Azraal held out. Periodically demanding that he tell us what he knew about killing Lucifer’s Firstborn, we used his head to play croquet, football and volleyball. I also attempted to use his head as a quaffle, but Jorge and I struggled to explain the rules of Quidditch to the demons. We’d arranged a small game of soccer (which Sylnie in particular seemed to have a knack for) when Azraal had finally had enough.
“All right!” he shouted from the floor. Jorge kicked him a moment later and Gavsot, who’d been assigned as a goalkeeper due to his lack of mobility and the fact that we’d decided to use the doors as the goals, weakly blocked him. Azraal rolled away into a corner. “Fuck, this is humiliating!” he raged. “Just stop! I’ll help!”
I walked over and picked him up. “Feeling cooperative?” I taunted.
“If you don’t take me back to my body after this,” he growled, “I’ll—”
“You’ll remained stationary,” I interrupted. “I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Now tell me what you know.”
He scowled at me for a moment. Either he was coming up with a convincing lie or contemplating whether or not he should cooperate after all. Finally, he said, “The only way I found to kill one of Lucifer’s Firstborn is to pierce it through the heart with a blade that’s been soaked in the blood of a murderer and the blood of a healer, then burned in the fires of Hell and washed in the waters of Earth.”
Everyone went silent. It was an oddly specific, swiftly recited answer that took each of us a moment to digest. Then everyone started talking.
“What?” Gus said. “Seriously?”
“Did you just make that up?” Sylnie asked.
Torvin whined, “That sounds pretty complicated, guys.”
Gavsot said wearily, “This will need to be verified before we proceed.”
“That’s either a very specific truth,” Jorge reasoned, “or a lie that he spent a lot of time working on.”
“Where did you find this out?” I demanded from Azraal.
His battered little head grinned mischievously. “From Lucifer’s Firstborn,” he said.