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 ^{(it's beta!)}

“Bird,” the girl said, pointing at the crow with her small, delicate hand. “Bird, bird, bird bird...”

“This kid gives me the creeps, Xem,” Mycroft mumbled, cocking his head at the child and taking a few steps back.

“Severe physical abuse,” explained Xem, stroking his beard. “It tends to warp the psyche of the young mind. I’ve a good mind to give her father the pox, actually, but that’s not what concerns me here.” Xem knelt down, so he was eye to eye with the little girl. “Might I ask your name, my dear lady?”

“Rosalyn,” the girl replied, unsmiling. Her eyes were hard as she stared back at the demonologist.

“Tell me, Rosalyn...”

“You’re stupid,” she interjected. Her hair hung over her perfect face in a wild web.

“Ha! Kid has her head screwed on right after all,” Mycroft observed, cackling.

“I could always,” mused the old man, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “send you back to Avernus.”

The crow shut his beak.

“Better to serve on earth than rule in Hell, eh?” Xem shook his head sadly. “Dear, oh dear. Whatever would the philosophers think?”

“Just get on with it,” muttered the bird, irked.

“Thank you,” Xem replied with a wry smile. Mycroft snorted in reply. “Rosalyn, I... Rosalyn? Rosalyn. Yes, good girl. Rosalyn... what happened to you today? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” the girl said spitefully. “Go away.”

“Nothing...?” asked Xem, his lips twisting into a slow grin, “or... something?”

The girl stared harshly at the old man, but by some unfathomable twist of childish logic, the puerile tactic actually had the desired effect. “Went into town with mother,” Rosalyn said sullenly, leaning back into her chair, crossing her arms.

“Did you, did you?” Xem paused as he drew a short breath. “And what did you do there?”

“Why do you dress like that?”

“I have incredibly bad color coordination. Now, what did—”

“What’s coordination?”

“That’s where you make one thing work with another thing.” Xem grimaced, and through his eyes Mycroft could see the cogwheels turning in his head. “Oh, do pardon me. I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say you did in town today?”

“We went to the market.”

“Was that fun?”

“You’re stupid. Go away.”

“Oh no, please go on. I’m really very interested to hear your story.”

The girl squinted at him sidelong. It should have been cute. It was not.

“There was a puppet show.”

The smile dropped off Xem’s face like it was made of wax.

“Was there indeed...” he said softly, the tone in his voice deepened.

“Yes,” Rosalyn continued. “Mother said I could watch it while she bought bread.”

Xem just nodded, his avuncular, jovial manner gone. He regarded the girl with a completely different bearing now. It was something very like fear.

“There were ribbons,” the girl went on, becoming enthusiastic for the first time, “and music, and they made the puppets dance. I wanted to dance too. I always wanted to dance. Mother never let me. She let my sister dance all the time. Never me. But now I can. I can do whatever I want, all the time, forever and ever.”

Xem watched her in morose silence, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was focused on some inner amusement, some shadow play only she could see. Mycroft felt his tail feathers stand on end.

~

Perched outside in the fresh air, Mycroft heard Xem talking to Fenoria, Rosalyn’s mother. Their voices were occasionally raised, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it. What did he care? They were just humans, and all rather unpleasant ones at that. However, he caught snatches of the conversation. Xem was trying to convince Fenoria to leave the village, and possibly put her daughter into the care of a nearby temple for the next few months. Fenoria, the stubborn cow, was having none of it. Still, it was worth the irritation to know that that pretentious baboon Xem was losing his temper.

Mycroft cawed darkly as the demonologist marched from the building, face flushed with anger and frustration.

“I don’t know why you bother with them Xem,” he said, ruffling his feathers. “You’re a twit, sure, but you’ve got power in spades. You should be telling these idiots what to do. Or crushing them under an iron-shod heel, or something.”

Xem paused. “This may confound you, Mycroft, but although I consort with demonic forces, I consider myself a good and moral man.” Xem, pulled open one of his robes and began fumbling inside his ragged garments.

“Your loss,” Mycroft muttered.

“And the world’s gain. Ahh, here it is...” Xem drew a long, silver necklace from the folds of his robe. From it hung a round, metal pendant. “This—”

“Gimme!” Mycroft squawked and glided onto Xem’s arm. His wings kept beating as he struggled for balance, while pecking at the glittering silver charm. It bore an emblem, like three crescent moons linked into a cloverleaf arrangement.

“...is for you.” The demonologist grinned suddenly. “Corvid genetics taking their toll already, I see. This is the symbol of the Lammat, the three goddesses that rule over the nether plane. Lambda, the lover, Lilael, the redeemer, and Lun, the moon, a light in dark places. Take it. It may help you to understand people better. And that may help you to understand yourself.”

“I understand myself perfectly,” the bird snorted.

“Ah, yes. But one day, you’ll change.” Xem stared down at the bird. “Anyone can change, Mycroft. Angels can turn to demons, and demons can turn to angels, in the blink of an eye.”

~

Ten years later. Nil blinks at him, pleading, eyes welling with tears. Her slender shoulders heave, racked by spasms of mental agony. She keeps making these tortured, wounded animal noises deep inside her chest. Something shatters at the back of his mind.

~

“...Will you understand yourself then?”

“You’re full of it, Xem,” Mycroft snarled, picking up the chain in his beak. Hot damn! He had stuff! Sure, it was just the pansy-ass emblem of some fairy goddesses of compassionate crap—but it was shiny.

“Well, perhaps you’re right,” Xem shrugged, a faint smile on his bearded old face. “Now come perch up here on my shoulder. I find it makes me look imposing.”

“I will kill you, servitor,” stated the crow icily. Cretinous little human upstart...

Mycroft fluttered onto the demonologist’s shoulder anyway. It was easier than flying.

“So,” he asked, “did you give her dad the pox, or what?”

Xem gave the crow a look of glowering distaste. Then he looked down at his shoes, a familiar mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He nodded.

They laughed all the way to the city gates. The watchmen gave them an odd look as they passed, but they’d learned long ago not to meddle in the affairs of robed, bearded men talking with animals.

~

As it happened, it wasn’t going to make any difference in seven days time. Yag’s nightmares slaughtered them as they came to take what their master wanted. Fenoria died pleading for her child’s life. Rosalyn screamed and wept when they took her, but Yag, in his own special way, made her experience the horror over and over again until it no longer meant anything at all. And after all, the dancing was so very wonderful.

Mycroft would never forget that day. It was the first time he had ever seen Xem cry.

Anyone can change. In the blink of an eye.