Echoes of the Past (Demon Squad) by Tim Marquitz

missive through squinted eyes. It read as a love letter, though the woman appeared to have no idea who my uncle truly was. The line about her praying for him was absurd. It made it obvious the writer was human.
           I have seen no sign of Arol since our abrupt parting.
    A sudden tremble shook my hands, my fingers clenching and nearly tearing the page in half. Arol was Lucifer’s brother; my father . His name hadn’t passed my lips in nearly five hundred years. Karra tightened her grip on my legs, but I barely noticed, my eyes devouring the words before me.
    Should you encounter him, I beg you do not tell him of us, for it would only enrage him beyond control. The child grows strong within me, and I would not have it without its father. This is the only request I would ask of you, fair Lucifer.
    Return to me soon, my love.
    Charlotte
    My heart went still in my chest, the papers slipping from numb fingers and fluttering to the floor.
    My love . Charlotte .
    Darkness fluttered before my eyes and I fell back onto the bed, staring up at the carved stone ceiling. My head spun as a churning sickness welled inside me. Had Azrael been telling the truth?
    Charlotte.
    The name repeated inside my thoughts, circling inside my brain like a vulture, swooping over and over to tear away tiny pieces of my sanity.
    My love. Charlotte.
    The bed shifted, and I felt Karra’s warm breath on my cheek. She spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand her, the words muffled and unclear. The only thing that mattered right then was the name— Charlotte —and what these letters meant.
    They were written by my mother.
    Stiff fingers wiped the tears from my cheeks I hadn’t known I’d shed until I felt their warm wetness smeared across my face. Karra cradled me as confusion crashed over in tsunami waves, battering my memories and washing away the lies that had collected on the shore of my life.
    There was so much I didn’t know, so much I was raised to believe; so many lies fed to me. Just as the rest of the Demonarch had always wondered what Lucifer saw in me, I, too, had always wondered. Here before me, in the papers scattered across the floor, was the answer.
    For all that Lucifer had hidden from me, this was by far the worst violation of the trust I placed in him. Bile filled my throat as the pieces fell into place, fury burning away my confusion. I sat up in a rush, Karra clinging to me to keep me on the bed.
    “Lucifer had an affair with my mother and had gotten her pregnant. He stole her away from my father.” I pulled away and got to my feet. Karra jumped up beside me, sympathy etched across her face. She had understood what the letters meant when she stumbled across them. “My mother was killed because she was carrying my uncle’s child. No matter who killed her… Lucifer caused her death!”
    Blinded by the realization, I shrugged away from Karra and ran for the nearest of Lucifer’s thing. She let me go. At the bookshelves, my fists flung loose of their own volition, smashing into the shelves. Splinters of wood and the books we hadn’t yet rifled went flying, torn pages filling the air with a confetti rain. Continuing around the room, I destroyed everything in my path. Marble statues and priceless works of art exploded in my wake. I felt my fingers snapping like twigs against the cold stone of the monuments, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt; needed to.
    Blood splattered my face as I pounded another statue into dust, droplets landing in my mouth and stinging my eyes. The coppery taste on my tongue riled my senses as I reared back to strike another blow.
    “Rough day?”
    I spun around at the sound of the calm voice, and growled. Baalth stood in the doorway looking like he’d just come back from an island vacation. Dressed in his customary suit and tie, his skin was tanned and his black hair and goatee were immaculate. There was no sign of his recent battles with the power he’d stolen from Glorius.
    For some reason,