Another day, another batch of nightmares, a jumbled mass of terrifying images: blood, death, my mother’s favorite dress, soaked in blood, the walls of her room coated in spilled blood. Angels, tall as mountains leering at me, telling me to come closer and play, their swords dripping with fresh blood, stained to the hilt.

I took another shot of whiskey. The images were still there, still easy to find. I ignored everyone as long as they kept their distance. I hissed when I leaned too hard against the back of my chair, somehow managing to put the blame on the whiskey, not my sore back. Sounds odd, being so possessive of a chair in a bar, I know, but I had claimed the chair with my blood, literally. It was a fairly normal occurrence for me to trot into the bar, ease on to my chair, and immediately stain it with yet more blood.

According to Louie, no one else would sit in the chair, not wanting my blood to stain his or her clothes. That sounded wrong, however, as most of Hell’s army knew me by name and would tease, flirt and heckle me constantly when in the same room. They were my friends…to an extent; they were my drinking companions. They would greet me when I walked in, try to buy me drinks, some helped defend me when someone new tried to get chummy with me. Yep, that’s me…Kat’a, everyone’s favorite little sister, or prospective one-night stand; too bad I was in a relationship, functional, no less.

“Come on, kiddo. We’re going upstairs now,” came a gentle voice, one I knew almost as well as my own…Lucifer Morningstar, owner of a bar, cleverly called Louie’s. He lived in the apartment above the bar, and I had dibs on the couch in his living room. He wrapped an arm around my waist and led me out of the bar.

Blindly, trustingly, I followed, keeping my eyes squinted, to minimize the spinning of the room. It wasn’t the room itself that I minded spinning. No, it was the faces of the crowd: fallen, demon, and elf alike, so many colors so many…My stomach rolled alarmingly. I would not throw up. I was not going to puke in front of so many people. I was not going to throw up in front of people I would see again. I was not going to throw up in front of half of Hell’s army. I would not live it down. Not to mention, I would then owe Louie a month worth of cleaning his bar. Have you ever seen the bathrooms during hours the bar’s open? Yeah, you don’t want to. Cleaning them, now that’s hell.

We were suddenly engulfed in silence. The smells of liquor and smoke no longer assaulted my nose; the din of a full room of Hell’s occupants, plus a few fey no longer tried to deafen my sharp elfin hearing. A door swung open in front of me, and my couch, as I had come to think of it, was revealed. With no urging, I made a beeline, albeit a wobbly, slightly curved, beeline for my friend The Couch. While it was too short for my angelic companion to sleep on, it fit my smaller, 5’9” frame comfortably. Silver hair fanned out on a pillow. Lean, muscled arms wrapped around another pillow, clutching it to my chest, and I was out.

Someone shaking my shoulder insistently roused me from my alcohol-induced slumber. Bleary green eyes, somewhat bloodshot, slowly traveled up the body in front of me. At first, I had assumed it was Louie. I mean, I was shit faced in his bar, right? So he was under some pressure to get me back safe, or face the wrath of…who the hell knows. What stopped the Louie theory was…“Louie doesn’t have black hair,” I said, somewhat stupidly. Yep, lets hear it for captain obvious. Speaking of captains… “Shiiiit. Hi Stald.”

Ma’Stald, the Grey Guard, the Captain of the Guard of the Lady of Fire’s Court, the Guardian of Ter’Angres, my best friend (nearly sister), former Prince of the Elven Lands, son of Titania and Oberon…yes, those elves…was standing in front of the couch, staring down at me from what seemed to be a very tall 6’8”. His long wavy black hair was tied back, and, as always, it was hard to decide if that was a good thing or not. After all, without the hair to distract the eye, his bronzed skin was more noticeable. However, with the waves of ebony, his amazing ice-water blue eyes seemed bluer in comparison. He really was a heartbreaker, I signed mentally.

He grinned, looking somewhat pained. “No, I’m not Louie. Hi yourself.”

“What’re you…” I groaned, clutching my head, the question lost to the dizzy factor as I sat up after being on my side for so long, completely oblivious to the oversized white men’s shirt that I sure hadn’t been wearing when I arrived.

The walk to the door had never been quite so treacherous, with the spinning world, and my pounding head. I reached for the door before finding myself feeling the child, cradled in Stald’s arms. “So, you’re not giving me the chance to walk on my own?”

“Through this bar, no,” was the simple answer. Unfortunately, with Ma’Stald, nothing is ever simple, despite what air he gives off. He is quite possibly one of the most complex people I know, though I don’t know how much that says about me, or him for that matter.

“Why…”

“You’ll see,” he interrupted.

See I did. Being carried through the bar may have been a little humiliating, but I’d take it any day over walking through the crowd of catcalling demons and fallen. Unconsciously, I curled closer to Stald, who, as luck would have it, was in “guardian” mode, and despite the burden (read my sorry drunk ass), was able to glare the bar into silence. On a normal day, I’d give shit back, or realize the commotion was from wearing one of Louie’s old shirts while being in Ma’Stald’s arms.

Um…so, your regularly scheduled narrator took a vacation from reality, so, it falls to me to pick up the story. Name’s Ma’Stald, now be quiet and listen, or I quit this story, leave you wondering what happened, and never to have your curiosity eased, cuz I’m that much of an asshole. Enjoy.

Silence fell between us, it wasn’t uncomfortable; it just was…odd. Not that she was overly talkative or bouncy, but she wasn’t usually this withdrawn and quiet. She was far calmer than Ter’Angres, but usually had some literally vibrating energy to make up for her silences. It was a sad reminder: I had known her when she was the typical elf-child, full of energy and life, but that part of her seemed to have been snuffed out when she was a child. I supposed living through a war will do that, but it was still a painful reminder to those who had watched her grow up. I wondered what she’d do if I dropped her. The silence stretched, not obtrusively, more allowing us to stay in our thoughts, without having to fill the trek back with meaningless chatter. It reminded me forcefully of spending time around Uriel. We finally reached the crystalline lands, walked straight past the guard without so much as a question of why she was being carried, before she spoke again. I shook my head faintly, remembering a time when the Crystalline Guard was respected…decent, even. The quality of those in the Guard had definitely gone down hill.

“Don’t tell Dad.”

That was it? That was her great plea that was worth breaking the rather peaceful silence: to not tell her father? Not tell him what, though: that she had gotten so drunk in Hell she had to be carried home? That Lucifer had gotten tired of bringing her back, so now it was my job? Or perhaps the why’s behind the drinking expedition; or maybe because she had been alone in hell, an in Louie’s bar. That alone would piss off the Crystal God. I allowed a small smirk at the thought of yanking his chain, but…I sighed. “Fine, but you are telling me everything tomorrow,” it was the best compromise; she needed to talk, and I wanted to know what she’d drag her ass to hell for, especially without her friend.

She scowled, and looked ready to refuse…typical.

“I’ll tell if you don’t agree.” That shut her up.

She flopped her arms across her chest and scowled. I’m sure it would have been scary if she weren’t so cute. “Fine,” she growled.

“Ok then.” I deposited her at her room with a pat on the head, and phased back to my room, my princess and charge, and idly wondered what other secrets she had from her father.