Succubus Lord 9 Read online

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Metatron announced, “I believe the reason Jacob Ralston refuses to denounce his throne is that this was his plan all along. He’s spent the last few years gaining a following on Earth and powering himself up via succubi. Then he goes down to Hell, kills a Demon King, and takes his throne? This was all premeditated.”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it!” Cupi spat, and Judge Elijah banged his gavel to calm her down. “We went down to Hell so we could save my sister. Killing the Father of Warfare was just an added bonus, and Jacob was extremely reluctant to take the throne. For awhile there, it looked like our chances of escape were slim to none. He did what anyone would have done in our circumstances.”

  “You keep talking about this ‘rescue mission,’” Metatron chuckled, “but I believe it’s all just a decoy. An elaborate alibi that explains why you were so desperate to go down to Hell in the first place.”

  “What more proof do you need?” I growled as I stood up in a fluster. “You can’t possibly think everybody on this jury is that dense.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Ralston,” Elijah ordered. “You will have your turn to speak, if you wish.”

  “Uh, what my client here is saying,” Todd interjected and patted me on the back, “is that you want the truth, but you can’t handle the truth.”

  “The imp is right,” Metatron pleaded with the jury once more, “all I want here is the truth, but I don’t think we’re getting it. No further questions, your honor. Now, may we call up our first--”

  “I have one more witness!” I protested.

  “What, another succubus?” Metatron mocked. “How long are we going to go around in circles, Mr. Ralston.”

  I pressed the angel wing tattoo on my arm, and Cupiditas was instantly surrounded by glowing white light. She disappeared from the witness stand, sent back to whatever she was doing in Hell before I called upon her.

  Then I moved down to my arm and placed a finger on the image of the black-and-pink plaid heart. White light erupted from the tattoo, and the figure of a short, curvy woman appeared in the witness stand.

  She had on a black beanie hat over her equally black hair, and a set of pink skullcandy headphones were pulled down over her ears. Invidia was wearing a white All-American Rejects t-shirt as she bobbed her head to the tunes with her mascara-clad eyes tightly shut. Finally, she opened up her eyes and slowly began to take in her surroundings.

  “What the fuck?” she demanded as she tugged off her headphones. “It was just getting to the acapella solo part!”

  “Please refrain from using such language in the Divine Court,” Judge Elijah warned.

  Invidia sat back in the chair and crossed her arms sassily.

  “Ohhh, so that’s what all the white’s about,” she groaned. “And here I thought I was in my own personal Hell.”

  “Just ask her about the rescue mission,” I whispered to Todd.

  The imp shot me a salute before he headed over to the stand.

  Metatron rolled his eyes and returned to his table.

  “I’ll make this quick, Elvira,” Todd promised. “Then you can get back to making your ‘life is bullshit’ playlist on Myspace or whatever it was you were doing.”

  “Nobody uses Myspace anymore, Todd,” the gothic succubus sighed. “We all use Tumblr now, geez.”

  “I stand corrected,” the imp admitted. “Now, why did Jacob Ralston come down to Hell?”

  “To save me or whatever,” Vidia said with a huff. “Azazel decided to be Mr. Crabby Pants and locked me in a cage, and then Jacob and my sisters rescued me.”

  “And do you think Jacob is a benevolent ruler?” Todd continued.

  “Sure, whatever,” Invidia mumbled. “I mean, he let me out of the cage and killed my abusive master, so that was pretty cool and all. And he lets me sit around in my room all day doodling in my journal and listening to my deep music. And when I’m horny, he fucks me with that big—”

  “Language!” The judge shouted as he slammed his gavel down.”

  “—cock of his,” Invidia finished as she glared at the judge. “I dunno what ‘benevolent’ means, but I’d say he’s pretty dope.”

  “What about Raphael?” the imp asked his final question. “Did he have anything to do with this?”

  “Who the fuck is Raphael?” the gothic succubus asked. “The artist? Why would he have anything to do with this?”

  “No,” Todd chuckled, “not the artist, the—”

  “The Ninja Turtle?” Invidia asked. “He’s the angry rude one. He’s my favorite.”

  Todd turned to the jury, brushed his hands together with satisfaction, and grinned.

  “I rest my case, Your Honor,” he giggled as he returned to his seat.

  “Would the prosecution like to cross-examine the witness?” Judge Elijah asked.

  “I would not, your honor,” Metatron admitted. “She’s only going to reiterate what she’s already said. I would much prefer if we could just move on to the prosecution’s witnesses.”

  “Thank you, Invidia,” the judge said as he nodded to the succubus. “You may be … returned?”

  I tapped the heart tattoo on my arm, and the gothic woman returned to her lair with a flash of white magic.

  Next, Metatron walked to the front of the room and began to pace back and forth with his hands behind his back.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “the defense has given us plenty of witnesses today. However, do you trust quantity, or quality? Each one of them has been a demon, a fallen angel, a succubus, or a mixture of the three. Why should we trust their words? Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering, ‘how could we possibly guarantee a witness is telling the truth? Who in this modern-day society is pure enough to still care about truth, justice, and the Divine way?’”

  “This guy’s so far up his own ass, I think he can taste his last meal,” Todd grumbled.

  “I do not like where this is going,” Raphael warned.

  “There is one man in this room who took a vow,” Metatron explained. “He took a vow that he would always be pure of heart and always defend the word of the Exalted One until the end of time. I am talking, of course, about my first witness. Raphael, please come up here.”

  “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Todd reminded him. “That was like, a huge plot point on the episode of JAG I saw forever ago.”

  “No, Todd,” Raph retorted. “I’m going to testify. Metatron is right. I took a vow to uphold the word of the Exalted One, and now I must set the record straight.”

  The Archangel, still in his blue Hawaiaan shirt and khaki chino shorts, headed over to the witness stand. He was sworn in swiftly, and then he plopped down in the seat and placed his hands delicately on his lap.

  “So, old friend,” Metatron began, “I want to first ask you about your involvement with Jacob Ralston and his friends. When did you meet them, and what is the nature of your relationship?”

  “Certainly not homosexual, if that’s what you’re asking,” Raph scoffed.

  “I’m so proud,” Todd whispered to me with a fake sniffle.

  “That’s not at all what I’m asking,” Metatron tried again. “What is your professional relationship to Jacob Ralston? Remember, Raphael, you are under oath.”

  “I met Jacob three years ago, when he and his friends were under assault by Azazel and his minions at the Chapel of the Trinity,” the dark-haired Archangel reminisced. “Since then, I have been the official liaison between Heaven and Jacob in his demon-slaying missions. However, I must confess that, over time, the two of us have become good friends.”

  The words nearly floored me. I knew Raph had come around to our antics, but I always just figured the Archangel considered us to be colleagues and nothing more.

  “So, you admit there would be motive for assisting Jacob’s takeover of the Fourth Circle?” Metatron hissed.

  “Come on, your honor!” Todd exclaimed. “That’s totally a leading
question.”

  “Agreed,” Elijah grumbled. “Metatron, this is your second warning.”

  “I’m sorry,” the Archangel said in a fluster. “I’ll just be blunt with you, Raphael. Did you or did you not know Jacob was planning on taking over as a Demon King?”

  “I didn’t,” Raph shot back. “In fact, when I didn’t hear from Jacob or Todd or Sia for all those months, I feared they’d been killed.”

  “So, you didn’t conspire with Jacob Ralston to overthrow Azazel and install him as a despot?” the other Archangel questioned.

  “I would never even consider it!” the dark-haired man grumbled through gritted teeth.

  “Moving on to another topic,” Metatron continued, “what are your thoughts on the Cult of Ralston? Do you think they would be capable of committing heinous acts of violence against their fellow man?”

  “A little old lady from the nursing home is fully ‘capable’ of committing violent acts,” Raphael snorted. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Just answer it, Raph,” the blond prosecutor sighed.

  “Of course they are capable,” the witness explained, “but I don’t believe they would do it. Between Superbia’s management prowess and the respect they show for Jacob, they would never step out of line.”

  “But don’t you admit there is something a bit … off about some of his cultists?” Metatron prodded.

  “They are somewhat eccentric, yes,” Raph admitted, “but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Would you say they are clever?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cunning?” Metatron asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I don’t see where--”

  “Please answer the question, Raphael.”

  “Yes, Oliver can be cunning at times,” Raph sighed.

  “Excellent,” Metatron said as he clapped his hands together. “Now, while I have you on the witness stand, I want to ask you one last thing. About an incident that happened a year ago, involving our brother, Uriel.”

  “Fire away,” Raph growled. “Uriel was a traitor to the Exalted One, and I regret nothing about that situation.”

  “I understand that,” the blond man agreed. “Uriel partnered with Beelzebub to create The Army of the Dejected, two completely unforgivable sins. But his guilt isn’t what’s in question. I wanted to ask you, why did you kill him? Should he not have been brought to trial?”

  “Neither of us wanted to kill Uriel,” Raph admitted. “However, he tried to surprise-attack Jacob, and he was killed in self-defense.”

  “Wait … ” Metatron gasped. “Jacob killed Uriel? A... Mortal killed an Archangel?”

  “I … I thought that was already known,” the dark-haired said with a slight cringe.

  “We all assumed you did it,” Metatron said in disbelief. “Only an Archangel is powerful enough to take out an Archangel. And even then, it’s never happened before.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Raphael shrugged. “Jacob killed Uriel in self-defense using his ‘God Bomb.’”

  Whispers arose in the audience behind me, and I could feel the tide start to turn in our favor.

  “I-I … the prosecution rests, Your Honor,” Metatron sputtered as he ran his hand through his hair in shock.

  “Would you like to ask any questions?” Judge Elijah asked Todd, but the imp simply shook his head.

  “We want to move on, Your Honor,” Todd explained. “Get to the good stuff.”

  Metatron still looked shell-shocked, but he tried to recompose himself as Raphael sauntered back to his seat.

  “Our next witness is a man named Trent Hopkins,” the Archangel announced.

  “Who the fuck is that?” Todd asked aloud.

  Raphael and I just looked at the imp and shrugged. I’d never heard that name before in my life. Why the hell was he one of the witnesses?

  From the front of the audience, a short, portly man stood up and headed toward the witness stand. He wore a small soul patch on his chin, a perfect compliment to his short brown hair, and he was wearing a white robe. What really gave him away, however, was the way his body glowed a light blue aura as if it were a hologram.

  He was a Shade. A spirit of a deceased mortal who had crossed over.

  Once the man was seated and sworn in, Metatron approached the stand.

  “Please state your name, and tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury your story,” he implored.

  The man looked around at his surroundings, almost as if he couldn’t believe where he was.

  “My name is Trent Hopkins,” the man said in a trance-like state. “I used to be a marketing consultant in Denver, but then … well, just look at me. Now I’m not really sure what I am. Some sort of angel? A ghost? I don’t know, I only died a few days ago.”

  “You’re an Ascended Soul,” Metatron said sadly. “One of the Exalted One’s chosen, destined for eternal life.”

  “Yeah,” Trent sighed, “what this guy said.”

  “Tell us, Trent,” the Archangel continued, “how did you die?”

  My blood ran cold as I realized what was going on.

  “Well … ” the Ascended Soul answered, “a few days ago I was on my way home from work like any other day. But when I got to my apartment, I noticed my door had been forced open. Thankfully, I’m a concealed carry guy, so I whipped out my pistol and went inside. There was a small group of people in the living room, all standing in a circle and wearing robes.”

  “What color were the robes, Mr. Hopkins?” Metatron asked.

  “I dunno … ” he admitted. “Dark blue, I think. Anyway, they all drew knives on me, so I started to pump ‘em full of lead. I took down one of them, but then the next thing I know, my gun was yanked out of my hand. They started chanting some sorta foreign language as they pinned me to the ground and--and … ”

  Metatron put his hand on the Soul’s shoulder.

  “It’s alright, Mr. Hopkins,” he promised, “you’re in eternal paradise now. Please continue when you’re ready.”

  The man took a second to compose himself, and then he took a deep breath.

  “I’m good,” he sighed. “They pinned me to the ground, and the next thing I knew, they were stabbing me to death while they laughed like maniacs. That was the last thing I remember before my world went black and I appeared in front of the Pearly Gates.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hopkins,” Metatron said with genuine sadness in his voice. “Now, would the bailiff please bring out Exhibit A?”

  One of the men in the white SWAT uniforms snapped his fingers, and then the room was filled with the sound of rusted bearings squealing across the sleek marble floor.

  I glanced over to see a man pushing out a large vertical cart with an old-school box TV strapped to the top. On the shelf just underneath the television was a massive black box with “play,” “stop,” and “rewind” buttons. At first I thought it was a VCR, but then I realized it was way too wide for that.

  Metatron walked over in front of the cart, reached to the bottom shelf, and produced a large, flat square of cardboard.

  “I hold here in my hand,” he explained, “here on this laserdisc, irrefutable proof that Jacob Ralston’s cultists have been slandering the Exalted One’s name during violent, murderous rampages.”

  The Archangel clicked a button, and a massive disc holder slid from the machine. Metatron pulled out a disc from the sleeve nearly double the size of his head and placed it delicately in the slot.

  The machine pulled it back in before it started to make a loud, ear-grating hum. The sound continued for a few seconds, but nothing happened.

  “Uh, hold on,” Metatron sighed and opened the player. “Sometimes these things get a scratch or two, and the whole thing goes haywire.”

  He breathed onto the disc, wiped it with his sleeve, and then put it back in the machine. This time, the screen popped to life with what appeared to be security footage.

  “This was taken this morning, at a
gas station just outside of Denver,” the blond man explained.

  There was a man standing behind the counter of the convenience store, just minding his own business and twiddling on his phone. Then six people wearing navy blue robes appeared on the screen, all brandishing knives. The teller reached down to grab his gun, but then he was suddenly thrown back against the wall with a blast of red Hellfire. As he laid there on the ground, writhing in pain at the third-degree burns on his chest, one of the cultists walked around the counter, picked him up by his hair, and slit his throat. Crimson blood sprayed out of the man’s jugular and onto the floor in front of him, and his body twitched disturbingly as the life drained from his eyes.

  The rest of the cultists came around to meet their brother, and then they began to dip their hands in their victim’s blood. They all walked with a near-floating gait over to the wall of the store, then the group used the man’s blood to write a message on the wall. They must have had lots of practice, because they were finished in minutes. Once they all stepped away, the entire courtroom gasped.

  All sinners must perish in the name of the Exalted One and his one true herald, Jacob Ralston.

  Metatron paused the video and stepped back onto the floor.

  “Were these the men who killed you, Mr. Hopkins?” he asked.

  Trent’s eyes were wide with terror, but he managed to give the Archangel a grim nod.

  Metatron whistled, and the bailiff brought over another piece of evidence, a small broken dagger.

  It was my fucking goat-headed dagger.

  “Where did you get that?” I demanded.

  Judge Elijah shot me a glare and raised his gavel, but Metatron held up a hand to stop him.

  “I had Cael steal it off you when you were brawling,” he said smugly. “You didn’t think I’d send my best warrior into the fray without a plan, did you?”

  This guy was fucking good.

  “I don’t think that bodes well for our case, Jakey,” Todd whispered.

  “Ya think?” I hissed with frustration.

  “Mr. Hopkins, was this the weapon that killed you?” Metatron asked. “Or at least, a weapon that looked similar?”

  “That’s--That’s the one!” Trent gasped. “They were all holding daggers with animal heads on ‘em, just like that.”