Hell Born

by Marie Bilodeau

  Hell Born

  The Guild of Shadows

  -1-

  Marie Bilodeau

  © Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by Éric Belisle.

  Cover design by nia Loureiro.

  Editing by Jessica Torrance.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Marie Bilodeau is an Ottawa-based author and storyteller, with eight published books to her name. Her speculative fiction has won several awards and has been translated into French (Les Éditions Alire) and Chinese (SF World). Her short stories have also appeared in various anthologies. In a past life not-so-long ago, she was Deputy Publisher for The Ed Greenwood Group (TEGG). Marie is also a storyteller and has told stories across Canada in theatres, tea shops, at festivals and under disco balls. She’s won story slams with personal stories, has participated in epic tellings at the National Arts Centre, and has adapted classical material.

  Marie is co-host of the Archivos Podcast Network with Dave Robison, co-chair of Ottawa’s speculative fiction literary convention CAN-CON with Derek Künsken, and is a casual blogger at Black Gate Magazine.

  Find out more and see pretty book covers at www.mariebilodeau.com.

  Stay in Touch!

  Don’t miss out on a single update by signing up to my infrequent and super casual newsletter!

  Dedication

  To Brandon Crilly, without whom Tira wouldn’t exist and the world would be a more boring place

  Acknowledgment

  End of 2017, fellow writer Brandon Crilly contacted me to ask if I would like to join a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. “I’m not sure,” said I, “I’m busy.” “Here are the people who have agreed to play,” said he. “Oh,” said I.

  So I agreed, but insisted I didn’t have the time to build a character. I believe I heard his eyes roll over text, but he obliged and, a week later, handed me the sheet for a courser – a bounty hunter rogue – with instructions to come up with a name and personality.

  “I’ll call her Tira Misu, because dessert and stabbing, ha ha ha ha ha!” was my answer.

  More eye rolling and obliging.

  I came up with a basic character based on that. She had a code, and that code made her fiercely loyal to her friends, while making her a bit stabby to people she perceived as bad. But she was willing to redefine that should her friends need her to.

  Because she was built as reactive to her friends and their emotions and needs, Tira became fleshed out thanks to the people surrounding the table, and how they interacted with her. She became who she is thanks to my #writersintaldorei crew – Jay Odjick, Evan May, Derek Künsken, Tyler Goodier, Nicole Lavigne and Matt Moore.

  A bunch of the characters in this novel are based on the characters skillfully played by them, though the story, world and everything else is very much not at all it.

  We ended arc 1 of our campaign after almost two years. I wasn’t ready to let go of these characters, both the ones who lived and the ones who perished along the journey. (You can read all about that at www.mariebilodeau.com/dd-taldorei/, should you be interested.)

  This is my chance to play with them again, and give Tira an entirely new direction to grow into.

  Aside from my game buddies, I also couldn’t have finished this book without Kerri Elizabeth Gerow, who has supported me for the length of my career and still seems to love me. Same for my sister-in-law, Jessica Torrance, who was instrumental in forging this book, both as its transcriber and editor.

  I could thank so many more people and always have, but I’ll close off by thanking two more: my mom, Suzanne Desjardins, for her artistic spirit and kindness.

  And you, the reader, who followed me through various SF genres and still voraciously pick up my books. You inspire me to keep going, and I will always be grateful for that.

  Chapter One

  I couldn’t spot Clay from where I crouched. The moon hid behind thick clouds, the stars followed suit, and we’d killed the two lamps lining this street. I could see fine in darkness, as could Clay.

  But Clay wasn’t messing around with sneakiness tonight. That put me on high alert, since Clay liked messing around with pretty much everything, as long as he thought he could get away with it.

  Without that minor indication that I should take this seriously, I doubt I would. This place didn’t exactly signal danger. The whole area smelled of incoming summer, some keener having even cut his yellow grass already. No insect buzzed about the darkness, nor did any dog bark, even though I suspected that at least every second house had a well-groomed, purse-sized puppy.

  The street was as suburbia as suburbia could get. That didn’t exactly bring me joy. My foster family had lived in suburbia. And that hadn’t gone so great.

  What the hell are we doing here?

  I hadn’t asked Clay before coming, because I never felt the need to ask. It’s not like I had anything better going on tonight. And, depending on how tomorrow went, this might be our last outing for a while.

  Maybe forever.

  Movement across the yard caught my attention and I focused on it, my eyes able to pierce the shadows of this world as easily as they would be able to see in daylight. Probably more easily, in fact. The shadows brought comfort that daylight just couldn’t.

  From the quick, effortless movement, I was certain it was Clay. He headed toward a two-story, simple-looking family home, just different enough from its nearby neighbor to be called unique. As long as you didn’t look down the street at all the “slightly different unique” homes, anyway. They were all squished against one another, too, like they lived under eternal roll call.

  Kinda like Clay and I did, except when we managed to sneak out for a spell or two.

  My job tonight was pretty simple. Keep an eye out for anyone coming home earlier than anticipated. Clay would slip into the home, disable the security system (stabbing often proved a functional means of doing that), grab whatever we’d been sent here to retrieve, and then get the hell out.

  I wondered if Clay even needed me, and figured he just wanted a friend along for the ride. Or someone to watch his back, I suppose. Still, this was pretty boring.

  My tail twitched behind me, and I forced it to remain still. Having a demon tail was bad enough, so I tried to keep it as still and unseen as possible.

  I folded the shadows around me as I moved up the neighbor's driveway, to ensure I wouldn't be seen.

  Folding the shadows is the best way I’d found to describe it, but it was really more like stepping into them. Becoming one of them.
Vanishing from sight, or at least becoming the thing people spot out of the corner of their eye when they feel like they might not be alone.

  Stories of demons hiding in the shadows might not have been true and just figments of terrified imaginations beforehand, but now? It was true.

  All of it.

  It became true when I was seven years old, terrified of my foster father who lived in a house just like this, and I’d folded the shadows around me to vanish.

  It was the first time I'd felt safe.

  I felt safe now, folded in those shadows, even though we were in suburbia, even though the street was as quiet as a midnight graveyard.

  Clay vanished by the side of the targeted house. I slipped around its other side, near some bud-riddled bushes, tiny leaves daring to pierce into the night. I grinned at them and debated breaking into the house, but decided to stick to the plan and keep an eye on anyone coming our way. The tiny leaves would be good enough company for a boring evening.

  I didn’t even know how the bush managed to survive. There were maybe six feet between this house and the next. Three windows were perfectly aligned on each house, and I imagined they were tall enough that you weren’t in constant danger of seeing your neighbors naked.

  I hoped so, anyway.

  But the bush had made this its place, and somehow still thrived despite the snug quarters and lack of light.

  “Good little bush,” I whispered to it. I was debating pulling it out of the ground and finding a new spot for it when I heard a noise from the house Clay had snuck in. It wasn’t loud, though loud enough to catch my ear, and I wasn’t exactly near one of the tall windows. Maybe I’d misheard and it had come from the other house?

  Thud.

  This time I was sure it had come from the targeted house. And I knew Clay wasn’t a klutz.

  Shit. Someone had gotten in. Or had been waiting in there.

  I decided to go in the window for maximum surprise, but just as I was about to hoist myself up, the window shattered as someone jumped from one house directly into the next. I covered my head, shards of cheap glass showering down on me. No self-respecting demon girl went on a heist wearing anything that couldn’t take cheap glass showers, so my purple skin was mostly unaffected. A dribble of blood streamed down my face, but that was it.

  “I’ll be back,” I told the bush, pushed myself off the side of the building and onto the next, as quick as a hyper feline, and grabbed the edge of the window where the intruder had disappeared. Clay wasn’t following, which worried me a bit, since he loved a good fight. I’d have to get to him later.

  First, this maniac running around had to be stopped.

  I heaved myself over the window ledge and crunched down on some pieces of glass, wincing. The shadows were still comfortably folded around me, but that wouldn’t stop sound from travelling. Might as well put a big target sign right over me.

  I shifted off the glass, wincing again at two more loud steps, and then my boots found quieter ground. A door slammed downstairs.

  Damn it!

  I leapt off the banister and cleared the stairs in one bound, crouching and then leaping at the door, throwing it open. I wrapped the shadows more deeply onto me as I threw myself off the stairs and to the right, in case anyone was waiting to fire a weapon.

  But no one did. In fact, no one did anything. I’d expected some kind of chase, but when I looked up and down the dark street, no one moved.

  I stood as quiet as the shadows, trying to spot someone or something. The air felt crisper, like winter debated whether or not it wanted to re-establish dominance. I felt bad for the bush.

  Another scent caught my attention. Burn. Something was burning.

  Orange flickering danced in the darkness of the house next door, the curtains covering its front bay windows going up in flames, the window cracking under the heat.

  Clay!

  I ran for the other house, opting to go through the window and avoid the fire licking the main door. I pulled myself up in a mirror image of the house I’d just been in, except this one was filling up with smoke, fast.

  No self-respecting purple-skinned demon girl would also leave home without a face mask, so I pulled it up to cover my mouth and nose, my eyes watering at the smoke. I found the stairs and carefully went down them.

  A large lump in the middle of the living room, near the fire, caught my eye. I headed to it and started tugging at Clay. Damn he was heavy. And who’d managed to knock him out? I’d never seen that happen, and I’d seen him take some spectacular blows!

  I grunted and pulled at him, yanking him toward the back door as the fire caught hold of the wall below the stairs, drawn up by the broken window.

  Clay grunted, his eyes blinking as I flipped him on his back without meaning to. He was just so damn hard to move! Why was he so heavy? Was I that tired?

  The bay window up front cracked and shattered, the fire dancing more fiercely at the fresh intake of air.

  Another good yank and I reached the back door. I wish I knew more about how fire travelled, but hoped the air upstairs and at the front of the house would stop the fire from channeling this way.

  I opened the back door, smoke rushing our way, and ducked lower, coughing. I grabbed Clay by the armpits and pulled as hard as I could. The second we cleared the threshold, it felt like he lost about a hundred pounds, sending us both flying into the backyard.

  He grunted and shifted, seemingly regaining consciousness. A quick glance didn’t immediately reveal an injury. His dark eyes seemed to focus, his skin held no mark, his dark hair, well, that always looked a mess. His clothing seemed undisturbed…what the hell had happened?

  A scream ripped from the top of the house. Chills gripped my spine.

  Someone was in the house. And it sounded like a little girl.

  “Get to safety,” I told Clay, who worked at standing up. He coughed and gave me a thumbs up.

  “Careful,” he managed to choke out.

  I grinned at him. “Always am.” He grunted, which only made me grin more.

  I ran to the side of the house, deciding to take the express to the second floor and ignore the probably fiery stairs. I jumped up the side of the other house, kicked toward the burning house and gripped the window ledge, pulling myself up, instinctively wrapping the shadows around me.

  The orange hue of the fire flickered in the stairwell, and grew brighter by the second. I didn’t have much time.

  Sobbing to my left. Where the hell were the fire engines and their blaring horns? At least they didn’t cover the child’s soft sounds, I suppose.

  I headed toward the sobs quickly, ignoring the crunching of glass under my feet.

  A child’s room. Very pink. Very cute. Very empty.

  Where the heck was the kid? And the parents, for that matter?

  Flames joined the light, the heat rising exponentially, the smoke so thick I had to crouch beneath it. Even then, my eyes stung. I wouldn’t last long.

  The fire raged loudly, blocking out the sobbing. Where would a kid…it dawned on me. The kid’s closet was closed. Of course she’d be in there.

  Closets held monsters until the rest of the house held monsters. Then, they were safe ground.

  I opened the door. The little girl looked up from where she’d scrunched herself into a ball, holding a stuffed unicorn, which was predictably pink.

  “Come on,” I said as delicately as I could. The kid looked up with wonder and some panic.

  Of course, she couldn’t see me. I sighed. Seeing me wouldn’t exactly make her feel safer.

  “Close your eyes. I’m an angel come to get you to safety,” I said, looking back at the incoming flames before focusing back on the girl. We had thirty seconds, tops.

  The girl’s eyes weren’t closed, now wide with wonder. I sighed. “I’m an angel unicorn,” I added for good measure. She seemed even more pleased. “But I can’t touch you unless your eyes are closed. I can whisk you to safety if you close your eyes.”

 
She debated for a few seconds, then closed her eyes. Finally. Damn kids and their need for reassurance.

  I swooped her up in my arms. Now that she was in the folded shadows with me, she could see me easily. If she opened her eyes.

  “Keep them closed, or we’ll both fall,” I said in my most dramatic, whimsical voice. Which probably still made me sound slightly demonic, but hey, points for effort.

  She nodded and scrunched her face more. I grinned and opened the window. The fire filtered into the bedroom, and the floor felt much warmer than it should.

  Second story wasn’t bad. I had little respect for many things, including gravity. Well, gravity at this height. My respect for it grew the higher I got.

  I jumped out into the backyard, landing hard on my feet, trying to absorb the blow for the little girl. I was pretty sure human kids were fairly breakable.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” I told the kid, but she’d felt the landing and the fresh air, and seemed intent on seeing her magical unicorn angel.

  Her eyes grew big, all brown and fear, and a shriek ripped from her throat. Neighbors could be heard all around us now, several shouting about the backyard. And sirens blared in the distance.

  Great. I mean, great for the kid. She was fine. Not so great for Clay and I.

  “Bye bye,” I told the kid, who still looked with terror at the purple-skinned demon girl who’d just saved her. I let her go, confident she was safe, and pulled the shadows to me and away from her. Clay stood not far away, and I folded the shadows around him, too. It required a bit more concentration but was easily enough done. Especially as several neighbors climbed up the fence to get to the girl.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered, able to see me in the shadows. I nodded, looked back to the girl, and we jumped up the fence, into the next yard, and made our way back to the jail. Or school, as they insisted we call it.

  Just as we jumped, I caught sight of my bush buddy, the flames traveling through the open windows and onto the next house, catching the wooden fence in their fury.