Chapter 1: Anthony
Hitmen rarely die of old age, and I was no exception. The universe, however, has senses of both humor and irony, and the job didn’t kill me. I cashed in my chips committing a selfless act of attempted heroism.
No, really.
The little silver sedan careened out of control down the street, almost running me over in a crosswalk. Horns honked, people screamed, and it headed heedlessly right for the bridge railing. The driver lolled unconscious in her seatbelt, and I had time to think “oh, shit” before the car smashed through the barrier and down into the river raging below.
Peeling out of my jacket and stripping off my tie, I chased it down and dove in. I missed the rocks, which I’d forgotten about, but the river didn’t care that I was trying to save a life and bounced me off a few anyway. I clenched my teeth and held my breath and kicked toward the car. It lay on its side, driver’s door facing up. The airbag had inflated, but the woman was still out cold--or dead. I couldn’t tell the difference at that point.
I grabbed the side mirror, but the river still tried to tear me away, so I braced a foot in the downstream wheel well. The door wouldn’t yield to my yank on the handle; the locks had held, much to my consternation. I pulled my Colt 1911 out of its shoulder holster and banged on the window until it broke. The river swept the shards away--
Which was when the tire turned, taking my leg with it and pinning my foot between the rim and the inner wheel well.
I nearly gasped before I remembered what a lousy decision that would be. The lady still lay unconscious, and I shook her shoulder, hard, before turning back to my own dilemma as my air busily ran out. I aimed my gun at the wheel, surprised when it fired and the tire deflated a little.
It didn’t actually help. Instead, the current now had enough leverage to shove my foot further into the suspension, so I was stuck worse than before. Cursing inwardly, lungs screeching for oxygen, I tried and failed to pull out of my shoe. Next time, I thought wildly, I’ll kick them off first .
Mocking laughter filled my head. I needed to breathe, needed it in the worst way, but if I did that I’d drow--
Autonomic functions were a bitch.
✽✽✽
Honestly, I didn’t expect to wake up. Or, at least, if I did wake up, it would be in a nice comfy hospital bed with tubes and IVs and beeping machines.
Instead, I found myself at the end of a line of terrified people standing over broken and bubbling obsidian that stretched from here to eternity. Lava glowed red-hot through the cracks, and the stench of death and rotting eggs permeated the air while black stormclouds roiled overhead. Huge horned entities armed with pitchforks made sure we moved right along. They sported bat wings and needle teeth and looked exactly like you’d expect demons to look--goat legs and all.
I had to be dreaming. Or nightmaring. This couldn’t be real. It was way too Dante.
“Seriously?” The voice came from behind me, and the woman from the car popped into being.
Neither of us appeared to have just drowned. My black suit pants and white dress shirt were both pressed and dry, shoulder holster still strapped across my chest. The gun was missing, however, along with my jacket and tie.
Her hair fell in dark auburn waves down her back, and her hazel eyes were wide but not frightened. A dusting of freckles decorated a straight, no-nonsense nose, and her makeup was so understated as to be more of a touch-up job than anything else. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a blue checkered button-down, with a pair of multicolored running shoes protecting her feet from the lava boiling under us. No wedding band, but a Celtic knot ring on her right middle finger, a bracelet watch, and a pair of... were those pig earrings? They were, pink with googly eyes, nearly incongruous dangling from her ears in this place.
The voice wasn’t hers, however.
It belonged to the angel beside her. He, too, looked almost exactly like you’d expect, except for his clothing and the lack of a halo. He wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt that did nothing to hide impressive muscles, chocolate-chip fatigue pants, and desert combat boots. His gold-tipped white wings spread and bristled in an obvious threat display. A sword shone in his right hand, and a leather cord tied his long black hair back. Clear brown eyes surveyed the landscape and found it wanting.
“This is a mistake,” he said.
A demon loped over to us, and the angel put himself between the creature and the woman. “Why, Zeeviel,” the demon leered, brandishing a pitchfork. “What is one of the Host doing down here amongst the wicked?”
“Protecting my Charge from what appears to be a rather egregious clerical error, Babur,” the angel replied. His unwavering blade pointed at the demon’s throat. I had to admire his guts; he was surrounded by enemies and sassing them anyway. His head turned, and his gaze made me feel about two inches tall when it speared me.
“I remember you. You tried to save her.”
“I’m not sure it did me much good in the long run,” I said, cringing away from both him and the demon.
Zeeviel’s mouth twisted. “Well, Anthony, a decade and a half of unrepented murder will do that to a soul.”
“Those were business.” My default defense whenever anyone brought up how I made my living. It seemed pitifully inadequate in the face of… this.
“That doesn’t actually make it better.” He nodded at my hands, and I recoiled, realizing they were covered in dripping blood. The woman let out a little yelp and stepped back. Zeeviel tilted his head and frowned. “Well. How curious.”
“What?” I frantically wiped them on my pants, but all that did was smear it.
He waved his hand, and the blood disappeared. “None of that was innocent blood.”
“Well, no.” Color me relieved to have it gone. “I’m a hitman, not a monster. Was. A hitman. I had my principles.”
“And what were those, exactly?” the woman asked.
“No families. No women or kids. And they knew better than to ask me.” Not that it seemed to have helped, because here I was. Babur grinned and snapped his teeth at me.
But Zeeviel assumed a stance and glared. “I’m feeling protective toward this one. He did try to save Winifred.”
“I don’t remember,” she said.
“You were unconscious.” He sighed. “It was a particularly bad time for a diabetic coma. That being said, you are of the Redeemed and do not belong in this place.”
“We’ll see about that,” the demon said, and reached for her--
Only to yank his hand back as if she’d burned it. Zeeviel smiled, a malicious expression somewhat out of place on his angelic features. “You cannot touch her, Hellspawn. Even here.”
Babur growled. “Then I suppose you ought to go to the head of the line and get her gone. I can only imagine what sorts of shenanigans she’d get up to were she to stay.”
“Indeed. I’m glad we’re of one accord. Come, Winifred.”
She flinched, minutely. “Could you not call me that? My friends call me Freddi.”
“As you wish.” He turned an assessing gaze to me. “Anthony should accompany us as well.”
Babur lifted his pitchfork. “This one is ours, little brother, and well do you know it.”
Zeeviel made a thoughtful noise, tilting his head. “You are not wrong. And yet I want him along. He attempted to save my Charge and I’m kindly disposed toward him.” His chin came up, just a fraction. So did his sword. “Do you wish to dispute me?”
The demon snorted. “I will enjoy seeing your expression when you must leave him here in torment anyway.”
“I’m sure. Where do we go?”
“Lucifer’s Tower.” Babur pointed. “Beyond admissions in the center of the city.” He let out a shrill whistle that burned my bones. “You will require an escort to keep you from trouble. Or to keep trouble from you, as the case may be.”
He hadn’t been there, and then he was--a very human-looking being whom I knew instinctively was a demon, even though he was carefully coiffed and dressed in an Armani suit that cost as much as what I got paid in two months. His hair was slicked back, and a diamond gleamed in his left earlobe. Two tiny yellow horns stuck out of his forehead, and a calculated scruff decorated his chin. He offered us a smirk that combined used-car salesman with shark. All predator.
“Well, well, well. Not often one of the feathered set graces us with his presence.” His voice was bitter, astringent, and mocking. “Down slumming among the damned, Zeeviel?”
A blink-and-you’d-miss-it expression of deep pain crossed Zeeviel’s face before he glowered. “Just caring for my Charge, Derek, something you know nothing about and yet should.”
Breezy and insolent. “Once I sew them up at a crossroads, they’re not my responsibility anymore. That’s your problem, Zeevi, you get too attached for your own good and then end up, well, here.” He eyed Freddi up and down in a frankly filthy manner, and I bristled. “But I can see why you like this one. She’s a cutie.”
Freddi’s lip curled. “You can try to touch me and see how cute you think I am afterwards,” she said.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you. But I’m not dumb enough to try. Yet.” The word was imbued with promise, and I scowled.
“And you,” Derek continued, turning his attention to me. “Thinking you can actually do anything to harm me. It’s adorable.”
“Escort them to Lucifer’s tower, Derek,” Babur said. “Make sure they arrive relatively unscathed.”
Derek waved a theatrical arm at me. “Are you kidding? This one clearly wants to punch me. He turns that look on any of our less-tolerant brothers, and they will eat him. Slowly.”
“Well, then.” The other demon’s smile wasn’t one. “Give him a weapon. Allow him to defend himself.”
“Give a weapon. To the meatsack,” Derek said flatly. “One that will work down here. You don’t ask much, do you, bro.”
Babur lifted an eyebrow. “Everyone knows you collect all manner of things, little brother. Crossroads demons are inveterate packrats. I’m sure you have something suitable.”
Derek rolled his eyes, and an enormous .45 revolver fashioned of antique brass and dark wood appeared in the flat of his hand. Engraved filigree decorated the barrel, and an esoteric symbol had been burned into the grips.
Reluctantly, Derek offered it to me. “Never needs reloading, with enough stopping power for anything short of one of the Princes of the Seven Deadlies.” He raised a finger. “Don’t lose it, because I’ll want it back at the end of this stupid adventure. I assume you know how to use it.”
The gun fit my hand like it was made for me, and tucked right into my shoulder holster. “Yes. I know how to use it,” I said, blinking. “Thank you.”
“Don’t--!” Zeeviel rubbed his forehead. Could an angel get a headache? He looked like he was developing one. “Now you owe him, Anthony. One of the currencies of Hell is favors.”
Derek’s smile was sharp and feral and not at all friendly. “Well, he’s stuck down here anyway. Bound to happen sooner or later.”
“And you will no doubt pick the most inconvenient time possible to collect.”
Derek spread his hands, and the smile stretched to a grin. “Yes, and? Demon, hello.”
“Don’t make me hit you again,” Zeeviel said between his teeth. “Because I will.”
“You might not like the results this time, Zeevi.” Derek had to know his smile was infuriating. “You’re on our ground now, and it’s best to tread lightly on it.”
“Maybe we should start,” Freddi said quickly. “How long will this take, anyway?”
“An eternity encompassed in the blink of an eye,” Derek answered. Off her exasperated look, he continued, “Time is meaningless down here. It takes as long as it takes. Not like you have to eat or sleep, and you wouldn’t like the food anyway. It’s terrible.” He turned and set off down the line, and we trailed behind him like ducklings while the rest of the people watched with varying degrees of envy.
A bald and liver-spotted old man with his mouth pulled into a permanent frown stepped out of the line. “Hey! How come they get to go ahead of us? We were here first.”
He barely got out the last word when Babur--without hesitation--speared him through the chest with the pitchfork and lifted him into the air while he let out a high-pitched scream of abrupt agony and terror. A roasting pit materialized on the cracked obsidian, complete with a spit. While we all watched, frozen to the spot, the demon rammed the spit all the way through the old man from mouth to tailbone and set him across the coals, yanking his pitchfork out with no regard for the fact that it was barbed.
The old man’s screams became inarticulate animal sounds as Babur casually turned the spit over the flames, poking him with the pitchfork to make him bleed. A few moments later, he sliced into the man’s abdomen and came out with his liver, which he ate in just a few bites, with much satisfaction.
“Anyone else want to complain about how we do things down here?” There was general and frantic headshaking all around.
My stomach tied itself in a knot. Freddi turned green. Zeeviel’s lips tightened, and his knuckles whitened around his sword.
Derek made a face. “Like I said. The food is terrible. Let’s go.”
We started on our way again, and I asked Zeeviel, “Why didn’t you stop him?”
The angel frowned, and his wings slumped. “This is not my place. The people here chose their fate, and it’s not for me to step in and mitigate their just recompense.”
“You’re saying he deserved that?” I swallowed hard and wondered exactly what I deserved.
“That or something very like it.”
“Hey, at least he got to skip the line,” Derek piped up.
Freddi was still green. “Is he going to spend eternity that way?”
“Eh, probably not. Babur’s just having his brand of fun.”
“Oh, good,” she said, relieved.
“His eternal fate is probably much worse.”
Her face fell, and he let us chew on that as we walked with him in silence. The reek of the place was nearly overpowering, a miasma of spoiled meat and rotting eggs and burning hair. I decided it was a good thing we didn’t need to eat, because otherwise my appetite would be nonexistent. Freddi stayed closer to Zeeviel than she strictly needed to, and I unholstered the gun. Every sound put me on more of an edge as we approached the beginning of the line, which culminated in an enormous desk in front of a gate fashioned from human bones.
The single demon seated behind it wore a green visor and wire-rimmed glasses, and he turned from a giant stack of paper to scrutinize our group over the bridge of his nose. “Keep them out of trouble, Derek.”
I tilted my head. “You already know about us?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, “of course I got the lowdown on this little jaunt of yours. Hell is meticulous about our paperwork.” A snort. “More meticulous than Heaven, if she’s any indication.”
Zeeviel glowered. “Don’t you mock the Lord, Hellspawn.”
“I would never.” He tried for an innocent look and failed utterly. “The paper-pushers and bureaucrats, however, deserve my full and unstinting scorn.”
“And what of you?” Zeeviel said.
“I’m actually good at my job and don’t lose people.” He made a shooing motion, like we were annoying insects he wanted to be rid of. “The gate will open for you. Tower’s in the middle of the city. Don’t get lost. You won’t like it if you get lost.” He turned back to the line and hollered, “Next!”
I didn’t like anything about this place, but it seemed impolitic to say so. Derek led us through the enormous gate that guarded the city. A shiver passed through me as we crossed the threshold into Hell itself, and the enormity of my situation hit home.
Living with the Mob, you learned to cover your emotions. “Why does Hell need a wall?” I asked, deflecting.
“To keep the riffraff out,” Derek said. It should have come across as flippant, but somehow didn’t. “There are worse things in Heaven and Earth and even Hell, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Great, a demon that spouted Shakespeare. Freddi moved closer to Zeeviel. “Worse than demons?” she asked.
“Oh, honey, you have no idea. Sometimes a sucker in the line makes a run for it. We let them. They don’t get far, and no one ever sees them again. We hear them, though. For a long, long time.”
She grimaced. “This place sucks.”
“Well, yes.” Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s kind of the point. Our loving Father--” he practically spat the word, imbuing it with all the venom of a large and pissed-off cobra. “--made sure it would be this way. If Hell was a vacation on the beach, why would anyone want to go Upstairs?”
I craned my neck like a tourist. This close to the gate, Hell was an inner-city slum, filled with enormous rats and ominous shadows. Things stirred within the shadows, or maybe they stirred the shadows. It was hard to tell. The sidewalks and streets were crumpled and empty of life, other than the rats, and dust devils swirled detritus between the buildings.
Doors hung open, and most of the windows were broken out. “Does anyone live here?” Freddi’s voice was hushed, like she was afraid someone would hear her.
She was answered with a scream, as a naked man bolted from one of the buildings and ran down the street like his ass was on fire. On a second look, it was. A demon followed him, in a leisurely fashion, armed with a crossbow. It fired, and the bolt thudded between the man’s shoulder blades, trailing a rope that the demon used to reel him in like a large and struggling trout.
My gorge rose again. “How is he still moving?” I asked. “Shouldn’t that have severed his spine?”
“What, and make it so he couldn’t feel his torment?” Derek said. “You don’t have a physical body anymore, Anthony. The pain inflicted here is on the spirit.”
Zeeviel’s knuckles were white on his sword. “And yet, some are punished more than their sins warrant.” The man writhed on the ground while the laughing demon beat him with a thorny branch. Chittering rats gathered and licked at the blood spatter.
Derek snorted bitterly. “And why should Heaven care? They’ve been given over to Hell to do as we will, Zeevi. That their suffering is more than some arbitrary deity not involved in the process warrants? Is of little concern to those of us who were tossed out of the Presence. It’s not like He can rebuke us more.”
“Maybe He can’t.” My arm rose, nearly of its own volition, and aimed the gun at the demon torturing the wretch, whose screams had been reduced to snuffling whimpers. “But I can.”
“Anthony, what are you--”
I didn’t wait for Derek to finish. The trigger had a nice smooth action, and the gun kicked much less than I expected for such a large weapon. It made a satisfyingly loud BOOM, however, and blew a satisfyingly enormous hole in the demon’s chest. The creature staggered and stared at the wound in shock, dropping the branch and falling to his knees before dissolving into a puddle of black goo.
Freddi blinked. Derek facepalmed. And Zeeviel grinned, possibly for the first time since we’d shown up here.
“Did you kill him?” Freddi asked.
I didn’t actually know, and we looked to Derek. “No,” he said into his hand. “I said stopping power, not killing power. But you smited him pretty good and he’ll be pissed when he makes it out of the Lake.”
Zeeviel’s chin came up. “He will not find us sleeping.”
“I’ll shoot him again if he comes after us.” I jerked my chin at the poor guy on the ground, who hardly seemed human at this point. Maybe he wasn’t anymore. “What about him?”
Derek made a show of looking around. “Stunningly enough, still in Hell.”
A different demon--I was beginning to be able to tell them apart, and wasn’t sure how I felt about that--skulked out of the building. He threw a startled glance at Zeeviel and picked the moaning man up like he didn’t weigh anything, tucking him under one arm and tossing a sloppy salute our way before going back inside.
Derek made a pensive noise while I holstered the gun. “At least Carrabius will mete out fair punishment, unlike Aziguth. So I suppose you did a good thing here, Anthony.” One eyebrow lowered. “You probably shouldn’t make a habit of it.”
I wondered what “fair” punishment would entail and decided not to ask. “I’m not sure you’re the boss of me, and you don’t look to be in the torment business.”
“I’m not, on either count.” He shrugged. “Just some friendly advice. On your head be it.”
Freddi snorted. “Friendly advice. From a demon.”
“Hey, I have to live down here too. If it gets around that I’m with a guy who’s messing with the natural order of things, my life, such as it is, will get difficult.” He bared his teeth, which were sharp and pointy, and all the more disturbing for being in an ostensibly human mouth. “If my life gets difficult, I will take it out on the person making it so.”
“Your natural order of things is appalling, for the record,” I said.
“Well, yes, Anthony. We. Are. In. Hell. In case you missed the memo.”
“But you said yourself that the guy was being punished more than he deserved. So I put the order of things back where they belonged. Theoretically.”
“You think Earth politics are bad? You should see the jostling for position we go through.” He shook his head. “There’s a reason I spend most of my time in crossroads instead of here.”
“You mean, other than your own bitterness making you wish to corrupt as many of Father’s people as possible?” Zeeviel said, with a certain amount of bite.
“He’s the one who tossed me out on my ass, brother. You can’t blame me for wanting to get some of my own back.”
“I most certainly can. No one Falls by accident, and you knew what you were getting into when you decided to follow the preposterous rantings of an utter fool.”
Derek flinched. “For Dad’s sake, Zeevi, would you keep your voice down? Lucifer has ears everywhere, and he would love to have your wings as a trophy for his wall. If you don’t trust anything else I say, trust me when I say he wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Well do I know the Morningstar’s proclivities, Derek.” Zeeviel looked tired. “I wish--” He stopped. “Well. Wishes change nothing. We must deal with what is.” The tired expression turned a little belligerent. “And what is, is that I love you still because you are my brother and always will be.”
“Daddy didn’t see fit to love me enough to--” Derek snorted and grimaced, shaking his head. “Tell Him that. Or is that something you’re permitted to say aloud Upstairs?”
“We are not forbidden to love, even to love those who have rejected Heaven and all it stands for. Father created us to do so, after all. That you have turned your back on it makes me love you no less, for that would be its own form of disobedience.”
“Pretty words. We’ll see how much weight they hold when this little shoving contest between Principalities and Powers down here becomes all-out war, and you’re stuck in the middle of it with your Charge.”
“War?” Freddi said. “Will it really come to that? Before I leave?”
“There are rumblings. Divisions into factions. That bastard Anthony smited is on one side. The one who took over from him is on the other.” Derek shrugged. “Nothing overt yet, because no one wants their own liver eaten, but mutterings of discontent.”
“Which side are you on?” she asked.
He scoffed. “My own, of course.”
As we walked, the neighborhood became more upscale, the buildings less crumbled, and demons more in evidence. Many of them had leashed and whimpering humans in tow, yanking them along by collars that were spiked on the inside. The rats were replaced by packs of enormous black... dogs, for want of a better word, many of which were more the size of ponies and weighed a good four hundred pounds or more. Their fur was matted, their eyes glowed malevolent red, and rather than four fangs like a normal dog, their mouths were filled with them, dripping saliva that smoked when it hit the ground. Some of them had three heads.
One aimed a vicious snap at a human, who fell to the sidewalk, thrashing and screaming with a burning chunk taken out of his leg. The demon holding his leash laughed and kicked the man with an enormous cloven hoof--I heard ribs crunch even from where I was standing--and then dragged him along the street.
None of the other humans reacted at all, which I found odd. “Oh, they can’t see each other,” Derek said. “Once they get through the line and come through the gate, all they experience is us.”
“But,” I sputtered. “Freddi and I can see each other. And them.”
“You have a special dispensation and are accompanied by my not-Fallen brother. She is Redeemed, so the rules are different for her.”
My mouth twisted. “So, what happens to me when Zeeviel leaves with Freddi?”
Derek huffed. “I would imagine that you lose your nice clothes and end up like, well, the rest of the damned. More or less.”
I shuddered. To be utterly alone, isolated forever, with only demons for dubious company, was a nightmare scenario come to life. “And there’s no chance--”
“Anthony.” Zeeviel’s voice was filled with both impatience and pity. “You grew up Catholic. You’ve known practically since the cradle that murder is wrong, and you continued on your way regardless. What did you think would happen when you died? You’ve read your Dante, have you not? He wasn’t so far off, at least in the spirit of the matter.”
“I only killed bad people,” I muttered. He’d said it himself; none of the blood I’d shed was innocent. I guessed I was damned anyway.
“We haven’t even gotten to the awful parts yet,” Derek said helpfully, and waved a dramatic arm. “Behold, Lucifer’s Tower.”
We were still a couple of miles away from the building, but it was easy to see. It stuck up, a straight black obelisk, at least twice as tall as the surrounding buildings. I squinted and frowned, because something just seemed... off, about it. It wasn’t as straight as it appeared at first glance. The angles where the corners met didn’t quite square, the window frames skewed, and the physics of the thing were subtly out of whack. My eyes tried to make sense of the architecture, but without success. The more I looked, the wronger it got.
The peaked roof sucked light into itself--not that Hell had a lot of ambient light to begin with, and most of that was tinted red or a sickly greenish-yellow. A shiver started at the back of my neck and trickled down my back to my toes and out my fingertips.
“Okay, ew,” Freddi said, giving voice to what I was thinking. “Creepy. That thing is just creepy.”
“Oh, good, then its work here is done.” Derek set off down the street again, leading us toward it. “You might want to put your sword away, Zeevi. Lucifer doesn’t allow overt weaponry in his Tower.”
Zeeviel shook his head. “We’re not in the Tower yet, so I think I’ll hang on to it.”
The gun was in my hand without me being conscious of how it got there. Derek snapped his teeth. “Feeling a little threatened, Anthony? You’ll have to leave that outside as well, once we arrive. The no-weapons policy applies to humans too.”
“How often do humans even go there?” Freddi asked.
“The Morningstar doesn’t usually hold personal audiences with new arrivals, nor does he keep old ones around for amusement. But you, and by extension Anthony, are a special case, so he’s making an exception. I would very much appreciate it if you three don’t get my liver eaten.”
“There you go again with the liver bit,” Freddi said. “You’re a demon. Do you even have a liver?”
“I have a figurative liver, which will hurt me just as much, if Lucifer decides to skewer it and cook it in front of me, as it would you.” He started walking again.
I stuffed the gun back in the holster. My feet dragged a little, not particularly wanting to take me to meet the Prince of Darkness face-to-face.
Derek stopped and gave me a look. “You should be honored by the opportunity to meet him, Anthony. Not many humans actually get up close and personal with the Morningstar.”
“What about all that ‘sell your soul to the devil’ stuff? Don’t people meet him then?”
Derek laughed. “That’s ‘sell your soul to a devil,’ and it’s generally someone like me. Lucifer is the Sovereign of Hell. He delegates.” A sigh. “That being said, I don’t particularly like spending time down here myself, and if you’re going to be this slow, maybe I should expedite the process. I can move us there without all this tiresome walking.”
“Well, why didn’t you just do that to begin with?” Zeeviel retorted. “I mislike my Charge staying one moment longer than she must, and I cannot move about Below as I’m used to on Earth.”
“Because I can’t touch her, and I figured an angel of the Lord wouldn’t want to sully himself by touching the likes of me in order to be a conduit between us.” Derek’s lips tightened. “And demonic transport is hard on humans.”
“How hard?” I asked suspiciously.
“There might be some vomiting and vertigo involved, but nothing serious. It’s just unpleasant, not, ha, fatal.” He eyed Freddi sideways. “Chickie-poo here might not even feel it, being all Redeemed and shit.”
“What about me? I mean, I’m in no hurry.” I wasn’t sanguine about what would happen to me after Zeeviel and Freddi left, and I wanted to delay it as long as possible.
Derek had other ideas. “Oh, you’d feel it, no doubt, but I don’t think anyone here is too worried about that. Zeevi and Freddi want out, and I’m a demon.”
A pair of gigantic bat wings sprouted from his back, unfurling over our heads in a hideous display of purplish black leather. The joint was clawed, along with the tip, and the claws dripped venom. I took a startled stumble back and yelped, and Freddi stepped closer to Zeeviel, whose own wings bristled in response.
The angel pointed at Derek. With his sword. “If you even try to injure my Charge--”
“Yes, yes, impalement, smiting, Lake of Fire, blah blah blah.” Derek grabbed me, and I might have yelped again. “Are we doing this or what?”
“Don’t I get a vote?” I protested.
Zeeviel wrapped a wing around Freddi and took Derek’s hand. “I’m afraid not.”
Derek’s wings swept forward. A nauseating sense of being everywhere and nowhere at the same time, along with ghostly, mocking laughter and an increase in Hell’s unique stench assaulted my senses. It lasted an eternity of an instant, and when we came back into the world, I fell to my hands and knees and threw up into the gutter in front of Lucifer’s Tower.
When my outraged stomach finished turning itself inside out, I knelt there for a few moments, catching my breath. Freddi crouched beside me and brushed my hair out of my face, and I shot her a grateful look and leaned into the touch. The move hadn’t affected her at all, or Zeeviel either.
I raised my head to find Derek’s wings vanished. “My Sovereign awaits us,” he said, with a grand gesture at the building, which wasn’t any better up close than it had been from miles away.
Worse, in fact. Designs were etched into the stone facing that no human should ever have looked upon, images devised to drive men mad. Mind-bending abstracts comprised the bulk, but wrong in the same fundamental way the building itself was. I tore my gaze away from them before I started drooling.
The front doors were a glass version of the gate to the city, carved and polished to resemble clear bones. I expected them to creak eerily, but they opened without a sound at Derek’s mere touch, which was somehow more unnerving than if they’d screeched at us.
A demon sat behind a high desk in the lobby, filing his talons with a rasp and sneering. “If it isn’t Derek the Cockroach and his merry band of misfits. You are expected. Leave your weapons and go on up.”
“Charming as always, Valafax. Do you practice that in the mirror every morning?” Derek held his hand out for my gun, and I reluctantly gave it to him. Zeeviel’s sword vanished, and his wings bristled and fluttered with obvious discomfort. He was outsized and outmuscled here, however, and no doubt thought it best to pick his battles. Derek set the gun ostentatiously on the desk, and we walked past dark-paneled walls across an echoing white marble floor. Chandeliers of bone graced the high ceiling, and the artwork on the walls, if you could call it that, depicted acts of graphic and bloody depravity. Freddi kept her eyes firmly downcast.
I wasn’t sure that helped, because the floor was patterned too, the same not-quite-abstracts as the outer wall of the building. The entire place was clearly designed to be as unsettling as possible to humans, none of whom besides us were in evidence. The doors on the elevator bank were disturbingly disproportionate to the dimensions of the rest of the building, too tall, too narrow, and with not-quite-square corners.
A unmelodic chime told us the elevator arrived. The doors opened on an interior that was almost too normal by the standards of the rest of the building, right down to the “music” playing over the hidden speaker. Derek pushed a button not numbered in any language I was familiar with, and the elevator began a smooth ascent.
Zeeviel twitched uncomfortably. “I truly dislike being trapped in an enclosed space, unarmed, in enemy territory,” he said. “It is the perfect place for an ambush.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it on the way up,” Derek answered. “Lucifer wants to see you, so you’re safe until he’s done. No one would dare countermand his orders in his own lair.”
“So you say. You will pardon me if I’m less than sanguine, I hope.”
“What does Lucifer look like?” Freddi asked.
Derek gave her that unpleasant smile. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Which is to say he looks however he wishes to look for whatever audience he’s playing to,” Zeeviel said. “None of us are locked into our forms; such would be counterproductive for the work we’re tasked.”
Derek looked him up and down. “Your current form is very... stalwart, Zeevi. It smacks of overcompensation.”
Zeeviel crossed his arms and gave him a slow eyebrow lift. “Don’t push me, Derek. That has never gone well for you.”
“You’re on our ground now.” Derek bared his teeth. “And I’m tougher than I look, as well you know.”
“Can we not?” Freddi said. “I get that you two are caught in the ugliest family feud in history, but I don’t want to be stuck in an elevator with it, if it’s all the same to everyone.” She glared. “Stand down, both of you.”
“Oooh, she’s fiery, Zeevi, I see why you like her.”
“Don’t make me hit you,” she said. “I have the feeling you wouldn’t like it if I do.”
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t. But then the Morningstar would have to send a cleanup crew to the elevator, and he’d be cranky about that.” Derek tilted his head. “You wouldn’t like him when he’s cranky. I don’t know if he can touch you. But he can certainly touch Anthony and Zeevi, if you care.”
“So how about we all stand down and try to get along?” I said. “None of us wants to be here. There’s solidarity in that, at least. And maybe, if we’re going to meet the friggin’ Prince of Darkness, we should have a semi-united front.”
The elevator chose that opportune moment for another discordant ding and opened its doors. The anteroom confronting us was opulent, with red and white velvet-chased wallpaper, plush crimson carpeting we sank into at every step, and hand-painted wainscoting that was beautiful until I looked too closely and ended up recoiling in horror instead. The frescos up here were far worse than the ones in the lobby. Looking at the wallpaper brought no relief, because the same eye- and mind-bending patterns on the outside walls had followed us in.
The ceiling had a scene painted on it too, and I barely glanced at it before tearing my gaze away to look at the carpet instead. What was it, I wondered, about Hell’s penchant for wallowing in gruesome scenes? Didn’t they get tired of being surrounded by work-related art all the time? I sure would.
The door into what was no doubt Lucifer’s Inner Sanctum--ha--was dark, thick, and heavy, with antique brass strapping and fittings. The demon guarding it had an attitude that matched his downstairs compatriot. He crossed heavy-muscled arms across a broad chest and regarded us acidly, but Derek didn’t turn a hair. “Hi, Moleshior. We’re supposed to see Lucifer, so be a good minion and let us in.”
Moleshior’s lip curled, but he didn’t say anything. He opened the door and stood aside with a mocking bow.
Freddi and Zeeviel marched in like they owned the place, Derek gave him a wide berth, and I sort of scuttled after them and tried not to be noticed. When the door shut with a solid and final boom behind us, I flinched.
If the anteroom was opulent, the throne room was palatial. The crimson carpeting continued inside, but it shared a checkerboard pattern with the marble from downstairs. The ceiling was four stories high, and a window overlooking all of Hell comprised three entire walls. Lucifer’s seat of power rested upon a raised platform up half a dozen curved steps. The throne itself was carved of bone-inlaid mahogany and other rare woods, with a pair of grinning human skulls decorating the uprights. Luxurious padding covered in snow leopard fur graced the thing where padding would be most appropriate, and Lucifer himself...
I involuntarily hit my knees. Derek was already on his beside me, his forehead pressed to the floor, though Freddi and Zeeviel stood straight and tall. The Morningstar was the most inhumanly beautiful and horrifically splendid being I’d ever seen, and my eyes kept sliding away like they couldn’t look upon him for long. I think I squeaked. Amusement quirked his lips as he gazed down at me before turning his attention to the others.
“What an interesting development,” he said. “Little brother, you really should kneel to your betters.”
“When I see one of my betters in this place, then will I kneel,” Zeeviel answered. His voice was steady, his chin up, and his attitude held no deference at all to a being whom I was sure could snuff him out, casually, with a snap of his fingers.
Lucifer sniffed and turned his attention to Freddi. “And you.”
“Get thee behind me,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Because suddenly, there he was, behind her, closer than I ever wanted a demon to be to me. His wings snapped open and unfurled, and they belonged to no mere bat; they were dragony and hideous and positively dwarfed Zeeviel’s. Lucifer reached a clawed hand for Freddi’s arm--
And pulled back, hissing, as the odor of burnt flesh filled the air.
She smiled sweetly at him. “Yes. I’m sure.”
So even he couldn’t touch her. I found that knowledge heartening, but Lucifer seemed annoyed. He strode up the stairs to his throne and flumped down on it, hooking his leg over the arm and drumming his fingers on his thigh. “You do realize that no one has ever escaped Hell.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “But I also realize I’m not supposed to be here, and the bare fact of me messes up some kind of balance for you. So it’s in your best interests to get me gone as soon as possible.”
“I’ll decide what my best interests are, little miss.” He smiled at her, all predator. “The longer you remain, the more chance there is to corrupt you and get you to renounce that so-fragile faith you humans have. Since you’re here, it’s not too late, even now.”
Zeeviel’s lips tightened, and Lucifer turned that smile to him. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you, little brother, but you know it’s true. Your Charge may be Redeemed, but we can change that, yes we can. As for you,” he said to me, and I gulped audibly.
“I’ve taken him under my protection, Lucifer,” Zeeviel said. “I’ll thank you to leave him there.”
“How amusing. He is mine and will always be mine, no matter what happens to this one.” A gesture at Freddi. “His fate is decided and he is exactly where he belongs.” His face hardened. “And your ‘protection’ means exactly diddly and squat in this place.”
Zeeviel didn’t waver, and I was grateful. “Nevertheless.”
“Well, then. Let him accompany you on your journey to the bank of the River Cocytus. If you reach it, you are free to go with her while he stays. Watching you leave with the knowledge that he is trapped here, alone and bereft, for all eternity.” He bared his teeth. They did that a lot in Hell, I noticed. “I can think of no more fitting punishment for a man who sent many of his compatriots screaming to this very place.”
It wasn’t an instant handing me off to be tortured. I’d take it. The longer we could delay that particular bit of awfulness, the happier I’d be.
“Derek.” Lucifer sat forward and steepled his fingers. “You were assigned this duty for a reason and will continue to escort them. I am fairly certain that your job on this jaunt goes without saying.”
“Yes, Great One.” Derek’s forehead was still on the floor; he hadn’t looked up. It made me feel a little icky, to be honest, and I forced myself to my feet. Maybe I did belong here, but I didn’t have to bow down. Lucifer wasn’t the boss of me.
At least not yet.
“What happens if we don’t make it?” Freddi asked. “Is there a time limit on this?”
An malevolent smile curled Lucifer’s lips. “Assuming you remain Redeemed, then the boundary between Heaven, Hell, and Earth will thin. Humans will get a glimpse of the unseen world they’re surrounded by, and many of them will be driven mad by the sight. And that will help usher in the End of Days, sooner than planned. No one will like that. Except perhaps me. Because we will be prepared, while Heaven will not. Just keep in mind that the longer you stay, the better the chance is that we can corrupt you, and the more the boundary thins. So, please do take your time.” He flicked a hand impatiently. “Begone.”
I didn’t particularly want to turn my back on him, but Zeeviel spun on his heel and marched out, spine straight and wings bristling, so I followed with Freddi. The angel plucked Derek up by the back of his shirt and hauled him along, and those enormous doors closed behind us with another boom of finality.
My breath whooshed out with relief. “Where’s this river?”
“On the other side of the city.” Derek grimaced. “Getting there is not half the fun, trust me.”
“I trust you as far as Anthony can throw the Morningstar’s throne,” Zeeviel said. “But we appear to be stuck with one another for the nonce.” The elevator welcomed us with a gaping maw, and I stepped in with some trepidation, because Lucifer was the Prince of Lies, right, and who was to say he’d give us safe passage out of his building?
The music was even worse on the way down. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop from Lucifer’s cloven hoof.
But it didn’t, and I was the first one out of the elevator when the doors opened to disgorge us in the lobby. The others followed at a more sedate pace. Maybe this whole situation was wigging me out more than I wanted to admit. None of them seemed affected, and Derek held his hand out. “Valafax, I’ll have my gun back now, please and thank you.”
The demon handed it over with a certain amount of disgruntled reluctance, and Derek gave it to me. I holstered it with a nod of thanks and stumbled toward the front door. Just a few more steps, and I was outside heaving in huge gulps of air.
“Be eased, Anthony.” That was a hand on my back and feathered wings over my head, as Zeeviel gave me what comfort he could.
“Lucifer’s a psychopath,” I managed. Oh, God, I did not want to stay here.
“Well, yes.” That was a new voice. “Falling will do that to an archangel.”
Zeeviel sighed. “Mephistopheles. Must you?”
“It seemed an opportune moment.” The demon’s voice lowered. “Not everyone is pleased with how the Morningstar is running things. Some say the time is ripe for revolution.”
Zeeviel’s palm didn’t quite hit his face, but he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “So the first rebels are rebelling yet again, and, oh, look, the second in command is leading the charge. Why am I not surprised.” It was a statement, not a question.
Mephistopheles ignored the sarcasm. “I hear you’re heading to the River Cocytus. If you could sound people out along the way, it might go better for the one you’ve taken as your Charge once you leave him.”
“Think we’ll make it, do you?” Zeeviel asked. “Lucifer seemed to think otherwise.”
“Yes, well. If Lucifer would spend more time down here among the rank and file and less time up in his Tower lording it over the rest of us, he might get a better feel for the way things actually operate. For example--” He nodded to Derek. “No one bets against a crossroader unless they’re remarkably stupid. Demons like our Derek have an unerring sense for which way the wind blows, and they wager accordingly. Derek seems to have thrown his lot in with you, so the less foolish among us are lining up for some of that action.” Flexing his wings, he eyed Freddi. “Especially with her flinging all kinds of monkey wrenches into the works.”
“Smart money’s on us?” Zeeviel rubbed his chin.
I wasn’t sure that the smart money was taking the fact that Lucifer had assigned the task to Derek into consideration. I decided not to mention it.
The angel continued, “I suppose that’s encouraging.”
“Only if you play your cards right. The Seven Princes are taking an interest. If you can get them to come over to my side, then cooler heads might prevail at the End--and we can, perhaps, be more reasonable about the whole thing.” Mephistopheles glared around at nothing in particular. “I, for one, would like to avoid a bloodbath.”
“That would be ideal, yes.” Zeeviel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lucifer is Michael’s meat, but if we can de-fang him before the shooting starts, it’d be better for everyone.”
“Keep it in mind, little brother. That’s all I ask.”
✽✽✽
The direct teleport to Lucifer’s Tower meant that we’d missed a lot of ambience we’d’ve picked up had we walked. I counted that as a blessing in a place that had few of those lying around, because we couldn’t take a shortcut to the river and the full effect was...
Well. Hellish.
Our first encounter with a Prince of the Seven Deadlies was at what resembled, for want of a better description, a sidewalk café, in a neighborhood filled with bars and restaurants--some “upscale” or what passed for such in Hell, and some, well, less so, all with a distinctly orange tinge. A demon so enormously fat I wondered how he walked sat at a table while lesser demons scurried around serving him. Pigs rooted through litter on the street, and flies buzzed everywhere.
I squinted, and shuddered. “Is he eating what I think he’s eating?”
Even as I spoke, he picked a naked woman up by her heel, opened his maw impossibly wide, and dropped her in headfirst and screaming. The screams continued, audible but muffled, while she kicked her way down his throat. A few seconds later, his stomach bulged farther, and took on the appearance of a balloon with a struggling person trapped inside. Impressions of hands, feet, elbows, and finally a face, mouth and eyes wide with terror and pain, pressed against it. He licked his fingers off one by one, and when he finished with the tenth, his belly was smooth again. I swallowed hard.
“Meet Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony,” Derek said. “While most of us use human souls as currency, he’d rather consume them. On the one hand, it’s a waste. On the other, it gives him more strength than you’d think, at first blush. None of us have decided if it’s a mercy or not, because we haven’t figured out what happens to those souls after he devours them.”
“Any idea which side he’s on in this rebellion?” Freddi asked.
“He’s not much for rocking the boat. He likes things as they are, but it won’t hurt to ask.” Derek paused, then added, “Probably.”
Beelzebub noticed us and laughed. “So the rumors are true. I hardly credited them.”
“Hell is full of incorrigible gossips,” Derek said, “but this time they’re right.”
The Prince of Gluttony beckoned us closer. “Let me have a look at you. Hm.” He shook his head and his smile disappeared. “This bodes ill. She upsets the balance. And you--” He turned the full force of his stare on me. “You should have been given over to one of us right from the start. Little brother,” he said to Zeeviel, “I like not your interference with our affairs.”
“Lucifer himself has given me leave to take my Charges to the River Cocytus.” Zeeviel’s tone was even. “If you have an issue, take it up with him. Unless, of course, you’re thinking of defying the Morningstar.”
“Why, Zeeviel, what a dreadful fibber you are. I did not realize it was given angels to lie.” Beelzebub tsked. “Lucifer has given you leave to try to take your Charges to the river, if I read the memo aright. I misdoubt he will be very upset if all three of you perish in the going.” He rose ponderously from his seat, and I gulped, because he really was enormous, in both height and girth. “And perhaps we should nip this foolishness in the bud before it fairly begins.”
Zeeviel’s chin came up, and his sword appeared in his hand, shining like the sun and driving the darkness before it. Freddi took on a glow of her own and stepped up beside him. Not to be outdone, I pulled the gun from its holster and held it down beside my leg, finger on the trigger instead of beside it, because safety be damned in Hell.
Derek looked from us to Beelzebub and back, heaved a put-upon sigh, and summoned a sword of his own, a curved black blade with a wicked point and a fearsome edge. “You couldn’t have started by pissing off smaller people, Zeevi?” he asked between his teeth.
“My mere presence seems upsetting to s--oof.” This as Zeeviel was tackled from behind by one of Beelzebub’s screeching hangers-on. We’d been surrounded before I realized what was happening, and I berated myself for not paying better attention. I’d have thought that Beelzebub was impressive enough all by himself, but his followers didn’t hesitate to make their displeasure known.
My gun came up and a minion went down, an enormous hole blown in his chest from point-blank range. I shifted aim and fired again, catching other action out of the corner of my eye. Zeeviel rotated as he fell, landing on his back rather than his front, and skewered his attacker on his sword. All Freddi needed to do was touch them to send them writhing to the ground, smoking. Derek didn’t seem all that impressive while he walked along with us, but he was poetry in motion as black blood spattered through the air and imps fell beneath his blade.
Zeeviel rolled to his feet, and the four of us ranged ourselves in a circle, guarding each other’s backs like we’d been doing it all our lives. Only a few other demons were foolish enough to throw themselves against that, and those quickly dissolved into screaming puddles of tar--shot, stabbed, or touched. The smarter ones backed off and let Beelzebub wade in.
Wade he did. His belly hung below his knees, but his legs were like tree trunks and his arms like anacondas. A pair of hideous soot-colored wings sprouted from his back and sent cyclones of air swirling down the street as he flapped them and rose above us. The physics on that shouldn’t have worked--nothing should have been enough to carry his bulk into the air--but things like physics clearly didn’t hold sway in Hell.
He roared and dove, and we scattered out of his way before he had a chance to land in the middle of us. He seemed to be aiming mostly at Zeeviel, who used his sword to counter several dark orange bolts of power flung from taloned hands. He couldn’t stop them all, however, and one slammed into his shoulder, spinning him around; another hit him in the middle of the back, driving him to his hands and knees on the sidewalk. His sword spun away, and I frantically fired round after round at Beelzebub, to no great effect. Then I had my own problems as a trio of pitchfork tines pierced me through my chest from back to front, and a demon yanked me toward him to wrap his arm around my throat from behind.
My legs kicked, and I scrabbled at the arm with one hand as my air was cut off, but quickly realized how useless that was. Instead I aimed over my shoulder with the gun and fired at what I hoped was his face. He let out a shrill shriek and abruptly let go, but I still had a pitchfork problem and dropped to my knees, bleeding and gasping. The other demons had grown new respect for my weapon, and they gave me a wide berth, instead concentrating their efforts on Derek and Zeeviel.
Derek held his own surprisingly well, but Zeeviel was in trouble. Beelzebub flapped higher and continued to hurl bolts from the air, which meant he was out of Freddi’s reach. Zeeviel’s sword had reappeared in his hand, and he was sprawled on his back doing his best to counter them, but I could see his struggles weakening. More than one bolt hammered past his defenses.
Sprouting his wings, Derek let out a battle cry and launched himself into the air toward Beelzebub to hound him like a large and angry sparrow. The Prince of Gluttony swatted him away several times, but he always came back, and they spiraled lower--
Low enough for Freddi to grab Beelzebub by the ankle and yank .
He tumbled to the ground in a flurry of leather and fat, and she straddled his chest, wrapping her hands around his throat under the multiple chins and squeezing. “You think you can just attack my Guardian like that?” she shouted at him. His face turned purple, his body bucked, and then he disappeared, along with his minions, leaving nothing behind but a bad smell and squeaking, fly-ridden pigs.
The rest of us sat there and gasped in various states of “injured.” Derek dropped down beside me and grasped the pitchfork. “Hold still. Let me move this out of you.” It disappeared from my body and reappeared in his hand, and he tossed it away.
The wounds burned and bled, and I was pretty sure at least one of them had punctured a lung. “I can’t believe I can still brea--” The penny dropped. “Oh.”
Derek did an obnoxious little snap-and-point. “Ding ding ding! You’re already dead. You don’t need to breathe. You just have to remember that.”
I glanced up to see lightning flickering through the clouds, which it hadn’t done before, and I frowned. “Does that mean something?” I asked.
Derek looked at the new weather pattern. His mouth pulled to one side. “That veil Lu mentioned. We really need to get Freddi out of here. I for one am not looking forward to a premature Armageddon. Just because it catches Heaven flat-footed doesn’t mean Hell will automatically win.”
Freddi knelt beside Zeeviel, who laid his head back and closed his eyes with a groan that sounded more annoyed than anything. His shirt was burnt through in three places, along with the skin underneath, and his wings hadn’t escaped unscathed either. One set of flight feathers had been completely charred away.
“Then why did it work when I strangled Fat Boy?” Freddi brushed Zeevi’s hair back from his forehead, which seemed to ease his pain.
“Because you are Redeemed and had hold of his True Essence. We can’t touch you without agony.” Derek shrugged. “And if you touch us, it hurts.”
Slow applause sounded from the direction of the café, and we turned to see a new demon slouched at one of the tables sipping an obscenely large glass of wine. She--for she was very obviously female--was blue-skinned and naked from the tips of her curly horns all the way to the soles of her feet, which were propped, ankles crossed, on the table in front of her. Her hair stood out a wild blonde rat’s nest that still somehow managed to be attractive, and it trailed down to not-quite cover her enormous centerfold breasts. Indolence rolled off her in waves, and I almost fell asleep right there on the sidewalk. A billy goat chewed his cud beside her.
“I hardly credited it, but the rumors and memos are true,” she said. “This is rich.”
We scrambled to our feet as best we could. The punctures through me had mostly healed. Zeeviel looked battered, but better.
“Belphegor,” he said. “I should have known that where Gluttony laid his head, Sloth would soon follow. Here to nibble Beelzebub’s scraps?”
Belphegor waved a languid hand. “Pfeh. I have far better things to do with my time than mix it up with heroes like you lot. Much more entertaining to watch you flail uselessly about and ultimately fail.” She eyed Freddi over the rim of her wineglass. “So she’s what all the fuss is about, eh? Doesn’t seem like much.”
“Try and touch me and see what happens,” Freddi said, crossing her arms.
“Oh, dearie, no. I’m lazy, not stupid.”
“Which side are you on, Belph?” Derek asked. “Because it looks like we’re in the middle of a power play whether we like it or not.”
“You don’t know me very well if you expect me to choose a side, little brother. I don’t get involved in Hell’s reindeer games. I just watch the festivities and snigger on the sidelines.”
“Then you haven’t changed at all since you Fell,” Zeeviel snapped.
“Why would I? I am as Father made me.” There was a certain amount of rancor in a word that should have been an endearment, but not much. She pointed. “The river is that way. You should probably get going before one of the other, less congenial, Princes comes along to mop up after Beelzebub.”
“She’s not wrong,” Zeeviel said with a huff. “I hate when the Other Side has a point. Shall we?”
“I think that’s a super idea,” Freddi said. Her lips thinned. “She couldn’t even be bothered to steer us in the wrong direction.”
“Too easy,” Belphegor said airily. “I’m sure you’ll be getting in your own brand of unique trouble very soon. Toodles.”
We left her there, sipping her wine, and continued on our way. The neighborhood devolved to banks and pawn shops. Freddi touched my arm, and I immediately felt better.
Zeeviel still limped. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I don’t have access to the same Grace I do when I’m on Earth, so it takes longer to restore me to full health.”
“Something we’ll all be sure to take full advantage of.” This demon wore a suit that put Derek’s to absolute shame, but he was over-hairy and wolfish around his face and hands. A bushy tail sprouted from his well-tailored pants rather than the whip-like barbed appendage I’d grown used to seeing, and a fat red frog sat on his shoulder, snatching leftover flies from the air with its tongue.
“Five minutes. Is it too much to ask to go five minutes without the Princes getting all up in our business,” Derek said. He didn’t inflect it like a question. “Come on, boss, cut us some slack.”
“Well, we’re all interested.” The demon walked around us, and we stayed facing him in case of accidents. “Our biggest big brother has painted a target on your foreheads, and it’s just a matter of time before someone collects on that particular bounty.”
Zeeviel’s sword was back in his hand. “Someone like you, Mammon?”
The demon continued to circle us like a large and hungry shark. “Perhaps. Perhaps.” He tilted his head at Derek, an unreadable glance passing between them. “Smart money doesn’t bet against a crossroader, though, and since Derek’s with you, might be best to see which way the chips fall before committing. Or.” A group of smaller demons appeared in his wake, remoras to his hammerhead. “Make something happen. That’s always profitable.”
One of the remoras leaped at Freddi, but a touch from her sent it shrieking to the ground in agony. She gave Mammon an entirely mirthless smile. “Are you sure about that?”
His head tilted the other way. “So it’s true. Curious.” A sloppy salute. “I think I’ll just wait, then. Who knows, someone might save me the trouble.” He disappeared in a swirl of sulfur stench, and his minions blipped out as well.
“Hoo.” Derek’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Man, am I glad he decided to do that. No offense, Zeevi, but with you not at a hundred percent, I don’t like our chances of going up against two of the Princes in a row. Especially when one’s my boss-man. I can’t defy him without it getting... awkward.”
“Neither do I,” said Zeeviel dryly, flexing his wings and wincing. The scorched-off flight feathers were half-sprouted now.
“Can’t we just teleport to the river like we did the tower?” Freddi asked.
“Ha, I wish,” Derek answered. “The Morningstar has blocked me from doing that. Apparently he wants you to get the full effect.” He eyed Zeeviel, who was still limping and bruised. “Maybe we should find shelter for a little while. You’re not looking so hot, bro.”
Zeeviel raised a weary and sardonic eyebrow. “Shelter. In this place. Is there such a thing for such as us?”
“If you know where to look and how to ward it. And I do. Come on.” He led us into one of the crumbling buildings, up a flight of untrustworthy stairs, and into an apartment far more upscale than I’d’ve thought from the outward appearance of the structure. A set of three leather sofas surrounded a fireplace, and our feet sank into the plush carpet.
“One of my many bases of operations,” Derek explained, waving us into the couches while he headed to the sideboard.
Zeeviel collapsed into one and spread his wings, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning his head back, and closing his eyes. I took my cue from him and relaxed as much as possible on one end of another, while Freddi curled up on the opposite side.
“Is it all a city?” I asked. Derek brought over a tray of glasses filled with--I sniffed at the one he gave me and took a cautious sip of damned fine scotch--various libations. “I mean, I guess you don’t have meadows with bouncing bunny rabbits and stuff, but I haven’t seen a single tree.”
“There’s a forest,” Derek said, handing the others around. He waved his hand, and a blaze sprang up in the fireplace. He had a seat on the open couch and downed about half his drink. “We can detour through it if you want, but it looks about how you’d expect. Sinister, leaf-less, angry trees. Thorns. Carnivores. You don’t want to meet the rabbits. Harvey they ain’t. Some of my brothers enjoy a hunt.”
I didn’t have to ask what they hunted. A permanent crawly feeling had taken occupation of the back of my neck.
Freddi frowned at her glass, filled with a deep red wine. “I’m not sure I should drink this.”
Derek scoffed. “You’re in Hell. It won’t actually affect you, sweetheart, more’s the pity. Not that I would take advantage.” No one was fooled by the innocent look he tried on, and he rolled his eyes. “You guys are no fun at all.”
“Well, no.” Zeeviel didn’t open his eyes as he sipped his drink. “We are, as you keep reminding us, in Hell. Fun does not obtain here, unless you’re a demon.” He cracked an eyelid open and cast his gaze in Derek’s direction. “And sometimes even then it’s not all it’s advertised to be.”
Derek pointed at him. “Don’t start with me, Zeevi. You and I both know what happened to drive me out of Heaven, and that reason still exists.”
“What did happen?” Freddi finally took a drink.
“Daddy is Daddy, Lucifer was right, and angels are assholes who don’t have your back,” Derek said, shooting a glare at Zeeviel, who fidgeted and dropped his eyes. “And that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”
It was Freddi’s turn to scoff. “From what I’ve seen, it’s not the angels who are assholes.”
“You’ve met one.” Derek shrugged with one shoulder. “Even I’ll admit that Zeevi’s one of the halfway decent ones, no matter our past, but I can name several who smite first and ask questions never.”
“Whereas demons wouldn’t harm a hair on anyone’s head.” The rest of her wine disappeared down Freddi’s throat, and she set her glass down with more emphasis than she needed to.
“We are as Father made us. All part of His vaunted Plan, no doubt. You’d think an omniscient, omnipotent Being would prep better, but it’s not for us to question Him, merely to do His Will.”
Zeeviel leaned his head back against the couch and covered his face with his hand. His sigh was long-suffering. “Do you truly think you are following the Will, Derek? Deluding the mortals is clearly something you enjoy. Deluding yourself is just sad.”
“I suppose we shall see who the delusional one is in the fullness of time. Considering the fact that your Charge is down here, perhaps you should hedge your bets, Zeevi.”
“Perhaps you should be hedging yours, brother, if the line between Above and Below is so easily breached, where it was not before.” Zeeviel cracked an eyelid open, and a corner of his mouth curled up in an expression that was in no way a smile. “It’s not beyond the realm of possibilities that shattering the Morningstar’s power is part of Father’s plan. Michael will defeat Lu in the end, but all to the good if he can be a shadow of his former self when the battle commences.”
“Hell’s in a sorry state if I can break it,” Freddi said. “I’m not a great warrior. I’m not powerful at all. I’m nobody.”
Zeeviel straightened. “You are a child of my Father and arguably the most powerful personage here and now. Do not sell yourself short, Freddi.”
“What did you do for a living, anyway?” I asked her.
“I was a parole officer. And I taught women’s self-defense classes a couple of nights a week.” She shrugged. “Nothing special, really.”
“You did good in the world,” Zeeviel said. “There are women living and not dead, and men who turned their lives around, because of your care for them.”
The best that could be said for me was that I’d made the world a better place by taking bad guys out of it. On the whole, that wasn’t much to recommend my life. The noblest thing I’d ever done had been completely on impulse, and it had ended up killing me.
Somehow, my glass was full again, and I sent a sharp glance toward Derek. “You’re welcome,” he said.
“How do you even get to be a hitman?” Freddi asked. “I mean, if I wanted to, I’d have no idea how to actually go about getting a job like that.”
I shrugged roughly. “Family business. My dad did it, and passed the mantle on to me when he was killed.”
Derek raised his glass in a salute. “No wonder Belph seems to have taken an interest--inertia, basically, and not because you couldn’t find anything else to do with your very expensive Ivy League education.”
I gave him another sharp glance. “How did you--?”
“We all know all about you, Anthony,” he said. “Hell is full of incorrigible gossips, as has been said, and your Tempter’s been giving us the lowdown on the down-low.”
I directed my next question at Zeeviel. “Did I get a Guardian too?”
“Of course you did,” he said. “The fact that you barely listened to him no matter how loudly he implored you to do better is a matter of great sorrow to him.”
“Why the Heavenlies even try with someone like him is a question for the ages, Zeevi.” Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you were ever going to succeed.”
“Everyone deserves the chance to choose, Derek.” It sounded like an old argument. “And sometimes they surprise you.”
“Like when they jump into a river trying to save a total stranger?” Freddi quirked her brow in my direction.
“That single act of redemption is why you are with us now, Anthony,” Zeevi said, “rather than back in line with the rest of the wretched damned.”
“Won’t help with his eternal fate, though, because Daddy isn’t quite that forgiving,” Derek sniped, taking a giant swallow of his drink. “He’s still stuck down here.”
Zeeviel looked discontent. “That is so. But perhaps his final lot will be better, somehow.”
It was the only hope I had.