Zaphriel waited, his head bowed and wrists crossed as expected of a supplicant of his Master. He was excited, and hoped that his Master would be pleased.
Instead, his Master threw the business card at him, flicking it off his forehead. “You fool!”
“What, Master?” He hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself look small. His wings drooped. He had the address and phone number of the Fiend, and would be able to destroy him for his Master. His Master would not have to clear out the rest of the boys in the group, as he had demanded of Zapriel; he could go right for the Fiend.
“What did I tell you to do?”
“To turn the boys against their Master. If they did not turn, to kill them.”
“You spoke to one of them, and you could have tried to turn him with the information I gave you.”
Zaphriel had been so excited to catch one of the boys alone that he had forgotten about the information he was given to impart, in an attempt to turn them.
“You forgot.”
“My Master, I–”
The whip came down close to him. His body shuddered, wanting that whip on his chest, on his face, anywhere. He loved the sting, because it reminded him of home.
“My Master! I did forget, but I saw the boy, and we spoke. He was a beautiful boy.”
“If you’re going to be distracted by the humans, I will dismiss you to your Duke and tell him what a worthless creature you are. You will be destroyed, not punished.”
Zaphriel thrust out his crossed wrists and put his forehead to the floor. “No!”
“What will you do when you see the boy again?”
“I will turn him.”
“And if he does not?”
“I will kill him.”
“And you will do this to all the boys in that group, for they stand in my way.” His master threw something at him. “Find this one.” It was a picture of a man, wings outspread, wearing a tight shirt half-unbuttoned and slim pants. He was raising his arms up, welcoming something to come down.
“You will tell him of the Fiend. Tell him who he killed, why he killed. If he accepts this, then you will destroy him, as he is no better than the Fiend, beautiful or no.”
“Yes, my Master. I will do as you say.”
“Leave the Fiend to me. You will not take away my glory.”
“Yes, my Master. Yes.”
His Master left him groveling in the circle. His Master had appeared before him, for his Master was far away. He could still move through space, take what was given to him, and leave what he wished to leave behind. His Master was powerful, and could control hordes of demons at once.
Yes, his Master could destroy the Fiend himself. It seemed that his Master wanted to. Far be it for him to deny his Master his wishes.
Zaphriel got up from the circle and rubbed it out. The heat of the desert came roaring in, and he took a breath of it. Like home, he thought.
How he wanted to go home, and be under the thumb of the Duke, to take the whippings and give them. How he hated making decisions, talking to these humans who made assumptions of him, when he knew very little of their ways.
These mutations tasted strange, but he could digest them anyway. He headed back to Burning Sands, where he would hunt some of those mutants down and eat them, leaving them to rot quickly in the sun.