trembling? “Tell me, Cyrene, when did you receive your companion?”

      She started, automatically raising her hand to pet the Damned bird, gritting her teeth for a moment before she answered. The bird did not steady, shifting leg to leg and out from under her fingers. “Four hundred years ago. Just after the gunpowder plot in England.”

      “Ah, near the end of my predecessor.” The Lucifer nodded.

       The crow shifted its beak in Cyrene's hair as if trying to move beneath it, breathing hot on her ear. Her muscles seized as she saw the Lucifer’s gaze on her sanity, her foundation, her crow.

      The Lucifer sighed. “He had the right idea, anyway, but it’s time for something new.”

      In

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